That was low enough. All this time the propeller had been spinning from the rush of air alone. Now John threw in the clutch; the revolving propeller shaft grabbed the crankshaft of the engine, and once more it began its rhythmic purr. Just a little upthrust of the tail-elevators and ailerons brought them again into the horizontal in a huge swoop. Nothing could have been prettier. They had escaped the terrible tornado, leaving it still galloping westward far behind them, and were once more in normal position for continuing their flight toward the goal!

Below them, for miles around, they could once more see the ocean uninterruptedly. Its mountainous waves and deep gorges of a short time previous had probably swallowed up many an unlucky ship that morning; but its temper was expended, and all it could do now was to sulk in long, even billows which every moment became flatter and flatter.

How had their rivals fared? This question was in the minds of every one of our flyers as the Sky-Bird continued swiftly on her course. In their hearts was a vague feeling that perhaps Pete Deveaux and his crowd might not have come out of the storm as lucky as they, for not one airplane out of a score could have outlived it. Their own escape had been almost miraculous. But for the good generalship of John they surely would have met with mishap.

So now, as they went along, a sharp lookout was not only kept for their rivals in the sky ahead, but anxious looks were cast over the expanse of white-capped waters. Calculations told them that by this time the other airplane could not be far ahead.

Less than ten minutes later, Tom espied a small object far away on their port quarter. It was bobbing about on the waves, rising and falling. Bob seized a pair of gla.s.ses, and took a long look. He turned around with his face full of excitement.

"Heavens, fellows!" he cried; "that object looks like an airplane!"

All took a look. Then they, too, were excited, There could be no doubt about it--the object was a wrecked airplane. And as it was extremely unlikely that there were other machines in the vicinity than their own and that of their adversaries', they were quite sure that it must be the remains of the _Clarion_.

John turned the Sky-Bird in the direction of the floating thing, and soon they saw what seemed to be the form of a human being clinging to one of the wings. John threw in both engines in an effort to get all possible speed out of the craft.

In a little while they were close enough to see that the wreck was really the _Clarion_. But what a sad-looking sight was the former handsome craft! Her tail had been wrenched off, and only half of one of her long wings could be seen. Out upon the other, on hands and knees, clinging desperately to the aileron brace, was the hatless, water-soaked figure of a man. As they came closer still they could see him waving his hand frantically at them.

With a gla.s.s, Paul saw that this person was Oliver Torrey. Anxiously his eyes roved over the wreck in quest of other survivors, but none could he discern. Irony of fate! had all of the others been drowned?

John brought the Sky-Bird down to within seventy-five feet of the sea as they approached. Tom seized the speaking trumpet, and as they swept over the _Clarion_ he bawled out: "Hang on, Torrey! We'll stand by, and save you if we can!"

But they were facing a herculean task, and realized it. They could not light upon the water. Nor could they stop in midair. How in the world could they effect the hapless flyer's rescue?

John circled at reduced speed while all of their minds were busy trying to work out the problem. In the meantime Torrey's frantic pleadings for them not to go away and leave him to his fate filled their ears.

It was a trying, nerve-racking situation.

Bob Giddings struck upon the first idea.

"Why can't we trail a rope for him to catch?" he asked.

"He's probably too weak to climb a rope," objected Tom.

"I'll tell you what we can do," said Paul, with a happy thought. "We can take this coil of rope we have here and make a narrow ladder of it!

That will be easy for him to catch, and easy to climb."

All agreed instantly that this was the only hope of rescue. So John kept the Sky-Bird slowly wheeling, while his three mates cut and tied until they had formed a narrow rope ladder about fifty feet long. One end of this they securely fastened in the cabin, while they let the other drop down through the gla.s.s trap in the floor.

To their dismay the rush of wind carried the light ladder out so horizontally behind that they saw they could never get low enough with safety for Oliver Torrey to reach it! What could they do now? It seemed they were destined to failure; that Torrey must be left to the cruel and hungry waves.

"I have it!" cried Bob. "We'll fasten Grandpa near the lower end of the ladder. His weight will be sufficient to keep it down straight."

This was a splendid scheme, surely. Accordingly, the monkey, wondering what new form of teasing was about to be imposed upon him, was fastened about three feet from the bottom end of the ladder, and Grandpa and his strange trapeze was then slowly let down until all of the ladder had been paid out. The crew were glad to note that it now hung almost perpendicularly.

Now the success of everything depended upon John. He must be skillful enough to bring the ladder across Torrey's position in just the right place for the flyer to grasp it as it swept past.

They shouted to the man below to stand up if he could, and comprehending in an instant his part of the program, he struggled to his feet, spreading them wide apart to brace himself, for the wrecked airplane was rocking somewhat from the action of the waves.

The first time John brought the Sky-Bird by he was too high; Torrey could not reach the ladder. The second time a sudden gust of wind blew the ropes too far to one side at the critical moment. The third time the machine itself was a trifle too far to one side. But on the fourth attempt success met their patient efforts; Torrey's hands seized the bottom rung of the ladder, and a few minutes later he had climbed up into the cabin and sunk weakly upon the floor. Paul then brought in the ladder, laughing nervously, and released Grandpa, who had not relished his part of the proceedings in the least, to judge from his excited chattering, most of which was bestowed upon the rescued man.

CHAPTER x.x.x

AN ALARMING DISCOVERY

One of the first questions our flyers asked of Oliver Torrey, after they had helped him remove his wet clothing, was:

"Where are your friends?"

The _Clarion_ flyer shook his head sadly. "They're done for--drowned.

I'm the only one left of our crew. That was an awful storm, boys! I don't see how you ever survived it."

"We did it by flying over the greater part of it," said Tom. "How did it happen to get you fellows?"

"Pete and Chuck were operating," explained Oliver Torrey. "Sam and I both wanted to get above the tornado, but they said they thought it wouldn't amount to much. When they saw how bad it really was, it was too late. A whirlpool of wind struck us at three thousand feet, Pete lost control, and we went into a nose-dive from which we never recovered. When we struck the sea the force crushed in the front of the cabin, stunning Pete, and before any of us could grab him the waves had washed him out of our sight. Chuck, Sam, and I managed to get out and climb up on the fuselage; but the seas were running so high that half of the time we were buried in water. Coming out of one of these deluges, I looked around and saw that I was alone. Then the storm pa.s.sed, and things looked better for me. But I was just about ready to give up when I saw the Sky-Bird coming."

Oliver Torrey paused a moment, wiped his haggard face, and then continued, as he looked earnestly at his rescuers:

"Boys, I never can thank you enough for saving my worthless life. It's awful to think that we guys let Pete Deveaux coax us into doing all those dirty things to hold you back. I guess we deserved this punishment. If I ever get back to Panama I'll certainly make what amends I can by telling the whole disgraceful story to the world."

Tom stepped in front of the _Clarion_ flyer, and shook his finger in his face. "Torrey," said Tom, "I think at heart you are all right; but listen! Mr. Wrenn, who hired you fellows, is a straight man through and through. If this story gets out it will be published broadcast, and people will think he abetted your crimes against us. So, for his sake----"

"I see; I hadn't thought of that," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Torrey. "I will keep still; as far as the public'll ever know, they'll think this was a fair and square contest--and so it was on your part."

It must be remembered that John and Tom had had no sleep since the day previous. They were so tired by now, especially John, that they were very glad to retire to the hammocks, leaving Paul and Bob to take care of the Sky-Bird. Oliver Torrey was also exhausted, and accepted with alacrity Paul's invitation to him to jump into the spare hammock.

Within five minutes the two youths were the only ones awake.

It seemed good to the boys to feel that soon they would be at San Cristobal, their last stop before the final hop. They flew along with the throttle wide open for the next hour, eager to make up for the delay caused by the storm and the rescue of Torrey. Then they reduced the speed a little, to make sure they would not overheat the engine, but still they made good time.

Shortly before six o'clock that afternoon they sighted a blue haze which a little later developed into a group of several islands. These they knew, by consulting their chart, were the Gallapagos, the home of the largest land-turtles ever known, monsters so enormous that one of them could walk off with two half-grown boys on his broad back.

There are over two thousand volcano cones in these islands, and soon our friends were almost in the midst of them. On all sides and at all distances were rugged peaks one hundred to two thousand feet high, rising sheer from a rose-pink sea over which the declining sun played ravishingly. Along the sh.o.r.es pelicans soared above the shallow inlets, watching for unwary fish. Tiny birds darted in and out among the cliffs. Down in the crystal depths of the sea, over shelves of coral, vague shapes hovered and pa.s.sed and repa.s.sed--sharks, dolphins, turtles, and grunts, even the ghastly devil-fish.

All life seemed confined to water and to air; never was dry land so desolate-looking as those myriads of barren volcanic cones. Yet one of these islands was peopled with human beings--San Cristobal.

Which one was it? The easternmost of the group, said the chart.

Circling that way. Bob gave a yelp like a pup which sees his younger master after he has been away all day.

"I see Dalrymple Rock!" he cried, with the binoculars to his eyes. "I see Wreck Point, too, and a bay between 'em, with houses on the beach.

That looks like our number, all right. What more do you want, Paul?"

"Nothing," laughed Paul,--"except our landing field. Find that, wake up the other fellows, and I'll be satisfied."

In a moment Bob pointed out a flat field marked with the welcome white T, then he aroused John and Tom while Paul was bringing the Sky-Bird down. From a rickety old pier, also from the sh.o.r.es where they had gathered, a crowd of curious natives rushed forward to witness the landing of the most startling object they had ever seen. They were a mixture of South Americans, mostly Ecuadoreans, and not until our friends stepped out of the cabin did they summon up enough courage to get very close to the machine.

Among them was the owner of the island--a good-looking young Ecuadorean, highly educated, who was to look after their interests in the matter of fuel,--and the chief of police (presumably "chief,"