THE LOST CITY(消失的城市)

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THE LOST CITY

BY JOSEPH E. BADGER, JR.

THE LOST CITY

CHAPTER I.

NATURE IN TRAVAIL.

"I say, professor?"

"Very well, Waldo; proceed."

"Wonder if this isn't a portion of the glorious climate, broken loose

from its native California, and drifting up this way on a lark?"

"If so, said lark must be roasted to a turn," declared the third (and last)

member of that little party, drawing a curved forefinger across his

forehead, then flirting aside sundry drops of moisture. "I can't recall such

another muggy afternoon, and if we were only back in what the scientists

term the cyclone belt--"

"We would be all at sea," quickly interposed the professor, the fingers

of one hand vigorously stirring his gray pompadour, while the other was

lifted in a deprecatory manner. "At sea, literally as well as

metaphorically, my dear Bruno; for, correctly speaking, the ocean alone

can give birth to the cyclone."

"Why can't you remember anything, boy?" sternly cut in the roguish-

eyed youngster, with admonitory forefinger, coming to the front. "How

many times have I told you never to say blue when you mean green?

Why don't you say Kansas zephyr? Or windy-auger? Or twister? Or

whirly-gust on a corkscrew wiggle-waggle? Or--well, almost any other

old thing that you can't think of at the right time? W-h-e-w! Who

mentioned sitting on a snowdrift, and sucking at an icicle? Hot? Well,

now, if this isn't a genuine old cyclone breeder, then I wouldn't ask a cent!"

Waldo Gillespie let his feet slip from beneath him, sitting down with

greater force than grace, back supported against a gnarled juniper,

loosening the clothes at his neck while using his other hand to ply his

crumpled hat as a fan.

Bruno laughed outright at this characteristic anticlimax, while

Professor Featherwit was obliged to smile, even while compelled to

correct.

"Tornado, please, nephew; not cyclone."

"Well, uncle Phaeton, have it your own way. Under either name, I

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fancy the thing-a-ma-jig would kick up a high old bobbery with a man's

political economy should it chance to go bu'st right there!

And, besides, when I was a weenty little fellow I was taught never to

call a man a fool or a liar--"

"Waldo!" sharply warned his brother, turning again.

"So long as I knew myself to be in the wrong," coolly finished the

youngster, face grave, but eyes twinkling, as they turned towards his

mistaken mentor. "What is it, my dear Bruno?"

"There is one thing neither cyclone nor tornado could ever deprive you

of, Kid, and that is--"

"My beauty, wit, and good sense,--thanks, awfully! Nor you, my

dear Bruno, although my inbred politeness forbids my explaining just

why."

There was a queer-sounding chuckle as Professor Featherwit turned

away, busying himself about that rude-built shed and shanty which

sheltered the pride of his brain and the pet of his heart, while Bruno smiled

indulgently as he took a few steps away from those stunted trees in order

to gain a fairer view of the stormy heavens.

Far away towards the northeast, rising above the distant hill, now

showed an ugly-looking cloud-bank which almost certainly portended a

storm of no ordinary dimensions.

Had it first appeared in the opposite quarter of the horizon, Bruno

would have felt a stronger interest in the clouds, knowing as he did that

the miscalled "cyclone" almost invariably finds birth in the southwest.

Then, too, nearly all the other symptoms were noticeable,--the close,

"muggy" atmosphere; the deathlike stillness; the lack of oxygen in the air,

causing one to breathe more rapidly, yet with far less satisfying results

than usual.

Even as Bruno gazed, those heavy cloud-banks changed, both in shape

and in colour, taking on a peculiar greenish lustre which only too

accurately forebodes hail of no ordinary force.

His cry to this effect brought the professor forth from the shed-like

shanty, while Waldo roused up sufficiently to speak:

"To say nothing of yonder formation way out over the salty drink, my

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worthy friends, who intimated that a cyclone was born at sea?"

Professor Featherwit frowned a bit as his keen little rat-like eyes

turned towards that quarter of the heavens; but the frown was not for

Waldo, nor for his slightly irreverent speech.

Where but a few minutes before there had been only a few light clouds

in sight, was now a heavy bank of remarkable shape, its crest a straight

line as though marked by an enormous ruler, while the lower edge was

broken into sharp points and irregular sections, the whole seeming to float

upon a low sea of grayish copper.

"Well, well, that looks ugly, decidedly ugly, I must confess," the wiry

little professor spoke, after that keen scrutiny.

"Really, now?" drawled Waldo, who was nothing if not contrary on the

surface. "Barring a certain little topsy-turvyness which is something out

of the ordinary, I'd call that a charming bit of--Great guns and little

cannon-balls!"

For just then there came a shrieking blast of wind from out the

northeast, bringing upon its wings a brief shower of hail, intermingled

with great drops of rain which pelted all things with scarcely less force

than did those frozen particles.

"Hurrah!" shrilly screamed Waldo, as he dashed out into the storm,

fairly revelling in the sudden change. "Who says this isn't 'way up in G?'

Who says--out of the way, Bruno! Shut that trap-door in your face, so

another fellow may get at least a share of the good things coming straight

down from--ow--wow!"

Through the now driving rain came flashing larger particles, and one

of more than ordinary size rebounded from that curly pate, sending its

owner hurriedly to shelter beneath the scrubby trees, one hand ruefully

rubbing the injured part.

Faster fell the drops, both of rain and of ice, clattering against the

shanty and its adjoining shed with an uproar audible even above the

sullenly rolling peals of heavy thunder.

The rain descended in perfect sheets for a few minutes, while the

hailstones fell thicker and faster, growing in size as the storm raged,

already beginning to lend those red sands a pearly tinge with their dancing

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particles. Now and then an aerial monster would fall, to draw a

wondering cry from the brothers, and on more than one occasion Waldo

risked a cracked crown by dashing forth from shelter to snatch up a

remarkable specimen.

"Talk about your California fruit! what's the matter with good old

Washington Territory?" he cried, tightly clenching one fist and holding a

hailstone alongside by way of comparison. "Look at that, will you?

Isn't it a beauty? See the different shaded rings of white and clear ice.

See--brother, it is as large as my fist!"

But for once Professor Phaeton Featherwit was fairly deaf to the

claims of this, in some respects his favourite nephew, having scuttled back

beneath the shed, where he was busily stowing away sundry articles of

importance into a queerly shaped machine which those rough planks fairly

shielded from the driving storm.

Having performed this duty to his own satisfaction, the professor came

back to where the brothers were standing, viewing with them such of the

storm as could be itemised. That was but little, thanks to the driving rain,

which cut one's vision short at but a few rods, while the deafening peals of

thunder prevented any connected conversation during those first few

minutes.

"Good thing we've got a shelter!" cried Waldo, involuntarily shrinking

as the plank roof was hammered by several mammoth stones of ice.

"One of those chunks of ice would crack a fellow's skull just as easy!"

Yet the next instant he was out in the driving storm, eagerly snatching

at a brace of those frozen marvels, heedless of his own risk or of the

warning shouts sent after him by those cooler-brained comrades.

Thunder crashed in wildest unison with almost blinding sheets of

lightning, the rain and hail falling thicker and heavier than ever for a few

moments; but then, as suddenly as it had come, the storm passed on,

leaving but a few scattered drops to fetch up the rear.

"Isn't that pretty nearly what people call a cloudburst, uncle Phaeton?"

asked Bruno, curiously watching that receding mass of what from their

present standpoint looked like vapour.

"Those wholly ignorant of meteorological phenomena might so

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pronounce, perhaps, but never one who has given the matter either thought

or study," promptly responded the professor, in no wise loth to give a free

lecture, no matter how brief it might be, perforce. "It is merely nature

seeking to restore a disturbed equilibrium; a current of colder air, in search

of a temporary vacuum, caused by--"

"But isn't that just what produces cy--tornadoes, though?" interrupted

Waldo, with scant politeness.

"Precisely, my dear boy," blandly agreed their mentor, rubbing his

hands briskly, while peering through rain-dampened glasses, after that

departing storm. "And I have scarcely a doubt but that a tornado of no

ordinary magnitude will be the final outcome of this remarkable display.

For, as the record will amply prove, the most destructive windstorms are

invariably heralded by a fall of hail, heavy in proportion to the--"

"Then I'd rather be excused, thank you, sir!" again interrupted the

younger of the brothers, shrugging his shoulders as he stepped forth from

shelter to win a fairer view of the space stretching away towards the south

and the west. "I always laughed at tales of hailstones large as hen's eggs,

but now I know better. If I was a hen, and had to match such a pattern as

these, I'd petition the legislature to change my name to that of ostrich,--I

just would, now!"

Bruno proved to be a little more amenable to the law of politeness, and

to him Professor Featherwit confined his sapient remarks for the time

being, giving no slight amount of valuable information anent these strange

phenomena of nature in travail.

He spoke of the different varieties of land-storms, showing how a

tornado varied from a hurricane or a gale, then again brought to the front

the vital difference between a cyclone, as such, and the miscalled

"twister," which has wrought such dire destruction throughout a large

portion of our own land during more recent years.

While that little lecture would make interesting reading for those who

take an interest in such matters, it need scarcely be reproduced in this

connection, more particularly as, just when the professor was getting fairly

warmed up to his work, an interruption came in the shape of a sharp, eager

shout from the lips of Waldo Gillespie.

THE LOST CITY

"Look--look yonder! What a funny looking cloud that is!"

A small clump of trees growing upon a rising bit of ground interfered

with the view of his brother and uncle, for Waldo was pointing almost due

southeast; yet his excitement was so pronounced that both the professor

and Bruno hastened in that direction, stopping short as they caught a fair

sight of the object indicated.

A mighty mass of wildly disturbed clouds, black and green and white

and yellow all blending together and constantly shifting positions, out of

which was suddenly formed a still more ominous shape.

A mass of lurid vapour shot downwards, taking on the general

semblance of a balloon, as it swayed madly back and forth, an elongating

trunk or tongue reaching still nearer the earth, with fierce gyrations, as

though seeking to fasten upon some support.

Not one of that trio had ever before gazed upon just such another

creation, yet one and all recognised the truth,--this was a veritable tornado,

just such as they had read in awed wonder about, time and time again.

Neither one of the brothers Gillespie were cravens, in any sense of the

word, but now their cheeks grew paler, and they seemed to shrink from

yonder airy monster, even while watching it grow into shape and awful

power.

Professor Featherwit was no less absorbed in this wondrous spectacle,

but his was the interest of a scientist, and his pulse beat as ordinary, his

brain remaining as clear and calm as ever.

"I hardly believe we have anything to fear from this tornado, my lads,"

he said, taking note of their uneasiness. "According to both rule and

precedent, yonder tornado will pass to the east of our present position, and

we will be as safe right here as though we were a thousand miles away."

"But,--do they always move towards the northeast, uncle Phaeton?"

"As a rule, yes; but there are exceptions, of course. And unless this

should prove to be one of those rare ex--er--"

"Look!" cried Waldo, with swift gesticulation. "It's coming this way,

or I never--ISN'T it coming this way?"

"Unless this should prove to be one of those rare exceptions, my dear

boy, I can promise you that--Upon my soul!" with an abrupt change of

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both tone and manner, "I really believe it IS coming this way!"

"It is--it is coming! Get a move on, or we'll never know--hunt a hole

and pull it in after you!" fairly screamed Waldo, turning in flight.

THE LOST CITY

CHAPTER II.

PROFESSOR FEATHERWIT TAKING

NOTES.

"To the house!" cried the professor, raising his voice to overcome

yonder sullen roar, which was now beginning to come their way. "Trust

all to the aeromotor, and 'twill be well with us!"

The wiry little man of science himself fell to work with an energy

which told how serious he regarded the emergency, and, acting under his

lead, the brothers manfully played their part.

Just as had been done many times before this day, a queer-looking

machine was shoved out from the shed, gliding along the wooden ways

prepared for that express purpose, while Professor Featherwit hurried

aboard a few articles which past experience warned him might prove of

service in the hours to come, then sharply cried to his nephews:

"Get aboard, lads! Time enough, yet none to spare in idle motions.

See! The storm is drifting our way in deadly earnest!"

And so it seemed, in good sooth.

Now fairly at its dread work of destruction, tearing up the rain

dampened dirt and playing with mighty boulders, tossing them here and

there, as a giant of olden tales might play with jackstones, snapping off

sturdy trees and whipping them to splinters even while hurling them as a

farmer sows his grain.

Just the one brief look at that aerial monster, then both lads hung fast

to the hand-rail of rope, while the professor put that cunning machinery in

motion, causing the air-ship to rise from its ways with a sudden swooping

movement, then soaring upward and onward, in a fair curve, as graceful

and steady as a bird on wing.

All this took some little time, even while the trio were working as men

only can when dear life is at stake; but the flying-machine was afloat and

fairly off upon the most marvellous journey mortals ever accomplished,

and that ere yonder death-balloon could cover half the distance between.

"Grand! Glorious! Magnificent!" fairly exploded the professor,

when he could risk a more comprehensive look, right hand tightly gripping

THE LOST CITY

the polished lever through which he controlled that admirable mechanism.

"I have longed for just such an opportunity, and now--the camera, Bruno!

We must never neglect to improve such a marvellous chance for--get out

the camera, lad!"

"Get out of the road, rather!" bluntly shouted Waldo, face unusually

pale, as he stared at yonder awful force in action. "Of course I'm not

scared, or anything like that, uncle Phaeton, but--I want to rack out o' this

just about the quickest the law allows! Yes, I DO, now!"

"Wonderful! Marvellous! Incredible! That rara avis, an exception

to all exceptions!" declared the professor, more deeply stirred than either

of his nephews had ever seen him before. "A genuine tornado which has

no eastern drift; which heads as directly as possible towards the northwest,

and at the same time--incredible!"

Only ears of his own caught these sentences in their entirety, for now

the storm was fairly bellowing in its might, formed of a variety of sounds

which baffles all description, but which, in itself, was more than sufficient

to chill the blood of even a brave man. Yet, almost as though magnetised

by that frightful force, the professor was holding his air-ship steady,

loitering there in its direct path, rather than fleeing from what surely

would prove utter destruction to man and machine alike.

For a few moments Bruno withstood the temptation, but then leaned

far enough to grasp both hand and tiller, forcing them in the requisite

direction, causing the aeromotor to swing easily around and dart away

almost at right angles to the track of the tornado.

That roar was now as of a thousand heavily laden trains rumbling over

hollow bridges, and the professor could only nod his approval when thus

aroused from the dangerous fascination. Another minute, and the air-ship

was floating towards the rear of the balloon-shaped cloud itself, each

second granting the passengers a varying view of the wonder.

True to the firm hand which set its machinery in motion, the flying-

machine maintained that gentle curve until it swung around well to the

rear of the cloud, where again Professor Featherwit broke out in ecstatic

praises of their marvellous good fortune.

" 'Tis worth a life's ransom, for never until now hath mortal being been

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THELOSTCITY1THELOSTCITYBYJOSEPHE.BADGER,JR.THELOSTCITY2CHAPTERI.NATUREINTRAVAIL."Isay,professor?""Verywell,Waldo;proceed.""Wonderifthisisn'taportionofthegloriousclimate,brokenloosefromitsnativeCalifornia,anddriftingupthiswayonalark?""Ifso,saidlarkmustberoastedtoaturn,"declaredthethird(andlast)member...

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