AT LONE PINE
Lone Pine Ranch was situated not so many miles from Circle T, on the
other side of a river whose waters cut an erratic course through the
prairie. A straight line drawn between the houses would have passed
across a wide stretch of yellow alkali plain, dotted with great
sandstone buttes and patched with clumps of huge spiked cacti.
In another direction, however, the prairie was covered with a growth of
buffalo grass and occasional clumps of trees. Over this rich feeding
ground Mr. Follett’s immense herds of longhorns roamed for miles and
miles, even beyond Lone Pine Ranch. Standing isolated on the broad
plain, the appearance of the solid ranch-house was strongly suggestive
of the early pioneer days and Indian warfare. Close by stood a long,
low building formerly used as a stable, and encircling both was a high
stockade.
About the middle of the morning a cavalcade of youthful horsemen
cantered briskly up before the entrance.
“I declare, that little chap is a nuisance,” grumbled Tom Clifton. “The
buckboard is at least a mile behind. Why, he hasn’t a bit of pluck. Jed
offered him the tamest nag in the stable. Crickets! Even then he was
afraid.”
“But you must remember that a city lad can’t be expected to ride
bronchos,” laughed Bob. “He isn’t a seasoned veteran like you, Tom.”
Tom drew himself up with conscious pride.
“I know, Bob; but I had to make a start. Say, Cranny, isn’t he the
freshest little dub? If he weren’t your father’s ward, I’d have taught
him a lesson before this.”
“Ha, ha!” roared Cranny. “How wee Willie in the buckboard would
tremble if he only heard that. Whoa, boy--whoa! Bet the sight of those
longhorns has given him the shivers. See any one in the ranch-house,
Bob?”
“No!”
“Then let’s give a rousing yell. Whoa, you pesky little beast. Ho, ho!
Remember that big pine, fellows? Wonder if any of the charred hills are
left.”
“It was a dandy old tree,” said Tim Lovell, his words somewhat
disconnected by the erratic movements of his lively little broncho.
“Didn’t take our old friend Hap Hazard long to do the business for it,
though,” roared Dick. “Dave, let’s hear you try to make a noise like an
Indian.”
“Give a good old cowboy yell,” said Cranny. “Gee Whitaker, but isn’t
this just like old times! Bother the buckboard! Come on.”
A touch of his spurs, and the broncho shot straight as an arrow through
the stockade entrance. The others swiftly followed.
The unsightly piles of rubbish which once lay about the enclosure had
been cleared away, while weeds and straggling bushes no longer grew
about in luxuriant profusion. Even the charred stump of the ancient
pine was gone.
The pounding of horses’ hoofs, together with the whoops of six
lusty-voiced boys, quickly roused the ranch-house. The heavy oaken
door began to creak on its hinges, and before the bronchos had cantered
up three men appeared on the steps.
“Hooray for the Lone Piners!” yelled Cranny, taking off his sombrero
and waving it vigorously. “Good-morning! Whoop! Here we are again!”
“So I see, and just as lively as ever,” responded the youngest of the
trio, smiling with pleasure. “Boys, we extend a most hearty welcome.
The plains have seemed mighty dull since you left.”
“Very true, Ferd,” put in his father. “Just picket your horses, boys,
and come right in.”
Most of the lads had vaulted from their saddles by the time these
words were spoken, and, in a marvelously short time, pins were driven
deep into the ground and the bronchos tethered. Then followed an
enthusiastic shaking of hands, while questions and answers flew thick
and fast.
There was so much to talk about and so many explanations to give that
no one had made a move to enter the house when a buckboard driven
by Jed Warren passed through the entrance in the stockade wall and
rattled toward them.
“Hello! Who is that?” exclaimed Rob Ogden, in surprise.
Cranny Beaumont explained.
“If I ever cross that blooming prairie again, I’ll know it; and so will
every one else,” grumbled Willie Sloan, hopping out of the buckboard
before it had stopped. “Goodness gracious, Warren, you don’t know how
to drive. Say, Cran, I don’t wonder, now, that they punch the cattle,
if the beasts are all as ugly as those we passed. Mr. Ogden? Glad to
meet you, sir; and you too, sirs. Haven’t they got the longest horns?
Oh, my, I mean the cattle, of course. Anyone injured yet, Mr. Clifton?
Going in the old farmhouse, eh? Some day I’ll pound Cran for getting me
out here.”
The lower floor of the house was divided into large, heavily-raftered
rooms. Even a shaft of sunlight, stealing through one of the half-open
windows and striking upon the opposite wall, failed to remove a
pervading air of gloom.
“Oh, say, Cran, I don’t like this a little bit,” exclaimed Willie,
frankly. “I’m going out on the steps.”
“Afraid of spooks, I suppose!” sniffed Tommy.
“You an’ I’ll meet in the dueling arena some day, Mr. Clifton,”
returned Willie, as he retraced his steps.
Cranny laughed.
“And to think that I told dad they ought to get chummy,” he murmured.
“Yes, boys, you may examine our machines,” said Mr. Ogden, Senior, in
response to a question from Bob Somers. “We have built three; and the
‘Ogden III’ is the one which is entered for the coming meet.”
“If it isn’t the very latest word in aeroplanes I’m much mistaken,”
remarked Ferd. “Know anything about ’em, boys?”
“We hope to acquire a good deal of knowledge before leaving Lone Pine,”
answered Dave, with a laugh.
“And I’ve no doubt you will. Let’s go now, father.”
“Impatient youth must be served, I suppose,” acquiesced the other,
smilingly.
“Where’s wee Willie, I wonder?” exclaimed Cranny, when they had filed
out on the steps.
“Oh, he’d be afraid to go very far away,” said Tommy. “Don’t bother
about him.”
“It isn’t causin’ my brow to become furrowed with wrinkles,” grinned
Cranny.
The crowd, closely following the inventor and his sons, cut diagonally
across to the opposite building, and, upon turning its corner,
discovered Willie pulling aside a flap of the most curious-looking tent
they had ever seen.
“Look out, son--for goodness’ sake don’t touch anything!” cried Mr.
Ogden, hastily.
“Who’s touching anything, I’d like to know?” mumbled Willie,
disconcertedly. “What’s in there?”
“That is the ‘Ogden II,’” answered the inventor, good-naturedly. “Not
nearly so fine as our latest model,” he added. “The aeroplane tent,
boys, is quite a new departure, designed in order that experiments may
be carried on wherever we choose, without the necessity of building
hangars.”
“Dandy!” cried Beaumont. “But isn’t it a whopping big machine, Mr.
Ogden?”
“The spread of the planes is about forty-five feet; you shall see it
presently. Interested in aeroplanes, too?” he asked, turning toward
Willie.
“Oh, a little. Say, does it really fly?”
“Like a bird,” laughed Robert.
“It’ll sure never go up with my hundred and seventy-five pound in it,”
said Jed Warren, decidedly. “Goin’ to git it out? I’ll give ye a hand,
boys.”
By degrees the great aeroplane was drawn from its shelter, while the
boys crowded around, examining every part of its mechanism exposed to
view with the greatest interest.
They saw two horizontal fabric-covered frames forty-five feet in
length by seven wide, set apart a vertical distance of six feet,
joined together by strong uprights. These constituted the two planes.
From the center, at the rear, a long framework extended backward
and was provided at its extremity with two vertical rudders and a
horizontal tail-piece. Behind the two seats for the aviators stood a
seven-cylinder engine, with a pair of propellers operated by chain
gearing ranged on either side. Two small horizontal planes, designed
to aid in balancing the machine, as well as to assist in its elevating,
were situated in front of the main planes.
The aeroplane rested on rubber-tired swivel wheels, two under the
forward plane, the others placed near the end of the tail. The lads
noticed springs, too, as a precaution against damage when alighting.
“Well, what do you think of it, boys?” asked Mr. Ogden.
“It’s a bird,” said Willie. “Say, what are those little shutters for?”
He pointed toward several flaps fastened to the main plane.
“Those we call aillerons, or balancing wings,” explained Rob, “and they
are worked by an automatic arrangement in such a manner that when one
falls another rises, tending to steady the plane laterally.”
“What is the machine made of?” asked Sam.
“The frame is of hard wood; the covering of varnished fabric, while the
various parts are connected by wire stays. You will observe that the
planes are slightly curved; that is to prevent the air from escaping
too freely from beneath, and gives more lifting power.”
“How is the aeroplane operated?” asked Bob.
“Its movements are controlled by levers; this one, for instance,
operates the elevating planes in front; and this moves the main planes,
for the frame is jointed, you see, allowing the surfaces to be warped
to a certain extent. These pedals control the rudder and tail.”
“But what in the world makes it go up?” asked Willie.
“Well, William actually seems to be waking up a bit at last,” grunted
Tommy.
“When the engine is started, the aeroplane is propelled swiftly over
the ground. Naturally, the air is at once forced beneath the planes,
exerting a powerful pressure upon their surfaces. Now, it follows that
unless the aeroplane has sufficient weight to push this air downward or
aside the machine is bound to overcome the force of gravity and rise.”
“Like a kite, I s’pose,” said Willie.
“Yes; and the faster the pair of powerful propellers revolve the
stronger, of course, becomes this air pressure,” added Rob. “By
reducing the speed of the engine, the aeroplane can be made to descend;
and, I tell you, boys, volplaning, with the power shut off, is great
sport.”
“Volplaning! What’s that?” cried Tom.
“It is simply gliding downward through space,” said Dave Brandon. “I’ve
seen some aviators who almost rivaled the ease and grace of birds in
soaring to earth from great heights.”
“I’ll bet Dave knows all about aeroplanes,” said Dick.
“Only a little, and that in theory,” laughed the stout boy.
“To be a bird-man requires a cool head and a steady hand,” said Mr.
Ogden. “One needs to be continually on his guard against treacherous
air currents; although over a broad plain, like the one we have out
here, aeroplaning is comparatively safe.”
“But near the hills and mountains it’s mighty different,” remarked
Ferd. “A stiff breeze meeting these obstructions is deflected off
into all sorts of swirls and waves, making the machine difficult to
manage. One minute we may be traveling against a wind of a certain
velocity, only to find ourselves suddenly plunged into another entirely
different, or one cutting across at an angle.”
“And that is where the quickness of brain and hand come into play,” put
in Mr. Ogden. “The aviator, no matter how careful he may be, is always
liable to be taken by surprise.”
“Well, it must be dandy sport, anyway,” cried Cranny, “an’ I know
you’re just achin’ to take one o’ us up, right now.”
“Don’t let it be Mr. Clifton,” said Willie, with one of his impish
grins. “We may need him and his first-aid-to-the-injured book yet.”
“You’ll be needing somebody’s aid pretty soon, I’m thinking,” murmured
Tom, hotly.
“Well, I suppose we may as well get ready for our flight, Ferd,”
remarked Mr. Ogden. “Want to go up, Jed?”
“Wal, I reckon not. I sure ain’t hankerin’ ter land kerflunk among a
herd o’ longhorns.”
“Then, as you are out of the running, who shall it be? Whoever wishes
to experience the novel sensation of aeroplaning will be given a
chance. But----”
“Hooray--hooray!” yelled Cranny, excitedly, amidst a burst of cheers.
“Shall I climb aboard now, Mr. Ogden?”
“But, as I was about to say, it seems fitting that the first candidate
for the honor should be----”
“Bob Somers!” cried Tommy, with all his force.
And every one but Cranny immediately raised his voice in a loud roar of
assent.