THE STRANGE AIRPLANE
The first thing the boys did the following morning, after spending the
night at the home of Mr. Choate, was to go down to the beach and see if
their airplane was all right. They found one of the two negroes asleep,
but the other fellow was faithfully on guard, and everything about the
Sky-Bird seemed just as they had left it, although the watchers said that
a considerable number of curious townspeople had come to look at the
machine the day before and they had been very busy keeping venturesome
boys off the craft.
Our friends let the negroes go to get their breakfasts and some sleep,
and engaged two others to take up the watch. Following this, in company
with Mr. Choate, they all retired to the bathhouse, secured bathing suits
and had a fine time disporting themselves in the warm surf for the next
hour. The youths had never experienced Gulf Stream bathing before, and
the water was so enticing that it was hard to drag themselves out of it.
As they were in the act of emerging to dress themselves, a black speck,
which all had noticed in the northern sky, had developed by nearer
approach so that they thought they could recognize it as an airplane. It
was coming down the coast very rapidly. Wondering if its pilot intended
to land in the vicinity, they gathered on the beach and curiously waited
for it to come nearer.
At times they were puzzled to know whether the approaching object were
really an airplane or a great bird, for it surely looked like a bird with
its swelling breast-line and slightly tilted broad-shouldered wings.
Closer and closer it came. It was flying very high.
When it was almost over them, Mr. Giddings uttered a startled
ejaculation; "My stars, boys! It's _our_ machine!"
Paul and John Ross and Tom Meeks were equally astonished. They had
noticed the strong resemblance at the same moment. Involuntarily, with
Mr. Giddings and Mr. Choate, they turned their heads up the beach to see
if the Sky-Bird II was where they had left it.
They saw its huge outline and its patrolling black guards. It had not
changed position. Even a group of gaping Miami citizens lent reality to
the situation, and some of the latter were gazing aloft at the other
flying-machine, as our friends had been doing.
The stranger above them evidently had no intention of stopping. Instead
of circling the town, as he would have done had he intended to land, he
swept straight over and kept on his southward course, heading across
Florida Strait.
On the face of every one of our friends, as they saw this image of the
Sky-Bird II cross the sky overhead and disappear in the mists beyond, was
a look of amazement, incredulity, and finally dark suspicion.
"Can it be--?" Mr. Giddings hesitated, and looked inquiringly at his
younger companions.
"It looks that way," said John Ross, with a reluctant nod.
None needed to explain that the same thought had struck him, also. The
stolen blue-prints--the skulking man with the swarthy face! He had
duplicated the Sky-Bird!
More than that, each recalled the _Clarion's_ secrecy about the kind of
airplane it planned to use; and its willingness to attempt the long
"hops" which ordinary machines would have had difficulty in negotiating.
It all pointed to but one logical meaning. And Bob Giddings expressed
the opinion of all when he observed:
"Dad, I believe there goes our prospective competitor in the race around
the world! He's making for Panama now!"
Further comment on the situation would have been useless. All hands,
each with disturbing thoughts of his own, went silently into the
bathhouse and resumed his regular garb.
Mr. Choate and his wife begged them so hard to remain over another day at
least that Mr. Giddings assented. That afternoon they went for a long
automobile ride along improved roads, both sides of which were lined with
palms in places, luxuriant tropical grasses in others, and towering
forests covered with creeping vines. They stopped the car a number of
times to visit great orange groves, and the boys had their first taste of
the luscious fruit just as it ripened on the trees.
The following morning, directly after breakfast, they were besieged by
two or three local newspaper reporters. Seeing no use of further
concealing their identity, Mr. Giddings gave out a little information to
the gleeful newspaper men, but was careful to wire in to his own
newspaper much more detail of their doings since leaving Yonkers, even
mailing some photographs which they had taken of the tussle with the big
devil-fish.
In the afternoon our party paid a visit to the aquarium again, extending
it to the Biological Laboratory nearby; and took supper in the beautiful
white casino, which fronts the beach, after they had had a refreshing
plunge in the ocean's waters. Then Paul and Bob took up Mr. and Mrs.
Choate for a short flight in the airplane.
Early the next morning they bade their Miami friends good-bye, and once
more took to the air, this time to complete the last leg of their journey
to Panama. It was found that the Sky-Bird's fuel tanks were apparently
still full enough to carry them to their destination, so it had not been
necessary to store either gasoline or oil in Miami. This was very
gratifying, as it showed quite conclusively that, later on in the race,
the Sky-Bird would be able to make her longest jumps without the peril of
fuel shortage.
At a height of close to two thousand feet they headed across Florida
Strait, with Paul at the throttle. It was a real joy to be looking
through the glass panels of the airplane's cabin once more, to hear the
muffled roar of her engine and propeller, and to realize that probably
before dark they would be across the five hundred miles of blue waters of
the Caribbean and hovering over the world-famous Canal Zone.
It was a fine morning. What clouds could be seen were well above
them--light, billowy, and white, reflecting the sunlight so strongly upon
the white-capped waters below, that the sea seemed much closer to the
voyagers than it really was.
Shortly after eight o'clock they crossed over the long, low-lying island
of Cuba, dipping down close enough to get a fairly good view of the
topography. Then rising to three thousand feet, they swerved a little to
the eastward and made off across the Caribbean Sea itself.
At a few minutes of eleven they sighted the shore of Jamaica, five miles
or so to the eastward of them. Then John took the throttle, both engines
were put into the work, and they began to whizz through the air at a clip
which would have made them gasp for breath had they been in an open
cockpit. As it was, the rush of air as it swept along each side of the
fuselage and off its narrowing tail, became a veritable howl in whose
noise they found conversation very difficult. Tom Meeks, who was leaning
over John's shoulder and watching the instrument-board, triumphantly
announced presently that they were traveling at the rate of 280 miles an
hour!
For thirty minutes or more John Ross kept the Sky-Bird going at this
terrific speed, then he slowed up, and transferred into mono-engine gear,
as there was no use in unnecessarily heating the power-plants. As the
indicator of the speedometer retreated to 150 miles, he turned the
throttle over to Bob Giddings, and said: "Hold her at this rate, Bob;
it's plenty fast enough for the present."
It was a little after one o'clock when Paul and Tom announced land to the
westward. After looking at the object, which surely had the appearance
of land, Mr. Giddings laid down the glasses and consulted the chart.
"That's undoubtedly the outer point of Nicaragua," he said; and upon
taking a look themselves with the binoculars, the others all agreed with
him.
Keeping the low-lying coastline of the continent on their right, and
buffeted considerably by contrary winds which now began to make
themselves manifest, Bob threw the automatic-pilot into gear at a
suggestion from John, as this insured greater safety, and steered with
the rudder only. At once the riding became easier, for the moment a gust
of wind hit the machine on one side, the elevators and ailerons shifted
and counteracted its uneven effect.
After a while Bob turned slightly to the eastward, and about
mid-afternoon they came in sight of Colon, the Atlantic terminal city of
the great Canal. Sweeping over its collection of houses, at an elevation
of about fifteen hundred feet, they passed the big white Gatun locks, and
followed the trail of the Panama Railroad across the great neck of rugged
land which joined North and South America--followed, too, the tortuous,
wonderful channel which American enterprise had cut through.
Thus over Gatun Lake they flew, over the Chagres River; along the course
of Culebra Cut, with its high banks, across the Pedro Miguel and
Miraflores locks on the other side of the isthmus; over Ancon; and
finally below them lay clustered the white-robed buildings of Panama
itself, with the swelling blue reaches of the big Pacific to the
southward and westward, and the bold shore-line of South America to the
southeastward.
Looking down as they circled the narrow tongue of land on which the city
proper nestled, our friends soon made out the big Government
landing-field and airdrome, distinguished by its whitewashed cobblestone
markers at either end. And, now, as the Sky-Bird II swooped downward,
several attendants in white pantaloons could be seen running out of the
building.
When the airplane had settled, these men came up. Two were short, black
fellows, probably San Blas Indians; but the other two were whites, though
well-burned by the tropical suns. The taller of the white men introduced
himself as Henry Masters, superintendent of the landing-field, and was
extremely courteous when he learned the identity of the new-arrivals.
"We have been looking for you gentlemen," said he, "and I'm glad to know
you had such a fine run from Miami. There are a lot of strangers in
town--been arriving for the last three or four days--all to witness the
start of this big race. Most of them seem to be newspaper men from the
States, though there are a number from South America, and even Africa and
Europe. Is this the plane that you fellows representing the _Daily
Independent_ are going to fly in?"
"This is the one, Mr. Masters," responded John.
"It is a beauty," said the superintendent with enthusiasm, as he glanced
over the graceful outlines of the Sky-Bird. "I never saw one built on
these lines until the other day, when what seems to be its twin came in."
"Much like-um lot," remarked one of the natives, and his companion, added
more concisely: "Same like-um lot."
In spite of the fact that our party had been fearing some such
information as this upon reaching Panama, the actual announcement of it
made their hearts jump wildly.
"Where is this machine now?" asked Mr. Giddings as calmly as he could.
"In the hangar," was the reply of Masters. "It is the one that is going
to fly against you."
"Who is in charge of it?" inquired John Ross.
"Five arrived in it. Four of them are to be in the contest, they say.
The other gentleman is Mr. Wrenn, of the New York _Clarion_."
A few minutes later, when they pushed the Sky-Bird into one of the big
double hangars, their suspicions were conclusively clinched. For there
at one side stood the very counterpart of their own airplane, differing
only in the name painted upon its sides and under its big hollow wings.
These letters spelled "_Clarion_"!