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Updated: May 12, 2025
Old Dillon had then gone down to the Turners and asked them to kill the dog, but old Joel had refused. "Whar was Whizzer?" Chad asked, sharply. "You can't axe that question," said the Squire. "Hit's er-er-irrelevant." Daws came next. When he reached the fence upon the hill-side he could see the sheep lying still on the ground.
Wild with rage at this clinging cow-puncher whom he could not dislodge, who stung his sides and head like the hornets in the meadow, Whizzer gathered himself for a mighty leap as he reached the Hog's Back. Like a wire spring released, he shot into the air, shook himself in one last, desperate hope of victory, and, failing, came down with not a joint in his legs and turned a somersault.
"They are real enough people," replied the lad, himself somewhat dazed by the unexpected appearance of the other castaways. "But how why how did they get here?" went on the inventor of the WHIZZER. "As long as they're not cannibals, we're all right," murmured Mr. Damon. "They seem to be persons like ourselves, Tom."
The Dillon father gave possession with a gesture and the Dillon faction, including Whizzer and the giant twins, drew aside together the father morose; Daws watching Dolph and Rube with a look of much meanness; little Tad behind him, watching Chad, his face screwed up with hate; and Whizzer, pretending not to see Jack, but darting a surreptitious glance at him now and then, for then and there was starting a feud that was to run fiercely on, long after the war was done.
For the next three days Tom, and his two friends, spent most of their time in the neighborhood of the pile of machinery and apparatus taken from the wrecked WHIZZER. Mr. Jenks hung around the spot, but a word or two from Mr.
"I'd like to know whar Whizzer is now!" said Chad, and, after, at old Joel's command, he had tied Jack to a bedpost an outrage that puzzled the dog sorely the boy threshed his bed for an hour trying to think out a defence for Jack and wondering if Whizzer might not have been concerned in the death of the sheep.
"Do you think you can make the WHIZZER work, Tom?" asked Mr. Damon, as they were flying high over Philadelphia. "I'm a little dubious about it," was the reply. "But after I make some changes I may have a different opinion. The whole affair is too big and clumsy, that's the trouble; though the electrical part of it is very good."
Nestor. And Tom did. He related how he had set up the dynamo and gasolene engine, and how, by means of the proper coils and other electrical apparatus, all of which, fortunately, was aboard the WHIZZER, he could produce a powerful spark. "I had to make a key out of strips of brass, to produce the Morse characters," the lad said.
"See here you!" said the big Texan. "You talk pretty biggity. It's mighty easy to run a whizzer when you've got the only loaded gun in camp. If I had one damned cartridge left it would be different." "Never mind," said Johnson kindly. "I'll give you one!" Rising, he twirled the cylinder of his gun and extracted his three cartridges.
Once more the WHIZZER shot over the ground, but this time, as she neared the fence, she rose up like a bird, cleared it like a trick horse, and soared off into the air! The WHIZZER was flying! "Hurrah!" cried Mr. Fenwick in delight. "My machine is really flying at last!" "Yes," answered Tom, as he adjusted various levers and gears, "she is going.
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