the next day the work was at a standstill, for they had gone as far as they could without the ribs and the covering. so the aero club separated, mac and tom joining nelson pierce for a day of fishing. most of the troop went down to the lake with red deer for a “soak.” harry sat on the ground near camp all the morning, his back against a huge tree, and his knees drawn up by way of a writing desk. here he used up page after page of a writing tablet, making a variety of diagrams, only to crunch up each leaf and stuff it into one or other of his pockets.
no one was about except charlie greer, cook, and johnnie walden, cookee, who were busy in the lean-to. when harry finally ambled over toward them, he was stiff from his long sitting. out of the fifty or so sheets of paper he had used, there were only six that he saw fit to save. the rest he pulled out from his various pockets.
“i’m a human waste basket, charlie,” said he. “here, burn these up, will you?”
“figuring out your glider?” charlie asked.
harry creased a sheet of paper into an arrowy form and shot it through the trees. “look at that go, will you, charlie?” he went and picked it up and brought it to charlie to burn. then he wandered off, his hands in his trousers pockets. he passed morrel, who was on sentinel duty at the edge of the grove.
“what’s the matter, old man?” said morrel. “you look lonesome.”
“come on down to the village,” said harry. he knew morrel couldn’t go, but he asked to be sociable.
in port henry, he jumped upon the bench in marty’s boat-yard. “got those paregoric ribs ready?” said he.
marty looked at him suspiciously, as if he were beginning to see through some involved swindling game. “thought you was comin’ down in yer boat to-morrer.”
“so we are, but i’m in a hurry to see one of them.”
“well, there they be,” said marty, with lofty contempt. “you’re daft if you go into this aeroplane business.”
“i know it,” said harry, “but i can’t help it; i was born that way. can i take one of these along?”
“guess that’ll be all right,” drawled marty.
when the other boys returned from their various occupations they found harry squatted near the unfinished glider, contemplating with critical gaze the solitary rib, which he had fastened in place.
the work, so far, consisted of two rectangular frames, each twenty-four by three feet, and joined at the corners by the right-angle braces, fastened with screws. the fact that these frames were four feet longer than the regulation trial glider would seem to indicate a sneaking intention on harry’s part to install motive power sometime or other; but if he ever did, it is not a part of this story.
besides the end pieces, four other cross-bars, or struts, had been fastened between the beams at even intervals, except that in one of the frames the two nearest the center were only two feet apart. this would be the under plane, and the space in the center being left uncovered, the passenger might pass his arms over these center cross-bars, hanging by his armpits. the lateral balance of the glider would thus be controlled by the sideways swinging of his legs, and its coasting inclination—that is, the tilting upward or downward of its air-cutting surfaces—by his sliding backward or forward on these central struts.
thus, in this simple form of glider, the weight of the operator’s body takes the place of complicated stability planes and rudders, and all that is needed to maintain a level keel is a level head.
“that rib looks lonesome there, harry,” said tom langford.
“well, it will have to stick it out alone to-night,” harry answered.
“looks like a fence that’s fallen down, doesn’t it?” said howard.
they spent some time screwing on more of the right-angle braces, for though they lacked many of the fittings usually recommended for such work, they had an abundance of these braces. they served very well to hold all corners firmly and rigidly together, although of course absolute rigidity of such open framing could only be secured by a thorough system of taut wire trussing.
“guess she won’t fly away to-night,” said tom langford. “come on down and clean up for supper. i say, it makes me sad to see that lonely rib there.”
the next day they went into port henry with the swan, and got the bicycle, the silk shelter, and the rest of the ribs. there were forty-one, all told. they were curved to perfection, and the boys were vociferous in their thanks to marty. on the way back, one of them slipped into the water.
“floating rib,” said matthew reed. “i knew a man once who had a floating rib.”
“joke,” said mac.
“well, people do have such things as floating ribs,” protested matthew; “ask dr. brent.”
“very clever,” said tom langford. “let’s all laugh.”
“hope you choke,” grunted matthew.
the next day the ribs were fastened in place, and these, of course, had a bracing effect on the frame. on the upper plane there were twenty-one ribs, placed at even spaces across the frame. on the lower, one rib was omitted in the center, where there would be no cloth covering on account of the open space required to hold the passenger. thus the ribs were something over a foot apart. since the frames were only three feet wide and the ribs four feet long, it followed that they had to project a foot over one edge, and this of course must be the back, or after, edge. the front or abruptly curved end of each rib was brought flush with the long beam and screwed down to it with a long, flatheaded screw. then where it crossed the after beam it was also screwed down. they were careful to see that each one was correctly squared with the long bars, so that the ribs, when placed, were parallel with each other.
when their work was finished, the boys squatted about, surveying the result of their labor and commenting on the scientific and shipshape appearance it was beginning to assume. the curved ribs had transformed the fencelike frames into two graceful pieces of lattice, with a sort of aerial, buoyant aspect that immediately suggested the aeroplane. up to this point the work might have been intended for any one of a dozen purposes. not so now.
“she’s going to be all right,” said mac. “where’ll we try her out—down the hill?”
“we’d better try her on the level first,” said harry.
“certainly, we’ll do everything on the level,” ventured matthew.
“matty,” said tom, “if you don’t stop making these jokes—”
“i can’t seem to satisfy you fellows,” said matthew. “that wasn’t such a bad one—”
“wouldn’t it be a good idea,” asked howard, innocently, “to put the covering on before we try her out?”
“mightn’t be a bad scheme,” said harry.
“you know most of them are covered,” howard said; “they say it helps them to rise.”
two sonorous blasts of charlie greer’s tin horn put an end to the conversation. near the lean-to the trunk of a young tree had been felled and rested horizontally in the forks of two others. from this hung a line of seventeen towels, rough dry, but spotless, each one bearing a scout’s initials. the cookee laundered these every sunny day, by red deer’s orders. in process of preparation for supper, harry reached the rack before the others, and came upon gordon giving his round face a few final rubs.
“hello, kid,” he said cheerily.
“hello,” gordon answered.
“thought we’d see you over yonder to-day. she’s beginning to look quite shipshape, kid. come on over in the morning and take a look. guess we’ll get her finished to-morrow, if mat doesn’t stop to chin too much. been stalking to-day?” but there was no answer; and when harry’s face emerged from its towel, gordon had disappeared.
it developed from camp-fire talk that night that gordon had been stalking with that indefatigable stalker, brick parks. parks, after long and patient effort, had managed to get a first-class snapshot of a hawk, for it was his public-spirited wish that the hawk patrol, of which he was a member, should have some sort of representation of their patron bird, produced by his own hand. and the idea had fired gordon with enthusiasm, so that for the last two days he had been haunting the stream, armed with his trusty little “brownie,” in the hope of bringing its deadly focus on a real live beaver.
under ordinary circumstances, he would have consulted his patrol leader about this, and if he had he might have directed his search more wisely; but as it was, he was going to triumph over the entire patrol, he was going to do them a magnificent good turn, he was going benevolently to donate eight photographs of a beaver, one for each member, and arnold, when he received his, would feel the sting of a remorseful conscience, and that would serve him right.
“any beavers to-day?” asked the doctor, as he took his customary seat amongst them.
“no, sir,” said gordon.
“i should think that land under the precipice might have a beaver,” the doctor suggested, “near the pond, i mean. i believe you’ll find them pretty scarce, though, gordon. a muskrat wouldn’t do?”
“of course not,” said gordon. “we’re not muskrats.”
“well, a muskrat is a kind of a small beaver,” protested the doctor, cautiously.
“just the thing,” said tilford morrel, hawk. “he’s a kind of small beaver, aren’t you, kid?”
the talk turned to the all-important topic of the glider, and red deer fell a victim to the ruse which was practiced on him nearly every night, that of getting him interested in some absorbing topic just before eleven o’clock. then, at about twelve, he would rise with great alacrity, saying that the hour was outrageous, but that he had only himself to blame.
in the morning came the most difficult part of the work, especially difficult since they were in the woods and had not the proper material for what they had to do. this was to fasten the two planes, one above the other, by means of the upright stanchions. if they had been in the city, their stanchions would have been round, and it would have been a simple matter to procure brass sockets for the ends to rest in. as it was, mac suggested buying twelve ordinary brooms, which would have cost them about five dollars. harry improved on this by suggesting hickory rake-handles, which can be purchased separately for twenty cents each in any country store. but since they had no round sockets, square stanchions would, on the whole, be best.
“besides,” said tom, “i wouldn’t have the nerve to walk into that store and ask for twelve rake-handles. every merchant prince in town thinks we’re a pack of lunatics, as it is. marty forbes pities us. so does the telegraph operator. when i asked for piano wire, those two fellows in the hardware store looked at each other and winked. come on, let’s get busy with the square stanchions.”
“that’s right,” said matthew, “have the stanchions on the square if we mean to use the machine on the level, then—”
mac walked grimly up to him and shook a chisel in his face. “matthew, the day has just started; you are forgiven this once, but don’t let it happen again. now, you remember!”
“come on, messmates,” said walden, tightening his belt; “are we going to get through to-night?”
“indeed we are!” said harry.
they placed one of the four-foot stanchions in the corner of the frame, held it upright, and screwed it on by means of the right-angle, wrought-iron braces. they used two of the braces, one flange of each screwed to a side of the upright, the other two flanges screwed one along the long beam, the other along the end cross-bar. when they had done this, the stanchion stood plumb upright and solid. if you do not care to pay fancy prices for brass stanchion sockets, do not let the books frighten you into doing so. these little wrought-iron braces, with screws to match, will do very well, and square stanchions are not half bad.
they put a stanchion wherever there was a cross-bar end. now came the job of lifting the other frame and placing it on the stanchion-tops. when this had been secured, the whole frame was not as steady as they wished. but they contemplated their handiwork with admiring comments. it looked for all the world like goodwin’s biplane.
now it was time to lay violent hands on mac’s old bicycle, and the boys went at it as if it were a cold turkey the day after thanksgiving. their object was to furnish the glider with wheels, placing them to the rear near the ends of the lower plane, so that the legs of the operator might form a third wheel, in a sense, relieving him of much of the strain of a sudden alighting. they remembered the wheels on goodwin’s machine, and they had not stopped to reflect that in a light-weight glider their room might be better than their company. it fell to harry to discover a better use for the old wheels.
“here’s a way to truss her up good and tight,” said he. “we don’t need these wheels—she’s as light as a feather. and here’s a way to pull the wiring taut. that’s very necessary. why, goodwin walked around his machine trying all the wires, and they sounded like harp strings, they were so tight.”
if you have a bicycle, you must have noticed that one end of the spoke is threaded and screws into a little turnable socket. they filed off each one, leaving the threaded end and its socket on the spoke. then they cut the spokes a few inches from the sockets, and bent the other ends into the shape of a hook eye. now, they took a strand of wire, bound it firmly to one corner of the frame, drew it loosely to an opposite corner, and cut it in the middle. one severed end they bound to the threaded socket, the other to the eyelet they had made in the spoke. the spoke was then screwed into its socket, and by this operation the wire was pulled taut. it sang and vibrated when they tried it with their fingers.
“hurrah! how’s that for trussing!” exclaimed howard brent.
“we can screw these wires so tight she won’t give a particle,” shouted tom. “good for you, harry!”
the idea was a good one, for since absolute rigidity of the long planes is imperative, it follows that the trussing and bracing by wire must be perfectly tight—tighter than any pair of hands can draw it. it was a particularly happy notion in this case, as it permitted of the glider’s being easily taken apart.
several of the boys now got between the two planes, being careful not to step on the ribs, and began trussing. they wired each section separately, stretching a wire from each corner to the diagonally opposite corner,—that is, from the lower end of the back stanchion to the upper end of the next forward stanchion, and so on.
“reminds you of that game you play with string,—cat in the cradle—doesn’t it?” said matthew. that was as near as he dared approach to a joke.
“yes, dearie,” said mac.
they had to be careful that no wires should span the open space to be occupied by the passenger. as each wire was fixed in place, it was tightened by turning the little bicycle-spoke socket, and it was a never failing delight to the boys to spring these wires and listen with satisfaction to the long vibration which told how tightly they pulled the frame together and held it rigid.
when the trussing was finished, mac stepped into the operator’s place, grasped the cross-bars, and lifted the machine. it tilted to one side, then to the other, but did not sag.
“a couple of you hold up the ends,” said mac, “while i hang in the middle, and see if it holds stiff.”
two boys did so, but the long frame did not give, nor was there any sound of straining.
“she’s what g. lord would call a james dandy,” said tom.
“she’s a lalapazuza!” howard shouted, throwing his cap in the air.
“all we have to do now is to fit on her silk dress,” said harry.
this was quickly done. they cut the silk into strips wide enough to span two rib-spaces. each strip was turned under the forward bar, which was smeared with glue, then tacked with copper tacks and pulled tightly to the after bar, where it was also fastened. the edges of the strips met at every second rib, where glue was also smeared and the overlapping edges tacked down.
“there was some kind of a thin moulding running along over the ribs on goodwin’s machine,” said harry, thoughtfully.
“harry, was there anything about goodwin’s machine that you didn’t see?” asked mac. “your beautiful gray eyes are certainly wonders for seeing things.”
harry, ignoring the compliment, departed, and presently reappeared with a felt duffel bag.
“that’s mine,” said matthew reed. “what are you going to do with that?”
“i’m going to attach it,” said harry.
“attach it to what?”
“attach it in the interest of science. now, matthew, don’t cut up and be naughty at the last minute. you know you have two of these.”
matthew subsided, under a storm of references to his lack of public spirit, and the felt bag was cut into long, narrow strips, slightly wider than the ribs, and tacked along over them.
the lower plane was covered in the same way, except that the two-foot space between the central struts was left free of rib and covering, to accommodate the passenger’s body. thus a boy could step into this space (always watchful not to step on the flanking silk) and, stooping, take the struts in his two hands and lift the complete frame.
“she’s did!” shouted tom langford, throwing a tack-hammer into the air.
they stood about, eying the completed glider admiringly. there it stood, its ends resting on two logs, graceful, aerial, but strong, its taut copper wiring crossing and recrossing between the curved surfaces and glittering in the declining sunlight. they surveyed it from every angle, with enthusiastic comments. from the rear, the slight uniform curve of the silk to the rib summits, with the outline of the ribs showing at even intervals beneath the tight-drawn cloth, was beautiful. they looked from end to end, through a long vista of slanting wires. howard brent stepped on the middle of one of the lower bars and jumped ever so slightly. there was no spring. the bar, one inch in diameter, held rigid like a bar of steel.
“you wouldn’t think you could balance that sideways by holding it in the center, would you?” said mac.
“balancing sideways is what they call ‘lateral stability,’ mr. mcconnell,” said tom. “if we’re going to do this, we want to do it right, as master g. lord says about our proposed assault on fort ticonderoga.”
“i agree with g. lord,” said tom. “if we’re going to be green mountain boys, we ought to roll our r’s and talk like them and carry rusty swords and worn-out guns. g. lord has the right idea.”
“that’s what red deer calls entering into the spirit of a thing,” said matthew; “and that’s g. lord’s specialty, all right. he wouldn’t stand for ‘balancing sideways.’ it would have to be ‘lateral stability’ for him.”
“i’ve missed him over here,” said mac. “wonder why he hasn’t been around?”
“oh, he won’t bother us much till he uses up those three films he bought.”
harry said nothing, but he realized keenly that his pleasure in building the glider and in the anticipation of using it had been sadly marred.
they rounded the struts which the passenger was to hold, and bound them with felt so that the hands and armpits might not chafe. then they gave the whole thing, covering and all, a coat of varnish. this would not only fill up the weave of the silk, making it air tight, but stiffen it as well; and the varnishing of the stanchions in particular would cause them more easily to deflect the air. as a precaution against a sudden rise of wind, the four corners were anchored to the earth by ropes and stakes and the apparatus was left to dry over night. in case of rain it might be brought into one of the tents.
that night at camp-fire some one rashly tried to introduce the subject of myer signaling, only to be put down by a veritable storm of aeronautic talk.
“now,” said red deer, “i’ve waited till this glider was finished to make a remark. is the coast clear for about five minutes? all right, then. now, you understand that i’m on a vacation. it wouldn’t be fair to ask me to set broken joints and bind up wounds, would it?”
“certainly not,” laughed several, seeing the diplomatic trend of his talk.
“well, now, i want you to begin on level ground. be satisfied with gliding a few feet or so close to the ground. you’ll find old terra firma a pretty good friend. then, when you’ve got the hang of it, try it on the hillside if you wish. there isn’t so very much slope, especially down toward the foot. but get the hang of it first. that’s the way the wrights did. understand, harry?”
the next morning they tried it out in a near-by field, and came in to dinner enthusiastic over their success. mac took his place in the center, holding the felted struts in his hands and letting his arms hang straight down. thus the lower plane was about two feet from the ground. harry and tom steadied the ends. the glider was faced directly into the breeze and mac started to run. the first thing he knew, his feet had left the ground. then one of the ends sank, scraped the field, and he was down again.
“if you hadn’t looked around to see if i was still holding on, that wouldn’t have happened,” said tom. “try it again.”
“as soon as your feet leave the ground,” said harry, “stick them forward a little. that will tilt the forward edge up—not too much, though.”
the next start was better. as soon as mac’s legs were clear of the ground, he projected them slightly, which kept the glider from coming down. and now instinct—the same instinct which enables a bicyclist to right his tilting wheel by just the exact degree of motion—came to his aid. the slightest movement had a controlling effect on these far-spreading wings. he slid his hands four or five inches backward, throwing the cutting edge of the long planes up. thus the glider, scooping the air under its curved surfaces, rose. also instinct seemed to tell him when it was about to cant, and he inclined his body sideways, accordingly. the sensation of feeling the long planes obey this slight move was delightful. but it was too soon for instinct to be attuned to all the subtle little calls upon it, and presently, leaning too far forward, that delicate and stubborn thing known as the center of gravity shifted, and the glider came coasting to the ground. he had risen about twelve feet and glided about forty.
next harry tried it and did still better, starting with more power after a longer initial run. it was a very easy thing to learn how to do. one after another the boys tried it, with a trifling mishap now and then. bert waring glided fifty-one feet from the rising point, which was the record until red deer took off his gold specs and handed them to roy carpenter.
“get from under!” said matthew reed.
“move those trees out of the way,” said langford.
“will you be back to-night, doctor?” asked mac.
red deer made a very scientific flight, doing a sort of scenic-railway curve, almost alighting, then up again. his lateral balancing was admirable. he got up as high as thirteen or fourteen feet, and tacked three feet on to waring’s record.
“by jove, that’s splendid sport, isn’t it?” said he, as he alighted.
“let’s try it down the slope now,” said roy carpenter.
they took it up to within about twenty-five feet of the precipice. that was as far as red deer would allow it to be carried.
“that’s far enough,” he called, as he came up after them. “i want you to be careful never to go nearer the top than this. if any wind should catch you and take you over the brink, it would be all up.”
“it would be all down,” said matthew.
“i hate to think what it would mean, boys,” said the scoutmaster, earnestly. “try it down the slope all you want to, but don’t go nearer than this to the precipice. if one of you should by any chance go over, you’d crash down a hundred feet.”
“we wouldn’t think of trying a glide off there,” laughed vinton. “at least, not for mine.”
“i know you wouldn’t,” said the doctor. “you’re not fools enough for that. but what i mean is, don’t back up that far to take a runner. you see, while you’re facing down into the wind, if a sudden gust should come, you can never tell, you know, it might catch the machine a certain way and topple you right down. you’ve got a good long slope here. don’t go nearer than this now, will you?”
“don’t worry, doctor,” said mac.
“well, i want you all to promise me. i’ve got to go down now and make up a report for the local council, and i want to be able to banish this from my mind. do you all promise? do you promise, harry?”
“why me, in particular?” harry laughed.
“no reason, only i happened to notice you standing there.”
harry stood among the others, his hands in his pockets. “of course, i promise,” said he.
red deer watched the first flight. it carried carpenter, the hawks’ patrol leader, over one hundred feet down the slope, skimming the ground. then the scoutmaster, apparently satisfied, went down to his tent. presently, nelson pierce literally leaped into fame. he had been watching the manipulations of the others shrewdly, and now, with the benefit of what he had seen and a theory or two of his own, he took a good run and, balancing carefully, brought the forward edges up to a sharp angle. the downward slope of the hill and the upward coasting of the glider soon left at least thirty feet of space below him.
“oh me, oh my!” shouted howard brent, as they ran down to be in at the finish.
nelson, maintaining his lateral balance by careful inclinations of his body to right and left, cut his way upward at a slight angle, with never a tremor of the planes, extending his momentum by holding a stiff, steady angle, until, about one hundred and fifty feet from the start and fifty feet from the ground, the attraction of gravitation began to assert itself and drew the glider and its passenger earthward. but the attraction of gravitation cannot have its own way with a glider going against the wind, and nelson coasted easily down not so very far from the foot of the hill.
“that was fine!” said bert.
“how was the weather up there, nel?” asked morrel.
harry tried it after that and made a good flight; but he tried a spectacular rise, throwing his edges up to forty-five degrees, and consequently didn’t go so far.
instead of blowing his horn, charlie greer, wearing his apron, came up to see the show and summon them to supper. they made him get in and, amid loud cheering, he made a magnificent flight of eight feet.
“great, charlie!” shouted vinton.
“charles, you’re a winner!” said mac.
“guess everybody’s tried it now,” said walden.
“where’s kid lord?” piped up tom.
“here comes brick parks. hey, brick, where’s the kid, anyway?”
“stalking,” said parks. “let’s try that thing, will you?”
“too late to-night, bricky, old boy, but you can take a picture of it.”
“sun’s too low,” said parks.
they anchored the machine with ropes and stakes about twenty-five feet from the cliff, meaning to resume their operations after supper.
the excitement of the trials over, harry was miserable. he knew that gordon, in his heart, would have liked to try the glider, and that it was just boyish pique that kept him away. he drew a mental picture of gordon trudging alone in the woods, his trusty little camera under his arm, in hopeless quest of a beaver. he was sorry he hadn’t made other overtures and told him that there was next to no chance of finding a beaver short of many miles to the west. he told himself that he should have been more in earnest when he spoke to gordon, less independent, though it is hard to see how he could have said or done more. the more he thought, the more he blamed himself. he thought of something he would say to gordon when he saw him. he would go up to him and say, “can’t we find a way, kid?” and that would surely catch him.
but he did not see gordon, for gordon did not appear at supper. such things often happened, and red deer was not anxious, only annoyed. brick parks said that he and gordon had separated down the stream, gordon wishing to follow the water.
he thought his quest of the elusive beaver might have taken him through that dank place below the hill.
“i bet he gets one,” said vinton. harry shook his head.
but gordon’s absence did not interrupt the air talk, though harry had little to say.
“you see, boys,” said red deer, as they ate, “the great thing is to glide into the wind. if you do the other thing, you take your life into your hands.”
of course, the question of installing motive power was discussed, and morrel caused a great laugh by his suggestion to purchase the swan and use its engine for the glider. “we could make the propeller with a couple of canoe paddles,” suggested vinton.
after the colors were down and the anthem had been sung, it was too late for gliding, for the dusk was lowering rapidly. it was decided to leave the glider where it was, at least till after camp-fire, to see if the night bade fair to be clear. harry said he would go up and see if the stakes were secure, for the breeze was freshening up. he went up the hill in the dusk, feeling wretchedly unhappy and kicking stones to right and left, as he walked. they saw his slender figure silhouetted against the gray sky.
“anything the matter with him?” some one asked.
“no, surely not—why?”
“seems kind of quiet, that’s all.”
harry looked at the stakes, pressed one a little farther down with his foot, and then went up and sat on the rock, looking admiringly at the graceful framework. there, beside him on the rock, were crudely graven the initials “g. l.” gordon’s failure to show up at supper had amused him a little, it was so characteristic of him. he thought of the night he had waited under dibble mountain and how gordon had communicated with him through the darkness. he looked down upon the dank stretch of land below him, under the cliff. the wind was blowing, as it had blown all day, up the hill. it was quite brisk, and he had to pull his hat down tight to keep it from blowing off. it was just right for gliding down the slope. its direction could be plainly seen even in the land below (despite the windbreak of hill), where the reeds all leaned away from the cliff.
as he watched the bending reeds, he noticed something which aroused his interest. it looked like some one standing in the midst of them. then he realized that the figure must be kneeling, for it did not rise as high as the surrounding growths. what with the dusk, the distance, and the swaying of the reeds about it, he could only see it intermittently and indistinctly. but surely there was some one there, kneeling or stooping. he looked closer, concentrated his gaze, and shuddered, as a dreadful thought came to him.
the figure was neither kneeling nor stooping. nor was it standing. while he gazed, leveling all the strength of his vision upon it, a gust of wind blew his hat off, over the precipice, and the same gust blew the distant reeds far down, showing the figure clearly. he saw a spasmodic motion of an arm, grasping the reeds. it seemed to have no legs. it was nothing but the upper part of a person’s body, with two arms swinging frantically. now the swampy growths stood upright and the figure was concealed. presently they swayed again, far over, seeming to change color as they bent. and there was the figure—lower than before, its arms clutching the reeds. as harry watched, he was sure that he could see it sinking, slowly. then the stump of head and chest and spreading arms was hidden in the reeds and swampy grass.
he knew now what it meant. there must be quicksand there, and the wretched person was being slowly drawn down to his death. a terrible fear gripped him. parks had said that gordon was going down there after a beaver!
he lost not one second’s time. always cool, always level-headed, he was so now. and since he was not in a panic, neither work nor time was wasted. he ran down the slope to the glider, cut the ropes which held it, brought it around facing the cliff, got into it, and came up to the edge. he knew that what he was about to do had never been done but once, and that once was when the famous lilienthal went crashing to his death. he was not going into the wind, he was going with it. but he gave not a thought to his own peril, he had to get out there at all costs.
he waited for a gust of wind to part the reeds and swamp grass and show him the spot for which he should aim. presently it came, and almost simultaneously a frightful shriek from below reached his ears. shuddering, he fixed his eyes on the spot, grasped the handle struts, lifted the machine, and plunged from the cliff.
the instant he was off, he lowered himself until his armpits caught the struts, thus giving his body a longer and freer play. and that happened which always happens in such cases. a gust of wind caught the glider behind and threw it around. by luck, or instinct, or both, harry had the plane on an even keel and was ready to counteract the lurch. if it had been at either angle, it would have crashed to the ground. as it was, he kept his equilibrium by keeping his head. and he had now the full pendulum length of his body to control his balance.
his object was to coast down. but his position in the air was most precarious, for he had not the sustaining power of the wind blowing against him. on the contrary, coming from behind, it continually upset his steering and balancing calculations, tilting his planes this way and that, and once almost turning the machine over. once he found himself facing the cliff and sailing straight toward it, till by a series of sudden jerks of his body he managed to haul the glider about. the wind died for a few moments, and free from its diverting and dangerous influence, he brought his forward edges slightly downward and the machine coasted obediently. if the calm would hold for just a few minutes, he thought desperately, he might make a safe landing. and it did hold, just as the moon had come out once before to help this boy who knew how to help himself.
down from the turmoil of choppy, rebounding air, out from lurching and spinning like a top, came the glider, the long pendulum of harry’s body hanging loosely in it, now bending this way, now that, now forward, now back, in assured and masterful control; and, obedient to the indomitable will and skill and courage that held it as with a tight rein, it coasted easily downward, straight for the spot he was aiming for. it had reared, it had lurched, it had turned. and now, like the horse that recognizes that it has met its master, it meekly obeyed. if the back wind held off for just a moment more, he might be in time. and the back wind, being a true sport, did hold off, just to see how this lithe, slender boy would manage it.
the glider came to earth, pulling the tall swamp grass like a great comb, and settled its broad area upon the treacherous quicksand. harry had drawn himself up and stood, stooping, between the long planes, looking this way and that, and calling. the thought that he might be too late almost unnerved him. in his descent, he had seen nothing of the figure, but had headed for a tree which stood near by. and his alighting had been accurate, for not two feet from the plane he now saw the head, with two arms above it. evidently the lateral resistance of the arms had been lost through weakness, for they were almost perpendicular.
grasping one of the stanchions with one hand, he leaned over and seized the sinking figure by the collar. then, grasping as much of its clothing as he could in his hand, he pulled with all his might and main. he succeeded in lifting the boy the least bit. then he separated one of the guy wires and with it lashed himself to the stanchion. leaning over, and exerting all the strength of both arms, he succeeded in slowly raising the buried body. it was a terrific tussle, but he had made up his mind to do it, and he did it.
a few minutes later, panting, exhausted, almost on the verge of collapse himself, he was kneeling over the prostrate form which lay on the lower plane, and wiping the mud from its face. the eyes looked up, staring, terrified, into his.
“who—what is it?” said the voice, weakly, half consciously.
“it’s just harry, kid—i found a way, that’s all.”
“he leaned over and seized the sinking figure by the collar.”
