“Why, do you think the natives will come back?” asked Ned.
“No, but we have only a small supply of food, my lad, an’ it’s hard to git up here. We must hit th’ trail fer civilization as soon as we kin!”
“Go back—how; without the airship?” asked Tom, blankly.
“Walk!” exclaimed the miner, grimly. “It’s th’ only way!”
They realized that. There was no hope of digging through that mass of fantastically piled ice to reach the airship, and, even if they could have done so, it would have been crushed beyond all hope of repair. Nor could they dig down for more food, though what they had hastily saved was little enough.
“Well, if we’ve got to go, we’d better start,” suggested Tom, sadly. “Poor old Red Cloud!”
“Maybe we can get a little more gold,” suggested Ned.
They walked over to the hole whence they had taken the yellow nuggets. The “pocket” was not to be seen. It was buried out of sight under tons of ice.
“We’ll get no more gold here,” decided Abe, “if we get safely out of th’ valley, and t’ the nearest white settlement, we’ll be lucky.”
“Bless my soul! Is it as bad as that!” cried Mr. Damon.
Abe nodded without speaking. There was nothing else to do. Sadly and silently they made up into packs the things they had saved, and started southward, guided by a small compass the miner had with him.
It was a melancholy party. Fortunately the weather had turned a little warmer or they might have been frozen to death. They tramped all that day, shaping their course to take them out of the valley on a side well away from where the hostile natives lived. At night they made rude shelters of snow and blocks of ice and ate cold victuals. The second day it grew colder, and they were slightly affected by snow-blindness, for they had lost their dark glasses in the cave.
Even the gold seemed too great a burden to carry, and they found they had more of it than at first they supposed. On the third day they were ready to give up, but Abe bravely urged them on. Toward the close of the fourth day, even the old miner was in despair, for the food they could carry was not such as to give strength and warmth, and they saw no game to shoot.
They were just getting ready to go into a cheerless camp for the night, when Tom, who was a little in advance, looked ahead.
“Ned, do I see something or is it only a vision?” he asked.
“What does it look like?” asked his chum.
“Like Eskimos on sleds.”
“That’s what it is,” agreed Ned, after an observation. “Maybe it’s the Fogers, or some of the savage Indians.”
They halted in alarm, and got out their guns. The little party of natives kept coming on toward them.
Suddenly Abe uttered a cry, but it was one of joy and not fear.
“Hurrah!” he yelled, “It’s all right—they’re friendly natives! They’re of the same tribe that helped me an’ my partner! It’s all right, boys, we’re rescued now!”
And so it proved. A few minutes later the gold-seekers were on the sleds of the friendly Eskimos, some of whom remembered Abe, and the weary and hungry adventures were being rushed toward the native village as fast as the dogs could run. It was a hunting party that had come upon our friends just in time.
Little more remains to be told. Well cared for by the kind Eskimos, Tom and his friends soon recovered their spirits and strength. They arranged for dog teams to take them to Sitka, and paid their friends well for the service, not only in gold, but by presenting what was of more value, the guns they no longer needed. Tom, however, retained his electric rifle.
Three weeks after that they were on a steamer bound for civilization, having bidden their friends the Eskimos good-by.
“Homeward bound,” remarked Tom, some time later, as they were in a train speeding across the continent. “It was a great trip, and the gold we got will more than repay us, even to building a new airship. Still, I can’t help feeling sorry about the Red Cloud.”
“I don’t blame you,” returned Ned. “Are you going to build another airship, Tom?”
“Not one like the Red Cloud, I think. But I have in mind plans for a sort of racing craft. I think I’ll start it when I get back home.”
How Tom’s plans developed, and what sort of a craft he built will be related in the next volume of this series, to be called “Tom Swift and His Sky Racer; or, the Quickest Flight on Record.” In that will be told how the young inventor foiled his enemies, and how he saved his father’s life. Our friends arrived safely at Shopton in due season. They learned that the two Fogers had reached there shortly before them. Tom and his party decided not to prosecute them, and they did not learn the identity of the men who tried to rob Tom of the map.
“But I guess Andy won’t go about boasting of his airship any more,” said Ned, “nor of how he got our gold mine away from us. He’ll sing mighty small for a while.”
The store of gold brought from the North, proved quite valuable, though but for the unforeseen accidents our friends could have secured much more. Yet they were well satisfied. With his share Abe Abercrombie settled down out West, Mr. Damon gave most of his gold to his wife, Mr. Parker bought scientific instruments with his, Ned invested his in bank stock, and Tom Swift, after buying a beautiful gift for a certain pretty young lady, used part of the remainder to build his Sky Racer.
And now, for a time, we will take leave of Tom and his friends, and say good-by.
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
Or, THE QUICKEST FLIGHT ON RECORD
CHAPTER I
THE PRIZE OFFER
“Is this Tom Swift, the inventor of several airships?”
The man who had rung the bell glanced at the youth who answered his summons.
“Yes, I’m Tom Swift,” was the reply. “Did you wish to see me?”
“I do. I’m Mr. James Gunmore, secretary of the Eagle Park Aviation Association. I had some correspondence with you about a prize contest we are going to hold. I believe—”
“Oh, yes, I remember now,” and the young inventor smiled pleasantly as he opened wider the door of his home. “Won’t you come in? My father will be glad to see you. He is as much interested in airships as I am.” And Tom led the way to the library, where the secretary of the aviation society was soon seated in a big, comfortable leather chair.
“I thought we could do better, and perhaps come to some decision more quickly, if I came to see you, than if we corresponded,” went on Mr. Gunmore. “I hope I haven’t disturbed you at any of your inventions,” and the secretary smiled at the youth.
“No. I’m through for today,” replied Tom. “I’m glad to see you. I thought at first it was my chum, Ned Newton. He generally runs over in the evening.”
“Our society, as I wrote you, Mr. Swift, is planning to hold a very large and important aviation meet at Eagle Park, which is a suburb of Westville, New York State. We expect to have all the prominent ‘bird-men’ there, to compete for prizes, and your name was mentioned. I wrote to you, as you doubtless recall, asking if you did not care to enter.”
“And I think I wrote you that my big aeroplane-dirigible, the Red Cloud, was destroyed in Alaska, during a recent trip we made to the caves of ice there, after gold,” replied Tom.
“Yes, you did,” admitted Mr. Gunmore, “and while our committee was very sorry to hear that, we hoped you might have some other air craft that you could enter at our meet. We want to make it as complete as possible, and we all feel that it would not be so unless we had a Swift aeroplane there.”
“It’s very kind of you to say so,” remarked Tom, “but since my big craft was destroyed I really have nothing I could enter.”
“Haven’t you an aeroplane of any kind? I made this trip especially to get you to enter. Haven’t you anything in which you could compete for the prizes? There are several to be offered, some for distance flights, some for altitude, and the largest, ten thousand dollars, for the speediest craft. Ten thousand dollars is the grand pri
ze, to be awarded for the quickest flight on record.”
“I surely would like to try for that,” said Tom, “but the only craft I have is a small monoplane, the Butterfly, I call it, and while it is very speedy, there have been such advances made in aeroplane construction since I made mine that I fear I would be distanced if I raced in her. And I wouldn’t like that.”
“No,” agreed Mr. Gunmore. “I suppose not. Still, I do wish we could induce you to enter. I don’t mind telling you that we consider you a drawing-card. Can’t we induce you, some way?”
“I’m afraid not. I haven’t any machine which—”
“Look here!” exclaimed the secretary eagerly. “Why can’t you build a special aeroplane to enter in the next meet? You’ll have plenty of time, as it doesn’t come off for three months yet. We are only making the preliminary arrangements. It is now June, and the meet is scheduled for early in September. Couldn’t you build a new and speedy aeroplane in that time?”
Eagerly Mr. Gunmore waited for the answer. Tom Swift seemed to be considering it. There was an increased brightness to his eyes, and one could tell that he was thinking deeply. The secretary sought to clinch his argument.
“I believe, from what I have heard of your work in the past, that you could build an aeroplane which would win the ten-thousand-dollar prize,” he went on. “I would be very glad if you did win it, and, so I think, would be the gentlemen associated with me in this enterprise. It would be fine to have a New York State youth win the grand prize. Come, Tom Swift, build a special craft, and enter the contest!”
As he paused for an answer footsteps were heard coming along the hall, and a moment later an aged gentleman opened the door of the library.
“Oh! Excuse me, Tom,” he said, “I didn’t know you had company.” And he was about to withdraw.
“Don’t go, father,” said Tom. “You will be as much interested in this as I am. This is Mr. Gunmore, of the Eagle Park Aviation Association. This is my father, Mr. Gunmore.”
“I’ve heard of you,” spoke the secretary as he shook hands with the aged inventor. “You and your son have made, in aeronautics, a name to be proud of.”
“And he wants us to go still farther, dad,” broke in the youth. “He wants me to build a specially speedy aeroplane, and race for ten thousand dollars.”
“Hum!” mused Mr. Swift. “Well, are you going to do it, Tom? Seems to me you ought to take a rest. You haven’t been back from your gold-hunting trip to Alaska long enough to more than catch your breath, and now—”
“Oh, he doesn’t have to go in this right away,” eagerly explained Mr. Gunmore. “There is plenty of time to make a new craft.”
“Well, Tom can do as he likes about it,” said his father. “Do you think you could build anything speedier than your Butterfly, son?”
“I think so, father. That is, if you’d help me. I have a plan partly thought out, but it will take some time to finish it. Still, I might get it done in time.”
“I hope you’ll try!” exclaimed the secretary. “May I ask whether it would be a monoplane or a biplane?”
“A monoplane, I think,” answered Tom. “They are much more speedy than the double-deckers, and if I’m going to try for the ten thousand dollars I need the fastest machine I can build.”
“We have the promise of one or two very fast monoplanes for the meet,” went on Mr. Gunmore. “Would yours be of a new type?”
“I think it would,” was the reply of the young inventor. “In fact, I am thinking of making a smaller monoplane than any that have yet been constructed, and yet one that will carry two persons. The hardest work will be to make the engine light enough and still have it sufficiently powerful to make over a hundred miles an hour, if necessary.
“A hundred miles an hour in a small monoplane! It isn’t possible!” cried the secretary.
“I’ll make better time than that,” said Tom quietly, and with not a trace of boasting in his tones.
“Then you’ll enter the meet?” asked Mr. Gunmore eagerly.
“Well, I’ll think about it,” promised Tom. “I’ll let you know in a few days. Meanwhile, I’ll be thinking out the details for my new craft. I have been going to build one ever since I got back, after having seen my Red Cloud crushed in the ice cave. Now I think I had better begin active work.”
“I hope you will soon let me know,” resumed the secretary. “I’m going to put you down as a possible contestant for the ten-thousand-dollar prize. That can do no harm, and I hope you win it. I trust—”
He paused suddenly, and listened. So did Tom Swift and his father, for they all distinctly heard stealthy footsteps under the open windows of the library.
“Some one is out there, listening,” said Tom in low tones.
“Perhaps it’s Eradicate Sampson,” suggested Mr. Swift, referring to the eccentric colored man who was employed by the inventor and his son to help around the place. “Very likely it was Eradicate, Tom.”
“I don’t think so,” was the lad’s answer. “He went to the village a while ago, and said he wouldn’t be back until late tonight. He had to get some medicine for his mule, Boomerang, who is sick. No, it wasn’t Eradicate; but some one was under that window, trying to hear what we said.”
As he spoke in guarded tones, Tom went softly to the casement and looked out. He could observe nothing, as the night was dark, and the new moon, which had been shining, was now dimmed by clouds.
“See anything?” asked Mr. Gunmore as he advanced to Tom’s side.
“No,” was the low answer. “I can’t hear anything now, either.”
“I’ll go speak to Mrs. Baggert, the housekeeper,” volunteered Mr. Swift. “Perhaps it was she, or she may know something about it.”
He started from the room, and as he went Tom noticed, with something of a start, that his father appeared older that night than he had ever looked before. There was a trace of pain on the face of the aged inventor, and his step was lagging.
“I guess dad needs a rest and doctoring up,” thought the young inventor as he turned the electric chandelier off by a button on the wall, in order to darken the room, so that he might peer out to better advantage. “I think he’s been working too hard on his wireless motor. I must get Dr. Gladby to come over and see dad. But now I want to find out who that was under this window.”
Once more Tom looked out. The moon had emerged from behind a thin bank of clouds, and gave a little light.
“See anything?” asked Mr. Gunmore cautiously.
“No,” whispered the youth, for it being a warm might, the windows were open top and bottom, a screen on the outside keeping out mosquitoes and other insects. “I can’t see a thing,” went on Tom, “but I’m sure—”
He paused suddenly. As he spoke there sounded a rustling in the shrubbery a little distance from the window.
“There’s something!” exclaimed Mr. Gunmore.
“I see!” answered the young inventor.
Without another word he softly opened the screen, and then, stooping down to get under the lower sash (for the windows in the library ran all the way to the floor), Tom dropped out of the casement upon the thick grass.
As he did so he was aware of a further movement in the bushes. They were violently agitated, and a second later a dark object sprang from them and sprinted along the path.
“Here! Who are you? Hold on!” cried the young inventor.
But the figure never halted. Tom sprang forward, determined to see who it was, and, if possible, capture him.
“Hold on!” he cried again. There was no answer.
Tom was a good runner, and in a few seconds he had gained on the fugitive, who could just be seen in the dim light from the crescent moon.
“I’ve got you!” cried Tom.
But he was mistaken, for at that instant his foot caught on the outcropping root of a tree, and the young inventor went flat on his face.
“Just my luck!” he cried.
He was quickly on his feet again, an
d took after the fugitive. The latter glanced back, and, as it happened, Tom had a good look at his face. He almost came to a stop, so startled was he.
“Andy Foger!” he exclaimed as he recognized the bully who had always proved himself such an enemy of our hero. “Andy Foger sneaking under my windows to hear what I had to say about my new aeroplane! I wonder what his game can be? I’ll soon find out!”
Tom was about to resume the chase, when he lost sight of the figure. A moment later he heard the puffing of an automobile, as some one cranked it up.
“It’s too late!” exclaimed Tom. “There he goes in his car!” And knowing it would be useless to keep up the chase, the youth turned back toward his house.
CHAPTER TWO
MR. SWIFT IS ILL
“Who was it?” asked Mr. Gunmore as Tom again entered the library. “A friend of yours?”
“Hardly a friend,” replied Tom grimly. “It was a young fellow who has made lots of trouble for me in the past, and who, lately, with his father, tried to get ahead of me and some friends of mine in locating a gold claim in Alaska. I don’t know what he’s up to now, but certainly it wasn’t any good. He’s got nerve, sneaking up under our windows!”
“What do you think was his object?”
“It would be hard to say.”
“Can’t you find him tomorrow, and ask him?”
“There’s not much satisfaction in that. The less I have to do with Andy Foger the better I’m satisfied. Well, perhaps it’s just as well I fell, and couldn’t catch him. There would have been a fight, and I don’t want to worry dad any more than I can help. He hasn’t been very well of late.”
“No, he doesn’t look very strong,” agreed the secretary. “But I hope he doesn’t get sick, and I hope no bad consequences result from the eavesdropping of this Foger fellow.”
Tom started for the hall, to get a brush with which to remove some of the dust gathered in his chase after Andy. As he opened the library door to go out Mr. Swift came in again.
“I saw Mrs. Baggert, Tom,” he said. “She wasn’t out under the window, and, as you said, Eradicate isn’t about. His mule is in the barn, so it couldn’t have been the animal straying around.”
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