Chapter 25 Tom Swift and His Great Oil Gusher by Victor Appleton
VICTORY
Tom was as near despair as he ever permitted himself to be. It looked as though the well was doomed. Even though it was capped, he knew that if it became the center of those devouring flames the steel would melt and the fire come in contact with the oil. And this meant a catastrophe so appalling that none could foresee the consequences.
But it was not in his nature to quit, and he cudgeled his brain desperately to find some way of averting the calamity. Suddenly a thought came to him like an inspiration.
“Come along, Ned. You too, Koku,” he shouted. “Mr. Damon, you keep the men working.” And without waiting for an answer the young inventor started on a run for the Winged Arrow.
Ned and Koku were close on his heels when he reached the giant plane. Fortunately, it was always kept in readiness for instant flight.
“Jump in!” he shouted to his companions, setting the example.
He started the engine and the plane soared into the air and turned its nose toward Copperhead.
“Ned,” he said, “those fire bombs of ours! We shipped a lot of them to Southern cities. Which is the nearest town that has some? Think quickly, old boy.”
Ned caught on to Tom’s idea instantly.
“We sent a lot of them to Dallas,” he replied. “A big shipment went to Wesson and Robbins of that place. No doubt they have some of them on hand.”
“Good!” cried the young inventor. “There’s a flying field on the outskirts of that town. I’ll let you down as near to Copperhead as possible. You rush to the office and get Wesson and Robbins on the long distance ’phone. Tell them to have a dozen of them at the flying field when I get there. I won’t wait for you, but put right out for Dallas on the chance. It’s nearly a hundred miles, but the Winged Arrow will make it in an hour. You hotfoot it back to the farm—get an auto or a horse—and take charge there till I get back. Keep the fire down as much as you can.”
“I’ll do it,” said Ned. “Great head, old boy. Good luck.”
In two minutes more they were close to Copperhead. Tom swooped down, let Ned get out, and then with a whiz and a whirr rose and made for Dallas.
The fire bombs to which Tom referred were of his own invention and had achieved such remarkable results that they had been adopted by fire departments all over the United States. They contained chemicals of which Tom held the secret that were of wonderful efficiency in extinguishing fire. Tom had demonstrated their value on many occasions, notably when he had saved a great office building in a city not far from Shopton by dropping from an airplane the bombs containing the chemicals directly on the apparently doomed building, as narrated in the volume of this series entitled: “Tom Swift Among the Fire Fighters.”
Tom’s mind was a tumult of stormy thoughts. Would Wesson and Robbins have the bombs? Would Ned be able to get his message through in time? Even if these things went smoothly, would he get back before the flames reached the well, making all his efforts go for naught?
But he did not let these thoughts take his mind off the plane. This was vital. If the plane broke down, all hope would be gone.
So he urged and coaxed the plane along, pressing it to the utmost speed he dared. This was a race—a race against fire—a race against time!
Before long he could see the towers and steeples of the city in the distance. He neared it rapidly, straining his eyes to catch sight of the flying field with its white signals for the guidance of airmen.
Yes, there it was, and luckily on this side of the city. He swooped down and made his landing in close proximity to a loaded truck that he guessed might contain the bombs.
As he jumped out and ran toward it, he saw with a thrill of exultation the name of Wesson and Robbins on the truck. Ned had got the message through. Good old Ned!
It was the work of only a few minutes with the aid of Koku and the two burly truckmen to get the bombs transferred to the plane. And Tom blessed his stars that he had brought the big plane South with him instead of one of his smaller airships.
With a hurried word of thanks, Tom jumped into his seat and started on his homeward journey. On the way he instructed Koku to hold himself in readiness to drop the bombs when he should give the word.
In less than an hour, which seemed to him like an eternity, he had passed Copperhead. He had been straining his ears for the sound of an explosion and thanked heaven when it failed to come. But the angry glare that grew more vivid as he approached told him that the fire demon was still trying to get at its prey.
In another minute or two he was circling above the Goby farm. Beneath him he could see men running for cover. He knew that Ned had seen him coming, and had ordered the men to disperse so that they would escape danger from the falling bombs.
He could see the flames eating their way ruthlessly toward the well, and only a few yards away from it. He steadied the airplane as nearly above the flames as possible. Koku was holding one of the bombs in readiness.
“Now!” cried Tom, and the giant dropped the bomb.
It fell about a hundred feet from the well, right in the midst of a seething caldron of flame.
The effect was instantaneous. The fire died out in a twinkling. For a wide area the red turned to black. Even the smoke disappeared and was replaced by a cloud of vapor that was slowly dissipated.
They were too high to hear the cheers that rose from the fire-fighters looking on, but Tom could see them waving their hats and hands and jumping up and down like mad.
Koku held another bomb poised aloft, and again at a signal from Tom he let it fall. It struck in a different place this time, but with the same result. In the vicinity where it struck, the flames went out as though some wizard had turned a switch and extinguished them.
Several times this was repeated until Tom saw that the flames had been definitely conquered. Only little scattered patches were left, and these could easily be put out by hand. The young inventor had won the fight!
Only when he was sure of this did he swoop down to his usual landing place and get out, to be overwhelmed with cheers and handshakings and thumpings by Ned and Mr. Damon and the host of grimy fire-fighters with blackened hands and faces, all of them almost crazy with joy. What little was left to do was quickly done, and before long every spark had been extinguished. The well was saved!
It was a tired but happy group that sat in the living room of the Goby farmhouse that night. Mr. Goby’s face was beaming. Mr. Damon was blessing everything and everybody.
In the kitchen, Koku was boasting of his exploits and Rad was belittling them, the only thing on which they agreed being that although there were some great men in the world, there was none so great as “Marse Tom.”
Suddenly the door of the living room was flung open and a stalwart young fellow rushed in.
Every one looked up, startled by the unceremonious irruption. Carol sprang to her feet with a joyous cry, ran toward the newcomer, and threw her arms about his neck.
“Oh, Father!” she cried, “it’s Hitt! It’s brother! He’s come back to us!”
The blind man tried to rise, but fell back in his chair. The next instant his son and daughter were beside him and he folded them in his arms.
Tom rose, followed by Ned and Mr. Damon, and tiptoed into the adjoining room, leaving the reunited family to themselves.
But they were called back before long, and Tom and Ned were overwhelmed with thanks by Hitt Goby for the way they had rescued him from death.
“And he’s going to stay at home with us now for good,” announced Carol happily.
Probably there was no happier home in Texas that night than the Goby farmhouse. Carol was in the seventh heaven of delight, her father’s face was radiant, Hitt Goby was joyous. The happiness of the others, while perhaps not so rapturous, was not less real.
And Tom among the intervals of talk and laughter was thinking of—Mary. He was counting the hours before he could be back with her and share with her his triumphs.
But before that wished-for moment could be reached, there were many things that imperatively claimed his attention. He had a fortune in his well and in the other leases and purchases he had made in connection with his associates. And there was another fortune, and perhaps a bigger one, in that marvelous drill, whose achievements had so interested the captains of finance that offers for the patent rights were beginning to flow in on him from all directions. The first, and so far the best one, was from the company represented by Mr. Blythe. Some of these things had to be attended to by Tom personally and at once, but whatever was possible he left to Ned and Mr. Damon to adjust.
He had put inquiries on foot to find out the source of the mysterious fire, and one day was apprised by Judge Wilson that Hankinshaw had been arrested. One of the confederates he had employed had been arrested for another offense, and with the hope of getting a lighter sentence had revealed the incendiary plot. Warrants were out also for Thompson and Bragden, but those worthies had already put half a continent between them and their pursuers and had not yet been apprehended. Hankinshaw, however, was less lucky, and some time later was tried and sent to prison for a five-year term.
“That’s one rascal that’s got his deserts,” remarked Tom.
“Not by a jugful!” exclaimed Ned. “He ought to have got twice as much.”
“Bless my lockstep!” snorted Mr. Damon. “They should have sent him up for life.”
“Oh, well, who cares?” Tom summed it up. “The main thing is that he didn’t get away with it. We won out. The whole thing’s been a great adventure.”
The Goby family could not get over what Tom had done for them.
“You’re a friend worth having,” was the way Hitt Goby expressed himself. “If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know where I’d be to-day. Most likely in the cemetery.”
“Oh, perhaps not as bad as that,” returned the young inventor modestly.
“And see what he has done for the whole family!” cried Carol, her eyes sparkling. “Why, this oil is going to make Father rich.”
“It’s making us rich, too,” said Tom.
“But think of what might have happened if we had put ourselves in the hands of those rascals,” came from Mr. Goby. “I tell you, Tom Swift, you are one young man out of a million!”
“The best ever,” murmured Hitt. “I’ll bank on him every time.”
“So will I,” laughed Ned.
Tom could not stand all this praise, so he merely smiled and turned away. Yet it pleased him greatly.
Other adventures are still in store for Tom Swift, but these must be kept for another volume. For the present we will leave him with his great success in making a wonderful improvement in oil-well machinery and bringing in his Great Oil Gusher.
THE END