AFTER administering the drug which sent Bunk into dreamland Professor Morgan, having rested only a short time, resumed his work. He grudged the time he had already wasted as he viewed it, and toiled with absorbed earnestness until an exclamation of impatience showed he had run against a snag. In experimenting with a score of subtle fluids he discovered that one important ingredient was exhausted. He must obtain more before he could go on with his work. The chemical was quite common and he knew it was easy to obtain in Albany, which was not much more than a hundred miles distant as the crow or aeroplane flies. He could make the trip well within four hours and decided to do so. Since the leading drug stores kept open through the night there was no need of his delaying. He went to the hangar, ran out his helicopter and left without awaking Bunk, who he thought was likely to sleep all the time he was gone.

It was beginning to grow light when the strange machine was revealed by its flitting searchlight to many of the early risers in the capital of the State. As it gave out no noise, its appearance, absurdly exaggerated, was heralded throughout the country. Stories of a strange colossal airship which prowled through the heavens only in the night time had been published and some of the yellow journals had given illustrations of its appearance. This one was declared at first to be the same mysterious visitant of the upper regions, but the fact that the Dragon of the Skies made its descent in the heart of the city and that the single occupant stepped out and made a purchase at the most prominent drug store, robbed the account of its most thrilling feature.

Professor Morgan did not return at once. He snubbed those who gathered round with their numberless questions. Hiring two trustworthy men to guard his machine he went to an all-night restaurant and ate an early breakfast which he meant should serve until night, since it took too much time to lunch at noon. Then he decided to do still more in the way of economizing the minutes by buying supplies for Bunk, who had the faculty of being hungry morning, noon and night. The markets were open and he had no trouble in securing what he wanted. Biscuits, sugar, salt, pepper, meat, condensed milk; in fact, all that a rugged and growing lad could ask for were stowed in a large basket which was adjusted on the seat near the tank. They added considerable to the weight of the aeroplane, but much less than it was accustomed to carry in the person of Bohunkus Johnson.

The crowd that remained staring at the helicopter saw an amazing sight when a horizontal wheel directly beneath began revolving as the aviator took his seat, and the machine soared aloft smoothly, gracefully and in a line as truly vertical as if drawn by a mathematician. Nothing of the kind had ever been heard of before.

Bunk having despatched his letter through the kindness of the countryman, hurried back to the workshop and seated himself on the little bench in front to await the return of the Professor. He thus sat until the sun was well up in the sky, growing hungrier every minute and with his patience nearing its limit. Removed from the presence of the terrible man he felt more free to indulge his meditations.

“I wonder if he thinks I’m gwine to sot here till I starve to death. He doan’ keer ’bout eating hisself, but I ain’t built dat way. I’ll wait a little while longer and den if he doesn’t come I’ll go to de willage and eat eberyting in de old place. Golly! if dat ain’t him now!”He was right, for in the clear sky to the southward he saw the well-remembered Dragon of the Skies, with wings outspread, approaching at its usual swift pace. In less time than would be supposed, the aeronaut settled to rest and Bunk hurried forward to give the aid he could.

“Let me help yo’ out, Perfesser,” said he, extending his hand, but the other gave no heed. Turning, he lifted the big basket from the seat and placed it on the ground.

“Leave the car where it is,” he commanded; “for we’ll need it again in a few minutes.”

“Yas, sir;” replied the lad, looking longingly at the willow receptacle.

“I have brought you enough food to last a week,” said the Professor.

“Gee!” muttered Bunk, “it looks as if dere am jest ’nough for breakfast, but I’ll worry ’long if you say so.”

“Help yourself.”

Bunk needed no second invitation. The man passed into the building, leaving him outside. He slid off the cover of the basket and his eyes sparkled at sight of the goodly stock of supplies. He did not pause in his feasting until one-half the contents had been placed where it would do the most good. He was drawing the back of his hand across his mouth when the Professor came out, bringing with him the blanket that had served Bunk while asleep.

“I’m going to take you to your new quarters,” he explained. “My gracious!” he added, glancing at the wrecked food, “have you left anything?”

“I guess dere am ’nough for a bite,” grinned Bunk.

“You’re a wonder that I never saw equalled; let’s be off.”

The blanket and basket were carefully put in place, Bunk took his seat and the Professor after glancing over the machine to make sure that all was right assumed his usual position and set the uplifter spinning. So perfect was the working of the machine that there was no evidence of the increased weight it carried. Straight up in the air it rose for a hundred feet and then headed to the northward. As it approached the wild region to which we have referred several times the aviator slackened his pace as much as he could while retaining buoyancy, leaned out and scanned the ground over which he was sailing. It did not take him long to decide upon a landing place, and he descended at the spot which was visited by Dick Hamilton some days later.

Bunk had also made good use of his eyes. He noticed the cabin of guide Akers, the beautiful little lake beyond, the tent on the shore and the forms near it, to whom he waved his usual salutation, and closely studied the surroundings when they sank to the earth again.

As soon as the two felt the earth under their feet, they began a search which was quickly ended by the discovery of the cavern which has also been described.

“This will do,” was the comment of the Professor after scanning it; “you couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Bunk surveyed the opening with mingled feelings. It certainly offered secure shelter against a storm, which was about all that could be said of it. Wishing to please his master he remarked:

“I allers sleeps wid my winder open at home and it’ll be de same here and dis soots me. I wouldn’t mind if I had some carpets or rugs and a peanner, but I can git along very well as it am.”

“Carry in the basket,” commanded the master, leading the way with the blanket over his arm. He flung it down at the rear of the cavern and Bunk set the receptacle beside it. Then the two walked outside, where they stood beside the aeroplane.

“Before I go,” said the Professor in his most awesome tones, “I have a few things to say to you which you must not forget on your peril.”

“Yas, sir.”

“This is to be your home till I call to take you to Africa.”

“Yas, sir.”

“The time will go slowly to you, but here you must stay!”

“Yas, sir.”

“When you grow tired of sleeping and eating you may walk through the woods, but take care that you don’t go so far that you can’t find your way back quickly and surely.”

“Yas, sir.”

“Confound you!” exclaimed the Professor suddenly, “can’t you say anything but ‘yas, sir’?”

“No, sir,-dat is-yas, sir,” replied the confused Bunk, startled by the words and manner of the man.

“Well, then, why don’t you say something else?”

“Yas, sir.”

The Professor saw that it was useless to protest and therefore ignored the provoking response.

“I have important work awaiting me and must now return to my shop,” he said in a gentler voice.

“When will yo’ come back?”

“I intend to call each morning, unless something unexpected prevents.”“Yo’ won’t forgit to bring some wittles wid yo’ each time, Perfesser?”

“I shall see that your wants in that respect are met; unless,” he grimly added, “the supply in Dawson gives out.”

“Yo’ can reach oder towns if dat tooks place,” suggested Bunk, with no suspicion of the sarcasm of the other remark.

“Bear in mind what I have said: this is to be your home until we are ready to start across the ocean.”

“Yas, sir.”

“If any strangers come near, you don’t give them a word of explanation. Avoid having anything to do with them.”

At that time, Professor Morgan had no knowledge that Harvey Hamilton was or rather soon would be on his track. He therefore made no reference to him, since he did not think it possible that he would become a factor in the problem. He stepped into his seat, and without saying anything further hied away to his workshop. He was impatient to resume his experimentation now that he had the lacking chemical.

At last Bohunkus Johnson found himself alone in the wilds of the southern Adirondacks. He did not need to be reminded that if he wished company he did not have to travel many miles to find it. He was within reach of settlements, and scattered houses and it was no difficult walk to that tent on the shore of the placid lake. But the African trip was an obsession with him. His heart was set on the voyage, of whose perils he never dreamed. Nothing could quench that longing except its realization or death itself.

“I’ll do jest as de Perfesser says,” he said to himself; “I’m sorry I sent dat letter home, for mebbe dere was someting in it which will set Harv onto my track,—but I can’t think what it am onless—”

He almost dropped to the ground in dismay.

“I didn’t put any name to de top of de page, but de postmaster has stamped de word ‘Dawson’ on de enwollop. Jee whizz! I neber thought ob dat!”

You will remember that it was this fact which told Harvey the one thing he needed to know in order to make an intelligent search for his friend. It was too late now to correct the error, and it was well for Bunk that he did not recall certain other words in his letter which gave invaluable aid to his friend. He found great relief in the belief that the start across the ocean would be made in a day or two at the furthest.

It must be admitted that Bunk’s situation in more than one respect was trying. In the first place, he had no firearms, no such thing being thought necessary when he and Harvey Hamilton first left home with their biplane. He had not so much as a fishing line with which to beguile the hours that could not fail to become wearisome. He had been promised food and could not doubt that the Professor would see that he did not suffer for nourishment.

The first day spent in and about the cavern was tedious, though a goodly part of it was passed in eating and sleeping. When darkness at last began closing in there was nothing left of the supplies that had been brought in the basket.

“If de Perfesser forgits me and doan’ come in de morning,” reflected Bunk, “I’ll be in an orful fix, but I can always rampage frough de country. I’ve got ’nough money to buy a good deal and when dat runs out I can grab things ‘permiscuous.’”

His idea of the wild animals that haunt the Adirondacks was vague. He knew that deer, bears, and he believed wolves were met with at times in different parts. Had he passed through Harvey’s experience he might have become more disquieted. He suspected that tigers, leopards, lions, giraffes and possibly elephants were to be met with in the wilder portions, but the reliance upon which he always fell back was the conviction that none of these creatures knew how to climb a tree, while he was master of the art.

“I wish dis cave had a door dat I could shet, but it doan’ hab nuffin ob de kind and if any ob dem critters walks into de front I’m catched for dere ain’t any way out ob de back.”

Investigation had told him that the one yawning opening was the only means of ingress and egress, because of which fact he studied a long time the problem of the safest thing to do. Suddenly it flashed upon him.

“I’ll roost ebery night! Why didn’t I thunk ob dat afore?”

Before darkness fully closed in, he left the cavern and began a careful tour of the immediate neighborhood. It did not require long to find a refuge that seemed to be specially prepared for him. It was a broad, branching oak, whose trunk was so huge that, to his disappointment, he saw no way of climbing it. His predicament was the reverse of the ursus species, for such a big shaggy stairs would have been easy for a bear to ascend. Slowly circling the forest monarch and using his strong eyes well in the obscurity, he soon fixed upon the means of making his way into the branches. It was, in short, to use a smaller tree which grew so close to the oak that their branches interlocked.