Hal Kenyon Disappears Read online

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  HAL KENYON DISAPPEARS

  By

  GORDON STUART

 

  THE REILLY & LEE CO. Publishers . . . . Chicago

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  COPYRIGHT, BY THE REILLY & LEE CO.

  Printed in the U.S.A.--1936

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  CONTENTS

  I MUMMY CANYON II SOMETHING ABOUT DR. BYRD III A FALL FROM THE AIR IV THE WRECK AND THE AVIATOR V LOST! VI THE SCREAM IN THE WATERFALL VII A BADLY FRIGHTENED BOY VIII HAL'S DISCOVERY IX HAL A PRISONER X THE MYSTERY OF THE LEATHER BAG XI CONVINCING BAD XII AIRSHIP PLANS XIII THE "PAINTER" XIV BUILDING THE AIRSHIP XV STOLEN WEALTH XVI FLIGHT XVII EXPLORING THE CAVE XVIII THE ISLAND IN THE AIR XIX THE RESCUING AIRSHIP XX THE PANTHER AND THE CAVE XXI TO FLATHEAD BY AIRSHIP AGAIN XXII CLEARING HAL XXIII THE BOY SCOUTS OF THE AIR XXIV MOUNTAIN LION BRIDGE

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  CHAPTER I

  MUMMY CANYON

  "Mountain, pine tree, canyon, gulch, Cookies, bacon!--like 'em much. Canteen, hike-stick! Hi-hi-hike-stick! Lakefarm! mummy! Flathead!--Ra-a-a!"

  Thirty lusty juvenile throats, strong with frequent exercise, causedMummy Canyon to ring with this school-yell. It was almost evening, andthe boys of Lakefarm School were on their return from a day's outing inthe mountains. Clad in Boy Scout uniforms and wearing Rough Rider hats,they presented a picturesque appearance in that wild, rocky, mountaincountry, while their school-yell echoed among the hills, bright in thesetting sun.

  It was midsummer, yet thirty of the forty-four regular students were inattendance during the summer term, evidence of the popularity of theschool, for they were all boys of the age that welcomes vacation timewith cheers.

  In spring this canyon was a beautiful place; in summer it lost some ofits freshness, but was still beautiful; in fall it lost more of life,but beauty still clung to it; in winter, it was a picture that calledfor deep admiration. It also might well have been named Echo Canyon;indeed many in that part of Colorado often called it that. But MummyCanyon it had been christened, and this was the only name by which it wasknown on the maps and in the guide books.

  Interesting stories were told about this great mountain gorge. They hadto do with the ancient inhabitants of the country, the cliff-dwellers,ruins of whose homes were to be found here and there high up in steepplaces. The boys of Lakefarm knew these stories by heart. They had beentold over and over and added to until enough new and interesting detailshad been gathered around the original stories to fill a book.

  Dr. Regulus Byrd, head master, Chief Scout, and owner of Lakefarm, wasas peculiar as his name. Some called him eccentric, but the boys of theschool and the friends of the doctor did not agree. The boys loved himas few schoolmasters ever are loved; the older people of the districtdeclared that when it came to a pinch, Dr. Byrd never lacked judgment.

  The doctor and the two instructors of the school, Mr. Frankland and Mr.Porter, were with the boys on the outing from which they were nowreturning. Mr. Frankland was a short, brisk, wide-awake man, who smiledfrequently and shrewdly. Mr. Porter was an odd personage, dignified andvery positive in all things, but an excellent instructor in manualtraining. After the procession had advanced well toward the heart of thegully and given two or three school-yells that raised the echoes, Mr.Porter said:

  "Dr. Byrd, we're only three miles from home. Why not stop here, build afire, and sit around and talk a while?"

  "That's the stuff," came from several of the boys at the same time. Dr.Byrd had a boy's heart, and as there was no good reason for opposing thesuggestion, he gave his consent.

  In a jiffy the boys scattered in all directions in search of firewood;up the side of the hill and along the near bank of a noisy mountainstream, and soon were returning with armfuls of dead wood. Most of themwere experienced in building camp fires in true frontier style, and thework progressed rapidly.

  Two of the boys, Hal Kenyon and Byron Bowler, were delegated to the workof starting the fire. This was not done by striking a match and touchingit to some dry leaves. The method employed was one more suited to theromantic scene. First, Hal and Byron searched until they found twoserviceable pieces of dry cottonwood root. Having good, strong, sharppocketknives, they proceeded to whittle and shave the roots. One wasmade flat and about three-fourths of an inch thick; the other was cutslim and round and sharpened at both ends. In one edge of the flat piecewas cut a notch, and close to the notch was sunk a hole to fit one endof the slim piece. Then a small hand-piece with a socket for the otherend of the drill was prepared by Byron, while Hal cut a section of asmall green limb, two feet long, which with a thong made a bow.

  All the material needed for starting a fire was now ready save a supplyof tinder. This was obtained by rubbing a piece of dry cedar on a roughboulder, producing a handful of easily lighted shreds. The notched pieceof wood was now placed on a flat rock, the drill was inserted in placeand the string of the bow looped tightly over it. Then thetop-socket-piece was set on the other end for a handle, and the bow wasdrawn back and forth, the notched piece being held in place under thefoot of the operator.

  Hal Kenyon operated the device. The drill revolved rapidly in thesocket, and presently a fine brown powder was flowing into the notch. Ina few seconds this powder was smoking densely and slight fanning with ahat brought a flame.

  Some of the tinder was now applied and after a little blowing, a tinyflame leaped up. The rest of the tinder was then applied, followed bysome cedar bark and small wood. Pretty soon the fire was roaring andcrackling, while the boys piled on more fuel.

  "Now for our camp-fire yell," cried Hal when the last armful of fuel hadbeen deposited on the burning heap. Immediately the canyon rang andechoed with thirty young voices chanting the following:

  "Camp-fire, rah! Smoke-punk, ha! Tinder, Lakefarm! Rah--rah--rah!"

  This yell was repeated several times until it seemed as if the rockspoised aloft would be shaken loose and come crashing down on thereckless Boy Scouts. Then the boys scattered again, each returningpresently with another load of fuel, which was deposited near theblazing pile.

  "Well done, my lads, well done," announced Dr. Byrd as the last load wasdropped. "Now what are we going to do next?"

  "Eat supper," replied Allie Atkins, with a slap of his hand on hishungry region.

  "Of course; I almost forgot that," laughed the doctor. "I'm alwaysforgetting my stomach. That's the reason I haven't dyspepsia. Alwaysforget your stomachs, boys, until they remind you of their existence andyou'll be all right in that spot. But what are we going to eat? Nothingleft, is there?"

  "How about the fish?" inquired Walter Hurst, commonly
known as "Pickles"because of his fondness for that table delicacy.

  "That's right. This is just the time and place to cook them."

  The suggestion was followed accordingly. The fish--two score of mountaintrout--had been caught by the boys in the Rio Grande several miles tothe east early in the morning. As they had enough other food forbreakfast and dinner, their catch had been saved for the next morning'smeal at the school.

  Of course the doctor had not forgotten the fish when he asked the boyswhat they would eat for supper. But he always appeared to have a poormemory and few ideas when on a trip with his Scouts. He made it a ruleto compel the boys to suggest and do every useful thing within theirpower.

  So they prepared the meal on this occasion, as they had done on others.Fireplaces were constructed with stones, frying-pans were placed overthem, and the fish were soon sputtering appetizingly. Fortunately, theystill had a moderate supply of bread, butter, jam and coffee, so thatall appetites were fairly well satisfied.

  The pans and coffee pots and cups were washed in the dashing stream, theremains of the meal were cleared away, more fuel was thrown on the campfire, and all gathered before it for the next number of the unpreparedprogram. For a few minutes the boys chatted on the incidents of theirthree days' hike and exploration. Then one of them suggested:

  "Let's tell stories."

  A proposal of this kind under such circumstances is always favorablyreceived by true Boy Scouts. There was a general note of approval, andDr. Byrd inquired:

  "Well, what shall it be first?"

  "Flathead Mountain," suggested Pickles.

  "Good!" exclaimed Frank Bowler.

  "And have somebody slam somebody in the face," proposed Clayton White,the joker of the school. "That'll suit 'Bad.'"

  Frank Bowler had been nicknamed "Bad" because he was continually talkingabout "clipping somebody on the jaw," or "slamming some one in theface," or "putting somebody to the bad."

  "I'll push you one on the chin if you don't close your face," growled"Bad" in an undertone to the last speaker.

  Clayton only grinned. He was not at all afraid, as he was a year olderthan Frank and thought himself stronger.

  "Well, who has something more to add to the story of Flathead?" inquiredthe owner of Lakefarm.

  "I have," replied Hal Kenyon.

  "Very well, Hal, we'll listen to you first," announced the doctor, andall became attentive with a readiness that indicated almost militarytraining.