Chapter XI: In the Air with a Cobra

Both Motor Matt and Le Bon were delighted with the start of the aëroplane.

"She gets better and better," averred Le Bon. "I guess I'll take to flying myself."

While in the air Matt's every faculty of mind and quickness of body were called into action. He had to _feel_ the motion of the air on the huge wings, as communicated to the framework under him, and shift the wing extensions back and forth to meet the varying resistance of air pressure and make it coincide with the centre of gravity. To withdraw his attention for an instant from the work of managing the machine might result in a disaster that would bring destruction to himself and Le Bon. But he had schooled himself to talk while keeping busy with his work.

"Better not try it, Archie," Matt answered. "It's too much of a strain on a fellow's nerves. Are you ready to drop with the trapeze?"

"Whenever you are," was the response.

There was always a jolt when Le Bon's weight reached the ends of the trapeze ropes, and extra care was required in taking care of the _Comet_.

Matt brought the air craft around in a sweeping circle and headed the other way to cover the north and south extent of the grounds. He, likewise, the moment the turn was made, turned the aëroplane upward.

"What's the matter with McGlory?" asked Le Bon, peering down. "He's looking up and waving his arms."

"He wouldn't do that," said Matt, "unless something is wrong. When you get on the trapeze, Archie, look over the under part of the machine and see if you can find anything out of whack. I can't imagine what's gone crosswise, for the aëroplane never behaved better."

Reaching the top of the airy slope, some two hundred feet above ground, Matt pointed the machine earthward.

"Now's your time, Archie," he said to Le Bon.

The athlete stood erect, firmly clutching the trapeze bar, and dived out into space. Swiftly Matt brought the craft to an even keel, just as the whole fabric fluttered under the jolt. In a twinkling the _Comet_ righted herself, and Le Bon was left swinging on his frail bar, a hundred and fifty feet above the show grounds. His position under the machine was such that Matt could not see him.

"All right, Archie?" shouted Matt, keeping his eyes ahead and manipulating his levers incessantly.

"Right as a trivet," came up from below. "McGlory is still throwing himself around down there."

"Do you see anything wrong with the machine?"

"Not a thing. What's that bag hanging under the wing for?"

"Is there a bag there?"

"Yes, a canvas bag. There are letters on it. Wait, and I'll read them."

There followed a silence during which, supposedly, Le Bon was spelling out the letters.

"'Burton's Big Consolidated Shows'," went on Le Bon. "That's what's printed on the bag, Matt."

"Great spark-plugs!" exclaimed Matt. "Anything in the bag, Archie?"

"It's as limp as a rag and looks to be empty. How did it get there?"

"Give it up. If it's empty, I don't see how it can do any harm. I don't like the thoughts of the thing, though, and we're not going to remain up as long as usual. Get busy with your work."

Renewed cheering greeted the daring feats performed on the trapeze by Le Bon. In the midst of it the motor missed fire and died altogether. The slowing rotations of the propeller caused the _Comet_ to glide earthward. A terrified yell broke from Le Bon.

"What's the matter, up there?"

"Keep your nerve," flung back the king of the motor boys; "something's wrong with the motor--but we'll be all right."

Yes, Matt knew that the aëroplane would glide earthward and land him and Le Bon without injury; but, if it could not be guided, it was as likely to land on the heads of that dense crowd as anywhere. That would mean serious, if not fatal, injury to many men--perhaps to women and children.

Motor Matt's face went white, and his heart pounded in his throat. Nevertheless he kept a cool head and a steady hand.

He figured out the exact point where they would come down. It was in the very thickest part of the crowd, and the people were trying frantically to get out of the way.

Then, just as it seemed as though nothing could prevent a terrible accident, the motor again took up its cycle and the slowly whirling propeller increased its speed.

A long breath of relief escaped Matt's tense lips as he drove the aëroplane upward and the direction of the roped-off road.

"What ails the blooming motor?" came from Le Bon in a distraught voice. "We came within one of killing a lot of people. I'm all in a sweat."

"I don't know what's the matter with the motor," answered Matt, "but I'm going to find out just as soon as I turn to go back on the course."

"Better descend. This is more than I can stand."

"We can't descend until we reach the right place."

Matt made a wide turn, the engine working perfectly.

"Hold on tight, below there," he called. "I've got to take my attention from running the motor for a moment, and if we give a wild pitch or two don't be afraid. I'll be able to keep the machine right side up."

"I'm pretty near all in," came from Le Bon in a subdued voice, "but it would take an axe to chop me off this trapeze."

Matt gave a quick look behind him. What he saw nearly froze him with horror.

A cobra--undoubtedly the very snake he had seen in the calliope tent--was twined about two of the electric wires.

The wires, as originally strung, were an inch and a half apart, and insulated. The coils of the six-foot cobra encircled both. As the coils contracted the wires were forced together, and two points of the copper, where the insulating material was worn off, were brought in contact. Thus a short circuit was formed and a bad leak made for the electricity.

At the moment Matt looked the coils of the cobra had loosened, causing the tightly strung wires to spring a little apart, thus restoring the spark to the cylinders. But at any moment the coils might tighten again and cause another short circuit.

As though to crown the terrors of the moment, the cobra's head was lifted from the wires by a third of the anterior length of its body--a favorite position assumed by the cobra in gliding along the earth--and the diamond-like eyes were fastened upon Matt with deadly animosity.

Motor Matt's one thought was this: If he were bitten by the snake before he had manipulated a safe landing, the swift working of the virus in his veins would keep him from doing his duty in preventing injury to the spectators below.

With white face and gleaming eyes, he turned from the cobra and manoeuvred to place the aëroplane lengthwise of the roped-off space on the ground.

Before he could place the machine in proper position the motor again commenced to miss fire, and then died all over again. A groan was wrenched from Matt's lips as the machine fluttered downward toward the massed human heads underneath. The groan was echoed by Le Bon.

"We're dropping toward them again!" yelled the man below.

Matt turned in his seat, letting the aëroplane take care of itself. Throwing himself back, he caught at the hooded brown head with his hand.

There was a dart, quick as lightning, and Matt's wrist was touched as though by a hot coal. With a loud cry he flung his arm forward, dragging the full length of the cobra from the wires.

For the fraction of an instant the snake hung in midair, then yielded to the impetus of the arm to which it held and coiled sinuously outward and downward into space.

The motor had again resumed its work, but the _Comet_ hung at a frightful angle and was dropping like so much lead, the atmosphere striking the planes almost on their edges.

Matt was calm, now, and cool as ever. He went to work at the levers, righted the machine within fifteen feet of the bobbing heads, and sent it upward into the air. He was alone, for Le Bon, when so close to the ground, had dropped. In fact, owing to the length of the trapeze ropes, Le Bon's feet had almost swept the heads of the terrified spectators.

Steadily upward climbed the machine.

Every moment was precious to the king of the motor boys, for if he was to receive medical aid to counteract the bite of the reptile, it could not be long deferred.

But what was the use of indulging in hope?

He had been bitten by the cobra, and the lecturer in the museum had declared that a person so injured could not hope.

Vaguely Matt wondered why the poison in his veins had not already rushed to his brain and paralyzed him into inaction. He was feeling as strong as ever, and as able to effect a safe landing without danger to the people on the show grounds.

That was the thing he had set out to accomplish, and it was the thing he would do.

Freed of Le Bon's weight, the _Comet_ was more manageable.

With steady hand and cool, unshaken judgment, he laid the _Comet_ parallel with the road, glided downward with a rush, shut off the power, and touched the hard ground squarely between the guard ropes.

The jar of the landing was hardly perceptible, and Matt stepped out of the car, to be grabbed by McGlory and to see Burton, dismounted and anxious, at his side.

"The cobra----" began Matt.

"Killed," struck in Burton.

"Did it bite any one in the crowd?"

"No; every one was out of the way, and the fall itself nearly did the business for the reptile."

"Then get a doctor for me," said Matt, showing a trickle of blood on his wrist. "That's the cobra's mark."