The Motor Rangers' Cloud Cruiser

CHAPTER XXI.

“FEATHERED AEROPLANES.”

The professor’s observations that day showed that they were within two hundred miles of where the fabled city ought to lie, always supposing that it really had an existence. But you may be sure that not one of the Motor Rangers doubted that fact.

The course was altered, and the Discoverer’s bow turned toward some ragged-looking peaks that cut the sky line to the northwest. The country over which they were now passing was, as has been said, desolate in the extreme. It appeared to have been devastated by earthquakes or forest fires, and the vegetation was scanty, while the surface of the ground was split, and scarred and hillocked like a crumpled bit of parchment. But toward afternoon the character of the scenery changed. The mountains grew in gloomy grandeur and were clothed with dense tropical growth. Between the great masses and lofty elevations lay dark and unfathomable chasms, at whose depth only a guess could be made. It was wild and dismal scenery, and, viewed even from above, oppressed the travelers with its sense of lonely vastness.

The Discoverer was not making as good time as usual, owing to a stiff headwind. Then, too, the engine had not developed its full power since its freezing up in the upper aerial regions. But the professor announced himself as well satisfied with their progress. Matco gradually got over his first fear of the air travelers and talked to the professor in his rough Spanish, which Nat could hardly understand, so besprinkled was it with mispronunciations and Indian words.

The old Indian was much interested in trying to find out what the white men,—for he no longer thought them gods,—were doing in that part of the country. But the professor deemed it wisest not to tell him. Ultimately they would have to set him free, and if he knew too much of their expedition he might make trouble for them with the other Indians.

It was the middle of the afternoon, and Nat was seated in the cabin reading a book on the Incas, when a hail from the pilot house brought him to his feet. Joe, who was at the wheel, was calling him.

“Nat! Nat! Come out here—quick!”

Nat lost no time in obeying. As he joined Joe the latter excitedly pointed ahead of the Discoverer’s bow.

“Look at those birds, Nat; they are the largest I have ever seen. I wonder what they can be?”

The birds referred to were flying and wheeling in great circles above a ravine some distance off, but far off as they were, it was easy to see that they were of immense size.

“They are bigger than the biggest turkey buzzard I ever saw in California,” said Nat, gazing at them. “Let’s have a look through the field glasses.”

He took the instruments out of their box near the helmsman’s wheel and applied them to his eyes.

“Why, they look like small aeroplanes!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “Their wing spread must be ten or twelve feet, judging from here.”

“How many of them are there, anyhow?” demanded Joe.

“Easily fifty, I should say. Maybe more. It would be impossible to count them accurately.”

“They are right on our course,” said Joe, glancing at the compass, “so that we shall soon have a close view of them.”

“I’ll go and rouse the professor. He’s taking a nap; but I know he’d like to see such a sight.”

And Nat hastened off on his errand.

By the time he returned with the professor, the Discoverer was much closer to the giant birds. The man of science scrutinized them through the glasses.

“Condors,” he announced. “This is most interesting. These birds are the largest birds of prey in existence. Humboldt, the famous traveler, said that Indians told him that they had been found measuring eighteen feet from wing tip to wing tip.”

“Well, I should say they are aeroplanes,” exclaimed Nat. “Do they ever attack men?”

“Cases of it are not unknown,” said the professor, “and almost every Andean village has a story about a condor flying off with a baby. As a matter of fact, though, I guess they confine their attentions mostly to young sheep or calves light enough for them to carry.”

As they drew closer to the soaring mass of birds, they could see that if they were interested in the birds, the birds were quite as much interested in them. One or two began making long, wheeling arcs that brought them closer to the Discoverer.

“I guess they are wondering what sort of a bird we are, anyhow,” laughed Nat.

Indeed, it seemed so. Almost imperceptibly the birds gathered about the Discoverer, wheeling and screaming all about the craft. It could now be seen that they had sharp, large, hooked beaks, and a ruffle of dark flesh at the bottom of a flabby neck. Their wings were of a dull gray color, with black tip feathers, and were of a sweep and size undreamed of hitherto by the boys.

“They look like the harpies we used to read about in school,” said Joe.

“They do, indeed,” said the professor. “One could readily imagine such creatures tearing unfortunate human beings to pieces.”

“They don’t seem afraid of us, anyhow,” said Nat suddenly, as one of the great condors swept by quite close to the Discoverer and uttered a wild scream that sounded like a cry of defiance.

“No, they don’t. I—— Bless my soul, they are attacking us!” cried the professor as two or three of the birds flew at the gas bag with beak and claw.

“Now, boys,” spoke the professor, “we must use our best marksmanship on these creatures.”

“Get out the rifles, quick!” cried Nat. “They’ll tear the bag open if they keep that up.”

“They will, indeed!” said the professor apprehensively. “Shoo!”

But he might as well have said “Shoo!” to a tiger as to the giant birds of prey that now surrounded the Discoverer on every side. Angry screams and the rushing noise of huge wings filled the air.

Nat returned with the rifles, and with Ding-dong Bell, who had already, from his post at the engines, observed the great birds.

“Now, boys,” spoke the professor, “we must use our best marksmanship on these creatures. They are a real menace to the ship.”

Nat took up his position at one side of the pilot house, Ding-dong Bell at the other, while the professor aimed from the centre window.

At the word “fire!” from the professor, all three rifles began to pump lead into the wheeling, circling, screaming flight of condors.

Several stopped abruptly in their soaring circles and fell to the earth, stricken to death. But others, that were only wounded, fought with more fury than ever. The attack by the adventurers appeared to enrage them. They flew furiously at the Discoverer, and one or two even dashed themselves at the pilot house.

But after ten minutes or more of steady firing their numbers diminished. The ones that were left began to sheer off, and finally took flight away from the invaders of their realm. The noise of the firing brought Mr. Tubbs and Matco out of the cabin, and both watched with interest the effects of the fusillade.

When it was over, and the Discoverer had left the last of the great birds behind, old Matco spoke excitedly in Spanish to the professor.

“What does he say?” asked Nat, when the old man had finished what appeared to be a tirade against something or somebody.

“He says,” rejoined the professor, “that what we have done is very good. That when he was a youngster he was carried off by one of these birds. His mother, who rushed out to save him, was attacked by the condor’s mate and so seriously maimed and torn that she died.”

“But how did he escape?”

“His father shot the bird that was carrying him off, with one of the poison arrow tubes,” rejoined the professor, “both the bird and the infant fell to the earth, and Matco says that is the reason his leg is so twisted and that he walks with a limp.”

The boys found this very interesting. It explained, too, something that they had noticed before, and that was that old Matco walked with a decided limp.

“Tell us something more about the condor, professor,” suggested Nat.

“As I think I said,” rejoined the professor, “it is one of the vulture family, and is found from the Isthmus of Panama clear down to the Straits of Magellan. They usually live in the mountains, but sometimes they come down to the seashore to pick the flesh of dead whales. In fact, they have a preference for dead or decaying flesh.”

“Just like turkey buzzards,” said Joe.

“They are a first cousin of that bird,” said the professor. “A friend of mine, who had been a great traveler in South America, told me once that the Indians will catch them for two dollars each, and that sometimes they do quite a lively trade.”

“I shouldn’t much care to have one for a pet,” spoke Joe; “but how do they manage to get hold of such immense birds?”

“By a very simple and ingenious method. They build a pen around the carcass of the first dead steer they can find on some cattle estancia, and then await the arrival of the condors to feast on the flesh.

“The condor, when he is gorged, cannot rise without taking a run——”

“Just like an aeroplane in that, too,” commented Nat.

“That is true,” said the professor. “Well, as I was saying, the bird cannot rise without this preliminary run, and, of course, the picket fence interferes with this. That is the condor catcher’s opportunity. He throws a lasso around the bird he has selected and lets the condor fight till he is exhausted. Then he throws another and another till Mr. Condor is tired out. That done, the bird is placed in a rough cage and conveyed to the customer.”

“That’s a lo-lo-lot of work for t-t-t-two d-d-d-dollars,” stuttered Ding-dong Bell.

“Any kind of work would be hard for you,” grinned Joe, which almost precipitated a fight. Nat checked it.

“Don’t roll overboard on this craft,” he said, “even if there aren’t any sharks about.”

“Humph! I don’t know that they are much worse than those condors,” was Joe’s comment.

As for Mr. Tubbs he heaved a sigh.

“If only I’d got a moving picture of that fight with the condors,” he said regretfully.

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