The Shark And The Albatross A Filmmakers

Encounters With Wildlife Around The Globe

Aitchison download

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-shark-and-the-albatross-a-
filmmakers-encounters-with-wildlife-around-the-globe-
aitchison-60985994

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

The Shark And The Albatross Travels With A Camera To The Ends Of The
Earth Aitchison

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-shark-and-the-albatross-travels-
with-a-camera-to-the-ends-of-the-earth-aitchison-11326166

The Shark And The Goldfish Positive Ways To Thrive During Waves Of
Change 1st Edition Jon Gordon

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-shark-and-the-goldfish-positive-
ways-to-thrive-during-waves-of-change-1st-edition-jon-gordon-4447176

Clark The Shark And The Big Book Report Readalong Ebook Bruce Hale

https://ebookbell.com/product/clark-the-shark-and-the-big-book-report-
readalong-ebook-bruce-hale-48665864

Baby Shark And The Tooth Fairy Pinkfong

https://ebookbell.com/product/baby-shark-and-the-tooth-fairy-
pinkfong-48660776
Simon Thorn And The Sharks Cave Aime Carter Carter Aime

https://ebookbell.com/product/simon-thorn-and-the-sharks-cave-aime-
carter-carter-aime-23638542

Pedro And The Shark Fran Manushkin

https://ebookbell.com/product/pedro-and-the-shark-fran-
manushkin-46294484

Stink And The Shark Sleepover Megan Mcdonald Mcdonald Megan

https://ebookbell.com/product/stink-and-the-shark-sleepover-megan-
mcdonald-mcdonald-megan-22017798

Thomas And The Shark Thomas Friends Step Into Reading Rev W Awdry

https://ebookbell.com/product/thomas-and-the-shark-thomas-friends-
step-into-reading-rev-w-awdry-34773660

Loku And The Shark Attack Carlyon Deborah

https://ebookbell.com/product/loku-and-the-shark-attack-carlyon-
deborah-9165536
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Aeroplane
Express; or, The Boy Aeronaut's Grit
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Aeroplane Express; or, The Boy Aeronaut's Grit

Author: H. L. Sayler

Illustrator: Sidney H. Riesenberg

Release date: September 13, 2017 [eBook #55534]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Donald Cummings and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AEROPLANE

EXPRESS; OR, THE BOY AERONAUT'S GRIT ***
 The Aeroplane Boys Series

The Aeroplane Express

OR

The Boy Aeronaut’s Grit

The Aeroplane Boys Series

By ASHTON LAMAR

I. IN THE CLOUDS FOR UNCLE SAM

Or, Morey Marshall of the Signal Corps

II. THE STOLEN AEROPLANE

Or, How Bud Wilson Made Good

III. THE AEROPLANE EXPRESS

Or, The Boy Aeronaut’s Grit

IV. THE BOY AERONAUTS’ CLUB

Or, Flying For Fun

OTHER TITLES TO FOLLOW

These stories are the newest and most up-to-date. All aeroplane
details are correct. Fully illustrated. Colored frontispiece.
 Cloth, 12mos. Price, 60c each

The Airship Boys Series

By H. L. SAYLER

I. THE AIRSHIP BOYS

Or, The Quest of the Aztec Treasure

II. THE AIRSHIP BOYS ADRIFT

Or, Saved by an Aeroplane

III. THE AIRSHIP BOYS DUE NORTH

Or, By Balloon to the Pole

IV. THE AIRSHIP BOYS IN THE BARREN LANDS

Or, The Secret of the White Eskimos

These thrilling stories deal with the wonderful new science of aerial
navigation. Every boy will be interested and instructed by reading
them. Illustrated. Cloth binding. Price, $1.00 each.

The above books are sold everywhere or will be sent postpaid on

receipt of price by the

Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago

Complete catalog sent, postpaid, on request
Two Pistol Shots Sounded in the Desert.

The Aeroplane
Express
OR
The Boy Aeronaut’s Grit

BY

ASHTON LAMAR

Illustrated by S. H. Riesenberg

Chicago
The Reilly & Britton Co.
Publishers

COPYRIGHT, 1910
By

THE REILLY & BRITTON CO.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
THE AEROPLANE EXPRESS
 CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I A Conditional Bargain 9
IIAn Experimental Flight 21
III Looking up an Ancestor 33
IV An Ideal Outfit 44
V The Contract and the Car 57
VI Off for the West 69
VII On the Edge of the Desert 80
VIII The Trail at Last 92
IX In the Canyon of the San Juan 105
X The White God of the Sink Hole 118
XI The Real West 136
XII Assembling an Aeroplane in the Desert 151
XIII Why Mike Hassell Hit the Trail 164
XIV The End of the Trail 178
XV Roy Makes Mr. Cook a Present 193
XVI The Aeroplane As an Ambulance 206
XVII The Secret Deciphered 217
XVIII The Last of the Lost Indians 230
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Two pistol shots sounded in the desert Frontispiece
“The boy has a steady hand” 27
With a clatter of hoofs Nigger bounded forward 97
The remarkable hieroglyphics 133
The Last of the Lost Indians 237
The Aeroplane Express
OR

The Boy Aeronaut’s Grit

 CHAPTER I
A CONDITIONAL BARGAIN
“Far as we go!”
As the conductor of the trolley made this announcement, the car
came to a stop in a suburb of Newark, New Jersey. About two blocks
beyond the end of the line, and almost on the edge of the salt
marshes, rose a new and wide two-story brick building. Even from
that distance could be heard the hum of men and machines.
“Much obliged,” answered the man. “That the place?”
The conductor nodded.
“Thanks,” said the passenger, who, although apparently a middle-
aged man, sprang lightly to the ground. “Have a cigar?”
“If you don’t mind,” answered the conductor, “I’ll save it until this
evening. I don’t often get a smoke like this.”
The man laughed, shoved his hand into the side pocket of his
loose coat and drew out two more high-priced cigars.
“Never put off a good thing too long,” he added, “you may lose it.
Grab things while they’re in reach. Give one to your friend Bill up
there.”
As the man, still smiling, turned to go, the conductor called out:
“Thanks, Colonel, I guess you’re a westerner. Folks ’round here
haven’t got sense enough to wear a hat like that.”
“You’re a good guesser,” replied the man; “I’m from Utah. Good
bye.”
A few minutes later, the man was standing before a door in the
long building, labeled “Office.” Above the entrance was a small, new
sign: American Aeroplane Company. It was a hot morning, and, as the
man stopped to wipe his perspiring face with a big, white silk
handkerchief, he swung a picturesque gray plainsman’s hat before
him like a fan. He was without a vest, and wore a narrow, dark belt.
But, beyond these, a negligee shirt and a brown flowing neck tie,
there was no sign of the westerner about him. His trousers, coat and
shoes were all fashionable and apparently of eastern make.
As he stood before the door, he looked at his watch. Then he
whistled softly to himself.
“Ten fifteen!” he exclaimed, under his breath. “An hour and a half
from the Waldorf. The same goin’ back—that’s a quarter to twelve.
An’ I’ve got to catch the limited at two.”
He opened the door and stepped into a large room where two or
three girls and a couple of young men were busy at typewriters, file
cases and telephones.
“The boss in?” asked the visitor of a young man who greeted him.
“Do you mean the manager, Mr. Atkinson?”
“Like as not! The man who sells airships.”
“Have you a card?”
“Some’eres, I guess. But just tell him there’s man out here wants
to talk flyin’-machine if he’s got time.”
“Won’t you sit down?” persisted the clerk. “I’ll see if he’s busy.”
“Just tell him I’m kind o’ busy, too.”
While the clerk disappeared within a room opening out of the
main office, the active westerner made a hasty examination of the
place. On a table within the railed-off space in which he stood was a
tray of business cards. He picked one up and read it:

AMERICAN AEROPLANE COMPANY

Factory: Newark, New Jersey
Offices: New York, London, Paris, Chicago
 Mr. Robert T. Atkinson, President
Capital Stock $1,000,000
Tested Aeroplanes Ready for Delivery
“This Mr. Atkinson?” began the westerner when he had been
ushered into that gentleman’s private office.
“I am,” responded the aeroplane company official. “Pretty hot?”
“Hot enough,” smiled back the visitor; “but I don’t mind the heat
when I can find a little shade occasionally and a drink of water. Out
my way we’re a little shy on shade and water. I’m from Utah. And
that ain’t the worst—I’m from southern Utah.”
President Atkinson motioned to a chair next the open window.
“Never been there,” he replied in much the same tone he might
have said he had never visited the north pole.
“Few people have,” added the westerner. “Don’t mind if I smoke,
do you?”
Before he could find one of his own cigars, the aeroplane manager
had thrust at him a box of perfectos. Mr. Atkinson at once saw in the
stranger a man of affairs, who had not come all the way out to the
aeroplane factory to gossip. He judged correctly.
“I’ve got a card somewhere,” began the westerner briskly, as he
closed a pair of white, steel-trap-like teeth on the cigar, “but it don’t
say nothin’ but that my name’s Cook—R. C. Cook. I’m from Bluff,
Utah.”
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Cook,” politely remarked the easterner,
wondering at the same time what possible business Mr. Cook, of
Bluff, Utah, could have with the American Aeroplane Company.
“I’m in New York on a quick trip, but I saw one of your circulars
last night. I cut this out. It’s yours, ain’t it?”
Mr. Atkinson glanced at the clipping, smiled and nodded.
The circular read:
 “The aeroplane is no longer a novelty or a wonder. The American
Aeroplane Company, organized with a paid-up capital stock of
$1,000,000, is now ready to deliver reliable and tested aeroplanes,
standardized in make-up and ready to fly. We offer F. O. B. Newark,
New Jersey, a complete car for $5,000. It comprehends every
development up to date. The frame is of Oregon spruce and bamboo
—the planes of rubberized silk balloon cloth. The power plant is a
four-cylinder, gasoline, water-cooled motorcycle engine, 25 H. P.,
cylinders 3¾ by 4. The control is extremely simple. The elevation is
regulated by a steering lever, the balancing planes are specially
designed devices controlled by the movement of the feet. The
machine starts from the ground without track or outside help, and it
can be taken apart in two hours.”

“That’s the price, is it?” added Mr. Cook, taking a long puff at his
cigar.
“Just reduced,” explained Mr. Atkinson. “Our first machines sold for
seven thousand dollars. But we mean to lead in this business. We
have purchased every patent that we believe is needed in making a
high-class aeroplane; and with our facilities we mean to popularize
aeroplanes until they become as common as automobiles.”
“I want one of ’em,” said Mr. Cook.
The manager nodded his head as if the customer had ordered a
bicycle or a buggy.
“That is,” added Mr. Cook, “providin’—”
He took another puff on his cigar, and then added:
“I want one if I can find some one to run the thing.”
Mr. Atkinson shrugged his shoulders.
“That’s the only trouble that confronts us, Mr. Cook. We have as
yet developed no training-school for aviators, as we have schools for
chauffeurs.”
 “Well,” exclaimed Mr. Cook, laughing and shaking his head, “I
think one of them flyin’-machines’ll fit in my business all right, but
you’ll have to find me a man to work it. I’ve crossed Death’s desert,
I’ve gone down the big Canyon, I’ve chased and been chased by the
Utes, and I may do all of them things again. But there’s one thing I
wouldn’t do—I wouldn’t risk my neck in the best aeroplane ever
made.”
Mr. Atkinson smiled.
“I’d like to sell you one of our machines, my friend; but I can’t
promise to find you a capable operator. Tell me,” he added, unable to
longer restrain his curiosity, “what use do you figure on making of
the machine?”
“I ought to told you,” hastened the would-be purchaser in
explanation. “We got a company out in Utah—mostly New York
people,” he added parenthetically—“the Utah Mining and
Development Company. I’m the manager. Mr. F. E. Estebrook, of
Hartford, is the president.”
Mr. Cook immediately rose in Mr. Atkinson’s estimation. Mr.
Estebrook was one of the wealthy insurance men of Connecticut. No
one stood higher in the New York financial world.
“I see,” observed Mr. Atkinson, now glad that he had extended to
the westerner his best box of cigars.
“Well,” went on Mr. Cook, “we’ve got a big lot of work cut out
down there in the desert—petroleum mainly,” he explained, “but
metal, too. And just now it’s all prospecting. Maybe you don’t know
southern Utah?”
The aeroplane company manager smiled in the negative.
“When they git done tellin’ you about the plains of Arizona, and
New Mexico, just add one hundred per cent and call it Utah,” went
on Mr. Cook. “It ain’t sand and bunch grass down there,” he added,
with a grim smile. “It’s alkali deserts, borax holes, rotten volcano
craters and river beds that ain’t seen water in a thousand years.”
 “Don’t the Colorado and Green rivers run through it?” asked Mr.
Atkinson, stepping to a large wall map.
Mr. Cook grunted.
“They do,” he explained, “right through it, and they might as well
be buried in steel tubes. What you goin’ to do with a river shootin’
along at the bottom of a gash in the ground a half mile deep? Mr.
Atkinson,” continued the westerner. “I’ve known many a man to die
o’ thirst on the banks of them rivers with the sound o’ gurglin’ water
in his ears. As for gettin’ to that water, well you might reach it with a
shot gun—nothin’ else.”
Mr. Atkinson turned, ready to hear Mr. Cook’s explanation:
“I went to Utah five years ago—I’m a Pennsylvanian. My hair was
black then. It’s gray now. I got that in one week down in the San
Juan river canyon. Sailin’ an aeroplane down there ain’t a goin’ to be
no county fair job.”
“I don’t quite understand,” exclaimed Mr. Atkinson.
“It’s this,” explained Mr. Cook. “We’ve got from four to eight
prospectin’ parties out on them deserts all the time. For weeks and
months we don’t hear from them. Now and then, with the use of a
few hardened plainsmen, we get word to them and reports back. It
would be a big help to us if we could keep in touch with them. And,
more often, it would be a big help to them. They say an aeroplane
can travel forty-five miles an hour. Why can’t I use it to keep track of
our prospectors?”
Mr. Atkinson sat up, perplexed and surprised.
“It’s a novel idea,” he said, at last, “but I can’t see why it isn’t just
the thing. Looks to me as if it is—” then he stopped. Mr. Atkinson’s
business instinct had brought him a sudden idea. “Mr. Cook,” he
added, a moment later, “we talk a good deal about the practicability
of the aeroplane. This is the first real, business demand I have yet
had for an aeroplane. The idea is great. There is no doubt the
aeroplane can be utilized in just the way you outline. Within a radius
of two hundred and fifty miles it could make daily visits to the
remotest of your men, take orders to them, bring back reports, and
—if necessary—carry them food and water.”
“Looked that way to me,” interrupted the westerner.
“No question about it. I’m going to make you a proposition. Our
machines are selling at five thousand dollars. I’m so sure of the
advertising possibilities of your project, that I’m going to make you a
price of four thousand dollars. I can’t miss this chance to make a
real demonstration of the practicability of the aeroplane.”
“The price ain’t botherin’ me,” commented the westerner. “How
about some one to work it? Some one who can stand Utah and
borax and alkali—maybe Indians. You can fix his wages.”
Mr. Atkinson’s face lengthened.
“That’s another matter,” he said after a pause.
“Haven’t any one on tap?”
The aeroplane company manager shook his head. Mr. Cook looked
at his watch. Then he grunted his disappointment.
“Well,” he said, rising, “it was an idea. If you can’t help me, I
guess no one can. I’ve got to go—got to catch the two o’clock
limited. Just keep my card. My offer stands. I’ll make it five thousand
dollars for a machine if you send a man to do the trick. You can take
four thousand dollars if you like and give some one a bonus of the
other thousand to take the chance. I’ll pay him what you say and
keep him long as he wants to stay.”
Mr. Atkinson was thinking hard.
“I’m trying to think of some one with experience and grit,” he said.
“If you do,” said the westerner, shaking hands with Mr. Atkinson,
“nail him, and send him to me. If he wants excitement, I’ll guarantee
him the time of his life.”
 CHAPTER II
AN EXPERIMENTAL FLIGHT

For some minutes, Mr. Atkinson sat in thought. At last he was

interrupted by a man who hurried in from the factory portion of the
building. The new arrival was in his shirt sleeves, a mechanic’s cap
was far back on his half-bald head, and his hands and face were
marked with the smear of machinery.
“Good morning, George,” exclaimed the manager.
“Morning,” responded the man tersely. “Thought you might like to
come out. We got that new model ready—the double propeller. Goin’
to try the wheels on a new pitch.”
“Certainly,” responded Mr. Atkinson, placing Mr. Cook’s card in a
pigeonhole. “Sold four machines this morning, Osborne,” he added.
“Got three orders by mail—two from Paris, one from Chicago. Sold
another machine to a man from Utah.”
Mr. Atkinson was full of enthusiasm, but, apparently, the man in
his shirt sleeves cared little for this.
“I’m sure we’ve got a better pitch,” the mechanic interrupted.
“Anyway, we’ll know in a few minutes.”
Mr. Atkinson only smiled. He made no further attempt to impart
his gratification to his companion, and the two men passed out
through the business office into the big workroom.
The man wearing the cap was George M. Osborne, skilled
mechanic and inventor. In the advertisements of the company, he
was known as the “engineer and mechanical director.” Mr. Osborne,
the highest paid mechanic in Newark—one of the leading
manufacturing cities in America—had only recently been secured by
the newly organized aeroplane company. It was his ingenuity and
practical methods that had already combined a dozen patents in an
ideal flying-machine.
“A one-propeller car will always be popular,” Osborne insisted, “but
two propellers are as essential for long distance work as two screws
to a steamer. If one gives out, you have the other.”
As the two men made their way through the orderly but humming
workroom, Mr. Osborne fell back by Mr. Atkinson’s side, and said:
“I’m trying a new operator, too, this morning.”
“We ought to start a school for them,” answered the manager,
thinking of his talk with the western prospector.
“And I’d like to have you give him a job,” added the engineer.
“Certainly,” answered his companion. “Hire all of them you can
find that’ll do. Your new man ever had any experience?”
“A little. But he isn’t a man. It’s my own boy, Royce.”
“Roy, your son,” exclaimed Mr. Atkinson, as if surprised. “How old
is he?”
“Just over seventeen. But I think he’ll do. He’s spent all his
Saturdays here since we started up, and now his school’s out, and
he’s determined to go to work.”
“And you aren’t afraid to let him take a chance in the new
machine?” asked the manager.
“I guess he understands it about as well as any of us.”
“I’ve seen him around here a good deal.”
“It has been his playground,” explained the boy’s father. “He’d
rather be alongside my bench than idling away his time. He knows
the car and engine all right.”
Passing out of the shop, the men came into the experimenting
ground—an enclosed space of perhaps twenty acres. Beneath a shed
at the far end of the factory building a half dozen men were
standing idly about the delicate and graceful frame of an aeroplane
—the “American Aeroplane Model No. 2.” In their midst, stood a
light-haired, gray-eyed boy of compact, muscular build and a
countenance a little too old, perhaps, for his years.
“Good morning, Roy,” exclaimed Mr. Atkinson. “Your father says
you want to turn aviator.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the boy, doffing an absurd little school hat,
“I’m looking for the job.”
“Aren’t you afraid?” asked the manager, smiling, however, as he
asked it.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” answered the boy. “I’m only wondering
if the new pitch is right.”
Mr. Atkinson seemed about to say something, but paused. Finally
he remarked:
“All right. But don’t take chances. Make a low flight.”
The attendants at once shouldered the car and carried it out into
the open. Roy pulled his little school cap well down on his head, and
climbed aboard. Mr. Osborne, who had disappeared for a moment,
now returned with a ball of twine. Quickly unrolling about fifty feet
of it, he tied an end of the cord to the aeroplane frame. At the other
end of the string, he tied his handkerchief.
“Now, young man,” he said with parental sternness to Roy, “no
more excuses about not knowing how far above the ground you are.
This is a mechanical test, not a circus exhibition. Keep that
handkerchief dragging on the ground. D’ye hear?”
“Yes, father,” laughed the boy, “only I don’t want that handkerchief
and the knot. It’s all right if I don’t happen to pass over a fence. A
little catch in a crack wouldn’t do a thing but upset me.” He untied
the handkerchief and handed it back. “I’ll watch the string—this
time. But never again.” And he laughed.
“Don’t know but you’re right,” remarked Mr. Osborne.
 “Sure he is,” added Mr. Atkinson with a broad smile. “All ready,
boys?” he added, turning to the workmen.
“All ready here,” came from the boy.
“Go ahead,” exclaimed Mr. Osborne.
Roy’s eager hands turned on his gasoline. As the two propellers
darted into action and the horizontal, spidery planes began to
tremble as if semi-buoyant already, the attendants sprang forward.
“Keep away,” exclaimed the boy in the car. “Keep away. Give her a
chance.”
The men stepped back again.
“That’s right,” added Mr. Atkinson. “Give it a chance.”
“She don’t need any help,” exclaimed Mr. Osborne, with
professional pride. “No startin’ track with this car.”
Even while he spoke, the aeroplane gave a little preliminary bound
and then suddenly shot forward, the twine snapping behind it. Mr.
Osborne, in developing the flying-machine idea, had used two plane
surfaces, but instead of being superimposed, one was behind the
other. And, instead of being practically flat surfaces, his two planes
were curved, the aft one so markedly so as to resemble a bird’s
wing.
 “The Boy Has a Steady Hand”

The anxious spectators saw the big, horizontal nine-foot rudder or

guiding surface behind the rear plane straighten itself out and the
aeroplane settle on its course. Mr. Osborne made an attempt to run
forward as if to better observe the working of the propellers on their
new pitch. But the car was too fast for him. It was already curving
on its first turn and working perfectly. Three times the flying-
machine cut around the experiment yard, skimming the ground so
closely at times that the observers kept a sharp lookout to save their
heads.
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com