Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island Part 17

The sun was not up earlier next morning than Jerry Ring. However, he waited till after breakfast before going over to rouse Mr. Fulton, Who would, he knew, sleep later after his strenuous night's work. He spent the time in an impatient arrangement and rearrangement of his fishing tackle, for he had a feeling in his bones that this visit to Lost Island might be more than a one-day affair.

Mrs. Ring finally appeared on the scene, to tease him over his early rising. "I don't need to look for the fishing tackle when you get up ahead of me; I know it's there."

But Jerry only grinned. His mother was a good pal, who never spoiled any of his fun without having a mighty good reason. Now he saw her setting about fixing up a substantial lunch, and he knew that there would be no coaxing necessary to gain her consent to his trip. He slipped up behind her unawares and kissed her smackingly on the back of the neck--perhaps that was one reason she was such a good pal.

Breakfast over, Jerry caught up his pole and tackle box and hustled down the street. The Fulton house looked silent and deserted, he thought, as he reached up to push the secret b.u.t.ton. The loud b-r-r-r echoed hollowly through the big house; Jerry sat down on the step to await the opening of the door, for he figured Mr. Fulton would be slow in waking up. But the minute he had allowed stretched into two, so he reached up and gave the b.u.t.ton another vigorous dig. Still there was no response. Puzzled, he held the b.u.t.ton down for fully a minute, the bell making enough racket to wake the dead. Vaguely alarmed, Jerry waited.

No one came. Putting his mouth to the keyhole, he shouted: "Mr.

Fulton--wake up--it's Jerry!"

Then he put his ear against the door and listened for the footsteps he was sure would respond to his call. Silence profound. Again he shouted and listened. And then came a response that set him frantically tugging at the door--his name called, faintly, as if from a great distance.

But the door did not yield. Jerry bethought himself of a lockless window off the back porch roof, which he and Tod had used more than once in time of need. He quickly shinned up the post and swung himself up by means of the tin gutter. In through the window, through the long hall and down the stairway he plunged, instinct taking him toward Mr.

Fulton's bedroom-study. The door stood ajar. He pushed it open and looked in. A fearful sight met his eyes.

On the bed, where he lay half undressed on top of the covers, was Mr.

Fulton, blood streaming down his battered face. "What has happened?"

gasped Jerry, seeing that the man's eyes were open. But there was no answer, and he saw that Mr. Fulton was too dazed to give any account of the events that had left him so befuddled. Jerry got water and bathed and dressed the deep cuts and bruises as best he could. The shock of the cold water restored the man's faculties in some measure and he finally managed a coherent statement.

"It was your two friends, I guess. They broke in on me while I was working downstairs. One stood guard over me while the other ransacked the house. Then, when they couldn't find anything, they tried to force me to tell where my papers were hid. That was when I rebelled, and they pretty near did for me. I put up a pretty good sc.r.a.p for a while, until one of them got a nasty twist on my arm. I guess the shoulder's dislocated; I can't move it. But I guess I left a few marks myself--that's why they were so rough. But all they got was the satisfaction of beating me up."

"I wish I knew what it was all about," remarked Jerry. "I feel like a fellow at a moving picture show who came in about the middle of the reel. And there's n.o.body to tell me what happened before."

"I guess there's no harm in telling _you_--now. You see, Jerry, the big outstanding feature of the war across the water has been the work done by two recent inventions, the submarine and the aeroplane. That set me thinking. The water isn't deep enough around here to do much experimenting with submarines, but there's dead oodles of air. So aeroplanes it had to be. Now, the aircraft have been a distinct disappointment, except as scouting helps, because the high speed of the aeroplanes makes accurate bomb-dropping almost impossible.

"That was my starter. If I could perfect some means of stopping a machine in mid-flight, just long enough to drop a hundred pounds of destruction overboard with a ninety per cent chance of hitting the mark, I had it. Well, I got it. The _Skyrocket_ is the first aeroplane that can stop dead still--or was. I showed my model to the proper government officials, but even after I had cut my way through endless red tape I found only a cold ear and no welcome at all. I think the official I talked to had a pet invention of his own.

"At any rate I was plumb disgusted. I finally took my idea to the business agent of a foreign power--and the reception I got almost took me off my feet. Meet me halfway! They pretty near hounded me to death till I finally consented to give them an option on the thing, But then my troubles began. The man who had made the deal with me had to step aside for a couple of old fogies who can't grasp anything they can't see or handle. I was about disgusted, when a friend introduced me to a friend of his, who hinted that there were other markets where the pay was better. The upshot of it was that I gave this man--as agent of course for _his_ government--a second option on the invention to hold good if no deal was made with the first party before August first, when option number one expires.

"Mr. Lewis and Mr. Harris represent--well, the name of the country doesn't make any difference, but they hold the first option. They are cautious; they won't buy unless they can see a complete machine that works perfectly. The others are willing to buy the idea outright, just as it stands.

"Of course I have no proof that the two men you saw--and they are the same I am sure as the two who burglarized me--have anything to do with my invention, but I'd venture a guess that their aim is to prevent my being able to demonstrate my machine before August first. What do you think?"

"I think we'd better be getting busy."

"There's nothing to do. Of course, I don't lose any money by it--I gain some. But I hate to sell my idea to a gang of cutthroats and thieves. I resent being black-handed into a thing like that. But with Billings laid out, the _Skyrocket_ wrecked and myself all binged up, there's little chance. I suppose I could get a lot of mechanics and turn out a new plane in time, but I don't know where I could get men I could trust. Like as not those two villains, or their employer, would manage to get at least one of their crew into the camp, and there'd be a real tragedy before we got through."

"I tell you what," suggested Jerry. "If you feel strong enough to manage it, you come over to the house and let ma get you some breakfast. Then you'll feel a little more hopeful--ma's breakfasts always work that way," he said loyally. "There is bound to be a way out of this mix-up, and we'll find it or know the reason why."

Over a savory pile of pancakes Mr. Fulton did grow more hopeful, especially when Jerry began to outline a scheme that had been growing in his mind. He began by asking questions.

"Do you have to have such skilled mechanics to make those repairs?"

"Well, no, not as long as I have skilled eyes to oversee the job. A good deal of it is just dub work. Most anybody could do it if he was told how. I could do the directing easy enough; but I'm not left-handed. However, I'll chase downtown and let Doc Burgess look me over; maybe my shoulder isn't as bad as it feels. But I'm afraid my right arm is out of the fight for at least a couple of weeks--and there's just two weeks between now and August first. I'd not be much good except as a boss, and a boss isn't much good without somebody to stand over. So there you are, right back where we started."

"Not on your life! We're a mile ahead, and almost out of the woods. If you can boss dubs, and get anything out of them, why I know where you can get at least nine of them, and they're all to be trusted--absolutely."

"Tod could help a lot, and I suppose you are one of the dubs, but where are the rest?"

"Phil Fulton and his Boy Scouts----"

"My nephew, you mean, from Chester? I suppose I could get him, but just what are these Boy Scouts?"

"You've been so interested in your experiments that you don't know what the rest of the world is doing. Never heard of the Boy Scouts?" Jerry, secure in his own recent knowledge, was openly scornful.

"Oh, yes, now that you remind me, I do remember of reading about some red-blooded boy organization--a little too vigorous for chaps like you and Tod, eh?" he teased.

"You'll see what happens before the summer is ended. But that isn't helping _us_ out any, now. Phil's patrol is down there with Tod right this minute, and I bet you they know a thing or two about mechanics.

That seems to be their specialty--knowing something about most everything. I'm mighty sure that if you tell us what to do, we can do it. We may not know a lot about the why of it, but we're strong on following instructions."

"I'd be willing to take a chance on you fellows if it wasn't for the time. The _Skyrocket's_ a complete wreck. It took Billings a good many times two weeks to build her up in the first place----"

"But you're not losing anything. The boys would be tickled to death to tackle it, and if we do lose out finally, why we've lost nothing but the time. It's like a big game----"

"Yes," observed Mr. Fulton dryly. "A big game, with the handicaps all against us. If we win, we lose money, and we have the pleasant chance of getting knocked over the head most any night."

"But that isn't the idea. A set of foreigners are trying to force some free-born Americans to do something we don't want to do. Are we going to let them?"

"Not by a jugfull!" exclaimed Mr. Fulton, getting up painfully from his chair. "I'll go on down to the doctor--I expect I should have first thing, before I started to stiffen up. You go ahead to Lost Island, and see what can be done toward picking up the pieces and taking the _Skyrocket_ over to the island. If there are enough unbroken pieces we may have a chance. I'll be along by noon."

He hobbled down the street and Jerry, after telling his mother what had happened, and getting reluctant consent to his extended absence, gathered together a few necessaries and made all speed for the interurban. There was no temptation to go to sleep this time, for his thoughts were racing madly ahead to the exciting plan to beat the schemers who had wrecked the _Skyrocket_. At the same time he was conscious of a disappointed feeling in his heart; why could it not have been the United States that had bought the invention? That would have made the fight really worth while. For, to tell the truth, the two unenthusiastic owners of the first option did not appeal to him much more than did the others.

He found the whole Boy Scout crew gathered about the _Skyrocket_, having given up a perfectly wonderful fishing trip to guard the airship. Jerry quickly told the story of the morning's events to Phil, interrupted at every other sentence by the rest of the excited Scouts.

The whole affair appealed to their imaginations, and when he came to the proposition he had made Mr. Fulton, there was no doubt of their backing up his offer.

"Let's get busy!" shouted d.i.c.k Garrett, a.s.sistant Patrol Leader. "We ought to be all ready to move across by the time Mr. Fulton gets here."

And he started toward the wreck as if to tear the thing apart with his bare hands and carry it piecemeal to the banks of the Plum.

"We won't get far, that way, d.i.c.k," observed Phil. "First of all we want a plan of action. And before that, we need to investigate, to see just how much damage has been done and how big the pieces are going to be that we'll have to carry."

"But we don't know the first thing about how the contraption works,"

objected d.i.c.k, somewhat to Jerry's satisfaction, for there was a little jealous thought in his heart that Phil would naturally try to take away from him the leadership in the plan. But Phil soon set his mind at rest.

"We don't need to know how it works. All we need to know is whether we have to break it apart or if we can carry it down mostly in one piece.

First, though, we've got to organize ourselves. Jerry's the boss of this gang, and as Patrol Leader I propose to be straw-boss. Anybody got any objections? No? Well, then, Boss Jerry, what's orders?"

Much pleased, Jerry thought over plans. A workable one quickly came to him. "First of all we'll follow out your idea, Phil. Let's all get around it and see if we can lift it all together. Dave, you catch hold of that rod sticking out in front of you--it won't bite. Give him a hand, Budge. All right, everybody! Raise her easy--_so_."

To their unbounded relief, nearly all the aeroplane rose together. One plane, it is true, gave one final c-c-r-rack! as the last whole rod on that side gave way; but the rest, twisted all out of shape and creaking and groaning, held together in one distorted ma.s.s.

"All right," commanded Jerry; "let her down again--easy, now. That's the ticket. Now, Frank--the two Franks--you scout ahead and pick us out a clear trail to the water. You'll have to figure on a good twenty-foot clearance.

"I guess we might as well finish the work you young Sandows started. I see that the right plane--or wing or whatever you call it--is just as good as gone. We'll cut her away and that'll give us a better carrying chance."

"Why not take her all apart while we're at it, Jerry?" suggested Phil.

"We'll have to anyway to get her over to the island."

"Just leave it to me and we won't. I've got a little scheme. Who's got a heavy knife with a sharp big blade in it?"