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Tom Swift And His Air Glider

V >> Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift And His Air Glider




It took nearly a week to assemble the Vulture, as Tom had named his
latest craft, from the fact that it could hover in the air motionless,
like that great bird. At last it was completed and then, weights being
taken aboard to steady it, all was ready for the test. Tom would have
liked to have taken all his passengers in the glider, for it would work
better then, but the three Russians were timid, though they promised to
get aboard after the trial.

The test came off early one morning, Tom, Ned and Mr. Damon being the
only ones aboard. Bags of sand represented the others. The glider was
wheeled to the edge of the wind zone and they took their places in the
car. It was hard work for the gale, that had never ceased blowing for
an instant since they found its zone, was very strong. But the glider
remained motionless in it, for the wing planes, the rudders, and
equalizing weights had been adjusted to make the strain of the wind
neutral.

"All ready?" asked Tom, when his chum and his friend were in the
enclosed car of the glider.

"As ready as I ever shall be," answered Ned.

"Bless my suspenders! Let her go, Tom, and have it over with!" cried the
odd man.

The young inventor pulled a lever, and almost instantly the glider
darted forward. A moment later it soared aloft, and the three Russians
cheered. But their voices were lost in the roar of the hurricane, as Tom
sent his craft higher and higher.

It worked perfectly, and he could direct it almost anywhere. The wind
acted as the motive power, the bending and warping wings, and the
rudders and weights controlling its force.

"I'm going higher, and see if I can remain stationary!" yelled Tom in
Ned's ear. His chum only nodded. Mr. Damon was seated on a bench,
clinging to the sides of it as if he feared he would fall off.

Higher and higher went the Vulture, ever higher, until, all at once, Tom
pulled on another lever and she was still. There she hung in the air,
the wind rushing through her planes, but the glider herself as still and
quiet as though she rested on the ground in a calm. She hardly moved a
foot in either direction, and yet the wind, as evidenced by the
anemometer was howling along at a hundred and twenty miles an hour!

"Success!" cried Tom. "Success! Now we can lie stationary in any spot,
and spy out the land through our telescope. Now we will find the lost
platinum mine!"

"Well, I'm not deaf," responded Ned with a smile, for Tom had fairly
yelled as he had at the start, and there was no need of this now, for
though the wind blew harder than ever it was not opposed to any of the
weights or planes, and there was only a gentle humming sound as it
rushed through the open spaces of the queer craft.

Tom gave his glider other and more severe tests, and she answered every
one. Then he came to earth.

"Now we'll begin the search," he said, and preparations were made to
that end. The Russians, now that they had seen how well the craft
worked, were not afraid to trust themselves in her.

As I have explained, there was an enclosed car, capable of holding six.
In this were stores, supplies and food sufficient for several days.
Tom's plan was to leave the airship anchored on the edge of the wind
zone, as a sort of base of supplies or headquarters. From there he
intended to go off from time to time in the wind-swept area to look for
the lost mine.

There were weary days that followed. Hour after hour was spent in the
air in the glider, the whole party being aboard. Observation after
observation was taken, sometimes a certain strata of wind enabling them
to get close enough to the earth to use their eyes, while again they had
to use the telescopes. They covered a wide section but as day after day
passed, and they were no nearer their goal, even Tom optimistic as he
usually was, began to have a tired and discouraged look.

"Don't you see anything like the place where you found the mine?" he
asked of the exile brothers.

They could only shake their heads. Indeed their task was not easy, for
to recognize the place again was difficult.

More than a week passed. They had been back and forth to their base of
supplies at the airship, often staying away over night, once remaining
aloft all through the dark hours in the glider, in a fierce gale which
prevented a landing. They ate and slept on board, and seldom descended
unless at or near the place where they had left the Falcon. Once they
completely crossed the zone of wind, and came to a calm place on the
other side. It was as wild and desolate as the other edge.

Nearly two weeks had passed, and Tom was almost ready to give up and go
back home. He had at least accomplished part of his desire, to rescue
the exile, and he had even done better than originally intended, for
there was Mr. Borious who bad also been saved, and it was the intention
of the young inventor to take him to the United States.

"But the platinum treasure has me beat, I guess," said Tom grimly. "We
can't seem to get a trace of it."

Night was coming on, and he had half determined to head back for the
airship. Ivan Petrofsky was peering anxiously down at the desolate land,
over which they were gliding. He and his brother took turns at this.

They were not far above the earth, but landmarks, such as had to be
depended on to locate the mine, could not readily be observed without
the glass. Mr. Damon, with a pair of ordinary field glasses, was doing
all he could to pick out likely spots, though it was doubtful if he
would know the place if he saw it.

However, as chance willed it, he was instrumental in bringing the quest
to a close, and most unexpectedly. Peter Petrofsky was relieving his
brother at the telescope, when the odd man, who had not taken his eyes
from the field glasses, suddenly uttered an exclamation.

"Bless my tooth-brush!" he cried. "That's a most desolate place down
there. A lot of trees blown down around a lake that looks as black as
ink."

"What's that!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "A lake as black as ink? Where?"

"We just passed it!" replied Mr. Damon.

"Then put back there, as soon as you can, Tom!" called the Russian. "I
want to look at that place."

With a long, graceful sweep the young inventor sent the glider back over
the course. Ivan Petrofsky glued his eyes to the telescope. He picked
out the spot Mr. Damon had referred to, and a moment later cried:

"That's it! That's near the lost platinum mine! We've found it again,
Tom--everybody! Don't you remember, Peter," he said turning to his
brother, "when we were lost in the snow we crawled in among a tangle of
trees to get out of the blast. There was a sheet of white snow near
them, and you broke through into water. I pulled you out. That must have
been a lake, though it was lightly frozen over then. I believe this is
the lost mine. Go down, Tom! Go down!"

"I certainly will!" cried the youth, and pulling on the descending lever
he shunted the glider to earth.




CHAPTER XXIV

THE LEAKING TANKS


Like a bird descending from some dizzy height, the Vulture landed close
to the pool of black water. It was a small lake and the darkness must
have been caused by its depth, for later when they took some out in a
glass it was as clear as a crystal. Then, too, there might have been
black rocks on the bottom.

"Can it he possible that we are here at last?" cried Tom, above the
noise of the gale, for the wind was blowing at a terrific rate. But our
friends knew better now how to adjust themselves to it, and the lake was
down in a valley, the sides of which cut off the power of the gale. As
for the glider it was only necessary to equalize the balance and it
would remain stationary in any wind.

"This is the place! This is the place!" cried Ivan Petrofsky. "Don't you
remember, Peter?"

"Indeed I do! I have good cause to! This is where we found the
platinum!"

"Bless my soul!" cried Mr. Damon. "Where is it, in the lake?"

"The mine itself is just beyond that barrier of broken and twisted
trees," replied the elder Russian brother. "It is an irregular opening
in the ground, as though once, centuries ago, an ancient people tried to
get out the precious metal. We will go to it at once."

"But it is getting late," objected Ned.

"No matter," said Tom. "If we find any platinum we'll stay here all
night, and longer if necessary to get a good supply. This is better than
the city of gold, for we're in the open."

"I should say we were," observed Mr. Damon, as he bent to the blast,
which was strong, sheltered even as they were.

"Will it be safe to remain all night?" asked Mr. Borious, with a glance
about the desolate country.

"We have plenty of food," replied Tom, "and a good place to stay, in the
car of the glider. I don't believe we'll be attacked."

"No, not here," said the elder Petrofsky. "But we still have to go back
across Siberia to escape."

"We'll do it!" cried Tom. "Now for the platinum treasure!"

They went forward, and it was no easy work. For the wind still New with
tremendous force though nothing like what it did higher up. And the
ground was uneven. They had to cling to each other and it was very
evident that no airship, not even the powerful Falcon, could have
reached the place. Only an air glider would answer.

It took them half an hour to get to the opening of the ancient mine, and
by that time it was nearly dark. But Tom had thought to bring electric
torches, such as he had used in the underground city of gold, and they
dispelled the gloom of the small cavern.

"Will you go in?" asked Ivan Petrofsky, when they had come to the place.
He looked at Tom.

"Go in? Of course I'll go in!" cried our hero, stepping forward. The
others followed. For some time they went on, and saw no traces of the
precious metal. Then Ned uttered a cry, as he saw some dull, grayish
particles imbedded in the earth walls of the shaft.

"Look!" he cried.

Tom was at his chum's side in a moment

"That's platinum!" cried the young inventor. "And of the very highest
grade! But the lumps are very small."

"There are larger ones beyond," said the younger Russian brother.

Forward they pressed, and a moment later coming around a turn in the
cavern where some earth had fallen away, evidently recently, Tom could
not repress a cry of joy. For there, in plain sight, were many large
lumps of the valuable metal, in as pure a state as it is ever found. For
it is always mixed with other metals or chemicals.

"Look at that!" cried Tom. "Look at that! Lumps as large as an egg!" and
he dug some out with a small pick he bad brought along, and stuffed them
into his pocket.

"Bless my check book!" cried Mr. Damon, "and that stuff is as valuable
as gold!"

"More so!" cried Tom enthusiastically.

"Oh, here's a whopping big one!" cried Ned. I'll bet it weighs ten
pounds."

"More than that!" cried Tom, as he ran over and began digging it out,
and they found later that it did. Platinum is usually found in small
granules, but there are records of chunks being found weighing twenty
pounds while others, the size of pigeons' eggs, are not uncommon.

"Say, this is great!" yelled Ned, discovering another large piece, and
digging it out.

"I am glad we could lead you to it," said the elder Russian brother. "It
is a small return for what you did for us!"

"Nonsense!" cried Tom. "These must be a king's ransom here. Everybody
dig it out! Get all you can."

They were all busy, but the light of the two torches Tom had brought was
not sufficient for good and efficient work, so after getting several
thousand dollars worth of the precious metal, they decided to postpone
operations until morning, and come with more lights.

They were at the work soon after breakfast, the night in the air glider
having passed without incident. The treasure of platinum proved even
richer than the Russians had thought, and it was no wonder the Imperial
government had tried so hard to locate it, or get on the trail of those
who sought it.

"And it's all good stuff!" cried Tom eagerly. "Not like that low-grade
gold of the underground city. I can make my own terms when I sell this."

For three days our friends dug and dug in that platinum mine, so many
years lost to man, and when they got ready to leave they had indeed a
king's ransom with them. But it was to be equally divided. Tom insisted
on this, as his Russian friends had been instrumental in finding it.
Toward the end of the excavation large pieces were scarce, and it was
evident that the mine was what is called a "lode."

"Well, shall we go back now?" asked Tom one day, after the finish of
their mining operations. The work was comparatively simple, as the
platinum lumps had merely to be dug out of the sides of the cave. But
the loneliness and dreariness of the place was telling on them all.

"Can't we carry any more?" asked Ned.

"We could, but it might not be safe. I don't want to take on too much
weight, as my glider isn't as stable as the airship. But we have plenty
of the metal.

"Indeed we have," agreed Ivan Petrofsky. "Much of mine and my brother's
will go toward helping relieve the sufferings of the Siberian exiles,"
he added.

"And mine, too," said Alexis Borious.

They started back early the next morning in a more terrific gale than in
any the glider had yet flown. But she proved herself a stanch craft, and
soon they were at the place where they had left the airship. It was
undisturbed.

Four days were spent in taking apart the glider and packing it on board
the Falcon. Then, with the platinum safely stored away Tom, with a last
look at the desolate land that had been so kind to them, sent his craft
on her homeward way.

It was when they were near the city of Pirtchina, on the Obi river, that
what might have proved a disastrous accident occurred. They were flying
along high, and at great speed, for Tom wanted to make all the distance
he could, to get out of Siberia the more quickly. They had had a fair
passage so far, and were congratulating themselves that they would soon
be in civilization again.

Suddenly, Mr. Damon, who had been on the after deck, taking observations
through a telescope, came running forward, crying out:

"Tom! Tom! What is that water dripping from the back part of the
airship?"

"Water?" exclaimed Tom. "No water is dripping from there."

"Come and look," advised Mr. Damon.

The young inventor raced back with him. He saw a thin, white stream
trickling down from the lower part of the craft. Tom sniffed the air
suspiciously.

"Gasolene! It's gasolene!" he cried. "We must have a leak in the supply
tanks!"

He dashed toward the reserve storeroom, and at that moment, with a
suddenness that was startling, the motor stopped and the Falcon lurched
toward the earth.




CHAPTER XXV

HOMEWARD BOUND--CONCLUSION


"All right!" yelled Ned, as soon as he heard Tom's cry. "I've got her
under control. We'll volplane down."

"Is it dangerous? Are we in danger?" asked Peter Petrofsky of his
brother, in Russian.

"I guess there's no danger, where Tom Swift's concerned," was the
answer. "I have not volplaned much, but it will be all right I think."

And it was, for with Ned Newton to guide the craft, while Tom did his
best to stop the leak, the craft came gently to earth on the outskirts
of a fairly large Siberian city. Almost instantly the Falcon was
surrounded by a curious throng.

"You had better keep inside," said Ivan Petrofsky to his brother and Mr.
Borious. "Descriptions of you are probably out broadcast by now, but I
am still sufficiently disguised, I think."

"But what is to be done?" demanded the younger Russian brother. "If the
gasolene is gone, how can we leave here?"

"Trust Tom Swift for that," was the reply. "Keep out of sight now, there
is a large crowd outside."

Tom came from the tank room. There was a despondent look on his face.

"It's all gone--every drop," he said. "That's what made the motor stop."

"What's gone?" asked Mr. Damon.

"The gasolene. We sprung a leak in the main tank, somehow, and it all
flowed out while we were flying along."

"Haven't you any more?"

"Not a bit. I was drawing on the reserve tank, hoping to get to
civilization before I needed more. But its too late now. We will have
to--"

"Bless my snow shoes!" cried Mr. Damon. "Don't say we'll have to stay
here--in Siberia! Don't say that. My wife--"

"No, we won't have to stay here if we can get a supply of kerosene,"
interrupted Tom. "The motor will burn that. The only trouble is that we
may be detained. The authorities probably know us by this time, and are
on the watch."

"Then get it before they know we are here," advised Ned.

"I'll try," said Tom, and he at once conferred with the elder Petrofsky.
The latter said he was sure kerosene could be had in town, and, rather
than risk going in themselves, they hired a wagoner who agreed, for
liberal pay, to go and return with a quantity. Until then there was
nothing to do but wait.

Meanwhile the crowd of curiosity seekers grew. They thronged around the
airship, some of them meddling with various devices, until Tom had to
order them away with gestures.

One particularly inquisitive man insisted on pulling or twisting
everything, until he happened to touch a couple of live wires, giving
himself quite a shock, and then he ran away howling. But still the crowd
increased, and at last Mr. Petrofsky said:

"I don't like this, Tom?"

"Why not?" They were all inside the craft, looking out and waiting for
the return of the man with the kerosene. The leak in the tank had proved
to be a small one, and had quickly been soldered. It had been open a
long time, which accounted for the large amount of gasolene escaping.
"What don't you like, Mr. Petrofsky?"

"So many men surrounding us. I believe some of them are officers dressed
in civilians' clothes, and a Russian officer never does that unless he
has some object."

"And you think the object is--?"

"To capture us."

"If it was that, wouldn't they have done it long ago--when we first came
down?"

"No, they are evidently waiting for something perhaps for some high
official, without whose orders they dare do nothing. Russia is overrun
with officialdom."

And a little later Ivan Petrofsky's suspicion proved true. There arrived
a man in uniform, who spoke fairly good English, and who politely asked
Tom if he would not delay the start of the airship, again, until the
governor could arrive from his country place to see it.

"We know you are going to leave us," said the Russian with a smile, "for
you have sent for kerosene. But please wait."

"If your governor comes soon we'll wait," replied Tom. "But we are in a
hurry. I wish that kerosene fellow would get a move on," he murmured.

"Oh, he will doubtless be here soon," said the officer. "Might I be
permitted to come aboard and wait for my chief?"

"Sorry, but it's not allowed," replied our hero, straining his eyes down
the road for a sight of the wagoner. At last he came, and Tom breathed
easier.

But the crowd was bigger, and some of the men, though poorly dressed,
seemed to be persons in authority. Tom had no doubt but what there was a
plot afoot to detain him, and arrest the exiles, and that there were
disguised soldiers in the throng. But they could not act without the
governor's orders, and he was probably on his way with all haste.

"Lively now, get that kerosene in the tanks!" cried Tom to the man,
motioning in lieu of using Russian. The youth was not going to meet the
governor if he could help it.

Now it was a curious thing, but the more that wagoner and his helpers
seemed to try to hurry, and pour the oil from the cans into the
tank-opening of the airship, the slower they worked. They got in each
others' way, dropped some cans, spilled others, and in general made such
poor work at it that Tom saw there was something in the wind.

"Ned!" he exclaimed, "they're doing all they can to detain us. We've got
to put that oil in ourselves. Just as we did the gasolene in France.
It's the same sort of a delay game."

"Right, Tom! I'm with you."

"And I'll warn the crowd back, by telling them we are likely to blow up
any minute!" added Ivan Petrofsky, which warning he shouted in Russian a
moment later.

Backward leaped the throng, as though a bomb bad been thrown into their
midst, even the supposed officers joining in the retreat. The oil wagon
was now easy of access, and Tom and Ned, with Mr. Damon to aid them,
hastened toward it. Then the work of filling the tanks went on in
something like good old, United States fashion.

The last gallon of kerosene had been put aboard, and Tom and Ned with
Mr. Damon, had climbed on deck, when the gaily uniformed officer, who
had requested the delay, came riding up furiously.

"Hold! Hold! If you please!" he cried. "The governor has come. He wants
to see you."

"Too late!" answered Tom. "Give him our best regards and ask him to some
to the United States if he wants to see us. Sorry we haven't cards
handy. Ned, take the pilot house, and shoot her up sharp when you get
the signal. I'm going to run the motor. I don't know just how she'll
behave on the kerosene."

"You must remain!" angrily cried the officer.

"The United States doesn't take 'must' from anybody, from the Czar
down!" cried Tom as he disappeared into the motor room. The window was
open, and the youth turned on the power the official cried again to him:

"Halt! Here comes the governor! I declared you arrested by his orders,
and in the name of the Czar!"

"Nothing doing!" yelled Tom, and then, looking from the window, he saw
approaching a troop of Cossacks, in the midst of whom rode a man in a
brilliant uniform--evidently the governor.

"Stop! Stop!" cried the official.

"Here we go, Ned!" yelled Tom, and turning on more power the Falcon
arose swiftly, before the very eyes of the angry governor, and his staff
of Cossack soldiers.

Up and up she went, faster and faster, the motors working well on the
kerosene. Higher and higher. The governor and his soldiers were directly
below her now.

"Stop! Stop! You must stop. The Imperial governor orders it!" yelled the
officer, evidently his Excellency's aide-de-camp.

"We can't hear you!" shouted Tom, waving his hand from the motor room
window, and then, turning on still more power he flew over the city,
taking his friends and the valuable supply of platinum with him. So
surprised were the soldiers that they did not fire a shot, but had they
done so it is doubtful if much damage could have been done.

"And now for home!" cried Tom, and homeward hound the Falcon was after a
perilous trip through two storms. But she weathered them well.

In due season they reached Paris again, and now, having no reason for
concealment, they flew boldly down, to change what remained of the
kerosene for gasolene, as the motor worked better on that. The secret
police learned that the exiles were aboard, but they could do nothing,
as the offenses were political ones, and so Tom kept his friends safe.

Then they started on the long voyage across the Atlantic, and though
they had one bad experience in a storm over that mighty ocean, they got
safely home to Shopton in due season.

There is little more to tell. The platinum proved to be even more
valuable than Tom had expected. He could have sold it all for a large
sum, but he preferred to keep most of what he had for his inventive
work, and he used considerable of it in his machinery. Ned disposed of
his, selling Tom some at a lower price than market quotations, and the
Russians got a good price for theirs, turning the money into the fund to
help their fellow exiles. Mr. Damon also made a good donation to the
cause, as did Tom and Ned.

Mr. Petrofsky and his brother, with the other exile, joined friends in
New York, and promised to come and see Tom when they could.

"Well, I suppose you'll take a long vacation now," said Mary Nestor, to
Tom, when he called on her one evening to present her a unique ring,
with the stones set in some of the platinum he had dug in the Siberian
mine.

"Vacation? I have no time for vacations!" said the young inventor. "I'm
soon going to work on my silent airship, and on some other things I have
in mind. I want more adventures."

"Oh, you greedy boy!" exclaimed Mary with a laugh.

And what adventures Tom had next will be found in the next book of this
series, which will be entitled, "Tom Swift in Captivity; Or, a Daring
Escape by Airship."

Tom had several offers to give exhibitions in his air glider, from
aviation committees at various meets, but he declined.

"I haven't time," he declared. "I'm too busy."

"You ought to rest," his chum Ned advised him.

"'Bless my alarm clock!' as Mr. Damon would say," exclaimed Tom. "The
best rest is new work," and then he began sketching his ideas for a
silent motor craft, during which we will take leave of him for a while.

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