Lost in the Air Part 8

The Doctor bent over, and tearing away Blake's garments, made a thorough examination.

"He'll pull through," he said. "But we must get him to the mission hospital at Unalaska at once. Begin throwing those rascals aboard.

There's a prison there for their accommodation."

At that moment the two other jackies appeared, carrying a moaning burden in the shape of a j.a.p radical.

"One's done in for good," the foremost man explained. "We searched the ruins. Maybe we can save this fellow."

"Take him aboard," said the Doctor. Then, turning, he directed the men who carried their fallen commander to the craft.

"Well, that about ends our present career in the Arctic." The Doctor was speaking to Dave, and emphasized his word with a sigh. "I had hoped we might do something really big, but Blake will not be out again this season. He'll get around again all right, but it's a slow process."

Dave sat thinking. Suddenly he jumped to his feet.

"Doctor," he said eagerly, "there's a gob on board who is sure a wonder at navigation. Don't you think--think, he and I might manage the sub for you--your trip?"

"H--m." The Doctor grew thoughtful, but a flash of hope gleamed in his eye.

"Tell you what," he said presently, "there's a considerable ice-floe between the islands; the north wind brought it down last night. Have your crew ready for a try-out in the morning."

With a heart that ached from pure joy of antic.i.p.ation, Dave hurried to an ancient sealer's bunk-house where his men were housed. "A try-out, try-out, try-out," kept ringing in his ears. What did it mean if they were successful? Something big, wonderful, he was sure. Russian gold?

Charting Northeast Pa.s.sage? North Pole? He did not know, but nothing seemed too difficult for his daring young heart.

And the next day the try-out came. And such an ordeal as it was! Gobs had surely never been put to a test like that in any navy-yard training station! For five long hours they dived and rose and dived again. They rose suddenly, rose slowly; they tipped, glided, shot through the water.

They pa.s.sed for miles beneath the ice-floe, to emerge at last and b.u.mp a cake, or lift themselves toward a dark spot not larger than the sub itself--a patch of open water in the midst of the floe.

With mind all in a whirl, Dave gave the final command to make for port.

It had been a great day.

That night, after "chow," the Doctor called Dave into his room at the hospital.

"Young man," he said, motioning the boy to a seat, "you and your crew have surprised me beyond belief. I feel that we shall be risking little in attempting what, to many, might seem the most difficult task ever undertaken by a submarine. I do not yet feel free to tell you what that trip will be; you'll have to take that on faith. I can only tell you that we will proceed from here directly to Nome, Alaska. There we will get more oil and provisions. We will then sail through Behring Strait due North."

For a time the two sat in silence. The Doctor's face grew mellow, then sad at recollections of years that had gone.

"I don't mind telling you," he said after awhile, "that I am an explorer, you almost might say 'by profession;' that some years ago another explorer and I sought the same goal. We went from different points; both claimed to have reached it. But he got the honors."

"And you really reached--"

"Doesn't matter now what I did in the past," interrupted the Doctor quickly. "What I am to do in the future is all that counts, and the immediate future is big with possibilities."

"The crew will be with you to a man," Dave a.s.sured him, as he rose to go.

As he stepped into the cool night air, Dave found that his face was hot with excitement. There was left in his mind not one doubt as to their final destination: it was to be a try for the Pole. Only one thought saddened him; that his good friend, Blake, would not continue as one of the party.

Two days later they crossed over to the island of the illicit wireless station. They found the apparatus in perfect condition, and the Doctor at once began sending messages.

"I'm letting the world know of our purpose," he explained. "At least, trying to. Sending messages by code to a friend of mine in Chicago. Hope Seattle will pick it up, and if not, perhaps that radical operator who is supposed to be relaying messages to Canada and the States from the north-central portion of the Continent will catch it, and, thinking it one of his own messages in a new code, pa.s.s it on."

Had the doctor known what kind of radicals were in control of the station on Great Bear Lake at that moment, perhaps he would have been more careful what messages he sent.

"If you don't mind," said Dave, "for the sake of my friends, and especially of my mother, I wish you'd include my name in the message."

"It's already done," smiled the Doctor.

CHAPTER V

AN INFERNAL MACHINE

When Bruce, Barney and the Major found themselves stranded on the sh.o.r.e of a vast frozen lake at the beginning of an Arctic winter, they at once took steps to conserve all resources. Building a cache between three scrub spruce trees, they piled upon it their wolf meat and skins. To Barney the thought of eating "dog meat," as he called it, was most repulsive, but necessity gives man little choice in the Arctic, so he munched his roast wolf's back that night in silence. But at the same time, he vowed that, sure as the caribou had not all pa.s.sed, he would dine on caribou roast before long.

Once the cache was completed, they began scouting the woods near the ruins of the burned trading station. There they found plain signs of Indians. A circle of beaten tracks made certain a pow-wow had been held there.

"Doesn't look very good to me," admitted the Major. "These Indians of the Little Sticks are a fierce and cruel people, full of superst.i.tions, and living up to the old law of 'blood revenge.' There's only one thing in our favor: they have a superst.i.tion about a giant creature, known as the Thunder-bird. The stories of this terrible bird are known to almost all Indian tribes, but the Little Sticks believe them literally. From the tracks I should judge that they left in great haste. What could cause this fright, save the sound and sight of our plane hovering over them?

Since it is almost certain that they have never seen an airplane, it seems likely that they considered it to be old Thunder-bird come to carry them off. If that is true, I shall not look for them back in a hurry."

"What puzzles me is, where's the remains of the fellow's generator and wireless?" said Barney. "Don't see anything down there in the ruins, do you?"

Instantly all eyes were turned toward the smouldering piles of ashes.

"The place was wired all right," said the Major, pointing to a ma.s.s of tangled lighting wire.

"Say! What's that out in the center?" exclaimed Barney. "Looks like the bones of a man?"

"So it does," said the Major, "and surely is. Well, there can't be any further doubt about the rascal being burned in the ruins of his own house."

Then there came a shout from Barney. He had been tracing out the ma.s.ses of blackened wire.

"Look!" he exclaimed. "Here's where the lead-wires go into the ground.

Must be a separate power-house. Three lead-wires instead of two. What do you suppose that means?"

He clipped the soft wires off with his heavy knife, and bent them apart to avoid short circuits; then, closely followed by the others, went plowing away through the snow to search out the point where the wires left the ground. They traced them through the scrub timber, and, almost at once, came upon a strange frame-like structure, ending in a tall pole, and having at its center a house built of logs. The whole affair was quite invisible outside the timber.

"It's his wireless station," breathed the Major. "No further doubt remains."

He stepped to the door and found himself gazing into a well-arranged room--electric generator, storage batteries in rows and instruments of every description along the walls and the floor.

But what caught Bruce's eye was two rows of ten-gallon cans piled in the rear. With a cry of joy he sprang toward them. But his joyful look changed to an anxious one, as he lifted can after can and found it empty.

Only one contained gasoline, and that was but half-full.

"Not enough to give our Thunder-bird a drink," he groaned disgustedly.