The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “They’re coming! They’re coming!” cried a voice, and Tom, looking down, saw Mr. Parker, apparently in a state of great fear.

  “What’s coming?” demanded the young inventor, “the icebergs?”

  “No—the Indians!” yelled the scientist. “A whole tribe of them is rushing this way!”

  “I thought so!” cried Abe Abercrombie. “Where’s my gun?” and he dashed into the airship.

  Tom slid down off the platform.

  “Get ready for a fight!” he gasped. “Where are you, Ned?”

  “Here I am. We’d better get to the mouth of the cave, and drive ’em back from there.”

  “Yes. If I’d only thought, we could have blockaded it in some way. It’s as big as a barn now, and they can rush us if they have a mind to. But we’ll do our best!”

  The adventurers were now all armed, even to Mr. Parker. The scientist had recovered from his first fright, when he spied the Indians coming over the snow, as he was “observing” some natural phenomenon. Tom, even in his excitement, noticed that the professor was curiously examining his gun, evidently more with a view to seeing how it was made, and on which principle it was operated, rather than to discover how to use it.

  “If it comes to a fight, just point it at the Indians, pull the trigger, and work that lever,” explained the young inventor. “It’s an automatic gun.”

  “I see,” answered Mr. Parker. “Very curious. I had no idea they worked this way.”

  “Oh, if I only had my electric rifle in shape!” sighed Tom, as he dashed forward at the side of Ned.

  “Your electric rifle?”

  “Yes, I’ve got a new kind of weapon—very effective. I have it almost finished. It’s in the airship, but I can’t use it just yet. However, maybe these repeaters will do the work.”

  By this time they were at the entrance of the cave, and, looking out they saw about a hundred Indians, dressed in furs, striding across the snowy plain that stretched out from the foot of the mountain in which was the cavern.

  “They’re certainly comin’ on,” observed Abe, grimly. “Git ready for ’em, boys!”

  The gold-seekers lined up at the mouth of the cave, with guns in their hands. At the sight of this small, but formidable force, the Indians halted. They were armed with guns of ancient make, while some had spears, and others bows and arrows. A few had grabbed up stones as weapons.

  There appeared to be a consultation going on among them, and, presently, one of the number, evidently a chief or a spokesman, gave his gun to one of his followers, and, holding his hands above his head, while he waved a rag that might have once been white, came forward.

  “By Jove!” exclaimed Tom. “It’s a flag of truce! He wants to talk with us I believe!”

  “Bless my cartridges!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “Can they speak English?”

  “A little,” answered Abe Abercrombie. “I can talk some of their lingo, too. Maybe I’d better see what they want.”

  “I guess it would be a good plan,” suggested Tom, and, accordingly the old miner stepped forward. The Indian came on, until Abe motioned for him to halt.

  “I reckon that’s as far as it’ll be healthy for you t’ come,” spoke Abe, grimly. “Now what do you fellers want?”

  Thereupon there ensued a rapid exchange of jargon between the miner and the Indian. Abe seemed much relieved as the talk went on, until there came what seemed like a demand on the part of the dark-hued native.

  “No, you don’t! None of that!” muttered Abe. “If you had your way you’d take everything we have.”

  “What is it? What does he want?” asked Tom in a low voice.

  “Why, the beggar began fair enough,” replied the miner. “He said one of their number had been in the cave when a storm came an’ saw a big spirit fly in, with men on its back. He ran away an’ now others have come to see what it was. They don’t guess it’s an airship, for they’ve never seen one, but they know we’re white folks, an’ they always want things white folks have got.”

  “This fellow is a sort of chief, an’ he says the white folks?—that’s us, you know?—have taken th’ Indians’ cave. He says he doesn’t want t’ have any trouble, an’ that we can stay here as long as we like, but that we must give him an’ his followers a lot of food. Says they hain’t got much. Land! Those beggars would eat us out of everything we had if we’d let ’em!”

  “What are you going to tell them?” inquired Mr. Damon.

  “I’m goin’ t’ tell ’em t’ go t’ grass, or words t’ that effect,” replied Abe. “They haven’t any weapons that amount t’ anything, an’ we can stand ’em off. Besides, we’ll soon be goin’ away from here; won’t we, Tom?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Oh, there’s no use givin’ in to ’em,” interrupted Abe. “If you give ’em half a loaf, they want two. Th’ only way is t’ be firm. I’ll tell ’em we can’t accommodate ’em.”

  Thereupon he began once more to talk to the Indians in their own tongue. His words were at first received in silence, and then angry cries came from the natives. The chief made a gesture of protest.

  “Well, if you don’t like it, you know what you kin do!” declared Abe. “We’ve got th’ best part of our journey before us, an’ we can’t give away our supplies. Go hunt food if you want it, ye lazy beggars!”

  The peaceful demeanor of the Indians now turned to rage. The leader dropped the rag that had served for a flag of truce, and took back his gun.

  “Look out! There’s going to be trouble!” cried Tom.

  “Well, we’re ready for ’em!” answered Abe, grimly.

  There was a moment of hesitation among the natives. Then they seemed to hold a consultation with the chief. It was over shortly. They broke into a run, and quickly advanced toward the cave. Tom and the others held their guns in readiness.

  Suddenly the Indians halted. They gazed upward, and pointed to something in the air above their heads. They gave utterance to cries of fear.

  “What is it; another storm coming?” asked Tom.

  “Let’s look,” suggested Ned. He and Tom stepped to the mouth of the cave—they went outside. There was little danger from the natives now, as their attention was fixed on something else.

  A moment later Tom and Ned saw what this was.

  Floating in the air, almost over the cave, was a great airship—a large craft, nearly the size of the Red Cloud. Hardly able to believe the evidence of their eyes, Tom and Ned watched it. Whence had it come? Whither was it going?

  “It’s a triplane!” murmured Ned.

  “A triplane!” repeated Tom. “Yes—it is—and it’s the airship of Andy Foger! Our rivals are on our track!”

  He continued to gaze upward as the triplane shot forward, the noise of the motor being plainly heard. Then, with howls of fear, the Indians turned and fled. The rival airship had vanquished them.

  CHAPTER XV

  THE RACE

  Astonished and terrified as the Indians had been at the sight of the big-winged craft, high in the air above their heads, Tom and the others were no less surprised, though, of course, their fear was not exactly the same as that of the Alaskan natives.

  “Do you really think that is Andy Foger?” asked Ned, as they watched the progress of the triplane.

  “I’m almost sure of it,” replied Tom. “That craft is built exactly as his was, but I never expected him to have such good luck sailing it.”

  “It isn’t going very fast,” objected Ned.

  “No, but it can navigate pretty well, and that’s something. He must have hustled to get it together and reach this point with it.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t have to travel as far as we did,” went on Ned. “He put his ship together at Sitka, and we came from Seattle.”

  “Bless my memoranda book!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “The Fogers here! What’s to be done about it?”

  “Nothing, I guess,” answered Tom. “I’d just as soon they wouldn’t see us. I don’t believe they will. G
et back into the cave. We must use strategy now to get ahead of them. There will be a race to the valley of gold.”

  “Well, he served us one good turn, anyhow, though he didn’t mean to,” put in Abe Abercrombie.

  “How?” asked Mr. Parker, who was still examining his gun, as though trying to understand it.

  “He scared away them pesky natives,” went on the miner. “Otherwise we might have had a fight, an’ while I reckon we could have beat ’em, it’s best not to fight if you kin git out of it.”

  The gold-seekers had withdrawn inside the mouth of the cave, where they could watch the progress of the rival airship without being seen. The Indians had disappeared beyond a snow-covered hill.

  The airship of Andy Foger, for such it subsequently proved to be, floated slowly onward. Its progress was not marked with the speed of Tom’s craft, though whether or not the occupants of the Anthony (as Andy had vain-gloriously named his craft after himself) were speeding up their motor, was a matter of conjecture.

  The adventurers held a short consultation, while standing at the mouth of the cave watching the progress of the Anthony. It rose in the air, and circled about.

  “He certainly is trying to pick us up,” declared Ned.

  “Well, we’ll start out after him tomorrow,” decided Tom. “I think all the patches will hold then.”

  They resumed work on the Red Cloud, and that night Tom announced that they would start in the morning. Meanwhile Andy’s craft had disappeared from sight. There was no further evidence of the Indians.

  “I don’t reckon they’ll come back,” spoke Abe, grimly. “They think we are sure-enough spirits, now, able to call creatures out of the air whenever we want ’em. But still we must be on our guard.”

  As Mr. Parker was not of much service in helping on the airship he agreed to be a sort of guard and took his place just outside the cave, where he could make “observations,” and, at the same time watch for the reappearance of Indians. They had little fear of an attack at night, for Abe said the Alaskans were not fond of darkness.

  The cold seemed to increase, and, even in the sheltered cave the adventurers felt it. There were several heavy flurries of snow that afternoon, and winter seemed setting in with a vengeance. The daylight, too, was not of long duration, for the sun was well south now, and in the far polar regions it was perpetual night.

  After a brief inspection of the ship the next morning, following a good night’s rest, when they were not disturbed by any visits from the natives, Tom announced that they would set sail. The day was a clear one, but very cold, and the gold-seekers were glad of the shelter of the warm cabin.

  The Red Cloud was wheeled from the cave, and set on a level place. There was not room enough to make a flying start, and ascend by means of the planes and propellers, so the gas-bag method was used. The generating machine was put in operation, and soon the big red bag that hovered over the craft began to fill. Tom was glad to see that none of the several compartments leaked. The bag had been well repaired.

  Suddenly the Red Cloud shot up in the air. Up above the towering snow-covered crags it mounted, and then, with a whizz and a roar, the propellers were set going.

  “Once more northward bound!” cried Tom, as he took his place in the pilothouse.

  “And we’ll see if we can beat Andy Foger there,” added Ned.

  All that morning the Red Cloud shot ahead at good speed. The craft had suffered no permanent damage during her fight with the hail storm, and was as good as ever. They ate dinner high in the air, while sailing over a great stretch of whiteness, where the snow lay many feet deep on the level, and where great mountain crags were so covered with the glistening mantle and a coating of ice as to resemble the great bergs that float in the polar sea.

  “I wouldn’t want to be wrecked here,” said Ned, with a shudder, as he looked down. “We’d never get away. Does any one live down there, Abe?”

  “Yes, there are scattered tribes of Indians and Alaskan natives. They live by hunting and fishing, and travel around by means of dog sledges. But it’s a dreary life. Me an’ my partner had all we wanted of it. An airship for mine!”

  “I wonder what’s become of Andy?” spoke Tom, that afternoon. “I haven’t sighted him, and I’ve been using the powerful telescope. I can’t pick him up, though he can’t be so very far ahead of us.”

  “Let me try,” suggested Ned. “Put her up a bit, Tom, where I can look down. Andy won’t dare go very high. Maybe I can sight him.”

  The Red Cloud shot upward as the young inventor shifted the elevation rudder, and the bank clerk, with the powerful glass to his eye, swept the space below him. For half an hour he looked in vain. Then, with a little start of surprise he handed the glass to his chum.

  “See what you make that out to be,” suggested Ned. “It looks like a big bird, yet I haven’t seen any other birds today.”

  Tom looked. He peered earnestly through the telescope for a minute, and then cried:

  “It’s Andy’s airship! He’s ahead of us! We must catch him! Ned, you and Mr. Damon speed up the motor! The race is on!”

  In a few minutes the great airship was hurling herself through space, and, in less than ten minutes Andy’s craft could be made out plainly with the naked eye. Fifteen minutes more and the Red Cloud was almost up to her. Then those aboard the Anthony must have caught sight of their pursuers, for there was a sudden increase in speed on the part of the unscrupulous Foger crowd, who sought to steal a march on Tom and his friends.

  “The race is on!” repeated the young inventor grimly, as he pulled the speed lever over another notch.

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE FALL OF THE ANTHONY

  Had it not been for what was at stake, the race between the two big airships would have been an inspiring one to those aboard Tom’s craft. As it was they were too anxious to overcome the unfair advantage taken by Andy to look for any of the finer points in the contest of the air.

  “There’s no denying that he’s got a pretty good craft there,” conceded Tom, as he watched the progress of his rival. “I never thought Andy Foger could have done it.”

  “He didn’t do very much of it,” declared Ned. “He hired the best part of that made. Andy hasn’t any inventive ideas. He probably said he wanted an airship, and his dad put up the money and hired men to build it for him. Andy, Sam and Pete only tinkered around on it.”

  Later Tom and his chum learned that this was so—that Mr. Foger had engaged the services of an expert to make the airship. This man had been taken to Sitka with the Fogers, and had materially aided them in re-assembling the craft.

  “Do you think he can beat us?” asked Ned, anxiously.

  “No!” exclaimed Tom, confidently. “There’s only one craft that can beat my Red Cloud and that’s my monoplane the Butterfly. But I have in mind plans for a speedier machine than even the monoplane. However I haven’t any fear that Andy can keep up to us in this craft. I haven’t begun to fly yet, and I’m pretty sure, from the way his is going, that he has used his limit of speed.”

  “Then why don’t you get ahead of him?” asked Mr. Damon. “Bless my tape-measure! the way to win a race is to beat.”

  “Not this kind of a race,” and the young inventor spoke seriously. “If I got ahead of Andy now, he’d simply trail along and follow us. That’s his game. He wants me to be the path-finder, for, since I cast a doubt on the correctness of the map, a copy of which he stole, he isn’t sure where he’s going. He’d ask nothing better than to follow us.”

  “Then what are you going to do if you don’t get ahead of him?” asked Ned.

  “I’m going to press him close until night,” answered Tom, “and when it’s dark, I’m going to shoot ahead, and, by morning we’ll be so far away that he can’t catch up to us.”

  “Good idea! That’s th’ stuff!” cried Abe with enthusiasm.

  “He’s a sneak!” burst out Mr. Damon. “I’d like to see him left behind.”

  Tom carried out his plan
. The remainder of the day he hung just on Andy’s flank, sometimes shooting high up, almost out of sight, and again coming down, just to show what the Red Cloud could do when pressed.

  As for those aboard the Anthony, they seemed to be trying to increase their speed, but, if that was their object they did not have much success, for the big, clumsy triplane only labored along.

  “I wonder who he’s got with him?” said Ned, as darkness was closing down. “I can’t make out any one by this glass. They stick pretty closely to the cabin.”

  “Oh, probably Andy’s father is there,” said “and, perhaps, some of Mr. Foger’s acquaintances. I guess Mr. Foger is as anxious to get this gold as Andy is.”

  “He certainly needs money,” admitted Ned. “Jove! but I hope we beat him!”

  But alas for Tom’s hopes! His plan of waiting until night and then putting on such speed as would leave Andy behind could not be carried out. It was tried, but something went wrong with the main motor, and only half power could be developed. Tom and Ned labored over it nearly ail night, to no effect, and through the hours of darkness they could see the lights from the cabin of the Anthony gleaming just ahead of them. Evidently the bully’s airship could not make enough speed to run away from the Red Cloud, or else it was the plan of the Foger crowd to keep in Tom’s vicinity.

  The direction held by Andy’s craft was a general northwestern one, and Tom knew, in time, and that very soon, it would bring the Anthony over the valley of gold. Evidently Andy was placing some faith in his copy of the stolen map.

  “Once I get this motor in shape I’ll soon pull away from him,” announced Tom, about four o’clock that morning, while he and Ned, aided by Mr. Damon, were still laboring over the refractory machine.

  “What are you going to do?” asked Ned.

  “It’s too late to carry out my original plan,” went on Tom. “We’re getting so near the place now that I want to be there ahead of every one else. So as soon as we can, I’m going to push the Red Cloud for all she’s worth, and get to the valley of gold first. If possession is nine points of the law, I want those nine points.”