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HIGHLANDER IN HER BED
RAVENSCRAIG LEGACY SERIES
BOOK 1
SUE-ELLEN WELFONDER
All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital,
including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the
publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Sue-Ellen Welfonder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.
© Copyright 2006 by Sue-Ellen Welfonder/Allie Mackay
E-book Edition Copyright 2023 by Sue-Ellen Welfonder/Allie Mackay

Published by Oliver-Heber Books

0987654321
Created with Vellum
 CONTENTS

Acknowledgments
A Personal Note to Readers…

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue

Author’s Note
About the Author
Also by Sue-Ellen Welfonder
 PRAISE FOR HIGHLANDER IN HER BED

“Fun! A sexy, humor-filled romance!” ~ Fresh Fiction

“Sizzles with passion. For those looking for something out of the ordinary, grab HIGHLANDER IN
HER BED.” ~ Romance Reviews Today

“A whimsical read that will have you panting from start to finish! Red-hot chemistry ignites from the
moment Sir Alex and Mara meet.” ~ A Romance Review

“Humorous and heart-pulling! Two people who find each other across time and came to find that real
love and a little magic can conquer all.” ~ Bookworm2bookworm

“A yummy paranormal romp!” ~ Angela Knight, New York Times Bestselling Author

“Delightful! Compelling, fun, and sexy.” ~ Romantic Times Magazine

“A superb paranormal romance.” ~ Midwest Book Review

 PRAISE FOR SUE-ELLEN AND ALLIE

“Allie Mackay pens stories that sparkle.” ~ Angela Knight, USA Today bestselling author

“Mackay writes delightful paranormal romance.” ~ Romantic Times

“Artfully blending past and present, Mackay pens well-written, entertaining reads.” ~ Fresh Fiction

“Allie Mackay knows what a Scottish romance novel needs and socks it to you!” ~ A Romance
Review

“I would follow Allie Mackay’s hot Scots anywhere!” ~ Vicki Lewis Thompson, New York Times
bestselling author

“Allie Mackay brings Scotland to life for her readers.” ~ Romance Junkies

“If you want a fun and passionate ghost romance, look for further than Allie Mackay!” ~ Sapphire
Romance Realm
With much love for Pat Cody and Karen Stevens, sister authors, the greatest of travel companions,
and fellow paranormal enthusiasts. You are dear friends of immeasurable worth and I wouldn’t
want to explore haunted places with anyone else. For all the ghosting good times we’ve enjoyed
stateside and across the Pond – I thank you with all my heart.
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book was originally published by Penguin NAL. Thanks to the readers and reviewers who loved
this book when it first released. Your enthusiasm meant so much to me. I hope you’ll enjoy the story
anew.
Love and appreciation to my handsome husband, Manfred, for his support and unflagging
enthusiasm, and my late Jack Russell terrier, Em. He was spoiled beyond measure and rightly so.
These days my writer cat Snuggles rules my world.
 A PERSONAL NOTE TO READERS…

Please note this is a work of fiction and not meant to reflect cold, hard reality. The following pages
contain elements of fantasy such as ghosts and curses, legend, myth and magic, time-travel, etc. A
suspension of belief is therefore required. Likewise, this story was originally penned in a time
without things I sometimes view as modern inconveniences. So you’ll come across reminders of those
days such a hotel desk clerk having a called-in message for a guest, travel alarm clocks, no smart
phones, etc. Sure, I could have added those bits, but I chose to leave the story in the slower-paced
world it was born in. As this is a romance novel, there is also explicit sex. As a romance novel
written by me, it does not contain the F-word or other profanity. Above all, this story is filled with
love for Scotland. There’s also a side-trip to London in the beginning. Some London locations are
loosely based on favorite places. The real world won’t be found in this book’s pages, only a
reflection of how I wish the world could be. I hope you’ll enjoy spending time there.

Wishing you Highland magic,

Sue-Ellen Welfonder
“Few women can resist a Scotsman. No woman can resist a Highlander.”

~ A truth known by every female living.

PROLOGUE
 WEST HIGHLANDS, NEAR OBAN, 1312

H e’d Would
known not to trust MacDougalls.
that he’d calculated their number.
Now, in the gut of a deep ravine, the most harrowing way into their benighted territory, Sir
Alexander Douglas and his entire array faced their respective ends.
They were caught in the thickest of fighting, surrounded by dying, cursing men and screaming,
frightened horses. Their fate stood clear. Sealed by both ill fortune and poor judgment. Alex’s surety
that none would suspect he’d choose such an ambush-prone defile as his path.
That, and the honor that forbade him to refuse a king’s orders.
Furious, he swung his horse round, his blade arcing without cease, run red with blood. And still it
wasn’t enough. Trapped indeed, he cursed every MacDougall to come at him, cutting down as many
as he could, and glaring at the steep-sided gorge that had so quickly become a whirling turmoil of
death and destruction.
On and on they came. An endless torrent of MacDougalls, streaming out from every hidden
crevice and surging down the braeside in a savage, killing flood the likes of which he’d never seen.
His men were every bit as fierce, but even superbly-armed and skilled, they didn’t stand a chance.
In only a few chaotic moments, a journey that should have held such promise came to a dizzying,
brutal end. All around him, his entourage lay smashed and shattered, the lot of them unable to
withstand the crushing ferocity of hurtled boulders, the MacDougalls’ wild, downhill charge.
Those who yet stood or sought to fight from the backs of their steeds, knew well who’d won the
day.
Then, from the midst of the sword-swinging clangor, a proud-faced MacDougall came spurring to
within a few yards of Alex, a handful of hot-eyed, pike-bearing clansmen close at his heels.
“Hah, Douglas! I greet you!” the man called, his eyes flashing scorn. “’Tis a fine day to die, is it
not?”
“You do your line no service, Sir Colin,” Alex shot back, recognizing the man from the bargaining
table that had brought him to this wretched pass. “Rather death than to see my name sullied as you
have now soiled yours.”
Coldly arrogant, the MacDougall flicked a glance at Alex’s sword, his sneer indicating without
words that he’d not missed that the great brand’s tip had snapped off.
“Drop your blade, man. It’s now as useless as your life,” he scoffed, nodding approval when his
henchmen advanced on Alex, pike-shafts lowered, swords at the ready. “A pity you didn’t know
better than to come riding hotfoot into our territory.”
 Tight-lipped, Alex scowled defiance. They could slice him to ribbons before he’d reveal he’d
known indeed. It was his king, the good Robert Bruce, who’d hoped for the MacDougalls’ honor. A
forgiving monarch, he’d trusted the querulous clan to grip a hand extended in peace and put an end to
the long-running feud between the two great houses.
“Your error in judgment has cost your men’s lives,” Colin taunted him. “Your own as well.”
“You shall suffer for your treachery, that I promise you!” Alex jerked, well aware of the growing
silence and its foul portent.
There would be no winning away, no unexpected turning of his fortune, and, all the gods as his
witness, no yielding, either.
A Douglas stood until he fell.
“’Tis you who shall regret!” One of the lance bearers urged his horse closer, jabbed his spear tip
into Alex’s thigh.
Ignoring the pain, Alex focused on their leader, meeting Colin’s glare with a scalding stare of his
own. A circular ruby brooch gleamed at the man’s shoulder, its glittering gemstones the same deep red
as the stain spreading down Alex’s leg.
“With such fine plunder lying about, I dinnae think we’ll suffer much.” Colin gestured at the
blood-soaked hillside, the deep ravine now littered with the corpses of Alex’s men, the shattered
remnants of his baggage train. “Aye, right good pickings.”
Alex bristled, swallowed the bile in his throat. “Too good for the likes of you.”
Already men scavenged, bands of them moving amongst the fallen to search for spoils worth
harvesting. Rich booty indeed, much of it gleaned from the unwieldy cargo Alex had insisted on
bringing despite the perilous journey.
The greatest prize, a magnificently carved four-poster bed, carefully dismantled for the journey
and packed with all its luxuriant trappings.
His wedding gift to a bride he’d never see.
A token offering of goodwill for a wife he hadn’t wanted but had given his oath to claim.
Gall near choking him, he flung away his tipless sword and made to hurl himself upon the
MacDougall. He ached to curl his hands around the fiend’s neck, but a ringed phalanx of steel-headed
pikes stopped him. In particular, the one pressing into the hollow of his throat.
He drew himself as upright as the thrusting spearheads allowed. “Your Lady Isobel sought this
union,” he called, his voice hard, anger burning hot within him. “She wished to see your house in the
king’s good graces.”
The men encircling him smirked.
“Say you?” Colin raised his brows. “’Twas her father who favored such an alliance and he, God
rest his soul, is no more. Truth is, Lady Isobel has been sweet on me since we were both in
swaddling. She sent us to intercept you.”
The back of his neck blazing, Alex fought to keep his wits. A near impossibility with the twisted
body of his youngest squire sprawled not far from the MacDougall’s feet, the poor lad’s eyes staring
unblinking at the sky.
Others of his retinue lay nearby, some heaped in mounds, all equally still. Good and proud men,
slain in their dozens.
Alex shuddered, his stomach churning. “King Robert will see you swinging from the nearest
gibbet,” he swore, his voice sharp enough to cut granite. “Every last one of you.”
Colin gave an exaggerated shrug. “That remains to be seen, but I think no’. See here, this is the
Bloodstone of Dalriada,” he boasted, rubbing his knuckles over the brooch at his shoulder. “A sacred
relic passed down from Kenneth MacAlpin, first King of Scots, and wrest from your own Bruce’s
cloak in a struggle at Dalrigh. Its possession is the pride of all MacDougalls.”
Alex narrowed his eyes, his gorge rising. “I have no interest in your brooch, however it came into
your hands.”
“Och, but you should.” The other’s lip curled with malice. “With you dead and no witnesses to
naesay us, we will claim you absconded with the Bloodstone of Dalriada on the eve of your wedding.
Not even your upstart king will avenge a man who’d so shame his bride.”
“The gods’ curse on you!” Alex roared, knowing the truth of the craven’s words.
Colin barked a mirthless laugh, waved a hand at the growing pile of plunder. “Ahhh, Lady Isobel
will be mightily pleased with your bride gifts,” he jeered, a wolfish smile spreading across his face.
“Yon bridal bed looks to be a fine piece. We shall use it well.”
“You will not spend a single night in my bed,” Alex hissed, rage surging in his chest. “Not in
bliss. That I swear on my mother’s grave.”
Unfazed, Colin removed his brooch and tossed it to Alex. “Something better than a light-skirted
bitch to swear upon.”
His fury now white-hot, Alex snarled, “Were you man enough to fight me one on one, I’d tear out
your tongue for that, MacDougall.”
“The Bloodstone of Dalriada is magical,” Colin declared, clearly enjoying himself. “Some say it
contains the blood of Saint Columba. Others swear the brooch came to MacAlpin by way of the fey
ones. Faery folk, who promised to grant the bearer three wishes so long as a year and a day passed
between summons.”
Alex stared hard at the man he knew to be his murderer. A red haze clouded his vision and his
fingers clasped so fiercely around the brooch, its pin sank deep into his palm.
Colin rumbled on, his tone almost jovial, “If the tradition is true, you might attempt a last wish of
your own.”
“I’ll see you in hell first,” Alex growled, struggling against the men forcing him to the ground. But
all his might and anger proved no match for the jabbing spearheads.
“Devils,” he seethed, casting a furious look around him. “You’ll not get away with this.”
“Some would say we already have.” Colin raised his sword. “I shall pray for your soul before I
take Isobel to your bed this night.”
“You will rue the hour you e’er laid eyes on my bed,” Alex vowed, glaring at his death. “I shall
haunt you and your issue until the end of all days, that I swear.”
“We will see,” Colin said, and took a swinging blow.
“Bluidy MacDougall bast--” Alex began, before sinking down beneath a hail of flashing steel, his
last mortal words forever silenced.
His curse on the MacDougalls etched onto eternity.
1
 LONDON, THE PRESENT

B luidyMara
MacDougall bastards.
McDougall jumped at the angrily voiced slur. Her pulse racing, she spun around, and
saw no one. Nothing but clutter and dust stared back at her. A musty shop room brimming with other
people’s castoffs, each supposed treasure silent as the grave.
Yet she would’ve sworn someone had snarled the words just behind her ear.
A masculine someone with a very deep voice.
A voice with a rich, curl-a-girl’s-toes accent she couldn’t quite place.
Pressing a hand to her breast, she strove for calm. Hopefully she wasn’t becoming as unhinged as
the characters she’d been escorting all over the English countryside for the past two weeks.
The longest fourteen days of her life.
With a fortitude she hadn’t known she possessed, she’d herded the group of would-be ghost
hunters through more castles, stately homes, and supposedly haunted pubs than she could count. She’d
sat through nonsensical discussions about cold spots, gray ladies, and things that go bump in the night.
For the sake of her business, she’d even feigned interest.
Now she was hearing voices that weren’t there.
Her preciously seized alone time was rapidly deteriorating. And even though this particular trip
had landed her one-man touring company, Exclusive Excursions, a handsome profit, enough was
enough.
This was not amusing.
She had neither the time nor inclination to start hearing things, and if her current clients posed a
sampling of the kind of people who did, she didn’t want any part of such dubious capabilities.
Shuddering, she became aware of the faint throbbing of an approaching headache and reached to
rub her forehead. Soon, she’d part company with the ghost-busters. One more day, a too-long plane
ride across the Atlantic, and she’d never have to see them again, wouldn’t have to listen to any more
of their outlandish stories.
Still, the real-sounding slur had her peering into every corner of the dimly lit back room of
Dimbleby’s Antique and Curio Shoppe.
A simple precautionary measure, just to be certain that nothing but disorder and a few very good
dust-covered pieces shared the room with her. Satisfied she’d scrutinized every possible hidey-hole,
she turned her attention back to the unusual four-poster bed she’d been examining.
Never in all her travels had she seen anything as remarkable. Fashioned of fine old oak, smooth
and blackened by age, the bed’s sheer presence dominated the room.
 It had to be old, really ancient.
Drawing an awed breath, she trailed her fingertips down one of the richly carved posts. Cool and
satiny to the touch, the feel of the aged wood sent a tremor of excitement rippling through her.
How many centuries had it taken to create such a patina? Whose skilled hands had so lovingly
crafted the intricate design of thistles and oak leaves adorning the bed’s massive headboard and
ceiling?
She sighed, a wistful smile curving her lips. Who had been born, died, or made love, in such a
regal bed? The possibilities were as endless as her imagination.
“Magnificent, hmmm?”
Once more, Mara jumped, her eyes flying wide. For the second time that day, a chill sped down
her spine. But this time the male voice behind her didn’t sound angry.
And certainly not as smooth and deep.
Merely very English, and overlaid with the slight touch of superiority inherent to some antique
shop owners.
Straightening, Mara took a deep breath and squelched the flare of self-consciousness such haughty
individuals sometimes roused in her.
Then she turned around and her flash of insecurity slid away.
The highly cultured voice belonged to a rather nondescript man somewhere in his fifties. Of slight
build, he wore a rumpled suit of light gray and had carefully combed his thinning hair across a bald
spot on the top of his head.
And even though he was standing erect as if he’d swallowed a broom, Mara topped him by a
good three inches.
For once glad of her height, she nodded agreement. “Yes, it is amazing. I’ve never seen anything
like it.” She glanced at the bed. “Is it Tudor?”
The man rubbed his chin. “Could be, but I suspect it is much older, perhaps fourteenth century. I
wouldn’t be surprised if it dates back even earlier. It’s most unique, the finest piece of medieval
furniture you’ll find outside a museum.”
He studied her with sharp blue eyes. “I’m afraid it’s quite dear.”
“Oh, I don’t want to buy it,” Mara said, wishing she could. “I was just admiring it. Do you know
its history?”
“Only what I can surmise, Miss...?”
“McDougall. Mara McDou--” A resounding crash snatched her words, the loud bang
reverberating through the room and jarring the glass and porcelain antiques.
Mara froze. Her nerves sprang to life again, and icy little prickles broke out all over her. She
looked at the Englishman, but he appeared totally unperturbed.
“It’s only the window.” He indicated a milky double-hung affair across the room. “It’s a bit dodgy
and sometimes slams down on its own,” he added, arching a brow at her. “I trust it didn’t alarm you?”
“No-o-o, not at all,” Mara blurted, not about to admit the noise had set her reeling.
Rubbing her arms, she regretted not wearing a sweater. A jumper as the Brits would say. Mercy,
of a sudden, she was freezing. Enough that she could hardly believe her teeth weren’t chattering.
She hoped she hadn’t caught Nellie Hathaway’s cold. The ghost-hunting bookkeeper from
Pittsburgh had been sneezing without cease ever since they’d spent the night in a cemetery outside
Exeter.
“It’s a bit cold in here,” she said, still trying to rub away her gooseflesh.
“Cold?” The man gave her a quizzical look. “But it’s quite stuffy, my dear.” As if to prove it, he
produced a white linen handkerchief and dabbed at his brow. “Word is, this is the hottest June we’ve
had in decades.”
Mara bit her tongue. Something was seriously wrong. It was so cold she could hardly think
straight. Only an Eskimo would consider the room even halfway warm.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man was saying, clearly oblivious to her discomfort.
“Donald Dimbleby, proprietor, at your service. It is a pleasure to see a young American interested in
antiques.”
Mara blinked, determined to focus on him and not the room’s iciness. “A lot of Americans like
antiques.”
Donald Dimbleby sniffed. “Ah, but are they interested in a piece’s origin and history or merely
wanting a quaint bit of Merry Olde to take home with them?”
“I couldn’t take home this bed even if I could afford it. I’d have no place to put it,” Mara said,
thinking of her minuscule Philadelphia apartment.
The massive bed wouldn’t fit into her living room and bedroom combined - even if she threw out
everything else to make room for it. A pang of pointless regret shot through her at the thought, but she
shoved it aside and smoothed her hand along the bedpost again.
To her surprise, it now felt warm beneath her touch.
Slightly heated, and somehow charged, as if a strong electrical current sizzled and leapt beneath
the wood’s smooth surface.
“You don’t know the bed’s history?” She glanced at the proprietor, her fingers tingling.
“Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to trace its origin. A great pity, as I am certain it has a
fascinating background.” He pulled a pair of glasses from his pocket and donned them before moving
to the elaborately-carved headboard.
“Take a look at this.” He touched a finger to the graceful swirls of decorative leaves. “These are
oak leaves. They represent valor. Such symbols were chosen with great care because the qualities
depicted were directly related to the bearer. Therefore, we can assume the bed belonged to a baronial
family or perhaps a knight.”
A knight. Mara’s heart jolted, the very word setting her insides aflutter. “You can tell that by the
design?”
A pleased blush colored Mr. Dimbleby’s face. “Heraldry is a hobby of mine.” He turned a
speculative eye on the headboard. “Now, the thistles might mean the bed came from--”
“Scotland?” Mara supplied, certain of it.
After all, her genealogy-obsessed father had embarrassed her often enough by filling their modest
suburban home with plaid and thistles, even once bribing her with a spring break trip to Fort
Lauderdale if she’d stencil thistle borders around the bathroom ceiling.
The proprietor lowered his glasses a notch and looked at her over the rims. “Quite right,” he
agreed. “The thistle represents Scotland. But even though I acquired the bed at an Edinburgh antique
show, I tend to believe it has its origins in England.”
Mara ran a finger across one of the oak leaves. “Why? Because the oak is associated with
England?”
That, too, she knew. From her passion for medieval history and also from having escorted so
many tours through English country manors.
But Donald Dimbleby shook his head. “Could be, but I would say because of the bed’s fine
craftsmanship.” His voice took on a slight edge of condescension. “Nothing against our northern
neighbors, but in those days, I’m afraid the English would have been far more advanced in creating
such pieces. For instance, this bed can be completely dismantled and put back together with
surprising ease. The Scots would not have been so skilled at that time.”
“My ancestors came from Scotland,” Mara said, and a blast of Arctic air hit her full in the face.
“I’ve never been there, though.”
Mr. Dimbleby gave her an indulgent smile. “With a name like McDougall and hair such a lovely
shade of copper, I’d already guessed you’d have Scottish roots. I--” He broke off at the shrill of a
telephone.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he said, already disappearing through an opened door on the far side of the
room, which he closed firmly behind him.
Left alone, Mara turned back to the bed.
It fascinated her. Grasping one of the posts with both hands, she rested her cheek against its
solidity and closed her eyes, tried to envision the bed as it must have been centuries ago.
Blessed with a vivid imagination, she soon conjured a dashing knight in a mailed hauberk
carrying a fair-haired maiden up a winding turret stair, then gently lowering her onto the sumptuously-
dressed bed.
What would happen then would be the stuff of dreams, perhaps even legend. She could see the
knight undress his lady, pictured him admiring her nakedness. He’d touch her in ways that would
cause beautiful warmth and tingly pleasure to gather at her center. Then he’d disrobe as well, pulling
her hard against him, kissing her with so much heated passion…
How she would’ve loved being such a gallant’s lady.
Such a bed would be perfect for medieval lovers.
Those long-ago days were gone, but the four-poster had lived on and she could almost feel its
heartbeat beneath her fingers. A pulse or remnant of distant times, and that was a connection she found
positively scintillating.
Chill bumps rose on her arms again, but this time her shivers had nothing to do with the cold.
These were delicious shivers, accompanied by a quickening of her breath and hot little rushes of
delight. To a lover of old things, such as she was, almost orgasmic.
She didn’t need designer shoes or the latest ‘in’ purse.
Antiques did it for her, the past exciting her more than anything the modern age had to offer.
She drew a tight breath, absorbing the knight-and-his-lady dream she’d spun.
If only she’d lived in the age of romance and chivalry.
Instead, she was Mara luckless-in-love McDougall, fated to run a business that, at times, stretched
her nerves, just so she could catch occasional whiffs and glimpses of the long-ago world that so
fascinated her.
She let out a heavy sigh. Like it or not, she lived in the here and now. And if she wanted to see
England again after this trip, she’d better not indulge in flights of fancy. A combination of hard work
and creativity had allowed her to build Exclusive Excursions into a semi-thriving business.
Not mooning over what ifs and might have beens.
Somehow she’d survive this last evening of playing mother hen to the proud cardholders of the
Society of Intrepid Ghost Hunters. And, as always, she’d pass the months until the next tour with a
flurry of industrious advertising and planning. Then, before she knew it, she’d be back on the next
London-bound plane.
Little else mattered.
With a twinge of regret, she pushed away from the bedpost. She had just enough time to catch the
Tube to Victoria Station, dash the few blocks to her bed-and-breakfast, then ready herself for the
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Fig. 1
Fig. 2
Fig. 3
Fig. 4
Fig. 5
Fig. 6
This Interesting Model Cableway was Built by a
Boy for Play and Experimental Purposes: The
Principle by Which the Weight of the Car is
Compensated in Single and Multiple Systems is
Indicated in the Diagrams Above. Cars Propelled
by Sail Rigging or by a Small Battery Motor may
Also be Used

A model of the compensated cableway, as shown in the page

plate, or on a smaller scale, may be made by a boy of fair
mechanical skill. For experimental purposes the detail may, of
course, be refined to a high grade of workmanship, if desired. The
size and dimensions of the parts need not be proportioned precisely
as shown, but may depend more or less upon the materials
available. The track cable should be made of galvanized-iron wire,
the compensating cable of fishline, and the towers of 1-in. stuff, the
width of the pieces making up the A-frames being increased in
proportion to the height. Grooved pulley wheels, set in housings
fixed to the top of the A-frames, carry the compensating cable.
These may be made of wood, built up in three sections, to provide a
flange on each side of the cable groove. The A-frames should be
joined strongly at the top, and braced to anchors, sunk into the
ground as shown. The hooks from which the track cable is
suspended are made of heavy wire, bent so as not to interfere with
the H-frame hanger supporting the car, and looped around the cable.
Various types of hangers may be devised to house the two pulley
wheels which ride on the track cable. A simple H-frame hanger is
shown in the detail sketch in the page plate. The grooved pulley
wheels are set on bolts, and a heavy wire is bent and set through the
center block as a support for the car. For experimental purposes, or
even for play, when it is not desired to make a more elaborate car, a
wooden block or other object of sufficient weight may be used as a
load. An interesting feature of the work, especially for a boy, is to
devise a realistic coach model, as suggested in the sketch. A
wooden block forms the base, and the roof and platforms are made
of sheet metal. The windows and doors are painted on the metal.
The inventive boy may, of course, build a car with a hollow metal or
wooden body, and weight it properly to provide the necessary load.
The motive power is provided by means of a cord, or traction
cable, carried around two large grooved pulleys, mounted in
supports fixed to the landing stages at each end of the cableway.
They are made of wood, a suitable groove being cut around the
edge with a saw, and smoothed with a small round file, or sandpaper
wrapped over a round rod. The traction pulley is turned by means of
a crank, set on the bolt which is used as an axle. The traction cable
must be drawn sufficiently taut to provide the necessary pressure on
the grooved pulleys, or it will slip. Rosin applied to the pulleys and
the cable will tend to prevent this.
 Fig. 7
The Car is Propelled by the Wind Action on a Sail Controlled Like the
Main Sheet of a Sailboat in Tacking. The Trigger Device Releases the
Sail, Reversing the Course of the Car

If the frames and other fittings have been properly set up, the
cableway will support a sail car, shown in Fig. 7, or a two-cell electric
car, driven by a small motor, as shown in Fig. 8. The sailing-car
arrangement is often feasible, since a stiff breeze is common in
gorges, cañons, narrow valleys, or even in ravines where such a
cableway might be set up. The hanger is an H-frame having the
grooved pulleys bolted in it, and further reinforced by small blocks at
the ends. A braced frame, supporting a deck on which a mast is set,
is suspended from the hanger by four curved wires, as shown in the
side view, Fig. 7. A sail with boom and gaff is supported by the mast.
It is arranged to be shifted around the mast, which is accomplished
automatically at the end of a run, or “tack,” by means of the trigger
device shown in the top view. The sail is controlled in relation to the
wind much as is the main sheet of a sailboat. The car can be
operated in this manner only at right angles to the direction of the
wind, or nearly so. For play purposes, a boy stationed at each end of
the cableway can shift the sail, but the trigger device shown makes
this unnecessary. A rubber band is attached to the boom, as
indicated in the top view, and a cord and wire are arranged to
engage a trigger. A stop for the trigger is fixed to the A-frame so that
it is sprung when the car reaches the end of the run. The rubber
band reverses the sail, the car having been set on the cable
originally so that the forward end is in proper relation to the wind.
Fig. 8
 The Electric Car Is Self-Contained and may be Reversed Automatically,
if the Motor Is of the Reversible Type, by Contact of the Lever with the
Stop Fixed to the A-Frame

The electric car is especially interesting in that it provides self-

contained motive power by means of a battery of dry cells, and a
motor belted to the hanger, as shown in Fig. 8. The hanger is of the
H-frame type with heavy blocks between the sidepieces to provide
for the small grooved driving pulley set on the axle of one of the
larger pulleys. A wooden deck, supported by four heavy wires set
into the center block of the hanger, carries the motor, and the dry
cells are fixed under it. The motor is of the small reversible battery
type, and should be provided with a reversing lever. This will make it
possible to reverse the car when it reaches the end of its course.
The motor and cells should be disposed so as to balance, tests
being made for this purpose before setting them in place finally. A
cord or small leather belt connects the drive pulley of the motor with
the proper pulley on the hanger. These pulleys should be in line, and
that on the hanger should be five times the diameter of the one on
the motor shaft. The power is shut off at the end of the course by a
shut-off switch which strikes a stop crank attached to the A-frame.
When the reversing lever and stop are used, the stop crank is
unnecessary. A nonreversing motor can be made to drive the car in
a reverse direction by removing the belt from the motor pulley and
replacing it to make a figure-eight twist.

¶When babbitt metal is heated some of the tin and antimony in it is

burned out, making it unsuited for use in machinery bearings, and
similar purposes, after several heatings. The oxidation of the metal is
indicated by the formation of a scum on the surface.
 A Miniature Fighting
Tank
That Hurdles Trenches
By EDWARD R. SMITH

Among the engines of war in action on land, probably none has

created greater interest than the now famous “fighting tank,”
which, according to reports, pours out missiles of destruction on the
enemy from armored turrets, and crawls over trenches, shell craters,
and similar obstructions, like a fabled giant creature of prehistoric
ages. The tank described in this article, while not as deadly as those
on the battle fields of Europe, performs remarkable feats of hurdling
trenches, and crawling over obstructions, large in proportion to its
size. The model, as shown in the heading sketches, is full-armored,
and has a striking resemblance to these war monsters. The turret is
mounted with a magazine gun, which fires 20 projectiles
automatically, as the tank makes its way over the rough ground. The
motive power for the tractor bands is furnished by linked rubber
bands, stretched by a winding drum and ratchet device, on the rear
axle, as shown in Fig. 1. When the ratchet is released, the rear axle
drives the fluted wheels on it, and they in turn drive the tractor
bands, as shown in the side elevation, Fig. 6. The wire-wrapped
flywheel conserves the initial power of the rubber-band motor, and
makes its action more nearly uniform.
The tank will run upward of 10 ft. on the rubber-motor power,
depending on the size and number of the bands used. The gun is
fired by a spring hammer, actuated by a rubber band. The trigger
device is shown in Fig. 1. The pulley A is belted, with cord, to the
front axle. Four pins on its inner side successively engage the wire
trigger, drawing it out of the gun breech B, and permitting another
shell to drop into place. As the pulley revolves, the trigger is
released, firing the projectile. This process goes on until the motor
runs down, or the supply of shells is exhausted.
The tank is guided by the pilot wheel, shown in Fig. 1. The sheet-
metal armor, with its turret, is fitted over the mechanism, and can be
removed quickly. It bears on angles bent up, as detailed in Fig. 2, to
fit on the ends of the wooden center crosspiece of the main frame,
and is held by removable pins at the ends of this frame. While the
rubber motor is easy to make and install, the range of the tank can
be increased by using a strong spring motor, the construction
otherwise being similar.
The construction is best begun by making the wooden frame
which supports the armor. The perspective sketch, Fig. 1, used in
connection with the working and detailed drawings, will aid in making
the latter clear. Make the frame C, as detailed in Figs. 5 and 6, ³⁄₈ by
1³⁄₄ by 11 in. long, with an opening cut in the center, 1 in. wide, 1 in.
from the rear, and 1¹⁄₄ in. from the front end. Make the crosspiece D
³⁄₈ by 1³⁄₄ by 5⁷⁄₈ in. long; the gun support E, as detailed in Fig. 4, ³⁄₈
by 1⁵⁄₁₆ by 6¹⁄₄ in. long. Shape the support E as shown. Fasten the
frame C and the crosspiece D with screws, setting the piece D 5³⁄₄
in. from the front, and its left end 3 in. from the side of the frame, as
shown in Fig. 5. This is important, as the fitting of the other parts
depends on the position of these wooden supports.
Fig. 3
Fig. 4
Fig. 1
Fig. 2
Perspective Sketch, Showing the Arrangement of the Parts, with the Armor
and the Tractor Bands Removed, and Details of the Gun Mechanism and the
Armor

The drive-wheel axles are carried in sheet-metal hangers, F,

shown in Figs. 1 and 5, and detailed in Fig. 6. These hangers also
carry bearing wheels, G, Fig. 1, which are held between the hanger
F and a metal angle, as detailed at G, Fig. 6. These wheels are cut
on a broomstick, and mounted on nail axles. The metal for the
hangers F is drilled as shown, and bent double at the ends to make
a strong bearing for the drive-wheel axles. The upper portion is bent
at a right angle and fits over the top surface at the end of the
crosspiece D, and is fastened to it with small screws or nails. Cut the
stock for the hangers 2 by 6³⁄₈ in. long.
Next make the sheet-metal support H, Fig. 1, for the flywheel, the
rim of which is wrapped with wire to give it added weight. Cut the
stock, as detailed in Fig. 6, 1³⁄₄ by 4³⁄₁₆ in. long, and notch it to form
the spring arrangement, which holds the flywheel so that the belt will
be tight. The other sheet-metal support may then be made also. Cut
the stock for the front support J, for the rubber motor, 4¹⁄₈ by 3³⁄₄ in.
long, and shape it as shown in the detail, Fig. 6. Make the support K
from a piece of sheet metal, in general shape similar to that used for
support H, the dimensions being made as required, and no spring
arrangement being provided. Drill these metal fittings, as indicated,
for the points of fastening, and mark the places for the holes in which
shafts or axles run very carefully.
The driving mechanism can then be made, as shown in Fig. 1, and
detailed in Figs. 5 and 6. The driving shafts and their parts, as well
as the pulleys, can be turned in a lathe, or made from spools, round
rods, etc. Make the front axle L, and wheels, joined solidly, 5³⁄₄ in.
over all, the grooved wheels being ³⁄₄ in. thick, and 1⁷⁄₁₆ in. in
diameter. Wires are used as bearings for shafts for the driving axles.
If the rear axle is turned in a lathe, it is cut down to the shape
indicated, thinner at the middle, to provide a place for the cord
connected to the rubber motor. The grooved pulley and the fluted
drive wheel at the winding-key end, shown in Fig. 5, are then cut
loose; the drive wheel on the other end is cut loose, forming three
sections, mounted on the wire axle, one end of which is the winding
key. Ratchet wheels, M, are fitted between the ends of the center
section and the adjoining pieces, the ratchet wheels being nailed to
the center section and soldered to the wire axle. Pawls, U, are fitted
to the inside of the two end sections, as indicated in Fig. 1 and in
Fig. 5. When the rubber motor is wound up on the drum, the tractor
bands are gripped until it is desired to start the tank on its trip. Then
the power is communicated from the drum, or center section of the
axle, to the drive wheels by means of the ratchet wheels, acting on
the pawls.
Mount the hangers F on the center crosspiece D, fitting the axles
of the drive wheels into place. Make the weighted flywheel, and
mount it on its shaft, as shown, lining it up with the pulley on the rear
drive shaft. Fit the supports J and K into place, setting spools for the
rubber-motor cord in place, on wire axles. Arrange the belt from the
flywheel to the drive shaft, and connect the rubber bands for the
rubber motor as shown. Fasten one end in the hook of support J,
and pass the winding cord through the spools, and fix it to the drive
shaft. The device can then be operated with the fluted drive wheels,
bearing on strips of wood for tracks.
The tractor bands N are fitted over the drive wheels, as shown in
Fig. 6. They are built up of canvas strips, on which wooden shoes
are glued and sewed, as detailed in Fig. 5. The stitches which
reinforce the gluing are taken in the order indicated by the numerals.
The pilot wheel is 2 in. in diameter, and sharpened at its
circumference. Make a metal shell, O, for it, as detailed in Fig. 6.
Solder the shell to the double wire, which supports the wheel and
gives it a spring tension to take obstructions nicely. The wire is
fastened to the crosspiece D, as shown in Fig. 5.
The gun and its mechanism can be made handily before the
support E is fixed into place at the front of the crosspiece D. Shape
the magazine P from sheet metal, making it 2⁵⁄₈ in. high, as detailed
in Fig. 4. Make the gun Q from a piece of sheet metal, as detailed,
cutting the metal to the exact dimensions indicated. Mount the
magazine and the gun, and arrange the wire hammer R, and the
rubber band that holds it. Fit the pulley A into place on its axle,
supported by a small block of wood. Belt it to the front drive-wheel
axle, as shown in Fig. 5, after the gun support is fastened into place
with screws. Make the projectiles of wood, as shown, and the
fighting tank is ready to be tested before putting on the armor.
The armor is made of one deck piece, S, Fig. 3, into which the
covered turret is set, and two side pieces T, as detailed in Fig. 2.
Make one left and one right sidepiece, allowing for the flanges all
around, to be bent over and used for riveting or soldering the armor
together. The bottom extension on the sidepieces is bent double to
form an angle, on which the armor is supported, where it rests on the
top of the hangers F. The turret is fitted to the deck by cutting
notches along its lower edge, the resulting strips being alternately
turned in and out along the point of joining, as shown in Fig. 3. When
the armor is completed, it is fitted over the main frame, the gun
projecting from the turret. Small pins hold the ends of the armor solid
against the ends of the main frame C, so that the armor can be lifted
off readily. The various parts of the fighting tank can be painted as
desired, care being taken not to injure the points of bearing, on the
axles and pulleys, which should be oiled. Silver bronze is a good
finish for the exterior of the armor, which may be decorated with a
coat of arms.
 Fig. 5
Fig. 6

Plan and Side Elevation of the Interior Mechanism, with the Armor Removed,
and Details of the Metal Fittings, the Ratchets, and the Tractor Bands
A Neat and Economical Baby Crib Made from a
Clothes Basket
 A Few Sticks of Wood and a Clothes Basket Make a Convenient Cradle for
the Baby

A clothes basket on a simple but strong wooden frame, mounted

on castors, makes a cradle which is as convenient and sanitary as
many which are sold for five times its cost. It is light enough to roll
out on the porch without difficulty, and may be padded and fitted with
pillows until the most exacting mother is satisfied. The basket and
frame should be painted, preferably some light color. The whole cost,
not including pads or pillows, should not be over $2.50.—A. Switzer,
Denver, Colo.
 A Small Rheostat for Experiments and Testing

This Homemade Rheostat Has a Capacity of One-Half to Five Amperes, on a

Six-Volt Circuit

A rheostat made as shown in the sketch has been used

successfully for calibrating a large number of ammeters and
wattmeters. One of the general designs suggested will be useful for
many other purposes. The dimensions given were used for obtaining
a variation of from ¹⁄₂ to 5 amperes with a 6-volt source of
electromotive force. For other capacities the proportions may be
increased or decreased proportionately. A piece of pine, 7 by 9¹⁄₂ in.,
forms the base. For resistance wire No. 16 gauge “Climax” was
used, but wire of any material which will carry the maximum current
without excessive oxidation may be employed instead. Nails support
the resistance wire, which should be soldered to the nails to insure
good electrical contact. Leads of flexible cord are arranged as
shown. These are soldered to the first and last nails in the series. To
provide connection between the free ends of the cord and the
resistance wire or the nails, 5-ampere test clips are soldered to the
cord ends. The teeth of the clip jaws are filed off, and in their stead a
short piece of brass wire is soldered to each jaw, as indicated in the
detailed view. A nick is filed in each of the brass wires so that they
will hold firmly onto the resistance wire or nail. Suspender or display-
case clips, suitably modified, may be substituted for the commercial
test clips.
In using the device, one clip is moved along the front span. The
other is gripped to a nail in the rear row. Sliding the front clip along
the span wire insures a fine adjustment of resistance. Gripping the
rear clip on the different nails provides the coarse adjustment—R. F.
Binney, La Vina, Calif.

¶Glue applied to door-knob screws will prevent them from loosening

easily, yet they may be removed without difficulty.
 Roll-Paper Feed for Typewriter
Typewriter paper may be fed from a roll where only one copy is
necessary and where maximum speed of production is essential.
Sections, not to exceed about 11 in. in length, of the typed paper are
torn off as necessary. This practice is followed often in newspaper
offices. The roll paper can be purchased at any paper-supply house,
cut to the width required by the user. The construction of a roll-feed
attachment which may be mounted on any of the standard
typewriters will be described.
 A Paper-Roll Holder for Typewriters That can be Attached to Any Standard
Machine

First make the two uprights. Both are cut from ¹⁄₆-in. sheet brass,
as shown. After cutting, heat the pieces to anneal them before
bending. A hole is provided for the paper-roll rod in the right-hand
upright and a slot in the left-hand one. A rod, threaded on one end
and equipped with two nuts, constitutes the paper holder. For a
guide plate and cutter, cut a piece of sheet brass, 1¹⁄₂ in. wide and of
a length equal to that of the carriage, as detailed in the drawing.
Bend it as shown. A ¹⁄₈-in. slot is cut almost the entire length of the
guide.