White Fire

  CHAPTER VIII THE DUST-EATING MULE

  The long, dark corridors of the vast automobile and airplane factory weresilent. The same old ponderous machines loomed here and there, whilesmaller ones stood sentry everywhere. At the end of one long alleyway asmall light gleamed. Flickering first to the right, then to the left, itcast gigantic shadows against the walls.

  Two boys were working over a "mule." A mule in a factory, as you willremember, is one of those hard-working, snub-nosed little motors thatdrag trucks about from department to department. The boys were workingover the motor of this mule. There came now and then the metallic clinkof a wrench, or the tap tap of a hammer, followed by a grunt ofsatisfaction or disgust.

  "There!" Johnny Thompson straightened up and stretched his crampedmuscles. "I guess she's about ready to move."

  The trip across-continent and the return had been accomplished. Asidefrom the stirring adventure on the desert, they had met with no unusualexperiences. The connecting-rods, struck from the steel of mysteriouscomposition, had performed wonderfully well. When measured by instrumentsthat were exact to the ten-thousandth part of an inch, it had been foundthat they had worn down only thirty-four ten thousandths of an inch,while connecting-rods of the best known commercial steel would have wornone hundred and forty-two ten thousandths of an inch in making the samemileage. Small figures, but in the history of steel they promised to markan epoch.

  The inventor's mind was improving but he had not as yet succeeded inrecalling the formula. While hoping for his recovery, the boys werepreparing to make a more rigorous test of this new steel. The companywere manufacturing a new type of seaplane. Every afternoon the two boys,togged out in aviator's garb, were learning to fly this new plane. It wasplanned that, when the boys found themselves to be perfect masters ofthis new vehicle of the air, the six connecting-rods should be placed inthe motor of the seaplane, and that it be shipped to the Pacific coast.There, under ideal conditions, they were to test out, not only theconnecting-rods, but the seaplane, flying, as a last trial, a thousandmiles or more.

  The pay Johnny had received for the cross-continent trip had enabled himto make a large payment on his debt of honor. As for Pant, he, for thefirst time in his life, had a savings account.

  During their forenoons they were busy in the factory. At times Johnnythought of the vial of dark liquid that reposed on the shelf in thelaboratory, the one he had placed there the night he made the analysis ofthe mysterious steel. At one time while in the laboratory he had glancedup to make sure it was there. It was still in its place. He had beentempted to tell the chemist about it but was afraid of being laughed at.

  "Never mind," he told himself, "in time I will learn to make a chemicalanalysis myself. Then I'll see what's what."

  The question of the strange white fire puzzled him at times. He wondered,too, how the automobile of the contortionist had happened to catch firein the desert. But these were mere vague wonderings which had no answer.

  Though they were well occupied during the day, the boys found time atnight for working upon a new, strange problem of which as yet, theirfriend, Mr. McFarland, the president and manager, knew nothing. It wasthis problem that occupied their minds at the present moment. It was astirring moment. Many nights they had spent working over a new type ofengine, one that had never been set in a motor vehicle before. Now it wasready for the try-out.

  "Track clear?" breathed Johnny.

  "All clear," Pant whispered back.

  "All right; here goes!"

  There followed a series of sudden sharp explosions. These increasedrapidly until they became a loud and insistent purr. Then, with the forceand speed of a frightened pig, the little motor car shot forward.

  The movement was too sudden for the boys. Johnny was thrown backward uponthe floor. Pant, thrown in a wild whirl to the right, saw the motor, ablack streak, shoot down the dark alley-way.

  "She's got speed," he muttered.

  The wild snorting of the motor awakened echoes in every corner of thefactory. This was followed almost immediately by a deafening crash.

  Pant started quickly forward, then paused. Johnny was now on his feet.

  "Did she explode or hit the wall?" Pant asked.

  "Hit the wall."

  Johnny rubbed his bruised head ruefully.

  "Wouldn't believe she could make such time."

  "That was a powerful engine."

  The two boys were now on the run. They arrived at the scene of thedisaster just ahead of a tall man carrying a flashlight and a bunch ofkeys.

  This man--the watchman--flashed his light upon the bent and twisted metalthat lay against the wall, then demanded sternly:

  "What's that?"

  "That," said Johnny with a wry smile, "is a pile of scrap."

  "Don't get fresh," the watchman warned. "What is it?"

  "It's what I said it is," said Johnny seriously. "If you want to knowwhat it was, I'll tell you; it was a dust-eating mule."

  The watchman's mouth flew open. "A--A," he sputtered incredulously. "Itold you before, young fellow, don't get fresh." He moved a hand towardJohnny menacingly.

  "I have told you the truth," said Johnny stoutly. "Perhaps I should havesaid a dust-burning mule. That's what she was. It wouldn't be a bit ofgood to explain to you; you wouldn't understand, and besides, I don'twant to. That's our secret. We have permission from Mr. McFarland toconduct experiments here nights."

  "But you have no permission to endanger men's lives."

  "That's right," Johnny admitted; "we were a bit careless."

  "I'll just turn the facts in to the boss and you can fight it out withhim," said the watchman sourly as he turned away.

  "Well, that's that," said Johnny sorrowfully. "It's a complete loss.We'll have to begin all over again. But from that little test I amconvinced that the engine has a wonderful future."

  "This particular one had a brief but eventful past, I'd say," grinnedPant.

  After one more look at the wreck, they turned and went their way.

  That night before he fell asleep Johnny reviewed in his mind the eventsthat led up to the happenings of that evening.

  He, Johnny, had been standing on the steps of the official entrance tothe plant one afternoon, when Mr. McFarland had said to him: "Johnny,please go down to the north gate and request that old man to go away. Heis stopping the workers as they pass and trying to engage them inconversation. He looks like he is a propagandist for some radicalorganization trying to make the men discontented. Get rid of him if youcan."

  The man had turned out to be not a radical at all, but a friendly andharmless old man who was seeking some one who could be interested in anew type of engine which he had invented. Such a fine spoken and polishedold gentleman had he proved to be that Johnny had been prevailed upon toaccompany him to his home to see the engine.

  He had found the home of the aged inventor to be a fourth-floor backflat, being merely two dark rooms upon an alley. Here, with his wife, apleasant-faced old lady, he lived and labored.

  "You see," he had said, as he uncovered the engine with the dramaticmovement of one who unveils a great work of art, "this engine of mine isdifferent from all other internal-combustion engines. It doesn't burngasoline; it burns dust."

  "Dust!" Johnny had exclaimed.

  "Dust!" the old man had smiled. "Watch it!"

  He touched a lever. There followed a succession of rapid and sharpexplosions. These increased in number per second until they became aprolonged purr, as the one in the "mule" had done. The engine was nowrevolving at full speed.

  "You see?" the old man had smiled. "She runs--on dust!"

  "On dust," Johnny had repeated in a daze.

  The old man had touched the lever and the engine had stopped.

  "You think it strange," the old man had smiled, motioning Johnny to achair and taking one himself; "but, after all, is it so strange? Thefirst internal-combustion engine, we have it on good authority, did no
tburn gasoline but a composition of gun powder and other substances. Thegreatest grain elevator in the world was destroyed by a dust explosion.Billions of fine particles of carbon dust gathered in the air space abovethe wheat. A spark touched it off. A tremendous explosion followed. Thereis unlimited power there. Why not harness it?

  "You are looking," he pointed at the engine, "upon the motor power of thefuture. It ran, as you saw a moment ago, on coal dust, a very finelypowdered coal dust. A little is let in at a time. A slight ash is formed.This drops out at the top of the cylinder, as you will see the engineruns inverted. It was burning coal dust, but any carbon dust will do.Wood ground fine, wheat dust, peat dust, any carbon dust will drive it.Think what that means to the world-traveler of the future! No moredisgusting waiting for gasoline; no more weary miles on foot. You land inthe heart of Africa, India, Siberia. You have with you a small grinderlike a wheat mill. It is run by batteries. You are out of fuel. Youmerely grind up a dry tree-trunk, a sack of wheat or a few pounds ofcoal, and you are away again."

  "Sounds like a dream," Johnny had sighed.

  "It is a dream--a dream that has come true," the old man had fairlyshouted. "All that is needed is capital to perfect larger motors, to putthem upon the market. If only your president can be made to see it, asyou and I see it--"

  "I'll try," Johnny had gripped the old inventor's hand. "I'll see what Ican do."

  The next night Pant had accompanied Johnny to the aged inventor's room,and there over some wonderful coffee and doughnuts prepared by theinventor's wife, they talked over the future of the strange dust-burningengine.

  It was decided that, since the engine had never been tried out in anyvehicle, Johnny and Pant should obtain permission to experiment with itin the factory after hours to perfect it further before it was presentedto the busy president.

  Three weeks of spare time experimenting had resulted in the completewreck of the engine, smashed against a brick wall.

  "Now we'll have to begin all over again, and because that watchman turnsus in we'll have to show our plans to the president," said Johnny.

  The revealing of their plans was not the misfortune they thought it, forMr. McFarland at once became keenly interested in the enterprise. He tookthem off their regular work and set them doing full time in experimentingwith this new engine.

  In two weeks they had a new mule doing double-quick time all over theshop. Another two weeks saw them riding about the streets of the city ina car driven by a dust-burning motor.

  Their happiness knew no bounds. Boundless, too, were their ambitions.This should be the airplane engine of the future. Two twelve-cylindermotors were manufactured for the seaplane they were to drive and theplane and motors were shipped to the Pacific coast where, over the placidwaters of a bay, they might experiment with little danger of disaster.

  They had been on the Pacific coast, driving the plane equipped with thetwo dust-burning motors and with one of the motors using the sixconnecting-rods of mysterious steel, for a week when one day Johnnydecided to make a short drive over the country alone. Not suspecting thatanyone could, this time, be on their trail, he told Pant of his intentionwhile in the lobby of their hotel while a number of persons were present.

  He made a successful trip of some two hundred miles. A fog had blown upfrom the sea but he knew the location of a beautiful mountain lake whichhe had often longed to visit. On an island in this lake, he had beentold, were to be found traces of the wonderful fossilized forests forwhich the West is famous.

  By circling low he succeeded in locating the placid surface of the lakeand in making a creditable landing. Unbuckling his harness he rosestiffly, stretched his cramped limbs, then, turning hastily, unlashed asmall skiff from the back of the fuselage and, having tossed it lightlyinto the water, seized the paddle, leaped into the skiff and paddledrapidly toward the shore.

  He had been gone for perhaps five minutes when, without warning, from outof the white fog there appeared the prow of a small motorboat. The enginewas not going. The two occupants of the boat were rowing, each with oneoar. Their destination, beyond doubt, was the seaplane.

  Not a word was spoken until the taller of the two men, astrange-appearing fellow with unusually long fingers, put out a hand and,steadying himself for a moment, leaped from the boat to the lower wing ofthe plane.

  "Work fast," the shorter man cautioned in a whisper. "He may be back anymoment."

  "Count on me. Don't want any mix-up. Nasty business," whispered theother, then with a spring he was away down the length of the plane. Thenext minute he had climbed to a narrow platform parallel with thepowerful motors which hung suspended halfway between the upper and lowerplanes.

  Drawing a wrench and a pair of pliers from his pocket, he worked over theengine to the right for some eight or ten minutes. When he had finished,he mumbled something that sounded like:

  "Guess that'll slow him up," then thrusting his tools, together with someother small objects, into his pocket, he leaped back to the plane, and,racing down its length, sprang into the motorboat.

  "Thought you had decided to stay," grumbled the waiting man.

  "Time enough," the other drawled. Seizing his oar, he pushed the boataway from the plane.

  The next moment they disappeared silently into the fog. They had beengone but an incredibly short time when Johnny reappeared in his shallowskiff.

  "Well, she's still here," he breathed with a sigh of satisfaction. "GuessI ought not to take such chances, but who'd be out here that knows oursecret?"

  He climbed happily back to his seat in the plane, buckled on his harness,then touched his lever.

  But what was this? The engine gave a few sput-sputs, then stopped dead.

  "What?"

  He could not believe his senses. He tried it again. No better results.

  Snatching off his harness, he leaped to the platform beside the motor.

  For a moment his eyes and his fingers played over the line of spark plugsof the twelve-cylinder motor, as a skilled musician plays over the keysof an organ.

  Then his face went blank.

  "Changed!" he muttered. "Somebody's been here. That spark plug there;never had one like that. And that one; I cracked the enamel when I putone in there. It's gone. Perfectly good-looking one there now. Somebody'stampered--"

  He drew from his pocket a wrench. Quickly unscrewing the spark plug, heplaced it on top of the cylinder, then gave the propeller a whirl.

  "No spark," he mumbled. "Dead! Dead as a last year's ragweed!"

  Again he paused in thought.

  The next moment he was all action. Dropping to the fuselage, he draggedfrom within the space back of the seat numerous odds and ends of woodenrods, coils of wire, clamps, bolts and glass insulators. These he piecedtogether with incredible speed. At length a wire-strung pole was thrusthigh in air. Wires were attached at the bottom, a receiver thrust overhis head, and then, seated in his place before the wheel, he was allowinghis fingers to play upon the key of a wireless.

  "Sput--sput--sput!" The snap of the electric current sounded above him.He was sending out an S. O. S. addressed to Pant at the home station.

  "Sput-sput-sput," the instrument sounded again and again. Each time hewaited for an answer. At last, to his great joy, it came. The buzzing inhis receiver resolved itself into the dots and dashes of the Morse code:"Shoot, Pant."

  "Thank God!" Johnny exclaimed.

  The purpose of the intruders was plain enough. They had hoped to driveJohnny to desert his plane in this lonely spot, then they would returnand strip it of its priceless steel at their leisure.

  "I'll show them!" he hissed.

  Again his fingers played on the key. He instructed Pant to bring twelvespark plugs to the island on Lake Poncetrane. He was to make a landingthere, if possible, then to bring the spark plugs to the northeast cornerof the island where he, Johnny, would be waiting for him.

  He listened until the other boy's O. K. rang in his ears then, removingthe receiver from his head, he settled b
ack in his seat. It would be twohours before Pant arrived. Everything would be all right if--suddenly hesat up straight, his brow wrinkled--"if he can land on the island!" heexclaimed; "and I doubt if he can. There's a small bare space in the verycenter, and that is covered with rocks; the rest is timbered. If he can'tland, we lose!"

  At last he rose and, having drawn himself up beside the motor, busiedhimself with the task of removing the faulty spark plugs.

  "The villains!" he muttered. "It's a dirty trick!"

  He had just completed his task of removing the spark plugs, when therecame to his waiting ear the drum of a powerful motor.

  "Pant," he murmured, "good old Pant. He's made it in record time. Now ifonly--"

  He did not finish. He dared not hope that it could be done.

  The thunder of the motor grew louder. The fog had cleared now, and hecould see the plane, an airplane Pant had borrowed, like some giganticdragon fly, drifting down upon him.

  Before it reached the spot in the sky above him, it swerved to the rightand went skimming low over the tree-tops of the island.

  Johnny made no move to go ashore; there would be time enough for thatafter Pant had effected a landing--if he did.

  For a second or two the drum of the motor ceased, and Johnny's heartstopped beating with it. Could Pant make it?

  But again came the thunder of the motor. Again the plane appeared abovethe trees. He had not found a safe landing place.

  Once more the plane circled over the island, then dipped out of sight.Again the motor stopped. This time Johnny was sure Pant had beensuccessful, but again his hopes fell, for the plane rose to circle oncemore.

  Four times he attempted it; four times failed.

  "Can't do it. It's no use!" Johnny sank limply down into his seat.

  But Pant was swinging around. He was preparing to pass low over theseaplane. What could he want?

  As he came scudding along with engine shut off, Johnny heard him shout:

  "Watch this!"

  The next moment he saw his hand shoot out. Something dropped from thathand. Straight down it dropped for a hundred feet, then somethingresembling a parachute filled with air appeared, and checked its fall.

  Quickly Johnny leaped into his skiff and was away to the spot where thisminiature parachute would fall. The thing was heavy. Could he reach itbefore it dragged the parachute to the bottom of the lake? Strainingevery muscle, he sent the skiff flying over the surface of the water.

  The parachute had fallen into the lake. Now he was a hundred feet fromit, now fifty, now twenty-five, and now--now, his hand shot out andseized it just as, water-logged, it was beginning to sink.

  As he dragged the cloth affair from the water, from his lips thereescaped a glad shout. Attached to the parachute's cord were three sparkplugs.

  Hardly had he made this discovery than there came again the shout:

  "Watch this!"

  He did watch, and did do his best, but in spite of his efforts the secondparachute sank before he reached it.

  But there were others. Twice more he succeeded and three times failed.But he now had nine new spark plugs. Surely there were enough.

  Paddling hastily to the plane, he made the changes, dropped into hisseat, and again touched his lever. This time there came a welcome burstof thunder and he was away.

  He gazed for a second behind him to see Pant, his purpose fulfilled,speeding away toward home.

  "That," smiled Johnny, "was a clever trick. I'd never have thought of it.But trust good old Pant for that. Who'd have thought, though," his browwrinkled, "that old Slim Jim, the contortionist, was still on our trail?"

  Strangely enough, during the days that followed the contortionist put inno second appearance.

  Three weeks of testing proved to them that their engines were a completesuccess. Then began what proved to be their great adventure.

  There came to them a short, bald-headed man of middle age, with a letterfrom Mr. McFarland, their employer.

  The letter read: "This gentleman, Professor Paul Lasky, is a very closefriend of mine. He may ask you to do something difficult and dangerous.Do it if you can, for his cause is worthy and his need imperative."

  The stranger was not slow in laying his needs before them. A trampsteamer had gone on the shoals of a coral island some two thousand milesfrom the Pacific coast of America. Some passengers and members of thecrew had been drowned. The others had been rescued. The wreck was drivenhigh on the sand in a sheltered bay, so she would not break up at once.Some hardy adventurers, claiming to have owned the steamer, had put offin another steamer four days previous with the purpose of salvaging hercargo. It was imperative that he, the professor, should reach the wreckbefore them. A seaplane was the only craft that could bring him to theisland in time, and of all the air-craft then on the coast, none had thepossibilities of such protracted flight save their own. He wished them totake him there. The reward would be ample and, should his mission besuccessfully accomplished, they would be real benefactors of mankind,since some tens of thousands of children would be benefited.

  Johnny and Pant held a long consultation. The undertaking was a seriousone. Could it be that the stranger knew the type of engine their planecarried? His mission must indeed be an important one if a mere landsman,accustomed to neither the sea nor the air, would attempt such a perilousflight to accomplish it.

  "What can it be?" Johnny demanded of Pant.

  "Can't tell. Some treasure on the ship, perhaps."

  "But the ship and the cargo belong to the men who have gone to strip thewreck, don't they?"

  "Perhaps. Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps, at least, not all."

  "Well, if you are ready to undertake it, I am."

  "You're on!" exclaimed Pant, gripping Johnny's hand. "It will be awonderful test for our motors."

  "And I don't think our contortionist friend can follow us," smiledJohnny.

  Twenty hours later, after having covered fifteen hundred miles in steadyflight, they realized that it was indeed to be a wonderful test for theirmotors, and to them as well; a test out of which they might never emerge.

  They were sailing high over a boundless expanse of water, when Johnnysuggested that they drop to the level of the sea and rest their motorsfor an hour as they drifted, sea-gull-like, on the surface of the gentlyheaving ocean.

  "Perfectly calm down there," he called through his speaking-tube.

  "Guess so." Pant, who was acting as pilot, set her nose downward andslowed his engine for volplaning.

  As they neared the surface of the water, an exclamation of surpriseescaped Pant's lips.

  "Why, she's rolling in great billows. Not a breath of air, either!"

  "It's stifling," grumbled Johnny.

  Pant gave one look at the barometer. Instantly his face clouded.

  "Didn't know the glass could drop so low," he mumbled. "Nasty weathercoming. Can't float on that water. Better climb back up."

  Slowly the plane climbed skyward again. When she had reached a highaltitude, with the suddenness of thought she ceased to climb.

  It was as if she had run, head on, into an immense filmy veil of silkthat hung from the high heavens, its fringe touching the sea. The veilwas dark, the darkness of midnight blue. It seized the plane and set ittwirling, whirling, pitching, plunging. It was as if a giant hand hadseized the veil from above and twisted it, as one twists a damp towel towring it.

  It was then that Pant at the wheel lost all control. Johnny, in thecabin, became an over-large punching-bag. Harnessed to his seat fromevery side, he swung now into space, and now jammed hard into place, tofeel himself banged against the side of the narrow cabin. With head sunklimply forward, with his whole body relaxed, he waited dumbly for theend. What that end might be, he could not even guess. They were caught ina typhoon, hundreds of miles from land, somewhere in mid-Pacific.