IN THE AIR
“Much obliged, fellows,” laughed Bob, “but I’m willing to step aside if
Cranny is so anxious to get the first crack at it.”
“That’s all right, Bob--I’ll go the second trip,” grinned Cranny,
good-naturedly. “Only don’t hang the machine up in the clouds. It will
be hard to wait for you.”
“You’ve been waiting seventeen long years for this; and ten minutes
more won’t do you a bit o’ harm,” chirped Willie.
“Oh, run along,” snapped Cranny. “Get out of the way, now! Can’t you
see the machine is headed right toward you?”
Mr. Ogden had already clambered to his place in the aviator’s seat. Bob
followed, and eased himself down on a cushion close beside him, with
his feet resting against a wooden bar.
“Mr. Aviator, what’s that big thing by the side of your head--a
torpedo?” asked Willie.
“That is the gasoline tank,” explained Mr. Ogden, “and there is
enough fuel in it to carry the machine for over one hundred miles.
Remember, Bob, the roar of the engine will prevent much conversation in
mid-air; so, in case you should begin to feel nervous, just give me a
nudge--I’ll understand.”
“Don’t bother about me,” laughed Bob, as he looked down and ran his
hand along the leather belt which stretched across his seat. “This will
hold me in.”
“Well, dizziness or light-headedness is very apt to come without
warning during the first ascent. I shall rely upon you to keep
perfectly still.”
“I will, sir,” said Bob. “Oh! Nearly all of the stockade on the far
side has been removed, hasn’t it? I was so interested I didn’t notice
it before.”
Mr. Ogden smiled.
“We did that ourselves, Bob,” he said, “and for obvious reasons. You
needn’t think it was the work of your friend, Hap Hazard.”
“Everything all ready!” called out Don. “Keep a safe distance away,
boys.”
“Now we’re off!” said Mr. Ogden to his passenger.
Bob Somers felt a thrill run through him. Grasping the supports, he
awaited the momentous instant and found himself studying the face of
the aviator, and vaguely wondering at his apparent unconcern.
“Ready, Bob?”
“Ready, sir!”
Mr. Ogden waved his hand, and his assistants gave the propellers a
quick twirl.
A pulsating roar immediately sounded. The great plane, responding
almost instantly to the rapid revolutions, began to glide over the
smooth ground, slowly at first, then gathering speed, until, light as a
bird, it rose into the air.
Bob Somers held his breath as the ground fell behind them. The wide
break in the stockade appeared to open out to the right and left. Just
a few seconds more, and the biplane, almost as gently as a sheet of
paper taken up and wafted away on the breeze, lifted itself gently
upward.
Swifter and swifter it moved; higher, still higher it rose, until broad
reaches of prairie were disclosed to view.
Bob Somers began to experience a series of strange sensations. He
seemed almost suspended without support in space. Below him he saw the
ranch-house and outbuildings of Lone Pine, seemingly flattened against
the prairie floor, while the boys and bronchos had already been left
far to the rear. Everywhere great herds or scattered groups of cattle
were coming into sight.
Bob’s greatest surprise was the strength of the wind that blew against
his face, forcing him at times to shield his eyes.
Mr. Ogden frequently glanced at his passenger, and judged from his
expression that he felt no fear or nervousness.
The biplane gradually turned in a wide circle--the planes tipped
slightly, just enough, it seemed, to add a spice of danger--and they
were headed back in the direction of Lone Pine.
To the aviator the flight was one of the lowest he had ever taken, yet
to Bob the altitude appeared unpleasantly high, causing him more than
once to clutch the stout leather strap which held him securely to his
seat.
Speed such as an aeroplane makes seems to simply annihilate distance.
It seemed only a moment before the flying machine had reached Lone
Pine again and was shooting by with a steady sweep. Bob could see that
the boys had mounted their bronchos and were galloping about, waving
their hands in greeting.
“Guess I’ll be quite satisfied if Mr. Ogden doesn’t ascend any higher,”
thought Bob, with a grim smile. He tried to accustom himself to
studying the swift-moving objects below. Then, as the roar from the
engine at his back lessened, a feeling of relief shot through him. His
head had begun to feel a trifle queer.
Again Mr. Ogden skilfully piloted the machine, sending it still lower.
As it took the curves, the planes, assailed by the breeze which struck
full against them, wobbled and shivered.
The boys were almost straight ahead, widely separated over the plain
and keeping a safe distance from the ranch-house, in order to give the
navigator of the air a chance to land.
“He’s going to volplane now,” mused Bob, presently.
Mr. Ogden had stopped his engine.
A delightful, easy gliding motion downward through space immediately
followed. Bob Somers, lying back in his seat, saw, with a thrill of
pleasure, the buildings and stockade apparently swinging swiftly toward
them.
Another series of rapid throbs came from the motor; the “Ogden II”
slackened its pace until it seemed to be almost hovering over the
ground. A few moments later, the machine settled down, the springs and
rubber-tired wheels so absorbing the shock of impact that Bob Somers
felt only a gentle bump.
When he stepped to the ground the odd sensation of light-headedness
seemed only to increase; there was a vague impression as of objects
being still in motion. His footing seemed insecure. Bob, however, with
a shrug of his shoulders, quickly pulled himself together.
“Glorious--simply immense, fellows!” he cried, enthusiastically, as,
with loud whoops, the broncho riders came cantering toward them.
“Greatest thing out.”
“It’s surely the greatest thing to be in,” laughed Cranny. “My turn
next.”
“Come off!” protested Dick.
“Not off the aeroplane.” Cranny grinned. “Here comes wee Willie.”
“Don’t mention it,” growled Tom.
“You’re lookin’ kinder pale, Somers,” commented Mr. Beaumont’s ward,
ambling up. “Feel weak in the legs, I’ll bet. No, I’m not going to take
a fly, Cran Beaumont.”
“Really enjoyed it, Bob?” asked Mr. Ogden.
“I should say so,” answered Bob. “The way the machine responds to every
movement of the driver is simply wonderful.”
“Taffy! Pile it on,” said Willie.
“May I go up now, Mr. Ogden?” asked Cranny, his eyes flashing with
anticipation.
“Oh, yes. I have time to take you all on short spins.”
“Rah, rah!” yelled Cranny. “Watch now--see if you ever met a fellow
before who could tether his bronc’ so fast.”
That morning, all but Willie Sloan took their first ride in an
aeroplane. Tom’s turn came last; it was also the lowest and shortest
flight which Mr. Ogden had made. The boys suspected the reason for this
when the tall lad was brought to earth once more.
“I fear something is the matter with our Clifton,” remarked Willie,
staring hard toward him. “He seems to wobble.”
“I’ll make you wobble!” returned Tom, threateningly.
“Gracious! Let me prescribe the rest cure for an hour. Don’t go up
again, if you come down like that.”
“You’re afraid to try it yourself,” snapped Tom, highly exasperated.
“Oh, dear me, our Mr. Clifton’s nerves are so unstrung,” retorted
Willie.
“Here, boys, lend me a hand,” interrupted Mr. Ogden, with a smile. “We
must put the biplane under cover again.”
About two o’clock they all gathered in the great square dining-room of
the ranch-house. Dinner was cooked and served by a young Mexican who
wore the picturesque costume of his country.
The boys found the highly-spiced and tasty dishes which he had prepared
much to their liking, and lingered a long time at the table.
“I suppose you intend to stay in this part of the country for several
weeks, boys?” remarked Mr. Ogden, at length.
“Yes, sir,” answered Bob.
“Have you any especial work that you intend to do?”
“That one has,” said Willie, pointing his finger at Cranny. “You
wouldn’t think it, to look at him, but he is going to be a rival of
Major Warfield Carroll.”
“Ah, indeed!”
“Yes; an’ I’m here to see that he gets to work. Mr. Beaumont thought he
needed to be roused up a bit, and sent him along with the Ramblers and
me. My, weren’t you gettin’ awful stale, though, Cran?”
“Oh, don’t make me yawn,” snapped Cranny. “What were you going to say,
Mr. Ogden?”
“We--that is my sons and I--were wondering if some of you lads could do
us a great favor?”
“In what way?”
“Well, the work out here is about completed, and our presence is
really required at Border City. You see, there are still some details
to be arranged in connection with the coming meet. Then, again, Major
Carroll, who is at work on a new engine, needs help.”
Ferd spoke up. “It would take us about two weeks,” he said, “and, of
course, during that time our machines and stuff out here would have to
be guarded.”
“Well, we’re just the boys to do it,” began Cranny.
“The rest may be; but not you,” interrupted Willie. “The idea, Cran!
I’ll write your father this very night.”
“Little busybody,” sniffed Tom.
“Mr. Clifton will think so when I get real busy with him,” said Willie,
with one of his famous grins.
“You may count upon me, Mr. Ogden,” said Bob.
And all but little Willie Sloan echoed his sentiments.
“Why, it will be just dandy to bunk in this old place for a week or
two,” cried Dick. “When shall you want us, Mr. Ogden?”
“In a very few days. We certainly are heartily obliged to you.”
“Greatly in your debt, I’m sure,” said Rob.
“And we’ll try to repay it,” added Ferd.
As they waited outside for Jed Warren to appear, Willie Sloan began to
express his views on the subject.
“The idea of you fellows taking up a thing like that!” he roared,
in great disgust. “Isn’t Circle T bad enough? And stay in this old
farmhouse for a week?--No, sir; not for me.”
“He calls it a farmhouse!” scoffed Tom.
“And, besides, Cran Beaumont, you’ve got to get to work--have to. Do
you hear me warble?”
“See here, Willie”--Cranny spoke in soothing tones--“it’ll be no end o’
fun. I’ll teach you how to ride a bronc’.”
“Ride a bronc’?” exclaimed Willie.
“Sure! You’ll find it the greatest sport in the world.”
“But I don’t want to--I won’t, either. Goodness, is that fat boy
asleep?”
It looked suspiciously like it.
Dave was seated on the top step, with his back resting comfortably
against the door.
From the ancient stable came the steady and monotonous buzzing of a
gasoline motor, while the stamping of bronchos tethered in the rear of
the ranch-house could now and then be heard.
“Wake up, Dave!” called out Bob.
“I feel like giving him a good shake.” Willie looked almost as though
he intended to carry out such a proceeding. “He’s as bad as Cran--needs
enough ginger to stock a grocery. You’re a bunch of softies--every one
o’ you. I won’t stay out here.”
“You’ll have to,” said Cranny.
“I will, hey? Then I’ll become a kid-puncher, beginning with Mr.
Clifton.”
“Here comes Jed, to take the little chap back,” interrupted Tom.
“Hello, Jed, old boy!”
The cowboy galloped up.
“Hello, youngsters! Me an’ Pete saw that there machine a-scootin’
around in the air. Any o’ you lads have the nerve to try it?”
“Did we?--Well, I should rather say so--all but this little chap here,”
exclaimed Tom, proudly, pointing to Willie.
“An’ I kin say they were sartingly a bunch o’ pale ones when they kim
down,” said Willie.
“I don’t blame ’em,” grinned Jed. “A little old pony for me, every
time. Ready, Bob?”
“Yes, Jed, old boy.”
While the horses were being hitched to the buckboard the crowd raced
to the shop to say good-bye. They found the inventor and his two sons
busily engaged in testing a motor for the “Ogden III.”
This biplane, Mr. Ogden explained, was a great advance on the others.
Conveniently placed by the aviator’s seat was a stand to hold charts,
compass and other instruments. An acetylene lamp also attracted Bob
Somers’ attention.
“We have been thinking of making some flights at night,” explained the
inventor, in answer to his inquiring look.
“I suppose you lads suffered great annoyance in not being able to
talk during the flights,” remarked Rob, with a smile. “This little
arrangement allows the flyers to converse to some extent with one
another.”
“A speakin’ tube?” exclaimed Cranny.
“Or telephone--if you choose to call it so. The science of aviation
is constantly advancing. Later on, a means of communication between
aeroplanes in flight will probably be devised. What’s that, Bob--you
want to take lessons in flying?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Bob.
“Just what I expected, Robert,” laughed Mr. Ogden, Senior, with a
quizzical look at his son.
“I’m in on that scheme, too,” said Cranny, eagerly.
“You didn’t come out here to do the eagle act, Cran Beaumont. Your dad
won’t stand for it,” put in Willie.
“Listen to the little tot!” laughed Cranny. “How about it, Mr. Ogden?”
“We’ll have to consider the question,” laughed the inventor,
evasively. “Of course when you lads come back there will be plenty
of opportunities to fly. If any show signs of aptitude as bird-men,
why----”
“We will be glad to give a course of lessons to pay for your services
in helping us out,” broke in Ferd, with a smile.
“Oh, my, what a lot o’ birdies I shall see,” grinned Willie. “Say, this
is a machine shop, eh?”
“Did you think it was a dining-room?” asked Tom, with great sarcasm.
“Looks as if every kind o’ tool that was ever invented is here. What’s
that thing at the other end, mister?”
“All that remains of the ‘Ogden I,’ son,” answered the aviator. “It has
been dismantled and some of the parts used for other machines.”
The boys found the big workshop a very interesting place. A soft mellow
light from the afternoon sun streamed in through several open windows,
lighting in its course a long table upon which were placed various
pieces of machinery and a great collection of tools. A large and a
small glider rested against one wall.
For once, Willie Sloan began to exhibit some signs of interest. He
wandered about, poking his head into every corner of the shop, until
Jed Warren suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Time to git back, fellers!” he called. “Comin’?”
“I reckon as how we be, pard,” answered Willie.
As Bob shook the inventor’s hand, he said: “The crowd will be back in a
few days; and then I hope to begin those lessons.”
Willie Sloan soon climbed into the buckboard, the boys mounted their
bronchos, and, with a final shout and waving of hands to the three
aeroplanists, the crowd was off.
The buckboard, driven at a rattling pace by Jed Warren, sent little
eddies of dust rolling behind it. In a short time the ranch-house had
disappeared behind a patch of timber.
They were now in the midst of the herds of cattle.
Willie Sloan firmly clutched the rail at his side. Many misgivings
once more rose within him, as he studied their powerful bodies and
tremendous horns. Occasionally a bellowing came over the air. Several
times he saw great steers pawing the ground and eying the approaching
vehicle with an air of defiance.
“Ginger! Wouldn’t it be awful if some o’ those ugly brutes should
happen to bump into us,” he thought. “Humph! Cran and the others are
getting away ahead.”
The sunlight was now enveloping the prairie in a golden glow, while
the cattle sent long purplish shadows over the ground.
“Have they lost you, Jed?” spoke up Willie, suddenly.
Crack! The whip snapped and the buckboard increased its speed, until
Willie fairly held his breath.
“Hold on, Warren--stop!” he commanded, fiercely.
A few minutes later the driver’s grinning face was turned toward him.
Willie doubled his little fist, and shook it within an inch of the
cow-puncher’s nose.
“Don’t do that again,” he cried, furiously. “You wouldn’t know how to
drive a cow to market.”
“All right, sonny,” answered Jed, with apparent meekness.
When the river was reached Jed followed its willow-covered banks for
some distance, and, at length, forded the stream. Cranny, Tim Lovell
and the Ramblers were now but tiny specks in the distance. Cattle still
surrounded them on all sides, and it was a great relief to William
Sloan when Circle T Ranch finally came into view.
By the time they arrived, the boys were lolling about the porch in
careless ease. Valdez, the dark-skinned Mexican, came quickly forward
and took charge of the buckboard and horses, while Willie climbed
wearily to the ground.
“Where’s your hat, sonny?” asked Jed, who noticed that his hair was
blowing about in the breeze.
“About five miles back on the prairie, I guess.”
The boys on the porch began to roar.
“What became of it?” demanded Cranny.
“That’s a nice question to ask, when I just told you. S’pose you mean
how did it happen?”
“Oh, we know you couldn’t help it,” returned the other.
“That old thing on the driver’s seat made those two poor nags nearly
break their necks; and the breeze was fierce. I had my hat on the seat.
It must have blown off when I wasn’t looking.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Cranny. “That clears you, all right.” He winked at
Bob. “Honestly, now, didn’t we have a bully time?”
“Not enough to let you bully me into ever going back,” growled Willie,
shaking a cloud of dust from his shoulders.
“Listen to the Insurrecto!” snickered Tom.
“There’ll be a revolution around here soon, Mr. Clifton, that’s sure.”
Willie stepped up on the porch and flung himself down on a stool.
“Say, Cran, that workshop wasn’t half bad, though,” he added,
brightening up.
“Best I ever saw,” answered the big lad, enthusiastically.
“I guess it is the only one you ever saw.”
At the table, Bob Somers explained to Mr. Follett their intention of
making a stay at Lone Pine.
“Well, Bob, I should be sorry to lose you,” said the ranchman. “Still,
if it will be of benefit to the Ogdens, I approve of your plan.”
“Cran can’t go,” said Willie.
“Perhaps you might allow him a few days of grace,” suggested Mr.
Follett, with a smile.
For several days the boys enjoyed themselves in various ways; that is,
all but Willie Sloan. He generally moped about on the porch, gazing
listlessly into space. Tim Lovell had made a special effort to be
friendly, only to find himself rebuffed.
“I won’t go back to that old farmhouse,” declared Willie, one evening,
to Cranny.
The big lad pleaded and coaxed.
“Think of the fun you’ll have in that machine shop,” he remarked.
“So I might--if those air-ship duffers weren’t there,” said Willie,
calmly. “Didn’t I see ’em with a don’t-touch look in their eyes all
the time? Say, Cran, why couldn’t a fellow fly to the moon in an
air-ship--a balloon, I mean?”
“Ask Major Carroll, when you make his acquaintance.”
“My! Your ignorance is something awful.”
“We’re goin’ to Lone Pine to-morrow,” snapped Cranny, out of patience.
“Not I; I haven’t any hat.”
“If you never have another hat in your life,--it’s Lone Pine for you
to-morrow!” declared Cranny.