  The storm passed over with the rising sun; the clouds scurried away, the wind went down, and the sun set the ocean, the shore and the tree-tops all aglitter with a million diamonds. It seemed fortunate that there was to be no prolonged uncertainty about the future, yet the boys dreaded to face the conflict which manifestly lay before them. The beach was strewn with drift from the lately wrecked vessel. Hardly a vestige of the ship was left to mark the spot where it had gone aground. The wreck of the Chinese ship, however, was still standing, the point having sheltered it from the force of the waves. Seamen were at once busy salvaging eatables from the wreckage. Various barrels, boxes and casks, containing beef, pilot-bread, tea, coffee, cheese and like commodities, which would prove invaluable if there was to be a prolonged stay on the island, were piled on the shore. “Here, you. Lend a hand,” the captain shouted to a knot of men. The bay was quiet now. His purser, the former air pilot, had had the landing-wheels removed from the “Dust Eater.” They were prepared to launch her. “That captain is a rotter,” said Pant. “He and his purser would go off and leave us all here to starve if they could.” Very confident of his ability, the usurping pilot took his place before the wheel as the seamen prepared to shove the plane into the water. Johnny Thompson had been looking on with interest when, all at once, his eye was caught by a stranger who had silently joined the group that stood about. He wore an oriental costume, yet he was a white man. Johnny started. At first he thought it was the Professor who had garbed himself in the clothing left in the cabin while his own clothing dried. But instantly he knew he was wrong; this man’s face was too brown and too much seamed to be that of the Professor. Like a flash, the truth dawned upon him: This was the Professor’s brother. He had not been drowned at the time of the wreck of the Chinese ship, but had, somehow, saved himself after the others had been picked up by the passing steamer. It had been he who had built the cabin by the cliff. That explained the presence of the razor in the cabin. It explained, too, the mystery of the missing chests; he had brought them ashore and had hidden them somewhere on the island. He had been hiding out, but, on seeing the ship wrecked the previous night, had doubtless decided to cast his lot with these marooned men. He did not have long to wait for the proof that at least some of these conclusions were correct, for almost instantly the Professor, turning, saw the stranger. For a second his face went white and he seemed about to fall. He recovered himself and sprang forward, and the two men embraced one another, like two children who had been a long time separated. But now Johnny’s attention was attracted by a suppressed laugh from the men about him, who had been watching the new pilot in his attempt to start the “Dust Eater.” As he looked, he saw that the man’s face was as black as it might have been had he smeared it with burnt cork. What had happened was that having attempted to start the engine, and having failed, he had climbed back to the fuel tank and there had unscrewed the top, thinking to see if there was gasoline in it. In attempting to look inside, he had put his face too close to the opening, had blown into it, and the feathery coal dust with which the boys had filled the tank had risen up in a cloud to besmirch his damp visage. The purser was in a fine rage. He ordered the sailor who had rowed him out to the “Dust Eater” in the canvas boat to take him ashore. Once his feet touched the beach, he came racing toward Johnny and Pant. “Leave this to me,” said Pant. “You and the Professor quietly drop out of the bunch, and then make your way to the north end of the island as quickly as possible.” He had hardly said this than the purser was upon him: “Smart trick!” he snarled. “Thought you’d balk us. Took out the gasoline and filled the tank with coal dust!” He seemed about to strike Pant. With a tiger-like spring, Pant leaped back. “Better not.” His voice was low, like the warning hiss of a panther. The purser hesitated. “Let me tell you something,” Pant said evenly. “There isn’t a drop of gasoline on this island as far as I know; not a drop in that plane, either, but all the same, she’ll fly for a man who understands her. “Now, I’ll tell you what,” he went on. “You come over to the plane with me. Look her all over. See if there is any gasoline on her. Then you let me try to get her going. See if I can’t do it.” “All right.” The other man’s smile showed his incredulity. Together in the canvas boat they went out to the plane. Carefully the purser looked the plane over, then expressing himself satisfied that there was no gasoline on board, he seated himself carelessly astride the fuselage, and with a mock-smile, said: “All right. Let’s see you start her.” Pant dropped silently into his seat. This was his chance. If he could make a clean get-away all would be well. Johnny and the Professor would be waiting at the north end of the island. He would pick them up and they would fly away. They would report the wreck of the steamer at the nearest port and leave the rest to the American consul. Catching a quick breath, he touched a button, then pulled a lever. At once the engine thundered. They were moving. “Now a little quick work,” he whispered to himself. He whirled about, and with one swing of his powerful arm pitched the astonished purser from the fuselage into the sea. The next instant the plane rose gracefully from the water. He was away. The purser came up sputtering, to swim for the shore. The captain roared at Pant, commanding him in the name of all things he knew to stop. Bullets from a seaman’s rifle sang over his head, but all these arguments were lost on him. He was on his way. Taking a wide circle, that he might give his companions time to arrive at the meeting-place, he at last swung back to the end of the island. To his surprise, as he eased the plane down into the water, he saw, not two men, but four, awaiting him. Besides his two companions, there was the Professor’s brother and the little shanghaied English sailor. There was no time for demanding and receiving explanations; not even when he saw four large chests piled on the rocky shore did Pant ask a question. The canvas boat had been fastened to the “Dust Eater”; it was still there. Righting this, he pulled for the shore. The chests were quickly tied together, and the men loaded into the boat. Then, with the line of chests following in their wake, they pulled back to the plane. The lashing of the chests, two back and two before the cabin, consumed time. When this was done, Pant tumbled into his seat, the other four piled, pell-mell, into the cabin; the motors thundered and they were away. They were not a moment too soon, for the captain, suspecting the move, had ordered his men to race to the end of the island. Just as the “Dust Eater” rose, graceful as a swan, out of the water, the first man appeared at the top of the cliff. “Close one!” grumbled Pant through the tube. “Safe enough now, though,” sighed Johnny. Their journey to a port on the largest island of the scattered group was made in safety. The wreck was reported; then the “Dust Eater” was loaded aboard a steamer bound for San Francisco. They were to have a safer if not a more eventful journey home. It was only after the four chests had been safely stowed away in a large stateroom aboard the steamer that Johnny and Pant were let into the secret of their contents. Then, with his brother by his side, the medical missionary unlocked one of the chests and lifted the lid. The two boys leaned forward eagerly. What they saw first was nothing more than sawdust. The missionary put his hand into this sawdust, and drew out a half-gallon can. This can had a small screw top. This he took off, and, having poured a little of the contents into the palm of his hand, held it out for the boys’ inspection. “Oh!” exclaimed Johnny in surprise. “Do you mean to tell us that we have gone through all this to save four chests of oil?” “But wait,” said the Professor quickly. “This is no ordinary oil. It is Russian napthalan. It is worth at the present moment, a dollar and a half an ounce. There are sixty-four ounces in that can, seventy-five cans to the chest, and four chests. Figure for yourself its value. But money,” he went on in a very serious tone, “is not the principal reward. It never is. There are in America today tens of thousands of children suffering from a terrible skin disease. They have no relief. A salve, of which this oil is the base, will at once relieve their condition, and in time will cure them. To save these children, is this not a cause for which one might gladly risk his life many times?” “It is,” said Johnny with conviction. “I am glad we came.” In this expression he was quickly seconded by Pant. Later that evening, after the moon had spread a long yellow streamer across the waters, Johnny and Pant sat in steamer chairs side by side silently gazing across the sea. Each was busy with his own thoughts. Johnny was going over the events of the past few months. In these months many mysteries had leaped out of the unknown to stare him in the face and challenge his wits to find their answers. Some had been solved; others remained yet to be solved. There was the white fire of the factory which had worked such wonders with steel and, closely associated with that, were the fires that had started, apparently without cause, on the red racer in the desert and the savages’ canoe. These remained mysteries, as did the problem of the composition of the new steel. He wondered still if the vial he had put away on the upper shelf of the laboratory in the factory could possibly add some light to this problem. Of two things he was certain: The dust-burning motor was a complete success and the blue steel was the most marvelous steel ever invented. He hoped that Pant and he would not now be long in revealing these facts to those most interested. They would delight the heart of their employer and would bring great joy to the aged inventor of the motor. First, though, they must return from the coast to the factory with their machine. He hoped that, by this time, they had succeeded in shaking the contortionist off their trail. “But you never can tell,” he whispered to himself. As if his mind had been working on these very problems, Pant said suddenly: “We’ll take the boat rigging off the ‘Dust Eater’ when we reach the Golden Gate and rig her up with landing wheels. Then we’ll fly home. What do you say?” “Looks like the best plan,” said Johnny. “That’ll give the motors one more try-out and us another thrill.” Had he known the kind of thrill it was going to be, he would doubtless have favored shipping the plane by freight. |
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