  Johnny had not gone far in the pursuit of the strange intruder who had leaped out from behind the sheet-steel press, before he realized that this was no ordinary runner. Not only was he fleet and sure, but he was also nimble as a deer. Almost from the first it became an obstacle race, a hurdle race, a long-distance endurance race, all in one. Into the milling-room, where were long lines of milling-machines and where great quantities of unfinished parts—cam-shafts, crank-shafts, gears and a multitude of smaller parts—were piled close together, the fugitive raced. Over machines and heaps of parts alike he hurdled. Dodging this way and that, he was now lost to Johnny’s view and now found again. Panting, perspiring, yet confident, Johnny followed on. Knowing full well that when it came to a test of endurance few men could outdo him, he held to his pace, striving only to keep his opponent in sight. One thing puzzled him. In the tiger-like leap of the fellow, in the swinging, crouching stoop, there was something strikingly familiar. “I’ve seen him before, I know that,” he told himself, “but when and where?” Suddenly the fellow shot up the cross-bars of an inclined conveyor track which led to the second floor. Suspended from a mono-rail above this conveyor track was an electrically controlled tram. Was the electricity turned on? Johnny’s mind worked with the speed of a wireless. His muscles did its bidding. Leaping to the platform of the tram, he threw the lever back. So suddenly did the thing start forward that Johnny was all but thrown from the tram. The next instant he caught his breath and threw in the clutch. He was not a second too soon, for had the tram traveled ten feet further it would inevitably have struck the racing stranger square in the back of his head. “I want to catch him, not kill him,” muttered Johnny. But the stranger was game. Leaping away to the right, he dropped through a hole in the floor in which there dangled a chain. Quickly he disappeared from sight. Johnny followed, and, just as he touched the floor below, heard the hum of an electric motor. Johnny knew at once what it was—a “mule,” as the workmen called the short, snub-nosed electric trucks used all over the shops for light hauling. “I can’t catch him on a mule,” he groaned. But again his face cleared. Just before him there stood another of the trucks. “A mule against a mule,” he smiled. “Now we’ll see who’s the best driver.” The race, while wild and furious, assumed an almost humorous aspect; indeed, Johnny fancied that from time to time the stranger turned about and uttered a low chuckle. That was disconcerting, to say the least. Added to this was the growing conviction that he had met this fellow before, and that under more favorable circumstances. All this, however, did not in one whit abate his desire to win the race and capture the fellow. Wildly the mules plunged on. Around this corner, then that one, down a long row of half-assembled automobiles where a single mislaid tool in their track might mean a disastrous spill, through a maze of trucks loaded down with finished parts, now out into the open air between buildings, now through a tunnel, they raced. Now gaining, now losing, now dashing through a short-cut and almost clipping the end of the stranger’s mule, now headed off by a slamming door, Johnny gained, only to lose again, until at last he came up short to find the stranger’s mule standing deserted in the heart of the packing-room. “Where could he have gone?” It took but a moment for the answer. There came the grind of the overhead tram. The tram used for carrying fully boxed machines led to the great loading room where Johnny had lost his other race. “If he makes it, he’s gone!” Leaping out and up, Johnny caught the platform of a second tram; he drew himself up, threw in the lever and was once more in the race. At last fortune was favoring him. The door to the loading-room was locked. The stranger was running himself into a narrow passage from which escape would be impossible. Johnny leaped from his tram, to find the stranger facing him. That person was clearly on the defense. With fists doubled up he advanced to attack. Just as the stranger struck out with his right hand, Johnny ducked low—so low that the other’s blow glanced harmlessly over his head. The next instant Johnny would have come up with a “haymaker,” had not the stranger thrown himself, stomach down, on Johnny’s back, and turned a quick somersault forward. Whipping himself about, prepared for another wild race, Johnny was astonished to find the stranger standing smiling at him, and extending his hand; “Good work, Johnny, old boy!” the other grinned. “You haven’t lost a bit of your pep!” “You’ve got the best of me,” Johnny smiled doubtfully, “but if you ever had any more pep yourself, I’d hate to have followed you far!” He mopped his brow. “Don’t recognize me, eh? Perhaps you miss the blue goggles.” “What?” Johnny stared. “What? Not my old pal, Panther Eye?” “The same,” smiled the other. “But what are you doing here?” “Been working here for a month. Got a way of getting in when I want to. Thought I’d make you an early morning call. Whew! you sure gave me a merry chase! Good of you though not to knock my head off with that tram. ’Fraid you’ll never make an ideal guard.” “I’d never be a guard at all if I had my way. But what’d you run for?” “Just wanted to see how much you had in you,” chuckled Panther Eye. “Oh, you did! Well, you saw, didn’t you?” “Yes,” the other admitted, taking his turn at mopping his brow. “Say!” Johnny exclaimed, “since it’s only you, I’ve got to get back to my post. Got some cakes and a little ice-cream in the bottom of a freezer from the company cafeteria. Want to join me?” “Sure.” “All right; let’s go.” As they made their way back through the maze of machinery to the vault, Johnny was busy with his own thoughts. Strange questions kept rising in his mind. This fellow, Panther Eye, or “Pant,” as the boys called him for short, had been with him in many an adventure. He had appeared to possess strange powers, too. The boys had called him “Panther Eye” because he appeared to have the power to see in the dark. There had been a time when Johnny had been with him in a cave dark as a dungeon, surrounded by hostile natives, yet Pant had somehow known that the natives were there, and had led the way through the dense darkness to safety. There had been other times—many of them—in which Pant had made Johnny a heavy debtor to him through his use of wonderful powers. “Now,” Johnny was wondering, “just how much has he to do with the events of the last few days? He’s too honorable a fellow to have anything to do with the attempt to secure the secret-process steel for some other manufacturer. But how about the white fire? What of the driving of the traveling crane?” At last he closed his mental questionings with a sigh. He had never asked Pant to reveal any of his secrets and he was not going to begin now. Soon they were feasting on ice-cream and cake and talking over old times. “By the way,” said Johnny, as dawn began to break, “have you ever met Mr. McFarland?” “Say not!” grinned Pant. “He’s the manager, ain’t he?” “Yes. Want to meet him?” “I’d try it once.” “All right. Soon’s I’m relieved from duty we’ll wander around to his office.” “Chum of yours, I suppose?” “Not exactly. But I’m working under his orders. Got something to turn in this morning.” “Let’s see. What?” Johnny showed him the connecting-rod made of the strange blue steel. “Made that myself,” Johnny said proudly. A peculiar smile played about Pant’s lips, but he said never a word. When Pant had been introduced to the manager, as one of Johnny’s oldest and best friends, who happened to be working at the plant, Johnny produced the connecting rod, and, with trembling fingers, handed it to the manager. “What’s that?” A puzzled expression came into the manager’s eyes. “Connecting-rod made of the new-process steel.” “What! Can’t be! That steel won’t work! Nobody knows how. But—” He paused to look more closely—“but it is! Say! Do you know how to work it?” “No,” Johnny said regretfully, “I’m afraid I don’t.” “Then how was it made? Where did you get it?” Johnny sat down and this time told the story of the white fire through from the beginning. Only one thing he did not tell: He did not tell of testing the steel in the laboratory and of the bottle of brownish liquid on the top shelf. The manager listened with rapt attention, now and then ejaculating: “Never heard of such a thing! Can’t believe it unless I see it myself! Impossible, young man! Impossible! Can’t believe it!” “But here’s the forging to prove it,” insisted Johnny stoutly. “Tell you what!” said the manager, “I’m willing to lose a night’s sleep over it, or part of one at least. We’ll try the thing out. We’ll see if the ghost walks to-night,” he laughed. “We’ll take out two of the long bars in the vault and one of the short ones. We’ll put them on the forge and—and if the fire comes and they get white-hot, we’ll cut the two long bars in half, and hammer four connecting-rods from them and one from the short one. That will give six with this one you have, making a full set for one of our chummy roadsters. Can you drive a car?” he asked suddenly. “Yes, sir.” “All right. If the ghost walks to-night, it’s a trip clear across the continent for you—all the way to the Golden Gate and back again! What say?” “I—I—say all right,” stammered Johnny. “Mind you,” warned Mr. McFarland, shaking his finger at Johnny, “that’s providing the white fire comes. But, pshaw! it won’t. Whoever heard of such a thing? But, anyway, I’ll be around at nine sharp.” “Shall I bring Pant?” asked Johnny. “As you like—providing the ghost doesn’t object.” The manager laughed again, and the two boys walked out. That night, when the perpetual din of trip-hammers, riveters, millers, and general construction machinery was stilled, and the plant had taken on a hushed and seemingly expectant air, the three, Mr. McFarland, Johnny and Pant, gathered in the corner of the forge-room. The manager seemed nervous. His hand trembled slightly as he placed the three steel bars on the forge. Johnny’s brow was wrinkled. He was worried. He was fearful that the experiment would not work. Indeed, he had little hopes that it would. And he did want it to, for success meant the chance to get away from his monotonous task, as well as a glorious cross-continent trip. Pant’s face wore the old mask-like look that Johnny had seen on it so many times before. “Now, I take it,” smiled the manager, “that the formula is to place the bars of steel on the forge, then turn your back and walk away. Always must go according to formula when dealing with ghosts,” he laughed. “Are you ready? I have placed the bars in position. All right. We’re off! Remember, no looking back!” Slowly, solemnly, they marched to the end of the forge-room, then turned about. Johnny’s heart was beating violently. “Why!” exclaimed the manager, “your friend isn’t with us!” It was true. Pant had disappeared. Before Johnny could make a guess as to what had become of him, there came another exclamation from Mr. McFarland: “It’s working!” There was awe in his voice. Johnny stared for a second, then started on the run. He was closely followed by his employer. The bars, already glowing red, had turned to almost a white heat by the time they reached the side of the forge. The manager had been an expert forge man long before he became a capitalist. He now took charge. “Steady!” he cautioned. “One thing at a time. First we’ll cut those bars in two. A chisel edge on that anvil there. That’s right. There you are. Now forge that one while I cut the other one.” Whang-whang-whang went the hammer. One perfect connecting-rod. Whang-whang-whang—another. Three times more, then with perspiration standing out on their faces, Johnny and his employer sat facing one another while the connecting-rods cooled. To Johnny it seemed that they must resemble nothing quite so much as two puppies, who, after succeeding in killing a rat, sit on their haunches to grin at one another. Suddenly Johnny sprang up; “Hello! Here’s Pant,” he shouted. “Where you been? Look what we’ve got!” He pointed at the forgings. Pant smiled a strangely noncommittal smile. “Why, I—happened to think of something,” was all he said. There was again that teasing smile about the corners of his mouth. “Well, now, I’d like to know more about that transcontinental auto trip,” smiled Johnny, turning to his employer. “Not to-night. All the details are not worked out yet. Besides, it’s late, and old fellows like me belong in bed. But I want to congratulate you.” He put out his hand. Johnny shook it warmly. “The more I think of it, Johnny, the more I’m inclined to think your ghost is a scientific enigma.” With a nod to Pant which might have meant merely “good night” and which also might have indicated something more mysterious, he was gone. “You see,” said Mr. McFarland, as Johnny took the chair by his desk next morning, “you helped us to speed things up quite a bit by getting those connecting-rods forged. This new steel must be tested out in actual service. Even had we the formula, this would be true. Now, with this set of connecting-rods in our possession, we are in a position to give the steel a thorough testing out. “My proposition is this,” he wheeled about, and leveled his eyes upon Johnny. “We’ll get those connecting-rods milled down to the shape and surface needed, if we have to use diamond millers to do it. When they are in perfect shape, we’ll put them into one of our chummy roadster engines, and you take that roadster across the continent and back again to test them out. What do you say to that?” His face broadened into a smile. “It’ll be some trip, but by George you deserve it!” Johnny did not appear to share fully in his enthusiasm. “It’s all right,” he hesitated, “and I’d like to do it. It would be a wonderful experience, but—but there’s that chummy roadster I was salvaging and was to have at cost. It’s two-thirds done. It will mean a long wait. I—I’d like to finish it.” “I see,” said the manager, stroking his chin. “You want a car of your own—that’s natural. I suppose most boys do.” “It’s not that,” Johnny hesitated, then added: “Not that at all, sir. I want to finish it to sell.” “Sell it?” His employer stared. “Yes, sir! I have a debt.” “A debt?” The manager’s eyes registered disapproval. “A boy of your age shouldn’t have debts.” Johnny got red in the face, hesitated a moment, then blurted out: “It’s not my debt. My father’s debt, but one he would have paid every cent of had he lived.” “Your father’s debt?” the manager asked with a curious change of tone. “Yes, he would have paid it. I believe you. And you want to pay by selling the car you have salvaged?” “Yes, sir; part of it.” Johnny’s eyes were upon the floor. “All right, you shall. You shall pay it. But just now we need you for this new service. Can you trust me to see that your affairs come out all right?” “Yes, sir.” Johnny looked him in the eye. “All right. Be back in my office here at this time day after to-morrow. In the meantime, you are on your own.” “There’s one thing more,” said Johnny. “This fellow Pant is an old friend of mine; he’s seen me through a lot of things. Any objection to his going along?” “None whatever. He’ll be a help to you, and between you, you must guard the car well, for you must not for one minute forget that it contains almost our entire supply of the precious new steel, and that as yet we do not know the formula.” “We’ll do our best,” said Johnny, as he pulled on his cap and left the room. |
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