The first American King

A last, lingering pressure of the hand, a hasty exit from the ball-room and Captain Mortimer hurried back to his post of duty. He reached the corridor, returned the salutes of the three sentinels as he passed, and went into the antechamber. He stopped for several minutes’ conversation with Captain Swords and then made his way to the first door of the Chancellerie suite. A light tap and the door was opened by Kearns.

“Back in good time, I hope!” whispered the Captain.

“In plenty of time,” Kearns whispered in return, as he hastily closed the door. “I’m glad you went. It’s not very interesting sitting here in the dark, without even the privilege of a comforting cigar. Still, I’ve had a few experiences of the kind before.”

Captain Mortimer removed his sword and stored it away in the air-ship. It was a strict military regulation that officers should appear abroad only in uniform and wearing their swords.

“I’d suggest,” he said as he took his seat beside them, “that it might help pass the time if Mr. Kearns would tell us some of the many interesting experiences he doubtless had in his time. The darkness here will lend an additional thrill. What say you, Professor?”

“We’ll get enough thrills before we’re through with this adventure, provided our friend Kearns’ theory is correct,” replied the Professor dryly; “still, if he’ll tell a story, I’ll be glad to listen.”

“No, no;” protested Kearns; “all my interest is centered in that park and in watching for what may come from over those tree-tops. Ah, listen!”

As he spoke there came three faint, but distinct, taps on the door; then a pause, followed by four similar taps.

It was the agreed signal which Captain Swords was to give when the King retired.

“From now on we may expect something,” remarked the Professor.

“Interesting but scientifically inaccurate,” retorted Kearns. “Before long we may expect, but not just yet. You must allow for some time after the retirement of the King before you can expect any manifestations. It’s now fully an hour earlier than the time of the preceding visit.”

“Quite so,” replied the Professor; “still I’ll wager, for all that, you wouldn’t care to have us go to sleep during the next hour.”

“Right you are,” assented Kearns; “one can never be quite sure what may happen. Those fellows, whoever they may be, seem to know pretty well what takes place in the palace. They doubtless have a confederate, or confederates, on the inside.”

“You think so?” said Captain Mortimer. “Have you made any efforts to discover?”

“None whatever,” answered Kearns. “I’ve been too busy with other matters. I’m after the main quarry. The subordinate details, if necessary, can be attended to later.”

This seemed sound reasoning and neither of the others ventured a reply. The moments slowly passed. They sat there in the darkness exchanging only occasional whispers. They heard the chime of one of the palace clocks—an hour had passed and still nothing. Again the clock chimed; it was the quarter. The sound had barely died away in the darkness of the summer night, when Kearns laid a light touch upon the Professor’s arm.

“At last!”

The three bent their heads together.

“Look upward—to the right!” came the low whisper.

They strained their eyes in the direction indicated. Faintly seen in the darkness was a shadowy something, the outline of some black object floating in the air.

“Steady!” whispered Kearns, in an ever so faint whisper. “Not a move till I give the word!”

The dark object, though still indistinct, became gradually more clearly outlined. It crossed at some little distance out and above their window, passed the windows of the King’s apartment and was lost to their view opposite the window of the antechamber where the King’s officer on duty kept guard.

“An air-ship—an air-ship, sure enough,” whispered the Professor. “And apparently painted dead black.”

“Quite so,” replied Kearns, “but this time we’ll match your gray one against the black. Great Scott! To think that I’m not in the race.”

Several minutes passed and the ship did not reappear.

“My God!” exclaimed Captain Mortimer, “you haven’t allowed them to escape us?”

“Hush, no!” answered Kearns; “do not fear. They’re cute ones. They’re scouting and ’ll surely return.”

The whispered words had hardly left his lips when the air-ship reappeared. This time it halted in a line with the King’s window.

“Steady and quiet!” said Kearns. “The time has come.”

Quickly, silently they rose and took their positions in the air-ship, as it lay upon its rests. Stealthily Kearns crept to the window and with one turn of the well-oiled and carefully prepared machinery, the entire bay window curved outward, leaving a wide opening. Through this gap, the launch-like air-ship skilfully guided by the Professor, gracefully slid into the night. Rapid as had been these movements, they were not more rapid than those of the attacking party. As the window flew back and the prow of the air-ship passed out, the Professor and Mortimer saw them loosen their mooring, turn about and away. By the time the opening had been cleared, the pursued were several lengths in the lead, but the royal air-ship was following hot in their wake.

High over the tree-tops of the park they flew and on and on until they reached the river. Thus far they had maintained their respective distances, neither apparently gaining or losing.

“Turn on the flash-light!” called out the Professor, “or we may lose them in the darkness.”

An instant later a bright stream of light shot forth from the prow of the “Royal Dean,” flooding with its radiance the pursued.

Captain Mortimer and the Professor saw that the craft before them was slightly larger than their own, of a dead black color and contained three men.

“Ahoy, there!” came a moment later the hail from the pursued. “Who are you? What company do you belong to?”

Captain Mortimer rose to his feet.

“Halt!” he commanded.

At sight of his uniform in the glare of the search-light, there seemed to be a sudden consternation among the pursued. Their air-ship shot upward to greater heights. Instantly the Professor handled his levers and followed. A hurried conference between the pursued seemed to be taking place.

Captain Mortimer picked up a repeating rifle from the floor of the air-ship.

“Surrender!” he shouted, his voice ringing strong and clear; “surrender, you rebels, in the name of the King!”

No attention was given to this summons. The pursued kept steadily on, heading toward the north.

“Halt!” again commanded Captain Mortimer, raising his rifle. “Halt, or I fire!”

For answer to this, a man appeared in the stern of the pursued bearing before him a bowed shield. From the ease with which he handled it, it was apparently very light but doubtless strong enough to withstand a bullet. There was a steel projection at the base of this shield and, in the light of the flash-light, they saw him drop this projection into a socket. The shield was thus held in place and the occupants of the air-ship protected from any pistol, or rifle fire, from the rear.

It was a revelation to the pursuers. The attacking party was not only furnished as an aërial scout, but was furthermore equipped as a species of armored aërial cruiser. The Professor drew his companion’s attention to this fact.

“Yes,” answered Captain Mortimer, “and if they were supplied with means of offense, such as repeating rifles, they would be not only an aërial cruiser, but a very effective aërial man-of-war. Do you think there’s any vital part of their craft, so that I could disable them with a bullet?”

“Our craft could not be so disabled,” answered the Professor; “neither, so far as I can judge, could theirs be.”

“Then we must flank them,” said Captain Mortimer, “and try to bring them to terms in that way.”

“Very well,” answered the Professor; “I’ll see what I can do.”

He accordingly endeavored to navigate his craft to a position on their left quarter, but the pursued were wary and quickly shifted, keeping the protecting shield between themselves and the pursuers. At last, by clever manœuvering, the Professor had almost succeeded, when up went another shield, effectually protecting a large section of that quarter.

“It’s no use,” exclaimed Mortimer, laying down the rifle; “it’s a veritable armored cruiser. No matter what quarter we flank them on, they undoubtedly have enough shields to protect all sides. By heaven! they seem to be drawing away from us.”

“Yes; they’ve certainly increased the distance between us somewhat,” assented the Professor, “but they’re not as far away as they were a few minutes ago. I don’t understand it. They seem to gain and then we seem to creep up on them a little. Perhaps this may be due to certain effects of the air currents, but it is decidedly peculiar.”

Captain Mortimer made no reply. He sat watching the pursued craft, distinctly outlined in the rays of the flash-light. On and on they rushed at topmost speed through the yielding air, grown raw and chilly. The first streaks of light began to flicker in the east. The pursued now rose to still greater altitudes, until the air became uncomfortably rarified. The Professor manipulated his levers and the pursuers followed.

“What are they up to now?” asked Captain Mortimer. “Trying to dodge us?”

“Perhaps,” answered the Professor. “It looks more to me as if they were trying to keep out of sight of land as the daylight comes.”

“Any chance of our giving out?”

“No; we can keep this up for many hours yet.”

“And they?”

“I don’t know. Judging from the qualities they have shown so far, it’s best to assume they are fully as well equipped as we.”

“What are the prospects of overtaking them?”

“Not very favorable, I should say,” replied the Professor. “We’ve been going at our topmost ever since we started and yet we haven’t gained upon them. In fact, they’ve gained a trifle on us. You see, they are somewhat larger and probably have more power. As it is, I am astonished we haven’t lost them before now.”

“What’s the likelihood of our losing them altogether?”

“I can’t say,” replied the Professor, “but our chances against losing them improve every minute as the light comes on. We’ll soon be able to at least keep them in sight for a very great distance. You may shut off the flash-light now.”

“There’s nothing you can suggest?”

“Nothing,” answered the Professor. “Under existing conditions, there are only two courses open to us.”

“And they are?”

“Either to keep on as we are doing, or give it up as a bad job.”

“Give up!” exclaimed Mortimer in a disgusted tone. “I’m unalterably opposed to that. We started out to follow them, and follow them we will until either this air-ship gives out or we overtake them.”

“Or we lose sight of them,” suggested the Professor.

“Or we lose sight of them,” assented Mortimer grudgingly; “but I trust you’ll do your best to avoid that.”

“You may count upon it that I will,” answered the Professor stoutly.

“Besides,” continued Mortimer, “they can’t keep this up forever. They’re making for some point and some time or other they must effect a landing. Then it will become interesting. Hello! what are they up to now?”

“They are descending. See! they are increasing the distance between us, too.”

“If they descend, it will give me a chance to pot them from above,” suggested the Captain, again taking up the rifle.

“It seems awful to fire upon them,” exclaimed the Professor wistfully; “especially as they are not offering us any attack, but are only seeking to escape.”

“Fire upon them!” cried Mortimer warmly; “I may fire, but I have certainly no intention of hitting them. I would, though, send the bullets sufficiently close to make matters look serious and possibly stop them. But to shoot men in cold blood—never! I am an American soldier, sir, of the twentieth century and we’ve nothing in common, thank God! with the assassins of your day—the butchers of Little Knee and the murderers of gallant Sitting Bull.”

“Sitting Bull!” exclaimed Professor Dean, with astonishment, “so he has passed down in history as one of the legendary heroes and a reproach to the men of my day.”

“Very decidedly,” answered Mortimer. “You should read Goodrow’s history on the subject and Krebiel’s noble poem, ‘The Death of Sitting Bull.’”

“History is certainly a strange thing,” commented the Professor. “Argument is somewhat difficult at this altitude; besides, I’ve these pesky levers to look after. I should like to take up that subject with you later, though. By the way, do they still play a game called ‘poker’ these days?”

“My dear Professor,” answered Mortimer, “the American game of poker is immortal.”

“And they still bluff at the game?”

“Probably more so than ever.”

“You’ll not have an opportunity of trying the bluff you spoke of,” said the Professor, as he nodded toward the pursued. “See the protecting shield go up.”

Mortimer looked and saw a shield had been so adjusted as to at least partially protect the air-ship from an attack from above.

“A cunning set!” commented Mortimer.

“That’s what our friend Kearns said they were,” replied the Professor. “I suppose we had best follow them and return toward earth.”

Again the Professor juggled with his levers and they shot rapidly downward.

“There’s something else going on there,” remarked Mortimer as he eyed the pursued. “What is it?”

They had descended many hundreds of feet. A number of mountain tops, apparently forming part of an extensive range, were more or less indistinctly outlined below.

“Mountains?” commented the Professor.

“Yes,” said Mortimer, “and from the general lay of the land I should say the heart of the Adirondacks. But what are they doing there?” he inquired eagerly, pointing to the pursued, who were manœuvering with some instrument projecting over one of their quarters.

The Professor watched closely for some minutes.

“It’s some signaling instrument,” he said at last. “They are signaling the land.”