Tom Swift and his Great Searchlight
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Victor Appleton >> Tom Swift and his Great Searchlight
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There was the sound of a hatchet blow, and the airship shot upward.
Into the cabin came the dripping figures of the other men, and Ned,
as he stood by the great searchlight, felt a wave of wonder sweep
over him as he listened to the voices of the first man and woman.
He knew he had heard them before, and, when he listened to the
remark about a rescue by airship, in Africa, a flood of memory came
to him.
"Can it be possible that these are the same missionaries whom Tom
and I rescued from the red pygmies?" he murmured. "I must get a look
at them."
"Our boat, it is gone I suppose," remarked one of the other men,
coming into the motor room.
"I'm afraid so," answered Ned, as he played the light on the doomed
craft. Even as he did so he saw a great wave engulf her, and, a
moment later she sank. "She's gone," he said softly.
"Too bad!" exclaimed the man. "She was a fine little craft. But how
in the world did you happen along to rescue us? Whose airship is
this?"
"Tom Swift's," answered Ned, and, at the sound of the name the woman
uttered a cry, as she rushed into the motor room.
"Tom Swift!" she exclaimed. "Where is he? Oh, can it be possible
that it is the same Tom Swift that rescued us in Africa?"
"I think it is, Mrs. Illingway," spoke Ned quietly, for he now
recognized the missionary, though he wondered what she and her
husband were doing so far from the Dark Continent.
"Oh, I know you--you're Ned Newton--Tom's chum! Oh, I am so glad!
Where is Tom?"
"In the pilot house. He'll be here in a moment."
Tom came in at that juncture, having set the automatic steering geer
to take the ship on her homeward course.
"Are they all saved?" he asked, looking at the little group of
persons who had climbed up from the motor boat. "Mr. Damon, you had
better make some hot coffee. Koku, you help. I--"
"Tom Swift!" cried out Mr. and Mrs. Illingway together, as they made
a rush for the young inventor. "Don't you know us?"
To say that Tom was surprised at this, would be putting it mildly.
He had to lean up against the side of the cabin for support.
"Mrs. Illingway!" he gasped. "You here--were you in that boat?"
"Yes. it's all very simple. My husband and I are on a vacation for a
year. We got fever and had to leave Africa. We are staying with
friends at a resort on the lake shore. These are our friends," she
went on, introducing the other gentlemen.
"We went out for a trip in the motor boat," the missionary
continued, "but we went too far. Our motor broke down, we could get
no help, and the storm came up. We thought we were doomed, until we
saw your lights. I guessed it was a balloon, or some sort of an
airship, and we whistled; and called for help. Then you rescued us!
Oh, it is almost too wonderful to believe. It is a good thing I have
practiced athletics or I never could have climbed that rope."
"It is like a story from a book!" added Mr. Illingway, as he graspsd
Tom's hand. "You rescued us in Africa and again here." I may say
here that the African rescue is told in detail in the volume
entitled, "Tom Swift and His Electric Rifle."
The shipwrecked persons were made as comfortable as possible. There
was plenty of room for them, and soon they were sitting around warm
electric heaters, drinking hot coffee, and telling their adventures
over again. Mr. and Ms. Illingway said they soon expected to return
to Africa.
Tom told how he happened to be sailing over the lake, on the lookout
for smugglers, and how he had been disappointed.
"And it's a good thing you were--for our sakes," put in Mrs.
Illingway, with a smile.
"Where do you want to be landed?" asked Tom. "I don't want to take
you all the way back to Logansville."
"If you will land us anywhere near a city or town, we can arrange to
be taken back to our cottage," said one of the men, and Tom sent the
airship down until, in the gray dawn of the morning, they could pick
out a large village on the lake shore. Then, in much better
condition than when they had been saved, the rescued ones alighted,
showering Tom and the others with thanks, and sought a hotel.
"And now for our camp, and a good rest!" cried the young inventor,
as he sent the airship aloft again.
They reached their camp in the forest clearing without having been
observed, as far as they could learn, and at once set about making
things snug, for the storm was still raging.
"I don't believe any of the smugglers were abroad last night,"
remarked Mr. Whitford, as he prepared to go back into town, he
having come out on horseback, leaving the animal over night in an
improvised stable they had made in the woods of boughs and tree
branches.
"I hope not," replied Tom. but the next day, when the government
agent called again, his face wore a look of despair.
"They put a big one over on us the night of the rescue." he said.
"They flew right across the border near Logansville, and got away
with a lot of goods. They fooled us all right."
"Can you find out who gave the wrong tip?" asked Tom.
"Yes, I know the man. He pretended to be friendly to one of my
agents, but he was only deceiving him. But we'll get the smugglers
yet!"
"That's what we will!" cried Tom, determinedly.
Several days passed, and during the night time Tom, in his airship,
and with the great searchlight aglow, flew back and forth across the
border, seeking the elusive airships, but did not see them. In the
meanwhile he heard from Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, who sent him a
letter of thanks, and asked him to come and see them, but, much as
Tom would liked to have gone, he did not have the time.
It was about a week after the sensational rescue, when one evening,
as Tom was about to get ready for a night flight, he happened to be
in the pilot house making adjustments to some of the apparatus.
Mr. Damon and Ned had gone out for a walk in the woods, and Mr.
Whitford had not yet arrived. As for Mr. Koku, Tom did not know
where his giant servant was.
Suddenly there was a commotion outside. A trampling in the bushes,
and the breaking of sticks under feet.
"I got you now!" cried the voice of the giant.
Tom sprang to the window of the pilot house. He saw Koku tightly
holding a man who was squinting about, and doing his best to break
away. But it was useless. When Koku got hold of any one, that person
had to stay.
"What is it, Koku!" cried Tom.
"I got him!" cried the giant. "He sneaking up on airship, but I come
behind and grab him," and Koku fairly lifted his prisoner off his
feet and started with him toward the Falcon.
CHAPTER XVII
WHAT THE INDIAN SAW
"Hello!" cried Tom. "What's up, Koku?"
"Him up!" replied the giant with a laugh, as he looked at his
squirming prisoner, whose feet he had lifted from the ground.
"No, I mean what was he doing?" went on Tom, with a smile at the
literal way in which the giant had answered his question.
"I wasn't doing anything!" broke in the man. "I'd like to know if I
haven't a right to walk through these woods, without being grabbed
up by a man as big as a mountain? There'll be something up that you
won't like, if you don't let me go, too!" and he struggled fiercely,
but he was no match for giant Koku.
"What was he doing?" asked Tom of his big servant, ignoring the man.
Tom looked closely at him, however, but could not remember to have
seen him before.
"I walking along in woods, listen to birds sing," said Koku simply,
taking a firmer hold on his victim. "I see this fellow come along,
and crawl through grass like so a snake wiggle. I to myself think
that funny, and I watch. This man he wiggle more. He wiggle more
still, and then he watch. I watch too. I see him have knife in hand,
but I am no afraid. I begin to go like snake also, but I bigger
snake than he."
"I guess so," laughed Tom, as he watched the man trying in vain to
get out of Koku's grip.
"Then I see man look up at balloon bag, so as if he like to cut it
with knife. I say to myself, 'Koku, it is time for you to go into
business for yourself.' You stand under me?"
"I understand!" exclaimed Tom. "You thought it was time for you to
get busy."
"Sure," replied Koku. "Well, I get business, I give one jump, and I
am so unlucky as to jump with one foot on him, but I did not mean
it. I go as gentle as I can."
"Gentle? You nearly knocked the wind out of me!" snarled the
prisoner. "Gentle! Huh!"
"I guess he was the unlucky one, instead of you," put in Tom. "Well,
what happened next?"
"I grab him, and--he is still here," said Koku simply. "He throw
knife away though."
"I see," spoke Tom. "Now will you give an account of yourself, or
shall I hand you over to the police?" he asked sternly of the man.
"What were you sneaking up on us in that fashion for?"
"Well, I guess this isn't your property!" blustered the man. "I have
as good a right here as you have, and you can't have me arrested for
that."
"Perhaps not," admitted Tom. "You may have a right on this land, but
if you are honest, and had no bad intentions, why were you sneaking
up, trying to keep out of sight? And why did you have a big knife?"
"That's my business, young man."
"All right, then I'll make it MY business, too," went on the young
inventor. "Hold him, Koku, until I can find Mr. Damon, or Ned, and
I'll see what's best to be done. I wish Mr. Whitford was here."
"Aren't you going to let me go?" demanded the man.
"I certainly am not!" declared Tom firmly. "I'm going to find out
more about you. I haven't any objections to any one coming to look
at my airship, out of curiosity, but when they come up like a snake
in the grass and with a big knife, then I get suspicious, and I want
to know more about them."
"Well, you won't know anything more about me!" snarled the fellow.
"And it will be the worse for you, if you don't let me go. You'd
better!" he threatened.
"Don't pay any attention to him, Koku," said Tom. "Maybe you'd
better tie him up. You'll find some rope in the motor room."
"Don't you dare tie me up!" blustered the prisoner.
"Go ahead and tie him," went on Tom. "You'll be free to guard the
ship then. I'll go for Ned and Mr. Damon."
"Tie who up? What's the matter?" asked a voice, and a moment later
the government agent came along the woodland path on his horse.
"What's up, Tom? Have you captured a wild animal?"
"Not exactly a wild animal. Mr. Whitford. But a wild man. I'm glad
you came along. Koku has a prisoner." And Tom proceeded to relate
what had happened.
"Sneaking up on you with a knife; eh? I guess he meant business all
right, and bad business, too," said Mr. Whitford. "Let me get a look
at him, Tom," for Koku had taken his prisoner to the engine room,
and there, amid a storm of protests and after a futile struggle on
the part of the fellow, had tied him securely.
Tom and the custom officer went in to look at the man, just as Ned
and Mr. Damon came back from their stroll in the woods. It was
rapidly getting dusk, and was almost time for the start of the usual
flight, to see if any trace could be had of the smugglers.
"There he is," said Tom, waving his hand toward the bound man who
sat in a chair in one corner of the motor room. The young inventor
switched on the light, and a moment later Mr. Whitford exclaimed:
"Great Scott! It's Ike Shafton!"
"Do you know him?" asked Tom eagerly.
"Know him? I should say I did! Why he's the man who pretended to
give one of my men information about smugglers that drew us off on
the false scent. He pretended to be for the government, and, all the
while, he was in with the smugglers! Know him? I should say I did!"
A queer change had come over the prisoner at the sight of Mr.
Whitford. No longer was Shafton surly and blustering. Instead he
seemed to slink down in his chair, bound as he was, as if trying to
get out of sight.
"Why did you play double?" demanded the government agent, striding
over to him.
"I--I--don't hit me!" whined Shafton.
"Hit you! I'm not going to hit you!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford, "but
I'm going to search you, and then I'm going to wire for one of my
men to take you in custody."
"I--I didn't do anything!"
"You didn't; eh? Well, we'll see what the courts think of giving
wrong information to Uncle Sam with the intent to aid criminals.
Let's see what he's got in his pockets."
The spy did not have much, but at a sight of one piece of paper Mr.
Whitford uttered a cry of surprise.
"Ha! This is worth something!" he exclaimed. "It may be stale news,
and it may be something for the future, but it's worth trying. I
wonder I didn't think of that before."
"What is it?" asked Tom.
For answer the custom officer held out a scrap of paper on which was
written one word.
ST. REGIS.
"What does it mean," asked Ned, who, with Mr. Damon, had entered the
motor room, and stood curiously regarding the scene.
"Bless my napkin ring!" said the odd man. "That's the name of a
hotel. Do you suppose the smugglers are stopping there?"
"Hardly," replied Mr. Whitford with a smile. "But St. Regis is the
name of an Indian reservation in the upper part of New York state,
right on the border, and in the corner where the St. Lawrence and
the imaginary dividing line between New York and Canada join. I
begin to see things now. The smugglers have been flying over the
Indian Reservation, and that's why they have escaped us so far. We
never thought of that spot. Tom, I believe we're on the right track
at last! Shafton was probably given this to inform him where the
next trick would be turned, so he could get us as far away as
possible, or, maybe prevent us leaving at all."
An involuntary start on the part of the prisoner seemed to confirm
this, but he kept silent.
"Of course," went on Mr. Whitford, "they may have already flown over
the St. Regis reservation, and this may be an old tip, but it's
worth following up."
"Why don't you ask him?" Tom wanted to know, as he nodded toward
Shafton.
"He wouldn't tell the truth. I'll put him where he can't get away to
warn his confederates, and then we'll go to the reservation. And to
think that my man trusted him!"
Mr. Whitford was soon in communication with his headquarters by
means of the wireless apparatus on Tom's airship, and a little later
two custom officers arrived, with an extra horse on which they were
to take their prisoner back.
"And now we'll try our luck once more," said Mr. Whitford as his men
left with Shafton securely bound. "Can you make the reservation in
good time, Tom? It's quite a distance," and he pointed it out on the
map.
"Oh, I'll do it," promised the young inventor, as he sent his
powerful craft aloft in the darkness. Then, with her nose pointed in
the right direction, the Falcon beat her way forward through the
night, flying silently, with the great searchlight ready for instant
use.
In comparatively short time, though it was rather late at night,
they reached the St. Lawrence, and then it was an easy matter to
drop down into the midst of the reservation grounds. Though the
redmen, whom the state thus quartered by themselves, had all
retired, they swarmed out of their cabins as the powerful light
flashed back and forth.
"We want to question some of the head men of the tribe," said Mr.
Whitford. "I know some of them, for on several occasions I've had to
come here to look into rumors that tobacco and liquor and other
contraband goods dear to the Indian heart were smuggled into the
reservation against the law. I never caught any of them at it
though."
With guttural exclamations, and many grunts of surprise, the
redmen gathered around the big airship. It was too much even for
their usual reserve, and they jabbered among themselves.
"How Big Foot!" greeted the custom officer, to one Indian who had an
extremely large left foot. "How!"
"How!" responded the Indian, with a grunt.
"Plenty much fine air-bird; eh?" and the agent waved his hand toward
the Falcon.
"Yep. Plenty much big."
"Big Foot never see bird like this; eh?"
"Oh sure. Big Foot see before many times. Huh!"
"What! Has he seen this before?" asked Tom.
"No. Wait a minute," cautioned Mr. Whitford. "I'm on the track of
something. Big Foot see air-bird like this?" he questioned.
"Sure. Fly over Indians' land many times. Not same as him," and he
nodded toward Tom's ship, "but plenty much like. Make heap noise.
Come down once--break wheel mebby. Indians help fix. Indians get
firewater. You got firewater in your air-bird?"
"No firewater, but maybe we've got some tobacco, if you tell us what
we want to know, Big Foot. And so you've seen air-birds flying
around here before?"
"Sure, Heap times. We all see," and he waved his hand to indicate
the redmen gathered around him.
There came grunts of confirmation.
"We're getting there!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford to Tom. "We're on the
right track now. Which way air-birds come, Big Foot?"
"Over there," and he pointed toward Canada.
"Which way go?"
"Over there," and he pointed toward the east, in the direction of
Shopton, as much as anywhere.
"That's what we want to know. Tom, we'll just hang around here for a
while, until one of the smugglers' airships pass over head. I
believe one is due to-night, and that's why Shafton had that paper.
It was sent to him to tip him off. He was sneaking up, trying to put
your airship out of commission when Koku caught him. These Indians
have used their eyes to good advantage. I think we're on the trail
at last."
"Baccy for Big Foot?" asked the redman.
"Yes, plenty of it. Tom, give them some of Koku's, will you? I'll
settle with you later," for the giant had formed a liking for the
weed, and Tom did not have the heart to stop him smoking a pipe once
in a while. With his usual prodigality, the giant had brought along
a big supply, and some of this was soon distributed among the
Indians, who grunted their thanks.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE PURSUIT
"What plan have you in mind?" asked Tom of Mr. Whitford, when some
of the Indians had gone back to their shanties, leaving a few
staring curiously at the airship, as she rested on the ground,
bathed in the glow of her electric lights.
"Well, I think the best thing we can do is just to stay right here,
Tom; all night if need be. As Big Foot says, there have been
airships passing overhead at frequent intervals. Of course that is
not saying that they were the smugglers, but I don't see who else
they could be. There's no meet going on, and no continental race.
They must be the smugglers."
"I think so," put in Ned.
"Bless my diamond ring!" exclaimed Mr. Damon. "But what are you
going to do when you see them overhead?"
"Take after them, of course!" exclaimed Tom. "That's what we're here
for; isn't it Mr. Whitford?"
"Yes. Do you think you can rise from the ground, and take after them
in time to stand a chance of overhauling them, Tom? You know they
may go very fast."
"I know, but I don't believe they can beat the Falcon. I'd rather
wait down here than hover in the air. It isn't as dark as it was the
other night, and they might see us with their glasses. Then they
would turn back, and we'd have our trouble for nothing. They've
actually got to cross the border with smuggled goods before the law
can touch them; haven't they?"
"Yes, I couldn't arrest them on Canadian territory, or over it. I've
got to get them on this side of the border. So perhaps it will be as
well to lie here. But do you suppose you can hear them or see them,
as they fly over?"
"I'm pretty sure I can. The sound of their motor and the whizz of
the propellers carries for some distance. And then, too, I'm going
to set the searchlight to play a beam up in the air. If that gets
focused on 'em, we'll spot 'em all right."
"But suppose they see it, and turn back?"
"I don't believe they will. The beam will come from the ground
straight upward you know, and they won't connect it with my ship."
"But that fellow who was sneaking up when Koku caught him, may find
some way to warn them that you have come here," suggested Ned.
"He won't get much chance to communicate with his friends, while my
men have him," said Mr. Whitford significantly. "I guess we'll take
a chance here, Tom."
So it was arranged. Everything on the airship was gotten ready for a
quick flight, and then Tom set his great searchlight aglow once
more. Its powerful beams cut upward to the clouds, making a
wonderful illumination.
"Now all we have to do is to wait and watch," remarked Tom, as he
came hack from a last inspection of the apparatus in the motor room.
"And that is sometimes the hardest kind of work," said Mr. Whitford.
"Many a time I have been watching for smugglers for days and nights
at a stretch, and it was very wearying. When I got through, and
caught my man, I was more tired than if I had traveled hundreds of
miles. Just sitting around, and waiting is tiresome work."
The others agreed with him, and then the custom officer told many
stories of his experiences, of the odd places smugglers would hit
upon to conceal the contrabrand goods, and of fights he had taken
part in.
"Diamonds and jewels, from their smallness, and from the great
value, and the high duty on them when brought into the United
States, form the chief articles of the high class smugglers," he
said. "In fact the ones we are after have been doing more in
diamonds than anything else, though they have, of late, brought much
valuable hand-made lace. That can be bought comparatively cheap
abroad, and if they can evade paying Uncle Sam the duty on it, they
can sell it in the United States at a large profit."
"But the government has received so many complaints from legitimate
dealers, who can not stand this unfair competition, that we have
been ordered to get the smugglers at any cost."
"They are sharp rascals," commented Mr. Damon. "They seem to be
making more efforts since Tom Swift got on their trail."
"But, just the same, they are afraid of him, and his searchlight,"
declared Mr. Whitford. "I guess they fancied that when they took to
airships to get goods across the border that they would not be
disturbed. But two can play at that game."
The talk became general, with pauses now and then while Tom swept
the sky with the great searchlight, the others straining their eyes
for a sight of the smugglers' airships. But they saw nothing.
The young inventor had just paid a visit to the pilot house, to see
that his wheels and guiding levers were all right, and was walking
back toward the stern of the ship, when he heard a noise there, and
the fall of a heavy body.
"Who's that?" he cried sharply. "Is that you, Koku?"
A grunt was the only answer, and, as Tom called the giant's name the
big man came out.
"What you want, Mr. Tom?" he asked.
"I thought you were at the stern," spoke Tom. "Someone is there.
Ned, throw the light on the stern!" he called sharply.
In a moment that part of the ship was in a bright glare and there,
in the rays of the big lantern, was stretched out Big Foot, the
Indian, comfortably sleeping.
"Here! What are you doing?" demanded Mr. Whitford, giving him a
vigorous shake.
"Me sleep!" murmured Big Foot. "Lemme be! Me sleep, and take ride to
Happy Hunting Grounds in air-bird. Go 'way!"
"You'll have to sleep somewhere else, Big Foot," spoke the agent
with a laugh. "Koku, put him down under one of the trees over there.
He can finish his nap in the open, it's warm."
The Indian only protested sleepily, as the giant carried him off the
ship, and soon Big Foot was snoring under the trees.
"He's a queer chap," the custom officer said. "Sometimes I think
he's a little off in his head. But he's good natured."
Once more they resumed their watching. It was growing more and more
wearisome, and Tom was getting sleepy, in spite of himself.
Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by a distant humming
and throbbing sound.
"Hark!" cried Ned.
They all listened intently.
"That's an airship, sure enough!" cried Tom.
He sprang to the lever that moved the lantern, which had been shut
off temporarily. An instant later a beam of light cut the darkness.
The throbbing sounded nearer.
"There they are!" cried Ned, pointing from a window toward the sky.
A moment later, right into the glare of the light, there shot a
powerful biplane.
"After 'em, Tom!" shouted Mr. Whitford.
Like a bird the Falcon shot upward in pursuit noiselessly and
resistlessly, the beam of the great searchlight playing on the other
craft, which dodged to one side in an endeavor to escape.
"On the trail at last!" cried Tom, as he shoved over the accelerator
lever, sending his airship forward on an upward slant, right at the
stern of the smugglers' biplane.
CHAPTER XIX
IN DIRE PERIL
Upward shot the Falcon. With every revolution of her big propellers
she came nearer and nearer to the fleeing craft of the supposed
smugglers who were using every endeavor to escape.
"Do you think you can catch them, Tom?" asked Mr. Whitford as he stood
at the side of our hero in the pilot house, and looked upward and
forward to where, bathed in the light of the great search-lantern, the
rival craft was beating the air.
"I'm sure we can--unless something happens."
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