IN KABSPELL
“Here you go, Bob, hand me that monkey wrench.”
“It’s right behind you, Jerry. Say, though, I’ve forgotten whether
these side planes, or the rear ones, go on first.”
“The rear ones, of course,” spoke Ned. “We won’t put the side planes on
until last, and then they won’t interfere. Look out, don’t step in that
pile of bolts. I’ve got ’em arranged in the order I want to use ’em.”
“Oh, I won’t,” and the stout lad changed the planes he had taken up,
selecting another set.
“Who’s got the hammer?” demanded Jerry, a little later.
“You had it last,” answered Ned.
“I did not. You sang out for it and I fired it over to you.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten. I’ve got it. Now, boys, get a move on,
and we’ll soon have her in shape.”
It was the third day after the arrival of our heroes and their friends
in the small town of Kabspell, Montana, and they were busy assembling
their motorship, which had arrived safely a short time before.
They had secured a boarding place, and had arranged to use an old shed
on the outskirts of the town as a “hangar” in which to assemble the
parts of their craft. They found everything all right, save that one
of the hydroplane floats had been smashed, but a local carpenter had
agreed to make another.
The arrival of the lads and the mysterious craft had created no little
astonishment in the town, and such a crowd assembled in and about the
shed that the motor boys were forced to put up ropes, and hire a man to
keep back the throng, so they would have room to work.
“We don’t mind them watching us,” said Jerry; “but we don’t want to
step on them all the while, and they will insist on fingering things.
First we know, some part will be missing, and then we’ll be in a pretty
fix.”
Jim Nestor and Harvey Brill offered their aid in reassembling the
motorship, and their services were gladly accepted. One or two
mechanics had also been hired to fit the motor and gas machine
together, as the boys found themselves pretty well occupied. But, for
the most part, the boys did the work themselves. They were familiar
with their craft, and knew just how to put it together, having taken it
apart several times.
“Is there anything I can do?” inquired Professor Snodgrass, as he
entered the shed on the morning when the activities of the lads brought
forth the utterances with which I began this chapter. “I’d like to
help,” went on the little bald-headed scientist, eagerly.
“No, I guess not,” said Jerry, winking at Ned. “We won’t take you from
your researches.”
“Well, then, as long as you don’t want me,” proceeded the “bugologist,”
gladly, “I’ll see if I can locate a side-stepping toad. I saw traces of
one not long ago.”
“A side-stepping toad!” exclaimed Bob. “That’s a new one.”
“It isn’t good to eat, though, Chunky!” chuckled Ned, taking care to
get out of reach of his fat chum.
“But what is it?” asked Bob.
“It’s a toad that moves sideways, like a crab,” explained the
scientist. “They are very rare, and only a few museums have them. I
shall count myself fortunate if I find one--almost as fortunate as if I
get a luminous serpent. By the way, when shall we be able to start for
them?”
“In a few days,” replied Jerry; and then the professor went out. “I’m
glad he didn’t insist on wanting to help,” he added to Ned.
“That’s right. The last time he did he fitted the exhaust pipe to the
gasoline intake, and we’d have had a dandy explosion if we hadn’t seen
it in time.”
“And before that,” commented the tall lad, “he had the elevation rudder
rigged up so that we’d have shot downward instead of going up. He did
it before I found out what he was up to. No, the professor is a fine
man, but what he doesn’t know about an airship would fill a few books.
Now, Ned, if you’ll give me a hand we’ll connect the gasoline tank to
the motor, and then fit up the pilot house controls.”
The boys and their helpers were busily engaged that afternoon when a
man, who, somehow, had made his way past the guard, sauntered into the
shed.
“When do you fellers calculate on givin’ th’ circus?” he drawled.
“This isn’t a circus,” replied Jerry, hoping the fellow was not going
to be annoyingly curious.
“No? Wa’al, you’re goin’ t’ give an exhibition; aren’t you?”
“Oh, we’ll let the people see us fly, of course, when we get ready,”
answered the tall lad, good-naturedly.
“Fly? Do you really mean t’ say you folks are goin’ up in that thing?”
asked the man, incredulously.
“Well, we’ve done it many times before this, and if all goes right
we’ll do it again,” spoke Ned.
“Great Peter!” cried the man. “I thought it was only a model t’ look
at. An’ you’re really goin’ t’ fly?”
“We sure are,” said Jerry. “Here, Ned, just hold this bolt, while I
tighten the nut, will you?”
“What does this handle do?” asked the man, as he pulled one of the many
levers.
“That works the elevating rudder,” replied Jerry. “Please don’t touch
it.”
“All right,” agreed the man, good-naturedly. “But what are you folks
aimin’ t’ do when you do get your shebang together?”
It was the question the boys had been anticipating ever since they
arrived in Kabspell, and they were ready for it.
“Did you see that small man--the one with no hair on his head?” asked
Jerry, with a wink at his chums.
“The one I passed as I was comin’ in? Yes, I saw him.”
“Well, he wants to get a lot of queer bugs--insects--snakes and the
like,” went on Jerry. “He’s a professor in a big college--a bug
collector. We’re with him.”
“Oh, shucks!” exclaimed the man, as if much disappointed. “I calculated
you were prospectors, or something like that.”
“Why, is there gold out here?” asked Jerry, as innocently as he could.
“Wa’al, there is for them as knows where it is,” spoke the man with a
sharp look at the boys and the two Westerners. But our friends did not
betray themselves--at least they hoped they did not.
The work went on apace, and soon the inquisitive man was peering about
at another part of the airship.
“What’s this wheel for?” he asked. As he spoke he gave it a turn, and
at once a series of thunderous explosions followed--like a battery of
machine guns going off.
“Great Peter!” cried the man, and with one jump he leaped through an
open window of the shed, and, running across the field, he yelled:
“She’s going to blow up! Skedaddle, everybody!”
The crowd, which was always assembled about the shed, turned to flee,
but the explosions suddenly ceased.
“What was it?” cried Bob, seeing that there was no danger. He and Ned
had run for the engine room, in which Jerry had been working when the
man meddled with the wheel.
“Oh, that fellow started the motor, and the muffler wasn’t attached,”
answered the tall lad. “No damage done. I stopped her in time. But
maybe it will teach him a lesson.”
It seemed to, for the fellow did not come back. Instead, he went to a
certain resort in the town, and there he met a man with a long scar on
his face--a livid scar.
“Well, did you find out anything?” asked the man with the scar. “Did
you get next, Ike Weldon?”
“All I found out, Jake Paxton, was that they’re hunting for bugs--as if
they couldn’t get enough without lookin’ for ’em. That’s what they told
me, and then th’ shebang blew up!”
“Blew up--how?”
“Well, I monkeyed with it, I guess,” and Ike Weldon told of the results
of his visit.
“Say, you’re a pretty one to send to get information!” exclaimed Jake,
with contempt. “I thought you knew your business!”
“I do. They’re after bugs, I tell you!”
“I don’t believe it. They wouldn’t come away out here with an airship
for that. I’ll have to fix up some sort of a disguise and go myself.
They saw me at the Junction, where I changed my ticket, and they might
know me. But I’m sure that’s the man we want to keep track of--that
biggest Westerner. I’ll go around there myself to-morrow.”
“Well, don’t go to handling anything, or you might get blown up too,”
advised his crony. “Hello!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Here comes that
other chap from the East--the one who arrived a few days ago--Nixon his
name is. Maybe he knows something about these chaps.”
“I’ll see if I can get him to talk,” remarked Jake. “I think I’m on
the right trail, and just as soon as some of the other boys get here
I’ll make sure of it. They know Harvey Brill, and I don’t--only by
description. Yes, I’ll see what I can get out of this Nixon chap.”