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The Boy Aviators in Africa

C >> Captain Wilbur Lawton >> The Boy Aviators in Africa



Produced by Sean Pobuda




THE BOY AVIATORS IN AFRICA

OR

AN AERIAL IVORY TRAIL

By Captain Wilbur Lawton





CHAPTER I

A REUNION


"Here, Harry, catch hold."

"Ouch--I dropped that cartridge box on my pet corn."

"Say, you fellows, are we going to Africa or are we on a Coney
Island picnic?"

"Be serious now, Billy Barnes, you may be all right as a reporter,
but as a shipping clerk you're no more good than a cold storage
egg."

"Well, I'm doing the best I can," was the indignant reply,
"here--I've got it all down: Box 10-- One waterproof tent, one
rubber-blanket, tent-pegs, ropes, more ropes.--Say, Frank, what in
the name of the 'London Times' and jumping horn-toads do you want so
much rope for?"

"To tie up a certain young reporter named William Barnes when he
gets too fresh," was the laughing reply.

The three boys sat about a heaped, confused collection of ammunition,
cooking-utensils, rifles, and camp "duffle" in general, one evening
late in May. The eldest of the group, a sunny-faced, clear eyed lad
of about sixteen, held in his hand a notebook from which he called out
the inventory of the articles piled about him as his brother, a youth
of fourteen, sorted them out. The third member of the trio was a
short, stocky chap of possibly seventeen, with sharp, blue eyes that
gleamed behind a pair of huge spectacles. He was examining a camera
with care; from time to time turning his attention to an open notebook
that lay beside him in which he was supposed to be entering the list
as the other called it off.

The place where the boys were busying themselves was the upper floor
of a large garage in the rear of the Chester residence, on Madison
Avenue, New York City, which had been turned into a workshop for the
two young Chesters--Frank and Harry--already well known to our
readers as The Boy Aviators. The well set-up lad who was so
industriously calling off the equipment that lay scattered about was
Frank Chester, and the ready classifier of the mixed-up outfit was
Harry, his younger brother. The third member of the group was Billy
Barnes, the young reporter, already down to us as the chronicler of
the Chester boys' adventures in Nicaragua and the depths of the
Everglades of Florida. Since the boys' return from Florida on the
U. S. torpedo boat, the Tarantula, they had been busy putting into
shape the rough working plans of the African hunting expedition they
had planned as a sort of vacation.

The ample bonus the government had awarded them for their singularly
clever work in rescuing Lieutenant Chapin, the inventor of
Chapinite, by their aeroplane Golden Eagle II, had supplied them
with ample funds for their trip. As for Billy Barnes (or "Our
Special Staff Correspondent, William Barnes," as he was now known),
besides the sum realized from the sale of the rubies the boys found
in the Quesal Cave in Nicaragua, the money the youthful scribe had
made on writing up the boys' Florida adventures had provided him
with a good fat nest-egg.

The natural stimulus given to the red-blooded Chester boys by Mr.
Roosevelt's hunting adventures had a good deal to do, with their
resolution to go to Africa. And now--after several weeks of work on
getting together as good an outfit as was procurable--they were
putting what Billy called "the finishing touches" on their
accoutrements. Stacked in corners of the room were big chests
painted blue and marked with the boys' names and neatly numbered in
white painted characters. These cases contained the different
sections of the Golden Eagle II, the aeroplane equipped with
wireless, that had made history in Florida.

There were twenty of these cases besides the ones labeled "Camp
Outfit," "Medical," "Armory Chest," "Grub Chest," and several
nondescript ones containing the odds and ends that an expedition of
the kind they planned would find indispensable. In some smaller
boxes also were packed yards and yards of bright-colored cloth and
calico, spangles, cheap jewelry and brass ornaments for use among
the natives. In making up their outfit the boys had taken the
advice of a well-known African traveler who had retired from his
adventurous life to purchase a place in New Jersey, where he
intended to spend his remain days. Through a mutual friend the boys
obtained an introduction to him and his advice in selecting the
outfit had been simply invaluable.


"Go easy, carry lots of quinine, don't waste ammunition, and count
ten before you pick a quarrel with a native," had been his simply
laid-down rules for getting along in Africa, and these rules the
boys had determined to adhere to strictly.

"Say, is this going to be a hunting trip or an invasion of Africa?"
inquired Billy, quizzically as Harry sorted out and Frank read off
ceaselessly the apparently interminable inventory of the supplies of
the Chester party. "I'm getting writer's cramp."

"A hunting party of course," laughed Frank, "but you know that
hunters who go into the bush depending on their rifles usually come
out a good deal thinner than when they went in.

"That's so," assented Billy, "but when we have a sixty-mile
aeroplane like the Golden Eagle II we can easily fly out to
civilization in case of necessity."

"Yes, if we have enough gasoline," assented Harry, "but how much can
we carry into the bush?"

"Just enough for our purposes and no more," replied Frank, readily,
"fortunately the soluble tablets of picric and glycerine will help
out our supply materially. A few of these tablets dissolved in
gasoline render the efficiency of one ordinary gallon equal to
three; but I don't care to use them except in a case of absolute
necessity as they are very hard on an engine."

"Then we can count on every gallon we carry being of triple
efficiency?" asked Billy.

"Certainly," replied Frank, who had invented the tablets in
question, and which were an extremely useful addition to the
equipment of the modern aviator. As the boys worked on and the
equipment, as it was classified, was packed away in the cases
assigned to each class of articles, there came a sharp knock at the
door of the garage building and a servant entered with a special
delivery letter to Frank. The boy tore it open eagerly and then
gave a low whistle of astonishment.

"Read it out, Harry," he said, handing the missive to his brother.
"It concerns all of us."

Harry took it and read as follows:

DEAR FRANK AND HARRY:

Shall be in town to-morrow morning with my father and Mr. Luther
Barr, the well-known ivory importer. He has a communication of
importance for you. What it is I am afraid to trust to writing, but
you will know full details when you see us. Will you call at the
Waldorf at ten-thirty and have breakfast? We can discuss the matter
over the meal. All I can say now is that if the Golden Eagle is
still in shape for her old-time stunts there is work ahead of her
that will prove harder than anything she has yet tackled. However,
I know you are not the chaps to balk at a little danger--particularly
when exciting adventures are in the wind.

So long, then, till to-morrow:

"LATHROP EASLEY"

"Well, what do you know about that?" gasped Billy Barnes, here we
are fixing up for a nice little holiday trip to rest our shattered
nerves, and here comes, a job along that looks as if we should have
to work all summer."

"It certainly is curious," replied Frank musingly.

"What can Lathrop mean? Who is Luther Barr? I have heard the name
but I cannot place him."

"Lathrop says he is an ivory importer," suggested Harry.

"Easy to find out," said the resourceful Billy. "Where's the 'phone
book?"

Frank handed the volume to him from its hook beside the instrument.

"Ah--here we are," exclaimed Billy, as he ran his finger triumphantly
down the "B" list. "Barr, Luther--that's our man, eh? Ivory
importer, offices No. 42 Wall Street--home, White Plains."

"White Plains, that's where Lathrop's folks live," exclaimed Harry.
"That's where he first became associated with the Golden Eagle."

"And turned out to be a good partner," added Frank.

"A jim dandy," agreed Billy. "I tell you boys, I've got a good nose
for news and if there isn't some sort of a story back of Mr. Luther
Barr and Lathrop's letter I'll eat my hat without sauce."

Any acceptance of the young reporter's generous offer was interrupted
by a sudden noise in the usually quiet street.

"I tell you the fare's a dollar!" the boys heard an angry voice
declaim.

"'Tain't nothing of the kind or I'm a lubber--fifty cents is all
I'll pay. I'll be horn-swoggled if you get a cent more, yer
deep-sea pirate," was the indignant phrased reply.

Something in the voice was strangely familiar but the "horn-swoggled"
settled it.

"Ben Stubbs," gasped all the, boys simultaneously and rushed out of
the garage to the street.

Here they found a stoutly-built, crisp-bearded man with a face
tanned to what Billy called a "weathered oak finish," arguing loudly
with a taxicab chauffeur. The man was obdurate over his fare and
just at, the boys came on the scene was suggesting that his equally
determined passenger get back in the cab and take a ride to the
police station.

"The sergeant will settle our dispute," he said angrily.

"What's the trouble, Ben?" exclaimed Frank, giving the angry man on
the pavement a hearty slap on the back.

"Why, this here piratical craft," the other was beginning when
suddenly he dropped the battered bag he carried and burst into a
mighty roar--a regular Cape Horn hail.

"Back my topsails if it ain't you, Frank," he cried, wringing the
other's hands till the boy's arms were almost dislocated. "And you
too, Harry, and keel haul me ef here ain't Billy too. Well, if it
ain't good to see, you Chester boys again."

"Say, are you the Chester Boys--the Boy Aviators?" suddenly cut in
the chauffeur in a respectful tone.

"We are," replied Frank, "why?"

"Oh, well," said the chauffeur, "then I'll let your friend off with
fifty cents. I thought he was a 'greeny'."

With that, he calmly twisted the dial of the cab which registered
$1.00 back to the fifty cent mark and coolly pocketed the coin the
indignant Ben handed.

"Does that thing work backwards?" demanded the amazed old
adventurer, as the taxi whizzed off before he could frame words to
express his indignation.

"Not often," replied Billy with a laugh. "I guess that chap reads
the papers and thought it wouldn't do him any good to try to fool a
particular friend of the Boy Aviators."

"Well, boys, what are your plans?" demanded Ben, as--after the
rugged fellow had been introduced to Mrs. Chester, a sweet-faced old
lady, and Mr. Chester, a fine-looking, gray-haired man of about
fifty--he and the boys sat in the garage discussing the African
outfit.

"We hardly know now," replied Frank, and then in a few words he
described Lathrop's letter and its contents.

"Wherever that boy is there's bound to be doings," remarked Ben,
sententiously, when the young leader had finished. "Down in Florida
when he wasn't tumbling into alligators' mouths or getting bit by
serpents he was allers up to some mischief--you mark my words
there's something in the wind now."

The boys talked late and long that night over the letter and what
possible plan Mr. Barr, the ivory importer, could have to discuss
that would be of interest to them, but they were able to arrive at
no definite conclusion except that there was nothing to be done
about it till morning.

As for Ben with his usual philosophic attitude toward mysteries, he
filled his pipe and silently smoked. To those of our readers who
have not met Ben this phase of his character may seem inexplicable,
but to the boys Ben's passive acceptance of any situation had become
quite familiar. Ever since they had rescued the rugged old
adventurer from a marooned treasure-mine in Nicaragua and he had
shared their strange adventures in Florida on the Chapin Rescue
Expedition, the old man had become as much a part of their necessary
equipment as the Golden Eagle itself. He had arrived that night in
response to a telegraphed request to his cottage at Amityville on
Long Island, where he cultivated an extensive farm--also part of the
Quesal ruby profits--and devoted himself to fishing and hunting.

'The Boys' mere word, however, that they were off to Africa had been
sufficient to arouse the old man's roving instinct and here he was
on deck once more as active as a boy and almost as impatient for the
start for the Dark Continent. Ben slept at the Chester's home that
night and if his dreams were not as populated with visions of
elephants, leopards, deer, huge snakes and pigmy savages as theirs
it was not any lack of interest in the coming expedition that was
responsible for it.




CHAPTER II

THE STOLEN IVORY


"Will you please send this card up to Mr. Beasley's rooms and tell
him that the visitors he was expecting are here?"

It was Frank Chester who spoke early the next day, as the boys, in
response to Lathrop's letter, stood at the Waldorf desk. The clerk
looked at them a little disdainfully. Frank and Harry Chester were
not the sort of boys who devoted much time to thinking about clothes
and while they both wore dark neat-fitting suits they certainly did
look a little out of place among the pasty-faced, cigarette-smoking
youths in loud-looking garments who constituted most of the young
men with whom the clerk was in the habit of coming in contact.

"I don't think that Mr. Beasley can see you now, call later," he
began, superciliously turning round to the letter-rack and sorting
out the mail and putting each guest's letters in the proper box.

For a second an angry flush rose to Frank's face. The man's manner
was enough to irritate any high spirited boy. But Frank Chester was
not given to what Bill Barnes called "flying off the handle." He
calmly took another card from his pocket and in a rather sharp
voice, though his tones were even enough said:

"Are you going to send that card up at once or shall I call the room
on the telephone?"

The clerk faced quickly about. The two youths he had looked upon as
rather awkward country bumpkins, judging as he did from their tanned
faces and broad shoulders, were evidently not to be trifled with. He
glanced at the card as he rolled it up and handed it to a boy to be
placed in a pneumatic tube and shot up to the fourth floor, on which
Mr. Beasley and his party had taken rooms.

"Oh, you are the Chester boys?" he exclaimed with a strong accent on
the "the" and in markedly more respectful tones.

"We are," said Frank with a smile which was reflected on his
brother's face.

"I beg your pardon for keeping you waiting, I'm sure," said the
clerk with an apologetic leer, meant to be an engaging smile.

"That's all right," said Frank shortly, turning away from the desk.

"Well, having your name in the paper does do you some good after
all," remarked Harry with a laugh. "That fellow certainly turned a
flip-flop, when he found out who we were."

Five minutes later the boys were ushered into the Beasley rooms and
were busily engaged shaking hands and exchanging all sorts of boyish
exclamations of welcome with Lathrop Beasley, a tall, rather slender
youth who had been their companion in Florida. Like the boys,
Lathrop was an accomplished aviator and wireless operator, although
he had not the initiative or the sturdy pluck to perform the feats
that they had. He was, however, a boy of considerable brain and
skill and among the boy-aviators of the country held an enviable
position.

"About your letter," began Frank when the first greetings were over.

"In a minute," replied Lathrop, "here's father now."

As he spoke, the portieres parted and a stout, fresh complexioned
gentleman, ruddy from his bath and shaving, appeared. He had the
pompous manner of the successful man of business and seemed to the
Chester boys to be the least bit patronizing in his manner.

"Mr. Barr will be here in a minute," he said, after introductions
had been made by Lathrop, "he will explain to you his idea. I am
merely a partner in the enterprise. You will, of course, be glad to
accept any restrictions he may impose?"

"We hardly care to discuss that yet," said Frank, rather nettled by
Mr. Beasley's pompous manner, "until we know what he requires." He
exchanged glances with Harry.

"In fact," he went on, "we were planning to take a complete rest and
follow in Mr. Roosevelt's foot-steps, by taking a hunting trip in
Africa, only," he added with a smile, "we meant to hunt by aeroplane."

"Wonderful," said Mr. Beasley, evidently much impressed by Frank's
ready manner, "when I was a boy, if a lad had a "bone-shaker"
bicycle he thought he was doing something fine, and as for flying--why,
we never thought of it."

"Perhaps the boys of to-day are further sighted," said Frank with
quiet note of sarcasm in his tone that was quite lost on the
well-meaning old merchant. Indeed at that moment Mr. Beasley rose
heavily from his chair and stepped forward to greet a new arrival
who appeared from another room of the suite.

"This is Mr. Luther Barr, the famous ivory importer," he said, with
far more respect in his tones than he had used to the boys; whom
indeed, he looked upon as talented chaps, but still boys--which to
men of his caliber is an infallible sign that anything such youthful
persons may attempt is extremely likely to go wrong. How erroneous
such an opinion is, those of our readers who have followed the
adventures of the Chester boys know.

Mr. Luther Barr deserves a new paragraph. Long, lean and hollow
cheeked, the term "gangling" fits him better than any other. Mr.
Luther Barr's black suit hung on him as baggily as the garments of a
cornfield scarecrow and Mr. Luther Barr's sharp features were not
improved by a small growth of gray hair; of the kind known as a
"goatee" that sprouted from his lower rip. For the rest of the boys
noticed that Mr. Barr was gifted with a singularly gimlet-like pair
of steely blue eyes that seemed to bore through you.

"As sharp a man as ever drove up the price of ivory," added Mr.
Beasley as he introduced the boys to this singular figure, "he can
scent an ivory bargain--"

"From here to Africa," struck in Mr. Barr in a sharp nasal tone that
grated unpleasantly, "and you and I are going to be Kings of Wall
Street if these boys put this deal through for us," he added with
what was meant to be an amiable smile, but which, as a matter of
fact, distorted his face till it looked uncommonly like an old
Japanese war mask. Indeed the boys, who had seen the collection in
the Metropolitan Museum, could not help smiling to themselves, as
the same thought struck each of them.

"Well, Beasley," exclaimed Barr suddenly, "I'm as sharp set as a
Long Island fox. Let's have a bite of breakfast and then we can get
down to business."

From Mr. Barr's manner of dispatching his breakfast and the
remarkable skill with which he wielded his knife, in conveying
various morsels to his mouth, it was evident that he had spent so
much time piling up money that his social education had been sadly
neglected. Once or twice the boys caught Lathrop's eye and they saw
that the lad was blushing with shame at the uncouth manners of his
father's friend. For this reason the boys refrained from paying any
apparent attention to Mr. Barr's actions, although--as, they
remarked afterwards--he was as well worth watching as the "sword
swallower in a circus side show."

"Yes, boys," said Mr. Barr with his mouth full of buttered toast and
ham and eggs, "I guess I know more about Africa than any man alive."

"You have crossed that continent?" asked Frank..

"No, sir," replied the old ivory merchant with some contempt. "I
wouldn't waste my time where there ain't no ain't no money. What I
mean is, I know more about the Gold Coast, the Ivory Coast and the
Slave Coast than any man in this or any other country and have got
more good solid coin out of them."

Mr. Beasley looked up admiringly from his plate. Here was evidently
a man after his own heart.

"The Slave Coast?" echoed Harry inquiringly, "I thought--"

"Thought there wasn't no more slaves, eh?" inquired Mr. Barr
amiably, swallowing his coffee with a noise like water running out
of a bath tub, "wall, that's because yer young. When yer git older
you'll larn that there's money in everything here's a demand for,
and there's just as big a demand for slaves on some rubber
plantations I could tell yer of as there ever was in the old days of
the South--and more money in 'em on account of its being more
dangerouser."

"Do you mean to say that there is slave-running now?" asked Mr.
Beasley, while both Frank and Harry wondered and Lathrop looked
uncomfortable.

"Sure I do," chirped Mr. Barr, "but no more for me. There's too
many British gunboats and 'Merican gunboats and Dutch gunboats and
what not about now to make it comfortable or healthy. No, I've
retired from that business--but there's money in it," he concluded
with a regretful sigh.

Immediately Mr. Barr had concluded his breakfast--and with his
apparently slim accommodations it was a wonder to the boys where he
put it all--he snapped, with a flinty glint of his small pig-like
eyes:

"Now, let's git down to business. You boys want ter make a bit of
money?"

"'To be sure we do," replied Frank, "but we don't want to make any
that isn't honest money."

"We'll, there's no accounting for boys nowadays," sighed Mr. Barr,
"however, you needn't worry about this money--there'll be plenty of
it and it'll all be good honest coin."

"What do you wish us to do?" demanded Frank.

"Just this: Mr. Beasley here and me is in on a deal in ivory. That
is, we were, but the big cache we had hoarded up in the Kuroworo
Mountains in the Bambara country has been stolen by a rival trader,
an Arab named Muley-Hassan. We know where he's hidden it and we
know, too, that he won't dare to bring it out till he thinks that we
aren't watching him. Now the time is ripe for a big deal in Ivory.
There is a shortage in the market. Prices will go up sky high. If
we get it out in time we'll make a barrel of coin, but if we don't
we stand to lose heavily."

Mr. Beasley gave a groan; to the boys' amazement he seemed to be
about to collapse. Lathrop too looked ill and anxious. Old Barr
paid no attention, however, but went on.

"Now, I heard about you boys and your air-ship, and I heard, too,
that you was planning a little trip to Africa and thought you might
like to combine business and pleasure."

He drew from his pocket a much-thumbed, crudely drawn map and spread
it out on the table. How he obtained it, the boys never learned
exactly, but they heard later that a treacherous attendant of the
ivory dealer had sold it to him for a good round sum.

"This country down here," he said, indicating it with a black rimmed
finger nail, "is the Southern Soudan. Here's the Bambara country to
the north of Uasule. Now right at this point, in the Moon Mountain
range,"--he pointed to a red-marked trail zigzagging across the map
to the range and terminating in a red star--"right at that thar
point, old Muley-Hassan, the Arab, has hidden our ivory cache. You
see the latitude and longitude is marked and furthermore--and here's
the most remarkable part of it--you will know the spot when you see
it by the fact that the mountains above the cache present an exact
facsimile of an upturned human face. In a direct line drawn from
the nose of this face, where you see the red star, lies the ivory."

The boys were deeply interested. Unpleasant as was the impression
old Barr had made on them, yet what he was disclosing was
impressive; but as yet they did not show that they were anything
more than casually struck by it.

"Well, Mr. Barr?" said Frank, as the old matt paused impressively.

"Well--" said Mr. Barr, "the scoundrel stole it and it's up to you
to get it out of there, if you will undertake it."

"How does it depend on us?" asked Frank.

"In just this way. Muley-Hassan has his eye on us---we can do
nothing toward locating the ivory. You can pitch a camp there and
scout about for it in your aeroplane or dirigible or whatever you
call it."

"But even if we do find the Arab's hiding-place, what good does that
do?" objected Frank.

"We can arrange with the French government to send soldiers up into
the country and get the stuff out, if necessary," readily replied
the wrinkled old ivory dealer, "but we can make no move till the
cave is located. If they suspected we were after it, they would
soon move it to another hiding-place or even pack it cross-country
to the Nile and ship it out by the Mediterranean."

Frank and Harry asked leave to hold a brief consultation at the
conclusion of which, they announced that they would think the matter
over, and see Mr. Barr at his office the next day. The old man was
far too shrewd to insist on a decision then and there, and so he
left the hotel with the boys' promise to consider the matter
carefully. As for Frank and Harry, they had pretty well made up
their minds not to have anything to do with Mr. Barr, but an
unforeseen circumstance altered their determination. As Barr left
the room with Mr. Beasley, Lathrop turned on them with troubled
eyes.

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