OVER LOST VALLEY
The crowd about the airship stared in wonder, not only at the strange
craft, but at Mr. Bell, for they had heard what he had said.
“Right in here,” urged Jerry, leading the aged man to the cabin. “We’ve
been hoping against hope that we’d meet you, so that you could show us
where lost valley is, and help us rescue Deering’s Band.”
“Deering’s Band? Do you know about them? Have you heard of Lost
Valley?” queried Mr. Bell, who seemed dazed.
“We were on our way there when we stopped here for gasolene,” explained
Bob.
“Is it possible?” murmured the former hermit. “I can’t understand it.”
“We’ll have a general explanation soon,” promised Jerry. “Come into the
cabin, everyone, and we’ll have a talk. The crowd will stay outside, I
guess.”
The crowd was too curious, however, to refrain from climbing all about
the available parts of the _Comet_, but they did no harm, and as long
as they kept out of the cabin the boys did not care.
“First,” began Jerry, when they were all seated, “I’ll tell Mr. Bell
how we came to know about Lost Valley,” which the lad proceeded to do,
from the theft of the airship, the recovery of it, the flight of Noddy,
the discovery of the letter the bully let fall, and the finding of the
fragments of the one left by Mr. Bell.
“I understand now,” declared the aged man. “It all fits in with what I
have to tell you. I’ll make it as brief as possible, as I want to start
to the rescue. An airship is the only thing that can be used to save
the unfortunate people, if, indeed, any are left alive. I will begin at
the beginning.
“After you boys took me away from Lost Lake,” he said, looking kindly
at Jerry, Ned and Bob, “and had restored my son to me, I took up my
residence in a small town not far from here. My son became a traveling
salesman, going all over this country, and that is one reason for
my delay in coming back from Cresville, where I went to find you. I
haven’t been able to locate my son, and lost his address, and I guess
he has been too busy to write to me. However, that does not matter
now, as I expect to hear from him soon.
“Well, I lived in peace and comfort in my home in the town not far
from here, and had everything an old man could wish. One day, about
two months ago, as I was sitting on the front stoop, I saw an aged
man pass. His clothes were in tatters, and he seemed the worst sort
of a tramp. The children in the streets were abusing him, more from
thoughtlessness than from any desire to harm him. I made some inquiries
of them, and learned that they considered the old man crazy.
“I felt sorry for him, and, after sending the children away, I took
him into my house, gave him a meal, let him have a bath, and fitted
him with decent clothes. I then saw that he was not crazy, but that
suffering and hardship had made him weak minded. In a few hours, after
rest and nourishment, he was able to tell me his story, and a wonderful
one it was, for it was the tale of the prisoners of Lost Valley.”
“Was that man one of the survivors of Deering’s Band?” asked Professor
Snodgrass.
“He was,” answered Mr. Bell solemnly.
“Mr. Snodgrass is a cousin of Amos Deering,” explained Jerry.
“Is it possible?” ejaculated Mr. Bell. “Then he will be doubly
interested in what I have to tell. This man, whose name was Bertram
Loftus, was one of Deering’s Band. As you already know, Mr. Deering led
a party of prospectors in a search for gold. Some of them were friends
of mine. They got to this part of the country, and heard of a fertile
valley, where gold was said to be plentiful, and where conditions of
life were almost ideal. They started for it, only to fall in with a
band of Indians who offered to lead them to the valley.
“This the savages did, but for motives of their own. Lost Valley, as
it has come to be called since, was practically a lost valley then;
that is, only the Indians knew the location. They led the white
people into it, taking care to make the entrance at night, and in the
morning Deering and his comrades, including women and children, found
themselves prisoners in the valley. There was but one way out, and the
Indians closely guarded the secret of it.
“Well, the party tried to escape when they found that they were
prisoners, and several were killed in the conflict, so Mr. Loftus told
me. The others resigned themselves to their fate and were virtually
made the slaves of their captors, who took from them everything of
value. Years went on and the children grew up, the old men and women
died, until now scarcely a third of the original band is left. Many
tried to escape, but either failed or were killed.
“Finally Loftus, who was a young miner when the Indians captured
him, resolved to try to get away, hoping to be able to bring help.
His escape was carefully planned. Indeed, he did not undertake it
until many years from the time of the captivity. All those years the
poor people had been held prisoners by the Indians. I suppose when
the savages first led them into the valley, it was with the idea
of taking what wealth they had. But the disappearance of the band
attracted attention, and if there had been proof that the Indians were
responsible, government troops would have been sent out, who would
have exterminated the redmen. This risk of government aid made it
necessary for the savages to guard their prisoners closely. Well, as I
said, Loftus planned his escape, and he accomplished it after terrible
hardships.
“When he finally climbed out of the valley he was almost as badly off
as before. He traveled on, but his mind became a blank, and finally he
found himself in my town. There the treatment I gave him restored his
reason, and he told me his story. It was three years after his escape
that I came across him, and all that while the poor people in the
valley had doubtless been waiting in vain for some sign of the help he
promised to bring, while he had been aimlessly wandering about, having
practically forgotten his mission.
“I told him I would aid him, and when he described the valley, and how
difficult it was to approach, I at once thought of an airship as the
only possible means. Then, naturally, I thought of you motor boys, for
I had read of your _Comet_. I told Mr. Loftus that he and I would set
out for Cresville, see you, and get you to help us. But the day before
we were to start, Mr. Loftus died. The hardships he had suffered had
been too much for him. I felt very badly, but I resolved to carry out,
with your help, the work he had undertaken. After seeing that he was
provided with decent burial, I started for the East, intending to seek
out you boys. I sent word to my son where I was going, as he was away
from home. Well, this story is getting pretty long, but it will soon be
finished.”
“It is intensely interesting,” observed Professor Snodgrass, who,
for the first time since he had joined the boys, was not looking for
specimens.
“I came East,” went on the former hermit, “and reached Cresville. There
I met Noddy Nixon, and, on inquiring where you motor boys lived, was
told. He wanted to know my errand, and foolishly I told him. I also
said that the trip to Lost Valley might result in securing a large
amount of gold, for Loftus said that his comrades had found a number of
nuggets.
“That was indiscreet on my part, as I discovered later. Noddy Nixon
untruthfully told me that he was a great friend of you boys, and that
he owned part of the airship. He said you three were away from home
just then, but that he would take me in the airship, and we would start
for Lost Valley, picking you up on the way. I believed him, and, in
company with another lad, whom he called Pender, we went one night to
the airship shed. I thought at the time that it was rather odd to get
it at night, but Noddy made some excuse.
“Well, we were admitted to the airship shed by the watchman, and I took
my place in this cabin where we are now. Afterward I heard something of
a struggle, but I thought little of it. We started off, and all seemed
to go well, Noddy managing the airship quite skillfully. Then came the
accident the next morning, and while he and Pender were discussing it,
I was writing a letter to my son. From something the two boys said I
learned that they had stolen the airship from you, and I resolved to go
away from them at once. I tore up the letter I had written to my son,
telling of the attempt I was to make to rescue the poor people of the
valley, and hastily fled. Noddy tried to stop me, but I would not stay.
I left them, and I have not seen them since.
“Very foolishly, I thought the ship was damaged beyond repair, and I
feared you would blame me. I resolved to return home until I could
see my son, and have him explain matters to you. On my way here I was
robbed, and had no money for carfare. No one would believe the story
I told, I could get no aid, I had lost my son’s address, and I had to
tramp nearly all the way back West. I arrived home a week ago, and was
visiting some friends here when I saw the airship come down.”
“Lucky for us you did,” remarked Jerry. “Now you can take us to Lost
Valley.”
“Are you still determined to go?” asked Mr. Bell.
“You bet!” cried Bob and Ned in a breath.
“I’m glad of it,” spoke the former hermit. “I have not yet been able
to communicate with my son. I hardly knew what to do, as I wanted
to fulfill the mission on which Mr. Loftus started. When I saw your
airship I hoped to be able to induce the owners of it to aid me in my
quest, but I had no idea I would meet you boys. I imagined your craft
was hopelessly smashed.”
“It wasn’t Noddy’s fault that it kept together after the way he handled
it,” observed Jerry. “But we soon had it in shape again, after he and
Jack Pender ran away. We couldn’t imagine what had happened to you, but
it’s all clear now. We’ll start for Lost Valley at once.”
“Hush! Not so loud,” cautioned Mr. Bell. “Few people around here know
the story of Deering’s Band. It happened long ago, you see, and now if
it was to be known that there was gold in the valley there would be a
rush there, men would lose their way and be killed, and no good would
result. Or, if they found the valley, and tried to enter, the Indians
might kill the few remaining members of the band, to do away with
all evidence against themselves. Our best plan will be to go at this
quietly. Slip off, go to the valley, and try to effect a rescue. I can
show you the way, for Mr. Loftus, before he died, left me a rude map of
the locality.”
“That’s a great story,” commented Jim Nestor when Mr. Bell had finished.
“It sure is,” added Sledge Hammer Tod. “I want a chance to handle some
of them Indians.”
“You’ll get it,” promised Jerry. “Boys, we must go for the gasolene at
once. Then we can slip away after dark, and no one will be the wiser.”
They came out of the cabin. The crowd around the airship was greater
than ever, and the boys and other occupants of the craft were
overwhelmed with questions. They answered as well as they could, but
said nothing of the object of their trip. Mr. Bell remained in the
cabin, as he was tired.
In a short time the water, oil and gasolene tanks were refilled, and
then supper was served, with Bob, of course, in the rôle of cook.
It was quite late ere the last of the stragglers had seen enough of
the airship and departed. Then, when all was in readiness, the bag was
filled with gas, and an ascent was made without the use of the planes
or propellers, thus rendering their departure noiseless. When the
_Comet_ was about two thousand feet high, the propellers were started.
“Which way shall we head, Mr. Bell?” asked Jerry, as he took his place
in the pilot house.
“Northeast,” was the former hermit’s reply, as he consulted the map
left by the man who had escaped from Lost Valley. “We are several
hundred miles from the place.”
“We can reach it by to-morrow,” announced Jerry, a grim look on his
face.
All that night the airship rushed on, and in the morning it was still
crossing the rugged mountains. On and on it flew. Now the scene
below would be lost in a dense fog, and again sharp peaks would rear
themselves from the sea of mist. On and on they went, never halting.
It was toward evening that Mr. Bell, who by turns had been looking at
the map and observing the landscape below through a telescope, suddenly
called out:
“Slow down, Jerry!”
“What’s the matter? Are we going to hit something?” inquired the tall
lad, who was in the motor room, while Ned was steering.
“No, there’s no danger of hitting anything,” answered Mr. Bell, “but
just ahead of us I see the tall peak that marks the entrance to Lost
Valley.”
“Lost Valley? Are we there?” cried Ned, as he threw the propellers out
of gear.
“We’re almost there,” replied the former hermit.
A moment later the curtain of mist was brushed aside by the wind, and
the travelers saw below them a long, narrow valley held between sheer
cliffs of great height. It was no wonder that escape from it was almost
impossible. An instant later the airship had swung farther over the
deep chasm, and then the white vapor was once more brushed across the
valley, shutting it from view.
“The fog served us a good turn,” said Jim Nestor. “It will prevent the
Indians from sighting us.”
“We’ll descend now,” decided Jerry, “anchor for the night, and then
decide what is best to do.”