Chapter 30

AN ALARMING DISCOVERY

One of the first questions our flyers asked of Oliver Torrey, after they had helped him remove his wet clothing, was:

"Where are your friends?"

The _Clarion_ flyer shook his head sadly. "They're done for--drowned. I'm the only one left of our crew. That was an awful storm, boys! I don't see how you ever survived it."

"We did it by flying over the greater part of it," said Tom. "How did it happen to get you fellows?"

"Pete and Chuck were operating," explained Oliver Torrey. "Sam and I both wanted to get above the tornado, but they said they thought it wouldn't amount to much. When they saw how bad it really was, it was too late. A whirlpool of wind struck us at three thousand feet, Pete lost control, and we went into a nose-dive from which we never recovered. When we struck the sea the force crushed in the front of the cabin, stunning Pete, and before any of us could grab him the waves had washed him out of our sight. Chuck, Sam, and I managed to get out and climb up on the fuselage; but the seas were running so high that half of the time we were buried in water. Coming out of one of these deluges, I looked around and saw that I was alone. Then the storm passed, and things looked better for me. But I was just about ready to give up when I saw the Sky-Bird coming."

Oliver Torrey paused a moment, wiped his haggard face, and then continued, as he looked earnestly at his rescuers:

"Boys, I never can thank you enough for saving my worthless life. It's awful to think that we guys let Pete Deveaux coax us into doing all those dirty things to hold you back. I guess we deserved this punishment. If I ever get back to Panama I'll certainly make what amends I can by telling the whole disgraceful story to the world."

Tom stepped in front of the _Clarion_ flyer, and shook his finger in his face. "Torrey," said Tom, "I think at heart you are all right; but listen! Mr. Wrenn, who hired you fellows, is a straight man through and through. If this story gets out it will be published broadcast, and people will think he abetted your crimes against us. So, for his sake----"

"I see; I hadn't thought of that," ejaculated Torrey. "I will keep still; as far as the public'll ever know, they'll think this was a fair and square contest--and so it was on your part."

It must be remembered that John and Tom had had no sleep since the day previous. They were so tired by now, especially John, that they were very glad to retire to the hammocks, leaving Paul and Bob to take care of the Sky-Bird. Oliver Torrey was also exhausted, and accepted with alacrity Paul's invitation to him to jump into the spare hammock. Within five minutes the two youths were the only ones awake.

It seemed good to the boys to feel that soon they would be at San Cristobal, their last stop before the final hop. They flew along with the throttle wide open for the next hour, eager to make up for the delay caused by the storm and the rescue of Torrey. Then they reduced the speed a little, to make sure they would not overheat the engine, but still they made good time.

Shortly before six o'clock that afternoon they sighted a blue haze which a little later developed into a group of several islands. These they knew, by consulting their chart, were the Gallapagos, the home of the largest land-turtles ever known, monsters so enormous that one of them could walk off with two half-grown boys on his broad back.

There are over two thousand volcano cones in these islands, and soon our friends were almost in the midst of them. On all sides and at all distances were rugged peaks one hundred to two thousand feet high, rising sheer from a rose-pink sea over which the declining sun played ravishingly. Along the shores pelicans soared above the shallow inlets, watching for unwary fish. Tiny birds darted in and out among the cliffs. Down in the crystal depths of the sea, over shelves of coral, vague shapes hovered and passed and repassed--sharks, dolphins, turtles, and grunts, even the ghastly devil-fish.

All life seemed confined to water and to air; never was dry land so desolate-looking as those myriads of barren volcanic cones. Yet one of these islands was peopled with human beings--San Cristobal.

Which one was it? The easternmost of the group, said the chart.

Circling that way. Bob gave a yelp like a pup which sees his younger master after he has been away all day.

"I see Dalrymple Rock!" he cried, with the binoculars to his eyes. "I see Wreck Point, too, and a bay between 'em, with houses on the beach. That looks like our number, all right. What more do you want, Paul?"

"Nothing," laughed Paul,--"except our landing field. Find that, wake up the other fellows, and I'll be satisfied."

In a moment Bob pointed out a flat field marked with the welcome white T, then he aroused John and Tom while Paul was bringing the Sky-Bird down. From a rickety old pier, also from the shores where they had gathered, a crowd of curious natives rushed forward to witness the landing of the most startling object they had ever seen. They were a mixture of South Americans, mostly Ecuadoreans, and not until our friends stepped out of the cabin did they summon up enough courage to get very close to the machine.

Among them was the owner of the island--a good-looking young Ecuadorean, highly educated, who was to look after their interests in the matter of fuel,--and the chief of police (presumably "chief," because there is only one representative of the law in the Galapagos).

The owner of San Cristobal informed the flyers in excellent French,--which all of them except Oliver Torrey could speak,--that he was delighted to welcome the first airplane crew to his little domain; that weeks ago the ship had brought gasoline and oil, which was now awaiting their pleasure in the little nearby shanty; that he and his police officer and the peons were eager to serve them in any way they could; and would the brave American aviators favor him and his police officer by joining them at the hacienda for dinner that evening?

Our friends graciously accepted this invitation, upon finding that their host would appoint a watch for the airplane. They then went with him to his pretty hacienda in the valley--a green, undulating country, dotted with grazing cattle and horses, patches of sugar-cane, coffee bushes, and lime trees, stretching away to a cloud-capped range of mountains.

Situated upon a hillock, in the midst of this entrancing valley, and surrounded by the peons' grass houses, was the owner's home. Here the flyers partook of an excellent repast, garnished with the best the island could afford, including tender wild duck from the surrounding lagoons and savory turtle soup. Then followed songs by their host, and jolly college melodies by themselves, accompanied by the sweet strains of a guitar in the hands of the police officer.

Out in the compound, the peons also celebrated the occasion. There were great oil flares, thrummings of guitars, gyrating dancers in bright-hued ponchos, merry cries, the laughing of children, the barking of dogs.

Everybody seemed thoroughly happy and contented. And, after all, what else matters? That is the Ecuadorean point of view, and who shall say it is a bad one?

It was difficult for the boys to remind themselves that here they were precisely on the equator, so positively chilly was it. And yet they were. It was the third time which they had touched that imaginary girdle of the earth in the past week or so; and it was to be their last crossing. How inspiring the thought that they were now within one hop of their goal; that sometime on the morrow they would probably reach Panama well within their time limit of ten days!

The fact is, they had only 650 miles ahead of them--a distance which could easily be covered, barring accidents, inside of five hours, and they had until one o'clock the following day in which to reach their destination. When they realized this, and were pressed most insistently by the owner of the island to spend the night, under the shelter of his roof, where there were two spare beds, the tired, bed-hungry flyers decided to remain over, Oliver Torrey going to the house of the police "chief." Torrey was really in no physical condition, as it was, to continue the flight immediately, for he had suffered a chill as the result of his exposure, and felt very weak.

Next morning they were up at the break of day, and at once began the task of refilling the tanks of the Sky-Bird and giving her machinery a general overhauling. Torrey felt much better, and assisted in these operations. His gratitude to the boys for deciding not to divulge the duplicity of the unfortunate crew with whom he had been connected was very great, and he spared no effort to help them on toward success--which goes to show that this fellow was not at all bad at heart but had simply gotten in with a bad crowd.

It was a good thing that the flyers went over their engines. John found a loose coupling in one, and a stretched fan belt in the other. Had they gone on in this condition trouble would have been sure to visit them. It was small wonder, however, that something should not be out of good working order, for these faithful pieces of mechanism had been given the hardest kind of usage day in and day out, each in its turn, and sometimes working together, in this long flight around the earth. Their final test had been the storm. More than once the boys had marveled at the remarkable efficiency of their motive power. What a tribute to the mechanical genius of modern man had these engines paid! They were almost human in intelligence, more than human in their untiring zeal.

The repairs were not difficult to make; the belt was cut and fastened again with a leather lace borrowed from the police "chief's" shoe, and the careful use of a wrench and other tools out of their kit finally fixed the loose coupling. But these operations had consumed unlooked-for valuable time, and when they had had breakfast with their friends and were ready at last to go, they found that the watch of their host indicated the hour of nine.

Setting their own watches to this local time, as had been their custom in all towns upon arriving or leaving, our flyers once more thanked their entertainers for courtesies extended, wished them good-bye, and got in their machine.

As they taxied swiftly down the course, the rush of wind from the big propeller sent more than one Ecuadorean's wide-brimmed hat flying from his head, and to the enjoyment of all, a native who was perched precariously upon an up-ended cask was blown heels-over-head backwards.

No sooner had they straightened out upon their northeasterly course than Bob sat down to his instruments and called up the Panama wireless station. In about ten minutes he got it, and told of their position and the accident to the _Clarion_. They all knew that when the news of this catastrophe reached the American newspapers there would be the greatest excitement, and that Mr. Wrenn would not only be grievously disappointed but horrified at the fate of the three members of his crew.

They now had just four hours in which to reach their goal. That meant they must travel at an average rate of better than 160 miles an hour. Since they had gone considerably faster than this when the occasion had warranted it in the past, they felt no anxieties now. John, who was at the throttle, opened the Sky-Bird up to 165, and at this gait they skimmed swiftly along over the blue-green waters of the big Pacific.

"This speed ought to bring us in by twelve-thirty--a good half-hour ahead of our limit,--so there's no need of rushing matters," said John, to which sentiment his comrades agreed.

By eleven o'clock all were keenly on the look-out. Each flyer coveted the honor of being the first one to see the coastline of Central America, the resting-place of Panama.

Paul, with the binoculars to his eyes, was the one to win. It was just exactly 11:25 when he shouted in true mariner's style: "Land ho, my hearties!"

Taking the glass, one by one his comrades gladly echoed the announcement.

But suddenly Bob's face turned chalky. "Jiminy, fellows," he cried, "what boneheads we are! We have been figuring on San Cristobal time all the while. Panama's close to an hour ahead!"

"And we've only got thirty-five minutes in which to land!" said Tom. "Huckleberry pie! Boneheads we are! Boneheads, boneheads! I repeat it--boneheads, boneheads! It's all off now."

Tom actually wrung his hands in his misery, and the others felt just about as humiliated and disgusted with themselves.

"Here's where our prize goes a-flickering," groaned Paul. "We never can make Panama in thirty-five minutes!"

"I don't know about that," declared his brother grimly. "Here goes for the effort, anyhow. I'll make the Sky-Bird fly as she has never flown before!"

With that he brought the throttle wide open, and two minutes later threw the second engine into commission.