The propellers, as I have said, could be reached from the open deck, and thither Mr. Vardon, Dick, and Lieutenant McBride took themselves, while Paul, Innis and Larry would look after the progress of the craft from the pilot-house and motor-room.
Slowly Dick’s airship went along, just enough speed being maintained to prevent her settling. She barely held her own, while, far ahead of her, and fast disappearing in the distance, could be seen the other craft–that carrying Uncle Ezra.
“I guess it’s all up with us,” murmured Paul, as he went to the wheel.
“No, it isn’t!” cried Dick. “I’m not going to give up yet! We can still make time when we get the repairs made, and I’ll run the motor until her bearings melt before I give up!”
“That’s the way to talk!” cried the army man. “And we’re all with you. There’s a good chance yet, for those fellows must be desperate, or they’d never have tried what they did. My opinion is that they hope to reach San Francisco in a last dash, and they were afraid we’d come in ahead of them. But I can’t understand how that army man aboard would permit such a thing. It is past belief!”
It was no easy task to make the repairs with the airship in motion. Spare parts, including a sprocket chain, were carried aboard, but the work had to be done close to the other revolving propeller, and, as slowly as it was whirling about, it went fast enough to cause instant death to whoever was hit by it. So extreme caution had to be used.
To add to the troubles it began to rain violently, and a thunderstorm developed, which made matters worse. Out in the pelting storm, with electrically-charged clouds all about them, and vivid streaks of lightning hissing near them, the aviators worked.
They were drenched to the skin. Their hands were bruised and cut by slipping wrenches and hammers. Their faces were covered with black grease, dirt and oil. But still they labored on. The storm grew worse, and it was all the Abaris could do to stagger ahead, handicapped as she was by half power.
But there were valiant hearts aboard her, and everyone was imbued with indomitable courage.
“We’re going to do it!” Dick cried, fiercely, and the others echoed his words.
Finally, after many hours of work, the last rivet was driven home, and Mr. Vardon cried:
“There we are! Now then, full speed ahead!”
The repaired propeller was thrown into gear. It meshed perfectly, and once more the Abaris shot ahead under her full power.
“Speed her up!” cried Dick, and the motor was put to the limit. But much precious time had been lost. Could they win under such adverse circumstances? It was a question each one asked himself.
Darkness came on, and the tired and weary aviators ate and slept. The night passed, a clear, calm night, for the storm had blown itself out. High over the mountains soared the airship through the hours of darkness. She was fighting to recover what she had lost.
And when morning came they calculated they were but a few hundred miles from San Francisco.
Paul, who had gone to the pilot-house to relieve Innis, gave a startled cry.
“Look! Look!” he shouted. “There’s the other airship!”
And as the others looked they saw, ahead of them, emerging from the midst of a cloud, Uncle Ezra’s speedy craft. And, as they looked, they saw something else–something that filled them with horror.
For, as they gazed at the craft which had so nearly, either by accident or design, wrecked them, they saw one of the big side planes crumple up, as does a bird’s broken wing. Either the supports had given way, or a sudden gust of air strained it too much.
“They’re falling!” cried Dick, hoarsely.
The other airship was. The broken plane gave no support on that side, and as the motor still raced on, whirling the big propellers, the Larabee, unevenly balanced, in spite of the mercury stabilizers, tilted to one side.
Then, a hopeless wreck, she turned over and plunged downward toward the earth. Her race was over.
CHAPTER XXXII
SAVING UNCLE EZRA
For a moment those aboard Dick’s airship uttered not a sound. Then, as they saw the rival craft sifting slowly downward, gliding from side to side like a sheet of paper, they looked at one another with horror in their eyes. It seemed such a terrible end.
Dick was the first to speak.
“We’ll have to go down and help them,” he said simply. “Some of them may be–alive!”
It meant stopping the race, it meant making the last of the two landings allowed them. And it was a landing in a wild and desolate place, seemingly, for there was no sign of city or town below them. And just now, after her repairs, when everything was running smoothly, it behooved Dick and his associates to take advantage of every mile and minute they could gain. Otherwise some other craft might get in ahead of them.
Yet Dick had said they must go down. There was no other course left them, in the name of humanity. As the young millionaire had observed, some of those in the wrecked airship might be alive. They might survive the fall, great as it was.
“Send her down, Mr. Vardon,” said Dick quietly. “We may be able to save some of them.”
If he thought that possibly he was losing his last chance to win the trans-continental race, he said nothing about it.
The motor was shut off, and there was silence aboard the Abaris. No one felt like talking. As they volplaned downward they saw the wreck of the Larabee strike the outer branches of a big tree, and then turn over again before crashing to the ground.
“She may catch fire from the gasolene,” said Dick, in a tense voice. “We ought to hurry all we can.”
“I could go down faster,” said Mr. Vardon, “by starting up the motor. But I don’t like to until I see what sort of landing ground we’ll have.”
“No, it’s wiser to go a bit slowly,” agreed Lieutenant McBride. “We must save ourselves in order to save them–if possible. It’s a terrible accident!”
As they came nearer earth they saw a comparatively smooth and level spot amid a clearing of trees. It was not far from where the wreck lay, a crumpled-up mass. Down floated the Abaris gently, and hardly had she ceased rolling along on her wheels that Dick and the others rushed out to lend their aid to Uncle Ezra and the others.
Dick’s uncle lay at some little distance from the broken craft.
“He’s alive,” said his nephew, feeling of the old man’s heart. “He’s still breathing.”
Lieutenant Wilson, as the name of the army officer on the Larabee was learned later to be, seemed quite badly injured. He was tangled up in the wreckage, and it took some work to extricate him. Larson was the most severely hurt. He was tenderly placed to one side. Fortunately the wreck had not caught fire.
“Let’s see if we can revive them,” suggested Lieutenant McBride, nodding toward Uncle Ezra and his fellow soldiers. “Then we will consider what is best to do.”
Simple restoratives were carried aboard Dick’s airship, and these were given to Uncle Ezra, who revived first. He opened his eyes and sat up.
“Where–where am I?” he stammered. “Did I win the race?”
“No, Uncle Ezra, I’m sorry to say you didn’t,” answered Dick, gently. “There was an accident, and your airship is smashed.”
The old man slowly looked over to the crumpled mass of planes and machinery, and then, slowly and painfully, for he was much bruised, he pulled a note-book from his pocket. Leafing over the pages he announced:
“Busted to smithereens, and she cost me exactly eleven thousand five hundred and thirty-three dollars and nineteen cents! Oh, what a lot of money!” And the expression on his face was so painful that Dick felt inclined to laugh, solemn as the occasion was. But he restrained himself.
“Where’s that fellow Larson?” asked Uncle Ezra.
“Badly hurt,” said Dick, quietly.
“Oh, well, then I won’t say anything,” murmured the old man. “Oh, what a trip it was!”
“Are you much hurt?” asked Dick.
It did not appear that his uncle was. The fall had been a lucky one for him. His helmet had protected his head, and he had on two suits of clothes, well padded. The others were dressed likewise, but it had not saved Larson.
Lieutenant Wilson’s most serious injury was a broken leg, but he was also otherwise hurt. He soon recovered consciousness, and said:
“Please don’t misjudge me. I could not stop Larson from trying to ram you. He was insane, I guess. We have had a terrible time with him. He was mad to try to win this race. We remonstrated with him when he sailed toward you, but he said he was only trying to show you what a superior machine he had, and how much better his mercury stabilizers worked than your gyroscope. But I really fear he meant you some injury.”
“I think so, too,” said Lieutenant McBride, “and I am glad to learn no one else was in the plot.”
“And his own foolish actions were the cause of this wreck,” went on Lieutenant Wilson. “He said he was sure of winning after he had left you behind, and he wanted to try some experiments in quick turns. He made one too quick, and broke off one of the planes.”
“Well, we must consider what is to be done,” said Mr. Vardon. “We must get you all to a hospital and a doctor, at once.”
“Don’t mind about me,” replied Lieutenant Wilson, gamely. “If you can send me help, do so, but don’t delay here. Go on and win the race. You have the best chance, I believe.”
“We don’t go on until we see you cared for,” spoke Dick. “We would take you all with us, only it might endanger you.”
“Well, I wish you’d take me!” exclaimed Uncle Ezra, limping about. “I want to get back home. Nephew Richard, I’m sorry I tried to beat you in this race.”
“That’s all right, Uncle Ezra,” answered the young millionaire. “You had as good a right to try for the prize as I did.”
“But I want to say I didn’t have no hand in trying to butt into you,” went on Mr. Larabee. “It was all that–that unfortunate man’s idea,” he added more softly, as he gazed at Larson who was still unconscious. “Dick, will you forgive me, and shake hands?”
“Surely, Uncle Ezra,” and as their hands met, Grit, who had been eyeing Mr. Larabee narrowly, uttered a joyful bark, and actually wagged his tail at Uncle Ezra.
“Grit, you shake hands, too,” ordered Dick, and though Uncle Ezra was a little diffident at first, he grasped the extended paw of the bulldog. They were friends for the first time.
“We could take Uncle Ezra in the airship,” said Paul, after a pause, “and if we could only send out a call for help for Lieutenant Wilson and Larson, they would be looked after.”
“There’s an army post not far from here,” spoke Wilson. “If you could make a trip there–“
“We’d have to land again, to summon aid, and this is the last stop we are allowed in the race,” said Mr. Vardon. “I don’t see how–“
“Your wireless!” interrupted Lieutenant McBride. “We can send out a call to the army post by that–if they have a wireless station.”
“They have,” answered Lieutenant Wilson, as his fellow officer looked at him. “If you will summon aid from there, we will be well taken care of.”
“Good!” cried Dick. “That problem is solved.”
The wireless apparatus was brought out, the small balloon inflated, and it carried aloft the aerials. Then, while the call for aid was being sent out, Lieutenants Wilson and Larson were made as comfortable as possible, and some of Uncle Ezra’s scratches and bruises were looked after.
“No more airships for me,” he said bitterly, though with a chastened spirit. “I’m going to stick to farming, and my woolen mill. Just think of it–over eleven thousand dollars in that pile of–junk!” and he shook his head sadly at the wreck of his airship.
“We’ll take you on to San Francisco with us, if you like,” said Dick. “You can see us win the race–if we can,” he added.
“You still have an excellent chance,” said Lieutenant McBride. “My advice to you would be to remain here a few days to rest up and make sure all your machinery is in good order. The time will not count against you. By that time the injured ones will be cared for. Then you can go on again and complete the course. You have enough oil and gasolene, have you not?”
“We could ask that some be brought from the army post, if we have not,” Dick answered. “I think we will adopt that plan.”
“And I–I hope you win,” said Uncle Ezra. “I’d like to see that twenty thousand dollars come into the family, anyhow,” he added, with a mountainous sigh.
CHAPTER XXXIII
WITH UNCLE EZRA’S HELP
“We’re off!”
“On the last lap!”
“No more landings!”
Thus cried Innis, Paul and Larry as they stood in the cabin of the airship. Once more they were on the flight.
“This train makes no stops this side of San Francisco!” cried Dick Hamilton, after the manner of the conductor of a Limited. “That is, I hope we don’t,” he added with a grim smile. “If we do it will cost me twenty thousand dollars.”
“Quite an expensive stop,” observed Lieutenant McBride.
“Don’t think of it!” said Uncle Ezra. “Nephew Richard, after my failure, you’ve just GOT to win that prize.”
“I’ll try,” Dick answered.
It was several days after the events narrated in the last chapter. The wireless, sending out its crackling call, had brought speedy help from the army post, and the two lieutenants were taken to the hospital by their fellow soldiers.
Larson recovered consciousness before Dick and his friends left, but was delirious, and practically insane. They had to bind him with ropes to prevent him doing himself and others an injury. His mind had been affected for some time, it was believed.
Some time later, I am glad to say, he recovered, in a sanitorium, though he was always lame from the accident. He was a much different man, however, and begged Dick’s forgiveness for trying to collide with him. Lieutenant Wilson made a quick recovery, and, in spite of the mishap, still kept up his interest in aviation, winning much fame for himself.
The army officers, who came to attend the injured ones, brought Dick some supplies and gasolene.
Uncle Ezra begged that some part of his wrecked airship be saved, but it was impossible. There was little left that was worth anything, and Dick, by taking his uncle as an extra passenger, added enough weight as it was, so that no parts of the Larabee could be taken along.
“I might have saved a little,” said Uncle Ezra, with a sigh. “I’ve lost a pile of money!” But he realized that it was out of the question.
The Abaris had been gone over minutely, and put in excellent shape for her final dash. She was taken to the edge of a sloping table-land and there once more launched into space. Before that, however, Lieutenant Wilson had been taken back to the army post, and Larson sent to the hospital. Lieutenant Wilson wished Dick and his friends all sorts of good luck.
Then, with Uncle Ezra aboard, the start was made. There was some crowding, because of the extra passenger, and his valise, which he insisted on bringing with him, but this could be borne.
“We ought to make San Francisco in three hours now,” said Dick, when they were up in the air once more.
Uncle Ezra was frankly delighted with his nephew’s craft. He did not even say it was wasteful, when Dick told him how much she cost.
“I know airships are terrible expensive–terrible!” said Mr. Larabee, as he looked at the note-book in which he had jotted down every item of money paid for his own.
That Larson had wasted money, and used much of what was given him for his own purposes was very evident. But it was too late to think of that now.
Uncle Ezra told of their experiences in crossing the continent. They had really had excellent luck, and in the hands of a better aviator, or one more dependable, the Larabee might have won the race. She was really a good biplane, but could only carry three, and then with no comfort at all, as compared to Dick’s. But the mercury stabilizers worked fairly well, though not as good as the gyroscope.
“Yes, I was sorry, more than once, that I ever left Dankville,” Uncle Ezra said, “but Larson wouldn’t let me stop. He kept right on. I’m sure he was crazy.”
On and on rushed the Abaris. She was racing against time now, and every minute and mile counted. While down on the ground, helping save Uncle Ezra, Dick had, by wireless, communicated with the army authorities in San Francisco, telling them he was coming on the last stage, and asking that a landing-place be designated. This was done, Presido Park Reservation, on the outskirts of the city being named as the spot where the craft could officially come down.
“We’ll soon be there,” remarked Dick, who was at the wheel. It was afternoon, and by computation they were not more than ninety miles from their goal.
“See anything of any other craft?” asked Paul of his chum.
“Take a look, Innis,” suggested the young millionaire. “We might get a race at the last minute.”
Innis swept the horizon with the glasses.
“There’s something coming behind us,” he said. “I can’t tell whether it’s a big bird, or an airship.”
A little later, however, the speck in the blue sky was made out to be a big biplane, rushing onward.
“They’re probably trying for the prize,” said Dick. “Of course we don’t know anything about their time and stops, but, just the same, I’m going to beat her in, if I can. We’ll run the motor under forced speed, Mr. Vardon, and feed her heated gasolene.”
“That’s the idea!” cried the aviator. “That ought to help some.”
The motor was so adjusted as to take heated gasolene, the liquid vaporizing and exploding better than when cold. The Abaris rushed on at increased speed.
But so, also, came on behind her the other airship. As Dick had said, that craft might have no chance, having used up more than her limit of stops, or having consumed more elapsed time than had he. But, for all that, he was taking no chances.
The other craft was a swift one. That was easily seen as it slowly crept up on Dick. The speed of each was terrific. The gages showed ninety-five miles an hour for the Abaris. At that rate the city of Oakland, just across the bay from San Francisco, was soon sighted.
And then something happened that nearly put Dick out of the race. His motor suddenly stopped, and all efforts to start it proved futile.
“We’ve got to go down!” cried our hero, and within sight of the goal, too! This is fierce!”
“What’s the trouble?” asked Larry.
“Not a drop of gasolene left!” said Mr. Vardon, with a tragic gesture, as he made an examination. “There’s a leak in the tank. We haven’t a drop left. The vibration must have opened a seam and we’ve been spilling our fuel as we went along.”
“There goes the other airship!” cried Innis, as the big biplane flashed by them. They had now crossed Oakland and the bay.
“And the Presido Park is in sight!” yelled Paul, pointing to a big field, now black with people, for the coming of Dick had been flashed all over San Francisco and Oakland.
“We can never make it,” the young millionaire murmured. “We’ll have to volplane down, but we can’t reach the park. Oh, for a gallon of gasolene! One gallon would do!”
“What’s that!” cried Uncle Ezra, coming from his bunk room. “What do you want of gasolene?”
“To complete the trip,” cried Dick. “Ours is all gone! A gallon would do.”
“Then, by hickory, you shall have it!” suddenly cried Mr. Larabee.
“Where can you get it?” demanded Dick. “There isn’t a drop aboard!
“Oh, yes there is!” his uncle answered. “Here it is,” and he brought from his room a square, gallon can.
“Great Scott!” cried Dick, as he took it and hurried with it toward the empty tank. “Where in the world did you get it?”
“I brought it along in my valise to clean the grease spots off my clothes,” answered Uncle Ezra, simply. “I got all oil from my airship. But I wasn’t going to buy a new suit when I could clean my old one.”
“Whoop!” cried Dick, with boyish enthusiasm. “This may save the race for us.”
The Abaris had already begun to settle down, but a moment later, as the motor received the supply of gasolene so Providentially provided, she shot forward again, her momentum scarcely checked.
On and on she rushed. It was nip and tuck now between her and the rival airship. The big crowd in the aviation field yelled and shouted at the sight of the thrilling race.
The other airship seemed to falter and hesitate. The pilot cut off his motor, but too soon. Dick rushed his craft on, passed the other, and then, seeing that he had the advantage, he turned off his power, and volplaned to the landing spot just about fifteen seconds in advance of his rival. He had beaten in the race at the last minute. But it still remained to be seen whether he had triumphed over other, and possibly previous, arrivals.
Out of the Abaris rushed the young millionaire and his friends before she had ceased rolling over the ground. The other biplane was just behind them.
An army officer ran out of the crowd of spectators.
“Who is the pilot of this craft?” he asked.
“I am,” answered Dick.
“And where is your official army timekeeper?”
“Here,” answered Lieutenant McBride, saluting. “Are we the first to cross the continent?”
How anxiously Dick waited for the answer. “No, not the first,” replied the San Francisco officer. “One biplane arrived yesterday. What is your time?”
Lieutenant McBride made a hasty calculation.
“Sixty-two hours, forty minutes and fourteen seconds from, New York, taking out the time of two landings,” was the reply.
“Then you win!” cried Captain Weston, as he introduced himself. “That is, unless this other craft can better your time. For the first arrival was seventy-two hours altogether.”
And Dick had won, for the biplane with which he had just had the exciting race, had consumed more than eighty hours, exclusive of stops, from coast to coast.
“Hurray, Dick! You win!” cried Innis, clapping his chum on the back.
“The best trans-continental flight ever made!” declared Captain Weston, as he congratulated the young millionaire.
“I’d like to have gotten here first,” murmured Dick.
“Well, you’d have been here first, only for the delay my airship caused you,” said Uncle Ezra. “I’m sorry.”
“But you get the prize,” spoke Lieutenant McBride.
“Yes,” assented Captain Weston, of Fort Mason. “It was the time that counted, not the order of arrival. Which reminds me that you may yet be beaten, Mr. Hamilton, for there are other airships on the way.”
But Dick was not beaten. His nearest competitor made a poorer record by several hours, so Dick’s performance stood.
And that, really, is all there is to tell of this story, except to add that by the confession of Larson, later it was learned that he had tampered with Mr. Vardon’s gyroscope, as had been suspected. The twenty thousand dollars was duly paid, and Dick gave the United States government an option to purchase his patents of the Abaris. For them he would receive a substantial sum, and a large part of this would go to Mr. Vardon for his gyroscope.
“So you’ll be all right from now on,” his cousin Innis remarked.
“Yes, thanks to your friend Dick Hamilton. My good luck all dates from meeting him.”
“Yes, he is a lucky chap,” agreed Paul.
“I think Uncle Ezra had all the luck this trip,” put in Dick, as he heard the last words. “That gasolene he brought along to clean the grease off his clothes saved our bacon, all right. It sure did!”
And I believe Dick was right.
Mr. Hamilton, to whom Dick wired a brief message of the successful ending of the trip, telegraphed back:
“Congratulations. You made good after all. I haven’t any doubts now.”
“That’s another time I put one over on dad!” laughed Dick.
“Where are you going, Larry?” asked the young millionaire, as he saw his young newspaper friend hurrying across the aviation field.
“I’m going to wire the story to the Leader,” was the answer. “I want ’em to know we crossed the continent and won the prize. It’ll be a great beat!”
Of how Dick was feted and greeted by an aviation club in San Francisco, of how he was made much of by the army officers, and how he had to give many exhibition flights, I will say nothing here, as this book is already lengthy enough. Sufficient to remark that the young millionaire had a great time at the City of the Golden Gate, and Uncle Ezra and his friends enjoyed it with him. Grit, also, came in for a share of attention.
Dick Hamilton left his airship with the San Francisco army officers, as he had agreed to do, for they wanted to study its construction. In due season, the party started back East.
“I rather calculated you’d go back in the airship,” said Uncle Ezra. “Railroad fare is terrible expensive, and I’ve lost so much money already–“
“I’ll buy your ticket,” said Dick generously, “especially as you helped me win the race,” and Mr. Larabee, with a look of relief on his face, put back his pocketbook.
“And now for Hamilton Corners!” exclaimed Dick, as they got in the train. “I’ve had enough of airships for a while, though it was great sport.” And here we will take leave of Dick Hamilton and his friends.