As he spoke a lad came from the shed to meet him--a lad on whose
face there was a look of suspicion.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I'm lookin' for Tom Swift," was the simple reply. "But I take it
you're one of his partners in this airship business. I guess he must
have told you about me. I'm Abe Abercrombie, the miner, and I've
come to show him the way to that valley of gold in Alaska."

At the mention of Tom Swift's name, Andy Foger, for it was he, had
started to utter a denial. But, at the next words of the miner, and
as Mr. Abercrombie mentioned "gold" and "Alaska," there came a
cunning look over Andy's face.

"Tom Swift isn't here just now," he said, wondering how he could
turn to advantage the unexpected visit, and the impending
information that the guileless old man was about to give under the
mistaken idea that Andy was Tom's friend.

"That's all right, I reckon he'll be along presently. You'll do just
as well, I reckon. You're in partnership with him, I take it. So
this is the place where he makes his airships, eh? It's a big one,"
and Mr. Abercrombie looked in at the odd triplane of Andy's--for the
airship was almost finished.

"But it'll need to be big if we're to go to Alaska in it," went on
the miner. "It's quite a journey t' th' valley where th' gold is. No
way t' get t' it except by an airship. An' here I be an' ready to
start, I've brought th' map of th' place, jest as I promised. Here