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

are hollow,

even through the trunk or tongue down to its contact with the

earth, that hollow is caused by a constant suction, through which

a steady stream of debris is flowing, to be sown broadcast for

miles around after emerging from the open top of the so-called

balloon.”

 

“But it isn’t at all like that,” eagerly cried Waldo, pointing to

where the fragments were flowing upward through those walls

themselves, yet far enough from that hollow interior to be but

indistinctly seen save on rare occasions. “Look at ‘em scoot,

will ye? Oh, if we could only climb up like that!”

 

Professor Featherwit was keenly watching and closely studying

that very phenomena through all, and now he gave a queer little

chuckle, as he nodded his head with vigour, before dryly

speaking.

 

“Well, it might be done; yes, it might be done, and that with no

very serious difficulty, my lad.”

 

“How? Why not try it on, then?”

 

“To meet with instant death outside?” sharply queried Bruno. “It

would be suicidal to make the attempt, even if we could; which I

doubt.”

 

Waldo gave a sudden cry, pointing upward where, far above that

destructive storm, could be seen a brace of buzzards floating on

motionless wings, wholly undisturbed by the tumult below.

 

“If we were only like that!” the lad cried, longingly. “If a

flying-machine could be built like those turkey-buzzards! I

wish—well, I do suppose they’re about the nastiest varmints ever

hatched, but just now I’d be willing to swap, and wouldn’t ask

any boot, either!”

 

Apparently the professor paid no attention to this boyish plaint,

for he was fumbling in the locker, then withdrew his hand and

uncoiled an ordinary fish-line, with painted float attached.

 

Before either brother could ask a question, or even give a guess

at his purpose, Professor Phaeton flung hook and cork into those

circling currents, only to have the whole jerked violently out of

his grip, the line flying upward, to vanish from the sight of

all.

 

That jerk was powerful enough to cut through the skin of his

hand, but the professor chuckled like one delighted, as he sucked

away the few drops of blood before adding:

 

“I knew it! It CAN be done, and if the worst should come to

pass, why should it not be done?”

 

Before an answer could be vouchsafed by either of the brothers,

the pall swooped down upon them once more, and again the supply

of natural air was shut off, while their vessel was rocked and

swayed crazily, just as though the delayed end was at last upon

them.

 

For several minutes this torture endured, each second of which

appeared to be an hour to those imperilled beings, who surely

must have perished, as they lay pinned fast to the floor of the

aerostat by that pitiless weight, only for the precious air-tubes

in connection with that cylinder of compressed air.

 

After a seeming age of torment the awful pressure was relaxed,

leaving the trio gasping and shivering, as they lay side by side,

barely conscious that life lingered, for the moment unable to

lift hand or head to aid either self or another.

 

In spite of his far greater age, Professor Featherwit was first

to rally, and his voice was about the first thing distinguished

by the brothers, as their powers began to rally.

 

“Shall we take our chances, dear boys?” the professor was saying,

in earnest tones. “I believe there is a method of escaping from

this hell-chamber, although of what may lie beyond—”

 

“It can’t well be worse than this!” huskily gasped Bruno.

 

“Anything—everything—just to get out o’ here!” supplemented

Waldo, for once all spirits subdued.

 

“It may be death for us all, even if we do get outside,” gravely

warned the professor. “Bear that in mind, dear boys. It may be

that not one of us will escape with life, after—”

 

“How much better to remain here?” interrupted Bruno. “I felt

death would be a mercy—then! And I’d risk anything, everything,

rather than go through such another ordeal! I say,—escape!”

 

“Me too, all over!” vigorously decided Waldo, lifting himself to

both knees as he added: “Tell us what to do, and here I am, on

deck, uncle.”

 

Even now Professor Phaeton hesitated, his eyes growing dimmer

than usual as they rested upon one face after the other, for

right well he knew how deadly would be the peril thus invited.

 

But, as the brothers repeated their cry, he turned away to

swiftly knot a strong trail-rope to a heavy iron grapnel, leaving

the other end firmly attached to a stanchion built for that

express purpose.

 

“Hold fast, if you value life at all, dear boys!” he warned, then

added: “Heaven be kind to you, even if my life pays the forfeit!

Now!”

 

Without further delay, he cast the heavy grapnel into that mass

of boiling vapour, then fell flat, as an awful jerk was given the

aerostat.

 

CHAPTER V.

THE PROFESSOR’S UNKNOWN LAND.

 

There was neither time nor opportunity for taking notes, for that

long rope straightened out in the fraction of a second, throwing

all prostrate as the flying-machine was jerked upward with awful

force.

 

All around them raged and roared the mighty winds, while missiles

of almost every description pelted and pounded both machine and

inmates during those few seconds of extraordinary peril.

 

Fortunately neither the professor nor his nephews could fairly

realise just what was taking place, else their brains would

hardly have stood the test; and fortunately, too, that ordeal was

not protracted.

 

A hideous experience while it lasted, those vicious currents

dragging the aerostat upward out of the air-chamber by means of

grapnel and rope, then casting all far away in company with

wrecked trees and bushes, and even solider materials, all

shrouded for a time in dust and debris, which hindered the

eyesight of both uncle and nephews.

 

Through it all the brothers were dimly aware of one fact uncle

Phaeton was shrilly bidding them cling fast and have courage.

 

All at once they felt as though vomited forth from a volcano

which alternately breathed fire and ice, the clear light of

evening bursting upon their aching, smarting eyes with actual

pain, while that horrid roar of warring elements seemed to pass

away in the distance, leaving them—where, and how?

 

“We’re falling to—merciful heavens! Hold fast, all!” screamed

the professor, desperately striving to regain full command of

their air-ship. “The tiller is jammed, but—”

 

To all seeming, the aerostat had sustained some fatal damage

during that brief eruption caused by the professor’s little

experiment, for it was pitching drunkenly end for end, refusing

to obey the hand of its builder, bearing all to certain death

upon the earth far below.

 

Half stupefied with fear, the brothers clung fast to the

life-line and glared downward, noting, in spite of themselves,

how swiftly yonder dark treetops and gray crags were shooting

heavenward to meet them and claim the sacrifice.

 

With fierce energy Professor Featherwit jerked and wrenched at

the steering-gear, uttering words such as had long been foreign

to his lips, but then—just when destruction appeared

inevitable—a wild cry burst from his lungs, as a broken bit of

native wood came away in his left hand, leaving the lever free as

of old!

 

And then, with a dizzying swoop and rapid recovery, the gallant

air-ship came back to an even keel, sailing along with old-time

grace and ease, barely in time to avoid worse mishap as the crest

of a tall tree was brushed in their passage.

 

“Saved,—saved, my lads!” screamed the professor, as his

heart-pet soared upward once more until well past the

danger-line. “Safe and sound through all,—praises be unto the

Lord, our Father!”

 

Neither brother spoke just then, for they lay there in half

stupor, barely able to realise the wondrous truth: that their

lives had surely been spared them, even as by a miracle!

 

That swooping turn now brought their faces towards the tornado,

which was at least a couple of miles distant, rapidly making that

distance greater even while continuing its work of destruction.

 

“And we—were in it!” huskily muttered Bruno, his lids closing

with a shiver, as he averted his face, unwilling to see more.

 

“Heap sight worse than being in the soup, too, if anybody asks

you,” declared Waldo, beginning to rally both in strength and in

spirit. “But—what’s the matter with the old ship, uncle

Phaeton?”

 

For the aerostat was indulging itself in sundry distressing

gyrations, pretty much as a boy’s kite swoops from side to side,

when lacking in tail-ballast, while the professor seemed unable

to keep the machine under complete control.

 

“Nothing serious, only—hold fast, all! I believe ‘twould be as

well to make our descent, for fear something—steady!”

 

Just ahead there appeared a more than usually open space in the

forest, and, quite as much by good luck as through actual skill,

Professor Featherwit succeeded in making a landing with no more

serious mishap than sundry bruises and a little extra

teeth-jarring.

 

As quickly as possible, both Bruno and Waldo pitched themselves

out of the partially disabled aeromotor, the elder brother

grasping the grapnel and taking a couple of turns of the strong

rope around a convenient tree-trunk, lest the ship escape them

altogether.

 

“No need, my gallant boy!” assured the professor, an instant

later. “All is well,—all IS well, thanks to an over-ruling

Providence!”

 

In spite of this expressed confidence, he hurriedly looked over

his pet machine, taking note of such injuries as had been

received during that remarkable journey, only giving over when

fairly satisfied that all damage might be readily made good,

after which the aerostat would be as trustworthy as upon its

first voyage on high.

 

Then, grasping the brothers each by a hand, he smiled genially,

then lifted eyes heavenward, to a moment later sink upon his

knees with bowed head and hands folded across his bosom.

 

Bruno and Waldo imitated his action, and, though no audible words

were spoken, never were more heartfelt prayers sent upward, never

more grateful thanks given unto the Most High.

 

Boy, youth, and man alike seemed fairly awed into silence for the

next few minutes, unable to so soon cast off the spell which had

fallen upon them, one and each, when realising how mercifully

their lives had been spared, even after all earthly hope had been

abandoned.

 

As usual, however, Waldo was first to rally, and, after silently

moving around the aerostat, upon which the professor was already

busily at work by the last gleams of the vanished sun, he paused,

legs separated, and hands thrust deep into pockets, head perking

on one side as he spoke, drawlingly:

 

“I say, uncle Phaeton?”

 

“What is it, Waldo?”

 

“It’ll never do to breathe even a hint of all this, will it?”

 

“Why so, pray?”

 

“Whoever heard it would swear we were bald-headed liars right

from Storytown! And yet,—did it really happen, or have I been

dreaming all the way through?”

 

Professor Featherwit gave a brief, dry chuckle at this, rising

erect to cast a deliberate glance around their present location,

then speaking:

 

“Without I am greatly mistaken, my dear boy, you will have still

other marvellous happenings to relate ere we return to what is,

rightfully or wrongfully, called civilisation.”

 

“Is that so? Then you really reckon—”

 

“For one thing, my lad, we are now fairly entered upon a terra

incognita, so far as our own race is concerned. In other

words,—behold, the Olympics!”

 

Both Bruno and Waldo cast their eyes around, but only a

circumscribed view was theirs. The shades of evening