IN DIREST PERIL.
"Oh, if we could only work round and land on the point," exclaimed Peggy.
"There's a fine, smooth field there; in fact, it's all bare ground,
without rocks or trees."
"Yes, and Jeff Stokes is wireless operator there, too," rejoined her
brother. "Hullo," he exclaimed an instant later, "the wind is shifting a
bit. I almost got her head round that time."
"Then there is a chance, Roy!"
"Yes, sis, but don't count too much on it."
Like a skillful jockey handling a restive horse, Roy worked the Golden
Butterfly about on the shifting air currents. If once he could turn her
nose toward the land he was sure that he would be able to make the ground
by driving the aeroplane down on a slanting angle.
Once or twice, while he strove with hand and brain against the elements,
he caught his breath with a gasping intake--so near had they come to
overturning. But, thanks to the wind eddies of the point, it was
possible, after a deal of breathless maneuvering, to get the aeroplane
headed for the land.
The instant he found himself in this position Roy threw on all his power
and then, "bucking" the wind, like a ship beating up to windward, he
rushed down through the night upon the point. As he did so the rays of
the slowly revolving light flashed brightly upon the laboring aeroplane.
In the radiance it looked like some struggling night bird beating its way
against the storm and darkness.
As Peggy had said, the point was clear of rocks or brush, and a landing
was made without much difficulty once the aeroplane had been turned. Just
as a ship can face the waves with comparative security, so an aeroplane,
being driven into the teeth of a gale, is secure so long as she does not
"broach to"; in other words, get sidewise to the blast. It was touch and
go with the Golden Butterfly for several minutes, though, during that
struggle with the elements, and two more thankful young hearts rarely
beat than Peggy's and Roy's as they stepped from the machine and made it
fast by pointed braces provided for the purpose.
Hardly had she touched the ground before a door in the lower part of the
lighthouse opened and the form of Jeff Stokes emerged. He told them that
the struggle with the wind had been seen by the light-keeper and himself,
and he was warm in his congratulations of the daring young aviators. The
light-keeper, a grizzled man named Zeb. Beasley, followed close on Jeff's
heels.
"Come right into the house and hev some supper," he said warmly. "It's
only rough fare, but you're welcome. My misses will be glad to have you."
Truth to tell, both Peggy and her brother were almost famished and worn
out after the tension of the struggle with the wind. This being so, they
were glad enough to accept the light-keeper's kind invitation.
Peggy's first action, however, was to hasten to the 'phone in the
lighthouse and call up their aunt. Miss Prescott, who had been badly
worried over their prolonged absence, was much relieved to learn that
they were safe and sound.
Mrs. Beasley, a motherly woman of middle age, took charge of Peggy while
Jeff Stokes entertained Roy. Jeff said that he liked the life at the
light, lonesome as it grew sometimes. When he felt blue he used to
relieve the monotony by talking, by means of invisible waves, with other
operators. He wiled many a weary hour away in this manner, he said.
Suddenly, in the midst of their talk, he excused himself and hastened to
the small room in which his instruments were. The place, filled with
shiny, mysterious apparatus and networked above with wires, was as neat
as a pin.
"Some one's calling," Jeff explained.
His quick ear had caught the faint "tick-tick" hardly audible to the
untrained ears, which told him that a message was vibrating through the
night. Slipping over his head a metallic apparatus, not unlike the
telephone receivers worn by "Central," Jeff began listening intently.
Drawing a pad toward him, he was soon writing down the message as it was
ticked off. Presently it was completed, by which time Peggy was one of
his audience.
"'Steamer Valiant, Captain Briggs, of London, wishes to be reported as
passing Rocky Point, bound for Boston,'" read off Jeff. "Hum--nothing
very exciting there."
"What are you going to do now?" asked Peggy, as Jeff, the message in his
hand, turned to another table, one on which were arranged some ordinary
telegraph instruments.
"Send it by ordinary wire telegraphy into the head office in New York,"
he said.
"Why not send it by wireless?" asked Peggy.
"Too much chance of delay and getting cross currents," explained Jeff.
"We found that for quick transmission of ordinary business, that the wire
is best, unless the atmospheric conditions are just right."
Suddenly, one of the telegraph instruments began to crackle and click
loudly.
"Phew!" said Jeff, listening intently; "here's something that will
interest you folks."
"What is it?" asked Peggy, eagerly.
"It's--wait a minute till I catch the last----" Jeff listened a few
seconds more and then faced about. "Why, that message was a despatch from
the Sandy Bay correspondent of the New York Planet to his paper," he
said. "It was an article telling that Fanning Harding has completed a
successful aeroplane which made a wonderful flight to-night in a stiff
wind. He says that Harding has formed a company and means to manufacture
similar craft. Then there was a lot of taffy about what a fine young
fellow Harding is, and how bright, and so on. Wonder if it's true?"
"I can vouch for that," said Peggy. "I've seen his factory. It's out by
Gid Gibbons's shop."
"So that's where Gid is getting all his money," exclaimed Jeff. "I saw
him spending it like water in Sandy Bay the other day. Hester's got a lot
of new dresses and hats, too."
Peggy's heart beat a little faster. This sounded like a corroboration of
her suspicions. Where could such a man as Gid Gibbons be getting such
large amounts of money as he seemed to have recently? But before she
could ask any more questions Mrs. Beasley announced supper. Speculation
was rife in Peggy's mind as they sat down to the broiled sea bass,
freshly caught, home-grown potatoes and string beans and other good
things which the light-keeper had designated as "rough fare." Peggy was
fain to admit afterward, and so was Roy, that never had she enjoyed
anything so much as that meal in the old lighthouse with the wind roaring
about it and the rough, kindly faces of their entertainers smiling on
them.
Good-natured Mrs. Beasley soon after arranged sleeping accommodations for
her young guests, and that night the young aviators slumbered peacefully,
while above them the great revolving light swept steadily in slow
circles, warning vessels passing up and down the Sound of the dangerous
proximity of Rocky Point.
The next day dawned bright and fair. The sea lay like a sheet of blue
glass, with scarcely a ripple to mar its polished surface. The last trace
of the wind had died down.
"We'll have no more breeze till sundown," announced Mr. Beasley at
breakfast. Like most men of his profession, he was an earnest and
accurate student of the weather. After breakfast Jeff Stokes, who had
been on duty all night, was relieved by his assistant, a young man who
boarded in the village and rode over to his duty on a motor-cycle.
"Well," said Roy, after they had thanked their good-hearted entertainers
warmly, "I guess it's time for us to be getting home."
But Peggy had noted a wistful look in Jeff Stokes's eyes as he stood by
the side of the aeroplane, which an examination had already shown to be
none the worse for its buffeting of the night before.
"Would you like to try a little flight, Jeff?" she asked.
"Would I?" echoed the youth; "will a duck swim?"
"Yes, I believe so," laughed Roy, "and so can a certain young wireless
operator fly."
"Gee, Roy, you mean it?"
"Of course, if you're not scared."
There was a mischievous twinkle in Roy's eye as he bent over the engine.
"How would you like a ride, Mr. Beasley?" asked Peggy presently, while
Roy adjusted the engine.
The weather-beaten old fellow fairly threw up his hands.
"Land of Goshen, miss!" he exclaimed, "I've lived on the earth and sea,
man and boy, for fifty years, and I ain't agoin' ter tempt Providence by
embarking in a sky clipper at this late day."
"You bet you ain't," put in Mrs. Beasley with deep conviction. "Why, if
you ever done such a thing we'd be like to be read out of church--not but
what it's all right for young folks if they know how to manage the
contraptions."
"Now, then, Jeff, if you are ready will you get in?" said Roy presently.
The slender young wireless operator hopped into the chassis with
alacrity. But his face was a bit pallid from excitement at the idea of
the new method of locomotion he was about to test.
Last good-byes were said, and the motor began to whirr like a gigantic
locust. There was a grinding and buzzing as the gears meshed and the
aeroplane began to scud off.
"Fer all ther world like some big, pesky grasshopper," declared Mrs.
Beasley, as it scudded off across the smooth turf.
But if the good lady was astonished, then it was nothing to her amazement
when a moment later the Butterfly soared up into the air, lifting as
gently on the windless atmosphere as a bit of drifting gossamer.
Up and up it swept in graceful hawk-like circles.
"Dear Suz!" shrieked Mrs. Beasley presently, "if they ain't agoin' out
ter sea!"
"Just what they air," shouted her husband, shading his eyes with a
wrinkled hand. "I never thought ter have lived ter have seen such a
thing!"
Roy had been unable to resist the temptation to take a little spin out
above the glassy, scarcely heaving water. The gulls, soaring above it,
viewed with amazement the invasion of their realm by this buzzing, angry
looking monster. They flew about it shrieking.
"Goodness, I hope they don't attack us," exclaimed Peggy.
"Not likely," was Roy's response. "They think we are some kind of big
bird, I guess, and want to have a game with us."
As they swept on, all agreed that never had they felt such a feeling of
exhilaration as came to them as they swooped and swung above the
glistening blue water, for all the world like some huge bird. Once or
twice motor boats went by beneath them, and the occupants looked up at
first in wonderment and then in enthusiasm at the sight the Golden
Butterfly and her three young occupants presented.
But all at once the steady song of the engine began to grow different. It
"skipped" and sputtered and coughed. Blue smoke rolled from the exhausts.
The aeroplane began to waver and sag.
Jeff Stokes turned rather pale.
"What is the matter?" he gasped, steadying his voice as much as he could
as the aeroplane began to drop steadily down toward the water beneath
them.
"The gasolene's given out," rejoined Roy in a voice which was full of
anxiety.
"Oh, Roy, what shall we do?"
Peggy gasped as the aeroplane, its propeller beating the air more and
more feebly, began to descend with greater rapidity.
"We'll have to volplane to some land if we can, and if we can't we must
take our chances for it in the water," was Roy's grim reply.