The Lost City - Jr. Joseph E. Badger (children's books read aloud txt) 📗

opinion of his prowess.

 

Under different circumstances their expectations might have been

more fully met, but just now the grizzly seemed wholly occupied

with the buffalo bull, whose sturdy bulk and armed front so

resolutely opposed his further progress towards that common goal,

the pool of water.

 

The boys quickly reached the flying-machine and gripped the

Winchester rifles which Professor Featherwit had drawn forth from

the locker at first sight of the dangerous game. Thus armed,

they felt ready for whatever might come, and stood watching

yonder rivals with growing interest.

 

“Will you look at that, now?” excitedly breathed Waldo, eyes

aglow, as he saw the bull cock its tail on high and tear up the

soft soil with one fierce sweep of its cloven hoof, shaking head

and giving vent to a low but determined bellow.

 

“It means a fight unto the death, I think,” whispered the

professor.

 

“It’s dollars to doughnuts on the bear,” predicted Waldo. “Scat,

you bull-headed idiot! Don’t you know that you’re not deuce high

to his ace? Can’t you see that he can chew you up like—”

 

“Are you mighty sure of all that, boy?” laughingly cut in Bruno;

for at that moment the buffalo made a sudden charge at his

upright adversary, knocking the grizzly backward in spite of its

viciously flying paws.

 

“Great Peter on a bender! If I ever—no, I never!”

 

Even the professor was growing excited, holding the dynamite gun

under one arm while gently tapping palms together as an encore.

 

Naturally enough, their sympathies were with the buffalo, since

the odds seemed so immensely against him; but their delight was

short-lived, for, instead of following up the advantage so

bravely won, the bull fell back to paw and bellow and shake his

shaggy front.

 

With marvellous activity for a brute of his enormous bulk and

weight, the grizzly recovered its feet, then lumbered forward

with clashing teeth and resounding growls.

 

Nothing loath, the buffalo met that charge, and for a short space

of time the struggle was veiled by showers of leaf-mould and damp

dirt cast upon the air as the rivals fought for supremacy—and

for life.

 

For that this was destined to be a duel to the very death not one

of those spectators could really doubt. That encounter may have

been purely accidental, but the creatures fought like enemies of

long standing.

 

As their relative positions changed, the buffalo contrived to get

in another vigorous butt, sending bruin end for end down that

gentle slope to souse into the pool of water, that cool element

cutting short a savage roar of mad fury.

 

Then the trio of spectators could take notes, and with something

of sorrow they saw that the buffalo had already suffered

severely, bleeding from numerous great gashes torn by the

grizzly’s long talons, while one bloody eye dangled below its

socket, held only by a thread of sinew.

 

Nor had bruin escaped without hurt, as all could see when he

floundered out of the water, bent upon renewing the duel; but

there was little room left for doubting what the ultimate result

would be were the animals left to their own devices.

 

Like all bold, free-hearted lads, Waldo ever sympathised with the

weaker, and now, unable to hold his feelings in check, he gave a

short cry, levelling his Winchester and opening fire upon the

grizzly, just as it won fairly clear of the water.

 

Stung to fury by those pellets, the brute reared up with a horrid

roar, turning as though to charge this new enemy; but ere he

could do more, the professor’s gun spoke, and as the dynamite

shell exploded, bruin fell back a writhing mass, his head

literally smashed to pieces.

 

Heedless of all else, the wounded buffalo charged with lusty

bellow, goring that quivering mass with unabated fury, though its

life was clearly leaking out through those ghastly cuts and

slashes.

 

A brief pause, then Professor Featherwit swiftly reloaded his

gun, sending another shell across the stream, this time more as a

boon than as punishment.

 

Smitten fairly in the forehead, the bull dropped as though

beneath a bolt of lightning, life going out without so much as a

single struggle or a single pang.

 

“Twas better thus,” declared the professor, as Waldo gave a

little ejaculation of dismay. “He must have bled to death in a

short time, and this was true mercy. Besides, buffalo meat is

very good eating, and the day may come when we shall need all we

can get. Who knows?”

 

After the animals were inspected, and due comment made upon the

awfully sure work wrought by the dynamite gun, the professor

suggested that, while he was completing repairs upon the

aeromotor, the brothers should secure a supply of fish and of

flesh, cooking sufficient to provide for several meals, for there

was no telling just when they would have an equal chance.

 

“Just as soon as we can put all in readiness,” he continued, “I

am going to leave this spot. My first wish is to thoroughly test

the aerostat, to make certain it has received no serious injury.

Then, if all promises well, I mean to begin our tour of

exploration, hoping that we may, at least, find something well

worthy the strange reputation given these Olympics by the

natives.”

 

Without raising any objections, the brothers fell to work, Bruno

looking after the flesh, while Waldo undertook to supply the

fish. That was but fair, since he had been cheated out of

catching the first mess.

 

Not a little to his delight, the professor found that the

flying-machine would promptly answer his touch and will, rising

easily off the ground, then descending at call, evidently having

passed through the ordeal of the bygone evening without serious

harm.

 

Still, all this consumed time, and it was after a late dinner

that everything was pronounced in readiness for an ascension:

the meat and fish nicely cooked and packed for carriage, a pot of

strong coffee made and stowed beyond risk of leakage, the

flying-machine itself quivering in that gentle breeze as though

eager to find itself once more afloat far above the earth and its

obstructions to easy navigation.

 

Waldo expressed some grief at leaving a spot where game came in

such plentitude to find the hunter, and trout simply longed to be

caught; but upon being assured of other opportunities, perhaps

even more delightful, he sighed and gave consent to mount into

space.

 

“Only—don’t ask me to tackle any of those big dictionary fellows

such as you talked about this morning, uncle Phaeton, for I

simply can’t; they’d get away with my baggage while I was trying

to spell their names and title—and all that!”

 

Without any difficulty the aeromotor was sent out of and above

the forest, heading towards the northwest; that is, direct for

the heart of the Olympics, of whose marvels Professor Featherwit

held such exalted hopes and expectations.

 

Grim and forbidding those mountains looked as the air-ship sailed

swiftly over them, opening up a wider view when the bare, rugged

crest was once left fairly to the rear. Save for those bald

crowns, all below appeared a solid carpet of treetops, now

lower, there higher, yet ever the same: seemingly impenetrable

to man, should such an effort be made.

 

Once fairly within the charmed circle, leaving the rocky ridge

behind, Professor Featherwit slackened speed, permitting the ship

to drift onward at a moderate pace, one hand touching the

steering-gear, while its fellow held a pair of field-glasses to

his eager eyes.

 

All at once he gave a half-stifled cry, partly rising in his

excitement, then crying aloud in thrilling tones:

 

“The sea,—an inland sea!”

 

CHAPTER IX.

GRAPPLING A QUEER FISH.

 

At nearly the same moment both Bruno and Waldo caught a glimpse

of water, shining clear and distinct amidst that sombre setting;

but as yet a tree-crested elevation interfered with the prospect,

and it was not until after the course of the air-ship had been

materially changed, and some little time had elapsed, that aught

definite could be determined as to the actual spread of that body

of water.

 

This proved to be considerable, although it needed but a single

look into the professor’s face to learn that his eager hopes and

exalted anticipations fell far short of realisation.

 

“Well, it’s a sea all right,” generously declared Waldo, giving a

vigorous sniff by way of strengthening his words. “I can smell

the salt clear from this. A sea, even if it isn’t quite so large

as others,—what one might term a lower-case c!”

 

If nothing else, that generous effort brought its reward in the

dry little chuckle which escaped the professor’s lips, and a

kindly glow showed through his glasses as he turned towards Waldo

with a nod of acknowledgment.

 

“Barring the salty scent, my dear boy, which probably finds birth

in your kindly imagination. So, on the whole, perhaps ‘twould be

just as well to term it a lake.”

 

“One of no mean dimensions, at any rate, uncle Phaeton.”

 

“True, Bruno,” with a nod of agreement, yet with forehead

contracting into a network of troubled lines. “Naturally so, and

yet—surely this must be merely a portion? Unless—yet I fail to

see aught which might be interpreted as being—”

 

Promptly responding to each touch of hand upon steering-gear, the

aeromotor swung smoothly around, sailing on even keel right into

the teeth of the gentle wind, by this time near enough to that

body of water for the air-voyagers to scan its surface: a

considerable expanse, all told, yet by no means of such magnitude

as Professor Featherwit had anticipated.

 

Too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts to notice the little

cries and ejaculations which came from the brothers, he caused

the aerostat to rise higher, slowly sweeping that extended field

with his glasses.

 

He could see where several streams entered the body of water,

coming from opposite points of the compass, and thus confirming

at least one portion of his explained theory; but, so far as his

visual powers went, there was no other considerable body of water

to be discovered.

 

“Yet, how can that contracted basin contain all the drainage from

this vast scope of country? How can we explain the stubborn fact

of—What now, lads?”

 

An abrupt break, but one caused by the eager cry and loud speech

from the lips of the younger Gillespie.

 

“Looky yonder! Isn’t that one o’ those sour-us dictionary

fellows on a bender? Isn’t that—but I don’t—no, it’s only—”

 

“Only a partly decayed tree gone afloat!” volunteered Bruno, with

a merry laugh, as his eager brother drew back in evident chagrin.

 

“Well, that’s all right. It ought to’ve been one, even if it

isn’t. What’s the use in coming all this way, if we’re not going

to discover something beyond the common? And my sour-us is worth

more than one of the other kind, after all; get it ashore and you

might cook dinner for a solid month by it; now there!”

 

It was easily to be seen that Waldo had been giving free rein to

his expectations ever since the professor’s little lecture, but

his natural chagrin was quickly forgotten in a matter of far

greater interest.

 

Professor Featherwit had resumed his scrutiny of yonder body of

water, slowly turning his glasses while holding the air-ship on a

true course and even keel.

 

For a brief space nothing interfered with the steady motion of

the field-glasses, but then something called for a more thorough

examination, and little by little the savant leaned farther

forward, breath coming more rapidly, face beginning to flush with

deepening interest.

 

Bruno took note