The Tom Swift Megapack

by Victor Appleton

  “How far is it?” asked Tom.

  “A hundred miles as the vulture flies, Senor, but much farther by river and road. We shall be a week going.”

  “A hundred miles in a week!” groaned Ned. “Say, Tom, if you had your aeroplane we’d be there in an hour.”

  “Yes, but we haven’t it. However, we’re in no great rush.”

  “But we must not lose time,” said Professor Bumper. “I shall consider your offer,” he added to Val Jacinto.

  “Very good, Senor. I am sure you will be pleased with the humble service I may offer you, and my charges will be small. Adios,” and he bowed himself away.

  “What do you think of him?” asked Ned, as they went up to their rooms in the hotel, or rather one large room, containing several beds.

  “He’s a pretty slick article,” said Mr. Damon. “Bless my check-book! but he spotted us at once, in spite of our secrecy.”

  “I guess these guide purveyors are trained for that sort of thing,” observed the scientist. “I know my friends have often spoken of having had the same experience. However, I shall ask my friend, who is in business here, about this Val Jacinto, and if I find him all right we may engage him.”

  Inquiries next morning brought the information, from the head of a rubber exporting firm with whom the professor was acquainted, that the Spaniard was regularly engaged in transporting parties into the interior, and was considered efficient, careful and as honest as possible, considering the men he engaged as workers.

  “So we have decided to engage you,” Professor Bumper informed Val Jacinto the afternoon following the meeting.

  “I am more than pleased, Senor. I shall take you into the wilds of Honduras. At your service!” and he bowed low.

  “Humph! I don’t just like the way our friend Val says that,” observed Tom to Ned a little later. “I’d have been better pleased if he had said he’d guide us into the wilds and out again.”

  If Tom could have seen the crafty smile on the face of the Spaniard as the man left the hotel, the young inventor might have felt even less confidence in the guide.

  CHAPTER X

  IN THE WILDS

  “All aboard! Step lively now! This boat makes no stops this side of Boston!” cried Ned Newton gaily, as he got into one of the several tree canoes provided for the transportation of the party up the Chamelecon river, for the first stage of their journey into the wilds of Honduras. “All aboard! This reminds me of my old camping days, Tom.”

  It brought those days back, in a measure, to Tom also. For there were a number of canoes filled with the goods of the party, while the members themselves occupied a larger one with their personal baggage. Strong, half-naked Indian paddlers were in charge of the canoes which were of sturdy construction and light draft, since the river, like most tropical streams, was of uncertain depths, choked here and there with sand bars or tropical growths.

  Finding that Val Jacinto was regularly engaged in the business of taking explorers and mine prospectors into the interior, Professor Bumper had engaged the man. He seemed to be efficient. At the promised time he had the canoes and paddlers on hand and the goods safely stowed away while one big craft was fitted up as comfortably as possible for the men of the party.

  As Ned remarked, it did look like a camping party, for in the canoes were tents, cooking utensils and, most important, mosquito canopies of heavy netting.

  The insect pests of Honduras, as in all tropical countries, are annoying and dangerous. Therefore it was imperative to sleep under mosquito netting.

  On the advice of Val Jacinto, who was to accompany them, the travelers were to go up the river about fifty miles. This was as far as it would be convenient to use the canoes, the guide told Tom and his friends, and from there on the trip to the Copan valley would be made on the backs of mules, which would carry most of the baggage and equipment. The heavier portions would be transported in ox-carts.

  As Professor Bumper expected to do considerable excavating in order to locate the buried city, or cities, as the case might be, he had to contract for a number of Indian diggers and laborers. These could be hired in Copan, it was said.

  The plan, therefore, was to travel by canoes during the less heated parts of the day, and tie up at night, making camp on shore in the net-protected tents. As for the Indians, they did not seem to mind the bites of the insects. They sometimes made a smudge fire, Val Jacinto had said, but that was all.

  “Well, we haven’t seen anything of Beecher and his friends,” remarked the young inventor as they were about to start.

  “No, he doesn’t seem to have arrived,” agreed Professor Bumper. “We’ll get ahead of him, and so much the better.

  “Well, are we all ready to start?” he continued, as he looked over the little flotilla which carried his party and his goods.

  “The sooner the better!” cried Tom, and Ned fancied his chum was unusually eager.

  “I guess he wants to make good before Beecher gets the chance to show Mary Nestor what he can do,” thought Ned. “Tom sure is after that idol of gold.”

  “You may start, Senor Jacinto,” said the professor, and the guide called something in Indian dialect to the rowers. Lines were cast off and the boats moved out into the stream under the influence of the sturdy paddlers.

  “Well, this isn’t so bad,” observed Ned, as he made himself comfortable in his canoe. “How about it, Tom?”

  “Oh, no. But this is only the beginning.”

  A canopy had been arranged over their boat to keep off the scorching rays of the sun. The boat containing the exploring party and Val Jacinto took the lead, the baggage craft following. At the place where it flowed into the bay on which Puerto Cortes was built, the stream was wide and deep.

  The guide called something to the Indians, who increased their stroke.

  “I tell them to pull hard and that at the end of the day’s journey they will have much rest and refreshment,” he translated to Professor Bumper and the others.

  “Bless my ham sandwich, but they’ll need plenty of some sort of refreshment,” said Mr. Damon, with a sigh. “I never knew it to be so hot.”

  “Don’t complain yet,” advised Tom, with a laugh. “The worst is yet to come.”

  It really was not unpleasant traveling, aside from the heat. And they had expected that, coming as they had to a tropical land. But, as Tom said, what lay before them might be worse.

  In a little while they had left behind them all signs of civilization. The river narrowed and flowed sluggishly between the banks which were luxuriant with tropical growth. Now and then some lonely Indian hut could be seen, and occasionally a craft propelled by a man who was trying to gain a meager living from the rubber forest which hemmed in the stream on either side.

  As the canoe containing the men was paddled along, there floated down beside it what seemed to be a big, rough log.

  “I wonder if that is mahogany,” remarked Mr. Damon, reaching over to touch it. “Mahogany is one of the most valuable woods of Honduras, and if this is a log of that nature—

  “Bless my watch chain!” he suddenly cried. “It’s alive!”

  And the “log” was indeed so, for there was a sudden flash of white teeth, a long red opening showed, and then came a click as an immense alligator, having opened and closed his mouth, sank out of sight in a swirl of water.

  Mr. Damon drew back so suddenly that he tilted the canoe, and the black paddlers looked around wonderingly.

  “Alligator,” explained Jacinto succinctly, in their tongue.

  “Ugh!” they grunted.

  “Bless my—bless my—” hesitated Mr. Damon, and for one of the very few times in his life his language failed him.

  “Are there many of them hereabouts?” asked Ned, looking back at the swirl left by the saurian.

  “Plenty,” said the guide, with a shrug of his shoulders. He seemed to do as much talking that way, and with his hands, as he did in speech. “The river is full of them.”

  “Dang
erous?” queried Tom.

  “Don’t go in swimming,” was the significant advice. “Wait, I’ll show you,” and he called up the canoe just behind.

  In this canoe was a quantity of provisions. There was a chunk of meat among other things, a gristly piece, seeing which Mr. Damon had objected to its being brought along, but the guide had said it would do for fish bait. With a quick motion of his hand, as he sat in the awning-covered stern with Tom, Ned and the others, Jacinto sent the chunk of meat out into the muddy stream.

  Hardly a second later there was a rushing in the water as though a submarine were about to come up. An ugly snout was raised, two rows of keen teeth snapped shut as a scissors-like jaw opened, and the meat was gone.

  “See!” was the guide’s remark, and something like a cold shiver of fear passed over the white members of the party. “This water is not made in which to swim. Be careful!”

  “We certainly shall,” agreed Tom. “They’re fierce.”

  “And always hungry,” observed Jacinto grimly.

  “And to think that I—that I nearly had my hand on it,” murmured Mr. Damon. “Ugh! Bless my eyeglasses!”

  “The alligator nearly had your hand,” said the guide. “They can turn in the water like a flash, wherefore it is not wise to pat one on the tail lest it present its mouth instead.”

  They paddled on up the river, the dusky Indians now and then breaking out into a chant that seemed to give their muscles new energy. The song, if song it was, passed from one boat to the other, and as the chant boomed forth the craft shot ahead more swiftly.

  They made a landing about noon, and lunch was served. Tom and his friends were hungry in spite of the heat. Moreover, they were experienced travelers and had learned not to fret over inconveniences and discomforts. The Indians ate by themselves, two acting as servants to Jacinto and the professor’s party.

  As is usual in traveling in the tropics, a halt was made during the heated middle of the day. Then, as the afternoon shadows were waning, the party again took to the canoes and paddled on up the river.

  “Do you know of a good place to stop during the night?” asked Professor Bumper of Jacinto.

  “Oh, yes; a most excellent place. It is where I always bring scientific parties I am guiding. You may rely on me.”

  It was within an hour of dusk—none too much time to allow in which to pitch camp in the tropics, where night follows day suddenly—when a halt was called, as a turn of the river showed a little clearing on the edge of the forest-bound river.

  “We stay here for the night,” said Jacinto. “It is a good place.”

  “It looks picturesque enough,” observed Mr. Damon. “But it is rather wild.”

  “We are a good distance from a settlement,” agreed the guide. “But one can not explore—and find treasure in cities,” and he shrugged his shoulders again.

  “Find treasure? What do you mean?” asked Tom quickly. “Do you think that we—?”

  “Pardon, Senor,” replied Jacinto softly. “I meant no offense. I think that all you scientific parties will take treasure if you can find it.”

  “We are looking for traces of the old Honduras civilization,” put in Professor Bumper.

  “And doubtless you will find it,” was the somewhat too courteous answer of the guide. “Make camp quickly!” he called to the Indians in their tongue. “You must soon get under the nets or you will be eaten alive!” he told Tom. “There are many mosquitoes here.”

  The tents were set up, smudge fires built and supper quickly prepared. Dusk fell rapidly, and as Tom and Ned walked a little way down toward the river before turning in under the mosquito canopies, the young financial man said:

  “Sort of lonesome and gloomy, isn’t it, Tom?”

  “Yes. But you didn’t expect to find a moving picture show in the wilds of Honduras, did you?”

  “No, and yet— Look out! What’s that?” suddenly cried Ned, as a great soft, black shadow seemed to sweep out of a clump of trees toward him. Involuntarily he clutched Tom’s arm and pointed, his face showing fear in the fast-gathering darkness.

  CHAPTER XI

  THE VAMPIRES

  Tom Swift looked deliberately around. It was characteristic of him that, though by nature he was prompt in action, he never acted so hurriedly as to obscure his judgment. So, though now Ned showed a trace of strange excitement, Tom was cool.

  “What is it?” asked the young inventor. “What’s the matter? What did you think you saw, Ned; another alligator?”

  “Alligator? Nonsense! Up on shore? I saw a black shadow, and I didn’t THINK I saw it, either. I really did.”

  Tom laughed quietly.

  “A shadow!” he exclaimed. “Since when were you afraid of shadows, Ned?”

  “I’m not afraid of ordinary shadows,” answered Ned, and in his voice there was an uncertain tone. “I’m not afraid of my shadow or yours, Tom, or anybody’s that I can see. But this wasn’t any human shadow. It was as if a great big blob of wet darkness had been waved over your head.”

  “That’s a queer explanation,” Tom said in a low voice. “A great big blob of wet darkness!”

  “But that just describes it,” went on Ned, looking up and around. “It was just as if you were in some dark room, and some one waved a wet velvet cloak over your head—spooky like! It didn’t make a sound, but there was a smell as if a den of some wild beast was near here. I remember that odor from the time we went hunting with your electric rifle in the jungle, and got near the den in the rocks where the tigers lived.”

  “Well, there is a wild beast smell all around here,” admitted Tom, sniffing the air. “It’s the alligators in the river I guess. You know they have an odor of musk.”

  “Do you mean to say you didn’t feel that shadow flying over us just now?” asked Ned.

  “Well, I felt something sail through the air, but I took it to be a big bird. I didn’t pay much attention. To tell you the truth I was thinking about Beecher—wondering when he would get here,” added Tom quickly as if to forestall any question as to whether or not his thoughts had to do with Beecher in connection with Tom’s affair of the heart.

  “Well it wasn’t a bird—at least not a regular bird,” said Ned in a low voice, as once more he looked at the dark and gloomy jungle that stretched back from the river and behind the little clearing where the camp had been made.

  “Come on!” cried Tom, in what he tried to make a cheerful voice. “This is getting on your nerves, Ned, and I didn’t know you had any. Let’s go back and turn in. I’m dog-tired and the mosquitoes are beginning to find that we’re here. Let’s get under the nets. Then the black shadows won’t get you.”

  Not at all unwilling to leave so gloomy a scene, Ned, after a brief glance up and down the dark river, followed his chum. They found Professor Bumper and Mr. Damon in their tent, a separate one having been set up for the two men adjoining that of the youths.

  “Bless my fountain pen!” exclaimed Mr. Damon, as he caught sight of Tom and Ned in the flickering light of the smudge fire between the two canvas shelters. “We were just wondering what had become of you.”

  “We were chasing shadows!” laughed Tom. “At least Ned was. But you look cozy enough in there.”

  It did, indeed, look cheerful in contrast to the damp and dark jungle all about. Professor Bumper, being an experienced traveler, knew how to provide for such comforts as were possible. Folding cots had been opened for himself, Mr. Damon and the guide to sleep on, others, similar, being set up in the tent where Tom and Ned were to sleep. In the middle of the tent the professor had made a table of his own and Mr. Damon’s suit cases, and on this placed a small dry battery electric light. He was making some notes, doubtless for a future book. Jacinto was going about the camp, seeing that the Indians were at their duties, though most of them had gone directly to sleep after supper.

  “Better get inside and under the nets,” advised Professor Bumper to Tom and Ned. “The mosquitoes here are the worst I ever saw.” />
  “We’re beginning to believe that,” returned Ned, who was unusually quiet. “Come on, Tom. I can’t stand it any longer. I’m itching in a dozen places now from their bites.”

  As Tom and Ned had no wish for a light, which would be sure to attract insects, they entered their tent in the dark, and were soon stretched out in comparative comfort. Tom was just on the edge of a deep sleep when he heard Ned murmur:

  “I can’t understand it!”

  “What’s that?” asked the young inventor.

  “I say I can’t understand it.”

  “Understand what?”

  “That shadow. It was real and yet—”

  “Oh, go to sleep!” advised Tom, and, turning over, he was soon breathing heavily and regularly, indicating that he, at least, had taken his own advice.

  Ned, too, finally succumbed to the overpowering weariness of the first day of travel, and he, too, slept, though it was an uneasy slumber, disturbed by a feeling as though some one were holding a heavy black quilt over his head, preventing him from breathing.

  The feeling, sensation or dream—whatever it was—perhaps a nightmare—became at last so real to Ned that he struggled himself into wakefulness. With an effort he sat up, uttering an inarticulate cry. To his surprise he was answered. Some one asked:

  “What is the matter?”

  “Who—who are you?” asked Ned quickly, trying to peer through the darkness.

  “This is Jacinto—your guide,” was the soft answer. “I was walking about camp and, hearing you murmuring, I came to your tent. Is anything wrong?”

  For a moment Ned did not answer. He listened and could tell by the continued heavy and regular breathing of his chum that Tom was still asleep.

  “Are you in our tent?” asked Ned, at length:

  “Yes,” answered Jacinto. “I came in to see what was the matter with you. Are you ill?”

  “No, of course not,” said Ned, a bit shortly. “I—I had a bad dream, that was all. All right now.”

  “For that I am glad. Try to get all the sleep you can, for we must start early to avoid the heat of the day,” and there was the sound of the guide leaving and arranging the folds of the mosquito net behind him to keep out the night-flying insects.