They made their way to the side of Mr. Hampton who, having taken the headphones from his ears, sat with his head bowed into his hands.
Jack laid a hand on his father’s shoulder, and the older man lifted a face unashamedly wet with tears.
“Why—why—” began Jack, startled.
His father smiled.
“It’s all right, Jack,” he said. “Only I have been so worried about Bob. And this sudden discovery of Roy Stone in this part of the world, and with an airplane, seems like an answer to prayer. If there is any way of saving Bob, I begin to believe it must be by airplane, because the campaign of the revolutionists will take too long. Athensi may fall in time, but the Sacrificial Games would be held long before the city’s capitulation. And that would mean——”
“I know Dad.” Jack’s hand gripped his father’s shoulder hard.
“Well, things look immeasurably brighter now,” Mr. Hampton added. “And for the revolutionists, too. Stone is a quixotic fellow or he would not have left the Spanish service because he thought the Moors were receiving a bad deal. It may be, he will be glad to help the revolutionists. And an airplane could certainly be of use to them. But, first of all, he said he would do his best to help rescue Bob.
“They’ll be here at sunset. The oasis is three hundred miles away, but what it took us six days to travel, Stone can cover in three hours.”
“They?” asked Frank.
“Yes, Amrath is sufficiently recovered to come, too. Now I must go and tell Horeb. He’ll be glad. Amrath is a big man among these revolutionists.”
When Roy Stone, having repaired the leak in his radiator, descended in a long spiral, bringing his airplane to rest on the desert not far from the mouth of the Great Road, he found as strange a reception committee awaiting him as ever greeted an aviator’s landing.
It was near the hour of sunset. The last rays of the descending sun, balanced on the edge of the world and about to sink below the horizon, shot almost straight across the desert. Low sand dunes of so little height as to seem almost invisible at noon, now shot lengthy grotesque shadows to the east. The face of the Great Mountain Wall, solid unbroken gray rock, glowed in a misty golden light. The far peaks of the interior country, rising from pools of purple shadow, seemed like lighted cones. The shadows of those standing grouped on the desert floor and waving hands and burnooses in greeting, wavered to extraordinary length to the eastward along the desert floor.
In that group were the majority of the dozen revolutionists of the Korakum guard, only four having been left to patrol the spot where the river broke through the interior mountains to run swift and wide around the valley of Korakum. Bare-legged, togaed, they alone made a sufficiently strange effect. But added to their number were Ali and four of the Arabs. Akmet having been left to aid the Korakum guards, and they were dressed in their flowing burnooses while beneath their turbans appeared swarthy faces, hook-nosed and bearded. To cap all, were Mr. Hampton, Jack and Frank, who had discarded burnooses in favor of soft tan shirts, khaki pants and sandals. They still wore their sun helmets.
Descending in a long spiral, the airplane—a four-passenger bomber type—struck the sand lightly, skimmed lightly across a sand dune and came to rest on a smooth hard floor of sand.
From it stepped first Roy Stone, tearing leather helmet and goggles from him and exposing a tanned face beaming at the greetings of the boys who were approaching at a tearing run, and then Amrath whom Stone assisted to alight. At sight of the latter Horeb who followed the boys let out a shout of joy, and the next moment the two revolutionists were clasped in each other’s arms, while their countrymen flocked about them, and from the mass came a confused clatter of Athensian language for all the world like an ignited pack of firecrackers.
“Listen to ’em hit their bloomin’ language on the nose,” ejaculated Roy Stone, grinning. “Well, me lads,” he added, pumping away vigorously, for Jack and Frank each had seized a hand, “I’m tickled to death to see you, but if you let go a paw for a minute I’d like to shake Mr. Hampton’s hand, too. If you don’t mind, y’ know.”
Whereat the boys released his hands and proceeded to thump him enthusiastically on the back, a procedure which Stone answered by whirling quick as a cat, and with a stoop and a sudden twist catching both by the legs and dumping them unceremoniously on the sand. A burst of laughter came from the Arabs.
“Glory be that you arrived,” said Mr. Hampton, as he clasped the aviator’s hand and looked deep into his steady gray eyes. “For one thing,” he added, in an undertone, “you’ve already done them good. What they both need is a little play. They’re breaking their hearts over Bob’s predicament, and that trick you just played on them has made them laugh for the first time in many days.”
Stone nodded understandingly and then, as the boys having risen to their feet joined him, still laughing, he said in a calm matter-of-fact tone:
“No need to worry about Bob, any more. We’ll snake him out of any old mountain city in a matter of minutes. The old buss can go anywhere, and if you lads and Uncle Roy can’t turn a simple trick like that, why, by golly, we ought to be sent back to school. How about it?” he concluded challengingly.
“Right,” said Jack, catching Stone’s spirit of optimism.
“No question about it now,” Frank firmly declared.
“That’s the spirit,” approved Stone. “Well, give me a couple of trusty men to place on guard over the old buss so that nobody gets curious and steals the engine or something, and then lead me to a bite to eat. I could sink a tooth in some food without a qualm.”
“We’ve thought of the matter of guards,” said Mr. Hampton. “These Athensian revolutionists and the Arabs all have seen airplanes before, the Athensians having served in the various Spanish and French Foreign Legions of Northern Africa or the British Sudanese forces. So none is scared of it. Lieutenant Horeb has promised to put two men on guard, and I think we can safely leave it to their charge. Yes, as you see”—he added, pointing—“two men already have taken up their posts.”
“All right, then, come on,” said Stone nodding. “I’ve taken the keys, and nobody can fly away with her. And out here on the desert, it’s hardly likely there will be visitors, so lead on. I’m a starving man.”
Amrath approached to greet Mr. Hampton, whom he thanked again very earnestly for having saved his life, and to be introduced to the boys. His deep eyes glowed as he clasped the older man by the hand, and promised his compatriots would spare no effort to rescue Bob from Athensi. Then he departed with Horeb and the other revolutionists, while the Hampton party with Roy Stone in the center, fell in behind, for the walk up the Great Road to Korakum.
“Just the same,” said Mr. Hampton, as Amrath passed beyond earshot, “I’m banking more on your efforts to save Bob by means of the airplane, Stone, than on those of the revolutionists. Their leader is proceeding cautiously, so as to rally the whole country around him before he moves up to attack the walls of Athensi. Unless he executes a coup, gains possession of the city by a trick, it will take months to bring about its fall. Of course, he may not be successful at that, as the Oligarchy has a powerful trained army of 5,000. No, it’s the airplane that must be our salvation, or, rather, Bob’s, for it is quite possible the Sacrificial Games in Athensi may come and go before the rebels succeed.”
Stone nodded.
“This fellow Amrath has been explaining the situation to me,” he said, “so I know what you’re talking about. And I’m inclined to agree with you. But I feel confident we can snake Bob out in the airplane. Amrath has given me a minute description of the situation of Athensi and of the location of the gladiators’ training camp, so to speak. He’s even drawn me a kind of a rude map which I’ll show you later. It’ll be touch and go, quite likely, but we’ll do it all right. I’ve got an ace in the hole which I’ll tell you about later.”
Mr. Hampton dropped a hand on the aviator’s shoulder and pressed hard.
That night in Korakum there was a feast and merrymaking. Horeb had sent word to Captain Amanassar of the expected arrival of their comrade Amrath and of a friendly aviator with an airplane which he would place at their service, after first attempting the rescue of the young American captive from Athensi. This word he had sent as soon as learning from Mr. Hampton of the message the boys had received by radio. Captain Amanassar would not be able to come to Korakum, but Jepthah who commanded at the entrance to the other pass, appeared as the feasting began, and an affecting scene occurred on his reunion with Amrath.
Goats were killed, a skin of native wine was produced by the revolutionists, there was a profusion of vegetables from their garden plots, and the mingled Athensians and Arabs made merry, Mr. Hampton, the two boys and Roy Stone, sitting at one side of the great fire, in the light of which stood out not only the startling faces of Athensians and Arabs but also the many-pillared front of an ancient temple at their backs, looked on in delight at the scene. They were talking over plans for the rescue of Bob, and examining the map of Athensi drawn by Amrath. But even in the absorption of this pursuit, one or other would now and again lift his eyes to gaze in artistic appreciation at the strange sight.
Finally, even the map was put away, and the four turned all their attention to their surroundings, for Akmet had been persuaded by his fellows to tell a story and, once he began, although his language was understood only by his fellows, the Athensians and the Americans alike fell under the magic of his spell.
Many times before, at night encampments, Mr. Hampton and the boys had heard Akmet recite stories. For, among Arabs, Moors, Berbers, and the Negroes of the Sahara, the poet and the story-teller are held in high esteem. And, although none of his American auditors could understand a word of the Arabic, yet he had the gift of portraying by tone and gesture the very spirit of the words.
At such times the three, with their sensitive imaginations, had been stirred deeply. As for the Arabs, Akmet never failed to hold them spellbound.
“You have a treat in store,” Mr. Hampton whispered to Stone.
But tonight Akmet was not the story-teller, but the composer of verses. From a fold of his burnoose he drew out a beautifully worked small lute upon which he struck with an eagle quill. For a moment or two he thrummed idly, without tune, seeking a chord that appealed to him. At the same time he stared all around the group which had drawn closer about him, looking through vacant eyes at each in turn. There was a pause, during which Ali drew close to Mr. Hampton and whispered:
“He is a poet—sometimes a great one. You will see and hear.”
Suddenly Akmet struck a new chord, one evidently to his liking. He repeated it several times—a chord so deep and sad it sent a thrill of emotion through every man there. Then he began to sing in a pleasing barytone. At first he went slowly, awkwardly, but soon crowding thoughts expressed themselves in words fluently and with grace. When he finished, with a crash, there was not a dry eye.
Ali snuffled and leaned closer to Mr. Hampton.
“He was great that time,” he whispered. “He sang of his home in the Sous. That is Berber land, far to the west of us. He has not been home in many years, and that was a song of home sickness.”
“Great it was,” returned Mr. Hampton, “but,” he added, with a sidelong glance at the solemn faces of his son and Frank, “tell him to give us something more cheerful.”
Ali nodded and made his way to the side of Akmet who sat expressionless in the midst of the storm of enthusiastic applause from his countrymen in which the Athensians joined generously. Stooping, he whispered some words in Akmet’s ear at which the latter nodded imperceptibly and cast a swift reassuring glance toward Mr. Hampton before again dropping his eyes.
Then Akmet’s fingers struck the lute again. A new note clanged—a warlike note, and Akmet began. There was no need for translator. The Arabs knew what he said. They sat big-eyed, open-mouthed, scarcely breathing, under the spell of the poet. Nobody else knew, but they did not need to know. It was as clear to them as if they understood every word. Clear, not alone from the emotions Akmet aroused within their own breasts but also from the story written on the faces of the singer’s countrymen.
It was a tale of war. And the swarthy face of the singer, played upon by the leaping flame, portrayed every mood. His audience could see the warriors riding across the barren wastes of the Great Desert, could hear the clash of scimeters, the crackle of rifle fire, the whirring flight of arrows and, at length, the women wailing of death. When the climax came, it left all tense and wrung dry of emotion. As for Akmet, his face sunk into an expressionless mold, he put the lute away, and stared into the fire, while the Athensians applauded wildly and the Arabs flung themselves upon him as if merely to touch his robe would bring them happiness.
Ali was lost in this wave of emotion like the rest. Presently he extricated himself, and made his way to Mr. Hampton’s side.
“That,” he said, “was the finest story I ever heard. But I can’t translate it for you.”
He turned abruptly and strode away.
“Whew,” ejaculated Roy Stone. “The beggar is cocky.”
“No,” said Mr. Hampton, “just stirred profoundly. Well, so was I. The Arabs, I have heard, are the greatest story tellers and poets in the world. They never write their stories, but sing or recite them, and thus they put into them infinitely more than the peoples who merely write.”
“Well,” commented Jack, “no story I ever read held me so enthralled as I was tonight.”
“And no play or movie I ever saw,” added Frank. “I guess that must be true about the Arabs if Akmet is a fair sample.”
After some further desultory conversation, the four Americans retired for the night. Two Athensians were sent to the desert to relieve the two on guard over the airplane, and the little encampment amidst the ruins of Korakum sank into slumber.
All the Americans arose early the next morning, for they were resolved, if possible, that the day should see Bob’s rescue carried out; at least, should see it begun.
Nothing untoward had occurred during the night; the guards at the river reported no danger from the direction of Athensi, and those in charge of the airplane, when relieved by two Arabs whom Stone and the boys accompanied, reported the night had been uneventful. Leaving the two Arabs in charge, the three young Americans returned to the grove, where their own camp was maintained, and found Mr. Hampton and Ali had breakfast ready, consisting of coffee, bacon and flapjacks. All ate with relish, and then turned their attention to plans for the day.
It had been decided that, if in the gladiators’ quarters at Athensi Bob had managed to set up his radio receiving apparatus, he would already be aware of plans under way for his rescue, for he would have been able to listen in on the conversation between Stone and the camp the day before. Nevertheless, Frank broadcasted a message, telling Bob to look for them that day, in the hope that it would reach him, and adding that he would call later to give him definite details. Then he rejoined the group, poring over the map of Athensi drawn by Amrath.
The latter, accompanied by Jepthah and Horeb put in an appearance while the Americans were bent over the map, and a lengthy discussion of ways and means followed.
Athensi lay in a high interior valley. On one side it was built right up to the edge of a steep precipitous bluff at the foot of which flowed the river, which, rising in the mountains behind, flowed through a series of natural tunnels through intervening mountains until, emerging in the valley of Korakum, it disappeared under the Great Mountain Wall to reappear none knew where.
On this side there was no need for walls, as the bluff itself could be scaled only by means of a series of ramps constructed in zigzag fashion, with towers at every turn. On the other three sides it was enclosed by high stone walls, which the revolutionists said were kept in a good state of preservation.
In the middle of the city, a crowded mass of poor huts and houses sheltering fifty thousand people reduced by the Oligarchy to a state of serfdom, was a great open space, two-thirds of which was occupied by the citadel, the library, the temple, a pyramid on top of which stood an altar where the sacrifices were held, and the half dozen great palaces of the court, all surrounded by a wall. The remaining third of this great space, outside the wall, was taken up by the Coliseum. It was of stone, oval in shape, and in it were held the annual Sacrificial Games.
“Under those tiers of seats are the gladiators’ quarters,” explained Amrath, dabbing at the map with a forefinger.
“Then to get Bob, we’ve got to alight in the Coliseum?” asked Jack, drawing in a long breath as he realized the difficulties. “Whew.”
Mr. Hampton’s face was grave. Should he give his consent to such a procedure? Would it not be merely to throw away the lives of whoever made the attempt without effecting the rescue of Bob? It began to appear so.
“Amrath explained all this to me at the oasis,” said Stone. He sat back, quietly regarding Mr. Hampton. “But I’ve got a trick up my sleeve,” he added, “which puts a different complexion on the matter. I didn’t speak of this last night because there was no need or opportunity. But now let me explain.
“Amrath tells me,” he went on, “that the gladiators destined to participate in the games are taken out into the arena every morning and every afternoon for exercise. In the morning, the young Athensians who are to be paired with the outside gladiators are exercised. In the afternoon, the others.”
“Yes, that is so,” said Jepthah, and Horeb, who also spoke English, nodded.
“On a tower or platform in the middle of the arena a group of a dozen Janissaries mount guard,” continued Stone, looking to the young Athensians who confirmed him with nods. “If the gladiators should plan a concerted revolt and attack the Janissaries, they would be out of luck. Without firearms, they would be shot down by the Janissaries without a chance.
“Now,” he continued, “if I had no means of combatting the Janissaries, of putting them out of commission, in fact, I’d be out of luck, too. The minute I landed in the arena, they’d open fire. But—” He paused and glanced about at the tense faces of his audience, every man of which hung on his words. “But,” he continued, “what would you say to dropping gas bombs on them?”
This was the “trick or two up his sleeve,” of which he had spoken. Its effect was magical.
“Have you any such?” demanded Frank, excitedly.
“A half dozen of ’em,” said Stone, complacently. “Enough to put the Janissaries to sleep with lots left over. I’ll drop a gas bomb on their platform, and if I miss I’ll drop another. I can fly low above them, because I’ll have nothing to fear except their rifle fire, and the old buss is sheathed to protect it against that. So there will be no reason to miss.”
“But where did you get these gas bombs?” asked Mr. Hampton, recovering from his surprise, and beginning to show the relief he experienced as the possibility of effecting Bob’s rescue again grew bright.
“Hooked ’em from the Spaniards,” said Stone, unashamedly. “I had a run-in with my commander over the justice of his cause, and as I had to leave without my pay, I took along the bombs and an extra supply of gas to compensate. Loaded the drums of gas in the old buss. The plane’s mine, you know. Bought it in France at an auction of surplus war supplies, but that’s another story.”
The eyes of Jack and Frank sparkled.
“Come on, let’s go,” shouted the latter, leaping to his feet.
“Hurray,” yelled Jack. “We’re on our way.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Roy Stone. “It’s only a sixty-mile flight to Athensi, and we’ll be there in less than an hour. We have got to wait, and to time our departure so as to arrive at the hour of exercise this afternoon. Even then our friends here”—indicating the young Athensians—“may have guessed wrong as to the time of exercising the alien gladiators, and then we’d be up the spout.”
Jepthah shook his head in negation.
“Procedure in Athensi never changes,” he said. “Two hours after midday the alien gladiators are taken into the arena for exercise and training. It has always been so.”
“Good,” said Stone, “then we start at half past one to the dot. Now to settle who goes. One of you boys will have to go to fly the plane. I’m the only one who can drop the gas bombs, so that lets me out of the flying. And one of the Athensians will have to go as guide. Amrath wants the job, and, as I canparlez vous francaisand so can understand him, that’s all right. Now which of you two fellows takes the stick?”
“Frank,” said Jack instantly.
He himself was dying to undertake the flight, but he knew the depth of affection between his two comrades, and not for worlds would he have deprived Frank of the chance to rescue Bob. Frank, who had remained silent, regarded his chum gratefully and reaching out squeezed his hand hard.
“All right,” said Stone. “Frank it is. We can take only three, because we need the fourth seat for Bob coming back. And now,” he added, rising, “let’s go down to the old buss and tune her up, give her a good overhauling, and run her around a little with you at the stick, Frank, so you learn her tricks.”
After a hectic morning, all was ready for the take-off as one-thirty o’clock approached. Right up to the last minute, Frank was kept by Stone at practising landing and taking-off within a limited space for, although the description given by the young revolutionists of the tremendous size of the arena promised sufficient space for the delicate work of alighting and re-ascending, yet Frank must be perfect. Otherwise, if the plane smashed, the expedition would be wrecked. Once inside of Athensi and the Coliseum, the only way to escape would be by means of the plane.
Understanding full well the responsibility resting upon him, Frank concentrated on the task in hand. An expert aviator with four years of flying to his credit, he won the approval of Roy Stone as he managed the plane in masterly fashion and as his landings and ascents approached perfection. Finally, when twice in succession he had landed and re-ascended within an oval traced on the desert sand which all the Athensians, who could not recall the exact measurements of the arena, declared according to the best of their recollection was even smaller than that of the Coliseum, Stone ordered him to cease his efforts and rest for an hour.
At the end of that period, sharp at one-thirty, the take-off was made.
What a cheering and hullabaloo there was as, with Frank at the stick, and Stone and Amrath riding as passengers, the start of the flight was made. Brilliant sunlight flooded the desert and, gathered in a group a bit out from the Great Mountain Wall, revolutionists, Arabs and Jack and Mr. Hampton waved farewells and called Godspeeds to the expedition.
Amrath occupied the seat beside Frank, for his was the task of piloting the flight. Stone, sitting in the rear pit from which had been removed the drums of gasoline which formed his surplus fuel supply, in order to make room for Bob on the return trip, had his gas bombs nicely adjusted. A grim smile crossed his features as he regarded them. Let one of those bombs light on the stone platform of the Janissaries in the middle of the arena, and those gentlemen would give no trouble to anybody for quite some time.
Jack and Frank had clasped hands just before the latter clambered to his seat, and the look in his eyes told better than words could have done the gratitude he felt because his chum had stepped aside unselfishly and given him the opportunity to fly the plane.
A running start out over the desert, away from the Great Mountain Wall, a spurning of the sand, a turn in the air, and then higher and higher mounted Frank seeking altitude. Those watching from the sands saw the plane grow smaller and smaller until it seemed to their sun-dazzled eyes only a mote dancing in the sun. Then away toward the Great Mountain Wall headed Frank, crossed its serrated summit and disappeared.
Mr. Hampton’s eyes were moist and his lips moved soundlessly in a prayer from the heart for the success of the expedition and the safe return of all concerned.
Jack’s eyes were unashamedly moist, too, and, as they trudged back apart from the others, Mr. Hampton’s arm went across his son’s shoulders and stayed there. The two were very close in that hour.
A guard of six, four Athensian revolutionists and two Arabs, had been left in the valley of Korakum to watch the river approach. Accordingly, it was deemed unnecessary for the balance of the party which had witnessed the start of the flight, to return at once and, instead, a halt was made under the trees of the grove where the radio station had been set up.
Jack took his seat at the instruments, while the others crowded around, eager to hear the first word received from the plane with which, of course, constant communication could be maintained. Earlier, before going down to the desert after his rest period to begin the flight, Frank had broadcasted a message of cheer to Bob, in the faint hope that he might be able to receive it, telling him of the effort to be made that afternoon for his rescue.
At once Jack began calling, and back came Stone’s voice in re-assuring accents almost immediately, telling that they had cleared the Mountain Wall in handsome style, that the plane was performing flawlessly, and that even the cross-currents of wind which tugged at them, sweeping down valleys and canyons and around mountain peaks, seemed to make no difference to Frank. To the latter’s skill, Stone paid handsome tribute.
All this Jack repeated to his auditors and Ali and Jepthah interpreted for the Arabs and the revolutionists respectively. Jepthah had stayed to witness the start of the expedition instead of rejoining his command and now intended to wait the few hours more which would tell its outcome.
Suddenly, excitement seized Jack. His brow contracted, his eyes blazed.
“Say that again,” he shouted into the transmitter.
A moment of concentrated listening, then:
“All right, I’ll tell them. How far away, did you say? Twenty-five miles of straight flying. All right, all right. We’ll be ready for them.”
Tearing off the headset in his eagerness, he whirled around to the crowd which, alarmed by his tone even though the words were not understood by most, had drawn close about him. His eyes sought and found Jepthah and him he addressed:
“There’s an attack against Korakum coming by way of the river. As the airplane crossed a gorge twenty-five miles from here through which the subterranean river ran exposed, Amrath counted three boatloads of armed men making their way toward Korakum. There may be more. He didn’t see them. About twelve men in a boat.”
“Perhaps, they are not advancing on Korakum,” suggested Mr. Hampton.
Jepthah shook his head in negation.
“They could be going nowhere else,” he said. “Well, thanks to our friends, we are warned. We shall be ready for them.”
Turning, he issued a crisp order in Athensian which caused the revolutionists in the group to dart away at once. Their bare legs flashed as they raced through the grove, then they leaped over the underbrush at the edge of the terrace without even seeking out the path which had been cut through it, and started running up the Great Road.
“Your Arabs,” said Jepthah, tersely, to Mr. Hampton, “can we count on them?”
“They are free agents,” said the latter. “I’ll ask Ali.”
The latter, standing close at hand, did not wait to be appealed to.
“We are at your command, sir,” he said to Jepthah.
Between this educated Arab with his cosmopolitan experience and air of mystery, and all the young Athensian revolutionists, had developed a warm feeling of mutual liking and respect.
“I knew it,” said Jepthah. “Good. Would you take your men and report at once to Lieutenant Horeb.”
The latter had not gone down the Great Road to witness the start of the flight, but had remained in command of the tunnel guard.
Ali gave a quick nod, more eloquent than words, said something in Arabic to his four companions, whose eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the prospect of a fight, and without more ado the five set out in pursuit of the revolutionists.
Only Jack, Mr. Hampton and Jepthah were left in the little grove. Even the camels were missing, having been taken to the valley of Korakum to graze. Hardly had the last Arab disappeared up the Great Road than the clatter of hoofs was heard approaching, and a man on horseback dashed by making for the desert at a break-neck pace.
“Twenty-five miles away,” explained Jepthah. “The river flows swiftly, and they will row besides. Yet they cannot reach Korakum for an hour or more. I ordered one of the men to ride to the other pass and bring help. Thirty-six men will outnumber us two to one, and it is more than likely there will be many more.”
“Can help arrive from the other pass in time?” asked Mr. Hampton, anxiously.
“Not before the attack begins,” answered Jepthah. “But we will have the advantage, and can hold the enemy off, for a time.”
The defenders of Korakum had thrown up earth works at each bank of the river, where it broke from the interior mountain range into the valley. Besides, for a considerable distance along the river, inside the tunnel, they had dumped heaps of big rocks which rose close to the surface and against which, in the gloom, carried along by the swift current, boats approaching from Athensi would be smashed. Where the river emerged into the open, strong nets had been spread under the surface, staked down to the banks, and sharp stakes also had been driven into the river bottom.
The result was that boats approaching from Athensi would have a perilous gauntlet to run. Smashed against the rocks inside the tunnel, their occupants would be carried along into the nets and, if they managed to get through these, they would be involved in the sharpened sunken stakes below. All the time, rifle fire would be playing on them from the earthworks, and showers of arrows would be whirring into their midst.
Determined men, of course, could effect a landing, but only at a tremendous loss of life. It was said of the Athensian Janissaries, however, that they were absolutely fearless. Their ranks were recruited from the sturdiest, strongest sons of the peasants, seized from their homes before old enough to have imbibed the popular hatred of the Oligarchs and trained in the practise of arms at Athensi. They never saw their relatives again and became mere creatures of the Oligarchy. Knowing they were hated and despised by the people as traitors to their blood, and that if captured they would be slain without mercy, they fought with unparalleled ferocity when employed to quell the numerous rebellions.
“We’re approaching Athensi. Boy, what a place. We can see the arena. We’re over it and Frank is dropping the old buss. Now he’s pancaking, and they’re beginning to shoot at us from the platform, and the—Well, say, I’ll talk to you later.”
Roy Stone’s voice ended abruptly. Jack turned to his father, who was pacing up and down the grove, listening for word from Jack, listening too for sounds from Korakum which would indicate the arrival of the Janissaries and the beginning of the attack, torn between conflicting emotions, eager to hear of the outcome of the attempt to rescue Bob, and desirous also of doing his part to beat off the Janissaries, and called to his anxious parent the purport of Stone’s last message.
The two looked at each other. At that moment, the sound of rifle fire came to them from the direction of Korakum. Mr. Hampton seized his rifle and started up the Great Road.
“Take care of yourself, Dad.”
Jack was to stay and hear the outcome of the daring attempt to rescue Bob. He felt a strange tightness of the throat as his father disappeared. Would he ever see him again? Would he ever see Bob and Frank again? What was to be the outcome of it all?
* * * * * * * *
Less than an hour from the time of taking-off, Frank nosed the airplane through a gorge between towering mountains the sides of which were cultivated in terraces half-way to the summits. Men, women and children, at work in the fields, stood paralyzed with terror, unable to move, this strange monster of the air zoomed along. But those in the plane paid them no attention.
They were watching a point ahead, where the two sides of the gorge drew closer together until they were less than a quarter-mile apart. Beyond they glimpsed a great open plain, in the distance, beside a pencilled cleft, the walls of a city at the heart of which rose a clump of great buildings. Only a glimpse they caught, and then the converging walls of the gorge shut out the sight.
Steady as a rock, seemingly without a nerve in his body, Frank whipped the plane between the narrowest point of the mountain walls and found that the valley opened out abruptly at once. In a minute or two, as they zoomed along, the mountains had retreated miles away on either hand, they were flying over an intensely cultivated plain, the river flowing below in a gorge that cut through the heart of the plain, and the walls of the city seeming to leap into gigantic size ahead.
No longer did Frank require directions from Amrath as to how to proceed. Everything lay clear below—the city walls, the crowding hovels within, and in the middle the walled inner city of the Oligarchy with the Coliseum at its gates. Over the Coliseum he passed, began to spiral, and then pancaked. It was then Roy Stone called his last message to Jack, as with gas bomb ready, he prepared to do his part.
Against the metal bottom of the plane came the tiny ping of a rifle bullet or two, but for the most part the shots of the Janissaries on the tower went wild. The ground seemed rushing up to meet them. Throughout the vast oval, surrounded by its banked tiers of empty stone seats, little groups and pairs of men paused in their movements as if stricken, turned into stone, at the sight of this strange monster overhead.
Only, from one group, a figure darted away, running along the hard-packed sand of the oval, eyes uplifted, arms waving wildly. As Frank glanced down, his eyes as if drawn by the force of that ant-like figure’s gaze, singled it out of all below. In his heart he knew it was Bob, and that, whether he had received their radioed messages or not, Bob realized friends were at hand.
Then below him there was a crash, followed by another, and he knew Roy Stone had landed his gas bombs on the stone platform of the Janissaries, in the very center of the arena. Had they fallen into the sand, no such sound would have followed.
He could not delay to gauge the effects of the gas bombs. He must take it for granted they had put the guards out of business, and proceed to land. Even if any Janissaries were left to shoot at them, the chance must be taken. The airplane could not hover longer without being brought into descent, or it would crash. Further, they must operate swiftly, or the gas wave would sweep over the arena and put them out of business, too. Against this contingency, Frank was guarded, but not the others. Roy Stone had one gas mask, but only one, and Frank had been provided with it, as upon him as flier depended the ultimate safety of all.
For one thing he was grateful. The Athensian revolutionists, if anything, had underestimated the vast extent of the Coliseum. The arena oval alone was longer than a city block, and between the stone platform of the guards and the sides was room for three planes.
Down swept the plane and Frank, even though his eyes were glued to the course, out of the tail of them saw a thin vapor mushrooming above the guard’s platform which he knew must be the released cloud of gas. Not a shot came from the platform as they swooped past. Ahead, the gladiators had run from the path of the oncoming plane to throw themselves prone at the base of the surrounding wall.
All except one. He—a strange figure cumbered in heavy armor, of breastplate, and greaves on thighs and calves—was running parallel to them and waving. Evidently, too, he was shouting, but even though the motor was shut off his words could not be heard. There was no doubt, however, of his identity. He had torn off and cast aside a helmet with overhanging crest, and his yellow hair was bare and gleaming in the sun.
It was Bob.
The wheels of the plane touched the oval, but likewise the end wall seemed rushing to meet the charge. Frank set his teeth, worked the tail, and the big machine swung gracefully in a circle, the outer wing not a foot from the stone wall above which rose the tiers of seats, and came to rest.
From the middle where he had thrown himself flat on the sand while Frank executed his maneuvre, Bob regaining his feet sprang for the plane.
“In with you, quick,” cried Stone, lending a hand, and Bob half-clambered, half was dragged into the rear pit.
Frank pressed the starter, and the engine, still on compression, resumed operations with a roar.
“Hold your noses,” yelled Roy Stone, “I smell the gas.”
Sweetish acrid fumes, in fact, were in their nostrils. Frank set the plane in motion down the arena, himself immune because of his mask, while the others sat with noses pinched between thumb and forefinger and eyes screwed shut. Down the sand tore the plane and when near the platform in the center it began to lift. Up, up, it went, yet not as swiftly as Frank could have wished. As the far end of the Coliseum was approached, he experienced a sick panic that they would not be able to rise fast enough to clear the banked-up seats.
Banking as steeply as possible, he began to swing obliquely, and this maneuvre, dangerous to equilibrium, though it was at such a low altitude, and before speed had been picked up, had the desired effect. The widening arc of the Coliseum gave him just enough room for operations so that as he drew near the side he was able to drag the plane over the top tier of seats.
Yet how little room there was to spare was brought home to all with ominous significance, for, as they cleared the top of the lofty stone seats, there came a shock, and a quiver shook the plane which caused Frank to struggle desperately. The next moment they were free and mounting rapidly and the danger was passed.
“We bumped with our wheels,” cried Stone. “Don’t see ’em behind us, so I guess they weren’t torn off, but you’ll have a sweet time landing.”
A little nod of the head was all Frank’s reply. What cared he about a messy landing? He could manage not to hurt anybody seriously. And any damage to the plane would be more than compensated for by Mr. Hampton. The big thing was that Bob was safe, safe; that he, Frank, had been able to fly a plane in and out of the Coliseum and rescue his big chum.
A hand closing hard on his shoulder from the rear sent a thrill throughout his body, and a bellowing voice shouted:
“Got your message, old kid. Knew you could do it.”
That was all, but that was enough. No matter what praise others might bestow, Frank cared naught.
High over Athensi he circled, seeking his bearing for the mountain pass, before darting away, true as a bird. And from their lofty altitude, the others looked down. Now that it was all over, the experience seemed like a dream. In the minds of both Amrath and Roy Stone, still lingered thankfulness for their amazing escape from disaster and wonder at it, too, yet exultation over the success of the daring attempt rapidly replaced all other thoughts.