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Title: Lost over Greenland
or, Slim Tyler's search for Dave Boyd
Author: Richard H. Stone
Release date: January 1, 2026 [eBook #77606]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: Cupples & Leon Company, 1930
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST OVER GREENLAND ***
[Frontispiece: "A NEW YORK PAPER!" EXCLAIMED JERRY, AS HE LOOKED AT
THE HEADING. 'Lost Over Greenland.' (See page 118)]
SLIM TYLER AIR STORIES
LOST OVER
GREENLAND
OR
Slim Tyler's Search for Dave Boyd
BY
RICHARD H. STONE
Author of "Sky Riders of the Atlantic," "An Air
Cargo of Gold," Etc.
_ILLUSTRATED._
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
SLIM TYLER AIR STORIES
_By_ RICHARD H. STONE
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
SKY RIDERS OF THE ATLANTIC
OR SLIM TYLER'S FIRST TRIP IN THE CLOUDS
LOST OVER GREENLAND
OR SLIM TYLER'S SEARCH FOR DAVE BOYD
AN AIR CARGO OF GOLD
OR SLIM TYLER, SPECIAL BANK MESSENGER
_(Other Volumes in Preparation)_
COPYRIGHT, 1930, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
LOST OVER GREENLAND
Printed in the U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. The Onrushing Train
II. A Bitter Dose
III. The Tramp's Notebook
IV. A Slender Chance
V. The Flight to the Frozen North
VI. Balking a Rascal
VII. A Hazardous Landing
VIII. The Missing Aviators
IX. On the Wing
X. The Howl of the Wolf
XI. The Pack Closes In
XII. A Fearful Dilemma
XIII. Treed
XIV. A Close Call
XV. Singing Arrows
XVI. In Deadly Peril
XVII. At Risk of Life
XVIII. In the Grip of the Storm
XIX. Threatening Doom
XX. The Crash
XXI. Lost
XXII. The Shot
XXIII. A Joyous Reunion
XXIV. At Grips with a Monster
XXV. Down the Slope
XXVI. The Brink of the Abyss
XXVII. Speeding Homeward
XXVIII. Nat Shaley Gets a Jolt
LOST OVER GREENLAND
CHAPTER I
THE ONRUSHING TRAIN
"Go in and win, Slim."
"Good luck to you, old boy!"
"We're rooting for you, Slim Tyler."
A chorus of these and similar good wishes came from a host of throats
as Slim Tyler, with an embarrassed grin on his freckled face, made
his way toward his plane through the crowd of people on the North
Elmwood flying field. The crowd had gathered to witness the take-off
on the great refueling endurance flight, in which Slim Tyler was a
competitor and which, it was hoped, would establish a new world's
record.
The interest in the contest was intense and had attracted spectators
from all over the country. Four teams of the most celebrated
aviators in America had entered for the prize, and their machines,
groomed to the minute and gleaming in the sun, stood quivering on the
field, as eager, apparently, to go aloft as were their masters.
As Slim Tyler reached his plane in which Jerry Marbury, his assistant
pilot, was already seated, the famous aviator, Dave Boyd, the ace of
all the world's flyers, came up to him for a final word.
"Go to it, my boy," said Dave, as he wrung Slim's hand. "I'm backing
you to the limit. I've been bragging to everyone that you're the
finest airman of your age in America and I'm depending on you to make
my boast good."
"I'll do my best, both for your sake and my own," promised Slim.
"But it isn't going to be any cinch, considering the fellows I'll be
against."
"Righto," agreed Dave Boyd. "But there'll be all the more glory in
winning. It wouldn't be any fun if you were fighting against dubs.
They'll give you a run for your money, all right. All the same,
you're going to lick them. You have the stamina, you have the skill,
and, above all, you have the bulldog stick-to-itiveness that's going
to count."
"I hope you're a true prophet," said Slim, as he drew on his helmet,
adjusted his goggles, and jumped into the plane.
The luck of the draw had placed him last in the order of ascent, and
he and Jerry Marbury watched with keen interest as one after another
the competing planes were drawn to the head of the runway and soared
into the air.
"Those boys know their business," murmured Jerry, as he noted the
grace and celerity of the three take-offs.
"They sure do," agreed Slim. "It won't be an easy job to pluck their
feathers. But if we don't do it, it won't be for lack of trying."
Generous applause greeted all the pilots as they mounted into the
air. But it was nothing compared to the thunderous shout that rose
when the _Lightning Flash_, the plane of Slim Tyler and Jerry
Marbury, roared down the runway and darted up into the sky.
"Seems as though they rather like us down there," remarked Slim to
Jerry, as he brought the plane to an even keel at an altitude of
about fifteen hundred feet.
"Sure does," agreed Jerry. "Of course, it's our home crowd and they
want to see us win just as a matter of local pride. Then, too, they
know that Dave Boyd is backing us, and anything that Dave wants
everybody else in this burg wants."
"That's my own chief reason for wanting to win," declared Slim. "I'd
far rather please Dave Boyd that win the two thousand dollars they've
hung up as a prize."
"Same here," assented Jerry. "But, oh boy, those two thousand
berries look awfully good to me! A thousand apiece for a few days in
the air! Not bad, is it?"
"Not to mention the five thousand dollars we'll divide between us if,
in addition to beating these fellows, we make a new world's record,"
added Slim.
Faintly to their ears came the music of the band, which regaled the
ears of the spectators with a medley of popular tunes, though without
diverting their attention from the four planes that circled about the
field in a variety of graceful evolutions, occasionally indulging in
stunts that made the spectators gasp.
"Whom do you think we have to beat?" asked Jerry, as he watched the
movements of their three rivals.
"All three of them," replied Slim, grinning.
"Of course," rejoined Jerry. "What I mean is, which of these bozos
is likely to give us the most trouble?"
"Hard to tell," judged Slim. "They're all good. Ellison and
McCarthy in the _Comet_, Braxton and Deimer in the _Scout_, Axtell
and Wilson in the _Speed King_. None of them's to be sneezed at. If
I were picking any of them, though, I'd fix on Braxton and Deimer as
the most dangerous. They won a flight of this kind out in
California, you know, and they're veterans."
He pulled the stick and the _Lightning Flash_ darted up to an
altitude of three thousand feet. At the same time he reduced his
speed from sixty to about fifty miles an hour.
Gradually the crowd below thinned out, although some of the most
enthusiastic of the flying fans camped there permanently for the
whole duration of the flight. There was always the chance of
something sensational happening to one or more of the four competing
planes.
Soon the time came for refueling. The supply of gas was running low
and the aviators, too, were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger.
Slim gave the preconcerted signal, and their supply plane, manned by
Biff Donovan and Tom Ellsworth, rose swiftly from the ground.
"Here comes our flying wagon," murmured Jerry with satisfaction.
"And here's the crucial test of the whole thing," added Slim Tyler as
he watched keenly the approaching plane. "I'll tend to the controls
while you show me what a perfect contact you can make."
He gradually went lower as the other plane came higher, and the two
planes maneuvered until the supply ship was almost directly over the
_Lightning Flash_.
"Let her go, Tom!" shouted and signaled Jerry.
"Here she comes!" called Tom, and a long hose, like a great serpent,
came shooting down directly behind the propeller.
Jerry grabbed it deftly before it had time to touch the plane and
connected it with the main tank, which immediately began to fill.
"Smart work, Jerry!" exclaimed the young pilot. "Cut her off when
we've taken on about seventy gallons."
Jerry Marbury complied and then unscrewed the hose and cast it off.
Aluminum cans, three feet long, containing sandwiches, fruit, and
coffee, in addition to a bottle of distilled water, were then swung
down to them by Tom Ellsworth.
Jerry received them with marked enthusiasm, which was fully shared by
Slim.
"They've sent us plenty, I hope," remarked Slim Tyler.
"They have," declared Jerry, as an avalanche of good things slid from
the container that he turned upside down. "If we fail in this
flight, it won't be because they've let us starve to death. Sink
your teeth into that," and he flipped a lettuce and egg sandwich to
his companion, who caught it deftly in his left hand and ate it
eagerly. The supply plane slid down in long spirals to the ground,
and Jerry, after a copious meal, relieved Slim at the controls so
that the latter could follow his example.
They ate with appetite, for it was now nearly night, and in the
feverish excitement of the preparations for the flight neither had
tasted food since early morning.
The sun went down, dusk deepened into night, and gradually the
heavens were studded with stars. The moon would not rise till late,
but with the brightly lighted field beneath them and the searchlights
that kept sweeping the skies, there was no difficulty in avoiding
contact with the rival planes.
Slim had throttled the motor down to about twelve hundred
revolutions, and the _Lightning Flash_ maintained a pace which, while
it would have been fast for an express train, was slow for an
airplane. They were not going anywhere, and it did not matter
whether they loafed or sped, as long as they remained aloft.
"We'll work this thing on three-hour spells," decided Slim. "Suppose
you get some sleep now, Jerry, and I'll call you three hours from
now."
"Suits me all right," acceded Jerry. "Talk about an outdoor sleeping
porch! This lies all over that. All the ventilation you want and
then some."
He stretched out on his narrow mattress and in a few minutes was fast
asleep. At the appointed time Slim Tyler woke him and took his
place, and thus they alternated through the night.
A slight haze lay low on the ground when morning broke and shut out
the sight of the field. It made flying hazardous, also, and had the
rival planes been flying at the same altitude, there would have been
great danger of collision.
But it had been previously arranged that in case of bad weather
conditions they should fly at different heights, so that the pilots
had little worry on that account.
About ten o'clock the haze lifted and the circling planes were bathed
in sunlight.
Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury cast a glance about for their rivals.
"Look at the _Scout_!" exclaimed Jerry. "She seems to be coming
down."
"Wonder what the trouble is," said Slim, with quickened interest.
Braxton could be seen at the controls while Deimer was on the narrow
catwalk working desperately to adjust some trouble with the motor.
"Seem to be making heavy weather of it," remarked Jerry. "Something
gone wrong with the engine."
Whatever the difficulty was, it seemed unconquerable, for Deimer at
last threw up his hands in a gesture of despair, got into his seat,
where he sat with drooping head, and Braxton in long spirals brought
the plane to the ground. The _Scout_ was definitely out of the race.
Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury looked at each other, the same thought
in the mind of each. The dropping out of one of the contestants
marked a step toward their own final triumph. They had only two to
beat now, instead of three. They could not help a feeling of
elation, but blended with this was a feeling of sympathy for the
discomfited aviators. They knew how they would have felt in a
similar position.
There were no more casualties on that day. But on the following
morning, Ellison and McCarthy in the _Comet_ were forced to quit
because of a split in the propeller that had developed during the
night.
"Falling like autumn leaves," murmured Jerry. "I can see those two
thousand berries coming nearer. We have now only the _Speed King_ to
beat and the race is ours."
"They're saying the same thing about us," observed Slim. "Everything
seems to be all serene with them so far. Listen to their motors.
They're working like a dream."
A little later Slim Tyler himself had a scare. His own motors began
to miss.
Jerry's face paled when he heard the ominous knocking.
"Gas giving out?" he asked in alarm.
"No, we have plenty," replied Slim, as he tapped the tank. "It must
be that the feed pipe is clogged. Hustle, Jerry, and get it cleared."
Jerry worked like a madman and adjusted the trouble while Slim, with
consummate skill, so maneuvered the plane, which for the time was
practically motorless, as to keep it from descending.
Even at that, it was dangerously near the ground before the engines
resumed their usual hum and Slim Tyler gave her the gun and mounted
to a realm of safety.
"Close call that!" exclaimed Jerry, with a gasp of relief as he wiped
his streaming brow.
"Sure was," agreed Slim. "It simply shows what an assortment of
chances there is in this game."
This was illustrated an hour later when the _Speed King_ was seen to
falter and go into a tail spin.
"She's going down!" cried Jerry excitedly. "Here's where we win."
But his excitement was premature, for by a herculean effort the
_Speed King_ was brought out of her spin and to a level keel.
"Now where's your two thousand?" chaffed Slim.
"Only postponed a little while," replied Jerry. "Be all the more fun
counting it when it comes."
Slim Tyler in his moments of leisure was thinking of far more than
two thousand dollars. He was mulling over in his mind the twenty
thousand dollars out of which he believed his father had been
swindled by the old skinflint, Nat Shaley.
Would he ever get it? Could he ever pin the crime on Shaley and
compel him to make restitution?
His last interview with the miserly old lumber dealer had convinced
Slim of the man's guilt. But moral certainty was one thing and legal
proof was quite another. He had not a shred of real evidence that
would stand up for a moment in a court of law.
If the tramp, High Hat Frank, who knew so much about the matter had
not died so soon! If----
But what was the use of "ifs?" Slim Tyler put the matter in the back
of his mind and devoted himself to the task in hand.
In the afternoon, to vary the scene of action a little, Slim Tyler
sailed in a wider circle that carried his plane over the railroad
tracks skirting the mountains.
A long whistle came faintly to the ears of the two airmen, and,
looking up the tracks, they saw a freight train winding its way down
the grade.
Jerry touched Slim's arm.
"Look at the auto coming down that mountain road!" he exclaimed,
pointing to the right. "Looks as if the driver had lost control.
And that road crosses the railroad tracks!"
"Brakes won't work, I guess," cried Slim in alarm. "Looks as if he
were heading for a smashup."
The auto went plunging crazily along, made a wild skid as it
approached the roadbed, and turned over on its side on the track,
throwing out the driver, who lay stunned across the rails.
"And the train's coming!" cried Slim, with blanched face. "Because
of the curve, they won't see him until it's too late to stop. We'll
have to go down and save him, contest or not!"
"But the money--" began Jerry, and then added hastily: "All right.
I'm with you."
There was an open field near by, and Slim Tyler made the quickest
landing of his life. Before the plane stopped, Slim and Jerry had
jumped from the cockpit and were racing at full speed toward the
wrecked car.
As they neared the track the prostrate man rose and staggered toward
them. A shock ran through Slim Tyler as he saw the man's face.
It was the face of Nat Shaley!
CHAPTER II
A BITTER DOSE
Nat Shaley! The worst enemy Slim Tyler had on earth! The man who
had cheated him out of his wages! The man who had hounded him on
false charges and had had him arrested! The man who, in Slim's
belief, had swindled his father out of twenty thousand dollars!
And for the sake of this miserable rascal, Slim had thrown away his
chance of winning fame and money and possibly of hanging up a new
world's record! And not only his own chance, but that of his loyal
friend and companion, Jerry Marbury!
A wave of bitterness swept over Slim Tyler as he looked at the mean,
wizened face of the old skinflint.
"So it's you, is it, Nat Shaley?" exclaimed Slim.
"Yes, it's me," snarled Shaley. "Why do you fellers stand here with
your mouths open, lookin' so dumb when the train's comin'? Hurry up
an' pull that car of mine off the tracks, an' be quick about it."
The indignant response that flew to Slim's lips at the man's brusque
order was lost in the grinding of brakes as the freight train rounded
the curve and the engineer noted the obstruction on the track.
But the train was heavy and the grade steep, and despite the
engineer's utmost efforts the locomotive struck the car and hurled
it, a twisted mass of wood and metal, to the side of the tracks.
"There, drat it!" cried Shaley, "they've smashed my car, all because
you lazy lummoxes wuz as slow as molasses instead of hustlin'. But
somebody'll pay fer this, by gravy!"
"Oh, shut up!" commanded Jerry, stung beyond endurance by the
fellow's arrogance. "Who do you think you are, to order us about?"
"You ought to be glad you saved your miserable life," declared Slim.
"The old car was a rattletrap, anyway. It ought to have been in the
junk heap five years ago."
"What's all this about?" demanded the engineer of the locomotive, who
had descended from the cab and approached them, accompanied by his
fireman, while the conductor was hurrying from the caboose. "Whose
car was that on the track?"
"Mine!" shrieked Nat Shaley. "An' you've got yourself in a pretty
mess by smashin' it. I'll sue the company, by heck, an' you'll be
lookin' fer another job."
"Cut out that kind of guff," growled the engineer. "What was the car
doing on the track?"
"That ain't neither here nor there," retorted Shaley. "You got eyes
in your head, ain't you? Why didn't you stop your train when you
seed it there?"
"Couldn't stop in time," replied the engineer curtly.
"That's because you don't know your business," snarled Shaley. "You
ain't heerd the last of this yet. That car wuz worth twelve hundred
dollars, an' your company'll pay every last cent of it. I've got
witnesses here," and he pointed to Slim and Jerry.
"Don't call on me," put in Jerry.
"Nor me," added Slim bitterly. "The old car wasn't worth twenty
dollars. I've heard you say that you'd had it for fifteen years and
it was second hand when you bought it."
"'Tain't so," snarled Shaley vehemently. "You lyin'----"
He stopped abruptly and stepped back as Slim Tyler took a quick step
forward.
"Look here, you old rascal," said the young aviator, his eyes
blazing, "no man calls me a liar and gets away with it. I won't hit
you, because you're too old. But another word like that and I'll
take you by the scruff of the neck and shake you till your false
teeth drop out."
"Aw, go on," said Shaley sullenly, taking care to keep his distance.
"Anyways, I'll make the company pay----"
"How did the car come to get on the tracks?" asked the conductor, who
by this time had joined the excited group.
"Because there must have been somethin' wrong in the right of way,"
replied Shaley. "Part of the rail stickin' out or somethin' that
upset it. Why don't your company keep the tracks in order? I wuz
joggin' along nice an' peaceable, everything shipshape, an' I struck
somethin' at the track that upset the car quick as a wink. Wonder I
wuzn't killed. Your company'll have to pay me fer personal damages,
as well as fer the car----"
While this farrago of lies was being reeled off, Slim Tyler and Jerry
Marbury had been looking at each other in stupefaction.
"You infernal old crook!" Jerry finally burst forth. "The whole
thing was your own fault, or the fault of the car. You'd lost
control of it, brakes out of order or something, and you were coming
down that hill lickety-split."
Shaley glared at him, bursting with rage.
"Well, we can't stay here all day chewing the rag," interrupted the
conductor, looking at his watch. "I'll take the names of you two
gentlemen," he said, taking out a notebook and doing some hasty
scribbling. "As for you," he said to Shaley, "you can put your claim
in the regular way, though I don't think you'll get anything. Get
into the cab, Jim," he directed the engineer, "and start her going."
A minute or two more and the train was under way.
Slim Tyler had gained his nickname because of his tall, lanky figure.
He had been christened Ross Joseph, and was the son of Stillwell and
Mary Tyler. Both had now been dead for years. Mr. Tyler had once
been possessed of considerable means, but most of it had been swept
away in the later years of his life by unfortunate investments.
There was practically nothing left for the orphan lad, and he knocked
about, supporting himself as best he could, until he got a job in Nat
Shaley's lumberyard at Centerville.
Slim worked early and late, hard and faithfully, but Shaley, whose
dislike he had incurred because of an accident that had been wholly
Shaley's fault, discharged him abruptly, owing him forty dollars in
wages. Shaley offered him twelve dollars in full settlement, but
Slim Tyler insisted on getting the forty that were due him. High
words took place and Slim declared that he would get square with
Shaley for cheating him. The threat was thrown out in the heat of
anger and really meant nothing.
But that night Shaley's yards burned, and Slim, friendless and
moneyless, realized the deadly significance that would be attached to
his threat, which had been overheard by the foreman. In bewilderment
and consternation he "hopped" a freight train that same night. In
the car where he had ensconced himself he came in contact with a
half-drunken tramp who called himself High Hat Frank and who referred
to the fire, chuckling tipsily.
In his wanderings Slim Tyler finally brought up at North Elmwood,
where he found employment with Carl Stummel, a good-natured old
German keeper of a "hot dog" stand. It was a great relief for Slim
to have his livelihood provided for, but his chief satisfaction rose
from the fact that the hot dog stand directly faced the North Elmwood
flying field, one of the great aviation fields of the country.
Slim Tyler, from his earliest boyhood, had been fascinated by the
idea of flying. He would have given the world to be an airman. But
without money to go to a flying school it seemed that this ambition
would never be realized.
It was a great delight, however, to watch the planes circling about
and to see the pilots and mechanics at work. He picked up many
acquaintances among the aviators, and every spare hour he had he
spent on the flying field. He looked with reverence on the famous
airmen and especially on Dave Boyd, the most famous aviator in the
United States and, for that matter, in the world.
Slim's great chance came when he found in the road, where it had been
jolted from an automobile, a satchel containing two thousand dollars
in cash. To his delight this proved to belong to Dave Boyd, and Slim
hurried to him with the money.
The great aviator was so struck with the boy's honesty that he
insisted on giving him a substantial reward, and finding that Slim
was interested in flying, he gave him employment in his own hangar.
The lad was in the seventh heaven and was learning rapidly all that
was to be known about airplanes when one day, just on the eve of a
South American flight by Boyd, he found himself confronted on the
crowded flying field by Nat Shaley.
The latter clamored instantly for Slim's arrest. In the hue and cry
that followed Slim took refuge in the tail of the _Shooting Star_,
the plane that was to carry Boyd and his party to Buenos Aires,
Argentina, the goal of the flight. While hiding there, he overheard
Shaley say something inadvertently that led him to associate the old
miser with his, Slim's, father's lumber deal.
Then, to the lad's surprise and consternation, the _Shooting Star_
rose in the air, and he found himself an unwilling stowaway on the
great South American flight.
What thrilling adventures he met with on that voyage, the stern
disfavor with which Boyd and his assistants met him when he emerged
from his hiding place, the way in which he conquered their respect
and admiration by his courage and quick wit in desperate emergencies,
his arrest by Shaley on his return and his exoneration; all this is
told in the first volume of this series, entitled: "Sky Riders of the
Atlantic."
The wrongs he had suffered at the hands of Shaley were in Slim
Tyler's mind as he gave vent to his bitter denunciation of the
wizened old rascal.
"You'd better look out what you're sayin', you boys had," bristled
Shaley. "Them words is actionable at law. You can't go aroun'
callin' people names an' not get caught up with, let me tell you."
"Oh, close your face!" exclaimed Jerry, in profound disgust. "Slim
knows you're a crook. I know you're a liar. I wish you were younger
so that I could take a swing at you. Gosh, Slim," he added as he
turned to his comrade, "if I'd known that it was this old rascal in
that car I'd never have agreed to come down."
"Well, there's no use crying over spilt milk," said Slim sadly. "We
are down, and that's the end of it. Come along and leave this old
crab to stew in his own juice. Gee, I hate to face Dave Boyd, but we
might as well get the agony over with."
They left Shaley glaring after them malignantly, climbed into the
cockpit, and lifted the plane into the air.
"Feel as if I were going to my own funeral," muttered Jerry
dejectedly.
"It's a blow right between the eyes," admitted Slim. "But I really
don't see what else we could have done. We didn't know that Shaley
was going to recover in time to stagger off the tracks. And we would
never have forgiven ourselves if, for the sake of money, we'd let a
human being be crushed to death, as it seemed likely he would be."
"Of course not," agreed Jerry. "Oh, I'm not beefing because we came
down. I'd do the same thing over again under the same circumstances.
But I'd rather we'd gone to the help of anyone else in the world than
that old miser. And how grateful he was! Thanked us a lot, didn't
he? Called us 'lazy lummoxes' because we didn't get that old bunch
of junk off the track."
They reached the flying field to find the crowds in a great state of
excitement. It was known that the _Lightning Flash_ had come down
and all were agog to know the reason.
The _Speed King_ was still gracefully flying over the field, and
Jerry looked at it with eyes bleak with disappointment.
"They win," he said bitterly, "and all because a wretched old crook
happened to be in this part of the country at the wrong time. This
sure has been our unlucky day!"
Slim brought the plane down to a perfect landing, to be surrounded
immediately by a clamoring crowd.
Dave Boyd pushed his way to the side of the plane.
"What in thunder made you come down?" he demanded. "Engine trouble?"
In a few words Slim Tyler explained the cause of the disaster.
Boyd's disappointment was bitter, but he bore it like the sportsman
he was.
"Of course you had to do what you did," he conceded, when Slim had
finished. "It's just a bit of awfully bad luck. And the fact that
it was Nat Shaley you did it for adds the finishing touch. We've
just got to grin and bear it.
"By the way," he added to Slim, as the young aviator and Jerry
climbed dispiritedly out of the cockpit, "speaking of Shaley reminds
me that a little while ago a trampish-looking man was around here
looking for you. Said he'd known High Hat Frank."
Slim pricked up his ears.
"Where is he now?" he asked eagerly.
"Haven't the least idea," replied Boyd. "Probably hanging round
somewhere. Probably he'll be hunting you up, now that he knows your
plane's come down."
He turned to give directions to have the _Lightning Flash_ drawn into
her hangar, and Slim Tyler made his way wearily through the crowd.
The reason for his descent had spread like wildfire, and he received
many congratulations for having made such a sacrifice for the sake of
saving a life that seemed to be in danger.
These, however, failed to cheer him greatly. His heart was sore. He
had entered the race with the highest of hopes. He had hoped to
write his name on the scroll of fame. His success would have meant
not only money, but reputation. His name and the story of his
exploit would have been in every newspaper in the United States. It
would have been the opening wedge of a great flying career.
But he had lost! And lost for the sake of whom? That was the
bitterest drop in his cup of misery. Lost for the sake of his worst
enemy, a man who had cheated him, a man who hated him, a man who had
not thanked him, a man who would even chuckle when he read the papers
and learned the extent of Slim's loss! It was surely the irony of
fate.
He made his way across to Stummel's hot dog stand and dropped wearily
on a stool.
The old German spotted him at once and was so agitated that he
dropped the cup of coffee he was handling.
"Himmel! It vos Shlim!" he cried, as he hurried toward him. "Vy iss
it dot you iss not yet oop in der air alretty? Iss it dot you haf a
fall gehabt?"
Slim smiled wryly.
"No go, Carl," he replied. "I had to come down."
"Und dot two tausend dollars iss ausgespielt?" asked Carl, in
consternation. "It iss geflopt gangen?"
"All gone," assented Slim. "I don't get a red cent."
"Und I haf lost der fife tollers dot I bet on you," continued Carl.
"But dot iss nuddings. It iss for you dot I feel badt. Poor Shlim!"
A rough-looking man on an adjoining stool turned about sharply.
"Are you Slim Tyler?" he asked.
CHAPTER III
THE TRAMP'S NOTEBOOK
Slim Tyler nodded cautiously in answer to the stranger's question.
He was not impressed by the man's appearance.
"That's what they call me," he replied. "What can I do for you?"
The fellow leered at Slim over his hot dog. His look became sly and
calculating.
"Well, now," he said, "it ain't so much what you can do for me, young
feller, as what I may be able to do for you."
Slim grinned.
"All right. I never yet shot a fellow for wanting to do me a favor.
What's on your mind?"
The last words gained in interest, for it occurred to Slim that this
might be the fellow that Dave Boyd had mentioned, the
trampish-looking man that had claimed acquaintanceship with High Hat
Frank.
Perhaps the tramp noticed his quickened interest and guessed at the
cause. At any rate, when he spoke again it was with increased
assurance.
"Well, now, I ain't exactly throwin' my favors round reckless like.
There's folks might think that this here favor I've got for you was
worth spendin' a few bucks to get."
"I supposed you were after money," said Slim. "Tell me what you have
for me and how much you want for it."
The look of cunning grew in the eyes of the tramp.
"Yeah, I should tell you!" he jeered. "And after you got my
information I'd like to know how much of a chance I'd have of
collecting on it."
Slim turned his back on the fellow.
"Keep your information," he said curtly, and added to Carl Stummel:
"One hot dog, please, with plenty of mustard."
"Ach!" replied Carl, his eyes twinkling, "you talk like I don't know
alretty how you like dem--me who votched you spreadt on der mustard
so dick alretty it iss a vender vot you dond burn oudt your insides
yet."
"I like plenty of mustard," grinned Slim. "It kills the taste of the
dog."
As he accepted the wienie from Carl's stubby fingers he felt a touch
on his shoulder. He turned to find the stranger gazing anxiously at
him.
"What, you here yet?" asked Slim, with a fine affectation of
carelessness and smothering a yawn.
"I knew High Hat Frank," whispered the fellow, his ugly countenance
twisted into an expression of amiability. "It will be worth your
while to listen to what I have to say. Take it from one who knows."
Slim eyed the man speculatively.
"How much do you want and what have you got?" he asked.
"I have a notebook that once belonged to High Hat Frank," the fellow
replied. "I was in a camp with three other guys, gentlemen of the
road like me," with a leer. "One day when all the rest had cleared
out I found a notebook. It had High Hat Frank's name on it."
"Well," said Slim, "what has that to do with me?"
"It has your name in it, that's what it's got to do with you," was
the reply. "And it has other things in it, this notebook has--things
you might like to know."
"Let me see it," demanded Slim.
"For a price," replied the tramp. "My name's Dan Mooney and you can
see for yourself that I ain't got much of this world's goods. I'm a
poor man, I am, and I got to make my money where I can."
"You don't expect me to buy a pig in a poke, do you?" asked Slim.
"You've got to take a chance on that," replied Mooney. "It'll cost
you ten dollars in advance to get a squint at it. Maybe it'll be
worth a hundred times that to you. I dunno. But you ought to be
willing to gamble that much on it."
Slim himself was of the same opinion. He reached into his pocket,
pulled out some bills, counted out a five and five ones and shoved
them toward the tramp. Mooney seized them eagerly in his dirty
fingers and shoved them into an inside pocket of his ragged coat.
"All right," he said. "Now, you being a sport and me being an honest
man, I'm giving you a fair return for your money."
He thrust his hand deep into a back pocket and drew out a shabby old
notebook which he handed to the young aviator. The book was so
filthy with dirt and grease that Slim handled it gingerly by one
corner.
"Looks like you vos got schwindled alretty," observed Carl Stummel,
who had watched the proceeding with disapproval. "For sooch a book
ich vould nicht ten cents geben, to say nuddings oof ten tollers."
"Go take a back seat, grandpa," remarked the tramp, with a lofty wave
of his dirty hand. "Believe me when Mr. Tyler here gets a look at
the inside sheets of that there little book he'll think he got it
dirt cheap. Now give me two wienies with mustard and make it snappy.
I got money now and I want service."
The old German's indignant snort was lost on Slim Tyler, as he rose
and strolled away, the notebook still held between thumb and
forefinger. He wanted to find a secluded spot where he could peruse
High Hat Frank's notebook without fear of interruption.
He found such a spot in the yard back of the hot dog stand. He sat
down on a tree stump and opened the greasy notebook.
His fingers shook with eagerness.
How much, if anything, had High Hat Frank known of Nat Shaley and his
swindling lumber schemes? How much, if anything, had he known of
that Oregon deal in which Slim's own father had been involved?
Almost fearfully Slim Tyler leafed the pages of the book.
The first few pages on which his eye fell held little of personal
interest for him. They were memoranda of trips made and people
encountered by the dead tramp, of private grudges and vows on the
part of the writer to even the score with certain persons unknown to
Slim.
The lad was becoming increasingly disappointed when a certain
notation caught his eye. He read with eagerness the almost illegible
writing that lay scrawled across the pages.
"Guess this is worth ten dollars, all right," he muttered to himself.
The paragraph that so interested him began with some decidedly
uncomplimentary remarks concerning the character of Nat Shaley, and
continued with some generalities relative to an Oregon lumber deal.
These references were vague and had evidently been jotted down only
as aids to High Hat Frank's memory, which was probably becoming
dimmed by excessive drinking.
Several names, however, were mentioned that Slim felt might serve him
as clues. The real name of High Hat Frank himself, Frank Larrapoo,
was the first that Slim came across. Two other men, Hugh Garrabrant
and Cameron Flood seemed to have been involved in the deal. The man
named Flood, it appeared, had a claim amounting to forty thousand
dollars.
There was a notation relative to this last fact which made Slim's
pulses quicken:
"Flood and Tyl--" here a bit of the paper had crumpled away--"both
swindled. Looks like that crook, Shaley, got all the money while
they were left holding the bag."
"Tyl--"! It was maddening that just at that point the paper was
crumpled. What had originally been on that missing bit. Was it the
syllable "er," completing the name "Tyler?" Slim felt sure of it.
This was all in the book that bore on the Oregon transaction, all, as
a matter of fact, that had the slightest interest for Slim Tyler.
However, Slim felt that it was a great deal. It was the first
written statement he had yet seen in which Nat Shaley had been
accused of swindling. And it was the first time that in writing
Slim's father's name had been linked with the transaction.
If only the paper had not worn away just there! If, in addition, the
full name "Stillwell Tyler" had been there!
High Hat Frank could have made the identification definite. But High
Hat Frank was dead. But, even if he were alive, how far would his
evidence have weight?
"He was only a tramp," thought Slim. "Who would have taken his word
against that of a man like Nat Shaley, who has the power of influence
and money behind him?"
Thinking these thoughts, the first fine edge of Slim's enthusiasm was
dulled. He figured that as evidence in court High Hat Frank's dirty,
grease-soaked notebook would not be worth the paper in it.
"The judge and jury would laugh," he thought, "and so would Nat
Shaley. What I need are facts--facts that the crook can't laugh off.
But how I'm going to get them--that's another question."
He consulted the notebook again.
"Hugh Garrabrant and Cameron Flood," he said aloud. "I'd like to
meet one or both of them. I reckon they might be able to tell me
some interesting things about that transaction--things that High Hat
Frank neglected to put down in his notebook."
There was the thunderous rumble of an airplane directly overhead.
Slim Tyler looked up absently, but instantly his attention became
fixed.
The plane was the _Speed King_, the last of the four in the contest
remaining aloft.
His practiced glance told him at once that the _Speed King_ was in
trouble and preparing to descend.
"Lots of good that does me, though, now that Jerry and I are out of
it," he said to himself bitterly.
He hurried over to the flying field, thrusting the notebook into his
pocket.
The plane was flying low. Its engines barked wearily. It dropped
and fluttered like a tired bird.
Slim made his way through the crowd to a place beside the Boyd
hangar, where Jerry was in earnest conversation with Henry Cusack,
the superintendent of the field, and several of Boyd's mechanics.
Jerry waved to Slim and pointed to the plane.
"One of the engines has passed out altogether," he said. "She's got
to come down. That knocks out all their chances of breaking the
record."
"Yes," replied Slim. "But they've beaten us just the same in the
individual contest."
"And got the two thousand berries that would have been ours if it
hadn't been for that confounded Nat Shaley," groaned Jerry.
The plane touched the ground, bounded along for several hundred feet,
and came to a standstill.
Slim was about to join the crowd that surged about the _Speed King_
when a familiar voice caught his ear. He glanced back over his
shoulder.
Carl Stummel elbowed and pushed his way through the crowd toward him
in a state of great excitement.
"Dere he iss, alretty!" cried Carl. "I tell you dot dis Shlim Tyler,
dere iss nuddings dot he candt do vunst. Shlim! Vait a minute yet!"
CHAPTER IV
A SLENDER CHANCE
Slim Tyler whirled about, curious to know what had so stirred his
good friend.
Carl Stummel's glasses were pushed far up on his forehead. His hair
stood up in bushy wisps about his head as though he had grasped it in
some extremity of tragic emotion. His eyes were wild and he was
panting heavily.
The German was not alone. By the hand he led a man whose girth was
as generous as his own. There, however, the resemblance ended. The
stranger had a scholarly, sensitive face with near-sighted eyes that
peered uncertainly from steel-rimmed spectacles. He appeared not to
see Slim until he was almost upon him.
"Dis iss Shlim Tyler," panted Carl to his companion. "Dere is
nuddings he candt do alretty. He vill your leetle poy save. Shlim,
dis iss Henry Traut."
The newcomer peered up at the tall young aviator. He clutched at
Slim's sleeves.
"Ach, yes, I have heard of you," he said. "Can you once save my
little boy, I will be your friend for life."
Slim was touched by the pleading in the father's eyes.
"I'll be glad to do anything I can," he said earnestly. "Where is
your boy and what's wrong with him?"
Carl broke in to explain.
"Der leetle poy in an accident it iss dot he vos been alretty. He
lif in Ernestville, fifty miles from here it iss. He must an
oberation haf kevick. He--he----"
Carl was getting so excited that his friend took up the tale.
"My wife has phoned me," he said in husky accents, "that the doctor
there says we must get Dr. Aaron Wills, the specialist who lives
here, to perform the operation. I understand he is a wonderful
surgeon. But he must come at once. Else my baby will die--my little
boy, he is only six years old----"
His voice broke and he wrung his hands distractedly.
"Eef you der doctor could get und fly mit him to Ernestville, Shlim,"
Carl said pleadingly.
"I'll do it," promised Slim.
He made his way through the press of people toward the row of cars
parked about the field.
He knew the famous specialist by sight, and remembered having seen
him on the field only a few minutes before.
"It would be too good luck to find him there still," Slim thought to
himself. "Just the same, it's possible."
When he reached the farther side of the field he caught a glimpse of
the surgeon's car about to pull away to the road.
Slim began to run, his long legs covering the ground swiftly.
"Doctor Wills!" he called. "Doctor Wills! Wait a minute!"
The car was already rolling smoothly along the road and Slim's call
was unheard.
Slim set his teeth and sprinted. His legs moved like pistons.
The heavy traffic of vehicles along the road decided the race in
Slim's favor. He came up with the doctor's car and flung himself
upon the running board.
Doctor Wills looked surprised. Perhaps he thought for a fleeting
second that he was the victim of a hold-up.
He recognized the young aviator almost instantly, however, and drew
up at the side of the road.
"What can I do for you, my boy?" he asked, a smile transforming
features that in repose were serious, almost stern. "You scarcely
look as though you needed the services of a doctor."
"Not yet, doctor," replied Slim. "Although it's a lucky fellow in my
line of work who doesn't need the services of a surgeon to patch him
up now and then."
He explained hurriedly the plight of Henry Traut and the six-year-old
child, whose life the skill of Dr. Aaron Wills was depended on to
save.
Doctor Wills listened intently, his face growing increasingly serious.
"Ernestville is more than fifty miles away," he observed. "If the
child is as badly hurt as you say, we probably couldn't get there in
time."
Slim smiled confidently.
"We could make it by plane," he declared.
"Ah!" the stern face relaxed again. Slim's youth and enthusiasm
possessed a strong appeal for this man of many cares and ceaseless
responsibilities. "I see."
He turned his car in the direction of the flying field.
"Get your plane ready," he said. "While you're doing it, I'll call
up my office, tell them where I'm going, and leave directions
concerning a few matters with my assistant."
They found Henry Traut where Slim had left him. Carl had been forced
to go back to his hot dog stand, for on a day like this business was
brisk.
Slim introduced the doctor, and the German grasped his hand
convulsively.
"It is so good of you, doctor," he said tremulously. "Our little
boy, he is all we have. If he should leave us, I too should die."
"I'll do my best," said the doctor, as he and Traut hastily got into
the flying togs that Slim handed them.
A hasty word to Jerry from Slim had apprised him of the state of
affairs and he had hauled out a speedy plane from the hangar so that
in an incredibly short time everything was ready for the flight.
Carl Stummel rushed over again for a parting word with his friend.
There were tears in the eyes of the good old fellow as he wrung
Traut's hand.
"It vill be alles recht," Carl assured him. "You shoost leave it mit
dot Shlim Tyler. He iss vun great poy. He vill get you dere in der
jig dime yet."
Slim met the quizzical glance of the famous surgeon and grinned
sheepishly.
"Mr. Stummel is an old friend of mine, Doctor," he said. "I'm afraid
he has too much confidence in me."
"Any man may count himself fortunate to possess one friend with
implicit confidence in his ability," said Dr. Wills gravely.
"Besides, I think we're all inclined to share his confidence. Let's
see now how quickly you can take us to Ernestville."
"Watch our smoke," said Slim, as he motioned to one of the mechanics
to turn the propeller.
The engines sang their song of speed as the plane rushed down the
runway and darted upward into the air.
Higher and higher it rose until it was at an elevation of about a
thousand feet. Then Slim brought it to an even keel and set its nose
in the direction of Ernestville, fifty miles away.
Before Slim's mind rose the vision of a six-year-old child, inert,
helpless, dependent for life itself on the speed of the plane and the
skill of the surgeon.
"A race with death perhaps," Slim muttered to himself. "But I have a
feeling that we'll win."
He gave the plane full throttle and clove the air like a comet. He
was racing not for a money prize, not for glory or reputation, but
for a life.
He covered the fifty miles in something less than twenty minutes, and
came down on a small flying field in the outskirts of Ernestville.
There, through a previous arrangement made over the telephone by
Jerry Marbury before the take-off, a car was waiting.
Into this hurried Dr. Wills, followed by Henry Traut and by Slim
himself, who had lingered behind just for a moment to give a few
directions regarding the plane.
"To my house, quick!" urged Traut.
"No, to the hospital," directed the doctor. "I talked to your doctor
before we left North Elmwood and he arranged for the transfer. With
the facilities there, a successful outcome to the operation is far
more probable than if it were performed at your home. Set your mind
at rest. Everything will be done for your child that it is possible
to do."
"Ach, Gott!" murmured the stricken father. "I pray that it will be
enough."
The car stopped at the hospital, and the doctor hurried up the steps.
Henry Traut kept beside him, his fingers twining and intertwining in
agonized helplessness.
Slim Tyler brought up the rear, increasingly conscious of being an
outsider, yet unwilling to desert the party until he had learned more
concerning the fate of the little lad.
Inside the hospital they were greeted by the clean antiseptic odor
common to all such institutions.
The great surgeon was met by the nurse in charge, who summoned the
head of the hospital, who in turn offered all the facilities of his
domain to his distinguished colleague.
Doctor Wills gave a crisp direction and turned toward the stairs. It
was evident that he had completely forgotten both the father of his
"case" and Slim Tyler, who had been chiefly responsible for bringing
him there.
Henry Traut, however, was not willing to be ignored. He followed the
surgeon and plucked nervously at his sleeve.
"My boy, I can see him, yes?"
Without pausing in his swift stride, Doctor Wills said over his
shoulder:
"Better wait in the reception room with young Tyler. I'll have word
sent to you as soon as you can see the boy."
With this small comfort the distracted father was forced to content
himself. He walked irresolutely into the waiting room and paced up
and down, up and down, his hands behind his back, his glazed stare
fixed, his mouth set in a line of pain.
Slim watched him uncomfortably for a few minutes, wondering if he
should try to say something comforting, but finally deciding against
it.
"How can I say anything consoling when his poor little kid may be
dying this minute for all I know? I doubt if he'd even hear me. He
has his ears strained for some sound from upstairs."
He turned restlessly to the window and tried to interest his thoughts
by the sights of the street.
"The worst fix I ever was in," he muttered to himself. "Who'd think
I'd get so cut up about some one else's kid? Wonder what they're
doing to the poor little beggar, anyhow."
As though in answer to his question, a soft-footed nurse entered.
"Mr. Traut," she said, "I have come from Doctor Wills. He says that
you can see your little boy."
Henry Traut paused in his restless pacing. He regarded the nurse,
his face working. He peered at her and gripped her arm with
imploring fingers.
"My little boy--my little son," he whispered. "Tell me--will he
live?"
The nurse nodded, a smile on her face.
"Doctor Wills says that he is out of danger."
Henry Traut sat down with great suddenness. Slim had the impression
that his legs had given out under him. Traut felt in his pocket and
drew out a handkerchief, which he applied to his eyes.
"Lieber Gott!" he murmured, "I give thanks."
Slim felt an unaccustomed emotion swelling up in him and turned
sharply to the window. He remained there until he was conscious of a
presence near him and turned to find the white-garbed nurse beside
him.
"Are you Mr. Tyler?" she asked.
Slim admitted his identity.
"I brought Doctor Wills and Mr. Traut here in a plane," he added
awkwardly. "I haven't really any business here, but I thought I'd
sort of like to hang around until I found out how the little codger
was getting along. I--I guess I'll be going now."
"I guess you'll do nothing of the kind," said the nurse smilingly.
"Not if I have anything to say about it--or Doctor Wills. You see
the little Traut boy has been asking for you--seems he's seen your
picture in the papers and heard a lot about your flying--and he won't
take no for an answer."
"How does he know I'm here?" asked Slim.
"He heard Doctor Wills speak of you to Doctor Morton the anæsthetist.
He must have understood then that you were still downstairs, for you
were the first one he asked for when he came out of the ether.
You're quite a hero to the little boy, Mr. Tyler."
Slim fidgeted uncomfortably, wondering whether the nurse was laughing
at him.
He was ashamed of the suspicion a moment later when very seriously
and gently she placed her hand upon his arm.
"You undoubtedly saved the little fellow's life, Mr. Tyler. I heard
Doctor Wills say that if he had been half an hour later, he could
have done nothing. If you can carry your kindness a little further
and come up to see the boy just for a moment. It will keep him from
fretting and----"
"I'll be glad to," said Slim promptly. "I'm glad to do anything I
can."
The nurse said nothing further, but led the way from the room.
Mr. Traut had already been taken to the room in which his boy lay.
Slim had never been in a hospital before, except on the one occasion
when he had visited High Hat Frank. The smell of antiseptics and the
rows of narrow beds all had a depressing effect upon him.
"Might as well get used to it, though," he thought. "Here's where
I'll come--or to a place like this--after my first crack-up. All the
fellows do, sooner or later."
The nurse led him to a room at the far end of the corridor. On the
bed lay a little lad, a lad so white and thin that the dark eyes
gazing up at Slim seemed enormous in the small face.
Henry Traut had been sitting beside the bed, the child's small hand
in his.
Now, at a sign from the nurse, he rose as though to quit the room.
He bent over the small figure and the child reached up and patted his
face.
As the father retired reluctantly, Slim took his place beside the bed.
"Only a word or two," the nurse whispered. "Then you must go."
The child reached out a brown little hand, and Slim took it with a
strange sensation of tenderness. He felt as he had in the waiting
room below, a bit choky in the throat.
"You're big flying man," murmured the child. "I saw your picture.
You go up in the sky. I like you."
"That's good," said Slim clearing his throat. "I like you, too. And
now you're going to hurry up and get well and pretty soon you'll be
playing around again."
The little face flushed and the lips moved. Slim bent closer to
catch the whisper.
"Will you come again?"
"Sure thing," promised Slim. "When I come again I'll bring you a toy
airplane and show you how to fly it."
Slim felt a touch on his arm. It was the nurse.
"Time's up," she whispered.
With difficulty Slim released his hand from the little fellow's
grasp. Tears started to the child's eyes, but the nurse soothed him.
Outside in the corridor, it seemed to Slim that he could still feel
the pressure of the small fingers. He wanted to go back and reassure
him, tell him there was nothing to be frightened about. Gee, it was
tough to be flat on your back with all sorts of pains and aches
inside of you when you were only six years old!
Doctor Wills emerged from a room where he had been washing after the
operation.
"I hear it's all right, Doctor," said Slim.
"Yes," replied the great surgeon. "But it wouldn't have been if you
hadn't whisked me here as swiftly as you did. A little while longer
and the child would have been beyond help. You've done a good day's
work, my boy."
"I'm glad," said Slim simply. "I'll take you back when you're ready,
Doctor."
"Thanks," said the doctor. "But I'm going to stay here a few hours
to watch developments. I'll have my man bring the car over."
"You surely are not going home to-night, Mr. Tyler," put in Henry
Traut. "You must be my guest. My wife would never forgive me if I
did not bring you to her so that she can thank you. You must come."
There was really no reason for refusing, and Slim Tyler accompanied
his host to the Traut home, where Mrs. Traut, who had been in a state
of nervous collapse and was under the care of a trained nurse,
received him with joy and gratitude that were beyond all words. They
were so insistent on his staying that nearly a week elapsed before
they would let him go. Slim yielded the more readily because of his
growing attachment to the little fellow, whom he visited daily and
who in turn fairly worshipped his deliverer.
The child grew stronger rapidly, and the nurse declared that Slim's
visits helped the little lad more than all the medicines.
At last Slim Tyler had to tear himself away. To him who had had so
little of home life it was a wrench to go from these kindly people.
Yet it was with a thrill of elation that he mounted into the cockpit
and felt once more the stick in his hand.
When, after his return flight, he came down on the North Elmwood
flying field, Jerry Marbury detached himself from a group and hurried
over to him.
"You old stick-in-the-mud!" he called, "where have you been all this
time?"
"Didn't Dave Boyd tell you?" asked Slim, in some surprise. "I phoned
to him and asked him to pass the word along."
"Dave has been so busy that he's hardly had time to breathe," replied
Jerry, "and thereby hangs a tale. Slim, old scout, you and I are out
of luck."
CHAPTER V
THE FLIGHT TO THE FROZEN NORTH
Jerry Marbury's statement was uttered so ruefully that Slim Tyler
shot a sharp glance at his chum.
"How come?" he asked.
"While you've been away," replied his friend, "Dave has accepted an
offer from a group of scientists--oh, you'd know their names fast
enough, if you heard them, Franz, Burke, Lewis, a lot of highbrows
with all the letters of the alphabet tucked behind their names--to
pilot an expedition into the wilds of Greenland. Some sort of
exploring expedition."
"My name isn't up as a member of the expedition, I suppose,"
conjectured Slim wistfully.
"Not that you can notice," returned Jerry, with a gloomy nod.
"That's what I meant when I said we were out of luck."
"You're not in it, either?" asked Slim, genuinely surprised.
"Guess there isn't room for me on the trip," was the reply. "I can't
expect to be in on everything, you know."
"Who is going with Dave, then?" queried Slim.
"Biff Donovan for one. And I understand that Sardine Brown is going
along. If they've got any one else, I haven't heard of him."
Slim Tyler could not help feeling envious of the lucky flyers. He
would have given almost everything he owned to have been included in
the plans for this expedition into Greenland. But common sense told
him that Dave would want only the more experienced flyers for this
kind of work.
"My time will come yet," he assured himself, trying to banish the
disappointment that he could not help feeling. "There's no use
getting sore over nothing."
Aloud he said:
"Does the expedition start from here?"
"I think so," replied Jerry, "although I understand Dave expects to
pick up one or two others in Canada on his way to the Far North."
"When do they start?" asked Slim.
Jerry chuckled.
"According to latest reports from the Boyd hangar, in just about
thirty-five minutes."
"So soon?" exclaimed Slim. "Things must have been humming while I
was away."
"You don't know the half of it. Come with me and I'll show you."
Approaching the Boyd hangar, they found everything in a bustle of
preparation.
The plane that was to be used for the expedition, the _Flying Cloud_,
was being inspected for the last time in regard to its mechanical
perfection, fueling, and provisioning.
The stir and excitement of the scene got into Slim's blood and
intensified his sense of disappointment in not being included in it.
He and Jerry forced their way through the crowd that surrounded the
hangar and were greeted jovially by Henry Cusack.
"Bet you boys wish you were going along," he remarked.
Slim Tyler grinned ruefully.
"Nothing else but," he agreed.
"Where's Dave?" asked Jerry.
"Around somewhere talking to the scientists. I ain't got any use for
those fellers," the rotund boss of the hangar confided in a lowered
tone. "Seems they always know so much that ain't so, and in the end
they always come around to facts that common folks have known all
along."
Jerry Marbury chuckled.
"Once in a while, though, they do succeed in turning up something,
Henry. There's Edison. What about him?"
"Oh, well," admitted Henry grudgingly, "he's what you call a
practical scientist. I was talking about the kind that go around
with their heads in the clouds and never notice whether it's dry or
muddy underfoot. That sort makes me tired."
Slim and Jerry found Dave Boyd surrounded by a distinguished group of
men--that type of star-gazing scientists of which Henry Cusack so
heartily disapproved.
The great aviator greeted the young men cordially.
"How's the little sick boy in Ernestville?" he asked Slim. It was
one of the pleasant attributes of the great flyer that, no matter how
deeply he might be absorbed in matters of importance, he never failed
to keep in mind events that were of interest to his associates. He
had a capacity for friendliness that was a never ending source of
pleasure to those who admired and loved him.
"Coming along well, thanks," answered Slim. But his mind just then
was not on the little Traut boy. He was thinking wistful things of
Greenland and what he might do there if he had the chance.
Dave Boyd seemed to divine his thoughts.
"Sorry we haven't room for you and Jerry on this trip," he said. "I
was asked to take Biff and Brown. But there will be other trips, and
then you will get your chance."
"Much good that does me now," thought Slim to himself, still fighting
his disappointment.
He loitered about the hangar during the final arrangements for the
start of the expedition. The excitement infected him. The call to
adventure was in his blood. He wandered about, nurturing a wild hope
that at the last moment someone would be unable to go and he, Slim
Tyler, would be called upon to take his place.
This flickering possibility received its death blow when the great
plane that was to carry the expedition to Greenland was trundled out
and the members of the party began to take their places in it.
One by one Slim counted them. They were all there! No hope of a
vacancy at the last moment.
Police were on hand to prevent crowding and to give the plane a fair
space for the take-off.
Dave Boyd was the last to board the plane. In the act of settling
his heavy goggles in place, he turned to Slim and Jerry and held out
his hand.
"Wish us luck, boys," he said. "We will keep you folks back here
informed of our progress, as far as it is possible to do so. We have
radio along and all the up-to-the-minute appliances. You should hear
from us often."
"Good-by, sir," said Slim. "I don't have to wish any expedition luck
when you're along," he added, with a smile. "I just wish them Dave
Boyd."
The aviator laughed, shook Slim's hand again, and climbed into the
plane.
The propeller whirled, the engine hummed, and the great plane swept
down the field like a gigantic beetle.
But it did not rise as soon as they expected.
Jerry and Slim watched it with increasing anxiety.
"Too heavily weighted," muttered Slim.
Jerry nodded.
"They may have to ditch some of the duffle," he observed.
"No!" cried Slim. "There she goes! Look at her! See her lift! Now
I ask you, what could be sweeter?"
He wandered about aimlessly for a while, trying to chide himself into
a more cheerful mood. He was turning a corner of the Boyd hangar
when he saw approaching him and evidently about to speak to him the
person he most loathed in all the world.
He regarded Nat Shaley frigidly.
"Well," he said, not trying to hide his distaste, "what do you want?"
CHAPTER VI
BALKING A RASCAL
Nat Shaley, undismayed by Slim Tyler's reception of him, tried to
force his unpleasant countenance into a look of amiability.
"I figger to have a talk with you, son," said Shaley, in a tone which
astonished Slim because it was so friendly and had the effect of
putting him instantly on his guard. "I say now, can't we go
somewhere where nobody'll be buttin' in to bother us?"
Slim hesitated. He abominated the man and wanted to have nothing to
do with him.
On the other hand, he was anxious to find out all that he could about
the mysterious Oregon lumber deal in which he now felt certain his
father had been swindled by the old miser.
Of course, Shaley would never admit anything. But there was a chance
that some unguarded utterance of his might give Slim a clue that
could be followed up with profit.
"If you must be private," Slim said brusquely, "come over there with
me back of Stummel's hot dog stand. We're not apt to be interrupted
there."
Nat Shaley's small eyes gleamed assent. He wore a satisfied smirk.
"All right, son," he said in his new manner. "You lead the way an'
I'll follow."
When they had reached the vacant patch of land back of Carl Stummel's
place, Slim Tyler turned and faced the man who was his worst enemy
and had probably been his father's evil genius.
"Well," he said crisply, "out with it. I'm no friend of yours, Nat
Shaley. I won't pretend to be. If you have anything to say to me,
say it quickly and get it over with."
"Not so fast, not so fast," protested Shaley, who seemed a bit
disconcerted by the boy's uncompromising attitude. "Mebbe when you
hear what I have to say, you won't talk so loud about us bein'
enemies----"
"All right," Slim interrupted impatiently. "Get on with it. What do
you want?"
"I don't want nothin'," said Shaley, his own tone beginning to rasp.
"I come here to give you somethin'. Howsomever, if you don't want
it, you don't have to take it."
"Give me something!" replied Slim contemptuously. "That doesn't seem
to be in your line, Nat Shaley. From what I've seen of you you're
the taking, not the giving sort."
For a moment the mask of good nature dropped from the old miser's
face and his eyes glowed venomously. He started to speak and stopped
with his mouth half open. It was evident that he controlled himself
by a gigantic effort.
"You ain't helpin' me to be nice to you," said the old scoundrel,
with a leer. "But I got a forgivin' disposition an' I ain't to be
turned from my purpose by no hot-headed young feller that don't know
what side his bread's buttered on. Now look here, Slim, I got some
money for you."
"Money!" Slim's mind leaped to the twenty thousand dollars out of
which his father had been swindled. Was it possible? Was a miracle
happening? No. The age of miracles was past.
Well, then, what was the old villain up to?
"I got to thinkin' about how I treated you that time at the railroad
when you came down thinkin' to save my life," went on Shaley. "You
tried to help me, an' I ain't properly thanked you fer it."
Slim was more than ever suspicious. Gratitude was not one of
Shaley's outstanding traits.
"Is that what you brought me here for?" Slim asked guardedly. "To
say 'thank you'?"
"Well, yes an' no. But there's a more important part. I aim to pay
you the back wages you say I owe you."
"Not only what I say you owe me, but what you know you owe me,"
corrected Slim. "It's about time you dug it up. Knowing you, I'd
kissed it good-by."
Again Nat Shaley's face became purple with rage. He reigned in his
temper with a great effort.
"What does the old rascal want of me," thought Slim, eying his
one-time employer keenly. "He isn't loosening up with any forty
dollars just for the fun of it--not Nat Shaley."
He stretched out his hand.
"Let me see the color of the money," he challenged.
Nat Shaley drew back. A crafty expression marred the labored
amiability of his face.
"All right, all right, I'll give it to you. All in good time. I
ain't deceivin' you, even if you seem to think I am. Look here!"
He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew out a big roll of bills.
Before Slim's doubting eyes he counted out four, crisp, new tens.
Nevertheless, when Slim again stretched out his hand, desirous to
prove to himself that he was not dreaming, Shaley still held the
bills clutched in his scrawny fingers.
"Now that you have the proof that I'm tryin' to be your friend, mebbe
you won't mind doin' me a little favor."
The suggestion was thrown off carelessly, as though it had no bearing
whatever upon the payment of the forty dollars of back wages.
Slim Tyler was not fooled for an instant.
"I knew you wouldn't loosen up on that forty dollars unless you were
out to get your money's worth," he said bitingly. "Speak up, Shaley,
and let's get this over with. What's on your mind?"
Nat Shaley's face assumed an innocent air which was comical on that
villainous countenance.
"It's jest about that there little accident up at the railroad," he
said smoothly. "You seen fer yourself how the engine smashed my car.
But I can't fix it up to collect damages unless I have a witness to
prove that the company was wrong."
Light broke upon Slim Tyler.
"And you want me to be that witness. Is that it?" he asked, with
misleading calm.
Shaley nodded. He leered up at Slim hopefully. It was his belief
that anything could be bought with money. Had he not just offered
Slim Tyler forty dollars?
"Sure," he said. "All you'll have to do is to say that I was drivin'
all right till the car seemed to hit somethin' stickin' from the
tracks an' turned over. An' you can say, too, that there was plenty
of time fer the train to stop before it smashed into the car." He
held the forty dollars conspicuously displayed, so that it would be
the greater temptation for the young aviator. "What's more, I'm
willin' to take your word fer it. All you have to say is that you're
sure the accident was the fault of the railroad and--here's your
forty dollars."
Nat Shaley had failed to note Slim's ominous quiet. Now the young
man spoke, still quietly.
"You low-down skunk!"
Nat Shaley shrank back as though he had been struck. His thin lips
fell back from his teeth in a snarl. Fury gleamed in his eyes.
"So that's the way you treat me when I offer you money!" he
ejaculated.
"You offer me money if I'll lie for you!" cried Slim, his rage slowly
mastering him. It was with difficulty that he restrained himself
from leaping at Shaley's throat. "You rat! You thief! Trying to
bribe me to do your dirty work for you! Get away from here before I
forget myself and give you what's coming to you."
"So that's your line, is it?" snarled Shaley. "Let me tell you that
you ain't foolin' me--no, not fer a minute. You ain't so innocent as
you try to make me think. You ain't jest got the spunk to pull off
the deal, that's all. You never was no good."
"You crook!" Slim was white with rage. "I ought to wipe up the
ground with you. Not content to steal twenty thousand dollars from
my father, you have to come out here and try to bribe me with your
measly little forty dollars back pay that's mine by right. Get out
of here, you hound. If you were a younger man, you'd get my fist on
the point of your jaw."
At mention of the twenty thousand dollars, Nat Shaley began to back
slowly away.
"I never stole a cent from your father," he growled. "You're hipped,
that's what you are."
"I suppose you never heard of Cameron Flood either," snapped Slim.
"Never heard of Hugh Garrabrant."
A look of fright came into Shaley's eyes.
"You're crazy," snarled Shaley, all the color ebbing from his face.
"What fool nonsense is it flingin' them names at me? They don't mean
nothin'. Never heerd of 'em."
"You will hear of them plenty of times before I'm through with you,"
replied Slim. "Now get away from here as fast as your legs can carry
you. And if you bring any more of your slimy propositions to me,
you'll wish you hadn't."
"You young fool," growled Shaley, as he beat a final retreat.
"You'll be sorry some day. Nat Shaley ain't a good enemy to have,
an' don't you fergit it."
CHAPTER VII
A HAZARDOUS LANDING
During the days directly following Dave Boyd's departure for the
North, news came in daily regarding the Greenland expedition and its
whereabouts.
Dave Boyd and his co-pilots had met with favorable weather; they had
made even better progress than they had anticipated. So far, so good.
Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury kept in close touch with the progress of
the _Flying Cloud_. Though neither of them had fully recovered from
the disappointment of not having been included in the party, they
nevertheless drew a vicarious excitement from the story of the doings
of Dave Boyd and his distinguished company.
They flew daily, not only because they loved it, but to keep in
practice and to test occasional new devices that were constantly
coming up for trial in aviation.
"If we get smashed up," said Jerry jokingly, as they were taking a
spin one day over the country surrounding North Elmwood, "Dave Boyd
will be sorry that he didn't take us along. Two of his most
enterprising young aviators gone to waste!"
"You must think we're going to land in the ash heap," laughed Slim.
"That's the chance we're taking every day," said Jerry.
They had made a wide circuit and were returning to the North Elmwood
field when, looking down, they saw some of the mechanics and pilots
looking up at them and gesticulating wildly.
"What's all the shooting about, I wonder?" asked Jerry in some
surprise.
"Search me," replied Slim. "They seem to be urging us not to come
down. Don't you see that they're pointing to the sky?"
"I'm not an expert at the sign language," said Jerry. "Why shouldn't
we go down? No cops waiting to nab us, I hope."
"I don't know," replied Slim, his bewilderment increasing. "All the
same they have some reason. What's Cusack doing there with that big
paint brush?"
"Spilling a lot of paint, anyhow," observed Jerry. "Marking down a
lot of big letters. Henry's all stirred up about something. And
there's Tom Ellsworth running toward his plane. What in thunder is
up?"
They saw Tom jump into the cockpit, while Cusack handed to him a
bespattered sheet of canvas. Tom gave her the gun and shot up into
the air until he was nearly abreast of Slim's plane.
He held out the canvas strip, on which Cusack had painted in
sprawling letters:
YOUR LEFT WHEEL IS GONE
Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury started as though from an electric
shock. For the message spoke of terrible danger.
They would have to land on one wheel, and that was a thing that could
not be accomplished one time in twenty without a crack-up! Even Dave
Boyd himself would have had hard work to do it.
Slim Tyler felt all the blood leave his face. Then he gritted his
teeth and set himself to his task.
There was no more gesticulating from the field. The men below stood
in anxious silence. They knew that Slim Tyler had read and
understood the message. Now it was up to him. No one could help him
but himself.
"Think you can make it, Slim?" asked Jerry soberly.
"Can tell better when we hit," returned Slim grimly. "But I'm going
to do an awful lot of trying."
He figured that they would hit the ground at the rate of about thirty
miles an hour. Then they would have to run along for several hundred
feet on that one wheel.
If the wheel were only in the center of the plane, it would be fairly
easy to maintain an even keel. But it was on one side, and the
tendency of the plane would be to turn over on the unsupported side.
That would mean that the wing would strike the ground on that side
and the whole thing would crumple up, while the occupants would
probably be maimed or killed in the crash.
"Throw everything in the plane that you can move over to the right
side, and keep yourself over there too," directed Slim. "We've got
to get all the weight there we can."
Jerry did as directed, and Slim, moving in great, sweeping spirals,
drew gradually nearer to the ground.
Down, down, he went, seeming to do scarcely more than float.
Down still lower, until the one wheel touched the ground. It dipped
a trifle toward the unsupported side, and a groan went up from the
anxious spectators.
With a lightning turn of the wrist, Slim Tyler righted her, at the
same time throwing the weight of his own body as far as he could to
the right. By the most delicate manipulation and balancing, he kept
the plane upright on the one wheel until the momentum of the run had
spent its force.
The plane came to rest quiveringly, and only then yielded to the
force of gravitation and sank gently over on the left wing, so gently
that it would not have broken a pane of glass.
A roar of relief and delight went up from the watchers and a rush was
made for the plane. Slim Tyler, drenched with perspiration from the
awful strain of that struggle, was pulled from the plane and pounded
and mauled by his enthusiastic friends until he begged for mercy.
"Gee, that was a wonderful landing!" exclaimed Henry Cusack. "I've
been on this landin' field for years and never seen anything like it.
Shouldn't wonder if Dave Boyd was right when he said that you were
the greatest flyer for your age in the world."
"Great work, Slim!" declared Tom Ellsworth. "I thought you were in
for a crack-up, sure. I wouldn't have given a plugged nickel for
your chances."
"Such judgment! Such balancing! Such stick work!" applauded Jerry
Marbury. "Slim, I take off my hat to you. I was already figuring up
whether I had money enough to pay for my funeral expenses."
"Just sheer luck," returned Slim Tyler modestly. "But you bet that
the next time I go up, particular attention will be given to the
wheels. A few experiences like this would give me gray hairs."
He was leaving the grounds half an hour later when he was accosted by
one of the mechanics.
"A couple of letters over at the office for you, Slim," he said.
"Better get them before the old stick-in-the-mud in charge there
tries to read them through the envelopes."
Slim thanked the young fellow and made straight for the office.
He was looking eagerly for mail these days. Since the notebook
containing the entries by High Hat Frank had fallen into his hands,
he had written to several places concerning Hugh Garrabrant and
Cameron Flood, but so far had received no word in return.
He was exceedingly anxious to hear from one or both of them, for he
was hotly embarked now on Nat Shaley's trail and hoped the miser's
other victims could aid him in his search for facts.
He waited with scarcely concealed impatience for Anthony Litwell, the
gossipy clerk in charge of the affairs of Boyd's office, to sort over
the mail and find his letters for him.
He got them at last. One was postmarked from a city in California,
where he had written for news of Garrabrant. The other was from a
town in Ohio, where he had hoped to obtain information concerning
Cameron Flood.
Back of the hot dog stand where some time before he had perused the
greasy, thumbed notebook of High Hat Frank, Slim Tyler opened one of
his two letters.
This was from the Garrabrants' lawyer and proved a distinct
disappointment.
Hugh Garrabrant was dead and had left no heirs as far as could be
ascertained. He had left, however, a claim against the Mt. Sunwa
Lumber Company which had operated in Oregon and was, Slim felt sure,
the one with which Nat Shaley had been connected.
The fact that Garrabrant was no longer living was a sharp setback to
Slim's hopes in that quarter. To get into touch with Hugh Garrabrant
himself, that was what he wanted, not a talk with a lawyer or an
unsatisfactory delving into long past facts.
He put the letter back into its envelope and shoved it into his
pocket.
"One lead gone," he said to himself. "Now I'll see what news the
other letter gives me. If Cameron Flood is dead, too, I might just
as well give up the investigation."
Almost in the first sentence of the letter he was informed that
Cameron Flood was indeed dead. However, he had left a son, Cameron
Flood, Jr., who would, the lawyer surmised, be glad to meet Mr. Tyler
and discuss this matter of mutual interest.
"This is better," crowed Slim. "Now I'm getting somewhere!"
He read on for a paragraph or two and his jubilant expression died.
"Now what do you know about that?" he muttered. "Isn't that just
rotten luck?"
The news that had caused Slim's swift change of expression was to the
effect that although Cameron Flood, Jr., was alive, he was
unfortunately no longer in his home town, but had left the city for
upper Canada, where he was about to join an exploring expedition by
airplane.
The expedition, the writer went on to explain, was bound for
Greenland.
"Can you beat that?" muttered Slim. "He must be one of those two
scientists slated to join Dave Boyd in Canada."
Now his disappointment at not being a member of the party was
redoubled.
"What a talk Flood and I would have had!" mourned Slim. "We'd have
had plenty of time to compare notes and map out a plan of campaign.
I sure am the original hard luck kid!"
CHAPTER VIII
THE MISSING AVIATORS
Slim Tyler smothered the bitterness at his heart as well as he could
and continued his reading of the letter.
Cameron Flood, Jr., the lawyer went on to explain, had inherited a
claim for a large amount against the Mt. Sunwa Lumber Company and a
certain Nathaniel Shaley, who seemed to have been the leading figure
in the concern.
There had been some grave irregularity and probably actual crime
attending the winding up of the company, the writer stated. In fact,
Cameron Flood, Senior, had been about to take up the cudgels in a
contest that would undoubtedly have had sensational features when
death put an end to his activities.
"All very interesting, but not much use to me, now that I won't be
able to get in touch with the younger Flood for many months to come,"
sighed Slim. "Talk about getting the hot end of the poker! I've got
nothing else but."
Depression was a frequent guest of Slim Tyler in the days that
followed. From the papers he learned that two scientists, one of
them Flood, had joined the expedition in upper Canada.
There the _Flying Cloud_ had laid up for a couple of days for
refueling and supplies.
Then came the news that Dave Boyd and his party had left Canada and
embarked on the last and most perilous lap of the journey to the
uncharted wastes of Greenland.
Up to that time good weather had been the rule. But now the public,
eagerly following the course of the flight by means of the newspapers
and radio, learned that the plane was meeting with inclement flying
conditions.
Snow and hail and terrible winds prevailed in the regions of the air
through which the _Flying Cloud_ was painfully forcing its way.
Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury devouring every scrap of information
they could get, agonized together over the possible fate of the
flyers.
"Under such weather conditions it's wonderful that the plane could
have stayed in the air so long," observed Jerry.
"No one but Dave Boyd could have managed it," said Slim loyally.
Jerry shook his head dubiously.
"Even Dave Boyd can't keep aloft much longer with such odds against
him. A forced landing among the ice-coated mountains of Greenland--"
he did not finish the sentence, but in his eyes was the premonition
of disaster.
A day later a screaming headline in the press informed the public
that what it had been dreading had probably occurred.
No word had been received from the Boyd plane for eighteen hours!
This fact, coupled with the increased severity of the weather
conditions in the region where the plane had last been heard of, gave
rise to the most dire prophecies. In all probability, it was
generally thought, the plane had been forced down among the mountain
gorges of the desolate land, in which event the situation of the
members of the expedition was, to say the least, of the utmost
gravity.
With the paper in his hand that gave the disheartening report, Slim
Tyler dashed into Jerry's room.
"Look here, old boy!" he exclaimed. "This is rotten news."
"Couldn't be much worse," agreed Jerry gloomily.
He also had been studying the paper.
"Of course the papers may be all wrong," went on Slim, with a
desperate effort at optimism. "Because no news has come from the
_Flying Cloud_ for many hours, they've jumped at conclusions. It may
be only that something has gone wrong with the radio."
Jerry looked at his chum curiously.
"I guess you should have read on a little farther, Slim. It says
here that two trappers report that they saw a giant plane flying over
Greenland, that she seemed to be in distress and was trying to make a
landing among the mountains. Didn't you see that?"
Slim shook his head.
"It isn't in my paper. Let me see yours."
The story of the Greenland trappers added to the anxiety that had
taken possession of Slim Tyler as to the fate of the man whom he
cared for most in all the world.
He put down the paper and looked at Jerry.
"When Dave Boyd took me up," he said, "I was nothing but a poor
homeless kid, battered about from pillar to post, with hardly a cent
to my name and no future to boast about. Dave Boyd gave me a chance
to make something of myself."
"You've more than justified the faith he put in you," returned Jerry.
"That doesn't change the fact that I owe everything to him," Slim
persisted. "I tell you, Jerry, if we don't get good news of the
plane within the next few days, I'm going after him."
Jerry grinned and thrust out his hand.
"Take me with you, kid?"
"You bet," replied Slim, and they shook hands on it.
Days passed with no news whatever of Dave Boyd and his expedition.
The worst was feared and there was much talk about sending out
searching planes for the missing flyers.
Then Slim Tyler leaped to the front. He came out boldly with the
announcement that he and Jerry Marbury were anxious to go in search
of the _Flying Cloud_ and its occupants, and asked for a plane and
funds to finance the relief expedition.
The response was immediate, and it astonished Slim by its enthusiasm.
Nothing could demonstrate better the position Dave Boyd held in the
hearts of his countrymen than the promptness with which funds began
to pour in from all parts of the nation.
Money was collected by newspapers in the great cities. A plane of
the newest type and possessing all the latest mechanical improvements
was presented to Slim by one of the largest plane manufacturers in
the country.
Slim Tyler himself flew the plane from the Mid-Western manufacturing
town to North Elmwood.
He landed amid a heavy downpour of rain, which, however, did not
deter a large crowd from assembling to greet him. They pressed close
about the beautiful plane and the daring pilot who was about to
undertake such a perilous adventure.
Jerry Marbury shoved his way through to Slim's side. His eyes were
shining.
"She's a peach, boy! What are we going to name her?"
"The _Hope_," said Slim.
He regarded Jerry steadily and the two young men gripped hands.
"We've got a new recruit," stated Jerry, as, after the plane had been
put in its hangar, they started across the field together. "He wants
to go on the relief flight with us. I like him and I think you will,
too. Suppose you take a squint at him."
"Sure," agreed Slim. "Where is he?"
"Over at Leslie's boarding house. He has taken a room there. He
says whether he goes with us or not, he's bound to see the start of
the expedition. He's a nice chap, and I think he may make himself
useful to us."
At the door of the boarding house they ran into Dick Mylert, the
young man in question, who was just coming out.
"Hello!" the latter exclaimed, staring. "Slim Tyler, isn't it? Just
the man I want to see."
"Ditto," said Slim smilingly.
"Two souls with but a single thought," grinned Mylert cheerfully.
"We ought to get along famously together. Come right in," and he led
the way into the sitting room.
"Not beautiful," he said, with a glance around the plainly furnished
room, "but clean and comfortable. The hotel was crowded and I had to
put up here. Anyway, the landlady serves real butter with meals."
"That's a help," remarked Slim.
"You tell 'em. Now to get down to brass tacks. Do I get a chance to
go along with you and Mr. Marbury here on your relief expedition to
Greenland?"
"Shouldn't wonder," returned Slim, who had taken an immediate liking
to the breezy young fellow. "If you'll just tell me----"
"Sure. You want to know my qualifications for the job. To start
with, I'm a newspaper reporter on--" He named the great New York
paper that had been chiefly instrumental in raising the funds for the
expedition. "I'm white, unmarried, twenty-eight, and have never been
convicted of a crime, although traffic cops have sometimes spoken
harshly to me."
Following this unconventional self-introduction, Mylert became a bit
more serious and gave Slim and Jerry a brief but comprehensive
description of his activities up to date. The more he talked, the
more Slim liked him.
It appeared that he had had a most varied experience. He had
traveled over a great part of the world, sometimes as a sailor before
the mast, at others as assistant navigator; had been with a
scientific expedition as a geographer; and was conversant with a
number of languages. He had even tried flying for a while before
settling on a newspaper career.
"So you see I'm qualified in more ways than one to be of use to you
on your expedition," the young man remarked. "By the way, I have
papers here to prove my statements--if you need any other proof than
my open and ingenuous countenance," he ended with a grin.
As a matter of form, Slim looked over the credentials that Mylert
handed him. Then he turned them over to Jerry.
"Your open and ingenuous countenance is a good reference," laughed
Slim. "But these others seem to be all right, and as far as I am
concerned clinch the matter. What do you say, Jerry?"
"It's all right with me," said Jerry heartily. "If it's O.K. with
you, Slim, Mr. Mylert will be the third member of the party without
any further argument."
"O.K. with me," assented Slim.
The three young men shook hands gravely. Dick Mylert beamed
gratification.
"I've always had a terrific admiration for Dave Boyd," he confessed.
"When you boys started plans for this relief expedition I had a
yearning to go that I couldn't resist. Glad you fellows like me, for
I've certainly taken a shine to you."
This important detail settled, preparations for the flight went on
with great rapidity. The young aviators kept hoping that every day
would bring them news of Boyd's safety and make their trip
unnecessary.
But nothing of the kind occurred. Not a signal came from the Arctic
wastes to tell that the intrepid adventurers lived.
Slim and Jerry worked day and night with a force of helpers, and in
an incredibly short space of time the _Hope_ was ready for her flight.
"To-morrow," said Slim, two nights later, "we make our start."
"The weather prophecies from Washington are good," observed Jerry.
"That doesn't hurt any."
"It isn't the weather here that bothers me much," replied Slim.
"It's what we may run into farther north."
The next day justified the optimistic weather prophecies. The sky
was a uniform bright blue. There was no suggestion of fog or
threatened storm.
The three members of the relief expedition were in a mood of hope to
match the name of the plane. They were eager to be off, and grudged
the time that was taken up by the persistent reporters and
photographers, all anxious to get stories and pictures for their
papers.
There was a confused sound of altercation on the edge of the crowd.
Slim Tyler heard a familiar voice.
"I toldt you I got somedings for him alretty. Gif me der room to get
dere vonst."
Slim chuckled and faced about as Carl Stummel shoved his way through
the crowd.
"Blenty hot togs, alretty," panted Carl, as he handed Slim a large
paper bundle. "Cooked shoost der vay you like dem, mit blenty oof
mustard. Vere you're going you might maybe haf a hardt dime getting
sooch goot vuns, yes?"
"There aren't such good ones anywhere," declared Slim, as he accepted
the gift. "Your mustard is hot enough to keep us warm even in
Greenland."
"If dey last dot long, den I am a bum cook, alretty," replied Carl.
"I betcher dey vill be et before dis night koomt. Goot luck, Shlim!
Und bring back dot Dave Boydt."
CHAPTER IX
ON THE WING
As the flyers climbed aboard the plane, a spontaneous cheer arose
from the crowd that increased steadily until it swelled into a roar.
Slim Tyler took his place at the controls. A mechanic twirled the
propeller, the motors sang, and the _Hope_ moved forward, gathering
speed as it swept down the long runway.
At two hundred yards it lifted easily, despite the heavy weight it
carried, and soared into the air like a bird.
Again arose the thunderous cheering. Hundreds of handkerchiefs
fluttered and hats were thrown into the air.
The _Hope_ circled once around the field, and then Slim Tyler laid
her nose toward the north.
Soon she had passed from the gaze of the multitude, fairly embarked
on her long and perilous journey.
At the controls, Slim exulted.
"Flies like a dream!" he exclaimed. "Just listen to those motors!
Ever hear sweeter music? And see the way she responds to the least
touch of the stick."
For the first few hours the weather was perfect, and the _Hope_ ate
up space at the rate of a hundred and twenty miles an hour.
Then a haze began gradually to gather and presently shut out the
sight of the land below. Before long it thickened into a fog that
grew ever denser and denser, until the young pilot was reduced to
flying entirely by his instruments.
Dick Mylert, who proved, together with his reputation as a mascot, to
be blessed with an excellent appetite, remembered the hot dogs
donated by Carl Stummel and suggested that they try them.
Nothing had ever tasted better than those frankfurters. Carl had
been generous, but the sandwiches disappeared before the husky
appetites of the three young men like magic.
The wind began to rise in fierce gusts that grew ever stronger, and
the _Hope_ was soon flying in the teeth of half a gale.
"Guess I'll edge off a little to the west and try for altitude,"
remarked Slim.
"My sentiments exactly," agreed Jerry. "You took the words right out
of my mouth."
"Maybe I read your mind."
Slim Tyler pulled the stick and the _Hope_ shot upward for a couple
of thousand feet. There a quieter strata of air was found and the
plane made rapid progress.
But if the _Hope_ had escaped the gale, she had not succeeded in
freeing herself from the all-enveloping mist.
A roar came from in front.
"Another plane!" cried Jerry, his eyes straining through the
darkness. "And it's coming straight toward us!"
Probably the pilot of the approaching plane sensed the presence of
the _Hope_ at the same moment that Slim Tyler and his companions
became aware of their own peril. For in that mist-enshrouded
vastness of space began a weird duel, such as the young aviators
could never afterward recall without a thrill of horror.
When Slim turned the nose of his plane upward in an attempt to gain
altitude swiftly and so avoid a collision, the pilot of the other
plane did likewise.
When the _Hope_ swooped downward like a swallow, it was evident from
the sound that the other plane had also resorted to the same maneuver.
The ghost ship was not yet visible through the enshrouding mist, but
Slim Tyler knew that at any second it would tear the veil asunder and
charge down on them, a Juggernaut of destruction.
Slim sat grim, determined, rigid as a creation of steel, ready with a
lightning movement to send the plane to right or left, up or down, as
the emergency might demand.
Like some fabulous monster of prehistoric times, the rival plane
loomed up in the fog.
Slim dropped the _Hope_ like a plummet, turning sharply to the right.
With a wild throb of engines the ghostly ship swept by overhead,
missing the _Hope_ by the smallest possible margin.
Slim Tyler's breath whistled through his teeth.
"Gee, that was close!" he muttered. "A few inches less, and there
would have been no one left to tell the story."
"Great shift that was of yours, Slim!" exclaimed Jerry. "You could
run rings around lightning."
"Do you usually act as quickly as that?" asked Dick Mylert, looking
at Slim with an admiration he took no pains to conceal.
"Oh, I don't know," replied Slim, a trifle embarrassed. "In this
business you've got to be quick or be dead."
"I wish Dave Boyd could have seen that," remarked Jerry. "He'd have
been more than ever proud of his pupil."
As though fate had played its last card and was a bit discouraged,
the fog began to lift. Slowly, at first, it shredded away. The
earth came into view, the sky became visible, and the young aviators
felt as though they had been released from prison, no less a prison
because the walls were soft and insubstantial.
One thing that had pleased the young pilot in the episode of the
threatened collision had been the nerve displayed by Dick Mylert. In
those few awful moments when he knew that death might claim him at
any moment he had not blenched nor made a sound. He was game, Slim
decided.
They had crossed the United States border now and were flying over
Canada. The air was getting cooler, cold in fact, and the growing
change from the temperature toward the frigid zone was met by the
young aviators by a consistent increase in articles of wearing
apparel.
With every hundred miles they flew farther north, the air grew
keener, but no sign of trouble came until Dick Mylert found a
snowflake on his hand.
"Snowing," murmured Jerry dubiously. "You know what that means in
this part of the country. It may be that before long we'll run head
on into a blizzard."
"One little snowflake doesn't make a winter," Dick reminded him.
"Wait for a while and see. It may be only a flurry."
Some hours later they found themselves in the midst of a furious
snowstorm, which enabled Jerry to say with the condescension of a
successful prophet:
"Here's your flurry, Dick. How do you like it?"
"Less abundant, thank you," returned the young journalist unabashed.
"Still, it started with a flurry. You have to admit that."
The snow fell heavily, hemming them in. It seemed to form an almost
solid white wall, against which the _Hope_ drove endlessly. The wall
gave way, only to close up again, pressing more relentlessly.
The _Hope_ gradually became covered with the clinging white stuff.
It weighted the wings, the tail, and the body of the fuselage.
The wings lost buoyancy. The engines began to labor. The plane was
no longer a joy to handle. She became heavy, clumsy, responding
sluggishly to the hand at the controls.
"I'll let her down," observed Slim, "though we may have to come
dangerously near the tops of the trees before we can see the ground."
With the increasing weight of snow on the wings it became absolutely
necessary that a landing should be sought. If the aviators did not
go down of their own accord, they would be forced down.
Slim Tyler chose the lesser of the two evils.
He flew down gradually in long, sweeping spirals, while Jerry and
Dick kept field glasses glued to their eyes.
"Tree tops beneath!" cried Jerry. "'Ware!"
Slim pulled the stick and cleared the threatened peril.
It seemed an almost interminable time before they found a place that
could by the remotest possibility answer their purpose.
The district was for the most part heavily wooded. On the rare
occasions when clearings presented themselves, they were dotted so
thickly with hummocks, underbrush, and the half-rotted stumps of
trees that landing was out of the question.
At last Dick Mylert cried out jubilantly:
"There it is, right below us! The very thing we've been looking for!
Some sort of frozen lake, I should say at a guess."
"If it's a lake, let's hope that it isn't deep or that the ice is
frozen clear through," muttered Slim Tyler. "Else we're headed for a
ducking."
CHAPTER X
THE HOWL OF THE WOLF
The lake was small and it was closely surrounded by a ring of
guardian trees. In that limited space it would take first class
airmanship to make a safe landing.
Slim Tyler encircled the clearing several times, checking the speed
of the plane and judging the distance by his eyes.
Then he made up his mind, shifted the controls, and the plane swept
downward, the wheels crunching in the snow to the heavy ice beneath.
The _Hope_ teetered uncertainly for a moment, righted, and swept on
toward the trees on the bank.
For a flashing fraction of a second it seemed that she would rush
into the trees and be wrecked. But once more Dave Boyd's faith in
his pupil was justified.
With consummate skill Slim Tyler swung the plane around and sped
about the lake in a circle, until the momentum lessened and the tired
bird came finally to rest.
The young aviators climbed stiffly from the plane, slapping their
numbed hands together to restore the circulation. They pounded their
feet on the ice, only now beginning to realize how bitterly cold they
were.
"A fire would feel mighty good," said Jerry Marbury, brushing the
snow from his eyes. "My ears feel frostbitten."
"Same here," echoed Dick. "I'm all for Jerry's suggestion."
"Suits me," agreed Slim. "Only if we have to camp here all night,
which seems very likely, it might be a good idea to find a more
sheltered place to build our fire."
They tramped off into the surrounding woods, hoping to find a cave or
overhanging rocks that would serve as partial shelter from the
severity of the storm.
But something better than that was in store for them. They had not
gone far before they discovered a tumbledown shack that had probably
been occupied at some time by a trapper or a party of trappers.
It was dilapidated enough, in all conscience, but to the cold and
weary travelers a palace could scarcely have provided a more
attractive sight. It meant at least shelter from the snow and a
barrier against the wind.
The hut had a roof, though there were gaping holes in it. The one
window had been boarded up. The door hung loosely on its rusted
hinges.
"Guess we won't have to knock," observed Slim lightly, as he placed
his hand on the knob of the door. "Looks as though there had been
nobody at home here for a long, long time."
The door yielded easily.
The young men crowded in, stamping the snow from their boots, and
looked around them.
They found that the cabin consisted of one fair-sized room, with a
lean-to adjoining; a typical trappers' abode.
Bunks stretched along two sides of the room; beneath the boarded
window on the third side was a rough table of logs with a pine top;
on the fourth side was a fireplace which looked as though it had been
in disuse for a long time and a couple of rude chairs.
The fireplace, in the estimation of the young adventurers, was by far
the most important object in the place.
"Now if we can only find some dry wood," observed Dick, "everything
will be great."
He pushed open the door at the farther end of the cabin and disclosed
a well-stocked lean-to. One end of it was packed almost to the roof
with log blocks and smaller pieces of wood.
There were two shelves, upon which were some unopened packages of
canned goods.
"Looks as though we'd neither starve nor freeze while we're here,"
exulted Jerry.
He fell upon the wood, scooping up an armful and carried it into the
main room.
His companions followed his example, and it was not long before a
comforting fire roared in the fireplace.
"I'll be chef, fellows," said Slim, as he went to the lean-to door.
"Come and name your poison."
They decided upon beans and tinned corn beef. The beans they warmed
over the fire and ate out of the can. The beef they picked up with
their fingers and ate with relish, smacking their lips over the
impromptu meal.
The storm was now much less severe than it had been when they first
stumbled upon the cabin. The snow had almost stopped, and the heavy
clouds in the east had lifted perceptibly.
"I was afraid the _Hope_ might be snowed under," Slim remarked. "I
guess there's no danger of that now."
They walked back to the lake and found the plane as they had left it,
except that the coating of ice and snow on the wings was heavier.
They scraped this off and covered the wings with tarpaulins.
They debated starting again at once, but more prudent counsel
prevailed. The night had now fully come.
"Bad enough to take off from here in full daylight, let alone at
night," judged the young leader of the expedition. "We'll start off
at the first streak of dawn if conditions permit."
Slim Tyler came to this decision with the utmost reluctance, for he
was consumed with anxiety to reach his destination at the earliest
possible moment. But this was a case where caution promised
decidedly better results than precipitate courage.
"Better take our guns with us," Slim counseled, as he reached into
the plane and drew out his own rifle. "Little likelihood that we'll
have to use them, but they're handy things to have."
His companions also secured their weapons, and the little party
retraced its steps to the cabin.
The night would have been one of Egyptian darkness had it not been
for the faint glimmer of the snow, for the clouds effectively barred
the rays of moon or stars.
The forest seemed suddenly a dangerous and menacing place. Behind
the trees that stood like gaunt sentinels above the snow, any furtive
thing might lurk. There was something sinister and repellent in
their very silence.
Once Slim Tyler stopped short and stared at a clump of bushes.
"What's wrong?" asked Jerry.
"There was something behind those bushes. I distinctly saw it move,"
declared Slim.
Seeing that Dick and Jerry were inclined to scoff, Slim did not
insist. In his own mind, however, he was convinced that he had not
been mistaken. His eyes had always been reliable, and he saw no
reason to doubt them now.
When Dick Mylert paused before the door of the cabin to examine some
freshly made tracks in the snow, Slim was not surprised.
"Dog tracks!" cried the young newspaperman.
"Timber wolves!" corrected Slim.
At those ominous words Jerry came up to Slim and Dick, and also bent
to examine the tracks in the snow. He gave a long whistle as he
straightened up and glanced uneasily about him.
"By Jove, Slim!" he cried, "I believe you're right. Timber wolves,
and savage, I'll be bound! This snow has made it hard for them to
find game. Probably regard us as a godsend."
"Lucky we brought our firearms along," observed Slim. "We'll be safe
enough inside the cabin with the door barricaded."
The interior of the cabin in the flickering of the firelight offered
a cheering contrast to the dark and menacing forest that surrounded
it.
The young men fitted the rather unstable door into place and dropped
the wooden bar that served as bolt. Then they moved the heavy table
against the door as an additional barrier.
"That door as a door may not be worth much," commented Dick, "but it
would take a life-sized pack of wolves to shove that table away."
"The roof isn't much as a roof, either," added Slim. "But I guess,
if it can hold all that weight of snow, it will stand a few extra
pounds of wolf, if they should try to get in that way."
"They can't come down the chimney as long as we keep a fire going,
and the window is already boarded up," Jerry comforted himself. "All
we have to do now is to sit down and wait for the show to commence."
To sit and wait, however, was a more nerve-racking business than they
had anticipated. As the darkness settled down more thickly over the
forest, the intense silence about the cabin became oppressive. Now
and then the sharp crackling of a frost-snapped twig or a slide of
snow from the roof would cause them to start involuntarily and then
exchange apologetic glances.
"If we could strike a light, it would be a little more cheerful,"
remarked Jerry.
A lantern depended from a hook on the wall, but upon examination they
found that this was innocent of oil.
They searched the lean-to for kerosene and failed to find any, though
they did come across two fat tallow candles.
They lighted these, using the drip to fasten them to the rough top of
the table.
The light was faint and flickering and seemed to accentuate the
shadows in the corners of the room. No one cared to mention the
fact, however, for fear of betraying his own restlessness.
"I only hope Dave Boyd to-night is as warm and sheltered as we are,"
remarked Slim, from whom the thought of his benefactor was seldom
absent.
"I suppose there are plenty of poor fellows out in the Arctic night
that would give their souls for a fire and a meal of hot food,"
conjectured Dick. He paused, hand raised.
"What's that?" he cried.
From the depths of the forest came the blood-curdling howl of a wolf!
From a distance the cry of the wolf was answered, now from one
direction, then from another.
"The pack is gathering," remarked Jerry Marbury grimly. "Well, let
'em come. We're ready for them."
CHAPTER XI
THE PACK CLOSES IN
The isolated howls of the distant wolves soon swelled into a chorus.
The beasts were assembling for the kill.
The noise came nearer, growing more vibrant and eager as it
approached the men the wolves had marked for their prey.
But the anticipated victims had other ideas. During the time of
waiting they had carefully examined their weapons and made sure that
they had an abundant supply of cartridges on hand.
They sat there, intent and determined, fully aware of the danger that
was coming on apace and yet with their hearts aflame with high
courage.
They had no definite plan of campaign. They could not have. They
would have to meet every emergency as it arose.
Then the howls ceased abruptly. In their stead could be heard the
rustling made by bodies thrusting themselves through the brushwood,
the scufflings of padded feet in the snow. The enemy was massing for
the attack.
A long-drawn savage howl just beneath the boarded-up window brought
those within the cabin to their feet. At the same moment a heavy
body flung itself at the cabin door.
The boards of the door bent inward under the shock, but the heavy
table shoved against it prevented them from breaking.
"That was the first gun on their side," remarked Slim Tyler. "Well,
here's the first gun on ours."
He fired through the door at a height of about a foot above the floor.
But the yelp that would have told that the brute was struck did not
come. The shot had not found a target. Nor had it seemed to
intimidate the aviators' assailants, for a moment later not one, but
three of the beasts, as though by a preconcerted signal, hurled
themselves against the door with a force that made the cabin tremble.
This time one of the planks was splintered, and a wolf thrust his
nose in the gap tearing with his claws to enlarge the opening.
Jerry's gun and Dick's spoke at the same instant, and this time a
howl of pain told that one or both of the shots had struck. The wolf
fell back and a hideous hubbub ensued.
"My wolf," cried Dick, with a grin. "I saw him first."
"You may claim him," replied Jerry. "The main thing is that he's put
out of commission."
"He may be only wounded," surmised Slim.
"Then he's as good as dead," declared Dick. "Wolves don't take their
crippled companions to a hospital. Listen!"
There was a frightful snarling as the wolves tore their unfortunate
companion to pieces.
"That gives us at least a breathing spell," murmured Jerry.
"Not for long," warned Slim. "There'll be nothing of that wolf left
in ten minutes but the bones, and the taste of blood will make the
pack ravenous for more."
Slim Tyler's prediction proved correct, for the onslaught was soon
renewed. This time the boarded window was the target for attack.
Time after time the brutes dashed their heavy bodies against it, and
as often as they did so the besieged fired their rifles. But they
had to do this by guesswork, and several rounds were fired without
any evidence of damage.
"We're wasting ammunition going it blind this way," cried Slim in
disgust. "We've got to do now what we ought to have done before and
cut loopholes in the sides of the walls. Then we'll have a fair
target when we shoot. I'll stand guard while you fellows--Ah, you
will, will you?"
The exclamation was caused by the sight of a wolf which threw itself
with such force against the hole in the door where his companion had
met its fate that not only his head, but his shoulders and front paws
protruded into the room.
Almost as he spoke Slim Tyler fired, and the bullet penetrated the
animal's brain.
A howl came from the slavering jaws and the head slumped forward.
"That makes two less to worry about!" exclaimed Slim.
"Good work!" commended Jerry. "Don't do that, Dick," he cried, as
Mylert made a motion to kick the dead body through the opening. "Let
it stay there to plug up the hole. It'll be all the harder for the
next one to force its way in."
"The fellows outside will drag the body out, anyway," replied Dick.
"Perhaps they won't know he's dead," conjectured Jerry.
"Trust them," said Dick. "They know a death howl when they hear it.
Look, they're at it now!"
There was a fierce tugging at the animal's body, and in a trice it
was drawn from the opening and the cannibal feast was renewed.
The pulling and tearing had still more enlarged the opening, and the
young aviators viewed it with dismay.
"That last one got halfway through," observed Slim. "The next one
may make the whole distance. If he does, he'll be followed by
others. A few of them rampaging around inside would give us a tough
job."
"And we haven't a thing to bar the hole with!" exclaimed Jerry, as
his eyes ranged swiftly around the room.
"I have it!" cried Slim, as he rushed to the fireplace and pulled out
a blazing brand. "They're as afraid as death of fire. Let's see how
this works."
He hurled the burning torch through the opening.
There was a chorus of frightened snarls as the beasts scurried from
the vicinity of the door, abandoning their bloody feast with
reluctance, but abandoning it nevertheless.
"Got 'em all right," chuckled Slim. "They don't like it for a cent.
We'll give them some more of the same kind. We'll keep the home
fires burning, and not one of them will cross the blaze to get at the
hole."
They hurriedly threw out some more of the burning logs until there
was quite a bonfire in front of the door.
"Lucky we have plenty of wood in the lean-to," exulted Dick, as he
hurried to get a fresh supply with which to replenish the fire. "We
can keep this up all night, if we have to."
"It will serve a double purpose," put in Jerry. "It will light up
the place outside so that we can see what we're aiming at."
"Yes, if they'll only stay in front," replied Dick dubiously. "But
they'll soon sense that there's nothing doing in that quarter, and
they'll try us on the other three sides."
"All the more reason why we should hurry up with those loopholes,"
suggested Slim. "Let's hustle now, fellows, so that we can see
what's doing on every side of the cabin."
They laid aside their guns for the moment and dug away with their
knives with feverish energy until they had made apertures large
enough to thrust rifle barrels through and turn them in any desired
direction.
During all the time they were working, there had come no sound from
without. The lonely forest seemed wholly untenanted.
"Think they've had enough of our game and drawn off?" asked Jerry,
the wish father to the hope.
"Not by a jugful!" affirmed Dick. "A couple of dead ones make no
difference to them. Judging from the snarling, there must have been
twenty at the least. They won't give up as easily as that. Just now
they're planning what to do next."
If this were so, there must have been a confusion of counsels, for
the silence continued for a long time.
The besieged scanned the space without from every side, but no
slinking figures stood out against the background of the snow, no
green eyes gleamed from the shadows of the forest.
The tense waiting wore on the besieged ones' nerves.
"Hanged if I don't believe that Jerry was right after all!" conceded
Dick Mylert, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, for the fierce
fire they were obliged to keep up made the cabin abominably warm.
"Looks as if the brutes--Look out, fellows! Look out!" he shouted,
as he leaped for his gun.
He aimed it at an open place in the roof and fired.
In Mylert's excitement the shot went wild, and the next instant a
great gray body came hurtling through the air and struck the floor
with a thud.
Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury had grabbed their guns at their
companion's shout but had had no time to aim.
Like lightning, the wolf sprang at Jerry's throat!
CHAPTER XII
A FEARFUL DILEMMA
Slim Tyler had no time to aim at the savage brute that had launched
itself in mid-air in the attack on Jerry Marbury. But his trained
muscles acted like lightning.
His rifle, held by the muzzle, described a circle and came down with
crushing force on the wolf's head.
There was a sharp crack as the skull caved in, and the beast fell to
the floor, rolling over and over in the agonies of death.
The besieged youths had no time to rejoice over the narrow escape,
for the head of another brute appeared at the opening.
Before it could spring, Mylert's rifle rang out, and the body came
tumbling to the earth floor of the cabin.
It was not mortally wounded and still showed fight, but another shot
from Jerry's gun ended its life.
The young men looked at each other, pale and panting.
"A pretty lively time while it lasted," commented Slim, summoning up
a wry smile.
"Sure keeps the blood in circulation," admitted Dick.
"And it isn't over yet!" cried Jerry, as his rifle rang out and
filled the cabin with echoes.
A third beast at the roof opening fell back with a frightful snarl,
and they could hear the body rolling over and over as it slithered
along the snowy roof and finally fell to the ground.
"I wonder if they'll come for any more medicine of the same kind,"
remarked Jerry.
"I don't know," replied Slim. "It certainly takes a long time to get
an idea through some fool heads."
It did seem, though, that the savage brutes had at last learned the
lesson that the roof was not exactly a health resort for wolves. At
all events, a long time elapsed before any move took place on the
part of the besiegers that could be interpreted by the occupants of
the cabin as an attack.
An hour went by, then two, and still the assault was delayed.
"Guess they've gone off now for fair," surmised Jerry.
"Don't kid yourself," said Dick, from the loophole through which he
was peering. "Those fellows hang on like grim death. Why shouldn't
they? They probably haven't any pressing engagements elsewhere, and
they figure that luck may turn. There! I saw a couple just now
slinking through the brushwood. Oh, they're there, all right. Hand
me my gun, Jerry. I think I can pot one of them right now."
Jerry passed over the gun and Dick took careful aim and fired.
"Winged him!" he cried exultantly, as a howl of pain and fright
followed the shot. "One less to count on. The pack's on him
already. A minute more and all his troubles will be over."
Another hour passed and still no sign of attack.
"Getting near morning," remarked Slim, as he looked at his watch.
"And it will never again be so welcome," sighed Jerry. "Those
fellows don't like the light and they'll scatter as soon as the sun
rises."
"What's that smell of smoke?" asked Dick suddenly.
"Comes from the fireplace, I guess," yawned Jerry.
"Don't you believe it!" cried Slim. "It's more than that. And
listen to that crackling! Boys, the cabin's on fire!"
That terrible pronouncement fell on the aviators' ears like the crack
of doom. There was no mistaking the fact. Smoke was beginning to
eddy in through the hole in the door and wisps of it shredded through
the crack in the building. The crackling grew more pronounced, and
the space before the building was lighted up with a lurid glare.
"It's those brands we threw outside to scare off the wolves," groaned
Slim. "One of them must have dropped so close to the cabin that it's
caught fire. Fools that we were! Why didn't we throw them farther
away?"
Red tongues of fire now began to sift through the cracks in the logs
and fill the cabin with a ruddy flickering light.
Those within looked at each other in consternation. There was no way
to put out the fire. They had no water, and even if they had had,
there would have been no way to apply it to the outside of the
building. The wolves would have been on them in an instant the
moment they showed themselves outside the door.
The wolves themselves seemed to realize the predicament in which the
besieged were placed. The cunning beasts had gathered in front of
the cabin and squatted there, their white fangs showing, their jaws
slavering in expectation of a feast.
The young aviators looked at each other.
"The cabin's doomed!" groaned Jerry.
"Just a chance between being roasted or eaten alive," judged Dick
gloomily.
"See if there's a back door to the place, Jerry," directed Slim
Tyler, whose mind had been working at lightning speed.
Jerry darted into the lean-to and returned in an instant.
"Nothing doing," he reported. "Our only way of getting out is by the
front door."
The front door! And in front of that door, only a few yards away,
were a dozen or fifteen gaunt, hungry, savage wolves, waiting to
launch themselves on their prey!
"There's only one chance, fellows," said Slim Tyler between his
teeth, "and I'll admit that it's a desperate one. We've got to
depend on surprise. Let's move that table back from the door."
This was done.
"Now," said Slim, "slip your cartridges into your pockets and strap
your rifles over your shoulders, so that they won't be in the way of
your arms and legs."
Slim's companions obeyed rapidly, not knowing yet what their leader
had in mind, but yielding to him without hesitation.
"Pick out your trees," went on Slim. "Choose slender ones that you
can climb rapidly and yet strong enough to support your weight. Then
when I give the word we'll throw the door open and make for the
trees. Each of us will pick out a couple of blazing brands from the
fire and throw 'em in the faces of the pack as we run. We'll have
the advantage of the surprise, anyway. It may work and it may not.
It's a forlorn hope, but it's the only chance we have."
They shook hands solemnly. In the minds of each was the thought that
they might never touch hands again. With a blazing brand in each
hand they faced the door.
"All ready?" asked Slim.
"Ready," came the answer.
"Go!" shouted Slim, flinging open the door.
They charged down on the savage horde, yelling like Indians and
waving their fiery torches before throwing them into the faces of the
pack.
The astonished wolves, daunted by the fire, taken by surprise, and
bewildered by finding themselves the hunted instead of the hunters,
gave way in confusion and scattered in the woods.
Before they could recover themselves, the young adventurers were
legging it for dear life toward their chosen trees!
CHAPTER XIII
TREED
Slim Tyler and his companions ran as they had never run before to the
trees that offered their only chance of safety. How slim that chance
was, no one knew better than themselves.
Had their path been through the deep snow, they could never have made
it. But the constant going to and fro of the pack had trodded down
the snow and made the running easier.
By this time, the temporary panic into which the beasts had been
thrown by the sudden sortie from the cabin had spent its force. The
wolves began to realize that their enemies were no longer advancing
to the attack, but were themselves racing for their lives.
With gleaming eyes and howls of fury, the brutes turned and rushed in
the direction of the fugitives.
The latter had by this time reached their respective trees, and were
shinning up them with an agility born of desperation.
Up they went like monkeys, spurred on by the certainty that if they
slipped and fell they would be torn to pieces in an instant.
Slim's long legs and arms helped him most, and he was the first to
find himself out of reach of the ravening jaws below. He clambered
into the crotch of a limb and sat there panting.
Dick had been almost as quick. Jerry, however, was a fraction of a
second slower, and that almost proved his undoing.
Two wolves leaped at him at the same time. The jaws of either one of
them would certainly have clamped upon a foot that was within easy
reach. But the two collided in mid-air and tumbled snarling to the
ground. Before they could renew the attempt Jerry had caught at a
lower limb and swung himself to safety.
For a few minutes none of the three young men spoke a word. They
could not, if they had tried to. That frightful race for life, when
every particle of nerve and muscle had been taxed to the utmost, had
left them utterly exhausted.
It was Dick Mylert who at last broke the silence.
"I take off my hat to you, Slim," he said. "That plan of yours was
the only possible one, and it worked. You've got a head on your
shoulders, old scout."
"Nothing else but," affirmed Jerry. "That brain of Slim's is always
on the job."
"We're not out of the woods yet," said Slim. "These fellows have got
us treed, and there's no telling how long they'll keep us here."
"Lucky they can't climb," observed Jerry. "If they were bears or
panthers now, they'd have us just where they wanted us. We'd be easy
meat."
"I think it's about time our rifles got busy," remarked Slim, as he
unslung his weapon. "Get yours ready, fellows, and when I give the
word we'll let them have a volley."
"Good idea," approved Jerry, as he got his rifle in position. "At
such short range it won't be possible to miss. But let's each pick
out a separate one. We don't want to waste any ammunition."
At Slim's signal the three rifles cracked simultaneously. Each
bullet found its target. Two of the wolves fell dead, and the third
rolled over, mortally wounded.
"Once more before they scatter!" cried Slim, and again the rifles
spoke, each claiming a victim.
It was too much for the pack. The survivors broke and ran for cover.
How far they went the occupants of the trees did not know. They
might be lurking in the vicinity or have gone for good.
"Guess that will hold them for a while!" exclaimed Jerry, with a sigh
of relief as he settled back in the crotch of the limb. "They don't
even stay to eat their dead comrades. They're beating it while the
going's good."
"Likely enough," assented Slim. "Still, we'd better not bank on that
too heavily. We'll wait a while and see what happens."
The cabin by this time was a mass of flames. The young men
contemplated it with a shudder. It might have been their funeral
pyre!
"It's serving one useful purpose, anyway," remarked Dick. "It's
keeping us warm. We'd be freezing to death in these trees if it
weren't for that."
In a little while the darkness began to lift. A pearly gray streaked
the heavens in the east, growing brighter and brighter, until at last
the sun peeped over the horizon and shot its slanting rays through
the forest.
With the light came an upspringing of the young voyagers' spirits.
The night of horror was over. Death had reached for them but had not
quite clutched them. Now the day was here and their hearts exulted.
"How about it?" asked Dick. "I'm mighty grateful to this old tree,
but I don't care for it as a permanent home."
"Same here," chimed in Jerry. "And maybe I'm not hungry."
The youths slid down from the trees. Now, if ever, would be the time
for their enemies to show themselves. But no untoward sight or sound
came from the surrounding forest. The wolves had gone!
Still exercising caution, the young adventurers made their way toward
the plane.
"Gee!" exclaimed Jerry, as a thought struck him, "suppose the wolves
have looted the food supplies in the plane."
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimed Dick fervently. "Still, it's possible.
There was nothing to prevent them."
Apprehension quickened their steps, until finally they were running
at full speed in the direction of the plane. If any such disaster
had happened, it would mean a torturing delay in their search for
Dave Boyd and his party. They would have to return to civilization,
stock up, and start off again. The thought was intolerable.
Slim Tyler reached the plane first and jumped aboard. A glance
sufficed.
"Glory hallelujah!" he cried. "Nothing touched! Everything all
right!"
"Bully!" jubilated Jerry. "Break out that grub. Here's one wolf
that's going to get busy. And how!"
CHAPTER XIV
A CLOSE CALL
The sky voyagers broke out the supplies and fell to with a will,
their appetites whetted by their long sojourn in the cold air.
The snow had stopped and the weather had cleared, although there was
a cutting wind from the northwest.
"The sooner we get going the better," declared Slim Tyler, on the
conclusion of their meal. "The end of this day, if things go well,
ought to find us pretty close to Greenland."
"You're going to find it some job taking off from here," observed
Jerry, scanning the small area of the lake with anxious eyes. "It
was hard enough making a landing, but, take it from me, it will be a
mighty sight harder getting this bird into the air."
Slim Tyler's eyes swept round the borders of the lake.
At one place there was a space about a hundred and fifty feet in
width that was free from trees. There was a quantity of underbrush,
but in that cold region it had not grown thickly and much of it had
been trampled down by animals coming to the lake to drink.
"That gives us a hint as to the best way out," said Slim. "It won't
take more than an hour's work with knives and axes to make it fairly
level for the plane. We'll trundle the _Hope_ in there as far as we
can and then make our start. By the time we get back to the lake
she'll be going pretty fast, and I think we can lift her before she
gets to the further shore."
"Perhaps," assented Jerry dubiously. "Even at that it's going to be
a tight squeeze."
"I know it," admitted Slim. "But it's the only way out and I think
we've got to take the chance."
The young airmen got out their implements and set to work lustily.
But the task was harder than they had anticipated, and it was a good
two hours before the rude runway was in shape.
They hauled the _Hope_ to the farthest possible limit, adjusted their
goggles, and Slim and Dick climbed into the cockpit.
"Give her a whirl, Jerry," directed Slim, as his hand settled on the
controls.
Jerry started the propellers and the engine began to roar. Then
Jerry jumped on board and the plane started down the improvised
runway.
By the time it reached the edge of the frozen lake it had attained a
fair rate of speed, but not as much as the young pilot had hoped for.
He knew he faced two dangers. One was that the ice of the lake might
crack and let them down. The other was that, despite his utmost
efforts, he might not be able to clear the trees on the further side.
On he went and on, until he was nearly in the center of the lake.
The ice still held, though it was cracking ominously.
The _Hope_ quivered, lifted, and rebounded. Then she definitely rose
into the air and darted toward the trees.
Tall trees they were, veritable forest giants, and Slim Tyler's heart
skipped a beat as he saw how fast they seemed to be rushing toward
him.
Could he clear them? Or would he smash?
If he struck, the plane would fall to the earth a crumpled mass, and
what would happen to its occupants the pilots did not dare think.
Nearer and nearer!
Slim Tyler's knuckles were white as he gripped the controls, his
heart was beating fast, but his brain was cool and his nerves were
steel.
The _Hope_ was shooting now at the sharpest of angles toward the
skies. It seemed almost as though she were rearing upright in the
air like a frightened horse.
"He'll never do it," whispered Dick Mylert to Jerry.
"Yes, he will," Jerry whispered back. "You don't know Slim Tyler."
"Even he can't do miracles," murmured Dick.
"No," admitted Jerry. "But he can come mighty close to doing them."
Nearer and nearer! Higher and higher!
Then with a roar of her motors the _Hope_ rushed over the tree tops,
so close that the highest tips of the branches grazed the wheels.
"Great Scott he's done it!" cried Dick jubilantly.
"What did I tell you?" Jerry reminded him.
Slim Tyler kept the airplane whizzing upward until he had reached an
altitude of about two thousand feet. Then he brought her to an even
keel and turned around with a grin to his companions.
"You can't complain that you're not getting any excitement on this
trip," he said.
"That's too weak a word for it," returned Dick. "My hair was fairly
standing on end."
"Wonderful work, Slim," commended Jerry. "You've got this plane so
that it'll eat out of your hand."
"I wouldn't have given a thin dime for our chances," avowed Mylert.
"I was already seeing the headlines, 'Tyler Relief Expedition Wrecked
in a Canadian Forest'."
"Well, a miss is as good as a mile," declared the young pilot. "Our
time hasn't come yet."
He turned the nose of the _Hope_ toward the north and gradually eased
her into three-quarter throttle, keeping her there as a rule, though
at times he threw her into full for short distances.
With every hundred miles she reeled off the weather grew colder.
They were approaching the regions of almost perpetual ice and snow.
The ground had put on its winter garments and the soil was completely
hidden from sight.
"We'll have to take off the wheels now and put on the skis," observed
Slim. "I'd have done it this morning before we started, but I wasn't
sure that the ground would be wholly covered with snow. It's clear
now that it will be that way from this time on, and the sooner we get
the runners on the better. We'll wait, though, till late afternoon,
for I want to take advantage of this good weather to get as far on
our way as possible."
The _Hope_ clove its way through the air, fairly eating up space.
The motors were working beautifully, and Slim Tyler's heart sang with
exultation.
Dick slept peacefully, wrapped in his furs, tired out by the
ceaseless vigil of the night before. Slim and Jerry also felt the
strain, and they relieved each other at the controls at two hour
intervals, so that each could catch up on sleep.
"Time now to think of putting on the skis," judged the young leader
of the expedition, as the afternoon was waning. "Country seems
pretty flat here, and we oughtn't to have much trouble in finding a
place to come down. Suppose you boys get out your field glasses and
pick out a good spot for landing."
Dick and Jerry applied themselves to the task, but for some time
without result.
"I see something that hits me right," Jerry said at length. "Looks
almost as level as a floor. Look! Over there a little to the right!"
"Not bad," agreed Slim, after a little scrutiny. "I'll get down a
little and we'll take a squint at it at close quarters."
He lowered the _Hope_ to within three hundred feet of the ground.
Closer examination confirmed the favorable first impression, and Slim
came down to an easy landing.
They jumped out, glad to stretch their cramped limbs. Not far off
was a patch of woodland, but in all other directions what seemed to
be a measureless expanse stretched out as far as the eye could reach.
"Bet there isn't a living creature besides ourselves within a hundred
miles," remarked Dick. "Hello, what's this?" and he stooped to pick
up something that was half buried in snow.
"By the great horn spoon!" he cried. "A newspaper--or a part of one!
How on earth did it ever get up in this desolate spot?"
Slim and Jerry crowded around him as he smoothed out the crumpled,
snow-encrusted sheet.
"A New York paper!" exclaimed Jerry, as he looked at the heading.
"What do you know about that?"
"Look at the date line!" cried Slim. "The seventeenth! It was the
eighteenth when Dave Boyd started on his trip. By Jove, fellows, I
see it now! Dave or some member of his party had this paper in his
pocket when he left North Elmwood. I'll bet a dollar to a nickel
that Dave Boyd camped on this very spot on his way to Greenland!"
CHAPTER XV
SINGING ARROWS
The young voyagers looked at each other with amazement in their eyes.
It seemed wholly likely that Slim Tyler's conjecture was true.
Travelers in this region, by air or otherwise, were extremely few.
No other expedition in this part of the world was known to be in
progress. And the date line, coinciding so closely with Dave Boyd's
departure on his trip, deepened their confidence in their conclusions.
"It's almost like a message from him," said Jerry, with a touch of
awe in his tone.
"Don't get superstitious, Jerry," laughed Dick.
"Of course," remarked Slim, "it doesn't prove that Dave actually
landed here. The paper may have been dropped or blown from the
plane. But that the _Flying Cloud_ at least passed over this place,
I feel sure. We know that this was the general direction he intended
to take when he started."
"Seems like a good omen," remarked Jerry. "Makes me feel, somehow,
as though we'd got in touch with Dave."
"Same here," agreed Slim. "But now let's get busy with those skis."
They brought the long runners out of the plane together with the
necessary tools and set busily to work.
They had taken off one of the wheels and were applying themselves to
the other, when Jerry felt a rush of wind over his face, accompanied
by a slight stinging sensation in his ear.
"Jehoshaphat! what's that?" he exclaimed, as he straightened up.
"Felt as though a bee had stung me."
"You're loco," replied Dick, without looking up. "Bees don't go
gadding about in this kind of weather."
"Why, Jerry!" cried Slim, in some alarm, "your ear is bleeding."
"So it is," assented Jerry, as he put his finger to the injured
member and brought it away reddened. "Now what in thunder----"
He stopped short and gazed transfixed at the side of the plane.
An arrow was sticking there, still quivering!
"Indians!" yelled the young leader, as he recovered from his
momentary stupefaction. "To the other side of the plane, fellows!
Quick!"
They darted to the side that was farthest from the woods and crouched
in the shelter of the _Hope_.
They were not a moment too soon, for as they did so the air became
full of hissing sounds, and they could hear the soft thud of arrows
as they buried themselves in the wood.
This was something that had never entered into their calculations.
Animal foes they had counted on as a possibility, more than that, a
probability. But human enemies, no!
"I never thought of there being Indians in Canada," muttered Dick.
"I'd always associated them with the Wild West in our own country."
"There are a few scattered tribes in Canada in the upper part,"
replied Slim. "But I never thought of them as dangerous."
"I'll say they are," grumbled Jerry, as he touched gingerly his
injured ear. "Here's the proof of it. And they can shoot pretty
straight, if you ask me."
"Wonder if they'll rush us," observed Dick.
"Probably not till dark, anyway," conjectured Slim. "They won't take
any needless risks as long as they think they can pick us off from
the shelter of the woods."
The voyagers peered over the side of the plane toward the patch of
woods. Not a sound came from there. Not a figure could be seen. If
it had not been for those ominous arrows sticking in the side of the
plane, it might well have seemed that the young adventurers had that
whole region to themselves.
Stealthily, Slim Tyler crept over the side of the plane, got his own
rifle and handed other weapons to his companions.
"Might as well do a little shooting on our own account," he said
grimly, as he rejoined his mates. "We'll send a little volley into
the woods just to let those bozos know we're armed."
At his signal all fired at once, and their bullets went whistling
among the trees. No cry of pain indicated that any of them had found
a mark. A silence as of death reigned over the darkening woods.
"A little bashful about showing themselves," remarked Dick.
"They're waiting patiently," replied Slim. "They count on the dark
as their best friend. Then they'll try to put us out of business and
loot the plane."
"If we hadn't taken that wheel off," groaned Jerry, "we could start
the old bus going and give these fellows the merry ha ha."
"Lucky there's only one off," replied Slim. "We can put that on in a
jiffy. The skis will have to wait till another time. Here's my
plan, fellows. As soon as it's too dark for them to see us, we'll
slip around to the other side and adjust the wheel. It won't take us
more than ten minutes, if we hurry. Of course more arrows may come,
but they'll be shot more or less at a venture and we've got to take
our chance. In the meantime we'll send them a volley every once in a
while, just to warn them that, if they get anything from us, they'll
have to fight for it."
They followed this suggestion, shooting at intervals into the woods
without eliciting any response from their unseen enemies.
When dusk at last had deepened into dark, the three slipped silently
to the other side of the plane and worked with desperate energy at
replacing the wheel.
It was ticklish work, for at any moment a host of arrows might come
with their messages of death.
It was done at last, however, and Slim and Dick climbed into the
plane.
Jerry gave the propeller a whirl and dashed for the cockpit.
At the instant a horde of savages, with blood-curdling yells, broke
from the shadow of the woods!
CHAPTER XVI
IN DEADLY PERIL
"Lie low, fellows!" shouted Slim Tyler as the engine broke into a
roar.
A cloud of arrows that came from the bows of the natives emphasized
the injunction. Some buried themselves in the side of the plane.
Others whizzed over the heads of the three young aviators, crouched
low behind their defenses. Had they not been as quick in ducking as
they had, some or all of them would certainly have been struck.
One of the fleetest of the natives reached the side of the plane
before it had fully gathered speed. He grabbed the edge and tried to
climb in.
Dick's fist launched out and caught the fellow a tremendous blow in
the jaw. The clutching hands loosened and the savage fell back to
the ground.
"Plucky beggar!" muttered Dick. "But I'll bet he's lost a few of his
teeth."
The _Hope_ was now in full swing and zooming down the field at high
speed.
"Let's hope she doesn't strike a stump or something," muttered Jerry
between his teeth. "I'd not like to be dumped into that yelling
crowd."
"Here we go," said the young pilot as he lifted the plane into the
air. "They'd have to have wings to get at us now."
Up and up they soared until they were safely beyond the reach of the
arrows. Only then did they dare to breathe.
"I'd like to take a pot shot at them," muttered Jerry vengefully.
"Look at the way they're all crowded together down there! We
couldn't help winging some of them."
"I don't think we'd better," counseled the leader of the expedition.
"Hardly seems sporting when the poor beggars haven't a chance to get
back at us."
"They gave me a lot of a chance, didn't they, when they nicked my ear
with that arrow?" grumbled Jerry. "Anyway, let's give them a scare
and send down a few flares."
"That's all right," assented Slim, and a moment later four flares
went hissing down into the crowd.
The dazzling lights illumined the scene and showed the fright on the
throng of dark faces as the mysterious flares neared the ground. To
their untutored minds, it seemed, perhaps, that the white men had
plucked the stars from the skies and were hurling them down upon them.
With wild yells of terror, the Indians broke and scurried like
rabbits to the shelter of the woods.
"Got that much out of them, anyway," chuckled Jerry, in high glee.
"Doesn't pay for my ear, but it helps."
In a few minutes they had left the ill-omened camping place far
behind and the _Hope_ was roaring swiftly toward the north.
Jerry got out the medicine kit and Dick bathed the wounded ear in
iodine. Luckily, the wound was slight, although it was painful
enough to keep Jerry constantly reminded of his narrow escape.
"No monotony on this trip, anyway," he remarked later, when an
abundant meal had put him and his companions at peace with the world.
"First wolves, then Indians. Fate is certainly handing us some heavy
jolts. I wonder what will come next?"
"For goodness' sake, don't start worrying about that," Dick Mylert
adjured him. "It'll be bad enough when it comes. I'm so thankful
now that my scalp isn't drying at some Indian's belt that I'm not
inclined to kick about anything--especially anything that hasn't yet
happened."
"What about the skis, Slim?" asked Jerry. "It's too bad we couldn't
have finished that job while we were about it."
"It sure was," agreed Slim Tyler thoughtfully. "What makes it worse
is that we're getting near the coast and will soon be over the water.
Then it will be too late to change to the skis before we reach
Greenland. Of course we could wait at the coast till morning before
we make another attempt to put on the skis. That is, if we think
that it's got to be done by daylight. But if you fellows are game,
we'll take a chance and go down now and do it as well as we can in
the dark. Only this time," he added, with a grin, "we'll choose a
place where there are no woods in sight."
"You bet your life!" exclaimed Mylert, with fervor.
"That goes for me, too," echoed Jerry, instinctively reaching for his
ear. "But how are we going to find a landing place in the dark?"
"It won't be dark long," replied the young pilot. "The moon will
rise in about an hour. I'll fly low and we'll try to find some level
place. When we think we've found it, we'll drop some flares to make
sure it's all right, and if it is I'll go down."
"Rather risky, don't you think?" asked Dick dubiously.
"A little, but not so much," replied Slim. "You see it's this way.
I judge that we'll be at the coast about midnight. Now, if we have
to hover about there till daylight to fix the skis, we'll have lost
half a dozen hours or so, while if we have them fixed by the time we
reach the water, we can keep right on and fly all night. Time is so
precious now that I don't want to lose an hour of it that I don't
have to. Savvy?"
"I guess you're right," conceded Dick. "Anyway, I'm just a passenger
and I don't want to do any back seat driving. Anything that you
decide on goes with me."
An hour passed and the moon arose and flooded all that wild world
with glory.
Under any other circumstances the flyers would have reveled in the
beauty of the scene. But just now the moon was to be admired, not
for itself, but for the help that it might be to them in discovering
a suitable landing field.
They descried such a place half an hour later. Like all the district
over which they had been flying that day, it was covered with a hard
crust of snow that had been so beaten upon by the bitter winds that
it was packed almost to the consistency of ice.
Taking every precaution, Slim Tyler let the plane down to a
successful landing. The moon shining on the snow made everything
almost as light as day. There were no woods within sight and nothing
else that could possibly shelter an enemy.
Under these conditions the changes they had in mind were easily made.
Skis were substituted for the wheels and the latter carefully packed
away for future use. In less than an hour everything was in
readiness for the resumption of their flight.
They were delighted to find that the skis worked to a charm. When
the young pilot started the engines the plane darted along on the
runners like a thing of life and soared into the air like a bird.
It had been more or less in the nature of an experiment, for neither
Slim Tyler nor Jerry Marbury had ever used skis before. So they were
relieved beyond measure when the first test proved successful.
For in the place to which they were going there was practically
nothing but ice. The whole of Greenland, except in some strips along
the shore and certain other places where weather conditions were
unusual, was covered with a solid ice cap. Wheels would be at a
discount in that frozen region. Skis were almost indispensable.
So that it was with a feeling of intense elation that they flew on
over the desolate wastes of Labrador and approached the shore of
Davis Straits, on the other side of which lay Greenland.
Slim gave the _Hope_ full throttle, and at about midnight, as he had
predicted, the water came in view.
The flyers heard it before they saw it. A thunderous roar blended
with the song of the motors. It was the roar of breakers dashing
against the rocky shores.
"How does it sound, fellows?" asked Slim, turning toward his
companions with a grin.
"Rather fierce, if you ask me," returned Dick.
"As though it were daring us to come on," put in Jerry.
"Well, we're going to accept the challenge," declared Slim, as the
raging waves came into full view. "Say good-by to the land, fellows,
for it will be a long time before you see land again."
There was a curious feeling in the hearts of all as they said
farewell to the American continental mass. Land meant home. It was
associated with every experience of their lives. It was secure,
stable, solid. While flying over it they had the comfortable feeling
that, if anything went wrong, they could come down to safety.
But the ocean, cruel, remorseless, uncaring for human life or
pain--that was different.
Now, if they came down, they would come down to death!
CHAPTER XVII
AT RISK OF LIFE
Though the three young adventurers fully appreciated the chances they
were taking, their hearts were high and their souls undaunted. They
had counted the cost before they had embarked on their enterprise,
and they were willing to pay that cost, if an unkind fate should
demand it of them.
On they went over the wild sea, flying at an altitude of three
thousand feet.
An hour of this, and Slim Tyler relinquished the control of the plane
to Jerry Marbury, while he snatched a little sleep.
"How is she going?" he asked, a couple of hours later, when he came
to relieve his companion.
"Not very well," returned Jerry uneasily. "She doesn't answer as she
should. I was just going to call you and have a talk about it. I'm
afraid there's something wrong with the stabilizer."
"The stabilizer!" exclaimed Slim quickly, for all the meaning of that
disaster flashed upon him at once. "Here, give me the control and
let me get the feel of it."
It took him less than a minute to realize that Jerry was right. The
_Hope_ was tossing and bucking like a balky mule.
"I know what it must be," declared Slim, after he had run over in his
mind all possible reasons for the _Hope's_ eccentric behavior. "The
streamlined cable brace on the right side of the stabilizer has
parted."
"Parted!"
To an experienced airman like Jerry, the word was like the crack of
doom!
The young aviators looked at each other. The blood had fled from
their faces.
"Unless we fix it, we're goners," declared Slim.
"Of course we are," agreed Jerry. "But how are we going to fix it
unless we can come down?"
"I don't know how, but we've got to," affirmed Slim.
"I don't believe it's ever been done on an airplane while in flight,"
groaned Jerry. "Looks to me, Slim, as though the jig is up."
"What's all the shooting about?" asked a sleepy voice, and Dick
Mylert, roused by the excited conversation, came forward and joined
the pair.
"Plenty," returned Slim. "The stabilizer brace has given way."
"And that means?"
"It means that unless we fix it promptly we'll get a ducking,"
replied Slim grimly. "I can't explain it to you now. Let me think."
He needed to think and think quickly, for none knew better than he
what was meant by the parting of that brace that put the rudder in
jeopardy.
One plan after another chased itself through his mind, to be rejected
as impossible.
At last he fastened on one that offered some glimmer of hope, though
it was beset with manifold dangers.
"Dick," he commanded, "you'll find some rosin in a bag back there.
Break it out."
Mylert hastened to obey.
Slim turned to Jerry.
"Get me a spare brace, Jerry," he directed. "You know where we keep
them."
In a minute Jerry was back with the brace, a steel strut about a
quarter of an inch thick, an inch wide, and about three feet long.
"Here it is," he said. "What's your plan, Slim?"
"We're going to smash the rear bulkhead," explained Slim. "Then I'm
going to crawl to the tail of the ship through the fuselage. I'll
take a sharp knife along and slit the fabric on the top of the
fuselage. Then I'm going to push my head and shoulders through the
hole, so that I can have my arms free."
"But you'll be in the full blast of the propellers!" cried Jerry,
aghast. "It will tear you to pieces!"
"I guess not," replied Slim. "Anyhow, I've got to take the chance."
"Let me do it," pleaded Jerry. "My life isn't worth any more than
yours. Why should you take all the risk?"
"No," said Slim. "I've got the whole thing mapped out in my mind. I
won't be blown away. That's one reason why I asked Dick for the
rosin. I'm going to spread it over my suit, so as to give a better
grip on the fabric. You stay at the controls, Jerry, and try to keep
this bucking broncho steady until I've finished my work. In a little
while we'll either be riding pretty or we'll be at the bottom of the
sea."
He rubbed his clothes with the rosin that Dick brought, and with the
latter's aid broke through the rear bulkhead and slit the fabric
until his head and shoulders could emerge.
It seemed that the blast of the propellers, as he came into its full
force, would blow his head from his shoulders.
It would have been a delicate piece of work to do, even under the
most tranquil circumstances. In this wild roaring and tumult it
seemed impossible.
One end of the brace was bent into a hook with a sharpened point. A
hole had been drilled below the point of the hook. In the shaft of
the strut opposite the hole in the hook was a corresponding hole. At
the end of the shaft was another hole, larger than either of the
other two.
Slim pulled the hook of the strut through the fabric of the
stabilizer so as to hook the outside tubing, which was just on the
other side of an interior steel brace.
Then he put a bolt through the two holes and screwed the bolt tightly
into place. That proceeding clamped the strut permanently to the
stabilizer.
With a heavy pair of pliers he drew the end of the broken brace
through the big hole in the end of the shaft of the new strut as
tautly as he could. Then he lashed it securely.
It had been a fearful task that would have daunted a lesser soul.
The blast of the propeller was tearing at him, taking away his
breath, searing his eyes, threatening at any moment to wrench him
from his precarious hold and hurl him into the raging waters beneath.
His lungs were laboring to the bursting point with his terrible
exertions. His hands were so numbed by wind and cold that they had
scarcely any feeling left in them.
But he had triumphed! He had saved the plane! The brace was not
quite as rigid as he would have liked to have it, but amply so for
their present needs.
That it was working well was evident from the fact that the bucking
and balking of the plane had ceased. She was once more answering her
helm without protest.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Slim Tyler drew back into the
fuselage, got back into the cabin through the broken bulkhead, and
made his way to the control.
Jerry fairly hugged Slim in his delight at his safe return.
"You did it, old boy! You did it!" he exclaimed. "It was a hundred
to one chance, but you won! A thing I don't think has ever been done
before by a flyer--repairing a stabilizer while in flight. Didn't I
tell you this fellow could work miracles?" he demanded of Dick Mylert.
"I'm beginning to believe you," replied the young newspaper man
warmly. "Gee, my heart was in my mouth while you were out there,
Slim! It looked as though you were up against a hopeless task."
"Nothing is hopeless, unless we admit it is," replied the young
pilot. "I'll take a turn now at the controls while you boys finish
the job. You'll need a curved needle to sew up the slit in the
fabric and then you can repair the broken bulkhead. That will make
everything O.K."
Jerry and Dick set to work busily and soon had the repairs made,
pending a more complete job when they should be able to land.
It was bitterly cold, and grew still colder as they progressed toward
the Greenland coast.
Below them the sea was dotted here and there with huge icebergs,
great masses that had broken off from the ice cap and were now
floating in stately majesty toward the warmer waters of the south.
With the moonlight reflected from a thousand jagged points, the bergs
resembled gigantic diamonds. It was like a scene from fairyland.
But the aviators had not long to enjoy it, for great masses of clouds
gradually obscured the moon, and gusts of wind, growing ever fiercer
in intensity, presaged a coming storm.
"Something brewing," remarked Jerry. "Looks as if----"
The sentence was never finished.
A terrific blast struck the plane with such irresistible force that
it turned turtle!
CHAPTER XVIII
IN THE GRIP OF THE STORM
The attack of the wind was sudden beyond all precedent in the
experience of the young aviators.
It was as though the demon of the storm had counted on surprise and
had hoped to accomplish the destruction of the _Hope_ at one blow
before the aviators could rally their confused senses to combat it.
One moment the _Hope_ had been flying on an even keel. The next, it
had completely reversed its position, and the occupants found
themselves flying head downward.
The straps that held Slim Tyler in the pilot's seat stretched and
strained, but did not break.
His comrades were not so fortunate. Jerry Marbury was for a moment
literally standing on his head. Then he fell down heavily, grasping
an iron bolt, to which he clung with the tenacity of a drowning man.
Dick Mylert was flung out of the plane and would have gone hurtling
to the waters beneath if his hands, flung about wildly, had not
grasped the side of the fuselage. There he hung suspended while the
wind tore at him, trying to loosen his grasp.
"Hold on, Dick! For the love of Pete, hold on!" screamed Jerry, as
his senses cleared and he saw his companion's frightful plight.
He crawled close to his imperiled comrade, clutched his wrists, and
by a tremendous effort pulled him in to safety.
Slim Tyler was fighting desperately to regain control of the plane
and bring her right side up. It was a herculean task, as she had
already started on her downward plunge.
A lesser pilot would have lost his head and his doom would have been
sealed then and there. But Slim Tyler kept his nerve, and by
consummate craftsmanship finally brought the plane to its normal
position.
The first onslaught had been met and repelled, but others followed,
and the aviators found themselves in a wild turmoil of the elements.
The wind was blowing with all the force of a tornado. It beat and
tore at the plane as though it would rend it into shreds. The
howling of the storm drowned the roar of the motors. It was a
terrible demonstration of nature's unbridled fury.
Yet in that awful welter, Slim Tyler's hand at the control never
faltered. His pulses were steady, his heart undaunted.
With masterly skill he jockeyed the plane, driving here, banking
there, trying to present the least vulnerable surface to the blow,
making the wind at times his ally, again challenging it to do its
worst.
He darted upward in an attempt to find a quieter strata of air, but
found that he gained nothing by the change. Then he sought lower
altitudes, coming down at times so close to the water that he heard
its roar and was sprinkled with its spray.
But wherever he went it was the same. The gale was out to find a
victim, and it seemed to exercise a demoniac cunning in thwarting
every effort of its prey to escape.
To keep on their projected path was of course out of the question.
All that mattered now was saving the plane and with it their own
lives. If they perished, the course did not matter. If they
survived, they could easily find it again.
Over that great angry waste of waters, the _Hope_ flew on, a mere
speck in immensity, while its imperiled occupants never knew what
moment might be their last.
For one thing Slim Tyler was grateful. He had repaired the
stabilizer before the storm started. If he had been delayed until
the gale was upon them, nothing on earth could have saved them from
certain death.
Luckily, there was no lightning. They were too far north for that,
and thus they were spared one peril that had so nearly brought to
naught the journey to South America.
For more than an hour the storm raged with the greatest fury. Then
it began to subside. It died away in fitful gusts that came at
longer and longer intervals and finally ceased altogether, although
the agitated air rocked up and down like the waves of the ocean after
a gale.
Slim Tyler's tense grip on the controls relaxed. Despite the bitter
cold, he was drenched with perspiration from the terrific strain he
had undergone.
"I've been on many a ship in a gale," breathed Dick Mylert, "but I've
never been shaken up and tossed about like this. I feel like a
scrambled egg."
"You brought her through wonderfully, Slim," said Jerry, clapping his
friend on the shoulder. "Where do you think we are?"
"Search me," replied Slim. "I'll try to figure it out as soon as I
can get my breath. If those clouds break away and let the moon shine
through again, you can get out your instruments and we'll check up on
the figures. I've tried to keep her in an easterly direction as far
as I could, but in this hullabaloo she's been dancing round to all
points of the compass."
But the clouds obstinately refused to break away. They had contained
more than wind. Half an hour had not elapsed before snow began to
fall.
The storm came first in scattered flakes, then in a thick cloud, then
in blinding sheets. It plastered the windows of the cockpit. It lay
in a heavy blanket on the body of the plane. It coated the broad
wings, weighing them down.
Every additional ounce that weighted the plane weighted Slim Tyler's
heart as well.
For the plane was losing buoyancy and sinking lower and lower with
every ten minutes that passed.
She was like an overloaded ship, wallowing in the trough of the sea
when she ought to have been cleaving her way through it.
Slim banked and dived and rose and sideslipped in the effort to shake
the snow from the wings. Had it been of the powdery variety, he
might have succeeded. But it was wet and stuck to the wings like
glue.
"Going through a good many stunts, aren't you, Slim?" asked Dick
Mylert lightly. He had no idea of the gravity of the situation.
"What is this, anyway? A flying circus?"
"Something far different from that," answered Slim soberly. "The
wings are carrying so much snow that the _Hope_ is getting too tired
to fly."
"Is that so?" exclaimed the reporter, his airy manner vanishing
instantly. "Does that mean that there's danger of her going down?"
"Exactly that, if the snow keeps falling," affirmed Slim. "I have
all I can do now to keep her aloft. There must be half a ton of snow
on her wings now. And half a ton is a thousand pounds."
"If this keeps up, we'll have to throw some of our cargo overboard to
lighten the plane," declared Jerry.
"Possibly," admitted Slim. "Spare parts, tools, even food, if
necessary. Lucky if we keep our shirts. But even that is better
than drowning."
As if to emphasize that sinister word, the roar of the waves beneath
grew louder.
CHAPTER XIX
THREATENING DOOM
Slim Tyler's quick ears caught an unusual note in that more
boisterous roar of the angry waves. _Hope_ sprang anew in his heart.
"Notice anything different in this sound from that we've been hearing
for the last hour?" he asked his companions.
They listened intently.
"Sounds to me like breakers dashing on the shore!" exclaimed Jerry
Marbury, and the newspaper man nodded assent.
"That's what it is, I'll bet!" cried Slim. "If that's true, fellows,
it means that we have reached the Greenland coast!"
The words went through them all like an electric shock.
"Thank goodness!" ejaculated Dick Mylert fervently.
"Glory hallelujah!" cried Jerry.
"We don't want to crow too soon," the young pilot cautioned his
companions. "Break out those flares, Jerry, and throw a couple of
them down."
Jerry obeyed, and the flares went down, leaving fiery trails like the
tails of comets in their wake.
"After all," observed Dick dubiously, "what good will they do? The
wall of snow shuts out our sight. We can't see whether they fall on
the land or the sea."
"Wait," advised Slim.
Perhaps twenty seconds elapsed before the luminous glows left by the
passing of the flares disappeared.
"Land!" exclaimed Slim joyously.
"Land!" echoed Jerry with equal jubilation.
"How do you know?" asked Dick wonderingly.
"If water were beneath us, the flares would have been extinguished
immediately," explained Slim Tyler. "As it is, you notice that they
continued to burn. We've reached Greenland all right. Now if we
have to come down, as we probably shall, we'll find land beneath us."
"Or ice," suggested Jerry.
"The same thing as far as making a landing is concerned," replied the
young pilot. "As a matter of fact, I shouldn't be surprised if we
never see the ground itself as long as we're in Greenland. With a
few exceptions, it's a solid sheet of ice from end to end."
"Seems to me it isn't snowing as hard as it was," observed Dick.
"It isn't," affirmed Slim. "If it will only stop altogether now, I
can probably keep the plane afloat. But with much more weight on her
wings she'll go down as sure as shooting."
Presently the snow stopped falling, and with its cessation an immense
load was lifted from Slim Tyler's spirits. The _Hope_ still labored
heavily, but she was more or less manageable.
It was imperative that they should make a landing as soon as
possible. They were in a mountainous region, and if they should
suddenly come face to face with a high peak there would be no way of
making the heavily weighted plane rise above it.
It was growing lighter now, and the occupants of the plane strained
their eyes to see something of their surroundings.
They had left the sea far behind and found themselves flying over a
high plateau, sheathed in ice and destitute of all signs of human
habitation. It was many miles in area, rugged and uneven and hemmed
in on every side by mountains.
At intervals it was cut through by gorges hundreds of feet in depth,
with steep, precipitous sides. There were no trees anywhere to break
the landscape. The whole scene was one of dreary desolation, and it
sent a chill through the veins of the adventurers.
"Nice place to live in--I don't think," muttered Jerry.
"Not many human beings do live in it," replied Slim; "about twelve or
fifteen thousand altogether and most of them Eskimos at that, in the
milder places scattered along the coast."
"Only fit for polar bears," commented Dick.
"There are plenty of them," replied Slim. "Perhaps we'll get a hack
at them before we're through. Or perhaps," he added, with a grin,
"it will be they that take a hack at us. Gosh, what made that Dave
Boyd expedition come to such a rotten place?"
The sun had risen now, and its rays sent back a thousand dazzling
reflections from the ice.
"Keep your eyes peeled for a landing place," Slim adjured his
companions. "This bird is trying to come down of her own accord, and
I'm having all I can do to keep her in check."
"There's a possible place," sang out Jerry a few minutes later.
"Seems to be a depression in the plateau, almost like a valley.
There's a long level strip at the bottom that may fill the bill."
"Looks good to me," pronounced Slim after careful scrutiny of the
spot that Jerry pointed out. "Here goes!"
He spiraled down into the valley, maneuvering the plane with masterly
skill. The skis landed gently on a comparatively smooth surface,
skimmed along for a few hundred feet, and gradually came to a stop.
A shout of delight came from the throats of all three as for the
first time their feet touched the ice of Greenland. They had reached
their destination after enduring frightful perils. They had
negotiated the last water jump, during which they had not known but
what the next moment might be their last.
But they had triumphed! They had achieved their goal! They were in
Greenland! It was with a feeling of irrepressible exultation that,
all past perils forgotten, they felt solid footing beneath them.
"Now to find Dave Boyd!" cried Jerry.
"And Cameron Flood," added Slim, from whom, through all the journey,
the thought of Nat Shaley and the lumber claim had never been long
absent.
"Who's Cameron Flood?" asked Dick Mylert curiously.
"One of the scientists in the party," replied Slim. "There's a
matter in which both he and I are interested. But now for a good
meal. Then we'll set to work and get the snow off this baby's wings."
They ate with appetite, for all through that terrible night they had
been too oppressed and anxious to think of food, and now woke to the
realization that they were ravenously hungry.
After the meal was finished they got out scrapers and shovels and
removed the snow from the wings of the _Hope_ and also from the body
and struts of the machine. In many places it had changed to ice and
the work was long and arduous, and had to be done with extreme care.
This finished at last, they made a careful inspection of the plane.
There were some slight repairs to be made, but considering the
conditions she had met, the _Hope_ had come through with flying
colors. The broken strut was made almost as good as new.
Following this, Slim and Jerry brought out their instruments and took
observations of the sun. From these they were able to figure out
their approximate position.
"About forty miles inland," mused Slim thoughtfully. "We know at
least where we are. But where in the mischief is Dave Boyd? Any
idea, Jerry?"
"Not the least," replied Jerry. "Ten to one he's landed somewhere he
didn't want to. You know that story of the trappers about seeing the
plane forced down."
"Yes, and that story didn't give the location, except that it was
somewhere about the center of the island," rejoined Slim. "That's a
pretty indefinite indication, for Greenland is more like a continent
than an island. Thousands and thousands of square miles to fly over.
It's almost like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"Yes," said Jerry sombrely. "Moreover, sometimes I'm afraid of what
we'll find if we find them at all. Only their dead bodies, perhaps.
The plane may have been smashed to flinders."
"That's a chance, of course," admitted Slim, and a pain stabbed
through his heart at the thought. "But we're not going to dwell on
that. I think we'll find them, in trouble, perhaps, but still alive
and well."
The two aviators were interrupted by a call from Dick Mylert, who,
while the others had been making their calculations, had wandered off
to the side of a cliff at a little distance.
"Come here, fellows," cried Dick, "and take a squint at these."
He held up some oval objects as they hurried toward him.
"Eggs," he said, as they came up to him. "Lallapaloozers, too. Some
of the biggest I've ever seen."
"Where did you get them?" asked Slim, as he and Jerry examined them
curiously.
"In the side of the cliff here," replied Dick. "Saw a cleft in the
rock and climbed up. Scientific curiosity," he grinned. "We'll take
them along and let some of the high-brows in Boyd's party--if we find
them--tell us what they are."
"I don't know," said Slim reflectively. "Perhaps it would be wiser
to put them back. They're still a little warm."
"What of that?" asked Dick.
"It means that the mother bird hasn't been away from them long and
may be back any minute," replied Slim. "When she comes there may be
ructions. Better put them back, Dick. We've got trouble enough
without looking for any."
The young newspaper man grumbled a little but acceded. He climbed up
the cliffside and was putting back the eggs when there came a sudden
whirring of wings.
"Look out, Dick! For the love of Pete, look out!" shouted Slim Tyler.
CHAPTER XX
THE CRASH
Startled by Slim Tyler's cry of warning, in which Jerry joined, Dick
Mylert looked up.
Two great birds were swooping down upon him with raucous cries,
talons outspread.
Dick started to clamber down, but one of the birds, bigger than an
eagle, struck him a heavy blow with one of its wings and he fell for
a dozen feet.
His feet slipped out from under him as they touched the icy surface
and he fell on his back.
"Cover your eyes, Dick!" screamed Slim, as he saw the creatures
making for Dick's face.
Dick, though confused and bewildered, had sense enough left to follow
the injunction and threw both arms tightly over his eyes. The angry
birds tore at his arms, their beaks drawing blood.
Slim and Jerry launched themselves against the creatures, their arms
and fists working like flails. The ferocity of their onslaught drove
the feathered assailants back for the moment, but they returned
promptly to the attack.
With their left arms shielding their eyes, Slim and Jerry yanked Dick
to his feet and the three fought their way back to the plane, while
again and again the maddened birds swooped down upon them, beating
them heavily with their wings, striking at them with talons, and
trying ever to get at their eyes with their beaks.
"Hold them off for another minute," panted Slim, as he leaped over
the side of the plane and grabbed a rifle.
The gun cracked and one of the birds fell lifeless. Another shot
broke the wing of the other and it flopped helpless to the ground.
Slim fired once more and killed it.
Then he rejoined his comrades, who were leaning, gasping, against the
side of the plane.
"They haven't touched your eyes, have they?" he inquired anxiously.
"No," panted Jerry. "But it wasn't for the want of trying. I'm
bleeding like a stuck pig."
"My eyes are all right," gasped Dick. "But that fall knocked all my
teeth loose. I can feel each one of them move as I touch them with
my tongue."
"They'll tighten up in a day or two," Slim consoled him. "Gee, but
I'm glad that we've got rid of those pirates!" as he viewed the
feathered heaps on the ice.
"They were bad medicine," grunted Jerry. "But let's break out the
first aid kit and get some iodine and bandages."
They helped to bind up each other's wounds, which were plentiful.
But they were so relieved that their eyes were left that they bore
the pain with philosophy.
"How about that scientific curiosity of yours, Dick?" asked Slim
quizzically.
"Gone! Squelched!" replied Dick emphatically. "I'll never go
bird-nesting in the Arctic again. Gee, but those fellows were
fierce! What are they, anyway?"
"Auks, I guess, or something of the sort," replied Slim, with a
glance at the huge creatures. "Mild enough when they are let alone,
but tough bozos when it comes to defending their nests. Can't blame
them. I like their spunk, and I'm sorry we had to kill them."
They rested for a few minutes and then prepared for their flight of
exploration.
"Just what are your plans, Slim?" asked Dick.
"Simply to keep flying as long as daylight lasts," replied Slim, as
he climbed into the cockpit and took his seat at the controls.
"While Jerry or I guide the plane, the others will study the ice
beneath with the field glasses. We'll be able to cover a good many
hundred square miles of territory every day. We'll fly as low as we
dare and yet keep out of the way of the mountain peaks. Each day
we'll cover a separate section. We'll go over the whole of Greenland
as with a fine toothed comb."
"How about the gasoline?" asked Jerry. "We're using up a good many
gallons with every day we fly."
"I know," admitted Slim. "That's a problem. But we'll keep aloft as
long as we can, and when the supply runs low we'll make for one of
the Danish towns along the coast, where we can replenish. I hope,
though, that it won't come to that."
They made an excellent take-off and mounted into the skies.
The sun was still shining brightly as Slim Tyler headed toward the
center of the island. The visibility was fine, and they had no
difficulty with their glasses in seeing the landscape beneath.
For hours and hours they flew on their quest without detecting any
signs of human life. Animal life there was, reindeer, foxes,
ermines, hares and musk oxen, though how some of them could find a
living in those ice-covered wastes it was hard to imagine. From time
to time these could be seen as mere dark specks on the ice-clad
surface.
"If a fellow were lost here and had his rifle, he might live on
game," remarked Jerry.
"A slim chance," returned Dick. "There'd be no cover, and he
couldn't get close enough for a shot without being seen. No, this is
anything but a hunter's paradise. If a fellow got stranded here, his
best bet would be to streak it to some of the settlements along the
coast."
Time wore on until mid-afternoon with not a sign of anything human to
reward their quest. Then a haze began to rise and obscure their
sight.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Slim suddenly, just as he was about reluctantly
to put aside his glasses. "I thought I saw something then that
looked like a camp."
"Where?" asked Jerry, who at the moment was guiding the plane.
"Down there," replied Slim, pointing to a deep valley a little to the
right. "Hang it, it's fading away now as this fog grows thicker.
We'll have to wait till it lifts. But keep circling around in this
vicinity, Jerry, so that we shan't get away from this spot."
"Why couldn't the fog have waited a little longer?" grumbled Dick.
"It's maddening to have it come up just now."
"What did the thing look like, Slim?" asked Jerry eagerly.
"Oh, it was vague enough," admitted the young aviator. "But there
seemed to be a lot of things scattered around and I thought I could
see some figures moving."
"Moving!" repeated Jerry, with huge satisfaction. "That's cheering.
Movement means life."
"Of course, we don't want to let our hopes rise too high," cautioned
Slim. "It may have been a party of Eskimos or Danish trappers."
"Even that would be something," put in Dick. "We might get some
valuable information from them as to the whereabouts of Boyd and his
party."
"That's true," agreed Slim. "Gee, fellows, I feel happier now than
at any time since we landed in Greenland!"
The fog grew thicker. It soon wrapped the plane as in a pall. The
_Hope_ seemed like a ghost wandering through the darkness. The wet,
clammy folds penetrated through everything, even the heavy clothing
of the young aviators.
Slim Tyler bent over Jerry and consulted the instruments.
"Better lift her a little higher, Jerry," he said, with a touch of
uneasiness. "These mountains around here----"
A huge black mass loomed up in front of them. There was a crash, and
everything went black before Slim Tyler's eyes!
CHAPTER XXI
LOST
How long it was before he came back to consciousness, Slim Tyler
never knew.
He woke to find himself lying on his back, with dense darkness all
about him. For a long time his dazed senses failed to take in the
situation in which he found himself.
"Wonder how long I've been sleeping?" he asked himself confusedly.
"Why hasn't Jerry waked me up? He needs sleep as much as I do. He's
been having a long spell at the controls. Time I relieved the old
boy."
He tried to rise, but sank back with a groan of pain.
"Must be those auk bites," he murmured. "Hope there wasn't any
poison in them. Thought I used plenty of iodine, though. Gee, but
this bed is cold!"
He put out his hand and felt ice. The shock aroused him.
"What in thunder!" he exclaimed, as he felt about him for some of the
familiar objects of the plane.
His hands encountered only empty air.
Then in a flash it all came back to him--the study of the
instruments, his suggestion to Jerry that they rise higher, the black
mass looming up, the crash!
They had struck, then. Hit the mountain side and gone down. The
_Hope_ was gone. And Jerry! And Dick! Good old Jerry and Dick!
Where were they? Slim Tyler groaned in anguish.
His own awful plight for the moment hardly interested him. It was
the fate of his companions that tore at his soul. He was at least
alive. But they?
"Lying dead, perhaps," he moaned. "Or, still worse, perhaps maimed
for life."
So this was the end of the expedition on which he had placed such
high hopes, in the working out of which he had encountered and
overcome so many perils!
All wasted! Sheer waste! The bitter sarcasm of it! Coming on a
mission of rescue and now himself a derelict!
But Slim Tyler did not spend long in these soul-searing reflections.
His indomitable will awoke and stirred him to action.
How did he know that his companions were dead? he asked himself. He
himself had escaped with life. Might not they have had equal luck?
He must look for them, and at once.
By a tremendous effort he brought himself to a sitting position. He
could not repress a groan as he did so. He was bruised and sore all
over.
He flexed his arms, though the operation caused him intense agony.
But at least they obeyed his will. They were not broken.
He felt his legs gingerly. No broken bones there!
A surge of hope thrilled through his veins. He was not crippled,
doomed to freeze or starve until death should come to his relief!
With infinite pain and effort he managed to get upon his feet. Then
he applied himself to rubbing himself vigorously until the numbness
left his limbs and he was able to move about, though haltingly.
Even though he could move about, he had not found freedom of action.
For the night wrapped about him like a blanket. He could hardly see
his hand before his face. For all he knew, he might be on the brink
of a precipice. The first step forward might hurl him down into a
chasm hundreds of feet deep.
Inaction was maddening, but it would be sheer insanity to attempt to
move forward in that darkness. There was no alternative. He must
wait till daylight broke.
How long would that be? He had not the slightest idea how long he
had lain there unconscious. He took out his watch and held it to his
ear. It had stopped.
He summoned all his stoicism and steeled himself to the hardest task
in the world--to wait!
In those dreary hours of waiting he had plenty of time to take stock
of his situation. The inventory was depressing.
As far as he knew, he was alone--alone in thousands of square miles
of uninhabited, ice-clad territory.
Even if his strength held out, he might wander over it for months
without coming in contact with a human soul.
But how could his strength hold out? He had no food and no way of
getting any. Already the pangs of hunger were assailing him.
There were of course provisions in the _Hope_. But where was the
_Hope_? Perhaps at the bottom of some inaccessible chasm. Perhaps
it had caught fire in the crash and been consumed. It might have
gone down one slope of the mountain, while he himself had been cast
down another.
While he was immersed in these gloomy reflections the night wore
itself away. With the first glimmer of light that came from the
east, Slim Tyler looked with straining eyes about him.
He found himself on an icy plateau at the bottom of a mountain slope.
Not ten feet in front of him was a yawning crevasse leading down to
an unknown depth. Similar gorges were in evidence everywhere. A
more forbidding, dreary, desolate landscape could not have been
imagined.
Nothing familiar met Slim's eyes. No Jerry Marbury! No Dick Mylert!
No plane!
He was lost! Lost in Greenland!
CHAPTER XXII
THE SHOT
Slim Tyler had cherished the hope that daylight would reveal the
plane, or what remained of it after its collision with the cliff.
Even if wrecked, he might recover from it provisions to keep himself
alive for a time and weapons with which to secure game later on.
The fact that he could discern no trace of it was at first a bitter
disappointment. Yet, as he pondered the matter, there came a slight
upspringing of hope.
How did he know that the plane had smashed? Might not Jerry, despite
the damage it must have sustained, have managed to keep it aloft?
The shock, to be sure, had been violent enough to throw him, Slim
Tyler, out of the fuselage. But his companions might have had better
luck, and the _Hope_ itself might have survived. If this were true,
he knew that they would search for him unceasingly until they found
him.
This was the bright side of the picture. Down deep in his heart he
felt almost certain that the _Hope_ had gone down.
But if so, where was it? Why had it not fallen at practically the
same spot in which he found himself?
The answer might be found in the great gorges that seamed the
plateau. He shuddered as he looked at them. At the bottom of one of
them the _Hope_ at this moment might be lying, far from human sight,
a crumpled mass with the dead bodies of Dick Mylert and Jerry Marbury
in the wreckage.
How had he himself survived? Why had he not been killed by his fall?
A glance at the mountain side gave him the answer. He had not fallen
like a plummet through space. He had been flung out on an icy slope,
through which protruded at frequent intervals clumps of bushes and
shrubbery that had flourished during the brief summer season.
These, no doubt, had broken his fall. His progress down the slippery
slope had been checked at intervals until he had finally brought up
at the bottom, horribly bruised and sore, but with all his bones
intact.
The tufts of shrubbery gave him an idea. They might serve as hand
holds and enable him to make his way to the top. From there, on the
other side of the mountain, he might discern some traces of the
catastrophe.
He girded himself for the effort and began to climb. In his
condition it was a frightful task. For every three feet he went up,
he slipped back at least one. Every muscle of his body clamored its
weariness and pain.
But the stuff of which heroes are made was in Slim Tyler, and at last
he reached the coveted summit.
From there he could see for many miles in every direction. It was a
scene of magnificent grandeur that met his eyes. As far as the eye
could reach were ice-capped mountains, valleys and gorges, gleaming
in the morning sun.
But its sublimity made no appeal to Slim Tyler in his present state
of mind. To him it was only a magnificent tomb, in which he might
find his eternal rest, as perhaps his cherished comrades had already
found it.
He strained his eyes for some sign of the _Hope_, But the region was
a sealed book. There was nothing in it that he could read. If the
mountains and gorges knew anything, they kept the secret.
Bitterly disappointed, Slim Tyler left his point of vantage. The
cliffs on the other side of the mountain were almost perpendicular.
He must return by the way he had come.
Reaching once more the plateau, Slim tied a handkerchief to a clump
of bushes so that its fluttering might attract attention, in case one
of his companions or a wandering trapper should come that way. To it
he pinned a page of his notebook, on which he scribbled a few lines,
telling of the disaster and urging that search should be made for him
and his companions.
Then he set out on his journeyings. He had no plan of action. Under
the circumstances he could have none. One path was as good as
another. All he knew was that he must keep moving.
Otherwise he would freeze. In motion there was hope. It would
engross his mind, keep him from going mad. And there was always the
chance that he might stumble on some traces of Jerry and Dick.
Then, too, there was that camp that he thought he had discerned just
before the fog closed in on the plane.
Was it really a camp? Or was it a mere figment of his imagination?
And if it existed, in what direction did it lay?
He had not the least idea. It might be east, west, north, or south
from where he was at present. Every step he took might be bringing
him nearer to it or taking him farther from it. It was a pure
gamble, in which he had one chance out of four.
He progressed but slowly. At times he had to make wide detours to
get about the crevasses in the ice that criss-crossed the plateau in
all directions. The utmost care was necessary, for the slightest
misstep on the slippery ice might send him into the yawning mouth of
an abyss.
Hours passed, and still Slim Tyler plodded on. He had eaten nothing
since the noon before, and the fast of twenty-four hours had made him
ravenously hungry.
He searched his pockets in the faint hope that he might find a bit of
biscuit or of chocolate. But there was not a crumb. He plucked some
leaves and twigs from withered shrubbery and chewed on them in the
hope of alleviating the gnawing pangs. But they seemed only to
aggravate his hunger.
At times he stood still and shouted, in the hope that his voice might
carry to some human ears in that vast solitude. The mountains echoed
back the shout, but no other voice replied.
Night fell and he perforce had to stop. He was growing dizzy and
lightheaded. But he did not dare sleep. Even that solace of the
miserable was denied him. He knew that, if he once closed his eyes
in that freezing atmosphere, he would never open them again.
He had no matches, or he might have gathered withered shrubs enough
to make a tiny fire. That at least would have brought some semblance
of cheer.
All night long he tramped to and fro in a narrow space that he had
selected because it was free from crevasses. When morning came he
set out again on his quest.
He still kept shouting at intervals, though his voice was weaker now.
It was after one of those quavering calls that he stopped abruptly.
What was that? An answering call? No! He must be getting
delirious. He had been fearing that. Now it had come!
But no--yes--there it was again! No mistake this time! A voice that
was not his own and that had a familiar ring in it!
Slim Tyler summoned up his remaining strength and hurried around a
near-by bend in the cliff. And there was Dick Mylert running to meet
him!
Dick! Good old Dick! Not his ghost, but Dick in the flesh! Dick,
whom he had feared he would never see again!
The two fairly hugged each other in the exuberance of their delight,
babbling incoherently.
"And Jerry?" asked Slim, when they had somewhat recovered their
composure.
A shadow came over Mylert's haggard face. He shook his head sadly.
"Don't know," he replied. "The shock came and the next thing I knew
I knew nothing. I was just chucked out and found myself alone when I
woke up. Ever since I've been looking around for you and him."
They exchanged experiences, which had been very much alike. They had
rolled down different slopes and so had become separated.
"Not a scrap to eat," mourned Dick. "Gee, I'd like to come across
those auks we killed!"
"Same here," echoed Slim. "But now, if we starve, we'll have the
poor comfort of starving together."
"Poor is right," said the young reporter, with a grimace. "But let's
hope it won't come to that."
They set out again on their apparently unending tramp. Two hours
passed, and they were steadily growing weaker. Growing more
hopeless, too, though each kept up a brave front.
"Don't know where we're going, but we're on the way," remarked Dick,
with a game but feeble attempt at joking. "Geewhillikens! what's
that?"
The "that" was a shot that rang out crisply in the icy air!
At the same moment a bird that had been flying overhead came whirling
down to earth!
CHAPTER XXIII
A JOYOUS REUNION
A shot!
That meant that a human finger had touched the trigger. Men were at
hand! Trappers, hunters--it mattered not who they were, they were
men! The starving wanderers were no longer alone in this vast icy
wilderness.
Slim Tyler and Dick Mylert looked at each other in wild rapture.
Then they broke into as rapid a run as their weakened state permitted.
Staggering, but still running, they rounded an icy hummock and came
into view of a camp.
Half a dozen figures were in sight, most of them busily engaged in
various tasks.
Nearest to the newcomers was a man working at a plane. He looked up
at the sound of running feet and jumped up with a startled
exclamation when he saw the staggering figures coming toward him.
Slim Tyler's heart leaped as though it would leave his body.
The man was Dave Boyd!
"Dave! Dave!" shrieked Slim in wild delight, almost falling in his
effort to reach him.
Dave Boyd rushed forward and caught the youth in his arms.
"By the great horn spoon!" yelled the older aviator in amazement,
hardly able to believe his eyes. "Slim! Slim Tyler! How did you
get here? Did you drop from the skies?"
"Just that," replied Slim, smiling weakly as Dave Boyd folded him in
a bear's embrace. "Plane went flooey and I dropped. So did my
friend here, Dick Mylert. Dick, this is Dave Boyd."
The men exchanged handclasps. By this time all the members of the
camp had come running and surrounded the newcomers with expressions
of wonder and welcome. There were Biff Donovan, for once genial and
smiling, Sardine Brown, and the scientists, Franz, Burke, Lewis,
Thompson and another upon whom Slim looked with keen interest,
Cameron Flood.
Exclamations and questions tumbled over one another until Boyd
intervened.
"Why, you're just a rack of bones, Slim!" he exclaimed.
"Not much wonder," put in Dick. "He hasn't had anything to eat for
two days. Neither have I."
"What?" yelled Dave. "Lay off that questioning, you fellows. Not
another word till we fill these boys up. Break out some of that
canned soup, Biff. Sardine, get some coffee going. Starved, are
you? You poor fellows! But we'll soon fix that."
He led Slim and Dick to a shack that the party had constructed and
snuggled them under a pile of blankets. Then, when the soup and
coffee were ready, he fed them with his own hands, taking care that
they got no more than was good for them in their present weakened
condition.
"Now get to sleep," he ordered them. "No, not a word," he commanded,
as Slim was about to speak. "I'm burning up with curiosity as to how
and why you're here, but you get your sleep first."
"But I must speak," persisted Slim. "It's Jerry----"
"What about Jerry?" asked Dave Boyd quickly.
"He was with us," replied Slim. "He was guiding the plane when it
crashed. He may be wandering around as we were. I don't know."
Dave Boyd's face paled. He was very fond of Jerry Marbury, who had
accompanied him on many of his flights.
"Jerry!" he exclaimed. "Poor lad! We'll start a hunt for him at
once, every man jack of us. And we won't let up till we find him
alive--or find him dead. Trust us now and go to sleep."
Slim and Dick could not have disobeyed, if they had tried. Through
the rest of the afternoon and all that night they were wrapped in the
sleep of utter exhaustion.
Their youth and vitality stood them in good stead, and the next
morning they woke up enormously refreshed and almost their usual
selves.
A glance at Dave Boyd's grave face told Slim without asking that the
quest for Jerry Marbury had been in vain.
"No," said Dave. "We went in different directions, looking for him
and firing off guns at intervals to guide him to where we were. At
night we shot off Very pistols and sent up rockets in hope that he'd
see the lights. With no success so far. We'll go out again to-day
as soon as we've had breakfast."
Slim sighed, but made no comment.
"Now," said Dave, as they sat down at the rude table a little later,
"tell us what we all want to hear, Slim. What brought you to
Greenland?"
"You," replied Slim simply.
"What?"
"You," repeated Slim. "We got worried when your messages ceased. We
got more worried when the report came that trappers had seen a plane
in trouble forced down in the mountains. So we raised funds, got a
plane, and started out to look for you."
"We," said Dave dazedly. "Whom do you mean by 'we'?"
"Jerry and I," replied Slim. "Dick came along to get stuff for his
newspaper."
Dave Boyd was not an emotional man, but tears started to his eyes.
"Let me get this straight," he said huskily. "You mean that you and
Jerry of your own volition got up this expedition and risked your
lives just to rescue me, if you should find me in trouble?"
"Why not?" replied Slim. "You're the best friend I have in the
world."
Dave Boyd thrust his big hand across the table.
"Shake, Slim! Shake!" he said, as he grasped the lad's hand.
"You're there, Slim! You're all there!"
A murmur of assent rose from all at the table, as, with eyes full of
admiration, they looked at Slim Tyler.
"You were right in thinking we were in trouble," resumed Dave Boyd,
when he had released Slim's hand. "It's a wonder that we're not all
dead. We got caught in a frightful blizzard that forced us down. By
sheer luck we were able to make a landing----"
"Luck, nothing!" interrupted Biff Donovan from the other end of the
table. "It was because you were handling the controls. No other
aviator in the world could have made that landing."
"Nonsense!" disclaimed Boyd. "You could have done it just as well.
As it was, we escaped with our lives. But the radio was smashed and
the plane pretty badly cracked up. Biff and Sardine and I have been
pretty busy since patching it up. Our scientists here haven't done
so badly. They've got all kinds of information about the meteorology
of Greenland, the precipitation, the mountain ranges, and goodness
knows what else."
"You're right in that," put in Cameron Flood, and the other
scientists nodded their heads. "It's been a fruitful opportunity,
far surpassing our expectations."
Slim Tyler studied the speaker closely. What he saw pleased him.
Cameron Flood was a tall, handsome young man of perhaps twenty-eight,
frank and open in expression, with a humorous glint in his eyes. He
had a straight, strong nose and a jaw that bespoke determination.
Slim judged that he would be a valuable ally in the tracking down of
Nat Shaley.
"Now," said Boyd, as he shoved back his chair, "we're off to look for
Jerry. Everything around here has got to stop until we find him.
We'll divide into parties and keep in touch with each other by
frequent rifle shots. Flood, suppose you go with Slim and Dick. You
know this district well by this time."
Armed with rifles, the groups scattered in different directions.
Slim Tyler and his companions had been traveling about an hour when
Slim grabbed an arm each of Dick and Flood and yanked his astonished
comrades down behind an ice hummock.
"What's up?" demanded Dick, struggling to rise.
"S-sh!" warned Slim. "Look!"
Dick and Flood peered cautiously around the corner of the hummock.
A huge polar bear was lumbering toward them!
CHAPTER XXIV
AT GRIPS WITH A MONSTER
That the bear had not discovered the presence of the searching party
was evidenced by the leisurely and unperturbed way in which he came
swinging along.
But their immunity could not last. The creature was coming directly
toward the hummock behind which they lay concealed. A minute more,
and he would have reached it. Then discovery would be inevitable.
"Looks like a fight," remarked Cameron Flood coolly, as he gripped
his rifle tightly.
"That's what," assented Slim Tyler. "And it's always a good plan in
a fight to get in the first blow. Let's give him a volley."
"Whenever you say the word," agreed Dick Mylert.
The bear stopped abruptly. Its air of serenity vanished. It had
caught the scent of man. It growled savagely, rose on its hind legs
and sniffed the air, looking about for its enemies.
"A sockdolager!" breathed Dick. "Eight feet tall, standing up, if
it's an inch!"
"Ready, fellows?" whispered Slim.
His companions nodded.
"Now!" shouted Slim.
They sprang to their feet and fired.
Standing up as it was, the bear offered a good target, and all the
bullets struck. With a frightful roar of rage and pain the animal
staggered and toppled over.
The shouts of triumph that rose from the throats of the marksmen died
in their birth. None of the bullets had struck a vital spot and the
monster scrambled to its feet and rushed at its enemies with a speed
surprising in so large a creature.
The bear was no more than twenty feet away and coming toward them
like an express train.
They fired again, but failed to stop the charging beast.
"Scatter!" yelled Slim, "and plug him when you get a chance."
They fled like the wind in different directions.
The melting away of the group disconcerted the polar bear for an
instant, but for an instant only. The next moment it singled out
Slim Tyler and made for him.
If Slim's long legs had ever stood him in good stead, it was then.
He ran as if his feet had wings, spurred on by the certainty that
death was pursuing him.
Had he been on bare ground, he might have twisted and doubled and
possibly escaped, though in the long run the superior endurance of
the bear would probably have told.
But he was handicapped because he was running on ice. Again and
again he slipped and almost fell, and the struggle to regain his
footing checked his speed. The bear's paws were made for ice, and
the creature was at no disadvantage on that account. Slowly but
surely the bear was gaining on the fugitive.
Shots rang out, and Slim Tyler knew that his comrades were doing all
they could to stop his pursuer.
Then his blood froze with horror, for he saw before him a yawning
crevasse in the ice field! It was fully twenty feet across. He
could not leap it. He was trapped! Before him the abyss! Behind
him the bear!
Slim Tyler whirled about like lightning. The bear reared itself up
to grasp him with a hideous growl of triumph.
Flinging his rifle to his shoulder, Slim fired.
The bullet entered the monster's eye and penetrated to the brain.
Slim dodged as the huge body came tumbling down and narrowly escaped
the dreadful claws.
The great bulk slid to the edge of the crevasse and went whirling
over and over to the bottom, hundreds of feet below.
The young aviator sat down suddenly, gasping for breath, utterly
exhausted, scarcely daring to believe in his narrow escape from an
awful death.
Dick and Flood came running up to him.
"Are you hurt?" asked Dick anxiously.
"No," panted Slim, "but--all--in."
"No wonder!" exclaimed Flood. "You'll never be nearer death than you
were a minute ago and live to tell about it. My heart was in my
mouth. I thought it was all over with you."
"It was a case of touch and go," admitted Slim, as he rose to his
feet. "Merest luck that shot got to the brain. I didn't aim for the
eye. Just let fly at the head, hoping it would get him somewhere."
"Pity we lost the hide," remarked Dick. "It would have made a
splendid rug for your room when you got back."
"I don't want it," replied Slim. "It would have given me the willies
every time I looked at it. Let's be getting on."
"And let's keep a sharp lookout for the mate of that fellow,"
cautioned Flood. "They usually travel in pairs."
The precaution proved needless, as no other bear appeared.
All the morning and well into the afternoon they searched plateaus
and valleys and mountain slopes, shouting at intervals and firing
their rifles, without eliciting a response or finding a trace of the
missing one. With every hour that passed their hearts grew heavier.
They had paused to rest at the edge of a long slope that extended far
down into a valley.
There came a cracking sound and a yell from Slim.
"Jump back, fellows!" he shouted. "Jump back!"
Too late!
A huge segment of the ice on which they were standing gave way. The
next moment they went whirling down the steep slope in a wild medley
of waving arms and legs!
CHAPTER XXV
DOWN THE SLOPE
Sliding, rolling, tumbling, their senses as well as their bodies in a
whirl, the three adventurers kept on in their headlong flight down
the slippery slope, reaching out wildly in the hope of grasping
something that would check their dizzy speed but clutching nothing
but empty air.
As far as they could think of anything in the tumult of their minds,
they feared what would be at the end of that long slide.
It might be a precipice over which they would be hurled to instant
death. Or they might bring up against an ice hummock or some other
obstruction with a force that would break every bone in their bodies.
As they neared the bottom, however, the slide lost its steepness and
gradually merged into a gently rolling slope. This served to
moderate their speed, so that they had almost stopped rolling when
they brought up against some object that halted their flight.
They were dazed and breathless, and for some moments lay motionless
in a heap, their predominant feeling one of intense thankfulness that
they were still alive. Then they began slowly to untangle themselves
and assume a sitting position.
"I--I don't know whether I've got my own legs or somebody else's,"
gasped Dick, as he extricated those useful members from those of his
companions.
"We are pretty well scrambled," admitted Slim, "and that goes for
brains as well as legs. My head is spinning like a top. Either of
you fellows hurt?"
"Feel as though I'd been drawn through a cement mixer," vouchsafed
Flood. "Think I'll take my meals standing up for a while. But none
of my bones seem out of whack."
"No more such coasting parties for me!" declared Dick. "That is, if
I'm consulted about it beforehand. Gee, what a dizzy whirl!"
"What is it we brought up against at the end, anyway?" asked Flood.
"Don't know," replied Slim, groping behind him, for at that great
depth it was almost impossible to see anything. "Feels like----"
He broke off suddenly and sprang to his feet with a yell.
"It's a plane!" he shouted. "It's the _Hope_! Do you hear me,
fellows? It's the _Hope_!"
"What?" cried Dick. "You're dreaming!"
"It is, I tell you!" reiterated Slim, almost crazy with excitement
and delight. "Feel it! Go over it! Give me your flashlight, Flood."
The young scientist handed it over, and Slim Tyler shot its rays over
the object.
The _Hope_! It stood revealed from nose to tail, broken here, bent
there, a propeller twisted, the undercarriage awry, but by no means
an utter wreck, as Slim Tyler's eye noted at once. If it hadn't been
so big, Slim would have hugged it.
There was the _Hope_. But where was Jerry Marbury?
With dread in his heart, Slim Tyler moved slowly toward the cockpit.
He was afraid to flash the light into it. What might that light
reveal?
But he had to know. With a desperate lunge, he flung the rays into
the cockpit, swept the fuselage and the cabin.
His heart leaped. What he had feared to see was not there!
"He wasn't killed when the plane cracked up," exulted Slim, "or his
body would be here."
"That's something to be thankful for," replied Dick. "Still, it
doesn't really prove anything. He may have been thrown out as the
plane came down."
A shout from a little distance made the three adventurers jump.
"Hello! Hello there!" came in a familiar voice that set Slim's and
Dick's hearts to beating wildly.
"It's Jerry! Jerry!" cried Slim.
He started running in the direction of the shout, flashing the light
ahead of him, his companions close on his heels.
Into the light came Jerry, good old Jerry, hobbling as fast toward
them as a bandaged foot would let him!
Slim and Dick swept him into their arms, pounding him, embracing him,
mauling him, fairly delirious with relief and rapture.
"Alive! Alive!" cried Slim. "Jerry, old boy, I wouldn't exchange
this minute for a million dollars!"
"You'd get stung, then," grinned Jerry, though his eyes were moist
from the warmth of the welcome. "I'm not worth that much, living or
dead. But I feel the same way about you fellows. When you were
thrown out of the plane I was afraid I'd never see you again."
"You stuck to the old ship, though," said Dick, "like the brick you
are."
"No credit to me," disclaimed Jerry. "My straps held me in my seat.
As soon as I got over the shock, I tried to handle the old bus so
that she'd stay aloft. It was no go, though, and she came down at
last where you see her. Came down more slowly than I thought she
would, and yet hard enough to put one of my legs out of commission."
"It isn't broken, is it?" asked Slim quickly.
"Not as bad as that," was the reply. "But the knee was twisted and
the ankle sprained so that this is the first day I've been able to
stand on it. Otherwise, you can bet your life, I'd have been out
hunting for you. But how did you fellows ever get down to the bottom
of this gorge?"
"Tumbled down, and brought up plunk against the plane," laughed Slim.
"And we've found Dave Boyd, Jerry."
"Glory be!" cried Jerry. "Is he all right?"
"Perfectly," replied Slim. "So are the rest of his party. Forced
down, but nobody hurt. They're patching up the plane now." Then
Slim introduced Cameron Flood.
"This sure is my lucky day!" ejaculated Jerry.
"There's one thing in which you were luckier than we were when we
were chucked out," put in Dick. "You've had plenty of grub."
"Yes," grinned Jerry. "What's more, I sure have made a hole in it."
"Well, now to get out of here and back to our camp," suggested Flood.
"The others will be worried if we don't turn up."
"More easily said than done," said Dick, looking ruefully up the
slope down which they had rolled. "We can't go back the way we came,
especially Jerry with his crippled leg," and he pointed to the top,
where the segment that had broken away had left an overhanging cliff.
"Sure enough," muttered Slim. "That makes it bad."
"I was just coming back from a little scouting expedition when you
fellows met me," put in Jerry eagerly. "I found something that
seemed to lead out into the open--a sort of a narrow ice bridge it
looked like from a little distance. Maybe we could turn the trick
with that."
"We'll try anything once," decided Slim Tyler. "Let's get moving.
Suppose you fellows," addressing Dick and Flood, "give Jerry an arm
each and I'll handle the flashlight."
Following Jerry's directions and moving slowly because of the
latter's injured leg, they came before long in sight of the bridge of
ice.
It was a natural formation stretching for perhaps two hundred feet
over a deep gorge and seemed at the farther end to emerge into open
country.
In places it was thick; in others it had been hollowed out beneath by
thaws so that its thickness could be measured only by inches. In no
place was it wide enough for two to go abreast.
Dick Mylert eyed it dubiously as Slim flashed the light upon it.
"Easiest place in the world to fall from," he commented. "And if one
should fall--" He glanced at the yawning gulf below.
"Mighty risky," agreed Slim. "But I'm ready to chance it if the rest
of you are."
There was no dissent, and Slim Tyler led the way with his flashlight.
"Come close behind me, Jerry, and hang on to my shoulder," Slim
directed. "I'll go slowly."
With the utmost precaution they set their feet on the slippery
surface, not lifting one foot till the other was firmly planted.
They had to proceed at a snail's pace. The slightest misstep would
prove fatal. It was a nightmarish journey.
The voyagers' apprehensions were not lessened by the ominous cracking
that made itself heard when they trod on the thinner places of the
structure.
More sinister still in threat was the rumbling that grew ever louder
from the ice cliffs on either side. This presently assumed tangible
form when splinters of ice began to fall.
They were soon more than splinters, large pieces detached from the
cliffs falling about the adventurers and at times narrowly missing
them.
Every impulse urged hurry. But to hurry might itself mean death.
"Steady, boys, steady!" gritted Slim Tyler between his teeth.
At last, after what seemed ages, Slim reached the plateau on the
other side. He gripped Jerry's arm and yanked him to safety.
A hideous rending roar sounded from above.
"Quick, fellows, quick!" yelled Slim.
Dick jumped to the plateau. Flood, who was last, gathered himself
for a spring.
A tremendous mass of ice and rock came down from above.
The ice bridge broke!
CHAPTER XXVI
THE BRINK OF THE ABYSS
A huge piece of the cliff had struck the bridge and the structure,
never too strong at the best, collapsed under the blow.
As Cameron Flood felt the bridge give way under him, he made a
desperate spring for the plateau.
The distance was too great. He struck the side of the plateau with
his chest, his outstretched hands clutching some withered grasses
growing near the edge on the surface above, to which he clung with
the tenacity of despair. There he hung, swinging to and fro over the
fearful chasm hundreds of feet in depth.
It had been said of Slim Tyler that his thinking processes could run
rings around lightning. A fond exaggeration of his friends! But he
proved his quickness now.
In a flash he had seen that Cameron Flood could not clear the space
from the sinking bridge to the plateau. Simultaneously with Flood's
spring, Slim had thrown himself flat on the ground.
"Sit on my legs," he roared to Dick and Jerry.
The grasses that Flood had clutched gave way almost immediately
beneath his weight. But before they had completely yielded, Slim
Tyler's hands had closed on Flood's wrists with a grip of steel.
"I've got you!" he cried. "Don't struggle. I'll pull you up."
Flood obeyed, and inch by inch Slim Tyler hauled him up.
It was a terrific task, for Flood had had the breath knocked out of
him by his impact against the side of the plateau and was a dead
weight.
Slim felt as though his arms were being wrenched from their sockets.
If it had not been for the weight of Dick and Jerry on his legs, he
would have been pulled over the edge, and he and Flood would have
gone down to the depths together.
Strainingly, Slim Tyler drew his burden up until Flood could rest his
elbows on the edge of the plateau. That helped. Then another
heart-breaking pull until Flood could throw one leg over. One final
tug and Slim had drawn him to safety.
The young aviator rolled over on his back, panting, gasping, utterly
exhausted from the terrible mental and physical strain. The fervent
thanks of Flood, the admiring exclamations of Dick and Jerry, seemed
to come to him from far away. It seemed as though he could never get
breath enough into his laboring lungs. Fully five minutes elapsed
before he could speak. Then he sat up and smiled faintly.
"Guess we'd better be getting on," he said.
"Just like that!" exclaimed Dick. "Just done the quickest, nerviest,
pluckiest thing I ever saw, and thinks no more of it than just to
remark that he thinks 'we'd better be getting on.' You just can't
make a hero of that boy. He won't let you. Put him on a pedestal
and he kicks the pedestal over and comes down."
"Oh, shucks!" deprecated Slim. "The chance just came to me and I
took it. Nothing to write home about."
"He's hopeless," pronounced Jerry, shaking his head.
"You saved my life, Slim," said Cameron Flood earnestly, "and I'll
never forget it. It was a wonderful exhibition of coolness, courage
and swift action. I shall be your debtor as long as I live."
"I'm mighty glad I had the chance," replied Slim. "How are you
feeling now? All right?"
"Rather battered, but still in the ring," replied Flood, as he rose
with the rest to continue their journey.
"I think," said Slim, "it would be a good idea to fire the three
shots in succession that we agreed upon in case Jerry were found."
The suggestion was followed, and as sound carried far in that silent
region, it was not long before answering shots told that the rest of
the searchers were hurrying in their direction.
Dave Boyd with his group was the first to reach them, and it was with
a wild cry of delight that Dave recognized Jerry and rushed forward
to fold him in his arms.
"Thank heaven!" he cried. "Jerry, my boy, I'd almost given you up.
Those three shots were the sweetest music I ever heard. Now we've
got all the old bunch together again. This Greenland trip would have
been utterly spoiled for me if anything had happened to any one of
you."
"Two more might have been missing from the list every easily,"
remarked Dick. "A polar bear nearly nabbed Slim and Mr. Flood came
within an ace of falling into a gorge. But luck was with us."
"I should say that Slim Tyler was with us," amended Flood. "He shot
the bear through the brain, making an almost impossible shot, and he
saved me from dropping into the chasm. Apart from that, he didn't do
anything much."
"Trust that lad to be always on the job," observed Dave Boyd. "It
was a lucky day when I met him. But let's get along to the camp
before it grows too dark to see."
It was a jubilant party that gathered about the supper table that
night and went over the events of the day. A fearful weight had been
lifted from the minds of all. What was painful in the past had been
wiped out. The present was serene. The future could take care of
itself.
No opportunity had yet been afforded Slim to speak to Cameron Flood
about the lumber deal in which the father of each had been concerned.
In the anxiety about Jerry Marbury, that had been shoved to the back
of Slim's mind. But after supper, as he was sitting next to Flood
before a roaring fire that had been built outdoors, the young aviator
broached the subject.
"Mr. Flood," he said, "have you ever heard of Nat Shaley?"
Flood started.
CHAPTER XXVII
SPEEDING HOMEWARD
"Nat Shaley?" exclaimed Cameron Flood in answer to Slim Tyler's
question. "You bet I've heard of him, worse luck! What on earth
brought that old rascal to your mind?"
"Rascal is right," agreed Slim. "I see you have him sized up. I've
had him in my mind for a long time. I think he swindled my father
out of twenty thousand dollars."
"Shake!" said Flood extending his hand. "Our fathers were brothers
in misfortune. I have reason to think that he swindled my dad to the
tune of forty thousand."
"Have you any definite proof of that?" asked Slim eagerly.
"None too definite, I'm afraid," replied Flood meditatively. "A
virtual certainty, but perhaps not a legal one. There seem to be
some links missing in the proof. So, at any rate, our family lawyer
seems to think."
"Yes, I got a letter from him," declared Slim.
"You did?" asked Flood curiously. "What prompted you to get in touch
with him?"
"This," replied Slim, taking the thumbed, greasy notebook of High Hat
Frank from his pocket.
He told Flood of the way in which the notebook had come into his
possession, and the two went over it with the keenest interest.
"That broken word 'Tyl'," said Slim, putting his finger on it. "I'm
sure that it refers to my father."
"I know it does," asseverated Flood emphatically. "I can remember my
father speaking of a Mr. Tyler who was at one time associated with
him in business. What was your father's first name?"
"Stillwell," replied Slim.
"That's it!" cried Flood. "I remember thinking of it at the time as
an unusual name. What a queer coincidence it is that has thrown us
together!"
"It is, for a fact," agreed Slim. "Doesn't it mean, perhaps, that
we're to be partners in tracking down Nat Shaley?"
"Certainly looks like it," assented Flood. "And I'm with you in that
till the cows come home. But it will be no easy task. That old fox
has probably covered his trail pretty well. But there's a weak point
somewhere in every villain's plans, and you and I will do our best to
find it. Gee, I'd like to put the screws on the old scoundrel!"
"Same here," declared Slim. "Not only has he cheated my father, but
he's done me dirt in every way he could. Robbed me of my wages, had
me arrested on a false charge, lied to me, tried to bribe me. I have
a heavy score to settle with him."
"I'll stir up my lawyer as soon as I get back," promised Flood, "and
see if we can't get action. Don't worry about the funds. I'm fairly
well fixed financially, and all the money we need will be
forthcoming. Sooner or later we'll bring Nat Shaley to book and make
him pay back every dollar he stole."
"That will suit me right down to the ground," said Slim. "Here's
hoping!"
The next morning, Dave Boyd, accompanied by Slim Tyler and Biff
Donovan, went over to the valley where the _Hope_ had come down. It
took hours of searching before they found access to it through a pass
in the mountains.
"Not so bad," pronounced Dave, after the three had made a careful
examination of the plane. "We have spare parts enough, and she can
be put in prime condition without too much trouble."
"But she can never rise from here," remarked Biff. "No runway for a
take-off."
"I was coming to that," said Dave. "We'll have to disassemble her,
carry the parts out piece by piece, take them to our camp, and put
them together again. It'll be a whale of a job, especially with the
motors, but a block and tackle will work wonders."
It took nearly a week of hard work before the parts were all
transferred to the scientists' camp, and nearly two weeks more, with
their lack of machine shop facilities, before the plane could be put
in condition to fly. But with Slim and Jerry it was a labor of love,
and the other aviators joined in whole-heartedly, until at last the
_Hope_, as good as ever, stood ready for the homeward flight.
In the meantime the scientists had fully achieved the objects of
their expedition. They had accomplished more than they had dared
hope and were in high feather over the results.
The _Flying Cloud_ also had been fully repaired, with the exception
of the radio sets, of which all the tubes had been smashed, including
those designed for replacements.
This had been a source of keen regret to Dave Boyd, and to the others
as well, especially to those who had families. No messages could be
sent, and the outside world was wholly in ignorance as to the fate
that had befallen the party. For all that the world knew, the
voyagers of both the _Flying Cloud_ and the _Hope_ had perished.
One person in the party, however, had no regrets at the radio
failure. Dick Mylert, in his own words, was "riding high and sitting
pretty."
"Peaches and cream for me!" jubilated the young newspaper man, the
instinct of his profession uppermost. "Exclusive story by an
eye-witness of the great Greenland Expedition! Thrilling details!
I'll write the whole thing up on the way home and be ready to put it
hot on the wire the moment we land. The other papers will be crazy.
And maybe my boss won't be tickled pink! I'll be the cream in his
coffee. Big jump in salary! Bonus! Promotion! Blessings on that
smashed radio!"
"Go to it, old scout," laughed Slim Tyler. "You've surely earned it."
A slight change was made in the grouping of the voyagers on the
return flight, Cameron Flood going in the _Hope_ with Slim and Jerry,
while Dick Mylert was transferred to the _Flying Cloud_.
Boyd was the first to take off, and a few minutes later Slim Tyler
lifted the _Hope_ into the air.
"Good-by, Greenland!" waved Jerry.
"And Hail, Columbia!" added Flood, as the plane straightened out for
home.
CHAPTER XXVIII
NAT SHALEY GETS A JOLT
The start of the homeward flight was auspicious. Fate, that had been
so harsh to the voyagers on their outward trip, made amends by the
fair winds and favorable weather that accompanied them on their
flight over Davis Straits to the mainland of the American Continent.
The voyagers had planned to make their first stop at Montreal for two
reasons. One was to replenish their stock of gasoline, which was
running low in each plane and would not suffice for the entire trip.
Another was to drop off Dick Mylert so that that enterprising young
man could rush to the telegraph office and send his great exclusive
news story over the wires to his New York paper before the rest of
the world should have any inkling that the intrepid Greenland
adventurers were safe and sound and on their way home.
For the greater part of the flight over the Canadian wilds the planes
kept each other in sight. Twice they were separated, once in a fog
and again in a storm of moderate violence, but they managed to rejoin
each other and came down to refuel at Montreal only a few minutes
apart.
"Not a word now to anybody," implored the young newspaper man, as he
bade his companions a cordial farewell before hastening to the
telegraph station.
"We'll be as dumb as oysters," promised Dave Boyd, and the rest
nodded assent. "Wouldn't spoil your story for anything. If it isn't
going to take you too long, we'll wait here for you."
"Thanks just the same," replied Dick. "But there's no knowing how
long it will be before I can get a clear wire for a story of this
length, and you'd better go along. I'll take a train for New York as
soon as I get through."
"Run up to North Elmwood as soon as you get a chance," urged Slim.
"If you don't, we'll come down and kidnap you," added Jerry.
"You bet I'll come!" promised Dick. "And out of that jump in salary
I'm going to get I'll blow you to the best dinner that your hotel
there can furnish."
"Or better yet, we'll clean out Carl Stummel's hot dog stand,"
laughed Slim.
"That wouldn't be so bad either," replied Dick, chuckling. "The
memory of his hot dogs lingers."
The newspaper man hurried off with a wave of his hand, and Slim Tyler
and Jerry Marbury looked after him with keen regret at losing him.
He had been a staunch, courageous comrade, always bright, always
jolly, a "regular fellow" in the fullest sense of the word.
The party had to parry many questions from the mechanics and pilots
on the field while the planes were being refueled, but they avoided
revealing their identity, and when they rose again into the air for
the final lap home Dick Mylert's secret was still his own.
"In Uncle Sam's country once more!" exclaimed Slim a little while
later, as the _Hope_ swept over the Canadian border.
"It sure looks good to me!" ejaculated Jerry. "There have been times
on this trip when I wouldn't have given a plugged nickel for my
chance of ever seeing it again."
It was with a thrill of exultation impossible to describe that, at
about noon on the next day, they found themselves hovering over the
old familiar field of North Elmwood.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Jerry in amazement. "Here we thought we'd
take them by surprise, and the field is black with people."
"So it is," replied Slim. "Dick got his story through all right, and
after his paper got the first hack at it I suppose the news was
flashed all over America."
As indeed it had. The big New York newspaper had electrified the
world by its great first-page story with screaming headlines about
the finding of the Greenland adventurers, and instantly the press
associations had sent the news to every town and hamlet of America
and to the capitals of Europe.
Long before, the voyagers had been given up for lost and now it was
like a return from the dead. It was the sensation of the day, and
from every part of the country reporters in shoals and the populace
by thousands were hurrying to North Elmwood.
So it was a tremendous reception that was accorded the daring
explorers when the planes descended like weary birds to the home
field. The voyagers were fairly mobbed by the crowds, whose
enthusiasm could not be held in check.
There was glory enough for all, but Dave Boyd and Slim Tyler were the
special heroes of that great homecoming, Boyd because of the
admiration in which he was held as the greatest aviator in the world
and Slim Tyler because of his intrepid daring in leading the mission
of rescue.
But better than all the applause and admiration showered on Slim was
the meeting with his old friends. They were all there, rotund Henry
Cusack, his face beaming like a full moon; Tom Ellsworth, who nearly
wrung his hand off; Henry Traut, with his little boy whose life Slim
had saved, well and rosy now, who squealed with delight as Slim took
him up in his arms; and Carl Stummel, good old Carl, who fairly
blubbered as he threw his arms about Slim.
"Und it vos deadt dot I beleefed you vos, alretty!" he exclaimed.
"Und here you iss alife yet!"
"You couldn't kill me with an axe," declared Slim. "I'm----"
He broke off suddenly, for he saw a familiar figure edging away
through the crowd.
"Just a minute, Carl," he excused himself. He turned to Cameron
Flood, who had been standing by, smiling. "Come with me a minute,
Cam." He had long dropped the more formal "Mr. Flood." "You'll meet
a mutual friend of ours."
The two slipped away in the wake of the retreating figure.
"It's Nat Shaley," Slim explained, as they hurried along. "I want to
give him a shock by introducing you. He may let slip something that
will help us."
They overtook Shaley just after he had turned into a side street,
passed him and turned about, blocking his path.
The old rascal started violently as he recognized Slim Tyler.
"How are you, Mr. Shaley?" said Slim. "I'm back again, you see."
"What's that to me?" snarled Shaley. "I wouldn't have keerd if you'd
never come back."
"I don't doubt it," replied Slim. "You might have been saved a
lawsuit later on. Speaking of lawsuits, I want to introduce you to a
friend of mine."
"I don't want no truck with you nor your friends," growled Shaley.
"I'm surprised," returned Slim. "Don't you want to meet Mr. Cameron
Flood?"
The name struck Nat Shaley like a blow. He turned pale and looked
with fear in his eyes at the stranger.
"You seem to know the name," said Flood. "Yes, I'm the son of
Cameron Flood, who was associated with you at one time in the Mt.
Sunwa lumber deal."
Nat Shaley staggered. He licked his lips, tried to speak.
"Never heerd of him," he managed to get out at last. "Never heerd of
that outlandish Mount somethin' or other you're gabbin' about. Never
wuz in Oregon----"
"Who said anything about Oregon?" asked Flood quickly.
Shaley could have bitten his tongue off for the slip. He took refuge
in bluster.
"If you fellers is tryin' any blackmailin' on me, you'd better look
out," he fumed. "There's laws ag'inst that kind o' thing an' don't
you fergit it."
"There are laws against many things," agreed Flood. "One of those
things is swindling. My father had a claim against you for forty
thousand dollars. Mr. Tyler had another for twenty thousand. That's
sixty thousand in all, and the interest to date will be almost as
much more. Those claims are going to be pressed, Mr. Shaley--do you
get that? pressed--and you'll pay every cent!"
"You ain't got proof," Shaley was beginning, when a throng of
departing spectators from the field came round the corner and Shaley,
thankful for the opportunity, lost himself in the swirl.
"Gave him a jolt, anyway," remarked Slim.
"He'll get more of a jolt before we're through with him," averred
Flood, setting his jaw hard. "We'll press this thing to the limit,
and I'm pretty sure that we're going to win."
That night for the first time in many weeks Slim Tyler slept between
sheets. It had been a crowded day, full of glory and triumph, and he
was still tingling with the excitement of it as he slipped into bed.
"That was the top notch," he murmured to himself. "Afraid things are
going to be rather dull after this."
But he was mistaken. Other thrilling experiences were in store for
him, and what they were will be told in another volume, entitled: "An
Air Cargo of Gold; or, Slim Tyler, Special Bank Messenger," in which
we shall meet Slim in some of the most daring adventures of his life.
A breezy night letter from Dick Mylert reached Slim the next morning.
"Did you read my story? Wasn't it a knockout? And, say, didn't it
hit the boss hard! He all but gave me the business. I'm the salt in
his gravy. Doubled my salary! Five thousand bonus! Biggest scoop
in years! And he thinks you're the ace of all aviators. Told him
how your endurance flight was knocked cock-eyed by that Shaley
fellow. He's going to offer a big prize for beating the present
refueling endurance record. There's your chance and Jerry's. Go in
and win."
There was more of the same tenor, but Slim's special interest was
caught and held by the publisher's offer. What he and Jerry did
regarding that offer is another story.
"Vell, Shlim," said Carl that night, as the two were hobnobbing over
the hot dog counter, "ain't id aboud time dot you vos down settling?
Vot mit der wolfs und der bolar pears, und der shtorms in der skies
und der smashin' der mountains against, ain'd it dot you haf enough
ockcitement got alretty?"
"I'll never have enough excitement," replied Slim. "Excitement is
life. I can't do without it. I thrive on it. I eat it up."
"Veil, eat id on der groundt den, vere you can put your feets down,"
urged Carl. "Gif up dot flying."
"Give up flying?" cried Slim Tyler, his eyes shining. "Never, Carl!
Never! The air is my home!"
THE END
----------------------------------------------------------------------
SLIM TYLER AIR STORIES
By RICHARD H. STONE
_A new group of stories for boys by a new author whose excellent air
adventures are so realistically written and so up to the minute in
all their implications as to win ready admiration from all readers._
1. SKY RIDERS OF THE ATLANTIC
_or Slim Tyler's First Trip in the Clouds_
Slim Tyler though but a boy, finds himself confronted by troubles and
by enemies that might well have dismayed a man. By pluck and
straight thinking he fights clear of entanglements and gains a place
he has long coveted among flyers.
2. LOST OVER GREENLAND
_or Slim Tyler's Search for Dave Boyd_
Slim Tyler sets out in search of his friend and patron who is lost
over Greenland, and in so doing has many hair-raising adventures that
make an absorbing story.
3. AN AIR CARGO OF GOLD
_or Slim Tyler, Special Bank Messenger_
Quick-witted and resourceful, Slim, after strenuous efforts to gain
the world's endurance record, faces more odds when he makes a
perilous trip carrying a cargo of gold.
4. ADRIFT OVER HUDSON BAY
_or Slim Tyler in the Land of Ice_
Blazing the great Northeastern trail against great odds, this story
will captivate the hearts of the boys.
5. AN AIRPLANE MYSTERY
_or Slim Tyler on the Trail_
The story of the rescue, after the flyers had been given up for lost,
was a "whale of a story."
6. SECRET SKY EXPRESS
_or Slim Tyler Saving a Fortune_
A story of many episodes and thrills against great odds.
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
----------------------------------------------------------------------
MYSTERY AND ADVENTURE BOOKS FOR BOYS
SOUTH FROM HUDSON BAY, by E. C. BRILL
A thrilling tale of the coming of settlers from France and
Switzerland to the wilderness of the Prairie country of the Red River
district, and the adventures of three boys who find themselves
entangled in the fate of the little colony.
THE SECRET CACHE, by E. C. BRILL
The father of two boys, a fur hunter, has been seriously injured by
an Indian. Before he dies he succeeds in telling the younger son
about a secret cache of valuable furs. The directions are incomplete
but the boys start off to find the Cache, and with the help of men
from a nearby settlement capture the Indian and bring him to justice.
THE ISLAND OF YELLOW SANDS, by E. C. BRILL
An exciting story of Adventure in Colonial Days in the primitive
country around Lake Superior, when the forest and waters were the
hunting ground of Indians, hunters and trappers.
LOST CITY OF THE AZTECS, by J. A. LATH
Four chums find a secret code stuck inside the binding of an old book
written many years ago by a famous geologist. The boys finally solve
the code and learn of the existence of the remnant of a civilized
Aztec tribe inside an extinct crater in the southern part of Arizona.
How they find these Aztecs, and their many stirring adventures makes
a story of tremendous present-day scientific interest that every boy
will enjoy.
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE BOMBA BOOKS
By ROY ROCKWOOD
_Bomba lived far back in the jungles of the Amazon with a
half-demented naturalist who told the lad nothing of his past. The
jungle boy was a lover of birds, and hunted animals with a bow and
arrow and his trusty machete. He had only a primitive education, and
his daring adventures will be followed with breathless interest by
thousands._
1. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY
2. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AT THE MOVING MOUNTAIN
3. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AT THE GIANT CATARACT
4. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY ON JAGUAR ISLAND
5. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY IN THE ABANDONED CITY
6. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY ON TERROR TRAIL
7. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY IN THE SWAMP OF DEATH
8. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AMONG THE SLAVES
9. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY ON THE UNDERGROUND RIVER
10. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AND THE LOST EXPLORERS
11. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY IN A STRANGE LAND
12. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AMONG THE PYGMIES
13. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AND THE CANNIBALS
14. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AND THE PAINTED HUNTERS
15. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AND THE RIVER DEMONS
16. BOMBA THE JUNGLE BOY AND THE HOSTILE CHIEFTAIN
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GREAT ACE SERIES
By NOEL SAINSBURY, JR.
Author of THE CHAMPION SPORT STORIES
_Here is a series of rattling good flying stories told by an expert.
A boy-aviator's adventures in the wilds of New Guinea, Arabia, South
America and other strange lands. Billy Smith, son of an eminent
explorer, learns to pilot a seaplane aboard a Naval Air Station, and
immediately fares forth upon a series of the most exciting cruises
and mysterious quests by air, by land and by sea that have ever
fallen to the lot of man. The author, a traveller and ex-naval
aviator, brings many of his own adventures into these tales. Every
boy with a drop of red blood in his veins will want to join Billy
Smith in his thrilling quests._
1. BILLY SMITH--EXPLORING ACE
_or By Airplane to New Guinea_
The story of a fourteen-year-old lad, taught to pilot a seaplane by
his uncle, Lieut.-Commander on a Naval Air Station. Together they
are forced down at sea, and Lieut.-Com. Smith is so impressed with
the lad's courage in this trying situation that he takes Billy with
him to New Guinea to help search for Billy's father.
2. BILLY SMITH--SECRET SERVICE ACE
_or Airplane Adventures in Arabia_
Billy Smith again proves his mettle in a series of adventures that
take him to Port Sudan on the Red Sea and the Holy City of Hejaz.
3. BILLY SMITH--MYSTERY ACE
_or Airplane Discoveries in South America_
Doctor Stanton, bird man of the Natural History Museum disappeared in
the Amazon Jungles. The Smiths, father and son are ordered to find
him, and the trail leads to an outpost rubber plantation, where Billy
is lost in the jungle and captured by the cannibal Mangeroma Indians.
4. BILLY SMITH--TRAIL EATER ACE
_or Into the Wilds of Northern Alaska_
Another exciting story. Billy Smith and his pal, Nuky, with the aid
of Billy's father set a trap to catch desperate gangsters which they
succeed in doing after many thrilling adventures.
5. BILLY SMITH--SHANGHAIED ACE
_or Malay Pirates and Solomon Island Cannibals_
Billy shanghaied while on a search for a missing steamer and one
passenger in particular, escapes in time to be of vast help, after
all, and bring off a famous rescue in the South Sea Islands.
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers New York
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