CHAPTER X.
A NIGHT VOYAGE.
Sailing through the air at night is a vastly different thing to thedelightful exhilaration of a day voyage. In the latter case, all isplain going--provided, of course, the weather conditions areright--below the aviator is spread out, like a many-colored carpet, aglowing landscape dotted with peaceful hamlets, busy smoky cities, andquiet farms and patches of woodland. But at night all is changed. Thedarkness hangs about the driving air-craft like a pall. The aviatoranxiously scans the earth below him for an occasional light or the glarethat a distant city casts on the sky. It is by those means alone that hecan get his bearings, unless he is a skilled navigator and steers by thecompass. Even then he may get lost. All is uncertainty.
So intent on overtaking their rivals, however, were the boys, that theyreckoned little of the risks they ran, and kept the _Golden Eagle_headed on an almost due westerly course. The tiny shaded light above thebinnacle was the only speck of illumination about the air-ship. Luckilythe moon cast a bright, white illumination, but the luminary was waning,and was already low in the western sky. Soon all would be as black as awell.
"Heard anything from the auto?" asked Frank, with a backward glance,after they had been running about an hour thus.
"Not a thing," rejoined Harry; "that means they must have a light insight."
"Still, I should like to know just where they are. Send them a flash."
Harry bent over the wireless key and sent a message crackling into thenight:
"Send up a flare."
The answer soon came. From far below them a blue illumination lit up thetrees and along a stretch of road in a lurid glare. The amused youngaviators could see horses and cattle out at pasture in the quiet fieldsgalloping for dear life at the alarming apparition.
"Can you see any sign of the others?" asked Frank, some minutes later.
Both boys had in the interval been peering anxiously ahead into thenight.
"Not a sign, can you?"
"Not yet."
"We ought to catch sight of them soon."
"That's so. We should have no difficulty in making out the dirigible,illuminated as she is."
The boys lapsed into silence, straining their eyes ahead in vain.
Suddenly Harry gave a shout.
"There she is, about four points off our course to the north."
"That's right. That's the dirigible, sure enough. Now, comparing herspeed with that of Slade's machine, he cannot be far off."
"Say, we've been making time, all right."
"I should say we have. But look! Something's the matter with thedirigible."
As Harry spoke they saw the row of lights by which they had picked thegas-supported craft out of the night suddenly waver and then begin todrop.
"They are going to descend," cried Harry amazedly.
"Evidently. Look there!" he broke off with a sharp exclamation.
A red glare suddenly enveloped the dirigible, showing her every outline.
"It's a distress signal!" was the elder lad's excited shout. "Somethinghas happened."
"I'll tell the boys in the auto to answer it," suggested Harry.
He sent out a sputtering wireless, which was soon answered by a blueglare from the auto. An answering illumination from the dirigible wentup.
"They've seen our signal," cried Frank. "Now, Harry, switch on thesearchlight."
"What for?"
"To pick out a landing-place by. I don't want to risk our necks bydropping in the dark."
"You are going to land and help them?"
"Of course; they may be in serious trouble. It is our duty to aid them."
"But Slade's machine?"
"Well, he'll make a big gain on us to-night, I'm afraid, but it can't behelped. They have signaled for assistance, and we've got to go to theirhelp."
The white finger of light of the searchlight began to sweep the groundbelow them. So far as they could see, they were traveling over a clearedcountry only interspersed here and there by clumps of trees.
"This looks as good a place to drop as any," said Frank as hescrutinized the nature of the country over which they were soaring inslow circles.
Harry assented.
"Tell me when to cut out the engine," he said.
"I'll do that myself," replied Frank. "I'll do it with the emergencycut-outs. We might have to shift up again in a hurry, and the engineacts more quickly on the driving wheel controls."
The aeroplane began to drop. About a quarter of a mile from her thedirigible was settling, too. Her crew kept burning flares so as to seethat they didn't blunder into any growth that might have ripped theirgas bag.
The boys reached the earth without a mishap, and found themselves in arocky meadow, about a hundred yards from the road. In a few minutes theauto came chugging along with an excited party on board.
"What is it?"
"What has happened?"
"What's the matter?"
"Call me a tenderfoot if I didn't think it was Pain's fireworks."
The exclamations and questions came in a perfect volley.
"One at a time, one at a time," laughed Frank; "we're not phonographs."
"You scared the life out of us," interjected Billy Barnes.
"Well, you needn't worry about the _Golden Eagle_; with the exception ofthe time we are losing, she is as sound as a bell, but the dirigibleover yonder is in some distress. We had better hop in the auto and drivein that direction."
Luckily the road went in the direction in which the dirigible had lastbeen seen, and a short distance down the main track the boys found afield path leading off into an enclosure in which they could see menscurrying round the big dirigible with lanterns in their hands. Theyseemed much perturbed, and the boys could hear their loud expressions ofdisgust at their sudden stoppage.
"Dirigible ahoy!" hailed Frank, as the auto rolled up; "what's thetrouble?"
"Oh, hello--are you the Boy Aviators?" said a pleasant-faced man, whomthe boys recognized as James McArthur, the driver and owner of thecraft. "It's mighty good of you to come to our aid. Yes, we've cracked apropeller blade, and are in a bad fix. You see, we lost a lot of gas indropping, and that means we'll have to lighten the ship."
"I hope it doesn't put you out of the race," sympathized Frank; "it'stoo bad such an accident should have occurred."
"It is, indeed," said Mr. McArthur. "We were doing so well, too."
"If you will let us I think we can help you out," volunteered Frank.
"If you only could," exclaimed the other eagerly.
"We've got a spare propeller in the auto. If you like, I can let youhave it till you reach Pittsburg or some town where you can get a newone fitted."
"Oh, I couldn't think of depriving you."
"Not at all. I don't think there is a chance of our having any accidentto our propellers. You are welcome to it."
Mr. McArthur, with profuse expressions of thanks, thereupon gratefullyaccepted the propeller which the boys unpacked from its place in the bigtonneau of their car. It was not long before it was bolted in place, andthe dirigible ready to start. The new propeller was a trifle smallerthan the old one, but the driver of the dirigible was confident he couldget good results with it. Before he started, however, he had to dropthree of his men, with instructions to them to walk to the nearest townand then take the train for Pittsburg, at which city he could get freshsupplies of hydrogen gas. In the meantime McArthur and one man were tohandle the dirigible, and almost every bit of ballast she carried wassacrificed.
Amid a perfect tornado of thanks, which they would have been glad tododge, the boys hurried back to the _Golden Eagle_, and were soon oncemore in the air. Daybreak found them flying about nine hundred feetabove a hilly, sparsely settled country.
As the light grew brighter, which it did slowly, with a promise of rain,they gazed eagerly about them in every direction. Far behind them theycould see the tiny speck of the dirigible, la
boring along with her smallpropeller, but of the Slade machine there was not a sign.
"Well, he has got a start of us this time, for fair," exclaimed Harry,as the boys looked blankly at each other, following the result of theirscrutiny.
"There's nothing to do but keep doggedly on," rejoined Frank, "but weought to reach Pittsburg to-night. It looks as if we are in for arain-storm, too."
"It certainly does," rejoined Harry. "Well, there's one consolation,Slade can't do any better in the rain than we can."
"No, that's so," rejoined Frank, but there was little elation in histone.
For a time the boys sat in silence. It was broken by a sharp shout fromHarry.
"Frank! Frank! look there!"
They were flying above a farm-house, from the chimney of which acheerful column of smoke was ascending. Hungry and tired as the boyswere, they could in imagination smell the breakfast coffee, the aroma ofthe frizzling bacon and the hiss of the frying eggs. But what had causedHarry's shout was clear enough. Outside the farm-house stood twoautomobiles, which they recognized as those of Barr and Fred Reade, anda short distance from the two cars stood the _Despatch's_ aeroplane.
"They've stopped for breakfast," exultingly cried Frank; "here's wherewe get ahead of them."