“Take the lantern!” cried Mr. Whitford. “I’m going to send a wireless to my men to get after this disabled craft.”
Tom swung the beam of the searchlight forward and a moment later had picked up the big aeroplane. It was some distance in advance, and going like the wind. He heard the automatic camera clicking away.
“They speeded her up as soon as they saw what was on!” cried Tom. “But we haven’t begun to go yet!”
He signalled to Mr. Damon, who pulled over the accelerating lever and instantly the Falcon responded. Now indeed the race was on in earnest. The smugglers must have understood this, for they tried all their tactics to throw the pursuing airship off the track. They dodged and twisted, now going up, and now going down, and even trying to turn back, but Tom headed them off. Ever the great beam of light shone relentlessly on them, like some avenging eye. They could not escape.
“Are we gaining?” cried Mr. Whitford.
“A little, and slowly,” answered Tom. “They have a bigger load on than when we chased them before, but still they have a speed almost equal to ours. They must have a magnificent motor.”
Faster and faster sped on the Falcon. The other craft kept ahead of her, however, though Tom could see that, inch by inch, he was overhauling her.
“Where do they seem to be heading for?” asked the government agent.
“Shopton, as near as I can make out,” replied the youth. “They probably want to get there ahead of us, and hide the goods. I must prevent that. Mr. Damon is steering better than he ever did before.”
Tom shifted the light to keep track of the smugglers, who had dipped downward on a steep slant. Then they shot upward, but the Falcon was after them.
The hours of the night passed. The chase was kept up. Try as the smugglers did, they could not shake Tom off. Nearer and nearer he crept. There was the gray dawn of morning in the sky, and Tom knew, from the great speed they had traveled that they must be near Shopton.
“They’re slowing up. Tom!” suddenly cried Mr. Whitford who was watching them through an open port.
“Yes, I guess they must have heated some of their bearings. Well, here’s where I capture them, if it’s ever to be. Koku, let down the grappling anchor.”
“Are you really going to capture them, Tom?” asked the custom officer.
“I’m going to try,” was the answer, as Koku came back to say that the anchor was dragging over the stern by a long rope.
“You work the light, Mr. Whitford,” cried Tom. “I’m going to relieve Mr. Damon in the pilot house. He can help you here. It will be all over in another minute.”
In the pilot house Tom grasped the steering levers. Then in a final burst of speed he sent his craft above, and past that of the smugglers.
Suddenly he felt a shock. It was the grappling anchor catching in the rail of the other air craft. A shout of dismay arose from the smugglers.
“You’ve got ’em! You’ve got ’em, Tom!” yelled Mr. Whitford.
“Bless my hasty pudding! So he has!” gasped Mr. Damon.
Changing the course of his craft Tom sent the Falcon toward the earth, pulling the other aeroplane with him. Down and down he went, and the frantic efforts of the smugglers to release themselves were useless. They were pulled along by the powerful airship of our hero.
A few minutes later Tom picked out a good landing place in the dim light of the breaking dawn, and went to earth. Jamming on the brakes he leaped from the pilot house to the stern of his own craft, catching up his electric rifle. The other airship, caught by the grappling anchor at the end of a long rope, was just settling down, those in her having the good sense to shut off their power, and volplane when they found that they could not escape.
As the smugglers’ craft touched the earth, several figures leaped from her, and started to run away.
“Hold on!” cried Tom. “I’ve got you all covered with the electric rifle! Don’t move! Koku, you, and Mr. Whitford and Mr. Damon take care of them. Tie ’em up.”
“Bless my hat band!” cried the eccentric man. “What a great capture! Where are we?”
“Not far from Shopton,” answered Tom. “But look after the prisoners.”
There was a cry of astonishment from Mr. Whitford as he reached the sullen occupants of the smugglers’ craft.
“Here are the Fogers—father and son!” the agent called to Tom. “They were in it after all. Great Scott! What a surprise. And here are a lot of men whom I’ve been after for some time! Oh, Tom Swift, this is a capture.”
“What right have you to use these high-handed methods on us?” demanded Mr. Foger pompously.
“Yes, dad make ’em let us go; we haven’t done anything!” snarled Andy.
“I guess you won’t go yet a while,” said the agent. “I’ll have a look inside this craft. Keep ’em covered, Tom.”
“I will. I guess Andy knows what this rifle can do. See if Ned is a prisoner.”
There was a few moments of waiting during which Koku and Mr. Damon securely bound the prisoners. Then Mr. Whitford reappeared. He was accompanied by some one.
“Hello, Tom!” called the latter. “I’m all right. Much obliged for the rescue.”
“Are you all right, Ned?” asked Tom, of his chum.
“Yes, except that they kept me gagged. The men who captured me took me for you, and, after the Fogers found out the mistake, they decided to keep me anyhow. Say, you’ve made a great haul.”
And so it proved, for in the airship was a quantity of valuable silks and laces, while on the persons of the smugglers, including Mr. Foger, were several packets of diamonds. These were taken possession of by Mr. Whitford, who also confiscated the bales and packages.
Ned was soon aboard the Falcon, while the prisoners, securely tied were laid in the cabin of their own craft with Koku to stand guard over them. Mr. Damon went to Shopton, which was the nearest town, for police aid, and soon the smugglers were safe in jail, though Mr. Foger protested vigorously against going.
Ned explained how he had been pounced upon by two men when he was fishing, and told how without a chance to warn his friends, he had been gagged and bound and taken to the headquarters of the smugglers in Canada, just over the border. They went by carriages. Then the Fogers, who, it seemed, were hand in glove with the law violators, saw him, and identified him. The smugglers had thought they were capturing Tom.
“It was your coat and hat that did it, Tom,” explained Ned. “I fought against being taken away, but when I happened to think if they took me for you it might be a trick against them. And it was. The Fogers didn’t discover the mistake until just before we started.”
“They planned for a big shipment of goods last night and used two airships. I don’t know what became of the other.”
“We’ve got her, and the men, too,” interposed Mr. Whitford, as this conversation was taking place several hours later in the Swift home. “I just had a wire from my deputy. They got right after the damaged airship, and reached her just as the men were hiding the goods, and preparing to dismantle the craft. We have them all, thanks to you, Tom!”
“And to think that the Fogers were in it all the while!” remarked Tom. “They certainly fooled us.”
“I’m not done with them yet,” said Mr. Whitford. “I’m going to have another look at their house, and the gardener’s home.”
“The Fogers were in dire straits, that’s why they went in with the smugglers,” explained Ned. “Though they gagged me, they didn’t stop up my ears, and when they hid me in a little room on the airship, I could hear them talking together. It seems that the smugglers put up the money to buy the airships, and just happened to stumble on Andy to run the machinery for them. His father helped, too. They shared in the proceeds, and they must have made considerable, for the smuggling has been going on for some time.”
“Well, they’ll lose all they made,” declared the agent. Later he, Tom and Ned made another inspection of the Foger premises. Down in the cellar of the gardener’s ho
use they found, behind a cunningly concealed door, a tunnel leading into the old mansion. Later it was learned that the smugglers had been in the habit of bringing goods across the border in airships, landing them in a lonely stretch of woods outside of Shopton, and later bringing them by wagon to the mansion.
Inside there, in some secret rooms that had been constructed off of the main apartments, the goods would be unpacked, put in different boxes, carried through the tunnel to the gardener’s house, and thence shipped as “old furniture” to various unscrupulous agents who disposed of them.
The hiring of Mr. Dillon had been only a blind. Later the smugglers, in the guise of carpenters, made the desired changes. So cunningly had the opening of the tunnel in the cellar of the gardener’s house been concealed, that it was only discovered after a most careful search.
There is little more to tell. With the capture of the two airships, an end was put to the smuggling operations, especially since nearly all the gang was captured. A few, those who brought the goods up the St. Lawrence, from the ocean steamers, managed to escape, but they had to go into hiding.
The goods captured proved very valuable, and partly made up to Uncle Sam’s treasury the losses sustained. Tom was offered a big reward, but would not take it, accepting only money for his expenses, and requesting that the reward be divided among the agents of Mr. Whitford’s staff, who needed it more than Tom did.
There was no difficulty about convicting the prisoners, including the Fogers, for Tom’s wizard camera had taken pictures of the chase and capture, and the men were easily identified. Mr. Period was quite delighted with the roll of films that Tom gave him. Some of the smugglers were sent to prison for long terms, and others, including Andy and his father, had to pay heavy fines.
“Well, Tom Swift, I can’t thank you enough,” said Mr. Whitford, one day as he called to pay the young inventor a visit. “I’m ordered to the Pacific coast and I may have to send for you with your airship, and great searchlight.”
“I don’t believe I’ll come,” laughed the lad. “I’m going to take a long rest and settle down.”
“He’s going to get married!” exclaimed Ned, taking care to get behind a chair.
“If Mr. Tom marry, he keep Koku for servant?” asked the giant anxiously.
“Oh, I’m not going to get married, just yet, Koku!” exclaimed Tom, who was blushing furiously. “I’m going to invent something new.”
“Bless my fountain pen!” cried Mr. Damon.
“Oh, Tom, it seems good to have you home again,” said aged Mr. Swift softly.
“Dat’s what it do!” added Eradicate. “Boomerang hab been monstrous lonely sence yo’-all been gone, Massa Tom.”
“Well, I’m going to stay home—for a while,” said Tom. And thus, surrounded as he is by his friends and relatives, we will take leave of Tom Swift.
TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON
Or, THE LONGEST SHOTS ON RECORD
CHAPTER I
ON A LIVE WIRE
“Now, see here, Mr. Swift, you may think it all a sort of dream, and imagine that I don’t know what I’m talking about; but I do! If you’ll consent to finance this expedition to the extent of, say, ten thousand dollars, I’ll practically guarantee to give you back five times that sum.”
“I don’t know, Alec, I don’t know,” slowly responded the aged inventor. “I’ve heard those stories before, and in my experience nothing ever came of them. Buried treasure, and lost vessels filled with gold, are all well and good, but hunting for an opal mine on some little-heard-of island goes them one better.”
“Then you don’t feel like backing me up in this matter, Mr. Swift?”
“No, Alec, I can’t say I do. Why, just stop and think for a minute. You’re asking me to put ten thousand dollars into a company, to fit out an expedition to go to this island—somewhere down near Panama, you say it is—and try to locate the lost mine from which, some centuries ago, opals and other precious stones came. It doesn’t seem reasonable.”
“But I’m sure I can find the mine, Mr. Swift!” persisted Alec Peterson, who was almost as elderly a man as the one he addressed. “I have the old documents that tell how rich the mine once was, how the old Mexican rulers used to get their opals from it, and how all trace of it was lost in the last century. I have all the landmarks down pat, and I’m sure I can find it. Come on now, take a chance. Put in this ten thousand dollars. I can manage the rest. You’ll get back more than five times your investment.”
“If you find the mine—yes.”
“I tell you I will find it! Come now, Mr. Swift,” and the visitor’s voice was very pleading, “you and your son Tom have made a fortune for yourselves out of your different inventions. Be generous, and lend me this ten thousand dollars.”
Mr. Swift shook his head.
“I’ve heard you talk the same way before, Alec,” he replied. “None of your schemes ever amounted to anything. You’ve been a fortune-hunter all your life, nearly; and what have you gotten out of it? Just a bare living.”
“That’s right, Mr. Swift, but I’ve had bad luck. I did find the lost gold mine I went after some years ago, you remember.”
“Yes, only to lose it because the missing heirs turned up, and took it away from you. You could have made more at straight mining in the time you spent on that scheme.”
“Yes, I suppose I could; but this is going to be a success—I feel it in my bones.”
“That’s what you say, every time, Alec. No, I don’t believe I want to go into this thing.”
“Oh, come—do! For the sake of old times. Don’t you recall how you and I used to prospect together out in the gold country; how we shared our failures and successes?”
“Yes, I remember that, Alec. Mighty few successes we had, though, in those days.”
“But now you’ve struck it rich, pardner,” went on the pleader. “Help me out in this scheme—do!”
“No, Alec. I’d rather give you three or four thousand dollars for yourself, if you’d settle down to some steady work, instead of chasing all over the country after visionary fortunes. You’re getting too old to do that.”
“Well, it’s a fact I’m no longer young. But I’m afraid I’m too old to settle down. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, pardner. This is my life, and I’ll have to live it until I pass out. Well, if you won’t, you won’t, I suppose. By the way, where is Tom? I’d like to see him before I go back. He’s a mighty fine boy.”
“That’s what he is!” broke in a new voice. “Bless my overshoes, but he is a smart lad! A wonderful lad, that’s what! Why, bless my necktie, there isn’t anything he can’t invent; from a button-hook to a battleship! Wonderful boy—that’s what!”
“I guess Tom’s ears would burn if he could hear your praises, Mr. Damon,” laughed Mr. Swift. “Don’t spoil him.”
“Spoil Tom Swift? You couldn’t do it in a hundred years!” cried Mr. Damon, enthusiastically. “Bless my topknot! Not in a thousand years—no, sir!”
“But where is he?” asked Mr. Peterson, who was evidently unused to the extravagant manner of Mr. Damon.
“There he goes now!” exclaimed the gentleman who frequently blessed himself, some article of his apparel, or some other object. “There he goes now, flying over the house in that Humming Bird airship of his. He said he was going to try out a new magneto he’d invented, and it seems to be working all right. He said he wasn’t going to take much of a flight, and I guess he’ll soon be back. Look at him! Isn’t he a great one, though!”
“He certainly is,” agreed Mr. Peterson, as he and Mr. Swift went to the window, from which Mr. Damon had caught a glimpse of the youthful Inventor in his airship. “A great lad. I wish he could come on this mine-hunt with me, though I’d never consent to go in an airship. They’re too risky for an old man like me.”
“They’re as safe as a church when Tom Swift runs them!” declared Mr. Damon. “I’m no boy, but I’d go anywhere with Tom.”
“I’m afraid you
wouldn’t get Tom to go with you, Alec,” went on Mr. Swift, as he resumed his chair, the young inventor in his airship having passed out of sight. “He’s busy on some new invention now, I believe. I think I heard him say something about a new rifle.”
“Cannon it was, Mr. Swift,” said Mr. Damon. “Tom has an idea that he can make the biggest cannon in the world; but it’s only an idea yet.”
“Well, then I guess there’s no hope of my interesting him in my opal mine,” said the fortune-hunter, with rather a disappointed smile. “Nor you either, Mr. Swift.”
“No, Alec, I’m afraid not. As I said, I’d rather give you outright three or four thousand dollars, if you wanted it, provided that you used it for your own personal needs, and promised not to sink it in some visionary search.”
Mr. Peterson shook his head.
“I’m not actually in want,” he said, “and I couldn’t accept a gift of money, Mr. Swift. This is a straight business proposition.”
“Not much straight business in hunting for a mine that’s been lost for over a century,” replied the aged inventor, with a glance at Mr. Damon, who was still at the window, watching for a glimpse of Tom on his return trip in the air craft.
“If Tom would go, I’d trail along,” said the odd man. “We haven’t done anything worth speaking of since he used his great searchlight to detect the smugglers. But I don’t believe he’ll go. That mining proposition sounds good.”
“It is good!” cried Mr. Peterson, with fervor, hoping he had found a new “prospect” in Mr. Damon.
“But not business-good,” declared Mr. Swift, and for some time the three argued the matter, Mr. Swift continuing to shake his head.
Suddenly into the room there ran an aged colored man, much excited.
“Fo’ de land sakes!” he cried. “Somebody oughter go out an’ help Massa Tom!”
“Why, what’s the matter, Eradicate?” asked Mr. Swift, leaping to his feet, an example followed by the other two men. “What has happened to my son?”
“I dunno, Massa Swift, but I looked up jest now, an’ dere he be, in dat air-contraption ob his’n he calls de Hummin’ Burd. He’s ketched up fast on de balloon shed roof, an’ dere he’s hangin’ wif sparks an’ flames a-shootin’ outer de airship suffin’ scandalous! It’s jest spittin’ fire, dat’s what it’s a-doin’, an’ ef somebody don’t do suffin’ fo’ Massa Tom mighty quick, dere ain’t gwin t’ be any Massa Tom; now dat’s what I’se a-tellin’ you!”
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 191