Dick Hamilton's Airship Part 46

"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 d.i.c.k. "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 d.i.c.k.

"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,"

d.i.c.k 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 x.x.xIII

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 d.i.c.k 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," d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k'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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, by taking his uncle as an extra pa.s.senger, 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 s.p.a.ce. Before that, however, Lieutenant Wilson had been taken back to the army post, and Larson sent to the hospital. Lieutenant Wilson wished d.i.c.k 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 pa.s.senger, 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 d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k'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, d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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 gla.s.ses.

"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 d.i.c.k. "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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k. 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 d.i.c.k 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!"