GRAND HAVEN.
Jerrold soon demonstrated the fact that the Eagle was a much faster craft than the Hawk. As already stated, there was scarcely any wind, so the Eagle had practically no adverse air current to contend against. Pointing the air ship east by south, Jerrold tuned up the engine, and the speed they made was marvelous. They could form a tolerable idea of the swiftness of their flight by watching the surface of the earth, some five hundred feet below them.
"She's certainly a swifter craft than the Hawk," remarked Ferral.
"I will improve the Hawk for you," said Jerrold, "so she will be just as swift as the Eagle."
"Oof ve efer ged der Hawk pack, vich ve don'd know," struck in Carl.
"Wemustget her back," averred Matt.
"The biggest trouble with air ships equipped with gasoline," continued Jerrold, "is the fact that the slightest change in the temperature affects the buoyancy. Even a cloud over the sun will cause the gas to contract, and the difference in heat thrown off by the sun at morning and noon will expand the gas and also disturb the equilibrium. Now I have an improvement that remedies that. It consists of a smaller bag inside the gas bag, filled with a vapor of my own invention. When the buoyancy of the outer bag decreases, that of the inner bag increases, andvice versa. That gives us a unit of buoyancy which is always the same, and leaves the propeller free to carry us in any direction."
"Greadt!" cried Carl. "I don'd ondershtand vat youvas gedding ad, aber I bed it vas somet'ing fine. Ach!" and he looked downward, "here ve go ofer der lake. I hope dere iss some ships all along der vay, so dot oof anyt'ing habbens ve can trop down ondo vone oof dem."
"Don't worry about our dropping into the water, Carl," smiled Jerrold, "for there is absolutely no danger of that."
In an hour the Eagle was out of sight of land. The sails of one or two schooners could be seen far away on the horizon, but they were too far off to be considered "company."
As the Eagle plowed on and on through the sunny air, with never a hitch or a sign of anything going wrong, Carl's fears slowly subsided and he took delight in this novel experience of crossing a large body of water.
For a time, Matt relieved Jerrold at the motor. So far as the young motorist could see, the Eagle handled as easily as the Hawk; besides that, there were points of superiority about her, in addition to speed, as compared with the Brady air ship.
For three hours the Eagle was over the lake, and then Ferral, with a shout, announced:
"Land ho, messmates, right under our fore foot!"
Harris examined the shore line, critically. A little later, when they were nearer, he turned to Jerrold.
"We're a bit south of Grand Haven," said he, "about two miles, I should judge. I can see the cottages on the trolley line that follows the lake shore."
Jerrold was about to shift the steering rudder so as to point the Eagle directly for the town, when Matt interposed.
"It strikes me," said Matt, "that it would be better for us to land outside the town and go in on the trolley. If we took the Eagle over the place, the whole town would be out to see us. That would make it impossible for us to take this Ochiltree by surprise, and might give Brady and his gang a chance to clear out."
"That's a level-headed suggestion," declared Harris. "An air ship arouses everybody's curiosity, and if Brady and his gang saw us, or heard about us, they'd know at once that we were on their track with the Eagle. Make a landing on the lake shore, Jerrold. That ought to be easy, as the beach is clear of obstructions and covered with good white sand."
"It's never hard for me to make a landing with the Eagle," said Jerrold. "I can come down anywhere, and ascend from anywhere."
He took a look over the side.
"Right ahead looks like an excellent place," he went on, as he drew back. "The trees run right down to the beach, and there are no houses near. That means that our descent will be screened, and that we'll not arouse so much curiosity as we would if we alighted in a more populous place."
Instructed by Carl, Ferral, and Harris, Jerrold brought the air ship to rest on the beach without the slightest difficulty.
"Now to call on this fellow Ochiltree," said Harris briskly, as he stepped out of the car. "We can't all go, and I'd suggest that Carl stay here with Jerrold and watch the car while Matt, Ferral, and I call on the police department here and see if we can find out where Ochiltree lives."
Carl's face fell. If there was going to be any trouble, he had hoped that he would have as big a part in it as any of the rest of them.
Ferral, noting Carl's long face, clapped him on the back.
"Don't go into the doldrums, my hearty," cried Ferral. "If Brady and his gang should find out that the Eagle is here, you and Jerrold may have more trouble on your hands than the rest of us."
Carl brightened visibly.
"Py shinks," said he, "I hatn't t'ought oof dot. Aber you bed you can drust us to dake care oof der Eagle."
Without waiting longer, Harris led Matt and Ferral through the timber and to the tracks of the trolley line. They had not long to wait before a car came along, headed toward Grand Haven. Apparently, neither the conductor nor the motorman had seen the descent of the Eagle, for they had nothing to say about the air ship.
"We're playing in great luck, right at the start-off," said Harris, in a low tone. "In how many places in this country, do you think, could an air ship come down without having a curious crowd around it inside of five minutes? Not many, I'll bet; and yet, here we make a landing in the midst of a summer resort and not so much as a dog comes out to bark at us."
"A good thing for us, too," returned Ferral. "If there's anything to be accomplished in Grand Haven, we can do it, for all the odds are in our favor."
"Exactly," said Harris. "That's the point I was trying to make."
In ten minutes they reached Grand Haven, and in fifteen minutes they were at police headquarters, and Harris was having an interview with the head of the department. Harris was not long with that official, and when he came out he took a chair between Matt and Ferral.
"Prospects are bright," said he. "The chief here knows all about Ochiltree, and says he's a shady character and has a record. We've got to wait for a few minutes for a plain-clothes man who is going with us to call on the party."
"Did the chief say anything about another air ship?" asked Matt.
"I was coming to that," went on Harris. "Yes, another air ship was seen crossing over the town about two hours ago. Everybody was out to look at it, and the chief says there were four or five men in the car."
"That would be Whipple, Pete, Harper, and Brady," put in Matt.
"That's the way I had figured it out. Young Brady wasn't picked up by the other four that got the Hawk away from you at the balloon house. It would be a great piece of work if we could capture the whole gang."
Just then a small man, with a restless black eye and a beak-like face, pushed up to where Harris and the boys were talking.
"My name's Dennison," said he. "The chief has told me what you wanted, and I'm to take you to Ochiltree's place."
Harris gave Dennison his name and introduced Matt and Ferral.
"We hadn't better lose much time," suggested Dennison. "The fellow we're looking for is usually at home this time of the day."
"The quicker we can wind this up, the better," said Harris. "Lead the way, Dennison, and we'll be right behind you."
The course they followed took them across the river and then along the opposite bank in the direction of the life-saving station. There, in a patch of scrub, they came upon a small, shanty-like house.
As a precautionary move, Dennison went around to the back door, and left Harris and the boys to present themselves at the front.
It was well this precaution was taken. Although Harris rapped and pounded, no one answered his summons for several minutes. When a voice was finally heard from within the house, it was Dennison's.
"Come in, Harris," he called. "If the front door's locked, come around to the back of the house."
The front door, however, was not locked. Harris and the boys opened it and walked in. They found Dennison, revolver in hand, standing in front of a sulky, black-whiskered man, who was sitting in a chair.
"He didn't like your looks," explained Dennison, "and so he wouldn't open the door. On the contrary, he tried to get away by the rear of the house, and so ran into me. All that looks suspicious, on the face of it."
"I'm tryin' ter do an honest turn," growled Ochiltree, "an' you cops keep naggin' me. It's a wonder I don't go wrong, when ye're all expectin' me to."
"What did you try to duck by the back way for?" demanded Dennison.
"I ain't anxious fer callers," was the sullen response.
"Has Brady been here to see you?"
"Brady?" queried Ochiltree. "Who's Brady?"
"Come, Ochiltree, that won't go down. You haven't forgotten your old friend Brady, have you?"
"Never heard o' such a feller. If he's——"
Matt, who had been looking curiously around the room, glimpsed some one through the front window, stealthily approaching the house.
"Hist!" the young motorist whispered, turning to Harris. "Here comes Harper, now."
Ochiltree began to squirm uneasily in his chair.
"Luck again!" muttered Harris exultantly. "Keep Ochiltree covered, Dennison, and be sure he doesn't open his mouth to call a warning. I'll take care of Harper. He's one of the gang and can give us a line on Brady."
Harris stole noiselessly to the door. Matt likewise crowded up close to it on the other side.
The instant Harper rapped, Harris flung the door open, and he and Matt grabbed the astounded caller and dragged him into the room.
THE LINE ON BRADY.
Harper's astonishment was so profound as to be ludicrous. Naturally he could not recognize Harris, even as being a policeman, but he could hardly fail to be astounded at seeing Matt and Ferral.
With a revolver in his hand, Harris drove Harper into a chair beside Ochiltree.
"What—what's the meanin' o' this?" asked Harper, in faltering tones, his bewildered eyes roaming from Matt to Ferral, and then to Ochiltree.
"You'll find out the meaning of it before you're many minutes older," answered Harris, with a snap of the jaw. "Why, you murderous hound," he went on, "how can you look at King, there, and at his friend, Ferral, and find the nerve to put such a question? I suppose you've forgotten how you tied these two lads, put them in the little room back of the balloon house, and then turned on the gas?"
"It wasn't me done that," protested Harper.
"It was you, just as much as it was Whipple or Pete. The law won't make any fine distinctions, I can tell you, when it comes to playing even for that bit of dastardly work. You're in a hard row of stumps, Harper. I don't know as anything can be done to help you, either, but if you show a disposition to help us, it won't hurt you any."
"Nothin' happened to them two kids," growled Harper, recovering a little of his courage, "an' I knew all the time they'd get clear."
"Use the soft pedal!" warned Harris. "You didn't have any such notion. Anyhow, the law will handle you almost as it would if both boys had been smothered to death. It wasn't anything to your credit that they got out of that room alive. But you're not the main object of our expedition. Where's Brady?"
"Who told you where we was?" asked Harper, ignoring the question.
"Some one gave us the tip, and that's enough for you to know. Where's Brady?"
"I don't know where he——"
"Yes, you do!"
The muzzle of Harris' revolver was pushed closer to Harper's face. He cringed away from it with a frightened look in his eyes.
"Don't get careless with that," he whined. "I'm not goin' to run away."
"You're right you're not. It wouldn't do you any good if you did try. Where's Brady? I'm not going to ask you many times."
"Who're you?" demanded Harper. "What right you got to ask me things like that?"
"I'm an officer from South Chicago," and Harris pulled back his coat and showed the badge pinned to his vest.
"And I," spoke up Dennison, going through the same movements, "am a Grand Haven officer. You're nigged good and plenty, my man. If you know when you're well off, you'll help rather than hinder this game we're playing."
Harper cast an appealing look at Ochiltree. The latter met the look savagely.
"What ye lookin' at me fer?" he snapped. "I don't know you—never seen ye before in my life. Ye can see what trouble ye've got me in by comin' here. Take him away an' jug him," Ochiltree added, turning to Harris. "He's nothin' ter me, an' I'd like ter have ye git him out o' this house as soon as ye kin."
"We'll jug the two of you, Ochiltree," answered Dennison grimly, "until we find out just where you stand in this business."
Ochiltree relapsed into his chair with a black scowl. This byplay between Ochiltree and the officer did not serve to make Harper any more easy in his mind.
"Are you going to tell us anything about Brady?" demanded Harris. "I'm waiting."
"What's it goin' to mean to me?" asked Harper, wishing to drive some sort of a bargain on his own account.
"It may help you, but I'm making no promises."
Harper bowed his head and, for a moment, thought the matter over. Evidently he made up his mind that he was cornered, and that it would be well for him to take a chance at doing something for himself.
"What do you want to know?" he queried.
"Where is Brady?" repeated Harris.
"He's out on the trolley line that leads toward Grand Rapids."
"Is the Hawk there?"
"Yes. Something went wrong with the Hawk's motor, and Brady sent me after Ochiltree while he was tinkering with the machinery."
"Sent you after Ochiltree, did he?" echoed Harris. "Why was that?"
"Give it up. I guess Brady was plannin' to have Ochiltree help him to steer clear of the law."
"Consarn you!" flared Ochiltree, glaring at Harper. "What ye tryin' ter git me inter this thing fer? I'll admit I useter know Brady," he went on, turning to Dennison and Harris, "but I ain't had a thing ter do with him fer years. Why he comes to me now, like this, is more'n I know."
"It looks bad for you, Ochiltree," commented Dennison.
"I know that," scowled Ochiltree, "an' all because o' this mutt. He's doin' his best ter ring me in on the deal, but I'll swear I ain't got a thing ter do with it."
"We'll find that out for ourselves."
"How far is the Hawk from town?" queried Harris, again taking up his line of questioning with Harper.
"About two miles," was the prisoner's answer.
"How'll we know the place when we get to it?"
"There's a broken oak close to a platform where the cars stop to take on an' let off passengers. Ye can't miss the place. Get off at the platform and walk to the right, straight into the timber."
"Was Brady to wait there until you and Ochiltree joined him?"
"Yes."
"How long will it take Brady to repair the Hawk?"
"He figured on a couple of hours."
"Who's with him?"
"Pete and Whipple."
"No one else?"
"No."
"What's become of Hector, Jr.?"
"He's gone East. Brady thought Hector, Jr., had better cut out of Chicago after what happened on the lake."
"I see." Harris turned to Dennison. "We've got a good line on Brady," he continued. "We'll take Harper and Ochiltree to the lockup, and then we'll pick up another officer and go to the platform by the blasted oak, and——"
"I know the place," broke in Dennison. "I've passed it a dozen times on the way to Grand Rapids. The quicker we pull off the rest of this the better."
"My notion to a t, y, ty."
Harris snapped a pair of iron bracelets about Harper's wrists, while Dennison gave the same delicate attention to Ochiltree.
"I'm blamed if I can understand why ye're treatin' me in this way," growled Ochiltree.
"Your actions are suspicious," replied the Grand Haven officer.
"I can't keep crooks from callin' on me," protested Ochiltree.
"Well, you'd better," was the significant response. "Come along, Ochiltree, and come peaceably."
Ferral walked on one side of Ochiltree, and Matt walked on one side of Harper.
With this escort, the two prisoners were removed from the house, taken across the river and conducted to police headquarters.
If success was to attend the rest of the officers' movements, there was no time to be lost. The two prisoners had been paraded through the town, and there was the possibility that the news of their arrest might reach Brady and his men in advance of the arrival of Harris and Dennison.
Another officer was secured. While the three plain-clothes men were waiting for the car, Harris endeavored to persuade Matt and Ferral to go back to the Eagle and leave the rest of the work to him, and Dennison, and the other officer.
"Keelhaul me if I cut adrift at this stage of the game," answered Ferral. "Why, it's just beginning to get exciting."
"I feel the same way, Harris," spoke up Matt.
"If Brady does any shooting, Matt," answered Harris, "you can gamble that it will be in your direction. The scoundrel has got it in for you, and he'll take any chance to play even, no matter what it costs him."
"I'll look out for myself," said Matt confidently. "Besides, Harris, you're overlooking one important point.
"What's that?"
"Suppose Brady hasn't got the Hawk in shape. It would be necessary for some one that understands a gasoline motor to lay hold and finish the job. Who could do that, if I wasn't along?"
There was a brief silence, broken at last by Dennison.
"The youngster is right," said he. "Perhaps he'll be needed."
"What's more," averred Ferral, "Matt and I own the Hawk, and it's right and proper that we should be there to look after it. If there's any shooting, you fellows see that the air ship isn't hurt."
"We'll do our best to look after the Hawk," answered Harris, "but we can't forget that the capture of Brady and his men is our principal business."
"Here comes the car," announced Dennison. "Tumble aboard and we'll start off on the last lap of the chase."
THE WOODS BY THE RIVER.
There was a wait on a siding, a little way out of town, for another car from Grand Rapids to pass on the single track of the trolley system. Five minutes were lost, and Ferral fretted and fumed.
"Take it easy, son," said Harris soothingly. "We're on the way, you know, and a little wait like this isn't going to make much of a difference."
"It might, matey," answered Ferral. "A whole lot can happen in five minutes."
At last the car got under headway again and rushed over the remaining distance.
"I'd better get off alone," suggested Dennison, just as the car began slowing up for the platform. "If Brady has anyone watching the platform, the fellow won't know but that I'm Ochiltree, or some one sent by Ochiltree and Harper. The rest of you go on a little way, get off, and double back. Show your badge to the conductor, Harris, and he'll let you off anywhere."
This was a good idea, and Dennison deserved credit for thinking of it at the last moment. The success of the whole plan might depend upon the ruse.
Dennison debarked on the platform, and, when the car pulled out, those still aboard saw him stepping off the planks and pushing into the timber that grew close up to the stopping place.
Matt and Ferral, as the car went on, saw the broken oak at the end of the platform. It was a plain enough landmark and not easily to be passed or mistaken.
"Harper is playing square with us, matey," remarked Ferral, pointing to the tree.
"It looks that way, Dick," agreed Matt.
"Here's where we get back our air ship," jubilated Ferral. "Sink me, though, but the loss of that flugee gave me a scare."
"We haven't got it back yet, old chap."
"I know that, but I feel in my bones that we're going to. I——"
Just then the car began to slow down. Harris had got out of his seat, with the other officer, and had gone back to the conductor. Evidently the badges worn by the two men had caused him to slow down the express car for a halt in defiance of rules.
The boys, heeding a call from Harris, got up and ran back along the aisle. They jumped off, after the two officers, and the car resumed its course to Grand Rapids. But there was a mighty curious conductor on the rear platform. As long as the car remained in sight of the four who had debarked, he looked back and wondered what was up.
"We'll go back quietly," said Harris. "The river is just over there, and the woods lie between it and the trolley line. We'll get to the river bank and follow it back. That ought to bring us out close to the place where the Hawk landed. Follow me, Twitchell," he added to the other officer, "and you boys," he finished, "come along behind Twitchell. Quiet's the word."
Harris darted into the timber, which bordered the track closely. The underbrush had evidently been cleaned out, so that the timber had the appearance of a grove. On one of the trees, near the track, Matt saw a big white sign bearing the words, "Lots for Sale."
The river, as it proved, was hardly more than a stone's throw from the trolley track. Turning along its bank, Harris led the way back toward the vicinity of the broken oak and the platform.
They all knew they had not far to go, but they were startled at the suddenness with which Harris turned on them before they had followed the river bank for more than two or three minutes.
"I can see the Hawk," whispered Harris. "She's just ahead. And Brady is there—and Dennison, too. They're talking. I can't see Pete or Whipple, and those rascals may be laying low to carry out some black plan of Brady's—but we'll see about that. Come along, and keep behind the trees as much as you can."
As Harris turned about, he drew his revolver. Twitchell likewise got out a weapon. Then the party separated, and each advanced from tree to tree.
It was not long before Matt and Ferral, who were advancing near each other, were able to get a good look at their air ship.
The Hawk had descended in a cleared space hard by the river, and seemed to be in good condition. She was moored to the ground with two ropes at the front and rear of the car, the ropes being tied to trees.
Coming a little closer, the boys were able to see Brady and Dennison.
Brady had his coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled up. He was holding a heavy wrench in his hand and had evidently been working with the motor when Dennison presented himself. The two men were talking, and Matt and Ferral were able to hear what passed between them.
"What did you say your name was?" inquired Brady, evidently distrustful.
"Gammon," answered Dennison. "I'm a pal o' Ochiltree's."
"Where's Harper?"
"He stayed behind at Ochiltree's house."
"Why was that? I told Harper to come and to bring Ochiltree with him."
"I'll tell ye the why of it, Brady. Ye see, the perlice are watchin' Ochiltree good and hard, an' if he was seen comin' here with Harper, the two of 'em might be follered. Ochiltree got word ter me ter come an' put the situation up to you, an' to tell ye that he an' Harper 'u'd be along when it got dark, as it wasn't safe ter come in broad day."
"I see," muttered Brady, studying Dennison with his gimlet eyes.
"Harper said ye had two more men with ye," went on Dennison, playing his game easily and evidently edging closer for a chance to lay hold of Brady and make him a prisoner. "Where are they?"
"They're off watching the platform. I reckon they'll be along in a minute. Prob'ly they followed you, and——"
At that precise moment, Pete and Whipple broke out of the timber. They came up directly behind Dennison and laid hands on him before he could make a move to defend himself.
"What you doing?" yelled Brady, leaping forward.
"Grabbing an officer," said Whipple, with an oath. "His name's Gammon, all right, an' the talk he was givin' ye, Brady, was pure gammon, an' nothin' else."
"How's that?"
Brady's voice, as he put the question, was hard and metallic, and he measured Dennison with glistening eyes.
"Why," explained Whipple, "when he got off'n the keer we seen some 'un else through a winder. I'm a sinner if it wasn't Matt King. Now, whatever was King doin' on that keer? By rights, he ort ter hev got shuffled out o' the game, across the lake in that balloon house. But he didn't, an' here he is, travelin' on the same keer with a feller as says his name is Gammon, an' that he comes from Ochiltree."
Dennison, as he was held helpless in the hands of Pete and Whipple, was studying the timber covertly, but none the less anxiously.
"What have you got to say for yourself?" cried Brady, advancing threateningly upon Dennison.
Matt and Ferral had been wondering why Harris and Twitchell had not shown themselves. Unable to hold back any longer, the boys dashed forward.
The noise they made drew the instant attention of Brady, Whipple and Pete.
"There's King now!" yelled Pete.
In a twinkling, Brady dropped the wrench and drew a revolver.
A sharp, incisive note echoed through the woods and across the river. Matt felt the wind of the bullet as it passed his face.
"Look out, matey!" bellowed Ferral. "Duck for a tree! You're not armed, and can't take any chances. He's going to shoot again."
But it was not necessary for Matt to get behind a tree. Before Brady could fire another shot in his direction, Harris and Twitchell rushed upon the scene.
"Drop your guns!" cried Harris sternly. "Stand right where you are! You're our prisoners!"
Brady, however, was made of sterner stuff. A prison cell was yawning to receive him, and he knew it.
Whipple and Pete, astounded by this sudden demonstration, paused undecided. Their fingers relaxed, and Dennison leaped away from them.
"Treachery!" roared Brady; "Harper has sold us out! Fight for it, boys!"
Dennison, being nearer Brady than any of the rest, jumped for him. He tried to draw his revolver, but it stuck in his pocket. Brady had leveled his weapon at point-blank range, and only Motor Matt's quickness, at that moment, saved the officer's life.
Matt, watching the fight breathlessly, had instinctively picked up a stone. Now, seeing Dennison's danger, he hurled the stone at Brady with all his strength.
The missile sped true, struck Brady's arm with terrific force and caused the revolver to drop. With wild yells, Harris and Twitchell rushed forward to capture Brady and his two men.
But Pete and Whipple, not knowing the extent of the forces against them, thought best to trust their liberty to their heels. Whirling around, they darted into the timber, leaping from tree to tree as they ran in order to screen themselves from any bullets that might be sent after them.
The bullets came fast and thick, but evidently without doing any damage, for Whipple and Pete did not slacken pace.
Brady, swearing like a pirate, turned on Dennison like a madman, grabbed him about the waist and, with a tremendous display of strength, held the officer in front of him. Still swearing, he began backing into the timber, with the intention of making his escape as Pete and Whipple had done.
Seeing that he would be likely to effect his purpose, Matt and Ferral doubled around behind him and suddenly hurled themselves upon him from the rear.
Brady fought like a tiger. Matt could not have believed that one man possessed so much strength. Dennison, whose temper was fiercely aroused by the turn events had taken, jerked loose from Brady and turned to help the boys.
Harris and Twitchell, seeing that Brady was as good as captured, took after Pete and Whipple.
BRADY A PRISONER.
Matt, Ferral and Dennison were not long in getting the whip hand of Hector Brady. As Matt and the officer held him down, Dennison called to Ferral to get a rope.
Ferral got a rope from the car and the desperate thief was finally secured, wrist and ankle. Even then he continued to struggle and roar his defiance of his captors.
"You might as well calm down," cried Dennison, picking up the revolver which Matt's missile had knocked from Brady's hand. "Your goose is cooked, Brady, and there's no use tiring yourself out."
After a few moments Brady seemed to realize this.
"You've got me, but you won't keep me," he snarled.
"If you can get away from us," replied the officer, "you're welcome to your liberty. But you won't get away. I had too close a call at your hands to let you do that."
"Who in the fiend's name are you?"
"A plain-clothes man from the Grand Haven police headquarters."
"Did you get this tip from Harper?"
"Harper couldn't help himself. He and Ochiltree are in the lockup."
Dennison turned to Matt and grabbed his hand.
"If it hadn't been for you, King," said he, "I'd have been laid out. You were quick as a cat and as certain as fate. I never met your kind before, and it does me good to shake hands with you. I'm mighty glad," he added, with a grin, "that we couldn't persuade you to stay behind, in Grand Haven."
"That's the way this raggie of mine does things, Dennison," remarked Ferral, looking at Matt admiringly. "He's chain lightning when he turns himself loose."
"The best part of it all is," observed Matt, anxious to change the subject, "no harm has happened to the air ship."
Throwing off his coat and cap, Matt lost not a moment in diving into the machinery. He could see nothing wrong, and he "turned over" the engine and set it to going. It worked perfectly.
"If you're looking for trouble," growled Brady, turning his head to follow Matt's movements, "you won't find any. I've fixed the motor—just got through with it when this cop in plain clothes showed up. If I'd known who he was——" and Brady finished with a diabolical light in his eyes that told plainly what he would have done.
"Pass it up," said Dennison curtly; "you came within an ace of getting me, as it was."
"King balked me again, just as he has been doing right along," went on Brady fiercely. "I'd willingly have gone to Joliet for life if I could have nicked him. He's the cause of all my troubles."
"Bully for King!" applauded Dennison. "The more I hear of him the higher he stacks up with me."
"Who put you next to where I was going, King?" demanded Brady.
"Never mind about that," replied Matt, getting into his coat and cap again. "We've captured you, Brady, and that's enough for you to know."
"Captured, but not sent up," qualified Brady. "Nor I won't be sent up. I'll live and have my liberty until I can settle accounts with Motor Matt and some more of you fellows."
"Let him rave," laughed Dennison. "That's the only thing he can do, and it won't hurt anybody."
"If it was that girl of mine that tipped me off to you and Harris," went on Brady, "she's one of those who'll come in for a fair share of the trouble I'm going to turn loose. Nice kind of a daughter she is! It's been the grief of my life that she never was more like Hector, Jr."
Matt listened to this in amazement, and his heart sickened as he turned away.
At that moment, Harris and Twitchell came hurrying back.
"Where are the other two?" cried Dennison.
"I'd give a bunch of pay if I knew," answered Harris, very much put out. "We couldn't locate them, and the thing for us to do, Dennison, is to get back to headquarters and use the telegraph and the telephone."
He hurried forward to Brady's side.
"You're in Michigan," said he, "and you're wanted in Illinois. Will you waive requisition?"
"Waive nothing!" shouted Brady. "All you get out of me you'll fight for."
"Personally," said Harris contemptuously, "I don't care a toss-up. We've got you, Brady, and we've got you right. By staying in Michigan until requisition papers are put through you're only delaying a game that can have only one termination."
"Well," was the scowling response, "we'll wait for the termination. Maybe somebody will get fooled before we're at the end of this."
Harris turned away to Matt and Ferral.
"Twitchell, Dennison and I," said he, "will take Brady to Grand Haven and put him in the lockup with Harper. They'll both stand out for requisition, and they'll have to be left on this side of the lake until our governor can get the case before the Michigan executive. Have you looked over the Hawk, Matt?"
"Yes."
"Much tinkering to be done on her?"
"Brady had already fixed the motor so that it works as well as ever."
"Then you and Ferral had better get aboard and make a getaway to the place where Jerrold and Carl have the other air ship. As soon as I finish my work in Grand Haven, I'll join you and we'll all go back to South Chicago together. Your hard luck has certainly taken a turn for the better, Matt, and we want to make sure that you don't have any more backsets. Whipple and Pete are loose in the timber, and I'll bet they'd give their eyeteeth to be able to capture the Hawk. We want to keep them from doing that, or from trying it. We'll take Brady back on the trolley, but before we start I want to see you well away in the Hawk."
"It won't take us more than a couple of minutes to get under way," returned Matt. "All aboard, pard," he added to Ferral. "Get into our air ship, old chap, and we'll go on a still hunt for Carl and Jerrold and the Eagle."
"Aye, aye, Captain Matt," laughed Ferral, getting into the car.
Matt followed him aboard and settled himself in the driver's seat.
"Cast off the ropes, Harris, you and Dennison," called Matt.
Harris was familiar with that part of the work, and he and Dennison soon had the air ship unmoored and the cables in the car. The river offered a clear stretch for rising, and Matt turned the Hawk in that direction.
The motor began to pop and then to settle down to a steady hum. Matt manipulated the steering rudder, switched the power into the propeller, and the Hawk arose gracefully accompanied by the cheers of the officers.
But no cheers came from Brady. With baleful eyes he watched the Hawk's departure.
"That's the second time you've taken my air ship away from me, King," he roared. "The next time——"
"There'll never be a next time," cried Harris. "You're down and out, Brady, and you'd better begin to realize it."
Up and up mounted the Hawk, the river lying below her like a silver ribbon, entangled among the greenery of the trees. Off to the west sparkled the waters of the lake, and in between the Hawk and the shore lay Grand Haven, cottages and farms, all spread out like a map.
"Getting a bird's-eye view of a scene is a heap finer than looking at it from the ground," observed Ferral, leaning over the Hawk's rail and feasting his eyes on the panorama below.
"We're in good trim to enjoy looking down at the landscape from the Hawk," laughed Matt.
"Right-o, matey," answered the young sailor. "I'd about given up ever taking another ride in the Hawk. We're thirty-five hundred to the good by this afternoon's work."
"That's the least of what we have accomplished," said Matt. "The capture of Brady is a bigger thing than the recovery of the air ship."
"I guess that's right," said Ferral, "but I'm sorry those other two beachcombers got away. They'll be making trouble for some one later."
"Harris will get quick action over the telegraph and telephone," said Matt, "and the chances are good for the overhauling of Pete and Whipple."
"I hope so, and that's a fact. Say, I'll bet Carl and Jerrold will be surprised when they see the Hawk coming for their part of the beach."
"Keep a good lookout, Dick, and let me know when you sight the Eagle. This is unfamiliar territory to me, and your eyes will have to guide us."
"As I get the bearings," said Ferral, leaning over the rail and peering ahead, "we ought to be about east by north of where we want to land. When we took the trolley we went east."
"That's right," returned Matt. "Keep your gaze south and west, and you ought to be able to pick up the Eagle."
A few moments later Ferral sighted the swaying bulk of the other air ship.
"Bear to the left a little, Matt," said he, "and we'll come down right where we want to go. I can see Jerrold and Carl standing on the beach and looking up atus. I'll bet they're wondering whether we're in the car, or whether Brady and his gang are the passengers."
"Wave something at them," suggested Matt. "We don't want to scare them."
Ferral waved his handkerchief. This calmed the fears of Carl and Jerrold, if they had had any, and Ferral reported that they were waving their hats.
A few moments later Matt engineered an easy landing, and the Hawk was moored within a dozen yards of the Eagle.
BACK IN SOUTH CHICAGO.
There was some great rejoicing on Carl's part when he learned what had happened in Grand Haven and out along the trolley line to Grand Rapids.
"Ach, aber dot all sounds too goot to be droo!" exulted the Dutch boy. "I vish I hat peen dere during der fragas. Ferral vas fooling mit me ven he saidt dot Jerrold und I mighdt haf more drouples as der resdt oof you. Dere don'd vas any tanger oof dot at any stage oof der game. Prady gaptured! Hoop-a-la! Aber der pest oof all iss dot der Hawk is pack vere she pelongs, und dot pooty soon, pympy, Modor Matt, Tick Ferral und Carl Pretzel vill sail avay mit demselufs py Noo York. Der palloon-house plot ditn't vork oudt like Prady t'ought."
"It would have worked out just as he planned," said Matt, "if it hadn't been for Helen Brady."
"Yah, so! Miss Prady safed der tay for all oof us. Ven ve shdart for Noo York now, Matt? Oof ve vaid too long, den meppy dose odder two fellers, Vipple und Pete, vill hatch some more plots. I don'd like dot. Der kevicker vat ve get avay, der pedder all aroundt."
"Carl's got the marlinspike by the right end, old ship," said Ferral to Matt.
"That may be," answered Matt, "but I think we ought to find out something more about what Helen Brady intends doing before we leave Chicago."
"Right-o!" agreed Ferral. "I was forgetting about that. She's mighty independent, though, and I doubt whether she'll let us do much to help her."
"That's one of the things I like about Helen Brady."
Matt went over the Hawk and found that she would need more gasoline before the trip back across the lake was attempted.
Jerrold was also wanting a supply, and he and Matt, leaving Carl and Ferral in charge of both air ships, started for the nearest house to find out where they could get the fuel of which they stood in need.
They found that gasoline was used for cooking, and for manufacturing gas for lighting, in the house where they inquired. The man who owned the place kindly offered to let the air ship owners have all they needed.
In less than an hour Matt and Jerrold were back and filling their gasoline tanks.
A little later Harris reached the scene. The sun was down and darkness was coming on.
"I couldn't get away any quicker," explained Harris. "I am leaving everything in good shape here, though. Harper is willing to go back to South Chicago without any requisition papers, but I thought it best to let him stay and take him across the lake at the same time we took Brady."
"I should think that would be better," agreed Matt.
"Harper is ready to turn states' evidence against the gang in the hope of getting a light sentence," went on Harris. "He claims to know where some more stolen property has been secreted, so I suppose there will be a few happy people in South Chicago if he proves that he knows what he's talking about."
"The law will deal lightly with Harper, I suppose," put in Jerrold, "if he does all that."
"I guess so, but the law will not let him off scot free. Harper will go to the 'pen,' but he won't get anywhere near the sentence that Brady will."
"How long will Brady go up for?"
"That's hard to say, but it will be long enough to keep him out of mischief for twenty or thirty years."
"What is going to be done with Ochiltree?" asked Matt.
"Nothing. Ochiltree will be kept in the lockup until the officers in this part of Michigan have had a chance to capture Whipple and Pete. After that, Ochiltree will be turned loose."
"What are the chances for capturing Whipple and Pete?"
"Good. We have used the wires in every direction, and also coupled a description of Grove with the descriptions of the other two."
"Why, shiver me," cried Ferral, "I hadn't thought about Grove! What became of him, Harris?"
"Harper says that Grove was put down on the lake shore, just before Brady and the rest started across. I don't know how true that is, and I'm just telling you what Harper told me. But Harper's information has panned out straight goods, so far. He says that Grove showed signs of weakening, and that Brady, in a temper, cut loose from him. It may be that Grove will join Whipple and Pete, somehow, and I thought it well to telephone and telegraph his description along with the others. But what are we going to do, Jerrold? Wait here until morning?"
"I don't think we'd better," said Jerrold. "The night bids fair to be as calm as the day has been, and we can cross the lake easily enough by moonlight. If we wait until to-morrow we may have a high wind, and perhaps a storm. Air ships, and flying machines of every sort,ought to be under cover in a time like that. We'd better make the most of the good weather. Don't you think so, Matt?"
"You know more about air ships than I do, Mr. Jerrold," answered Matt, "but, from my brief experience with the Hawk, I think a storm would be bad business for an air ship. I've weathered out storms in balloons, but it's possible, with just a plain gas bag, to get above the clouds and the tempest. You can't safely do that with machines like ours."
"Well," said Harris, "if we're going to South Chicago to-night, the quicker we start the quicker we'll get there. I'll confess I'm not in love with the idea of hanging out on this beach all night with these two air ships. We can't tell what might happen, with Grove, and Pete, and Whipple at large."
"Then," said Jerrold, "we'll pull out at once. You start first, Matt, and we'll follow."
"I'll ride mit my bards," said Carl, "und Harris can come mit you, Misder Jerrold."
The ropes were cast off and Matt manœuvred the Hawk upward and out above the lake. When they had got a good "offing," as Ferral described it, those in the car could look back and see the dark, weird shape of the Eagle flinging itself upward against the lighter background of sky.
What little wind there had been, during the day, had gone down with the sun, and perfect silence, save for the lapping of the waves, reigned on every hand.
The Eagle soon overhauled the Hawk, and side by side the two air ships made toward the Illinois shore.
Could anyone in a boat have seen the air ships, the sight presented would have been strangely exciting. The spectacle would have been prophetic, too, of man's coming command of an element heretofore out of his reach.
As time passed, the moon arose as if out of the water, and a scene of weird beauty unrolled to those aboard the Hawk and the Eagle.
"I vould radder be a sailor oof der air dan oof der sea," remarked Carl, breaking a silence during which all hands had been enjoying their novel surroundings.
"Why so, Carl?" came across from the Eagle, in the voice of Harris.
"Pecause," said Carl, "you got four vays to go insteadt oof two. In a sea ship, you don't vas aple to go oop und town."
"Once in awhile, matey," laughed Ferral, "a sea ship goes down."
"Yah," averred Carl, "und she shdays town. Go on mit dot song vat you vas singing mit yourseluf, Tick, der dime vat you vas coming py der poarding house to see Matt. It vas a pooty fine song, I tell you dot."
Ferral had a fine voice, and he at once broke into "In Cawsand Bay Lying," and followed it through from start to finish.
Harris thereupon tuned up, and when he got through Carl piped out in German. This singing was kept up, off and on, during the entire trip across the lake.
It was decided, just as the air ships were hoving over South Chicago, that Matt and his chums should take the Hawk to the balloon house and stow her away there. Harris would go on to Jerrold's place in the Eagle, and then send a couple of policemen from headquarters to watch the Hawk until the boys were ready to leave.
This programme was carried out without a break. It was about three o'clock in the morning when the boys got their sand bags in place along the bottom rail of the car and towed the Hawk into her old berth.
Half an hour after that a detail of two officers arrived and went on guard. Matt, Ferral and Carl went into the small room at the back of the balloon house, and two of them took possession of the cots and the third had a bed made for him on the floor. It was Carl who stretched out between the two cots, and it was he who remarked, just before he dozed off to sleep:
"You fellers came pooty near daking a long shleep here, hey?"
"Stow it, matey!" cried Ferral. "I'll be dreaming about that now."
"Ach, donnervetter!" returned Carl, "dere iss pedder t'ings as dot to tream aboudt, Ferral. For insdunce, tream oof der vay Matt shtruck some shtreaks oof hardt luck, und den turned der hardt luck to goot atvantage py gedding Prady gaptured."
"And recovering the Hawk," added Matt. "There's a silver lining to every cloud, Dick."
"There's never a flat foot nor a shellback but will tell you same thing, messmate," agreed Ferral heartily. "Good night, or good morning, whichever you want. I'm ready to take my stretch off the land, and here goes."
Two minutes later the fateful old balloon house was steeped in silence.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (11) WILL CONTAIN
Motor Matt's Daring Rescue
OR,
The Strange Case of Helen Brady.
The Disappearance of Helen Brady—The Important Letter—By the Old Quarry—A Queer Situation—Pete and Whipple Make a Capture—Brady's Proposition—A Surprise at Hooligan's—Back to the Canal—Brady Returns With Hot News—The Mansion On the River—The Fight—Daring Work—Helen's Ordeal—The Capture of Pete and Whipple.
The Disappearance of Helen Brady—The Important Letter—By the Old Quarry—A Queer Situation—Pete and Whipple Make a Capture—Brady's Proposition—A Surprise at Hooligan's—Back to the Canal—Brady Returns With Hot News—The Mansion On the River—The Fight—Daring Work—Helen's Ordeal—The Capture of Pete and Whipple.
NEW YORK, May 1, 1909.
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"This," said Phil Clode, setting down his bag, "is the limit!"
Having given vent to which expressive remark, he laughed to himself and gazed round upon the most desolate scene that it had ever been his fortune to behold. Behind him stood a small, wooden erection, not unlike an enlarged run, which was, however, dignified by the name of station. For the rest, a clove-brown plain stretched away to infinity, marred only by the shining ribbons of the railway track and an occasional clump of cactus or greaseweed.
"The limit," the boy repeated solemnly. "Hullo! there's a man, or something very like one. I will get a line on to his vicinity, and try to extract a little useful information."
Picking up his grip, he hustled over to where a specimen of the cowboy genus had lounged from behind the station, leading a broncho that looked rather the worse for wear. Phil, as he approached, saw that a bag branded with the sign "U. S. Mail" was slung over the beast's saddle, and his eyes brightened. He knew that even in that deserted region of Colorado any servant of Uncle Sam's could be trusted.
"Say," he sang out. "Can you give me any notion where I am, mister? I was told to get off at Silver Bridge, and here I am right enough, but I can't see much sign of the town."
"You on foot?" the other returned with undisguised astonishment. "You must be stark——"
"Broncho waiting for me at Silver Bridge," Phil interrupted shortly. He had urgent reasons for not wishing to talk about his private affairs.
"So?" the man muttered with a sidelong glance. He had a pleasant face, rough but good humored, and the lad took to him instinctively. "You're an Easterner, ain't yeh?"
"Yes, and proud of it."
"That's all right. I'm from the East, too, only I've been here so long that yeh wouldn't think it. I guess yeh'd better hop up behind me, pardner. Betsy's a game chicken—she's carried three before now."
"You going to Silver Bridge, then?" Phil queried as the cowboy stroked the unprepossessing broncho fondly.
"I should smile. I'm cattle tender to the ore-crushing plant there."
Phil received this information with a start, but made no remark. In silence he mounted behind the man, who gave his name as Idaho Bart, and felt with some surprise the plain bumping rapidly away beneath them, as the broncho, becoming a bunch of throbbing muscles, pounded eastward with the regularity of tirelessness of a steam engine.
The mail rider did not seem disposed to let the silence continue. Out West curiosity about another man's affairs is usually the signal for gun play, but Idaho Bart proceeded to break the rule by a series of interrogations of the most pointed and particular description.
Phil Clode, however, was old for his years, and he met him at every point, giving a false name, and a reason for his arrival at Silver Bridge that was so obviously wide of the truth that the mail carrier, having turned in the saddle to fix him with a twinkling eye, emitted a short laugh, and relapsed into taciturnity.
This muteness remained undisturbed until they were in sight of Silver Bridge, the big ore-crushing town, the shares of which, back in Wall Street, were at a premium. It appeared suddenly as they topped a swelling hill that surrounded two sides of the city like a wall, and Phil surveyed it with the curiosity of first acquaintance. It reminded him of a battle ship out of action—of something Titanic which is wrapped in incongruous slumber. Though only midday, not a sound rose from the vast collection of shacks and wooden buildings. The mighty ore crushers and distributors were idle, the men lounged listlessly round the two hotels, and the river swirled past unstained by the red of washed metal.
The river? In those two words lay the tragedy—the reason of the inaction that spelled ruin to thousands, including the canvas-coated men who diced and gambled and swore in the saloons. For the river was now a mere meandering stream, and the power that worked the mills was gone, leaving the great plant worse than useless, for it would cost more than it was worth to entrain it to any place where there would be the likelihood of a buyer.
"Looks pleasant, I don't think," Idaho Bart said bitterly as he watched Phil's keen, dark eyes glancing over the drowsy, deserted streets, splashed golden by the afternoon sun. "Two weeks ago yeh would have opined that yeh were back in New York. Busy? I guess we had got the Fountain of Youth faded to a Harlem ash can, when it came to hustling."
"And now the river's gone," the boy rejoined quietly. His remarks were all couched to extract information without giving any in return.
"Say, that's a right hook on the jaw of truth! It's a lead-pipe cinch that this is about the most mysterious thing that ever gave a whole layout brain storm. The river stopped in the night, and we woke up to find this here dribble. The men are going to pike out, if there don't come a change 'fore Saturday."
Phil muttered something to himself.
"Why don't you find out what has dammed the source of the river?" he asked a moment later.
"Say, yeh are a young green-growing thing, all ready canned and labeled!" Bart sniggered. "Do you know that the source of Silver River is up in Black Cañon?"
"What of that?" queried Phil ingenuously.
"Oh, come off! This ain't the season for spring chickens, I reckon. I only know of three men what have been into Black Cañon, and come out alive. Two o' them were engineers belonging to the United States Reclamation Service, and they had the time of their lives. The other was a Indian, and went in to escape the posse that was trailing him for hoss stealing. He said afterwards that he wished he'd stopped and been lynched."
Phil made no reply to these revelations, for they were now in the main thoroughfare of Silver Bridge, and theore-stained men were lounging up with a tumultuous outcry for the mail. They also bestowed upon the boy the benefit of their rather doubtful wit, but, finding that they got rather better than they sent, soon betook themselves back to the enticements of the saloons, leaving Idaho Bart to take the few official letters up to the office.
"Say, kid, where are yeh going?" he drawled as he strode away with the loping movement peculiar to the riders of the plains.
"To Mr. Allsoner," Phil returned carelessly, keeping pace with him.
He made a clucking sound in his cheek.
"If yeh are after a job, yeh'd better carry your store clothes away along the shining homeward track right now," he said poetically. "Old Allsoner's hoppin' mad, and he'll have yer scalp before yeh could say Teddy."
"I don't want a job," was the irritating reply, and Phil grinned as he noted the other's mystification.
The office of Mr. Allsoner, general manager of Clode's Silver Bridge Reducing Company, Limited, was not an imposing structure. In fact, it might well have been taken for a stack of damaged firewood by the uninitiated, but Phil Clode did not make this mistake. Suddenly shouldering his way ahead of Idaho Bart, he entered the office at a run, and disappeared into the manager's private office—the most sacred spot in the whole townstead—with a coolness that left the two clerks in the outer department absolutely petrified.
Mr. Allsoner, however, was far from being petrified, and he had already used more adjectives than could be found in any dictionary before he looked up, started as though he could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses, and ejaculated:
"Phil Clode!"
"Yes, it's me," was the ungrammatical rejoinder. "Father's got to keep his eye on the market, or we'd go up in a balloon before an hour was through, and there was nobody else to come. Mr. Allsoner, there's treachery afloat."
The keen-eyed business man uttered an exclamation of wonderment, and then, rising, locked the door.
"Spit it out," he said tersely.
"You know our river is stopped."
"I do."
"It's been dammed purposely."
The manager had just seated himself, but he leaped up again at these quietly spoken words.
"Nonsense! The source is in Black Cañon."
He made his rejoinder with an air of finality, as though there was no room left for argument.
"Nevertheless, father overheard a conversation between two Wall Street brokers that convinced him that they have paid some bad man to dam the river for a time. It's a certainty, not guesswork."
Mr. Allsoner stared at him in bewilderment.
"I may be dense, Phil, but I fail to see what good damming our river would do to anybody."
"You are dense," smiled the boy. "Don't you see? Silver Bridge river runs dry. Panic in Wall Street, and two-hundred-dollar shares sold in bucketfuls, and bought by the men who have had the river dammed. Then, after, say, a month, when they've got control of every share in the market, down comes the river again, up go the shares to top notch, and they've netted a cool million."
Silence reigned for a minute, while the manager reviewed this startling idea. Then he murmured "Jove!" in the tone of one seeing visions.
"You couldn't tell me who's working the rig, could you?" he asked facetiously. The realization that the stoppage was only temporary acted like a tonic. "The boys would give him a lively time, if they got their fingers in his wool. It would be a case of the nearest telegraph pole."
"The man mentioned," Phil answered in a cautious whisper, "was nicknamed Red Spider."
"What! By heavens, you are right! Red Spider is an outlaw half-breed, horse stealer, cattle runner, murderer, and everything else abominable. He is known to have a cache up in the hills, too."
"Then catch Red Spider before eleven o'clock to-morrow. At that hour there is a meeting, and the state of affairs here will become public property. The river must be running before then."
"There isn't a man here that will go into the Black Cañon, and I don't blame them," the manager declared hopelessly. "It's certain death."
"What Red Spider can do we must do."
"He's discovered some secret way. Besides, a cross between an Omaha Indian and a Mexican produces something tougher than a white man."
"I start at midnight," said Phil Clode, strolling toward the door.
It was a few minutes after midnight when Phil Clode rode out of the town.
He was alone. As one man the ore workers had jeered at the idea of attempting to penetrate into the famous Black Cañon. They had already been as far as possible, and found the river unstopped. It had failed at its source, they argued. Such things had been heard of before. Mr. Allsoner did not agree with this latter conclusion, but he was entirely convinced that any attempt to enter the cañon would be futile, and he did not scruple to tell Phil so.
The boy, however, although he pretended to accept the manager's decision as final, secretly determined to make an attempt at solving the mystery single-handed. He knew that the failure to resume operations on the morrow would mean ruin to his father, and with the impetuosity of youth he stigmatized the ore workers as a pack of "superstitious grandmothers."
Once out of sight of the camp, he urged his game little steed to a gallop, and set off to where the mountains rose stark and flat against the mauve-colored rim of the horizon, keeping his course by the dried river bed that led the way into the very heart of Black Cañon.
After about an hour's hard riding the track grew even too steep for the broncho, and Phil, tethering the animal to a rock, made his way forward on foot. Gradually the walls of rock rose up and encompassed him, leaving only a strip of sky faintly seen above his head, and the stillness became so unearthly that he paused occasionally to cast a stone down a chasm for the mere pleasure of hearing it rattle.
Arrived at the entrance of the cañon, he halted and surveyed the way for a few minutes. As Allsoner had told him, the river—now a morass of horrible mud—entirely filled the gulch from side to side, rendering progress without a boat an impossibility. The dam controlling the flow, however, was built half a mile farther up, and this was reached by a species of aërial railway, built on the plan of the old overhead switchbacks, with a car slung to a double rope, worked by block and pulley on the return journey.
It was certainly not an inviting mode of progression, but Phil did not falter. Setting his teeth, he grasped the iron ladder that led up to the summit of the first trestle, and mounted steadily. By the time that he reached the top the wind was shrieking in his ears with demoniac fury, and the trestle seemed to sway bodily before the furious gusts, although only a mild and gentle breeze could be felt in the cañon below.
Buttoning his fluttering jacket tightly around him, he stepped nervously on to the flat, swaying car, and fumbled with the two hooks that held it in place, being secured to a couple of iron rings in the top corners.
With a sudden swoop the frail craft left its moorings, and Phil found himself spinning at a dizzy speed through space. Presently the slope became less steep, and as his conveyance slackened speed he was able to look about him.
Not that there was much to be seen, even though the moon rendered it nearly as light as day. Before him the ropes ran on in an everlasting stream, and on each side nothing wasvisible but the walls of rock, smoothed in places by human handiwork to allow of the passage of the traveling cradle. Occasionally the car would almost stop as it passed with a shock over the platform of one of the trestles, and Phil found that, by clutching the railings at the proper moment, he could arrest it without feeling any particular strain.
He had closed his eyes, and was almost enjoying the rush through the scented night air, when he felt a sudden shudder run through the car, as if it had struck against something. Opening his eyes hastily, he peered round, and then a terrified cry rose to his lips.
The swaying cradle had a new passenger, in the shape of a picturesquely garbed Mexican, who glared upon the boy with fierce wolfish orbs, fiery and bloodshot, as he flourished a long-barreled revolver in his face.
Phil did not need to inquire who the stranger was.