Boy Scouts of the Air on Lost Island Part 19

"Phil, you and I will tackle the motor. If she isn't smashed, half the battle's won."

Jerry sat back in the corner awhile, trying his best to get something definite out of the great array of books he found on a low shelf.

Looking up and seeing Mr. Fulton's eyes on him, a twinkle in their depths, he threw down the latest collection of algebraic formulas and walked over.

"I guess I know enough about aeroplanes to unscrew nuts and nip wires.

You can explain the theory of it to us after working hours."

So, with monkey wrench, pliers, hammers and screwdriver, he set about making himself as busy as any of the others--and as greasy.

Dark came on them before they had made enough headway to be noticeable.

The boys were glad to see the shadows creeping along, for, truth to tell, they were all thoroughly tired and not a little hungry. Not a bite had any of them eaten since breakfast.

"Hope Budge has taken it upon himself to hash together a few eats,"

sighed Phil. "I feel hungry enough to tackle my boots."

"Eats?" exclaimed Mr. Fulton in surprise. "You don't mean to tell me that you're hungry?"

"Oh, no, not hungry. Just plain starved," clamored the whole outfit.

"Good. One of you go over and get your guard, and we'll see what those mysterious signals mean that Miss Elizabeth has been making this past half hour. She told me she'd cook us a dinner--if we could stand domestic science grub. This is the first time she ever kept real house.

Let's wash up."

The supper that Elizabeth brought, smoking hot, to the long, board-made table the boys quickly set up in the hangar, did not smack very much of inexperience. Even Budge declared it was well worth the trip across the river. The boys were inclined to linger over the meal, and Dave started in to tell a long story about a hunting trip in which he and his uncle had been the heroes of a bear adventure, but Mr. Fulton stopped him, even if the yawns of his listeners had not warned him to cut the tale short.

"We're in for some good hard licks, men," said Mr. Fulton, "and it's going to mean early to bed and early to rise. That is," he amended, "if you want to go through with it."

"We'll stick to the bitter end," they cried. "What's the program?"

"Two weeks of the hardest kind of work. Breakfast at six; work at six-thirty, till twelve; half hour for lunch; work till seven; dinner; bed. That may not sound like much fun--it isn't."

"Suits us," declared Phil for the rest. "Do we get a front seat at the circus when the man puts his head in the lion's mouth--and a ride on the elephant?" he joked, pointing at the dismembered _Skyrocket_.

"I'll give you something better than that, just leave it to me,"

promised Mr. Fulton. "Where you going to turn in?"

"We go over to camp. You'll blow the factory whistle when it's time to get up, won't you?"

"No," teased Elizabeth, coming in just then, "I'll drop a couple o'

nice smooth pebbles into camp as a gentle reminder."

It was a jolly party that crowded into the two boats and sang and shouted their way across Plum Run some ten minutes later, but within the half-hour the night was still, for tired muscles could not long resist the call of sleep.

But bright and early next morning they were all astir long before the hour of six and the promised pebbles. A swim in Plum Bun put them in good trim for a hearty breakfast, and that in turn put them in shape for a hard day's work.

And a hard day it turned out to be, for Mr. Fulton parceled out the work and kept everyone on the jump. Jerry and Tod were put at the motor, which had refused to respond to its owner's coaxing. They twisted, tightened, adjusted, tested, till their fingers were cramped and eyes and backs ached.

Lunch gave a most welcome rest, but the half hour was all too short.

Every one of them welcomed Mr. Fulton's decision when he said: "We've got along so nicely that I think I will call this a six-o'clock day.

Wash up, everybody, and let's see what Elizabeth has for us."

CHAPTER XV

A WILD NIGHT

That was merely the first of a whole week of days that seemed amazingly alike. Mr. Fulton tried to make the work as interesting as possible by letting them change off jobs as often as he could. But even then there was little that under ordinary circ.u.mstances would interest a regular out-of-doors boy. What helped was that the circ.u.mstances were not ordinary. It was all a big game to them--a fight against odds. Perhaps at times the s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g of greasy nuts on greasier bolts did not look much like a game, nor did the tedious pus.h.i.+ng of a plane or twisting a brace and bit look like a fight, but every one of the boys sensed the tense something that was back of all Mr. Fulton's cheery hustle.

They knew that his arm and shoulder hurt fearfully at times, but never a complaint did they hear from him, although he was all sympathy over the blood-blisters and cut hands of their own mishaps.

But the second week made up for any lack of excitement that the boys had felt. The week was up Wednesday night. On Thursday morning Mr.

Fulton met them with a white face that somehow showed the light of battle.

"Guess you'd better arrange, Boss Jerry, to leave a couple of your Scouts on guard here nights," was all he said, but the boys felt that something disturbing had happened the night before. They questioned Elizabeth when she brought their lunch, which they ate from benches and boxes to save time, but she would give them no satisfaction. Tod seemed to know something, but he too was strangely mum.

Jerry decided to remain over that night himself, and Phil, who had dropped a steel wrench across his toes and so had to remain for medical attention anyway, offered to share the watch with him. After Mr. Fulton had left them at about ten o'clock, they talked for awhile together, but finally they both began to yawn.

"What'll it be?" asked Phil. "Two hours at a stretch, turn and turn about?"

"Suits me," said Jerry. "Ill take the first trick."

Phil's snoring something like fifty-nine seconds later was sufficient answer. All was still, and Jerry set about to await midnight, when he could hope for a brief snooze. After a while the silence began to wear on his nerves and in every night noise he fancied he heard steps. He sat still and watchful, hardly breathing at times, his finger poised above a push b.u.t.ton that would ring a bell where Mr. Fulton lay stretched out on a pallet on the floor of the tiny cabin.

But midnight came and nothing had happened. He roused Phil and then hunted himself out a soft spot in which to curl up. But he had grown so used to listening that now he found he could not stop. He tried counting, only it was fish he was catching instead of sheep going through the gap in the hedge. It was no use. At last he got up and stretched himself.

"Guess I'll take a turn around in the cool air; I can't seem to sleep."

"Gee," grumbled Phil, "and here _I_ can't seem to stay awake. Just as well have let me slumber on in peace."

"Well, don't slumber while I'm gone, sleepyhead."

Jerry walked across the open ground and after an undecided halt, broke through the bushes, heavy now with dew, and made for the sh.o.r.e. He stood for a long time on the bank, looking across to where the Scout camp lay quiet in the darkness, and then turned and was about to go back to Phil. But he paused; a steady creaking sound had broken the night. It was drawing slowly nearer. It was a rowboat.

"Great conspirators, they are!" sniffed Jerry. "They might at least grease their oars." He heard the mumble of low voices, the _sush_ of a boat keel on the sand. Reaching down, he caught up a big handful of pebbles; with a hard overhand swing he let them fly.

He heard a muttered "Ouch!" and then, after a moment's silence, once more the _creak-crook_ of oars. "Batter out" chuckled Jerry to himself as he scurried back to the hangar.

After that he slept.

The boys were all excitement when he told his story next morning, but that was nothing to compare with the exclamation that arose that same evening when they returned to camp to find that Dave, who had been left in charge, had disappeared, and that the place had been rifled and then torn all to pieces. Poor Dave was found not far off, tied to a tree.

His story was somewhat lacking in detail. He had sat dozing over a book on aeronautics, when suddenly an earthquake came up and hit him over the head. That was all he knew till he woke up tied securely to a tree.

"That settles it," declared Phil. "We ought to have done it in the first place, but the boss didn't think it was worth while."

"What's that?" demanded Jerry, a bit sharply.