CHAPTER IXIN THE AIR
“Muchobliged, fellows,” laughed Bob, “but I’m willing to step aside if Cranny is so anxious to get the first crack at it.”
“That’s all right, Bob—I’ll go the second trip,” grinned Cranny, good-naturedly. “Only don’t hang the machine up in the clouds. It will be hard to wait for you.”
“You’ve been waiting seventeen long years for this; and ten minutes more won’t do you a bit o’ harm,” chirped Willie.
“Oh, run along,” snapped Cranny. “Get out of the way, now! Can’t you see the machine is headed right toward you?”
Mr. Ogden had already clambered to his place in the aviator’s seat. Bob followed, and eased himself down on a cushion close beside him, with his feet resting against a wooden bar.
“Mr. Aviator, what’s that big thing by the side of your head—a torpedo?” asked Willie.
“That is the gasoline tank,” explained Mr.Ogden, “and there is enough fuel in it to carry the machine for over one hundred miles. Remember, Bob, the roar of the engine will prevent much conversation in mid-air; so, in case you should begin to feel nervous, just give me a nudge—I’ll understand.”
“Don’t bother about me,” laughed Bob, as he looked down and ran his hand along the leather belt which stretched across his seat. “This will hold me in.”
“Well, dizziness or light-headedness is very apt to come without warning during the first ascent. I shall rely upon you to keep perfectly still.”
“I will, sir,” said Bob. “Oh! Nearly all of the stockade on the far side has been removed, hasn’t it? I was so interested I didn’t notice it before.”
Mr. Ogden smiled.
“We did that ourselves, Bob,” he said, “and for obvious reasons. You needn’t think it was the work of your friend, Hap Hazard.”
“Everything all ready!” called out Don. “Keep a safe distance away, boys.”
“Now we’re off!” said Mr. Ogden to his passenger.
Bob Somers felt a thrill run through him. Grasping the supports, he awaited the momentous instant and found himself studying the face of the aviator, and vaguely wondering at his apparent unconcern.
“Ready, Bob?”
“Ready, sir!”
Mr. Ogden waved his hand, and his assistants gave the propellers a quick twirl.
A pulsating roar immediately sounded. The great plane, responding almost instantly to the rapid revolutions, began to glide over the smooth ground, slowly at first, then gathering speed, until, light as a bird, it rose into the air.
Bob Somers held his breath as the ground fell behind them. The wide break in the stockade appeared to open out to the right and left. Just a few seconds more, and the biplane, almost as gently as a sheet of paper taken up and wafted away on the breeze, lifted itself gently upward.
Swifter and swifter it moved; higher, still higher it rose, until broad reaches of prairie were disclosed to view.
Bob Somers began to experience a series ofstrange sensations. He seemed almost suspended without support in space. Below him he saw the ranch-house and outbuildings of Lone Pine, seemingly flattened against the prairie floor, while the boys and bronchos had already been left far to the rear. Everywhere great herds or scattered groups of cattle were coming into sight.
Bob’s greatest surprise was the strength of the wind that blew against his face, forcing him at times to shield his eyes.
Mr. Ogden frequently glanced at his passenger, and judged from his expression that he felt no fear or nervousness.
The biplane gradually turned in a wide circle—the planes tipped slightly, just enough, it seemed, to add a spice of danger—and they were headed back in the direction of Lone Pine.
To the aviator the flight was one of the lowest he had ever taken, yet to Bob the altitude appeared unpleasantly high, causing him more than once to clutch the stout leather strap which held him securely to his seat.
Speed such as an aeroplane makes seems to simply annihilate distance. It seemed onlya moment before the flying machine had reached Lone Pine again and was shooting by with a steady sweep. Bob could see that the boys had mounted their bronchos and were galloping about, waving their hands in greeting.
“Guess I’ll be quite satisfied if Mr. Ogden doesn’t ascend any higher,” thought Bob, with a grim smile. He tried to accustom himself to studying the swift-moving objects below. Then, as the roar from the engine at his back lessened, a feeling of relief shot through him. His head had begun to feel a trifle queer.
Again Mr. Ogden skilfully piloted the machine, sending it still lower. As it took the curves, the planes, assailed by the breeze which struck full against them, wobbled and shivered.
The boys were almost straight ahead, widely separated over the plain and keeping a safe distance from the ranch-house, in order to give the navigator of the air a chance to land.
“He’s going to volplane now,” mused Bob, presently.
Mr. Ogden had stopped his engine.
A delightful, easy gliding motion downward through space immediately followed. Bob Somers, lying back in his seat, saw, with a thrill of pleasure, the buildings and stockade apparently swinging swiftly toward them.
Another series of rapid throbs came from the motor; the “Ogden II” slackened its pace until it seemed to be almost hovering over the ground. A few moments later, the machine settled down, the springs and rubber-tired wheels so absorbing the shock of impact that Bob Somers felt only a gentle bump.
When he stepped to the ground the odd sensation of light-headedness seemed only to increase; there was a vague impression as of objects being still in motion. His footing seemed insecure. Bob, however, with a shrug of his shoulders, quickly pulled himself together.
“Glorious—simply immense, fellows!” he cried, enthusiastically, as, with loud whoops, the broncho riders came cantering toward them. “Greatest thing out.”
“It’s surely the greatest thing to be in,” laughed Cranny. “My turn next.”
“Come off!” protested Dick.
“Not off the aeroplane.” Cranny grinned. “Here comes wee Willie.”
“Don’t mention it,” growled Tom.
“You’re lookin’ kinder pale, Somers,” commented Mr. Beaumont’s ward, ambling up. “Feel weak in the legs, I’ll bet. No, I’m not going to take a fly, Cran Beaumont.”
“Really enjoyed it, Bob?” asked Mr. Ogden.
“I should say so,” answered Bob. “The way the machine responds to every movement of the driver is simply wonderful.”
“Taffy! Pile it on,” said Willie.
“May I go up now, Mr. Ogden?” asked Cranny, his eyes flashing with anticipation.
“Oh, yes. I have time to take you all on short spins.”
“Rah, rah!” yelled Cranny. “Watch now—see if you ever met a fellow before who could tether his bronc’ so fast.”
That morning, all but Willie Sloan took their first ride in an aeroplane. Tom’s turn came last; it was also the lowest and shortest flight which Mr. Ogden had made. The boys suspected the reason for this when the tall lad was brought to earth once more.
“I fear something is the matter with our Clifton,” remarked Willie, staring hard toward him. “He seems to wobble.”
“I’ll make you wobble!” returned Tom, threateningly.
“Gracious! Let me prescribe the rest cure for an hour. Don’t go up again, if you come down like that.”
“You’re afraid to try it yourself,” snapped Tom, highly exasperated.
“Oh, dear me, our Mr. Clifton’s nerves are so unstrung,” retorted Willie.
“Here, boys, lend me a hand,” interrupted Mr. Ogden, with a smile. “We must put the biplane under cover again.”
About two o’clock they all gathered in the great square dining-room of the ranch-house. Dinner was cooked and served by a young Mexican who wore the picturesque costume of his country.
The boys found the highly-spiced and tasty dishes which he had prepared much to their liking, and lingered a long time at the table.
“I suppose you intend to stay in this part of the country for several weeks, boys?” remarked Mr. Ogden, at length.
“Yes, sir,” answered Bob.
“Have you any especial work that you intend to do?”
“That one has,” said Willie, pointing his finger at Cranny. “You wouldn’t think it, to look at him, but he is going to be a rival of Major Warfield Carroll.”
“Ah, indeed!”
“Yes; an’ I’m here to see that he gets to work. Mr. Beaumont thought he needed to be roused up a bit, and sent him along with the Ramblers and me. My, weren’t you gettin’ awful stale, though, Cran?”
“Oh, don’t make me yawn,” snapped Cranny. “What were you going to say, Mr. Ogden?”
“We—that is my sons and I—were wondering if some of you lads could do us a great favor?”
“In what way?”
“Well, the work out here is about completed, and our presence is really required at Border City. You see, there are still some details to be arranged in connection with the coming meet. Then, again, Major Carroll, who is at work on a new engine, needs help.”
Ferd spoke up. “It would take us about two weeks,” he said, “and, of course, during that time our machines and stuff out here would have to be guarded.”
“Well, we’re just the boys to do it,” began Cranny.
“The rest may be; but not you,” interrupted Willie. “The idea, Cran! I’ll write your father this very night.”
“Little busybody,” sniffed Tom.
“Mr. Clifton will think so when I get real busy with him,” said Willie, with one of his famous grins.
“You may count upon me, Mr. Ogden,” said Bob.
And all but little Willie Sloan echoed his sentiments.
“Why, it will be just dandy to bunk in this old place for a week or two,” cried Dick. “When shall you want us, Mr. Ogden?”
“In a very few days. We certainly are heartily obliged to you.”
“Greatly in your debt, I’m sure,” said Rob.
“And we’ll try to repay it,” added Ferd.
As they waited outside for Jed Warren to appear, Willie Sloan began to express his views on the subject.
“The idea of you fellows taking up a thing like that!” he roared, in great disgust. “Isn’t Circle T bad enough? And stay in this old farmhouse for a week?—No, sir; not for me.”
“He calls it a farmhouse!” scoffed Tom.
“And, besides, Cran Beaumont, you’ve got to get to work—have to. Do you hear me warble?”
“See here, Willie”—Cranny spoke in soothing tones—“it’ll be no end o’ fun. I’ll teach you how to ride a bronc’.”
“Ride a bronc’?” exclaimed Willie.
“Sure! You’ll find it the greatest sport in the world.”
“But I don’t want to—I won’t, either. Goodness, is that fat boy asleep?”
It looked suspiciously like it.
Dave was seated on the top step, with his back resting comfortably against the door.
From the ancient stable came the steady and monotonous buzzing of a gasoline motor, while the stamping of bronchos tethered inthe rear of the ranch-house could now and then be heard.
“Wake up, Dave!” called out Bob.
“I feel like giving him a good shake.” Willie looked almost as though he intended to carry out such a proceeding. “He’s as bad as Cran—needs enough ginger to stock a grocery. You’re a bunch of softies—every one o’ you. I won’t stay out here.”
“You’ll have to,” said Cranny.
“I will, hey? Then I’ll become a kid-puncher, beginning with Mr. Clifton.”
“Here comes Jed, to take the little chap back,” interrupted Tom. “Hello, Jed, old boy!”
The cowboy galloped up.
“Hello, youngsters! Me an’ Pete saw that there machine a-scootin’ around in the air. Any o’ you lads have the nerve to try it?”
“Did we?—Well, I should rather say so—all but this little chap here,” exclaimed Tom, proudly, pointing to Willie.
“An’ I kin say they were sartingly a bunch o’ pale ones when they kim down,” said Willie.
“I don’t blame ’em,” grinned Jed. “Alittle old pony for me, every time. Ready, Bob?”
“Yes, Jed, old boy.”
While the horses were being hitched to the buckboard the crowd raced to the shop to say good-bye. They found the inventor and his two sons busily engaged in testing a motor for the “Ogden III.”
This biplane, Mr. Ogden explained, was a great advance on the others. Conveniently placed by the aviator’s seat was a stand to hold charts, compass and other instruments. An acetylene lamp also attracted Bob Somers’ attention.
“We have been thinking of making some flights at night,” explained the inventor, in answer to his inquiring look.
“I suppose you lads suffered great annoyance in not being able to talk during the flights,” remarked Rob, with a smile. “This little arrangement allows the flyers to converse to some extent with one another.”
“A speakin’ tube?” exclaimed Cranny.
“Or telephone—if you choose to call it so. The science of aviation is constantly advancing.Later on, a means of communication between aeroplanes in flight will probably be devised. What’s that, Bob—you want to take lessons in flying?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Bob.
“Just what I expected, Robert,” laughed Mr. Ogden, Senior, with a quizzical look at his son.
“I’m in on that scheme, too,” said Cranny, eagerly.
“You didn’t come out here to do the eagle act, Cran Beaumont. Your dad won’t stand for it,” put in Willie.
“Listen to the little tot!” laughed Cranny. “How about it, Mr. Ogden?”
“We’ll have to consider the question,” laughed the inventor, evasively. “Of course when you lads come back there will be plenty of opportunities to fly. If any show signs of aptitude as bird-men, why——”
“We will be glad to give a course of lessons to pay for your services in helping us out,” broke in Ferd, with a smile.
“Oh, my, what a lot o’ birdies I shall see,” grinned Willie. “Say, this is a machine shop, eh?”
“Did you think it was a dining-room?” asked Tom, with great sarcasm.
“Looks as if every kind o’ tool that was ever invented is here. What’s that thing at the other end, mister?”
“All that remains of the ‘Ogden I,’ son,” answered the aviator. “It has been dismantled and some of the parts used for other machines.”
The boys found the big workshop a very interesting place. A soft mellow light from the afternoon sun streamed in through several open windows, lighting in its course a long table upon which were placed various pieces of machinery and a great collection of tools. A large and a small glider rested against one wall.
For once, Willie Sloan began to exhibit some signs of interest. He wandered about, poking his head into every corner of the shop, until Jed Warren suddenly appeared in the doorway.
“Time to git back, fellers!” he called. “Comin’?”
“I reckon as how we be, pard,” answered Willie.
As Bob shook the inventor’s hand, he said: “The crowd will be back in a few days; and then I hope to begin those lessons.”
Willie Sloan soon climbed into the buckboard, the boys mounted their bronchos, and, with a final shout and waving of hands to the three aeroplanists, the crowd was off.
The buckboard, driven at a rattling pace by Jed Warren, sent little eddies of dust rolling behind it. In a short time the ranch-house had disappeared behind a patch of timber.
They were now in the midst of the herds of cattle.
Willie Sloan firmly clutched the rail at his side. Many misgivings once more rose within him, as he studied their powerful bodies and tremendous horns. Occasionally a bellowing came over the air. Several times he saw great steers pawing the ground and eying the approaching vehicle with an air of defiance.
“Ginger! Wouldn’t it be awful if some o’ those ugly brutes should happen to bump into us,” he thought. “Humph! Cran and the others are getting away ahead.”
The sunlight was now enveloping the prairiein a golden glow, while the cattle sent long purplish shadows over the ground.
“Have they lost you, Jed?” spoke up Willie, suddenly.
Crack! The whip snapped and the buckboard increased its speed, until Willie fairly held his breath.
“Hold on, Warren—stop!” he commanded, fiercely.
A few minutes later the driver’s grinning face was turned toward him.
Willie doubled his little fist, and shook it within an inch of the cow-puncher’s nose.
“Don’t do that again,” he cried, furiously. “You wouldn’t know how to drive a cow to market.”
“All right, sonny,” answered Jed, with apparent meekness.
When the river was reached Jed followed its willow-covered banks for some distance, and, at length, forded the stream. Cranny, Tim Lovell and the Ramblers were now but tiny specks in the distance. Cattle still surrounded them on all sides, and it was a great relief to William Sloan when Circle T Ranch finally came into view.
By the time they arrived, the boys were lolling about the porch in careless ease. Valdez, the dark-skinned Mexican, came quickly forward and took charge of the buckboard and horses, while Willie climbed wearily to the ground.
“Where’s your hat, sonny?” asked Jed, who noticed that his hair was blowing about in the breeze.
“About five miles back on the prairie, I guess.”
The boys on the porch began to roar.
“What became of it?” demanded Cranny.
“That’s a nice question to ask, when I just told you. S’pose you mean how did it happen?”
“Oh, we know you couldn’t help it,” returned the other.
“That old thing on the driver’s seat made those two poor nags nearly break their necks; and the breeze was fierce. I had my hat on the seat. It must have blown off when I wasn’t looking.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Cranny. “That clears you, all right.” He winked at Bob. “Honestly, now, didn’t we have a bully time?”
“Not enough to let you bully me into ever going back,” growled Willie, shaking a cloud of dust from his shoulders.
“Listen to the Insurrecto!” snickered Tom.
“There’ll be a revolution around here soon, Mr. Clifton, that’s sure.”
Willie stepped up on the porch and flung himself down on a stool.
“Say, Cran, that workshop wasn’t half bad, though,” he added, brightening up.
“Best I ever saw,” answered the big lad, enthusiastically.
“I guess it is the only one you ever saw.”
At the table, Bob Somers explained to Mr. Follett their intention of making a stay at Lone Pine.
“Well, Bob, I should be sorry to lose you,” said the ranchman. “Still, if it will be of benefit to the Ogdens, I approve of your plan.”
“Cran can’t go,” said Willie.
“Perhaps you might allow him a few days of grace,” suggested Mr. Follett, with a smile.
For several days the boys enjoyed themselves in various ways; that is, all but WillieSloan. He generally moped about on the porch, gazing listlessly into space. Tim Lovell had made a special effort to be friendly, only to find himself rebuffed.
“I won’t go back to that old farmhouse,” declared Willie, one evening, to Cranny.
The big lad pleaded and coaxed.
“Think of the fun you’ll have in that machine shop,” he remarked.
“So I might—if those air-ship duffers weren’t there,” said Willie, calmly. “Didn’t I see ’em with a don’t-touch look in their eyes all the time? Say, Cran, why couldn’t a fellow fly to the moon in an air-ship—a balloon, I mean?”
“Ask Major Carroll, when you make his acquaintance.”
“My! Your ignorance is something awful.”
“We’re goin’ to Lone Pine to-morrow,” snapped Cranny, out of patience.
“Not I; I haven’t any hat.”
“If you never have another hat in your life,—it’s Lone Pine for you to-morrow!” declared Cranny.