The Lost City by Jr. Joseph E. Badger (good summer reads TXT) 📕

of all this, and, failing to see aught to account

for the symptoms with unaided eyes, at length ventured to speak.

 

“What is it, uncle Phaeton? Something of interest, or your

looks—”

 

Professor Featherwit gave a start, then lowered the glasses and

reached them towards his nephew, speaking hurriedly:

 

“You try them, Bruno; your eyes are younger, and ought to be

keener than mine. Yonder; towards the lower end of the—the

lake, please.”

 

Nothing loath, Gillespie complied, quickly finding the correct

point upon which the professor’s interest had centred, holding

the glasses motionless for a brief space, then giving vent to an

eager ejaculation.

 

“What is it all about, bless you, boy?” demanded Waldo, unable

longer to curb his hot impatience. “Another drifting tree, eh?”

 

“No, but,—did you see it, uncle?”

 

“I saw something which—what do YOU see, first?”

 

“A great big suck,—a monster whirlpool which is hollowed like—”

 

“I knew it! I felt that must be the true solution of it all!”

cried uncle Phaeton, squirming about pretty much as one might

into whose veins had been injected quicksilver in place of

ordinary blood. “The outlet! Where the surplus waters drain off

to the Pacific Ocean!”

 

“I say, give me a chance, can’t you?” interrupted Waldo, grasping

the glasses and shifting his station for one more favourable as a

lookout.

 

He had seen sufficient to catch the right angle, and then gave a

suppressed snort as he took in the view. Half a minute thus,

then a wild cry escaped his lips, closely followed by the words:

 

“Now I DO see something! And it isn’t a drifting tree, either!

Or, that is, something else which—shove her closer, uncle

Phaeton! True as you live, there’s something caught in yonder big

suck which is—closer, for love of glory!”

 

“If this is another joke, Waldo—”

 

“No, no, I tell you, Bruno! Shove her over, uncle, for, without

this glass is hoodooed, we’re needed right yonder,—and needed

mighty bad, too!”

 

Little need of so much urging, by the way, since Professor

Featherwit was but slightly less excited by their double

discovery, and even before the glasses were clapped to Waldo’s

eyes the aerostat swung around to move at full speed towards that

precise quarter of the compass.

 

“What is it you see, then, boy?” demanded Bruno, itching to take

the glasses, yet straining his own vision towards that as yet

far-distant spot.

 

“Something like—oh, see how the water is running out,—just like

emptying a bathtub through a hole at the bottom! And see what—a

man caught in the whirl, true’s you’re a foot high, uncle!”

 

“A man? Here? Impossible,—incredible, boy!” fairly exploded

the professor, not yet ready to relinquish his cherished belief

in a terra incognita.

 

The air-voyagers were swiftly nearing that point of interest, and

now keen-eyed Bruno caught a glimpse of a drifting object which

had been drawn within the influence of yonder whirlpool, but

which was just as certainly a derelict from the forest.

 

“Another floating tree-trunk for Waldo!” he cried, with a short

laugh, feeling far from unpleased that the intense strain upon

his nerves should be thus lessened. “Try it again, lad, and

perhaps—”

 

“Try your great-grandmother’s cotton nightcap! Don’t you suppose

I can tell the difference between a tree and a—”

 

“Ranting, prancing, cavorting ‘sour-us’ right out of Webster’s

Unabridged, eh, laddy-buck?”

 

“That’s all right, if you can only keep on thinking that way, old

man; but if yonder isn’t a fellow being in a mighty nasty pickle,

then I wouldn’t even begin to say so! And—you look, uncle

Phaeton, please.”

 

Nothing loath, the professor took the proffered glasses, and but

an instant later he, too, gave a sharp cry of amazement, for he

saw, clinging to the trunk of a floating tree, swiftly moving

with those circling waters, a living being!

 

And but a few seconds later, Bruno made the same discovery,

greatly to the delight of his younger brother.

 

“A man! And living, too!”

 

“Of course; reckon I’d make such a howl about a floater?” bluntly

interjected Waldo. “But I’ll do my crowing later on. For now

we’ve got to get the poor fellow out of that,—just got to yank

him

out!”

 

Through all this hasty interchange of words, the aeromotor was

swiftly progressing, and now swung almost directly above the

whirlpool, giving all a fair, unobstructed view of everything

below.

 

The suction was so great that a sloping basin was formed, more

than

one hundred yards in diameter, while the actual centre lay a

number

of feet lower than the surrounding level.

 

Half-way down that perilous slope a great tree was revolving, and

to this, as his forlorn hope, clung a half-clad man, plainly

alive,

since he was looking upward, and—yes, waving a hand and uttering

a cry for aid and succour.

 

“Help! For love of God, save me!”

 

“White,—an American, too!” exploded Waldo, taking action as by

brilliant inspiration. “Hang over him, uncle, for I’m going—to

go fishing—for a man!”

 

Waldo was tugging at the grapnel and long drag-rope. Bruno was

quick to divine his intention, and lent a deft hand, while the

professor manipulated the helm so adroitly as to keep the

flying-machine hovering directly above yonder imperilled

stranger, leaning far over the hand-rail to shout downward:

 

“Have courage, sir, and stand ready to help yourself! We will

rescue you if it lies within the possibilities of—we WILL save

you!”

 

“You bet we just will, and right—like this,” spluttered Waldo,

as he cast the grapnel over the rail and swiftly lowered it by

the rope. “Play you’re a fish, stranger, and when you bite, hang

on like grim death to a—steady, now!”

 

Fortunately nothing occurred to mar the programme so hastily

arranged, for the drift was drawing nearer the centre of the

whirl, and if once fairly caught by that, nothing human could

preserve the stranger from death.

 

“Make a jump and grab it, if you can’t do better!” cried Waldo,

intensely excited now that the crisis was at hand.

 

The long rope with its iron weight swayed awkwardly in spite of

all he could do to steady it, and as each one of the three prongs

was meant for catching and holding fast to whatever they touched,

there was no slight risk of impaling the man, thus giving him the

choice of another and still more painful death.

 

Then, with a desperate grasp, a death-clutch, he caught one arm

of the grapnel, holding fast as the shock came. He was carried

clear of the tree, and partly submerged in the water as his added

weight brought the flying-machine so much lower.

 

“Up, up, uncle Phaeton!” fairly howled Waldo, at the same time

tugging at the now taut rope, in which he was ably seconded by

his brother. “For love of—higher, uncle!”

 

Then the noble machine responded to the touch of its builder,

lifting the dripping stranger clear of the whirling currents,

swinging him away towards yonder higher level, where a fall would

not prove so quickly fatal. And then the eager professor gave a

shrill cheer as he saw the man, by a vigorous effort, draw his

body upward sufficiently far to throw one leg over an arm of the

grapnel itself.

 

Knowing now that the rescued was in no especial peril, uncle

Phaeton left the air-ship to steer itself long enough for his

nimble hands to take several turns of the drag-rope around the

cleat provided for that express purpose, thus relieving both

Bruno and Waldo of the heavy strain, which might soon begin to

tell upon them.

 

“Hurrah for we, us, and company!” cried Waldo, relieving his

lungs of a portion of their pent-up energy, then leaning

perilously far over the edge of the machine to encourage the

queer fish he had hooked.

 

CHAPTER X.

RESCUED AND RESCUERS.

 

Despite their very natural excitement, caused by this peril and

its

foiling, Professor Featherwit retained nearly all his customary

coolness and presence of mind.

 

Readily realising that after such a grim ordeal would almost

certainly come a powerful revulsion, his first aim was to swing

the stranger far enough away from the whirlpool to give him a

fair chance for life, in case he should fall, through dizziness

or physical collapse, from the end of the drag-rope.

 

This took but a few seconds, comparatively speaking, though,

doubtless, each moment seemed an age to the rescued stranger.

Then the professor slowed his ship, looking around in order to

determine upon the wisest route to take.

 

For one thing, it would be severe work to draw the stranger

bodily up and into the aerostat. For another, unless he should

grow weak, or suffer from vertigo, both time and labour would be

saved by taking him direct to the shore of this broad lake.

 

As soon as the rope was made fast, and the strain taken off their

muscles as well as their minds, Bruno flashed a look around,

naturally turning his eyes in the direction of the whirlpool.

 

Although less than a couple of minutes had elapsed since the man

was lifted off the circling drift, even thus quickly had the end

drawn nigh; for, even as he looked that way, Gillespie saw the

great trunk sucked into the hidden sink, the top rising with a

shiver clear out of the water as the butt lowered, a hollow,

rumbling sound coming to all ears as—

 

“Gone!” cried Bruno, in awed tones, as the whole drift vanished

from sight for ever.

 

“Sucked in by Jonah’s whale, for ducats!” screamed Waldo,

excitedly. “Fetch on your blessed ‘sour-us’ of both the male and

female sect! Trot ‘em to the fore, and if my little old suck

don’t take the starch out of their backbones,—they DID have

backbones, didn’t they, uncle Phaeton?”

 

Professor Featherwit frowned, and shook his head in silent

reproof. More nearly, perhaps, than either of the boys, he

realised what an awful peril this stranger had so narrowly

escaped. It was far too early to turn that escape into jest,

even for one naturally light of heart.

 

He leaned over the hand-rail, peering downward. He could see the

rescued man sitting firmly in the bend of the grapnel, one hand

tightly gripping the rope, its mate shading his eyes, as he

stared fixedly towards the whirling death-pool, from whose jaws

he had so miraculously been plucked.

 

There was naught of debility, either of body or of mind, to be

read in that figure, and with his fears on that particular point

set at rest, for the time being, Professor Featherwit called out,

distinctly:

 

“Is it all well with you, my good friend? Can you hold fast

until the shore is reached, think?”

 

“Heaven bless you,—yes!” came the reply, in half-choked tones.

“If I fail in giving thanks—”

 

“Never mention it, friend; it cost us nothing,” cheerily

interrupted the professor, then adding, “Hold fast, please, and

we’ll put on a wee bit more steam.”

 

The flying-machine was now fairly headed for a strip of shore

which offered an excellent opportunity for making a safe landing,

and as that accelerated motion did not appear to materially

affect the stranger, it took but a few minutes to clear the lake.

 

“Stand ready to let go when we come low enough, please,” warned

the professor, deftly managing his pet machine for that purpose.

 

The stranger easily landed, then watched the flying-machine with

painfully eager gaze, hands clasped almost as though in prayer.

A more remarkable sight than this half-naked shape, burned brown

by the sun, poorly protected by light skins, with sinew

fastenings, could scarcely be imagined; and there was something

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