“Well, we start today,” remarked Tom, as he arose one morning. “In two weeks, at most, we ought to be hovering over the valley, Abe.”
“I hope so? Tom. You’ve got the map put away safely, have you?”
“Sure thing. Are you all ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’ll start for the depot right after breakfast.” The adventurers had arranged to take a local train from Shopton, and get on a fast express at one of the more important stations.
Good-byes were said, Mr. Swift, Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Baggert and Eradicate waving their adieus from the porch as Tom and the others started for the depot. Miss Mary Nestor had bidden our hero farewell the previous night—it being a sort of second good-bye, for Tom was a frequent caller at her house, and, if the truth must be told he rather disliked to leave the young lady.
Tom found a few of his friends at the station, who had gathered there to give him and Ned BON-VOYAGE.
“Bring us back some nuggets, Tom,” pleaded Arthur Norton.
“Bring me a musk-ox if you can shoot one,” suggested one.
“A live bear or a trained Eskimo for mine,” exclaimed another.
Tom laughingly promised to do the best he could.
“I’ll send you some gold nuggets by wireless,” said Ned Newton.
It was almost time for the train to arrive. In the crowd on the platform Tom noticed Pete Bailey.
“He must feel lost without Andy,” observed the young inventor to Ned.
“Yes, I wonder what he’s hanging around here for?”
They learned a moment later, for they saw Pete going into the telegraph office.
“Must be something important for him to wire about,” observed Ned.
Tom did not answer. The window of the office was slightly open, though the day was cool, and he was listening to the clicks of the telegraph instrument, as the operator sent Pete’s message. Tom was familiar with the Morse code. What was his surprise to hear the message being sent to Andy Foger at a certain hotel in Chicago. And the message read:
“Tom Swift’s party leaving today.”
“What in the world does that mean?” thought Tom, but he did not tell Ned what he had picked up as it went over the wire. “Why should Andy want to be informed when we leave? That’s why Pete was hanging around here! He had been instructed to let Andy know when we left for Seattle. There’s something queer back of all this.”
Tom was still puzzling over the matter when their train roiled in and he and the others got aboard.
“Well, we’re off!” cried Ned.
“Yes; we’re off,” admitted Tom, and, to himself he added: “No telling what will happen before we get there, though.”
The trip to Chicago was without incident, and, on arrival in the Windy City, Tom was on the lookout for Andy or his father, but he did not see them. He made private inquiries at the hotel mentioned in Pete’s telegram, but learned that the Fogers had gone on.
“Perhaps I’m worrying too much,” thought Tom. But an event that occurred a few nights later, when they were speeding across the continent showed him that there was need of great precaution.
On leaving Chicago, Tom had noticed, among the other passengers traveling in the same coach as themselves, a man who seemed to be closely observing each member of the party of gold-hunters. He was a man with a black mustache, a mustache so black, in fact, that Tom at once concluded that it had been dyed. This, in itself, was not much, but there was a certain air about the man—a “sporty” air—which made Tom suspicious.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that man was a gambler, Ned,” he said to his chum, one afternoon, as they were speeding along. The man in question was several seats away from Tom.
“He does look like one,” agreed Ned.
“I needn’t advise you not to fall in with any of his invitations to play cards, I suppose,” went on Tom, after a pause.
“No, indeed, it’s something I don’t do,” answered Ned, with a laugh. “But it might be a good thing to speak to Abe Abercrombie about him. If that man’s a sharper perhaps Abe knows him, or has seen him, for Abe has traveled around in the West considerable.”
“We’ll ask him,” agreed Tom, but the miner, when his attention was called to the man, said he had never seen him before.
“He does look like a confidence man,” agreed Abe, “but as long as he doesn’t approach us we can’t do anything, and don’t need to worry.”
There was little need to call the attention of either Mr. Damon or Mr. Parker to the man, for Mr. Damon was busy watching the scenery, as this trip was a new one to him, and he was continually blessing something he saw or thought of. As for Mr. Parker, he was puzzling over some new theories he had in mind, and he said little to the others.
On the night of the same day on which Tom had called special attention to the man with the black mustache, our hero went to his berth rather late. He had sent some telegrams to his father and one to Miss Nestor, and, when he turned in he saw the “gambler,” as he had come to call him, going into the smoking compartment of the coach. Though Tom thought of the man as a gambler, there was no evidence, as yet, that he was one, and he had made no effort to approach any of our friends, though he had observed them closely.
How long Tom had been asleep he did not know, but he was suddenly awakened by feeling his pillow move. At first he thought it was caused by the swaying of the train, and he was about to go to sleep again, when there came a movement that he knew could not have been caused by any unevenness of the roadbed.
Then, like a flash there came to Tom’s mind the thought that under his pillow, in a little leather case he had made for it, was the map, showing the location of the valley of gold.
He sat up suddenly, and made a lunge for the pillow. He felt a hand being hurriedly withdrawn. Tom made a grab for it, but the fingers slipped from his grasp.
“Here! Who are you!” cried Tom, endeavoring to peer through the darkness.
“It’s all right—mistake,” murmured a voice.
Tom leaned suddenly forward and parted the curtains of his berth. There was a dim light burning in the aisle of the car. By the gleam of it the young inventor caught sight of a man hurrying away, and he felt sure the fellow who had put his hand under his pillow was the man with the black mustache. He confirmed this suspicion a moment later, for the man half turned, as if to look back, and the youth saw the mustache.
“He—he was after my map!” thought Tom, with a gasp.
He sat bolt upright. What should he do? To raise an alarm now, he felt, would only bring a denial from the man if he accused him. There might also be a scene, and the man might get very indignant. Then, too, Tom and his friends did not want their object made known, as it would be in the event of Tom raising an outcry and stating what was under his pillow.
He felt for the map case, opened it and saw, in the gleam of the light, that it was safe.
“He didn’t get it anyhow,” murmured our hero. “I guess I won’t say anything until morning, though he did come like a thief in the night to see if he could steal it.”
Tom glanced to where his coat and other clothing hung in the little berth-hammock, and a hasty search showed that his money and ticket were safe.
“It was the map he was after all right,” mused Tom. “I’ll have a talk with Mr. Damon in the morning about what’s best to do. That’s why the fellow has been keeping such a close watch on us. He wanted to see who had the map.”
Then another thought came to Tom.
“If it was the map he was after,” he whispered to himself, “he must know what it’s about Therefore the Fogers must have told him. I’ll wager Andy or his father put this man up to steal the map. Andy’s afraid he hasn’t got a copy of the right one. This is getting more and more mysterious! We must be on our guard all the while. Well, I’ll see what I’ll do in the morning.”
But in the morning the man with the black mustache was not aboard the train, and on inquiring of the conductor, Tom
learned that the mysterious stranger had gotten off at a way station shortly after midnight.
CHAPTER IX
A VANDAL’S ACT
“Bless my penknife!” exclaimed Mr. Daman, the next morning, when he had been told of Tom’s experience in the night, “things are coming to a pretty pass when our enemies adopt such tactics as this! What can we do, Tom? Hadn’t you better let one of us carry the map?”
“Oh, I guess not,” answered the young inventor. “They have had one try at me, and found that I wasn’t napping. I don’t believe they’ll try again. No, I’ll carry the map.”
Tom concealed it in an old wallet, as he thought it was less likely to attract attention there than in the new case he formerly used. Still he did not relax his vigilance, and his sleep for the next few nights was uneasy, as he awakened several times, thinking he felt a hand under his pillow.
At length Ned suggested that one of them sit up part of the night, and keep an eye on Tom’s berth. This was agreed to, and they divided the hours of darkness into watches, each one taking a turn at guarding the precious map. But they might have spared themselves the trouble, for no further attempt was made to get it.
“I’d just like to know what Andy Foger’s plans are?” said Tom one afternoon, as they were within a few miles of Seattle. “He certainly must have made up his mind quickly, after he saw the map, about going in search of the gold.”
“Maybe his father proposed it,” suggested Ned. “I heard, in our bank, that Mr. Foger has lost considerable money lately, and he may need more.”
“I shouldn’t wonder. Well, if they are going to Sitka, Alaska, to assemble their ship, I think they’ll have trouble, for supplies are harder to get there than in Seattle. But we’ll soon be on our way ourselves, if nothing happens. I hope all the parts of the Red Cloud arrive safely.”
They did, as Tom learned a few hours later, when they had taken up their quarters in a Seattle hotel, and he had made inquiries at the railroad office. In the freight depot were all the boxes and crates containing the parts of the big airship, and by comparison with a list he had made, the young inventor found that not a single part was missing.
“We’ll soon have her together again,” he said to his friends, “and then we’ll start for Alaska.”
“Where are you going to assemble the airship?” asked Mr. Damon.
“I’ve got to hire some sort of a big shed,” explained Tom. “I heard of one I think I can get. It’s out at the fair grounds, and was used some time ago when they had a balloon ascension here. It will be just what I need.”
“How long before we can start for the gold valley?” asked the old miner anxiously.
“Oh, in about a week,” answered the lad, “that is, if everything goes well.”
Tom lost no time in getting to work. He had the different parts of his airship carted to the big shed which he hired. This building was on one edge of the fair grounds, and there was a large, level space which was admirably adapted for trying the big craft, when once more it was put together.
The gold-seekers worked hard, and to such good purpose that in three days most of the ship was together once more, and the Red Cloud looked like herself again. Tom hired a couple of machinists to aid him in assembling the motor, and some of the gas appliances and other apparatus.
“Ha! Bless my rubber shoes!” cried Mr. Damon in delight, as he looked at the big craft “This is like old times, Tom!”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed our hero.
“Are you going to give it a preliminary tryout?” asked Ned.
“Oh, yes, I think we can do that tomorrow,” replied Tom. “I want to know that everything is in good working shape before I trust the ship on the trip to the frozen north. There are several problems I want to work out, too, for I think I will need a different kind of gas up where the temperature is so low.”
“It certainly is cold up here,” agreed Ned, for they were now much farther north than when they were in Shopton, and, besides, winter was coming on. It was not the best time of the year to journey into Alaska, but they had no choice. To delay, especially now, might mean that their enemies would get ahead of them.
“We’ll be warm in the airship, though; won’t we?” asked Abe.
“Oh, yes,” answered Tom. “We’ll be warm, and have plenty to eat. Which reminds me that I must begin to see about our stock of provisions and other supplies, for we’ll soon be on our way.”
Work on the airship was hastened to such good advantage the next two days that it was in shape for a trial flight, and, one afternoon, the Red Cloud was wheeled from the shed out into big field, the gas was generated, and the motor started.
There was a little hitch, due to the fact that some of the machine adjustments were wrong, but Tom soon had that remedied and then, with the big propellers whirling around, the airship was sent scudding across the field.
Another moment and it rose like a great eagle, and sailed through the air, while a small crowd that had daily gathered in the hope of seeing a flight, sent up a cheer.
“Does it work all right?” asked Ned anxiously, as he stood in the pilothouse beside his chum.
“As good as it did in Shopton,” answered the young inventor, proudly.
“Bless my pocketbook! but that’s lucky,” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “Then we can soon start, eh?”
“As soon as we are stocked up,” replied the lad.
Tom put the airship through a number of “stunts” to test her stability and the rudder control, much to the delight of the gathering throng. Everything was found to work well, and after ascending to a considerable height, to the no small alarm of the old miner, Tom made a quick descent, with the motor shut off. The Red Cloud conducted herself perfectly, and there was nothing else to be desired.
She was sent down to earth and wheeled back into the shed, and not without some difficulty, for the crowd, which was now very large, wanted to get near enough to touch the wonderful craft.
“Tomorrow I’ll arrange about the supplies and provisions, and we’ll stock her up,” said Tom to his companions. “Now you folks had better go back to the hotel.”
“Aren’t you coming?” asked Ned.
I’m going to bunk here in the shed tonight, said the young inventor.
“What for?”
“I can’t take any chances now that the Red Cloud is in shape for flying. Some of the Foger crowd might be hanging around, and break in here to damage her.”
“But the watchman will be on guard,” suggested Ned, for since the hiring of the shed, the young inventor had engaged a man to remain on duty all night.
“I know,” answered Tom Swift, “but I’m not going to take any chances. I’ll stay here with the watchman.”
Ned offered to share the vigil with his chum, and, after some objection Tom consented. The others went back to the hotel, promising to return early in the morning.
Tom slept heavily that night, much heavier than he was in the habit of doing. So did Ned, and their deep breathing as they lay in their staterooms, in the cabin of the airship, told of physical weariness, for they had worked hard to re-assemble the Red Cloud.
The watchman was seated in a chair just inside the big door of the shed, near a small stove in which was a fire to take off the chill of the big place. The guard had slept all day, and there was no excuse for him nodding in the way that he did.
“Queer, how drowsy I feel,” he murmured several times. “It’s only a little after midnight, too,” he added, looking at his watch, “Guess I’ll walk around a bit to rouse myself.”
He firmly intended to do this, but he thought he would wait just a few minutes more, and he stretched out his legs and got comfortable in the chair.
Three minutes more and the watchman was asleep—sound asleep, while a strange, sweet, sickish odor seemed to fill the atmosphere about him.
There was a noise at the door of the shed, a door in which there were several cracks. A man outside laid aside something that looked like an air pump. H
e applied one eye to a crack, and looked in on the sleeping watchman.
“He’s off,” the man murmured. “I thought he’d never get to sleep! Now to get in and dose those two lads! Then I’ll have the place to myself!”
There was a clicking noise about the lock on the shed door. It was not a very secure lock at best, and, under the skilful fingers of the midnight visitor, it quickly gave way. The man entered. He gave one look at the slumbering watchman, listened to his heavy breathing, and then went softly toward the airship, which looked to be immense in the comparatively small shed—taking up nearly all the space.
The intruder peered in through the cabin windows where Ned and Tom were asleep. Once more there was in the atmosphere a sickish odor. The man again worked the instrument which was like a small air pump, taking care not to get his own face too near it. Presently he stopped and listened.
“They’re doped,” he murmured. He arose, and took from his mouth and nose a handkerchief saturated with some chemical that had rendered him immune to the effects of the sleep-producing that he had generated. “Sound asleep,” he added. Then, taking out a long, keen knife, the vandal stole toward where the great wings of the Red Cloud stretched out in the dim light like the pinions of a bird. There was a ripping, tearing, rending sound, as the vandal cut and slashed, but Tom, Ned and the watchman slumbered on.
CHAPTER X
TOM IS HELD UP
Tom Swift stirred uneasily in his heavy sleep. He dreamed that he was again in his berth in the railroad car, and that the thief was feeling under his pillow for the map. Only, this time, there seemed to be hands feeling about his clothing, trying to locate his inner pockets.
The lad murmured something unintelligible, but he did not awaken. The fumes prevented that. However, his movements showed that the effect of the drug was wearing off. It was intended only for temporary use, and it lasted less time than it would otherwise have done in a warmer, moister climate, for the cold, crisp air that penetrated the shed from outside dispelled the fumes.
“Guess I’d better not chance it,” murmured the intruder. “He may not have it on him, and if I go through all his pockets I’ll wake him up. Anyhow, I’ve done what they paid me for. I don’t believe they’ll sail in this airship.”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 94