There was no time to examine the persons on the tug. Like a moving picture, Alan and Ned caught a glimpse of the major and the newspaper man. The latter seemed to be calling, for his hands were at his mouth. But no words reached the aviators. A cloud of steam burst upward like the discharge from a gun and Alan’s last view of the boat beneath made out the face of the tug pilot as the man thrust his head from the small pilot house with one hand inside yet grasping the wheel. Ned saw these things but as he clung stoutly to the rail his eyes also swept the river ahead. For a second his thoughts left the question, “Would they pick up their valuable freight?” Before he could even realize a new fear that suddenly possessed him, there was a shock and the Flyer threw its bow downward.
But the momentum of the machine and its altered planes acted as rudders. The dart seaward died almost instantly and the airship rose again on its upward course. With the shock had come a strain and then Roy saw the tug beneath him dip by the bow while the two masts bent forward under a heavy strain. The “pick up crane” had done its work but the spring hook on the starboard mast held until the strain of the pulling airship tore it loose. While it held, the powerful car veered to the right and then, as the hawser between the masts tore itself free, there was a new crash, a new shock and the Flyer cleared the bobbing tug beneath.
PICKING UP THE MATRICES.
“The engine room!” rang out in the pilot room and Ned, balancing himself securely, sprang into that apartment. “The engine room!” cried Alan a second time. As he moved his head toward the hanging speaking tube, Ned understood and slid down the ladder into the store room. In the engine room he found Roy and Bob bending over the trap door opening. Near them, steadying himself against the wall of the compartment, was Buck—his face ashen and the picture of despair. Buck pointed feebly to the opening, almost blockaded by Roy and Bob.
“Jammed,” panted Roy, his face red with exertion, when he realized that Ned had arrived.
“She came back in the crane so hard,” explained Bob, breathing quickly, “that we can’t get the bundle loose.”
Ned threw himself on the floor and got a look below. The compact bundle of matrices, enclosed in waterproof oil cloth, had been caught by the crane and, as planned, had been shot up into the narrow V of the crane. But it had traveled with such speed that the metal arms of the V had sprung and were now closed on the bundle with a grip that the two boys could not loosen. While attempting to do so Roy had also been forced to maintain a hold on the cord holding the V point of the crane up against the car opening. To loosen this meant that the crane would drop many feet below the bottom of the airship and that the valuable package might be dislodged and lost.
Without comment or inquiry Ned plunged into the store room and almost instantly reappeared with the light but strong rope landing ladder. The end loops of this he snapped into two rings on the engine room floor and while the passengers on the now fast receding tug on the river beneath could yet make out the details of the rapidly ascending airship, they saw what seemed to be a rope drop suddenly through the bottom of the aeroplane. Then they saw a figure crawling down the rope. It was Ned on the swaying rope ladder. When this nervy young man crawled through the door and risked his life on a few slender strands, it was to make fast a line on the wedged bundle. He could only work with one hand but he had done the same thing on a dirigible balloon and there was no nervousness to delay him.
“All fast,” he shouted after a few moments and Bob and Buck hauled away on the line. And they were just in time. Roy was nearly exhausted. As the new line took the strain off him and Roy straightened up to rest, the deep impress of the crane cord on his hand showed the weight he had been sustaining. But Ned’s work was not done. Still hanging to the fragile, swaying ladder, he tugged at the caught package until at last it began to move toward him.