Читать книгу Across the Pacific - J. W. Duffield - Страница 4

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As this necessity burst upon him, Ted Scott heard the rumble of another train approaching from a different direction.

The first train he knew from the sound was an express. The second by the same token he sensed to be a freight.

The express would consist of only a few cars and at the rate it was traveling would be past in a flash. The freight was apt to be a long train and would be proceeding slowly. If luck helped him to avoid the first, he would be almost sure to hit the second.

These thoughts passed through his mind like lightning.

Out of the haze burst the express like a snorting monster and disappeared into the mists ahead. That peril at least was averted.

But even as it vanished the locomotive of the freight appeared on the further track not more than thirty feet away and directly in the path of the plane.

“Jump, Walter!” shouted Ted.

Hapworth obeyed instantly and came to the ground ten feet below without injury.

“Jump yourself!” he yelled back, as he scrambled to his feet.

Ted did not answer.

His shout to Hapworth had been prompted by two reasons. The first was to save his comrade’s life, even though he himself should die at his post. The second was to lighten the plane.

He tugged desperately at the joy stick and this time the plane, relieved of Hapworth’s weight, responded. Slowly it mounted, mounted.

Ted’s heart was in his mouth.

Would he clear the freight?

And while his eyes are seeking an answer to this question, it may be well, for the benefit of those who have not read the preceding volumes of this series, to tell who Ted was and what had been his adventures up to the time this story opens.

Ted Scott could not recall ever having known his parents. As far back as he could remember he had been in the care of James and Miranda Wilson, a worthy couple who had migrated from New England and settled in Bromville, a little town in the Mid-West. They had treated the little waif kindly and sent him to school. But when the lad was about ten years old they had died within a few months of each other and the little fellow was again at the mercy of the world.

His forlorn condition appealed to Eben and Charity Browning, themselves childless, who took the boy into their hearts and home and henceforth regarded him as their own. Ted on his part was as devoted to them as though they had been his own parents.

Eben Browning was a genial, kindly man and owned the Bromville House, which at that time was the only hotel in the little town. Eben’s friendliness and Charity’s cooking secured for them a large patronage from traveling men and also from fishermen who visited the place in search of sport in the Rappock River that ran through the village. For a long time the hotel was prosperous.

Then, however, came a change in fortune. The Devally-Hipson Corporation established a mammoth Aero plant on the outskirts of Bromville, and the place began to grow with magical rapidity. There was a vast army of workmen and a host of officials to be provided with homes and temporary lodgings, and several new hotels sprang up to meet the need. These were provided with all the new equipment and facilities and the old Bromville House looked shabby by contrast. The fishing contingent clung in large measure to Eben, but the traveling men naturally went to the new hotels for the luxuries they furnished and also to maintain the prestige of their firms.

To cap the climax, the Hotel Excelsior, a mammoth structure, came into being under the ownership of Brewster Gale, a domineering, purse-proud individual, who had accumulated a fortune by means, it was whispered about, that would not stand close inspection. The hotel far outclassed anything in town and would have stood favorable comparison with many in the large cities. An additional drawing card was a superb golf links attached to the hotel that soon became a favorite place for tournaments and drew devotees of the royal game from all parts of the country.

This competition that he could not hope to meet was naturally a sore blow to Eben. But what made it exceptionally exasperating was that Brewster Gale’s prosperity was largely based on a fraud he had perpetrated on Eben. The latter had at one time owned all the property on which the Hotel Excelsior and the golf links were located. Gale had come to him and bargained to buy it, and as he offered what Eben regarded as a fair price the latter had agreed to sell.

A few hundred dollars were paid down to bind the bargain. But that was all the money Eben received. By the aid of cunning and unscrupulous lawyers and a lot of legal jugglery—forced sales, reorganizations—Eben found himself frozen out, while Gale had apparently achieved a clear title to the property. It was a swindle, pure and simple, and Eben, bewildered, enraged, but without money to prosecute his case in the courts, where Gale could have dragged the matter along for years, was forced to submit to fate.

As Ted grew older he did all he could to help the old folks along, running errands, painting, repairing, assisting in the dining room and the kitchen in all the time he had from school hours. Then, when the Aero plant came to Bromville, he secured a job there, turning all his money over to Eben and Charity.

The work was very congenial, for he had a keen interest in the making of airplanes and in all that concerned flying. He rapidly rose from one position to a higher until there was nothing about plane construction that he did not know. More and more he longed to become an airman. But hundreds of dollars would be required to go to a flying school, and the old folks needed every dollar he could earn in order to keep afloat.

One morning Walter Hapworth visited the airplane works. He was in town participating in a golf tournament at the time and wondered whether he could not perhaps get a new thrill out of flying. He was a young and wealthy business man and was anxious to learn at first hand all about airplane construction. Ted was assigned to show him through the works and, mere boy that he was, answered every question that Hapworth put so promptly and intelligently that the latter became interested in the lad. Learning how keen he was about flying, he offered to give Ted money enough to go to a flying school.

Ted was astounded and delighted. He finally accepted the money as a loan and went to the school. Here it became apparent at once that he was a born flyer. His courage, nerve and judgment were of the highest order, and when he left the school he had no difficulty in obtaining a job in the Air Mail Service.

In that work he soon became preëminent among his fellows. He was assigned to a night route between St. Louis and Chicago and it became proverbial that under any conditions of fog and storm Ted Scott would “get there.”

About that time a wealthy New York man had offered a prize of twenty-five thousand dollars to the first man who should make a non-stop air flight from New York to Paris. Some of the most famous flyers in the country were preparing to compete. Ted longed to enter the competition, but had no plane and no backing.

Hapworth learned of his ambition and offered to finance the venture. Ted got leave of absence from the Air Service and went to San Francisco to supervise the building of his plane, the Hapworth, named after his benefactor. When it was completed Ted jumped in for his hop to New York.

Rumors were abroad that an unknown youngster named Scott was planning to compete with the famous veterans already enlisted. The country shrugged its shoulders and laughed. It seemed to some ludicrous, to others suicidal.

But the nation stopped laughing when Ted flew from San Francisco to St. Louis in a single hop in the fastest time that had ever been made for the distance by a flyer traveling alone. And when, scarcely pausing to take breath, he made one more hop from St. Louis to New York the whole country was agog with interest.

Then one misty morning Ted mounted into the skies and turned the nose of his plane toward Europe. What breathless excitement in America followed his flight—how he battled with storm and fog over the yeasty surges of the Atlantic—the hairbreadth escapes he had from disaster—is told in the first volume of this series entitled: “Over the Ocean to Paris.”

The day after his flight Ted woke to find himself the most famous person in the world. America went mad over him. Scarcely anything else was thought or spoken of. Honors and gifts were showered upon him. Kings and presidents of European countries received him with the honors given to a potentate. His return home was a triumph, and the tremendous ovations accorded him in New York, Washington and other cities had no parallel in American history. But through it all he kept his head, and his lack of egotism and his irresistible smile enshrined him still more deeply in the hearts of his people.

Shortly after his return came the tragedy of the Mississippi flood, and Ted at once enlisted in the aviation corps of the Red Cross and achieved wonders in bringing aid and comfort to the stricken inhabitants of that section. Following this, he reentered the Air Mail Service in the dangerous region of the Rockies and had many stirring adventures. He entered the contest for the flight over the Pacific from San Francisco to Hawaii and again carried off the victory. And in the course of these achievements he was able to bring Gale to book and compel restitution to Eben and also to unravel the mystery that clung about his parentage.

Still later, he made a perilous flight over the West Indies, rescuing a pair of lost airmen and incidentally making the find of a treasure of pearls. On his return he found that Hapworth at Bromville was especially anxious to make a quick trip to Mexico to thwart some rascals who were raiding his oil-well property there and Ted offered to take him in his plane.

How eventful that journey proved—how Ted helped his friend to achieve his object—how he entered upon a perilous mission to a rebel stronghold—his fights with bandits—the conspiracy against his life—his capture and imprisonment—and how he was saved at the last moment when his enemies had planned to hang him—is told in the preceding volume of this series, entitled: “South of the Rio Grande.”

At first Ted had thought to return to the United States alone. But there had been an unexpected delay and after that Walter Hapworth had concluded to go with him.

And now to return to Ted, as his plane drove toward the freight train now only a few yards away.

Could he clear it? If he came in collision with it, the plane would be crushed like an eggshell and he himself would be almost certainly killed.

Slowly, painfully the crippled plane went higher. The wheels struck the top of one of the cars, rebounded, lifting the plane a trifle higher, and the Silver Streak passed over the car into the field beyond!

Death had stretched out its skeleton hand, but once more Ted Scott had eluded its clutch!

Ted brought the plane to a landing, unfastened his straps and climbed out. He had been under a fearful strain and it had left him a little shaken.

From the platforms and tops of the train came shouts from the train hands and waving of lanterns. They had seen the impending tragedy and were delighted at the daring airman’s escape.

Ted smiled and waved back and then threw himself on the ground. And there he was when Hapworth, after the train had passed, came rushing across the tracks to him.

“Thank fortune!” ejaculated Hapworth fervently. “I thought it was all up with you, Ted, that time.”

“Thought so myself,” returned Ted, “and it surely would have been for us both, if you hadn’t lightened the plane by jumping. As it was, I grazed the top of a car.”

They looked about them. They were in a large field many acres in extent. There was no village in sight, but at some distance was a substantial ranch house with a number of out-buildings.

“I guess that’s where the owner of this field lives,” remarked Ted. “If I find there is a good deal of repairing to do on the plane, we may have to ask shelter there for the night. Let’s take a look at that wing and see how badly it is damaged.”

They inspected it closely and found that the break was bad and would require a lot of time and work to put it again in condition.

“Look at that,” said Ted. “More than half way through! It’s almost a miracle that it lasted as long as it did. We were sure at our last gasp when we cleared that freight.”

“Can you fix it up so that it will carry us to Bromville?” asked Hapworth with some concern.

“Sure thing,” replied Ted, who, from his experience in making planes, was as skilful a mechanic as he was an airman. “But it will take time and we’ll have to stay here overnight. I think, though, that we’ll be able to get away the first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Here comes the owner of the place now, I imagine,” said Hapworth, as two figures emerged from the house, “and that’s probably his kid with him.”

A stalwart man, accompanied by a boy of about twelve, came up to them with a genial smile upon his face.

“Hello, strangers,” he hailed them when within speaking distance. “ ’Tisn’t often that we see anything of an airplane in these parts. Having trouble?”

“Yes,” replied Ted and went on briefly to relate the events that had compelled him to land. “We’ve got a pretty big job on hand and we may have to ask you to put us up for the night,” he concluded.

“Only too glad to,” said the ranchman heartily. “My name’s Burton.”

“And mine is Scott,” returned Ted, “and this is my friend, Mr. Hapworth.”

The men exchanged hand clasps. The boy tugged eagerly at his father’s coat and whispered something to him.

The ranchman smiled.

“This youngster of mine wants to know if your first name is Ted,” he said. “He’s just crazy over that fellow that flew the Atlantic, and every time he hears the name of Scott he gets het up. He thinks he’s the greatest thing that ever happened. And so do I for that matter.”

“My name happens to be Ted,” was the answer, “but of course there are lots of Ted Scotts in the world.”

“Yes,” agreed Burton, looking at him keenly, “but not so many in the flying line.”

Hapworth interposed.

“My friend here is as modest as he is famous,” he said with a smile. “I’ll tell you now that he is the Ted Scott that all the world knows about, the man who not only flew the Atlantic but the Pacific as well.”

The effect was electric.

“Glory hallelujah!” shouted Burton. “This is my lucky day. I never dreamed that I’d meet Ted Scott in the flesh. And on my own farm too! Won’t Mandy be tickled when she hears of it? Put it there again, Mr. Scott.”

Ted smilingly extended his hand and Burton shook it as though he would wrench the arm from the socket.

The boy was gazing at his idol in rapt adoration. Again he whispered to his father.

“I guess so, Billy,” his father laughed. “My kid wants to know if you will shake hands with him, too. It will give him something to talk about all his life.”

Ted laughingly complied and the boy’s freckled face shone with delight and gratification.

“Now run up and tell your mother that Ted Scott is going to be with us for supper and to spend the night,” laughed his father. “Gee, but maybe she won’t be flustered! And the meal she’ll fix up for you will make your hair curl.”

The boy, bursting with the news, darted off, and Burton turned to Ted.

“This ranch is yours while you stay here,” he declared. “Just tell me what you want, material or men to help you, and you shall have it on the jump.”

“It’s mighty good of you,” replied Ted. “I’m learning now what Texas hospitality is like. I’ll call on you for anything I need. I’ve got all the tools I need, but I may have to have some boards. As to men, my friend here will be help enough.”

He accompanied Burton to one of the out-buildings where he found the material he required and then went back to the plane, where he and Hapworth worked busily until Billy came down to where they were and summoned them to supper.

Mrs. Burton, a buxom, motherly woman, received them, fluttering with agitation, and gave them the heartiest kind of a welcome. Her husband had made no mistake about that supper, which was fit for a king, and both Ted and Hapworth enjoyed it hugely.

After supper they sat in the homely but comfortable living room and Ted had to answer a host of questions about his Atlantic and Pacific flights. He glossed over his exploits as carelessly as he could and gave full measure of credit for his success to Hapworth, who had accompanied him in his Pacific flight and whose backing had made his Atlantic venture possible.

His hosts listened breathlessly, and Billy, who had been permitted to sit up beyond his usual bedtime on this special occasion, was simply in a trance. It was far and away the greatest day of his life. And the same might almost be said of his hosts and the ranch hands who had been invited to share the party. These were brawny, hardy men who knew courage when they saw it, and their admiration of Ted was as limitless as that of Burton and his wife.

It was late when the aviators retired, and after an early breakfast the next morning Ted excused himself and hurried out to his plane.

Hapworth, who had tarried in conversation with his hosts, came out of the house hurriedly a few minutes later and rushed toward Ted waving a newspaper.

“What is it?” asked Ted, a bit startled by his friend’s excitement.

“Look at this!” cried Hapworth, thrusting the paper in front of Ted’s face.