The Boy Aviators' Flight for a Fortune Part 9

"Have I got your leave to tell about the sunken steamer?" inquired Harry.

"Sure. Heave ahead, my boy," was the hearty answer; "I was never much of a hand at spinning a yarn."

"Pirates and petticoats! What's all this about a yarn and a sunken s.h.i.+p?" demanded Pudge.

"Sounds like some fresh adventure. Anything like the Buena Ventura cruise?" asked Billy Barnes, referring, of course, to their experiences in the Sarga.s.so Sea.

"I hope not," laughed Harry. "No, this is a much tamer affair," he continued. "Ben, here, thinks that he knows of a craft sunk in a bayou off the Mississippi, on board of which is a small fortune in gold dust and black pearls."

"Gold dust and black pearls!" cried Billy Barnes. "Wow! that sounds like a regular story."

"Suppose we let Harry heave ahead, as Ben calls it, and tell us what all this is about," suggested Frank quietly. But his eyes were s.h.i.+ning. He knew that what Harry was about to communicate must be of deep interest from the manner in which the boy had spoken.

"Yes, let us hear the story," said Dr. Perkins; "since we plan to be down in that region, anything of interest to be investigated will add to the pleasure of the trip."

Thereupon Harry, without further delay, plunged into the narrative as Ben had related it to him. He was interrupted from time to time by excited exclamations, but at last he finished his narration and then, turning to Dr. Perkins, he said:

"What do you think of it, sir?"

"Aye, aye," growled out Ben, "supposin' the yarn is true, have I got a legal right to the stuff?"

"Undoubtedly, if you have papers a.s.signing the claim to you," said Mr.

Perkins, after a moment's thought.

"Oh, I've got them fast enough. I was goin' to chuck 'em away, but I thought better of it. Glad I did now, but you see I never thought I'd have a chance to go down there."

Ben reached into his pocket and drew out a battered, brown leather wallet. From it he produced Raoul Duval's promise to deed him his (Duval's) interest in the supposed treasure chest, providing the loan Ben had made the mining man's son was not repaid. He handed the doc.u.ment to Dr. Perkins, who perused it with knitted brows.

"This certainly appears to give you a legal claim to whatever may be of value in the late Duval's effects," he said.

"Then you think it is worth looking into?"

"By all means. While the story sounds fanciful to a degree, it is not much more so than plenty of recorded cases. At all events, no harm can be done by trying to locate the wreck, and it may be the means of rehabilitating your fortunes."

"I dunno what that means," grinned Ben, "but if it signifies that I'm to get some money out of the cruise, I'm willing right now to split it up any way it suits you."

"We can talk about that later," said Dr. Perkins, with a smile at the old man's enthusiasm; "now would you mind letting me have a look at that map to which Harry has referred?"

"Here it be," grunted Ben, once more diving into the wallet and producing the map that Harry had looked over on Barren Island.

"At any rate, this looks definite enough," declared Dr. Perkins after a careful examination of it. "Of course, as this Duval appears to be a thorough rascal, he may have 'cooked this up,' as the saying goes, in order to induce you to make him a loan. But certain things about it make me believe that it may be genuine. I recall reading some time ago a newspaper account of mysteries of the Mississippi, and among them was an account of the serious disaster to the _Belle of New Orleans_, so, at any rate, that part of the story is authentic enough."

"Meanin' it's true," murmured Ben. "Waal, if you'll help me we'll soon find out the truth of it, or otherwise."

"As I said," rejoined Dr. Perkins, "I had intended to cruise up the Mississippi from New Orleans. What you have told us furnishes us with a distinct object in making the trip, and," he added with a smile, "I suppose the spice of adventure about it does not displease the lads here."

Frank was about to reply when, from the wireless table, there came a queer buzzing sound from an instrument which the boy had connected with his detector.

"Hullo! some one is sending out a message," he exclaimed, "and our wires have caught it. Wonder what it can be."

The boy rose and went over to the wireless table. Seating himself on the stool in front of the instruments he adjusted the "phones" and began putting his variable condenser in tune to catch whatever message was pulsing through the air.

"What's coming?" demanded Harry, as the instruments began to crackle and snap.

"Don't know yet," spoke Frank, again changing the capacity of the condenser; "looks as if--"

He ceased speaking suddenly. Sliding his hand across the table he made an adjustment to catch longer sound waves. Instantly a hail of aerial dots and dashes came pattering against his ear drums, like rain on a window pane.

With startling suddenness Frank sensed the meaning of the storm of desperate flashes.

"C-Q-D! C-Q-D! C-Q-D!"

"Some one out at sea is calling us in distress!" he cried loudly. The others, brim full of excitement, rose and crowded about him. But Frank waved them back.

"No questions yet, please!" he said sharply, and then bent all his faculties to catching the voice out of the black night.

CHAPTER XI.-"GOOD LUCK!"

The silence in the hut was absolute as Frank bent low over his instruments. Even Pudge was subdued for once. There is something thrillingly dramatic to the most phlegmatic of temperaments in the idea of a wireless call for aid. Across unknown miles the message comes winging through the air-an appeal out of s.p.a.ce.

Of course, the others could not catch what was coming, for the whisper of the wireless waves sounds faint and shadowy even to one with the "phones" clasped to his ears. But Frank's manner showed plainly enough that, whatever was winging its way to his organs of hearing, was exciting to the last degree.

Suddenly the boy switched to his transmitting apparatus. With his helix he began attuning the length of his sparks, while the snake-like blue flame hissed and crackled across the "high-efficiency" spark gap. It looked like a living thing of lambent fire, as it writhed and screamed in response to the pressure on the key.

"What's wanted? Where are you?"

This was the message that went speeding out on the air waves from the aerials above the hut.

"This is the yacht _Wanderer_, from New York to Rocktown. We have struck a derelict and are leaking badly. Who are you?"

"A station on Brig Island, about four miles at sea from Motthaven. Where are you?"

The latter question was unanswered for the time being. Instead came another query:

"Have you any means by which you can get to our a.s.sistance? We are in dire peril."

"We will try to aid you. But what is your position?"

"Wait. I'll look at the chart."

There came a pause, during which Frank rapidly detailed what he had heard to the eager group of listeners. But in the midst of it the unknown sender broke in once more.

"We are about twenty miles to the southeast of you, on an almost straight course. Can keep afloat only a few hours longer. Can you get tug from the mainland?"