The Lost City, Jr. Joseph E. Badger [spicy books to read txt] 📗
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Under different circumstances their expectations might have been
more fully met, but just now the grizzly seemed wholly occupied
with the buffalo bull, whose sturdy bulk and armed front so
resolutely opposed his further progress towards that common goal,
the pool of water.
The boys quickly reached the flying-machine and gripped the
Winchester rifles which Professor Featherwit had drawn forth from
the locker at first sight of the dangerous game. Thus armed,
they felt ready for whatever might come, and stood watching
yonder rivals with growing interest.
“Will you look at that, now?” excitedly breathed Waldo, eyes
aglow, as he saw the bull cock its tail on high and tear up the
soft soil with one fierce sweep of its cloven hoof, shaking head
and giving vent to a low but determined bellow.
“It means a fight unto the death, I think,” whispered the
professor.
“It’s dollars to doughnuts on the bear,” predicted Waldo. “Scat,
you bull-headed idiot! Don’t you know that you’re not deuce high
to his ace? Can’t you see that he can chew you up like—”
“Are you mighty sure of all that, boy?” laughingly cut in Bruno;
for at that moment the buffalo made a sudden charge at his
upright adversary, knocking the grizzly backward in spite of its
viciously flying paws.
“Great Peter on a bender! If I ever—no, I never!”
Even the professor was growing excited, holding the dynamite gun
under one arm while gently tapping palms together as an encore.
Naturally enough, their sympathies were with the buffalo, since
the odds seemed so immensely against him; but their delight was
short-lived, for, instead of following up the advantage so
bravely won, the bull fell back to paw and bellow and shake his
shaggy front.
With marvellous activity for a brute of his enormous bulk and
weight, the grizzly recovered its feet, then lumbered forward
with clashing teeth and resounding growls.
Nothing loath, the buffalo met that charge, and for a short space
of time the struggle was veiled by showers of leaf-mould and damp
dirt cast upon the air as the rivals fought for supremacy—and
for life.
For that this was destined to be a duel to the very death not one
of those spectators could really doubt. That encounter may have
been purely accidental, but the creatures fought like enemies of
long standing.
As their relative positions changed, the buffalo contrived to get
in another vigorous butt, sending bruin end for end down that
gentle slope to souse into the pool of water, that cool element
cutting short a savage roar of mad fury.
Then the trio of spectators could take notes, and with something
of sorrow they saw that the buffalo had already suffered
severely, bleeding from numerous great gashes torn by the
grizzly’s long talons, while one bloody eye dangled below its
socket, held only by a thread of sinew.
Nor had bruin escaped without hurt, as all could see when he
floundered out of the water, bent upon renewing the duel; but
there was little room left for doubting what the ultimate result
would be were the animals left to their own devices.
Like all bold, free-hearted lads, Waldo ever sympathised with the
weaker, and now, unable to hold his feelings in check, he gave a
short cry, levelling his Winchester and opening fire upon the
grizzly, just as it won fairly clear of the water.
Stung to fury by those pellets, the brute reared up with a horrid
roar, turning as though to charge this new enemy; but ere he
could do more, the professor’s gun spoke, and as the dynamite
shell exploded, bruin fell back a writhing mass, his head
literally smashed to pieces.
Heedless of all else, the wounded buffalo charged with lusty
bellow, goring that quivering mass with unabated fury, though its
life was clearly leaking out through those ghastly cuts and
slashes.
A brief pause, then Professor Featherwit swiftly reloaded his
gun, sending another shell across the stream, this time more as a
boon than as punishment.
Smitten fairly in the forehead, the bull dropped as though
beneath a bolt of lightning, life going out without so much as a
single struggle or a single pang.
“Twas better thus,” declared the professor, as Waldo gave a
little ejaculation of dismay. “He must have bled to death in a
short time, and this was true mercy. Besides, buffalo meat is
very good eating, and the day may come when we shall need all we
can get. Who knows?”
After the animals were inspected, and due comment made upon the
awfully sure work wrought by the dynamite gun, the professor
suggested that, while he was completing repairs upon the
aeromotor, the brothers should secure a supply of fish and of
flesh, cooking sufficient to provide for several meals, for there
was no telling just when they would have an equal chance.
“Just as soon as we can put all in readiness,” he continued, “I
am going to leave this spot. My first wish is to thoroughly test
the aerostat, to make certain it has received no serious injury.
Then, if all promises well, I mean to begin our tour of
exploration, hoping that we may, at least, find something well
worthy the strange reputation given these Olympics by the
natives.”
Without raising any objections, the brothers fell to work, Bruno
looking after the flesh, while Waldo undertook to supply the
fish. That was but fair, since he had been cheated out of
catching the first mess.
Not a little to his delight, the professor found that the
flying-machine would promptly answer his touch and will, rising
easily off the ground, then descending at call, evidently having
passed through the ordeal of the bygone evening without serious
harm.
Still, all this consumed time, and it was after a late dinner
that everything was pronounced in readiness for an ascension:
the meat and fish nicely cooked and packed for carriage, a pot of
strong coffee made and stowed beyond risk of leakage, the
flying-machine itself quivering in that gentle breeze as though
eager to find itself once more afloat far above the earth and its
obstructions to easy navigation.
Waldo expressed some grief at leaving a spot where game came in
such plentitude to find the hunter, and trout simply longed to be
caught; but upon being assured of other opportunities, perhaps
even more delightful, he sighed and gave consent to mount into
space.
“Only—don’t ask me to tackle any of those big dictionary fellows
such as you talked about this morning, uncle Phaeton, for I
simply can’t; they’d get away with my baggage while I was trying
to spell their names and title—and all that!”
Without any difficulty the aeromotor was sent out of and above
the forest, heading towards the northwest; that is, direct for
the heart of the Olympics, of whose marvels Professor Featherwit
held such exalted hopes and expectations.
Grim and forbidding those mountains looked as the air-ship sailed
swiftly over them, opening up a wider view when the bare, rugged
crest was once left fairly to the rear. Save for those bald
crowns, all below appeared a solid carpet of treetops, now
lower, there higher, yet ever the same: seemingly impenetrable
to man, should such an effort be made.
Once fairly within the charmed circle, leaving the rocky ridge
behind, Professor Featherwit slackened speed, permitting the ship
to drift onward at a moderate pace, one hand touching the
steering-gear, while its fellow held a pair of field-glasses to
his eager eyes.
All at once he gave a half-stifled cry, partly rising in his
excitement, then crying aloud in thrilling tones:
“The sea,—an inland sea!”
CHAPTER IX.
GRAPPLING A QUEER FISH.
At nearly the same moment both Bruno and Waldo caught a glimpse
of water, shining clear and distinct amidst that sombre setting;
but as yet a tree-crested elevation interfered with the prospect,
and it was not until after the course of the air-ship had been
materially changed, and some little time had elapsed, that aught
definite could be determined as to the actual spread of that body
of water.
This proved to be considerable, although it needed but a single
look into the professor’s face to learn that his eager hopes and
exalted anticipations fell far short of realisation.
“Well, it’s a sea all right,” generously declared Waldo, giving a
vigorous sniff by way of strengthening his words. “I can smell
the salt clear from this. A sea, even if it isn’t quite so large
as others,—what one might term a lower-case c!”
If nothing else, that generous effort brought its reward in the
dry little chuckle which escaped the professor’s lips, and a
kindly glow showed through his glasses as he turned towards Waldo
with a nod of acknowledgment.
“Barring the salty scent, my dear boy, which probably finds birth
in your kindly imagination. So, on the whole, perhaps ‘twould be
just as well to term it a lake.”
“One of no mean dimensions, at any rate, uncle Phaeton.”
“True, Bruno,” with a nod of agreement, yet with forehead
contracting into a network of troubled lines. “Naturally so, and
yet—surely this must be merely a portion? Unless—yet I fail to
see aught which might be interpreted as being—”
Promptly responding to each touch of hand upon steering-gear, the
aeromotor swung smoothly around, sailing on even keel right into
the teeth of the gentle wind, by this time near enough to that
body of water for the air-voyagers to scan its surface: a
considerable expanse, all told, yet by no means of such magnitude
as Professor Featherwit had anticipated.
Too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the little
cries and ejaculations which came from the brothers, he caused
the aerostat to rise higher, slowly sweeping that extended field
with his glasses.
He could see where several streams entered the body of water,
coming from opposite points of the compass, and thus confirming
at least one portion of his explained theory; but, so far as his
visual powers went, there was no other considerable body of water
to be discovered.
“Yet, how can that contracted basin contain all the drainage from
this vast scope of country? How can we explain the stubborn fact
of—What now, lads?”
An abrupt break, but one caused by the eager cry and loud speech
from the lips of the younger Gillespie.
“Looky yonder! Isn’t that one o’ those sour-us dictionary
fellows on a bender? Isn’t that—but I don’t—no, it’s only—”
“Only a partly decayed tree gone afloat!” volunteered Bruno, with
a merry laugh, as his eager brother drew back in evident chagrin.
“Well, that’s all right. It ought to’ve been one, even if it
isn’t. What’s the use in coming all this way, if we’re not going
to discover something beyond the common? And my sour-us is worth
more than one of the other kind, after all; get it ashore and you
might cook dinner for a solid month by it; now there!”
It was easily to be seen that Waldo had been giving free rein to
his expectations ever since the professor’s little lecture, but
his natural chagrin was quickly forgotten in a matter of far
greater interest.
Professor Featherwit had resumed his scrutiny of yonder body of
water, slowly turning his glasses while holding the air-ship on a
true course and even keel.
For a brief space nothing interfered with the steady motion of
the field-glasses, but then something called for a more thorough
examination, and little by little the savant leaned farther
forward, breath coming more rapidly, face beginning to flush with
deepening interest.
Bruno took note
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