The next day at school the boys found that the story of their experience with the bear had had wide circulation, chiefly through the activity of Buck Looker, who took care at the same time, however, to express his belief that nothing of the kind had happened. There was a good deal of good-natured joking, and the boys in self-defense had to explain the whole thing in all its details.
At recess their story received unexpected confirmation, for there, just outside the school yard, was Tony putting Bruno, the bear, through his tricks while a breathlessly interested crowd gathered about the pair. Tony grinned at the boys when he saw them and Jimmy asserted that Bruno grinned too, but the rest of the radio boys thought that that was due to Jimmy’s excess of imagination.
A noticeable feature of the school work that day was the scarcity of pupils. All the classes were more or less sparsely attended, and the teachers were called to a conference with Mr. Preston, the principal.
“What do you suppose the powwow of the teachers was all about?” asked Bob, as the boys were going home after the session of the school was ended.
“About so many fellows being away,” replied Joe, who, as his father was the leading physician of the town, was better informed than were his friends as to the situation. “Dad says there’s an awful lot of sickness in the town. He’s kept busy day and night, and scarcely has time to breathe.”
“I wonder what the reason is,” remarked Herb.
“Dad thinks the water supply may have something to do with it,” answered Joe. “He says there’s a regular epidemic of typhoid fever, and that usually comes from impure water. He’s called the attention of the town council and the engineers of the reservoir to the matter, and they’re going to have an investigation. Dad says it may even be necessary to close the schools for a time.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Jimmy, with sudden animation.
“Don’t tell Jimmy anything like that,” mocked Herb. “It would simply break his heart. If there’s anything he’s stuck on it’s school.”
“You fellows wouldn’t be tickled to death either if you thought you were going to get a vacation, would you?” retorted Jimmy. “I know you birds.”
“Say, wouldn’t it give us lots of time for radio!” said Bob enthusiastically. “I want to get all the new wrinkles in that latest set of ours, and we don’t have time to do it in the few evenings we can spare from our home work.”
“You bet,” agreed Herb. “I don’t want there to be any more sickness, but I sure do hope they find it necessary to close the schools. That would be just what the doctor ordered—in more senses than one.”
“I wouldn’t shed any bitter tears myself,” admitted Joe. “There’s going to be a meeting of the Board of Health to consider the subject soon, and I’ll give you fellows the tip the minute I hear anything definite about what they decide to do.”
“In the meantime, suppose you fellows drop around this evening for a little while,” suggested Bob. “I want to try out some long distance receiving and listen in on Chicago.”
All agreed to be there at about eight o’clock.
The Laytons had barely finished dinner that night when the door bell rang. Bob answered the bell.
He was surprised to find that the callers were Mr. Looker and his son Buck. Both had dark and angry looks on their faces.
“I want to know,” said Mr. Looker abruptly, “what you and your companions mean by burning down my cottage!”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Bob. “What makes you think we’d do a trick like that?”
“Never mind about that!” exclaimed the elder Looker, furiously. “I supposed you’d deny it. I want to see your father, young man.”
“Here he is,” and Mr. Layton, who had been attracted to the door by Mr. Looker’s loud and angry tones, emerged on to the porch. “What can I do for you, Mr. Looker?”
“You can pay me for my house that your boy and his companions burnt down,” said Mr. Looker in angry tones.
“I rather think you must be mistaken,” said Mr. Layton. “What grounds have you for making such a serious accusation?”
“My boy caught them red-handed after they’d broken into the house, and made them get off my property. It wasn’t six hours later that the place was burned, and there’s no doubt in my mind that your boy and his friends set it on fire just to get even. They’ve always had a grudge against Buckley, anyway, and are always doing all they can to make life miserable for the poor fellow.”
“You know that isn’t true, Dad,” protested Bob, hotly, “neither about the fire, nor about Buck. He’s always the one that starts trouble.”
“You’ve got plenty of nerve, Looker, to come here and make an accusation like this to me,” remarked Mr. Layton, his usually kindly face stern and set. “There are many ways that fire could have occurred besides being deliberately set, and you know it. Likely enough some tramps had decided to spend the night there, and set it on fire by accident. You had better get off my property before I am tempted to throw you off.”
“It might not be so easy as you think,” sneered the elder Looker, but nevertheless he began edging toward the sidewalk. “If you don’t pay, I’ll see my lawyer and have him bring action in court. See if I don’t.”
“Suit yourself,” answered Mr. Layton, shrugging his shoulders. “Your lawyer will tell you, though, that you haven’t the shadow of a case. As for your boy, he looks big enough to take care of himself, and if he can’t, I don’t see what business that is of mine.”
“I’ll show you,” threatened Mr. Looker, as he turned down the walk. “Don’t worry about that. Maybe somebody will be arrested.”
“As you please,” said Mr. Layton, with a grim smile.
Mr. Looker and his promising son reached the sidewalk in sullen silence, while Bob and his father watched them until they turned the corner of the street.
“Young Looker is a young bully, just as you say, and his father would like to be,” said Mr. Layton, seating himself in a rocking chair. “I suppose you and Joe and the others are sure you didn’t light a match for any purpose while you were there?”
“Absolutely not, Dad,” asserted Bob. “We weren’t inside that shack more than five minutes the first time, and, with that bear outside, lighting matches was the last thing we’d have thought of. As soon as the bear’s owner captured him, we went outside. We worked on the roof both from outside and inside, and tried to patch the thing up. We struck no matches. We were doing the last few things inside when Buck came along.”
“Tell me just what happened then,” directed Mr. Layton.
“Why, then there was a bit of an argument with Buck,” grinned Bob. “We knew that the place belonged to his father, and that there was nothing for us to do but clear out. We came right home from there, though, and you know that we were all here listening to radio that entire evening.”
“Yes, I remember that,” nodded his father. “And I guess that would be a pretty convincing alibi if Looker really should carry the case to court. My opinion is, though, that he’s just bluffing, and we’ll never hear any more of it.”
“I wish I did know who was responsible,” speculated Bob. “Do you really think tramps were responsible, Dad?”
“Very likely. Several barns have been burned in this neighborhood from the same cause, you know. I’m rather sorry that you and your friends were around there the same day it happened, because unless the real cause is discovered the Lookers will never stop talking about it. However, it’s a small matter and we’ll not think any more about it. From what you tell me, the place must have been falling apart, anyway.”
“I should say so,” laughed Bob. “We were a surprised bunch when that roof caved in with us. The place was so rickety it’s a wonder it didn’t all come down then.”
“I’ll bet you were a scared bunch,” bantered his father, a twinkle in his eyes.
“I’ll say we were,” admitted Bob, honestly. “If we’d had a gun with us, it would have been a different story, though. Tony would have been out one large, brown bear.”
“It’s just as well you didn’t,” said Mr. Layton, dryly. “We’d have had Tony threatening a lawsuit, too, if you had killed his pet bear.”
“It would have been a shame to do it,” admitted Bob.
For a few minutes they both sat silent, each busy with his own thoughts.
“I expect I’ll have to be away from home most of next week, Bob,” said Mr. Layton, at length. Bob looked at him expectantly, and he continued. “There is a store at Mountain Pass being offered at a bargain, and I’m strongly tempted to buy it and operate it as a branch. I’m going to look the ground over, anyway, and if it looks as good then as it does now, I think I’ll buy.”
“That will be fine!” exclaimed Bob. “I’ve heard a good deal about that place lately, and it seems to be getting more popular all the time. If you go will you take mother with you?”
Mr. Layton nodded, and waited expectantly for the question that he knew was coming. Nor was he wrong.
“How about taking me along, Dad?” said Bob, eagerly. “It will be a peach of a trip. They say the scenery through Mountain Pass is the best ever.”
“Well, I’ve thought of that, too, because I was pretty sure you’d want to come. But I’m afraid they’ll have you too busy in the high school this term for us to manage it. I may have to be gone two or three weeks, and that would be a serious break in your studies.”
Bob urged and pleaded, but his father was adamant, and at last Bob was forced reluctantly to give up the idea of going.
When he told the other radio boys about the visit of the Lookers, they were as indignant as he.
“‘Like father, like son,’” quoted Joe. “They’re two of a kind, that pair. But I guess they didn’t get much satisfaction out of your father, Bob.”
“I should say not!” laughed Bob. “If they had said much more, I think we’d have treated ourselves to the pleasure of throwing them into the street.”
Bob then told them about his father’s projected trip to Mountain Pass, and his disappointment at not being allowed to accompany his parents.
“That’s pretty tough,” said Jimmy, sympathetically. “I know how you must feel. It would be a swell trip, and they say the meals at the Mountain Rest Hotel up at Mountain Pass are about the best ever.”
“There you go!” exclaimed Bob, laughing. “It’s a lucky thing for the hotel that you’re not going. They’d lose money on you, sure as shooting.”
“Well, I’d try to get my money’s worth,” said Jimmy, complacently.
“You’d get it, too, no fear of that,” said Joe, confidently.
When this conversation took place, the boys never dreamed that they might all be going to Mountain Pass together in the near future. But as events shaped themselves in the next few days, this began to assume an aspect of probability.
The epidemic of typhoid increased, and there was something nearly approaching a panic in Clintonia. Families began leaving the town every day, and Dr. Atwood, as head of the town Board of Health, finally issued orders that the schools must close until the epidemic had been gotten under control.
When Bob heard this news, he could not, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, suppress a feeling of exultation. With school closed, the main objection to his accompanying his parents to Mountain Pass was removed, and he had little doubt now that he could persuade them to take him.
The task was even easier than he had anticipated, for the Laytons, like all the other towns-people, were greatly alarmed over the rapid spread of the sickness, and when Bob broached the subject to them they readily consented to having him go with them.
“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good,” thought Bob, and hurried away to seek his friends and tell them the good news.
He found all three of them in a state of excitement equal to his own.
“Dad wants us all to leave town, too,” declared Joe. “He says there must be something wrong with the water supply, and he wants us all away until the trouble has been located and remedied.”
“My father says the same thing,” said Herb. “The trouble is, that we’ll have to go to different places, and that breaks up our combination for goodness knows how long.”
“Maybe we could get our folks to let us all stick together and go to Mountain Pass with Bob,” ventured Jimmy. “It seems too good to be true, though.”
“It’s an idea, anyway,” declared Joe. “You certainly come out strong once in a while, Doughnuts. It won’t do any harm to try, at any rate.”
The others agreed with this, and that night besieged their parents to let them go to the mountain resort. They succeeded more easily than they had hoped, as the older people were too worried over the situation, and too busy packing up, to offer much resistance to the impetuous lads.
Early the next morning first Joe, and then Herb and Jimmy, dropped into the Layton home, to report their success to Bob.
“Well, that’s great!” exclaimed the latter. “Jimmy, you win the celluloid frying pan for making that suggestion yesterday.”
“Huh! that’s about as useful as anything I’ll ever get from you Indians,” snorted Jimmy. “I ought to make you pay in advance for my ideas, instead of giving them away so carelessly.”
“You’ll never get rich that way,” remarked Joe. “But let’s cut out the comedy, fellows, and get down to business. When are your folks going to start for Mountain Pass, Bob?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Whew!” whistled Herb. “That means that we’ll have to flash a little speed, doesn’t it?”
“I sha’n’t worry about that,” grinned Bob. “I’m all ready to start this minute, so I’ll sit back and watch you fellows hustle. It will be lots of fun.”
“You won’t be able to see me, on account of the dust I’ll raise,” announced Jimmy.
“You’re going to stay at the Mountain Rest Hotel, aren’t you, Bob?” asked Joe.
“Sure! It’s the best hotel up there. The only one, in fact; though I believe some of the natives take a few people into their homes.”
“By the way,” said Herb. “Who’s said anything to Mrs. or Mr. Layton about our joining their party? Seems incredible, but maybe they won’t want us.”
“Gee!” gasped Joe. “I never thought of that. But maybe it’s so.”
“There’s mother now,” announced Bob. “Let’s put it up to her.”
This they did, and her son’s three friends were assured by Mrs. Layton that if their parents were willing they should go she and Mr. Layton would be glad to have them in their party.
“That’s fixed then,” announced Jimmy. “I’m off now, fellows. Next stop, Mountain Pass.”
That day and the next were busy ones for the radio boys. The party was to go in two big automobiles that Mr. Layton had hired, and the boys had secured permission to take a small radio set with them. On the morning set for their departure they were ready to the last detail, and it was not long before they and their belongings were snugly packed into the two automobiles and they were all on their way to the mountain resort.
Although it was still only mid-autumn, the air had a keen edge to it, the sky was gray and overcast, and there was the indefinable feel of snow in the air. The big cars rolled crisply through long drifts of dead leaves, going at a lively pace, as it was quite a journey to the resort, with many steep grades to be encountered on the way. The boys were warmly wrapped, and the keen air only gave zest and added to their high spirits.
“These cars ought to be equipped with a radio set,” remarked Bob, a short time after they had started. “I saw a picture the other day of a car that was rigged up that way, with an antenna from the radiator to a mast in the rear.”
“It’s not a bad idea, at that,” said Joe. “If a person were going on a long tour, he could keep in touch with the weather forecasts, and know just what to expect the next day.”
“Yes, and when he camped for lunch, he could have music while the coffee pot was boiling,” said Herb. “Pretty soft, I’ll say.”
“He’d be out of luck if the static were bad, though,” observed Jimmy.
“Oh, it won’t be long before they’ll get around that static nuisance,” said Bob. “Have you heard of the latest method of overcoming it?”
The others had not, and Bob proceeded to explain.
“At Rocky Point, Long Island, they put up twelve radio towers, each four hundred and ten feet high, in a row three miles long. Then they hitched up a couple of two hundred kilowatt alternators so that they run in synchronism. That means four hundred kilowatts on the aerial, and I guess that can plough through the worst static that ever happened.”
“Four hundred kilowatts!” exclaimed Joe. “That’s an awful lot of juice, Bob.”
“You bet it is,” agreed Bob, nodding his head. “But it does the work. When they tested out this system signals were received in Nauen, Germany, of almost maximum strength, in spite of bad weather conditions. You know they have a numbered scale, running from nothing to ten, which is maximum. Well, the Rocky Point signals were classed as number nine, which means they were almost maximum strength.”
“It must have been a terrible job to synchronize those two alternators,” commented Joe.
“No doubt of it,” agreed Bob. “This article stated that they had to experiment for months before they succeeded. Those machines turn over at somewhere around twenty-two thousand revolutions per minute, you know.”
“About three hundred and sixty-six times a second,” said Joe, after a short mental calculation. “Nothing slow about that, is there?”
“It’s fast enough to do the trick, anyway,” agreed Bob. “Wouldn’t it be great to be in charge of a station like that?”
The others agreed that it would, and for some time they discussed this latest marvel of radio. Then their minds were drawn away by the wonderful scenery through which they were passing. The leaves still left on the trees were tinted in rich reds and browns, and as the big cars climbed to higher levels the party had some wonderful views of high hills and spreading valleys.
But the sky became continually more leaden and overcast, and the drivers put on more speed in an effort to reach their destination before the impending storm should start. But they had gone only a short distance further when a few white flakes came swirling silently down from the leaden sky. Scattered at first, they rapidly increased in numbers until the air was filled with swirling sheets of white. The snow packed over the windshields and powdered the occupants of the two cars, and the drivers were forced to stop and put up the side curtains. The snow hissed through the branches of the trees and whispered to the dead leaves, making the only sound in a world that was rapidly changing from autumn brown to winter white.
With the side curtains adjusted as snugly as possible, the party resumed its journey. The fine, dry snow searched out every chink and opening between the curtains, penetrating in some mysterious manner where rain would have been kept out. In a surprisingly short time it had thrown a thick mantle over the road, and the cars began to feel the drag of ploughing through it. Another stop had to be made to put on tire chains, and by this time it was plainly to be seen that the drivers were becoming worried.
They had still about a third of the distance to cover, which included some of the worst grades in that part of the country. The road had changed from smooth macadam to a rough trail that required careful driving even under the most favorable conditions, and now the snow, drifting into holes and depressions, hid them from sight, the first intimation of their presence being a jolt and slam as the wheels dropped into some pit that the driver could easily have avoided otherwise. The passengers were shaken about unmercifully, and had to hold fast to anything handy to keep from being thrown against the roof.
“Good night!” exclaimed Herb, as one particularly heavy jolt threw him from the seat and left him floundering on the floor. “We won’t have any springs left on the cars by the time we reach the hotel, provided we ever do. I know people who have driven over this road, and they never mentioned its being so bad.”
“So have I,” said Bob, peering out through the side curtains. “My private opinion is, that we’ve gotten off the main road altogether. There was a fork a way back, and I thought then that the drivers turned in the wrong direction.”
“That hardly seems possible, Bob,” said Mr. Layton. “They are both experienced drivers, and are supposed to know this road like a book.”
“Well, likely enough I’m wrong,” said his son. “If they did take the wrong fork, though, I suppose they’ll soon find it out and turn back.”
But Bob was gifted with a keen sense of direction, and it was not long before the little party found that he had been correct in his surmise. The leading car halted, the other followed suit, and the drivers, beating their numbed hands together, held a conference in the road.
After a struggle with the fastenings of the side-curtain, Mr. Layton descended and joined them. The boys followed suit, leaving Mrs. Layton in sole possession of the two cars.
“We don’t rightly know how it happened, sir,” said one of the drivers, addressing Mr. Layton; “but somehow we’ve got off the right road in this confounded snow, and I guess there’s nothing for it but to turn and try to get back on it at the place where we branched off.”
“Well, let’s do it then, as quickly as possible,” said Mr. Layton, decisively. “The snow is getting deeper every minute, and we can’t afford to lose any more time. I thought you men knew the road too well to make a mistake like that.”
One of the drivers muttered something about “snow” and “can’t see nothin’ ten feet ahead,” and they climbed into their seats, while the others scattered to their places inside.
The driver of the leading car stepped on the electric starter button, but instead of the engine starting there was a shock, a sharp snap of breaking steel, and the starter motor whirred idly around with no more effect on the engine than one of the thickly fallen snowflakes.
The driver uttered a fierce exclamation. “There goes that starter spring again!” he exclaimed. “Now I’ll have to crank the blamed engine every time I want to start for the rest of this trip.”
He fished around under the front seat, produced a starting crank, and tried to turn the engine over by hand. In his haste, however, he had forgotten to retard the spark, and as he lunged down on the crank with all his strength, the motor backfired, the crank spun around several times, and the driver staggered back, his right arm hanging limp and useless.
Mrs. Layton uttered a scream, and the others looked at each other a second with blank faces. Then they jumped out and surrounded the unfortunate driver, who was gazing at his injured arm in a dazed fashion. Mr. Layton made a quick examination, and pronounced that the wrist was badly sprained. Fortunately, they had a complete medical outfit in one of the cars, including splints, and Mr. Layton contrived to bind up the injured wrist after a fashion, and then suspended the arm in a sling.
“But who’s going to drive the car?” asked the uninjured chauffeur, after this operation had been completed. “If none of you people knows how to drive, we’re in a pretty bad fix.”
“I’ll drive,” volunteered Bob. “You lead the way, and I guess I’ll manage to keep near you.”
“Are you sure you can do it, Bob?” questioned his father, anxiously. He had great faith in his son’s ability, and liked to have the lad take a certain amount of responsibility.
“Sure, Dad. Watch and see,” was the quick answer.
“I don’t know about this,” said the chauffeur, with the professional’s distrust of the amateur. “We could all pack in one car in a pinch, you know, and leave the other here.”
“But that would so overload one car that we’d have very little chance of getting there without a breakdown,” argued Bob. “Don’t worry about my driving. I’ll manage somehow.”
“I’ll bet you will,” said Joe. “You’ll have to move lively to keep from being run over,” he told the driver.
“Quit your kiddin’,” said the chauffeur, unbelievingly. “We’ll have to hit the high spots from now on, and it ain’t goin’ to be an easy job holdin’ those boilers on the road.”
Somewhat against his mother’s will, Bob cranked the motor of the car he was to drive, but took care to see that the spark was fully retarded, in consequence of which he started the engine without any trouble. The injured driver occupied the other half of the driver’s seat, so as to give Bob pointers in handling the car if they were needed.
But he soon found that Bob required very little of his advice. It was some time since he had driven a car, and at first he was a little slow at gear shifting, but soon got the “feel” of that particular car and from then on shifted with the ease and deft certainty of an expert. As a matter of fact, Bob possessed the knack of handling machinery, without which no one can really claim to be a good driver.
The injured driver was not long in recognizing this. Shortly after they had reached the main road and were once more headed for their destination, they encountered a steep grade, something over a mile in length. Both cars were going at a fair speed when they felt the first tug of gravity, but so sharp was the grade that they lost way rapidly, and it became necessary to shift into a lower speed. Bob did not wait until they had slowed down too much. With a quick shove he disengaged the clutch, shifted into neutral, and then dropped the clutch into the engagement, at the same time accelerating the engine momentarily. This causes the idle gears on the jack-shaft to revolve, after which it is comparatively easy to mesh the intermediate gear combination. Bob had no difficulty in doing this, and with his gears properly engaged, he let in the clutch again and stepped on the accelerator. The car surged forward, ploughing through the snow and skidding from side to side as it fought its way up the steep gradient.
In a few moments they caught up with the leading car, which was in difficulties. Its driver had waited too long before attempting to shift, and the car had slowed down so much by the time he got into intermediate that it would not pick up even in that speed, and he was forced to shift into low.
“I’ll bet that young feller that’s driving Jim’s car is stalled somewhere at the bottom of this hill,” he thought. “Hope I don’t have to wait too long for him after I reach the top. This road is no place for an amateur to drive, anyway. I——”
Honk! Honk! The raucous note of Bob’s horn broke in upon his thoughts, and he glanced, startled, through the rear windows, to see the other car looming through the drifting storm.
Too late he tried frantically to speed up and avoid the humiliation of being passed by one whom he condescendingly termed an amateur. Resistless as fate the pursuing car drew abreast, and then went on past in a cloud of fine snow kicked up by the spinning rear wheels. He muttered morosely to himself as he caught a glimpse of grinning faces through the dim windows of the storm curtains, but was conscious of a feeling of admiration, too, for the daring young driver.
“Say, son, I’ve got to hand it to you!” exclaimed Jim, the injured chauffeur. “You know how to handle a car with the best of ’em.”
“Oh, I didn’t care so much about passing him, but I didn’t want to slow down,” explained Bob, never for an instant taking his eyes from the road. “It’s against my principles to put on brakes when I’m going up a hill.”
“I figure the same way myself,” admitted the other. “Now that we’re ahead, we might as well stay ahead. I’ll tell you which way to turn, an’ I guess between us we’ll get through all right.”
But many miles still lay between them and their destination, and the storm showed no sign of abating. Softly, silently, but implacably the white flakes continued to pile up that clinging carpet over the road until driving became more a matter of guesswork and instinct than anything else. For a time the injured chauffeur gave Bob directions and advice, but at length he came to the conclusion that this boy behind the wheel was very capable of doing the right thing in the right place, and he sat silent, gripping the seat and pressing on imaginary pedals when they got in tight places.
They were making good progress, considering the adverse conditions, and were within perhaps ten miles of their destination when suddenly, through the whirling snow, Bob glimpsed another car swinging into the main road not fifteen feet from him. Both cars were going at a fast speed, but the drivers caught sight of each other at almost the same instant, and both jammed on their brakes. The cars swayed and skidded, and the occupants of both started from their seats, believing a collision inevitable. Nothing could have averted this had not Bob, quick as lightning, wrenched his wheel around, bringing his car into a course almost parallel with the other. For a few brief seconds the outcome lay in the hand of fate. When the two cars finally came to a jarring halt, they were side by side, with not six inches between their running boards.
The door of the other car, which was a sedan, burst open, and a small, red-faced and white-haired man leaped out and shook a belligerent fist at Bob.
“What do you mean by driving that car at such a rate of speed?” he shrilled. “You were breaking every speed law there is, young man, and I’ll make you sorry for it, or my name isn’t Gilbert Salper.”
“But your car was going faster than ours, and there isn’t any damage done, anyway,” Bob pointed out, as he wriggled from behind the wheel and descended to the road.
“No damage done?” echoed the other, waving his hands excitedly. “You almost scared my wife and daughters into fits, and yet you have the nerve to stand there and tell me there is no damage done. What do you mean by it?”
Before Bob could make an indignant reply, a lady wrapped in costly furs stepped from the sedan and laid a soothing hand on the irate old gentleman’s shoulder.
“I’m sure it wasn’t the young man’s fault, Gilbert,” she said, in a pleasant voice. “Indeed, I think it was his quick action that prevented a collision. Jules was at fault in coming on to the main road without slowing down or blowing his horn.”
“They were both going too fast, I say!” insisted her husband. “But I suppose we ought to be thankful that we are still alive, after undertaking such a fool trip. Next time we’ll do what I want and stay at home.”
The gentleman fumed and fussed a little longer, but at length his wife and daughters succeeded in enticing him back into his car. The latter were both unusually pretty girls, and as they coaxed their father back into good humor, Joe, who was in the car driven by Bob, whispered that he hoped they were also bound for the Mountain Rest Hotel.
Mr. Salper was a wealthy Wall Street broker, whose pocketbook was much longer than his temper. Although irascible and prone to “fly off the handle” at the slightest provocation, he was at bottom a kindly man, and one who would do anything for those he cared for. Like many others, his health had suffered in the process of money making, and his physician had ordered him to give up business for a month or two and rest.
The broker owned a house not far from the big hotel at Mountain Pass, and the family frequently came to the place, both in the winter and the summer. They were well known at the hotel itself for they often ran over to take meals there and to visit with some of the patrons.
By the time his daughters had succeeded in calming the broker’s excitement, the second car of the Layton party came up, and it was decided that the three cars should keep close together for the rest of the journey, in order to render mutual aid if it should be needed. The snow had attained a depth of six or eight inches by this time, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that they even managed to start again. But finally they got straightened out and resumed their bucking of the hills and snow.
It was heartbreaking work, for from that point on the road ascended steadily toward the top of the mountain, with hardly a level spot on it. A mile ahead lay the Pass, a narrow gorge in which the snow had drifted so deep as to make it almost impassable.
The car that Bob was driving was in the lead, and as they neared this dangerous place the disabled chauffeur gave him a word of advice.
“Open ’er wide, son,” he counseled. “We’ll have to buck drifts maybe two feet deep or more, and if we once have to stop, it means we’ll stay there until somebody comes and digs us out. Give ’er all she’ll take, and hold her on the road if you can.”
Bob nodded, and opened the throttle little by little, while the chauffeur held his foot on the muffler cut-out pedal, in order to relieve the engine of all back pressure. Just before they reached the Pass, by some freak of the wind the road had been swept clear of snow for several hundred feet, and this gave the car an opportunity to gather speed.
Faster and faster it flew, until the speedometer needle registered fifty miles an hour. Then through the driving snow the entrance to the Pass loomed ahead, and the chauffeur gave an exclamation.
Before them was a snowdrift that looked almost as high as their car, stretching solidly across the road and leaving Bob not the shadow of a chance to dodge. He set his teeth, opened the throttle to the limit, and gripped the wheel with wrists braced strong as steel bars.
The heavy car hurtled into the drift with the force of a projectile shot from a big gun, throwing clouds of snow in every direction as it bored resistlessly through. The car skidded and twisted in every direction, and it was a supreme test of Bob’s strength and skill to keep the powerful machine on its course. Big rocks lined the road, and more than once they shaved past these with only inches to spare.
Resistless with its initial momentum, the big car was nevertheless gradually losing speed as it penetrated further into the drift and the passive but deadly resistance of the snow began more and more to make itself felt. The engine began to labor, and Bob was on the point of shifting speeds, when suddenly the car broke through the farther side of the drift, seemed to shake the clinging flakes from it, and began to pick up speed again.
Those composing the little party never forgot the gruelling battle against odds that followed. The blustering wind had piled the snow in great drifts in some places, and in others had swept the road so clean that the frozen brown earth was visible for some distance.
On these stretches they would pick up speed, and then charge into the drifts and repeat the former battle. Over and over they did this, Bob driving like a master, with steely blue eyes fastened grimly on the road ahead, jaws set, and a face that looked ten years older than it really was. Those in the car spoke words of encouragement from time to time, but he was too busy and concentrated on his task to answer with anything other than a brief nod.
For what seemed like an age they ploughed through one huge drift after another, with the high rocky walls of the Pass frowning down at them till at last the rugged hills fell back from the road, the air lightened, and they were through the Pass, with less than two miles between them and the warmth and shelter of the hotel. The road now ran along a high ridge, which the wind had swept clear of snow, and Bob stopped the car and relaxed with a great sigh.
“Guess we’d better wait for the others to catch up,” he said. “We broke a path for them, though, and it ought to be a lot easier for them than it was for us.”
“You must be all in, Bob,” said Joe. “You handled this car like an old timer, but now it’s about time you had a relief. Why not let me take a hack at it for the rest of the way?”
But Bob laughed, and shook his head. “I wouldn’t have missed that for a farm,” he said. “It was hard work, but it was the best kind of sport, too. Besides, Jim here says that the road runs along this ridge almost to the doors of the hotel, and it will be easy sailing the rest of the way.”
“I wonder what has become of the other cars?” said Mr. Layton, in a worried tone. “I hope nothing has happened to them.”
He had hardly ceased speaking, when one of the automobiles appeared, so covered with snow that it was hard to believe that it was actually a car at all. Shortly afterward the Salper car appeared, came to a halt when its driver saw the other two at a standstill, and its French chauffeur descended and advanced stiffly to where Bob and the driver of the second Layton car were standing.
“Pah!” he exclaimed. “In all France there is no road like that which I have just traverse. I am hire to drive ze petrol car, not ze snow plough. It eez ze so great mystery zat we have arrive so far.”
“Mystery is right,” agreed Jim, the injured driver. “The only casualty up to date is my busted wing, which is a lot better than a busted neck. But you’d better get back in your glass house, Frenchy, because we’re all frozen stiff, and the sooner we land at the hotel, the better. My arm feels as though it must be broken in twenty places.”
The Frenchman looked doubtfully at Jim when he spoke of an injured “wing,” but evidently set it down as being one more incomprehensible vagary of the English language, for he only shrugged his shoulders and returned to his car without comment.
The short day was drawing rapidly into night when the little party at last saw the cheerful lights of the hotel shining through the storm. Fifteen minutes later the lads were all seated in front of a roaring open fire in the big parlor and were telling their experiences to the amazed guests.
Bob was the only uncomfortable one in the crowd, as he heard everybody speaking in praise of the way he had risen to the emergency and was thankful for more reasons than one when dinner was announced.
“Dinner!” exclaimed Jimmy, rapturously. “Bob, I’ve got to hand it to you. Not only do you get us here through a howling blizzard, but you land us just in time for a turkey dinner. Oh my, oh my!”
The Mountain Rest Hotel had a reputation for serving generous meals, and for this the boys were thankful that night. Through all the long, cold day they had eaten nothing but a few sandwiches, and now they strove to make up for lost time. Not in vain, either. Even Jimmy had to own up that he could not eat another mouthful, which was a statement he could seldom truthfully make.
Owing to the sickness in Clintonia, there had been an unprecedented rush of visitors to the hotel, and the Layton party discovered that they would have to take one of the small cottages adjoining the hotel, although they would board in the main establishment.
The cottage was snug and comfortable, however, and they were all delighted with it. Indeed, it was better for the radio boys than rooms in the hotel, because they could set up their receiving set more readily. Of course, it was out of the question to erect an outdoor aerial, but they were not bothered by this and decided to use a loop aerial instead. They had brought with them a knock-down frame on which to wind their antenna, and this frame could be moved around and set against the wall when not in use.
The first night at Mountain Pass they had little thought, however, even for their beloved radio, and were content to tumble into bed shortly after dinner. But the next day they were up early, and after a hearty breakfast set to work to put up their set.
It was a simple matter for the boys to wind the loop aerial, for they had become expert in the manipulation of wire, tape, and the numerous other accessories that go with the art of wireless telephony. After the aerial was completed they unpacked their receiving set and quickly connected it up. They worked skillfully and efficiently, and before the lunch bell rang at noon they were ready to receive signals.
But even their enthusiasm was not proof against the seductive summons of the genial looking old darky who rang the bell, and they washed hastily and started for the dining room at a pace that would have reflected credit on the hungriest boarder who ever lived.
“Gang way, Bob!” panted Jimmy, as they clattered down the last flight of stairs and dashed for the entrance to the hotel. “I’m hungry, and, therefore, desperate. Get out of the way before I trip over you!”
“Good night!” shouted Bob. “You’re getting too fresh to live, Jimmy,” and he picked up a handful of snow and dropped it carefully and with precision down Jimmy’s fat neck.
“Ugh!” exclaimed that corpulent youth, stopping short in his wild rush and digging snow from under his collar. “I’ll get even with you for that, Bob, you old hobo. Just you wait!”
“Can’t wait a second,” grinned Bob. “I don’t want to be late and miss all the good things, even if you do.”
“Come on, Doughnuts, don’t stand there all day picking snow off you,” entreated Herb. “I can’t see where there’s any fun in that.”
Jimmy reached down, packed a handful of snow, and sent it flying after the others. They were close to the door, however, and ducked in unscathed, while the snowball spread out in a big patch against the door casing.
Jimmy did not allow himself to be delayed very long at any time when there was food in prospect, however, and his friends had hardly seated themselves at the table when he came in, his collar badly dampened, but his appetite in prime condition. He shook his fist surreptitiously at the others, but he was incapable of staying angry long, and was soon his usual jolly and happy-go-lucky self.
The snowstorm had stopped during the night, the weather had grown warmer, and a brilliant sun now shone down on a dazzlingly white world. The snow had come ahead of time, as all the “regulars” at the Mountain Rest Hotel united in asserting, and now it gave every indication of disappearing as fast as it had come.
The boys wanted to get back to their radio set after dinner, but the snow looked so inviting that they could not resist the temptation to have a snow fight. Some of the men, seeing them hard at it, cast dignity to the winds and joined them, until quite a miniature battle was raging. Ammunition was plentiful, and there was a good deal of shouting and laughter before both sides became tired and agreed to call it a draw.
The radio boys were pretty damp with snow water, and their hands were stiff with cold, but trifling discomforts such as these did not bother them much. They had had a good time, and they knew that there is seldom any fun that does not have its own drawbacks. They went to their rooms, changed the wettest of their clothing for dry articles, and were soon ready to test their set.
They were just making a final inspection of their connections when Mr. Layton entered the room, accompanied by two other gentlemen.
Mr. Layton introduced the two latter as the owners of the store he was thinking of purchasing.
“Mr. Blackford and Mr. Robins are rather skeptical about radio,” explained Mr. Layton, when the introductions had been duly accomplished. “I happened to mention it this morning, and as they both seemed to think I was exaggerating its possibilities, I asked them here to see and hear for themselves.”
“It’s no trouble to show goods,” said Bob, grinning. “We haven’t tested for signals yet, but the set is all hooked up, and I guess all we’ll have to do is tune up and get about anything you want.”
“You seem pretty confident,” remarked one of the two strangers, Mr. Robins. “My opinion is, that this radio stuff is mostly bunk. A friend of mine bought a set just a little while ago, and he couldn’t hear a thing with it. Paid fifteen dollars for it, too.”
“I shouldn’t imagine he could,” said Bob, drily. “Mountain Pass must be at least a hundred miles from the nearest broadcasting station, and that set you speak of could never be expected to catch anything more than twenty-five miles away, at the most.”
“Well, I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts you can’t hear anything with that outfit you’ve got there, either,” broke in the other of the two strangers.
“You’d lose your money, Blackford,” said Bob’s father. “Go ahead and convince these doubting Thomases, Bob.”
Bob adjusted a headset over his ears and switched on the current through the vacuum bulb filament. Then he manipulated the voltage of the “B,” or high voltage, dry battery, and also varied the current flowing through the filament by means of a rheostat connected in series with it. Almost immediately he caught a far-away sound of music, and by manipulation of the variometer and condenser knobs gradually increased the strength of the sounds.
Meantime Mr. Layton’s two acquaintances had watched proceedings with open skepticism, and often glanced knowingly at each other. But suddenly, as Bob twisted the knob of the variable condenser, the music became so loud that all in the room could hear it, even though they had no receivers over their ears.
“If either of you two gentlemen will put these receivers on, he’ll be convinced that radio is no fake,” said Bob quietly, at the same time removing his headset and holding it out.
After a moment’s hesitation Mr. Robins donned the receivers, and a startled look came over his face, replacing the incredulous expression it had worn heretofore.
“Let’s hook up another set of phones, Bob, and let Mr. Blackford listen at the same time,” suggested Joe.
This was done, and soon both skeptics were listening to their first radio concert. Mr. Layton regarded them with an amused smile. Mr. Robins extended his hand curiously toward the condenser knob, and immediately the music died away. He pulled his hand hastily away, and the sounds resumed their former volume.
“Don’t be frightened,” laughed Mr. Layton. “It won’t bite you.”
“But what made it fade away in that fashion?” asked Mr. Robins.
“Don’t ask me,” said Bob’s father. “I’m not up on radio the way the boys are. I enjoy it, without knowing much of the modus operandi.”
“That was caused by what is known as ‘body capacity,’” explained Bob. “Every human being is more or less of a natural condenser, and when you get near the regular condenser in that set, it puts more capacity into the circuit, and interferes with its balance.”
The other nodded, although in reality he understood very little of even this simple explanation. He was too much absorbed in listening to what was going on in the phones.
As he listened, he heard the latest stock market quotations given out, among them being the last minute prices of some shares he happened to be interested in. He slapped his knee enthusiastically, and when the last quotations had been given, he snatched off the headset and leaped to his feet.
“I’m converted!” he fairly shouted. “I’ll buy this outfit right as it stands for almost any price you fellows want to put on it. What will you sell it for?”
The boys were taken aback by this unexpected offer, and all looked at Bob expectantly.
“Why, we hadn’t even thought of selling the set,” he said slowly. “We wouldn’t sell it right now, at any price, I think. But when we leave here to go back home, I suppose we might let you have it. How about it, fellows?”
After some argument they agreed to this, but Mr. Robins was so determined to have the set that he would not be put off.
“Now look here,” he said. “I’m a business man, and I’ll make you a business proposition. I’ll buy that outfit right now, before I leave this room, at your own figure. But you fellows can keep it here and have the use of it just the same as you have now, only it will be understood that I’ll have the privilege of coming over here once a day in time to hear those market reports. At the same time you can teach me something about operating the thing. How does that strike you?” and he threw himself back in his chair and waited for his answer.
“We’ll have to talk over that offer for a little while,” said Bob. “Give us ten minutes or so, and we’ll give you an answer.”
“That’s all right,” replied Mr. Robins. “While I’m waiting I’ll just put on those ear pieces again and see what’s doing.”
The radio boys left the room and held an excited conference downstairs. After some discussion they agreed to sell their set, as long as they could have the use of it during their stay at the resort, but the matter of price proved to be a knotty problem. Bob produced pencil and paper, and they figured the actual cost of the set to themselves, and then what the same set would have cost if bought ready made in a retail store.
“The actual material in that set didn’t cost us much over forty dollars, but we put a whole lot of time and experience into it,” said Bob, “It would cost him close to a hundred to get as good a one in a store.”
“It’s a mighty good set, too,” said Joe, a note of regret in his voice. “We might make another as near like it as possible, and not get nearly as good results.”
“Oh, don’t worry. We’re some radio builders by this time,” Herb reminded him. “Besides, that isn’t the only set we’ve got.”
“Let’s ask him eighty dollars,” ventured Jimmy. “He’ll be getting it cheaper then than he could buy it retail, and we’ll be picking up a nice piece of change.”
“I think that ought to be about the right figure,” agreed Bob. “Does that suit this board of directors? Eighty hard, round iron men?”
The others grinned assent, and they returned to the room where the older men were still seated about the radio set.
“Well, what’s the verdict?” inquired Mr. Robins, glancing keenly from one to the other.
“We’ve decided to sell,” replied Bob. “The price will be eighty dollars.”
Without a word Mr. Robins produced a roll of greenbacks, and counted off the specified amount in crisp bills.
“You’ll want a receipt, won’t you, Robins?” inquired Mr. Layton.
“Not necessary,” replied the other. “I’ve got a hunch that your son and his friends are on the level and won’t try to cheat an old fellow like me. I’ll have to be going now, but I’ll be around about the same time tomorrow morning to get the stock quotations. Coming, Blackford?”
Left to themselves, the boys looked at one another.
“That’s what I call quick work,” remarked Joe. “I hate to let the old set go, but they say you should never mix sentiment with business.”
“Maybe this will lessen your grief,” said Bob. “Eighty divided by four makes twenty, or at least that’s what they always taught us in school. Take these four five-dollar bills, Joe, and dry your tears with them.”
“Oh, boy!” exclaimed Joe.
“Money, how welcome you are!” ejaculated Herb, as he pocketed his share. “What I can’t do with twenty dollars!”
“That will buy exactly two thousand doughnuts,” calculated Jimmy, a rapturous expression on his round countenance. “Hot doughnuts, crisp brown doughnuts, doughnuts with jelly in them, doughnuts——”
A human avalanche precipitated itself on the corpulent youngster, and he found himself writhing on the floor with his three companions seated comfortably on different parts of his ample anatomy.
“Hey! Quit, quit!” stuttered Jimmy. “Get off me, you hobos! You’ll have me flattened out like a dog that’s just been run over by a steam roller.”
“And serve you right, too,” retorted Joe. “What do you mean by talking about doughnuts when it’s almost dinner time, and we’re starved to death, anyway. Besides, you know there isn’t a place at Mountain Pass where we can buy them.”
“Yes, and if I’d known that before I started, I would probably have stayed at home,” retorted Jimmy. “Get off me, will you, before I throw you off?”
“We’ll let you up, but I doubt if you should be trusted with all that money,” returned Bob, grinning. “You’d better whack it up among us, Jimmy. You’ll just buy a lot of junk with it and make yourself sick.”
“Well, I’ve got a right to get sick if I want to,” said his rotund friend, struggling to his feet. “If you get that twenty away from me, it will have to be over my dead body.”
“It doesn’t seem worth while to kill him for just twenty dollars,” said Bob, pretending to consider. “That’s just a little over six dollars apiece.”
“No good,” said Joe, decisively. “It would cost more than that to bury him.”
“You’re a cold-blooded set of bandits,” complained Jimmy, in an aggrieved tone. “I’m glad I haven’t got a hundred dollars with me. I’d be a mighty poor insurance risk then, I suppose.”
“I wouldn’t give a lead nickel for your chances,” said Bob. “But don’t let that worry you, Jimmy. You’ll probably never have that much money all at one time as long as you live.”
“I won’t if I wait for you fellows to give it to me,” admitted his friend. “But I’m going over to the hotel and see if dinner is served yet. I’m not going to be the last one in the dining room at every meal.”
“When you get the hang of this place, you’ll always be the first one,” said Herb. “After a little while they’ll make you up a bunk in a corner, and you can even sleep there.”
“Oh, go chase yourself!” exclaimed Jimmy. “You never learned how to eat, Herb, and that’s why you’re such a human bean pole,” and with this parting shot he slammed the door behind him before Herb could think of a suitable reply.
“He got you that time, Herb,” said Bob, with a grin. “I guess we might as well all get ready for dinner. Dad says they hate to have people coming in late.”
Every day after that Mr. Robins dropped in in time to hear the market reports, sometimes alone, and at others accompanied by his partner, Mr. Blackford. The latter was not quite so enthusiastic as his colleague, but he was nevertheless greatly interested, and was always glad to don a head set and hear what was going on.
True to their agreement, the boys instructed the new owner of the set how to adjust it and get the best results. He always paid the closest attention to what they told him, and in a few days could pick up signals and tune the set fairly well.
“Not bad for an old fellow, eh?” he exclaimed delightedly one day, when he had accomplished the whole thing without any aid from the boys. “If Blackford and I sell out to your father, Bob, I’ll have a little leisure time, and blame it all if I don’t think I’ll do some experimenting and possibly some building myself.”
“You’re pretty badly bitten by the radio bug,” observed his partner.
“I won’t try to deny it,” said the other, emphatically. “The more I think about it, the more wonderful it seems. Besides, it’s got a mighty practical side to it. I was holding on to some shares a few days ago until I learned by way of the radio that they were starting to fall. I sent a telegram to my brokers, they sold out for me just in the nick of time, and I made a profit on the deal instead of having to take a loss. The bottom dropped clean out of the market that same afternoon, and if I’d been holding on to those shares, I would have gotten bumped good and hard.”
The other nodded. “It’s a good investment when you look at it that way,” he admitted.
“Good investment is right,” declared his partner. “I saved a lot more in that deal than the whole radio outfit cost me, and I still own the set.”
“I wonder why the new government wireless station doesn’t do something of the kind,” remarked Mr. Blackford. “They might as well make themselves useful as well as ornamental.”
“Government station!” exclaimed Bob and Joe at once. “Is there a government station at Mountain Pass?”
Mr. Blackford nodded. “I thought you fellows knew about it, or I’d have mentioned it before,” he said. “It was just opened a few weeks ago, and I don’t think they’ve got all their equipment in yet. There’s been some delay in getting the stuff here, I understand.”
“What does the government want of a wireless station away up here?” asked Bob.
“This is the highest point in all the surrounding country and makes an ideal lookout for forest fires,” said his informant. “The station was supposed to be ready for use last summer, but, as I say, was delayed a good deal. But we expect it to be of great service in the future. There have been some disastrous forest fires around here in the last few years, as you probably know.”
“We ought, to know it,” remarked Joe. “The smoke has been so thick as far away as Clintonia sometimes that you could cut it with a hatchet. It’s about time something was done to stop it.”
Of course, once they heard about the government station, the boys could think of nothing else until they had visited it. Bob proposed that they go right after lunch, and this met with the enthusiastic approval of his friends. Poor Jimmy was so rushed by his eager friends that he was frustrated in his design of asking for a second helping of chocolate pudding, and was hurried away protesting vainly against such unseemly haste.
“What do you Indians think you’re doing?” he grumbled. “Do you all want to die of indigestion? Don’t you know you’re supposed to rest after a meal and give your stomach a chance?”
“Oh, dry up,” said Joe, heartlessly. “If you didn’t eat so much you wouldn’t want to lie around for two hours after every meal like a Brazilian anaconda. You know you didn’t want another plate of that pudding, anyway.”
“Didn’t I!” said Jimmy, disconsolately. “That was about the best pudding I ever tasted, bar none. You fellows are such radio bugs that you can’t even pay proper attention to what you’re eating.”
“You give enough attention to that to make up for the whole gang,” said Bob. “Stop your growling and step along lively, old timer.”
Jimmy grumbled a little more in spite of this admonition, but regained his usual cheery mood when he saw the steel lattice-work towers with the familiar antenna sweeping in graceful spans between them, and forgot all about the missing plate of pudding.
The station was situated some distance from the Mountain Rest Hotel in a clearing cut out of the dense pine woods, and the boys ceased to wonder why they had not discovered it on some of their rambles. As they drew near they could see that everything was solidly and substantially built, as is usually the case with government work.
The station, besides the towers, comprised a large, comfortable building, which housed all the sending and receiving equipment, and a smaller building, in which the operators slept when off duty, and where spare equipment was stored.
The radio boys knocked at the door of the larger building, and after a short wait it was opened by a tall, rather frail looking young fellow, who eyed them inquiringly.
Bob explained that he and his friends were radio fans, and were anxious to look over the station, if it would not cause too much inconvenience.
“Not a bit of it,” said the young operator, heartily. “To tell you the truth, there is not much doing here at this time of year, and company is mighty welcome. Step in and I’ll be glad to show you around the place.”