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.dt Dave Dashaway, Air Champion, by Roy Rockwood - A Project Gutenberg eBook
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"THE YOUNG PILOT LESSENED THE SPEED OF THE ARIEL."
Dave Dashaway, Air Champion.\ \ Page 177.
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Dave Dashaway, Air
Champion
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Or
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Wizard Work in the Clouds
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BY
ROY ROCKWOOD
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AUTHOR OF “DAVE DASHAWAY, THE YOUNG AVIATOR,” “THE
SPEEDWELL BOYS SERIES,” “THE GREAT MARVEL SERIES,”
ETC.
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ILLUSTRATED
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NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
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BOOKS FOR BOYS
BY ROY ROCKWOOD
DAVE DASHAWAY SERIES
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
Price, per volume, 40 cents, postpaid.
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DAVE DASHAWAY, THE YOUNG AVIATOR
DAVE DASHAWAY AND HIS HYDROPLANE
DAVE DASHAWAY AND HIS GIANT AIRSHIP
DAVE DASHAWAY AROUND THE WORLD
DAVE DASHAWAY, AIR CHAMPION
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS SERIES
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
Price, per volume, 40 cents, postpaid.
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR MOTORCYCLES
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR RACING AUTO
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR POWER LAUNCH
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS IN A SUBMARINE
THE SPEEDWELL BOYS AND THEIR ICE RACER
THE GREAT MARVEL SERIES
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
Price, per volume, 60 cents, postpaid.
THROUGH THE AIR TO THE NORTH POLE
UNDER THE OCEAN TO THE SOUTH POLE
FIVE THOUSAND MILES UNDERGROUND
THROUGH SPACE TO MARS
LOST ON THE MOON
ON A TORN-AWAY WORLD
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CUPPLES & LEON CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
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Copyrighted, 1915, by
Cupples & Leon Company
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Dave Dashaway, Air Champion
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CONTENTS
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CHAPTER || PAGE
I. |#At the Hangars:chap01#| 1
II. |#The Tramp Artist:chap02#| 8
III. |#Target Practice:chap03#| 20
IV. |#The Under Dog:chap04#| 30
V. |#The Big Event:chap05#| 37
VI. |#A Startling Discovery:chap06#| 44
VII. |#The Hidden Hand:chap07#| 52
VIII. |#The Secret Foe:chap08#| 60
IX. |#Just in Time:chap09#| 67
X. |#A Friend in Disguise:chap10#| 76
XI. |#A Strange Race:chap11#| 85
XII. |#A Desperate Passenger:chap12#| 92
XIII. |#A Remarkable Explanation:chap13#| 100
XIV. |#The New Helper:chap14#| 110
XV. |#A Terrible Discovery:chap15#| 116
XVI. |#In Doubt:chap16#| 122
XVII. |#Trouble:chap17#| 129
XVIII. |#A Strange Message:chap18#| 135
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XIX. |#Ariel II:chap19#| 141
XX. |#Beaten:chap20#| 149
XXI. |#Fifty Points:chap21#| 156
XXII. |#Queer Proceedings:chap22#| 163
XXIII. |#A Noble Deed:chap23#| 172
XXIV. |#The Hidden Diamonds:chap24#| 180
XXV. |#The False Barograph:chap25#| 190
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DAVE DASHAWAY,|AIR CHAMPION
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.pm chapnopb 01 I "AT THE HANGARS"
“Dave, here is something that will surely interest
you.”
As he spoke, Hiram Dobbs held up a newspaper
to the view of his companion, and Dave Dashaway
caught sight of the prominent head line: “Grand
International Aviation Contest.”
The two friends were amid an environment
strongly suggestive of airships and their doings.
They were sitting under a tree near the hangar
where Dave’s various aircraft and equipments were
stored. This was Dave’s home, for the time being.
Here, for over a month he had slept, ate and trained
for just such an event as the one which his chum
had brought to his attention.
There was nothing about Dave’s present appearance
to indicate that he was an expert in aviation
except a medal modestly showing beyond the lapel
of his coat. It might, however, have been a source
of surprise to the average person to read the inscription
on the medal, certifying to Dave’s
championship in a feat that had startled the aviation
world.
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Hiram proudly wore a pin bearing the initials:
“N. A. A.” (National Aero Association) showing
a distinction beyond the ordinary for a boy of his
age, and showing, too, that when he spoke of aviation
it was not as a novice.
“Dave, you ought to go in for that,” he added.
“Yes, it looks attractive,” agreed the young
aviator after a swift glance over the item under discussion.
“Ten thousand dollars—think of it!” exclaimed
the interested Hiram.
“It’s a big lot of money,” responded Dave,
slowly.
“And a big heap of work to win it, I suppose
you would say,” supplemented Hiram. “Well, you
never were afraid of work, and as to the chances—say,
a fellow who has done what you’ve just done—why,
it’ll be mere child’s play!”
Dave Dashaway smiled at the ardor of his companion.
He was thinking, though, and impressed
by the present situation. All things pertaining to
aviation had a great attraction for Dave. His
dreams, his practical efforts, all his ambitions lay
in the direction of supremacy as an air pilot.
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“I have been resting for a spell, as you might
call it, Hiram,” he said finally, “and hadn’t of late,
thought much of business. After that last dash of
ours, you know, Mr. Brackett thought we had better
let the season run out and prepare for something
out of the ordinary next year.”
“This has come along all right; hasn’t it?”
challenged Hiram, pointing at the item. “And the
biggest kind of a thing, too. ‘Ten thousand dollars
to the aviator scoring most in all events.’ Besides
that, prizes for points in plain sailing, altitude and
fancy stunts. It’s your class, Dave, it’s near here
and you were never in better working trim in your
life.”
“Why, Hiram,” spoke Dave, “you seem to have
quite set your heart upon it.”
“Indeed I have!” vociferated the impetuous
Hiram. “Think I’m going to sit around and keep
mum, and hear a lot of would-be-airmen brag? Not
much! They boast about a heap of records I know
they never made. They were talking about this
very prize offer last night. I took a good deal of
pride in telling them about some of the things you’ve
done. They knew about most of them, though.
They looked glum when I hinted that you were going
in for a try.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Dave,
quickly.
“Shouldn’t—why not?”
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“Because in this line the wise man keeps his business
to himself. Airmen, generally, are a jealous
lot. Some of them, as we have reason to know, are
untrustworthy.”
“I never thought of that,” replied Hiram, his
face growing serious. “You’re right! It wouldn’t
be the first time some schemers got after you, and
tried to block you. That’s so! All the same, with
that new Ariel, biplane, made specially for you, who
can beat you? Why, Dave, your little trailer, the
Scout, alone has half a dozen speed points ahead of
the average machine on the field here. Those new
release gears are just dandy, and there isn’t a craft
on the list that has such an engine as the Ariel, let
alone the fuselage angle rods and the tubular framework.”
“I declare, Hiram,” laughed Dave, “you’ve been
posting up on scientific details lately; haven’t you?”
“I’ve tried to get it pat, yes, I’ll admit,” assented
Hiram proudly. “Then again, I’ve had a motive in
view. You see, I’ve been thinking up a grand
scheme—”
Hiram came to a sudden stop, looked embarrassed,
and there was a faint flush on his face. It
was with a somewhat sheepish expression in his
eyes that he glanced at his companion.
“I know what you’re hinting at,” observed Dave
shrewdly. “I suspected you were up to something
when I saw you working over those little canvas
bags. What’s the mystery, Hiram? Going to
tell, this time?”
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“I’m not,” dissented the young airman’s assistant
staunchly. “You’d just laugh and say it was
another of my grand schemes. All right! Those
bags mean something—provided you go into this
new contest. Honest, Dave,” went on Hiram with
impressive earnestness, “I can put you onto a
wrinkle in aeronautics that is new enough, and
strong enough, to carry the day any time—oh,
bother!”
Whatever scheme the young lad had in his mind,
its disclosure was prevented at that moment by the
arrival of an intruder. A man of about thirty,
wearing a monocle, mincing in his steps and looking
the typical English “dandy” to perfection, approached
the bench where the two friends sat.
“It’s Lieutenant Montrose Mortimer,” remarked
Dave with a faint smile.
“Lieutenant nothing!” declared Hiram forcibly.
“He’s no more a British army officer than I am.”
“Ah, Mr. Dashaway,” spoke the newcomer,
bowing, “I hope you’ve thought over my proposition.”
“Why, yes, Lieutenant,” replied Dave, “I have
done so.”
“And have arrived at a decision?” questioned
the other with marked eagerness.
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“Well, no, not exactly,” answered Dave
promptly. “You see, Lieutenant Mortimer, I am
not a free agent in aviation matters. In fact, you
might say I am under contract indefinitely to Mr.
Brackett, who has financed me in the past. I should
have to refer your offer to him, you see.”
“When will he be here?” asked the man, evidently
very much disappointed.
“He may be here within a week.”
“I sincerely trust you will prevail on him to accept
my offer,” spoke the pretended army man. “I
shall feel that my duty to the admiralty and war
office has been remiss if I fail to secure your valuable
services. I am aware of your opposition to
leaving your native country. I also appreciate your
wish to remain neutral in regard to any actual warfare.
That can be arranged. What we ask of you
is to act as an instructor. Please think it over,”
and he turned aside.
“Now, then,” broke out Hiram promptly as the
lieutenant sauntered away, “what is that fellow
really after, Dave?”
“Why, Hiram, according to his own story he is
a representative from the aviation department of
the British war office. He has made a very creditable
showing—and he offers me all expenses paid
abroad, where he says a yearly contract of several
thousand dollars will be offered.”
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“I don’t like him. Why, say, he reminds me of
one of the funny cartoons that new tramp friend of
yours drew for us last evening.”
“Hello!” exclaimed Dave, glancing hastily at
his watch and then at the hangar. “He’s some
sleeper; isn’t he, that tramp?”
The young airman referred to a new character
who had incidentally come across their path the day
previous. He was a tramp, a little above the average,
but still frowsy, hungry and penniless. His
humor had made an impression on the boys. They
had fed him and he had asked for work to repay
them. He was sober, and he looked honest, Dave
had consented to his sleeping in the hangar.
“I guess it’s the first comfortable bed the poor
fellow has had for a long time,” explained Hiram.
“Say, Dave, he must have been a good artist once,
to draw those faces as cleverly as he did last evening.”
“Yes, he certainly has a sort of genius about
him,” began Dave, when there was a sudden and
startling interruption.
>From Dave’s hangar there came a dull explosion.
Both of the young aviators made a rush in its direction,
wondering what accident had happened.
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.pm chap 02 II "THE TRAMP ARTIST"
“Somebody is trying to blow us up again!”
shouted Hiram, in a great state of excitement.
That word “again” meant just what the young
airman apprentice intended that it should. As we
have already said, the two chums were no novices
in the strange line of business activity they had
taken up to earn a living. They had not only shared
triumphs and gains, but many a peril besides.
There had instantly come to Hiram’s mind, and to
that of Dave Dashaway as well, on the present occasion
a memory of past deeds of jealousy, hatred
and cunning on the part of unprincipled rivals,
where fire and powder were used in destructive and
dangerous work.
There had been no lights in the hangar since the
night before, its only occupant that the boys knew
of was the tramp-artist they had accommodated.
As both noticed a little puff of smoke shoot out
through a ventilating pipe in the roof of the structure,
they were sure that something had blown up,
or had been blown up.
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Hiram and Dave were greatly anxious. Inside
that hangar were two machines valued as an expert
horseman would cherish his pet steeds, or a
crack motorist his favorite automobile. Particularly
was Dave’s latest acquisition, the Ariel, to
which Hiram had referred so proudly, a possession
that the young birdman treasured. The active fear
that this might have sustained some damage spurred
him to hasten on and see what had happened.
It was by no easy or accidental route that Dave
Dashaway had reached his present position as an
aviator. It had been no path of roses for him. In
the first book of this series, entitled “Dave Dashaway,
The Young Aviator,” his struggles and initial
triumphs have been depicted. He found a good
friend in one Robert King, a man of some means,
and by hard study and practice Dave won his laurels
as a professional.
In the second volume, called “Dave Dashaway
And His Hydroplane,” the further progress of the
ambitious young airman is recited. His father had
been a scientist and balloonist. The cooperation of
one of his old associates proved a wonderful aid to
Dave, and he went through some stirring experiences
both up in the air and on the water.
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“Dave Dashaway And His Giant Airship,” was
the medium for telling of Dave’s breaking of many
aviation records. In that book the flight of the dirigible
Albatross, involved a fascinating series of
discoveries and adventures. The last preceding
book of the series, “Dave Dashaway Around The
World,” describes a daring race for a rich prize,
which Dave, with the willing aid of his young
friends, won, honorably defeating all competitors.
Hiram Dobbs, a young aero enthusiast, Dave had
picked up accidentally. It proved to be a lucky
“find.” Crude, impetuous though he might be,
Hiram was not only a loyal friend, but developed
great efficiency as a sort of understudy of the chum
and employer whom he looked up to as the ideal
champion of the aviation world.
As the young airman had put it, he and his good-natured
and well-intentioned assistant were now
“taking a rest.” They had come to Midlothian, a
practice field of a Mississippi river city, to be near
several points where exhibition aviation features
were in progress. Mr. Brackett had been the
mainstay, financially, of Dave all through his professional
career. It was true that the young aviator
had essentially won his own way and had helped
to make famous the output of the Interstate Aero
Company, of which Mr. Brackett was practically
the owner. Still, Dave felt that all he had gained
had been through the encouragement and assistance
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of the manufacturer. As a matter of fact, Dave
deferred greatly to the opinion and direction of this
valuable friend. He had been expecting his arrival
daily at the Midlothian grounds, to talk over the
situation and prospects for future work.
“Whew!” ejaculated Hiram, as he pulled open
the door of the hangar, and rushed in. “Fire!”
“No, only smoke,” corrected Dave—“and not
much of that, lucky for us!”
“I say!” cried his companion in an exasperated
tone as he went spinning off his feet. Contact with
an indistinct, wildly-rushing human form had
caused this. There had been a smoky haze inside the
hangar that had hid the aroused sleeper from clear
view. Now, however, the tramp was plainly visible.
He looked startled and scared and he was nursing
the fingers of his left hand in the palm of the other.
“What’s happened—are you hurt?” inquired
Dave.
“Whew! Well—why, oh, it’s only a little burn,
but—catch the rascal!”
As the speaker finished the rapidly shouted sentence
he dashed towards the fence. Upon this the
rear of the hangar backed. The tramp was quick,
and as nimble as a monkey as he ran at the fourteen-foot
barrier. One of its slanting supports carried
him within reach of the bracing stringer. He lifted
himself to this. From the ground the aeroplane
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boys could see him bobbing his head about among
the barbed wire runners, strung along on top of the
fence, as if to catch a view of a vacant field beyond.
The tramp yelled out some disjointed words, and
shook his fist angrily, as if after a scurrying fugitive.
Then he slid down to the ground and faced
Dave and Hiram, panting and excited.
“He made off—he got away!” the tramp ejaculated.
“Too bad! I’m so big I couldn’t get
through that window.”
“What window?” inquired Hiram.
“Cut in the fence that makes the rear of the
hangar,” was explained. “Come in. Let me show
you.”
Dave cast a hurried glance about the interior of
the hangar as he entered it. Except that the little
door which protected the rear window opening was
out of place, everything seemed in order. Their
tramp friend, however, had stooped over near the
Ariel.
“Look here,” he said, and the boys, crowding
nearer to him, noticed that he held in his hand the
crisped, blackened end of what resembled a fuse.
“Where does it lead to?” asked the startled
Hiram.
Very gingerly the tramp ran eye and hand along
the sinister-looking fuse. He seemed to locate its
end as he reached under a corner of the airplane.
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“Better get it outside,” he suggested, and the
boys saw that he had unearthed a round box-like
object resembling a dry electric battery. The fuse
ran to its center. The tramp carried it outside, set
it down in the grass at a safe distance from the
hangar, and observed:
“Better soak it in a pail of water before you
handle it much. Those things are dangerous; very
much so! If I don’t mistake, you’ll find it’s dynamite.”
“Then some one’s up to a mean trick again!”
cried the excitable Hiram, unable to repress himself.
“Dave, you’re not going to stand this; are
you?”
“Why, Hiram,” responded Dave quietly, “we
don’t yet know our bearings. Maybe it’s a joke——”
“Joke! Joke!” fairly yelled Hiram. “Yes, the
same kind of a joke as that fellow Vernon played
on us when he stole the Comet at the Washington
aero meet. Or like that partner of his, who dropped
a steel hook on the biplane purposely to wreck us.”
Hiram had named the enemy the boys, according
to past experience, had most to fear. Dave, however,
was not wont to jump at hasty conclusions.
He did not do so in the present instance. He put
aside unproven suspicion for the time being.
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“We had better make an investigation, and find
out all we can,” Dave suggested. “You said your
name was Borden, I believe?” he observed to the
tramp.
“That’s it—Roving Borden, they call me. I was
Henry, in my respectable days.”
“Very good, Mr. Borden, now please tell us what
you know of this affair,” Dave requested.
“I’m a pretty sound sleeper,” narrated the tramp,
“especially in such a famous bunk as you kindly
gave me. I’d slept so long, though, that I fancy I
was more easily awakened than usual. What I saw
was done quickly. Some one must have forced in
that shutter yonder. He had just put that thing we
discovered under the edge of the balloon. The end
of the fuse was spluttering as I woke up. I saw the
fellow bolt through the window. Then I sprang up
and grabbed the fuse. As I snapped it in two, it
sort of exploded. See where it burned me?” and
the speaker showed his blackened fingers.
“Lucky for us you were on hand!” broke in
Hiram.
“I believe this to be the work of an enemy,”
spoke Dave, rather solemnly, after a moment’s deliberation.
“Did you have a good look at the fellow
you saw go through the window, Mr. Borden?”
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“I should say, I did!” exclaimed the tramp.
“When a fellow gets waked up suddenly and
startled, like I was, everything hits his brain as if it
were a photograph camera. Say,” and the speaker
half closed his eyes, “I can see that rascal just as
plain as day now. By the way, too, if I’m not mistaken
I saw the very same individual hanging
around the outside of the grounds when I sneaked
in last night.”
“Dave, I call this serious!” cried Hiram, aroused
and indignant. “It’s a queer thing if we can’t have
protection from the cowards who steal in on us
when we’re not watching, and try to wreck our aircraft!
I’ll wager the stuff in that canister would
blow a small mountain to pieces!”
“Guess I’d have gone up, too, if it was that bad,”
remarked the tramp with a shiver.
Dave went to the window and examined it. The
edges of the solid board shutter showed the marks
of some chisel, or other tool, used to pry it open.
Then the chums went outside. On the way Dave
caught up a bundle of waste used in removing oil
and grime from the machinery of the air crafts, and
a newspaper.
The others watched him in silence as he carefully
wound up what was left of the fuse, and placed it
and the canister, to which it was attached, in the
waste then, wrapping all in the newspaper, he said
to Hiram:
“I’m going down to the manager’s office.”
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“Going to find out if that’s a real explosive;
aren’t you?” inquired Hiram.
“Yes, that’s my purpose. If we find that it is,
we can make up our minds that the people we have
had trouble with before are still on our trail. I
fancied we’d beaten them off so many times they
had now gotten sick of such doings.”
“Oh, if it’s Vernon, or any of his crowd, they’re
the kind that will keep on pestering us to the last,”
declared Hiram. “Be back soon, Dave. I’m all
rattled, and anxious.”
The young birdman proceeded on his way.
Hiram turned to the tramp, who had manifested a
decided interest in all that had taken place.
“We didn’t wake you up when we went down to
the restaurant for breakfast,” said Hiram. “You
were sleeping so soundly it seemed a pity to disturb
you.”
“You’re very good, both of you, to think of an
old derelict like me,” was the reply, given with feeling.
“Why, you’ve done us a big turn,” responded
Hiram, “so I guess you’ve squared things. I
brought some eatables up from the café, and if
you’re hungry——”
“Say, friend,” interrupted Borden in a serio-comic
way—“I’m always hungry!”
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“Then start with what there is,” directed Hiram,
always glad to make others comfortable, as he
spread the food out upon the bench near by. He
watched their guest devour the viands with a relish
that made him almost wish for a second breakfast
himself. The tramp bolted the last morsel, and
breathed a sigh of genuine content.
“That fills a mighty hollow spot,” he observed.
“Say, about the fellow that tried to blow you up
here—got a piece of chalk?”
“Why, no,” answered Hiram, noting that the
speaker was viewing the smooth side of the hangar
as might an artist a blank canvas. “I suppose you
want to draw something,” guessed Hiram, recalling
the artistic efforts of the evening previous.
“That’s it,” assented Borden. “It might sort of
satisfy your curiosity, and maybe give you a hint, if
I can furnish you with an idea of how that blowing-up
rascal looked.”
“Why, that’s a great idea!” cried Hiram. “Do
it!”
“I want to get at it while the picture of the fellow
is fresh in my mind,” went on Borden. “Here’s
the very thing,” and he picked up the paper that had
held the morning lunch. “If I only had a black
crayon now, instead of my fine pencil——”
“I’m pretty sure there’s a carpenter’s pencil in
our tool box,” suggested Hiram.
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“Good! Get it, and a few brads, or tacks. Just
the thing,” he added, as Hiram, after a search in
the hangar, brought out the articles named.
Borden proceeded to attach the sheet of manilla
paper to the side of the hanger. He smoothed its
surface with his hand, rubbed the broad end of the
big pencil to a point on a brick he discovered, and
rolled up one ragged sleeve with a certain affected,
artistic twirl that set Hiram laughing.
“That’s all right,” nodded the tramp indulgently.
“I don’t look much like a cartoonist, but all the
same I once traveled as a lightning caricaturist.
Heads are my specialty, and here goes for the fellow
who came so near to blowing out the lights for
a budding genius!”
Hiram watched eagerly, from that moment, for
the space of a quarter of an hour. The faces Borden
had quickly and crudely drawn on some cards,
to amuse Dave and himself, and show off his accomplishments,
the evening previous, had awakened
the interest and admiration of the two lads. Now,
however, Borden began to create, line by line, and
curve by curve, as perfect a human face as Hiram
had even seen done by an expert crayon artist.
“That’s him,” announced the artist, with a last
touch of the pencil, and drawing back from the
impromptu easel with a satisfied air.
He viewed his clever handiwork with a critical
but gratified eye.
.bn 024.png
// 024.png
.pn +1
“Yes, it’s him,” went on Borden. “Thin,
peaked chin, one wall eye. There you are! Just as
good as if you’d got his picture from the rogues’
gallery—where he belongs, if I don’t miss my
guess.”
“Pshaw!” exclaimed his audience of one, in so
decidedly a disappointed way, that the amateur
artist knit his brows, and looked hurt.
.bn 025.png
// 025.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 03 III "“TARGET PRACTICE”"
“Why, I say!” exclaimed the tramp with a
wondering stare at Hiram, “you don’t seem glad at
all.”
“It isn’t him, you see,” responded Hiram dubiously.
“Oh, yes,” he hastened to add, noticing
the injured way Borden took it, “I’m glad you are
here to draw a picture of the man who tried to blow
us up, but I was almost sure it was—well, a fellow
we know, and have every reason to fear. But
it isn’t!”
“I see, I see,” murmured the tramp thoughtfully,
and he ran his eye more critically than ever
over his handiwork. “Ye-es,” he continued slowly,
“it’s a pretty fair picture. He doesn’t seem familiar
to you; eh?”
“No, I don’t remember ever having seen a face
like that before,” answered Hiram, doubtfully.
“Just as well, I reckon. He’d be no advantage
to anybody, that fellow wouldn’t. Well, that’s the
fellow you want to go after, provided you intend
to.”
.bn 026.png
// 026.png
.pn +1
“Dave will,” declared Hiram with vim.
“There’s some mean hangers-on in our line, and
lots of jealousy, and it’s led to danger and loss for
us several times before this. The management here
will take this matter up, if we make a complaint
about it. Dave’s going to. I could see that from
the look on his face when he went off just now.
Thanks!” he shouted to a young fellow on a motor
cycle who flashed by, flipping an envelope to Hiram.
He had a gold braided “M” on his cap, indicating
that he was a grounds messenger acting as postboy
in distributing the mail to the various hangars.
“Why,” added Hiram with increased animation
of manner, as he scanned the printed words in one
corner of the envelope, “it’s from Chicago, and the
headquarters of the International Meet Association
we were talking about not an hour ago. I wonder——”
Hiram strolled off by himself, looking out for
Dave, and building all kinds of air castles. In about
five minutes his chum put in an appearance. Hiram
ran towards him, waving the envelope, and placed
it in his hands. Dave opened it. His assistant
watched his face keenly, and was gratified to note
that it assumed a pleased expression.
.bn 027.png
// 027.png
.pn +1
“It’s from the people offering all those prizes we
were talking about; isn’t it, Dave?” questioned his
eager assistant.
“Yes,” replied the other, “it’s from the committee
of the big International meet. They invite
us to participate, Hiram.”
“Us?” repeated Hiram—“Oh, yes! You can
be sure they’d ask you, though. What you going
to do about it?”
“Oh, we’ll think it over. They write that they
are sending the details, such as rules and restrictions,
in a later mail. We’ll study them when they
come.”
Of course Hiram, in his impetuous way, was
ready to take up any proposition in the aviation
line, no matter how important. To him Dave was
the one champion in the field able to compete with
all rivals. He had been with Dave long enough,
however, to get used to his methodical business-like
ways. Hiram was eager to plunge at once into the
merits of the new proposition, but he knew that
Dave had put the matter aside until he was ready
to take it up for real action.
“Oh, say, Dave,” Hiram changed the subject,
“come along till I show you the picture our tramp
friend has drawn. That’s the man who tried to
blow us up,” he announced, as they reached the side
of the hangar where the sheet of manilla paper was
tacked.
.bn 028.png
// 028.png
.pn +1
Dave surveyed the sketch critically. He saw at
a glance that the artist had caught some strong
facial characteristics of the person whose likeness
he had attempted to draw. The young birdman
shook his head slowly.
“Don’t know him?” broke in Hiram questioningly—“neither
do I. Anybody would again,
though, if that sketch looks like him. See here,
Dave,” and Hiram was very serious and impressive,
“it’s just such mean tricks as this one that have
been the start of all kinds of trouble for us. We
want to nip it in the bud this time. What do they
say up at the office?”
“They promise a thorough investigation. There
has been quite a lot of vandal work at the different
meets, and they say they will spare no pains, or
expense, to run down the fellows who are discrediting
our exhibitions. Want to speak to me?” asked
Dave in a kindly tone, noticing the tramp hovering
about near them as if he had something on his mind.
“Why, yes,” answered Borden. “You fellows
have been mighty good to me, and I feel as if I
owed you something. I’m no detective, or anything
of that sort, but if it’s a point to you to find out
something about the original of that picture——”
“I should say it was!” interrupted Hiram,
strenuously.
.bn 029.png
// 029.png
.pn +1
“Then, as I’m the one who saw him closest, and
who know him best, maybe I’d be luckiest in recognizing
him on sight. I’ll take a little scurry around,
if you say so, and try to run him down, or head
him off, and find out what’s back all this.”
“Vernon, our old-time enemy is back of it, or else
some envious chaps who think you may go to this
new meet, and who want to keep you out of it because
they know you’ll win,” whispered Hiram to
Dave.
“That is a very good idea,” said the latter to
Borden. “You think you saw this same man hanging
around the grounds last evening? You might
come across him again by keeping your eyes open.
Suppose you do that now? Here’s a little change
you may need,” and the young aviator slipped some
silver coins into the man’s hand. “Hiram, the
management here are talking about a bonus-flight
the end of this week. I’m interested and have
promised to meet with the directors in an hour. I
suppose you want to take your regular fly with the
Scout?”
“I’ve counted on it,” replied Hiram promptly,
“but some one ought to keep a close watch around
the hangar, I suppose.”
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be troubled in the day
time,” answered Dave. “You can arrange with the
grounds watchman to look in on our property from
time to time. You won’t be gone very long, I suppose?”
.bn 030.png
// 030.png
.pn +1
“Oh, just a scurry across country, and back,”
replied Hiram, with a nonchalance manifestly affected,
and Dave smiled to himself, suspecting that
his young assistant was up to something as he recalled
to his mind the mysterious bags that Hiram
had been making.
Surely enough, those same bags played a part in
the later proceedings of the ardent young amateur
airman. The tramp had started off on his mission,
promising to report his possible discoveries that
same evening. Dave followed him in the direction
of the office of the grounds. Hiram, left alone,
bustled about in the most active enjoyment of one
of those occasions when he was given a chance to
test out the knowledge of air-sailing he had acquired
under the tuition of his gifted chum. He
threw open the doors of the hangar, and, as the
bright sunlight streamed in, stood in a sort of rapt
dream surveying the two machines exposed to his
view.
“The beauties!” he cried, his sparkling eyes resting
first upon the Ariel and then upon the Scout.
The Ariel was the very latest model in the aeroplane
line. It succeeded the famous Comet. That
was the fine machine in which Dave and his friends
had made their trip around the world. The Comet
.bn 031.png
// 031.png
.pn +1
had been built more for rough usage and staying
power, than for fancy sprints or stunts. It was now
an honored relic in the show rooms of the Interstate
Aero Company. Only a few weeks before the present
introduction of the reader to our young hero,
Mr. Brackett had delighted his young protégé by
shipping to him, at the Midlothian grounds, the latest
model in air craft.
The Ariel flew as a parasol-type biplane. It gratified
Dave to note that the manufacturer had followed
out many incidental suggestions he, himself,
had made from time to time, when visiting the plant
which Mr. Brackett practically owned. The main
planes of the new machine enabled easy entrance to,
and exit from, the cockpit. The pilot had an unhampered
view in all directions. The craft had a
maximum span of thirty-five feet and a chord of
seven feet.
The area of the main planes was two hundred
and twenty-five square feet. The over-all length of
the machine was twenty-five feet, while the weight
empty, was nine hundred pounds. The motor was
of radial construction and of the six-cylinder type,
having a bore and stroke of five by six inches respectively.
A speed of about eighty miles per hour
was easily attained by the machine loaded with fifty
gallons of gasoline and ten of lubricant, as an average
for a three-hour flight.
.bn 032.png
// 032.png
.pn +1
“Want some help?” inquired a man from a
neighboring hangar, strolling up to the spot.
“Just a mere lift,” replied Hiram briskly. “The
little Scout acts just as anxious to get up cloud-chasing
as I am.”
“Ready,” announced the helper, getting into
position.
“Let her go,” ordered the enthusiastic young airman
in a tone like a hurrah, his quivering fingers
clutching wheel and control, and thrilling to the
tips with animation and delight.
It was a superb day. Air, sky and wind currents
were propitious for an easy flight. To Hiram there
was nothing in the world equal to that delightful
sensation of skimming through the air like a bird.
It was almost rapture to realize that the turn of a
wrist, or the pressure of his foot sent the airy,
graceful fabric of steel and wood far aloft, like a
pinion-poised eagle, ascending safely through space
as would a speeding swallow arrow-aimed for a
long, deep dive.
Hiram struck a course due west, once aloft at a
convenient level. Eyes and mind were fixed upon
a direct point in view. At the end of an hour he
was out of sight of the camp and the air craft practicing
in the vicinity of the exhibition grounds.
.bn 033.png
// 033.png
.pn +1
Between two settlements, some fifteen miles
apart, Hiram began to descend. It was where a two
mile reach of level pasture land intervened, dotted
here and there with underbrush and stunted trees.
The Scout landed and its young pilot alighted.
Under one arm he carried some sheets of white
paper. He halted to place one of these on the
ground, holding it flat by stones weighing down its
corners. He then proceeded fully half a mile
farther, again placed a sheet on the ground, gradually,
in like manner, making a circle of fully a mile
and a half. Finally he came back to the Scout, and
got up into the air again.
“Target practice!” chuckled Hiram, as he circled
away from the spot, made a sharp turn and volplaned
full speed, as though aiming to land, nose
first, directly upon the first white sheet in his course.
Hiram made a magnificent dive. He swung over
the control so that fifty feet from the ground the
machine turned the reverse arc of a circle of nearly
two hundred feet. His hand shot down beside him
and grasped one of the bags, lifted it, aimed it and
practically fired it at the “target” in view.
“Missed,” he grimly observed, but quite pleased
all the same, for the bag landed flat and did not roll,
and lay not two feet away from its intended mark.
“Hit it!” crowed the excited Hiram as, with a
second swoop, he made a direct hit of the second
target with a second bag. The third was a miss.
The fourth was like the second.
.bn 034.png
// 034.png
.pn +1
“If I can make it that good, what can’t Dave
Dashaway do?” soliloquized the young aeronaut, as
he gathered up the bags and replaced them in the
Scout. “I’ll spring the scheme on him just as soon
as he makes up his mind to go into that International
contest, which he’s just got to do!”
Hiram went afloat once more, determined on a
swift run west, a turn, and then a course homeward
bound.
“Hum” he chuckled. “If any of the airmen
saw my maneuvers with those bags they’d think I
was practicing to go over to Europe and drop
bombs. Now what does that mean?” murmured
the lad suddenly, and, with a quick start, Hiram
slackened his speed, to study out the details of a
lively scene in progress directly beneath him.
.bn 035.png
// 035.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 04 IV "THE UNDER DOG"
“I’m not going to stand that!” suddenly shouted
Hiram, and he started a spiral descent, on the spur
of the moment.
The young airman was warm-hearted and impulsive.
Hiram was usually in the midst of any
“scrimmage” going on in his vicinity, but it was
generally when his sympathy, or chivalry, were
aroused from interest in others. Just now all that
was manly in him awakened his natural championship
of “the under dog in a fight.”
Just below him was a wide swampy spot, and
about forty feet from the solid land, edging it on
one side, were two men. One of them, portly and
mean-faced, was waving a cane and shouting
angrily at a younger companion. This individual
was wading stumblingly towards him. His feet
were mired in the soft, mushy soil, and the water
came up to his waist.
.bn 036.png
// 036.png
.pn +1
Upon a little swamp-island was a ragged, barefooted
boy of about sixteen. He had a broad piece
of tree bark in his hand. This he was using as a
scoop. Dipping it down in the black, watery mire
near the edge of the swamp, he would lift it aloft.
Then with a dash and a swing he would fling it at
the retreating man in the water.
At a glance Hiram read the situation. The boy
looked like a half-starved runaway. The old man
resembled some cruel relative, or guardian. He was
in a fury. Suddenly he seized a flat stone at his
feet, and sent it whizzing through the air. It landed
against the boy’s cheek, drawing the blood.
“Now’s your chance—make for him!” cried the
older man.
His younger and mired helper half turned, but it
was to find the boy not yet out of the ring. The latter
staggered slightly under the blow he had received,
and the bark scoop dropped from his hand.
He quickly picked it up, however, and sent into the
face of his returning foe a deluge of black, blinding
muck. The man rubbed his eyes, veered about again
and made for the shore.
The irate old man was brandishing his cane, and
shouting. He seemed to be censuring his defeated
aide, who, dripping and bespattered, stood disgustedly
on dry land.
.bn 037.png
// 037.png
.pn +1
“They’re trying to corner that boy, and he’s too
plucky to let them,” decided Hiram. “There goes
another stone. Good! it missed, and the boy is
safe under cover.”
The lad had slipped behind a tree, but he kept the
scoop in his hand. The two men gesticulated and
parleyed. Finally the old man pointed toward a
little settlement about a mile away. His companion
started in that direction. The old man
mopped his head with his handkerchief. Then he
sat down under the shade of a tree as if exhausted
with rage and his unusual exercise.
“He’s sent for help; maybe for the police,” reflected
Hiram. “Right or wrong, the boy looks in
need of a friend. I’m going to know the ins and
outs of this affair.”
So far no one of the three persons in sight had
caught a view of the descending machine, so absorbed
had they been in the conflict in which they
were engaged. At the sound of the snort of the
exhaust of the aeroplane, however, the barefooted
lad started nervously, and looked up.
The Scout had landed in the middle of a clear
spot edged by some bushes. Hiram who had some
time since shut off the power, faced the astonished
lad not twenty feet away from him.
“Hello!” he hailed, leaping out, and advancing.
“What’s the trouble here?”
.bn 038.png
// 038.png
.pn +1
For a second or two the lad did not speak. The
startling appearance of airship and pilot seemed to
benumb him. He looked appealingly at Hiram, as
though trying to figure out whether his strange and
unexpected arrival meant help or harm. Then,
something in the friendly face of the newcomer
seemed partially to reassure him. His wan face
twitched and his lips puckered.
“I’m in trouble,” he said—“terrible trouble.”
“Those men, I suppose?” questioned Hiram,
pointing to the spot across the watery space.
“Yes, I’ve been on a run for hours, till I’m
ready to drop. I thought I was safe here on this
island, but they hunted me out. I’ve been fighting
them off for nearly an hour.”
“Who are they, anyway?” asked Hiram.
“That old man claims to be my uncle. The
other fellow he sent to town to get a constable, and
hunt me out, is one of the half a dozen bad men he’s
in with. Oh, he’s led me a terrible life! I just had
to break away from him. I couldn’t stand it any
longer. Oh, is there any way to keep me out of
their hands?”
The speaker looked up in a beseeching way. The
tears were running down his wasted cheeks. Hiram
was much stirred.
“Say, I’ll do anything, any time, for a fellow in
the fix you’re in, if I believe he’s right!” he cried
valiantly. “I think you are. That old man has seen
us now. Look at him rage.”
.bn 039.png
// 039.png
.pn +1
By this time the older man, on the mainland, had
caught sight of the newcomer and of the machine
that had brought Hiram to the rescue. He leaped
to his feet, and seized his cane. He ran, brandishing
it, to the edge of the water.
“Hey, say; you there!” he yelled. “Whoever
you are, don’t you dare to interfere. The law will
soon be here, and attend to that young rascal.”
“Yes, it will be all over for me when the constable
comes,” choked out the lad by Hiram’s side.
“Please, please help me, if you can! I don’t care
for myself. It’s my little sister. They could hammer
me, and I’d grin and bear it, but when they began
on her I simply had to get away.”
“Little sister—what? Where?” inquired Hiram,
in perplexity.
“Look there,” was the response, and the boy
parted some bushes. Hiram uttered a wondering
and a pitying cry, as he looked over the shoulder of
his guide and saw a little girl, not more than four
years of age. She was lying asleep on the dry grass,
her head pillowed on a coat, evidently belonging to
the lad, her brother. Her attire was as torn and
threadbare as his own. Her face showed tear
stains and exhaustion.
“Oh, dear! Dear!” murmured the pitying
Hiram at the sight of such forlorn misery.
.bn 040.png
// 040.png
.pn +1
“If you don’t think I’m telling you the truth, just
look there!” cried the lad brokenly, and he leaned
over and gently pulled loose the poor thin dress
covering the child. Across her shoulders were half
a dozen dark welts.
“That man over there did that,” sobbed the barefooted
boy. “Wouldn’t you run away for that?
Wouldn’t you want to hit that mean man over
yonder, if he treated a sister of yours that way?”
Hiram Dobbs fired up in a flash. He ran forward
and shook his fist at the man in view. Then
he looked in the direction of the town. The messenger
sent thither was out of sight. Hiram cooled
down.
“That fellow will soon be back with the officers of
the law,” he said. “We mustn’t lose any time, I
suppose. Do you know what that is?” he questioned
his companion, pointing to the Scout.
“It’s an airship; isn’t it?” asked the boy. “I’ve
seen one or two of them before.”
“Yes, it’s a biplane,” explained Hiram.
“There’s a second seat in it, but it can’t carry a
very heavy load, but I am sure, though, it will hold
you and your sister. Pick up that poor little thing
and I’ll show you how to get aboard. You’re not
afraid?” he questioned.
“Me? No. I’d jump aboard a balloon if it
would get little Lois safe out of the clutches of old
Martin Dawson!” cried the lad.
.bn 041.png
// 041.png
.pn +1
The little girl stirred and moaned, as her brother
lifted her in his arms. Hiram piloted him with his
burden to the side of the Scout. He helped him
step over the controls, eased him back into the seat
and strapped him in, the little one in his lap.
“Snug and safe,” he spoke. “All you’ve got to
do is to shut your eyes if you get dizzy. Now then,
you old tyrant!” added Hiram speaking in the direction
of the storming stamping man across from
them, “we’ll set you a pace you couldn’t follow
with all the constables in creation.”
The young aviator had to make three different
efforts to clear the ground. It was not a very good
spot for a start. Finally, however, the Scout gained
enough momentum and made a graceful dart up
into the air.
“Law!—stop!—arrest!”—fuming, and shaking
his cane, the old man cried in disjointed fragments
frantic threats after the vanishing air craft.
“Look there!” chuckled Hiram to the passenger
behind him. Then he laughed outright, and, notwithstanding
his anxiety and his miseries, the boy
laughed, too.
His persecutor, eyes fixed aloft, following the
vanishing Scout, had not heeded his steps. Coming
too near the slimy edge of the swamp he lost his
balance. With a splash he went flat, face first, into
a bed of black sticky mud.
.bn 042.png
// 042.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 05 V "THE BIG EVENT"
Not a word was spoken by either Hiram or his
passenger as the Scout took its average altitude.
The former was busy at his post. As to the other,
holding the sleeping child in his lap, he sat like one
entranced. The rescue from unfriendly hands, the
odd situation in which he found himself, the novelty
of a flight he had never before anticipated, fairly
overcame him.
The able young pilot set out on a glide of easy
progress. Then he had time to speak a few words
to his fellow passenger.
“Comfortable?” he inquired.
“I could stay here forever!” ardently breathed,
rather than spoke, the boy. “I never dreamed of
such a wonderful thing as this airship. Oh, but
you must know a lot, to be able to fly around up
here in this way!”
“Huh! you’d ought to see what my chum, Dave
Dashaway, can do,” vaunted the loyal Hiram.
“Well, we’ve got away from that old rascal back
there, anyhow.”
.bn 043.png
// 043.png
.pn +1
“I hope I may never see him again,” replied the
lad with a shudder. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget
what you’ve done for us in all our troubles.”
“What’s your idea now?” inquired Hiram in an
off-handed way. “I suppose you had some plan
when you gave that old man the slip?”
“Well, yes, I had,” was the reply. “I was thinking
of poor little Lois only, though. I was trying to
get to a place called Benham.”
“Where’s that?” asked Hiram.
“It’s about fifty miles from the town near the
island where you came across me,” explained the
boy. “I was making for the railroad when Mr.
Dawson and the man with him came up with me.
I thought if I could do that, and get into an empty
box car, or something like that, with little Lois, we
might get a ride clear to Benham. Then I would
know what to do.”
“And what is that?” inquired Hiram, with interest.
“There’s a children’s home there. I’ve heard all
about it. I don’t know anybody there, but I’m sure
they would take in Lois. If I can only get her in a
safe, comfortable place for a time, I’ll soon find
work, and earn a home for her,” he said eagerly.
“You’ve got some good ideas,” commented
Hiram, “and I can see you are of the right sort.
I’ll take you to Benham. I don’t exactly know
.bn 044.png
// 044.png
.pn +1
where it is, but it will not be hard to find out. You
just forget all your troubles, and take it easy back
there, and I’ll do the rest.”
After running about twenty miles, keeping well
in line with the towns and settlements dotting the
landscape beneath and ahead of them, Hiram descended
at the edge of a little village. He left his
passenger in charge of the machine, and was gone
about half an hour. When he returned he brought
with him a package of food and a bottle of milk.
The little child had awakened by this time. Her
brother had evidently made her understand what
had transpired, for she regarded the young airman
in a friendly, grateful way, and prattled out new
thanks when Hiram invited her to the modest but
appetizing meal he had provided.
“I’ve got our bearings now, and can get you to
Benham straight as an arrow,” reported Hiram.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he added, looking
his companion searchingly in the eyes, inviting his
confidence, for he was curious to learn more about
him.
His companion hesitated, flushed, and acted confused
and undecided. Then he said frankly:
“I’ve often thought if I ever got free of Mr.
Dawson that I would take a new name, and get
thousands of miles away from him, so he could
never find me again. I’ve got to tell you anything
.bn 045.png
// 045.png
.pn +1
you want to know, though. My name is Bruce
Beresford. My sister and I are orphans. That
man, Dawson, has always had a legal hold on us,
and he has treated us cruelly. I suppose there are
hundreds of fellows in the world just as unfortunate
as I am, but when you have a little sister like
Lois to look after, and protect——”
There the speaker broke down. Hiram was full
of genuine pity for the two waifs. He, too, admired
the fidelity of the thoughtful and affectionate
brother. He did not ask any more questions. It
seemed to be a simple case—two unprotected
orphans cruelly treated by a heartless guardian.
As they neared Benham Hiram landed at the
edge of the place, so as not to attract undue attention
to the biplane or his companions.
“I’m interested enough in you to wait here, and
have you report how you get on with your arrangements
about the little girl,” he said to Bruce
Beresford.
“You’re taking a heap of trouble for a stranger,”
murmured his companion.
“You’re no stranger,” declared Hiram. “I seem
to have known you a long time, although I’ve only
been with you a couple of hours. I guess it’s because
you’re square and honest. Go ahead, and
good luck to you!”
.bn 046.png
// 046.png
.pn +1
The girl waved her thin little hand to Hiram until
they were out of sight. The young aviator then
busied himself about the machine. He was so engrossed
in his task that he was not conscious of the
flight of time, when Bruce Beresford came running
into sight with a radiant face.
“It’s all right,” he proclaimed. “They’ve taken
in little Lois, just as if she was an own child. The
matron kissed her, and cried over her bruises. Of
course I didn’t tell them anything about Mr. Dawson
by name. I’ve agreed to send the home ten
dollars each month as soon as I get work. Oh,
what a relief! and how easy I can do it,” and the
speaker threw out his arms with a gesture that
seemed to say he was ready for the hardest work
in the world if he could find it.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” said Hiram.
“What’s the matter with your coming with me?
I’ve got a famous chum, and I’m sure he’ll take to
you. I’m certain, too, he can get you a place somewhere.”
“You’re awful kind,” responded Bruce, “but I
would like to stay around Benham here until I see
how Lois gets on. She might miss me. Dawson
might trace us. I can get some odd jobs around
town for a few weeks, I am sure. Then, soon as I
know Lois is safe and contented, I’ll branch out in a
bigger city.”
.bn 047.png
// 047.png
.pn +1
“Well, you’ve got the right spirit,” encouraged
Hiram. “I want you to keep trace of us. Maybe
we can help you out. You’ll always be able to locate
us through this address,” and Hiram gave his new
friend a card, naming the present headquarters of
himself and Dave. He could see the tears of gratitude
and gladness shining in the eyes of Bruce as he
sailed aloft.
“Glad I helped him,” soliloquized Hiram.
“Poor fellow! And that tiny little midget of a
sister! And that big, mean old Dawson! I hope
he got a good soaking! Hope I run across this
Beresford boy again, too. He’s the right sort!”
The young airman had put the Scout away in the
hangar in good order, after a careful clean up, and
was ready to sit down on the bench out in the open
air, when Dave put in an appearance. Hiram was
too full of his recent adventure to postpone its recital.
His chum listened with interest to its details.
Hiram, however, made no mention of his “target
practice.”
“There’s something here to interest you,” observed
Dave, drawing a bulky envelope from his
pocket. “It’s the details of the Chicago contest
meet, that followed the invitation from the committee,”
and Hiram looked at the advertising literature
with interest.
.bn 048.png
// 048.png
.pn +1
“Why, Dave,” he cried, glancing over the list of
prizes offered, and the programme outlined for a
three days’ meet, “you surely won’t let this slip
by?”
“I wish very much to enter,” was the reply.
“Of course, though, that depends on what Mr.
Brackett says.”
Hiram showed his impatience and suspense.
“See here!” he cried, “you can’t wait on anything
so indefinite as his coming here, maybe in a
day; maybe in a week.”
“I don’t intend to wait,” remarked Dave. “In
fact, I telegraphed him this morning, after I had
thought things over, giving him an idea of the importance
and scope of the meet. Here’s his answer,
which I received not half an hour since.”
Hiram took the open telegram tendered by his
chum. It read:
“Will be with you to-morrow morning.”
“Hurrah!” shouted the irrepressible Hiram, in
his delight hopping from one foot to the other.
“Oh, Dave, I feel in my bones that you are going
to make the hit of your life!”
.bn 049.png
// 049.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 06 VI "A STARTLING DISCOVERY"
“Go in by all means, Dave.”
It was Mr. Brackett, the aircraft manufacturer,
who spoke, and never was a decision more welcome
to boyish ears than this announcement. Prompt
with his engagement, as was his business rule, the
President of the Interstate Aero Company had arrived
at the Midlothian grounds at eight o’clock in
the morning, of the day succeeding Hiram’s adventure
with the Scout.
There had been warm greetings, for Dave felt
deeply grateful to the wealthy manufacturer who
had so advanced his interests. His impetuous assistant
was equally responsive. As to Mr. Brackett,
it had been a great satisfaction for him to realize
that his young protégés had not only made good
the promise of their early professional career, but
had largely been the means of popularizing the
machines turned out at his plant.
.bn 050.png
// 050.png
.pn +1
He had listened to all that Dave had to say, had
gone over the papers sent from the promoters of
the International meet at Chicago, had considered
for a few moments, and then had settled the matter
of Dave’s participation in the six words above
noted. Hiram’s eyes sparkled. A dazzling picture
of new fame and sure success came into his imaginative
mind.
“I’ve got to say something or bust, Mr. Brackett!”
he exploded. “I hardly slept last night for
thinking of it all. Why, where should Dave be but
in the front ranks at Chicago? A first-class prize
meet would be second-class without the aviator who
won the trans-Atlantic medal, and looped the loop
at Philadelphia ahead of all the competitors, and invented
all the new wrinkles in hydro-aeroplane work
at Cape May, and——”
“There, there, Hiram—that will do,” interrupted
Dave, but smiling indulgently. “From the entrants’
list they send us there will be no ordinary talent at
the Chicago meet and no worn-out stunts will pass.
We’ve got to better ourselves and prepare for real
work, if we expect to make a showing.”
“You’ve got the last word, the real finishing
touch in the Ariel, Dave,” reminded Mr. Brackett.
“I appreciate that, yes, indeed,” responded the
young airman warmly, and with pride. “And it
means half the battle.”
.bn 051.png
// 051.png
.pn +1
“I suppose you can realize our interest in this
meet,” continued Mr. Brackett. “If the Ariel wins,
it standardizes our new model in a manner, and
means thousands of dollars in effective advertising
for the Interstate Aero Company.”
“I’m going to do my level best,” Dave assured
him, and he was so stirred with hope, faith and
eagerness that he paced about restlessly. “There
are some points I am sure of—distance flights, altitude
and speed. None of them can meet the Ariel
there. The stunt programme, though, is another
thing. I want to study up on that and practice, and
I would like to have a talk with the managers at
Chicago as soon as possible.”
“Just what I was about to suggest, Dave,” said
Mr. Brackett. “I don’t see anything gained by
your staying here at the Midlothian grounds. In
fact, after what you tell me of the explosion yesterday
morning, I strongly advise making a move.
Has that tramp friend of yours shown up?”
“No, he hasn’t reported, as I expected he would,”
replied Dave rather disappointedly, and the manufacturer
looked thoughtful as though entertaining
some suspicions. Hiram broke in with the words:
“He’s true blue, though, Mr. Brackett; I’ll vouch
for him! If he hasn’t got to us yet, it’s because he
hasn’t found any trace of the man he’s after.”
“And have you no idea as to the motive for the
attempt to destroy the Ariel?” asked the manufacturer.
.bn 052.png
// 052.png
.pn +1
“I have!” cried Hiram in his usual forcible
way. “When we come to trace this thing down,
we will certainly find that it goes back to that
schemer, Vernon, who has made us so much trouble
in the past.”
“Have you heard anything of Vernon lately,
Dave?” inquired Mr. Brackett.
“Nothing definite. Of course I realize that he
would find it policy to keep out of our way. He
knows we would advise the management of any
meet where he might happen to be, that he is a
dangerous man, and as such ought to be excluded by
the Association.”
“Yes, but cloud-work is all the fellow knows,”
suggested Hiram, “and he will naturally always be
a hanger-on in that line. He’s slick enough to work
under cover. He’s bad enough, too, to agree to do
any unfair work a rival might want to have done
against us. That dynamite wasn’t planted in our
hangar for fun. Look out for Vernon, I say, and
look out sharp, for we haven’t heard the last of him
yet, you mark me!”
“Well, once at Chicago, you will find better protection,”
submitted Mr. Vernon. “Ah whom have
we here?”
“A thousand pardons,” spoke an intruder, and
there crossed the threshold of the hangar at that
juncture Lieutenant Montrose Mortimer. The suspicion
was instantly suggested to Dave that the reputed
Englishman might have been lingering outside
to choose this special moment for an appearance.
.bn 053.png
// 053.png
.pn +1
“Got a cablegram from my people abroad this
morning, Dashaway,” he continued glibly. “They
are urging me to reach some definite results.”
“This is Mr. Brackett, of whom I spoke to you
yesterday, Lieutenant,” said Dave, introducing the
manufacturer. “He might be interested to bear of
the remarkable aviation progress in England.”
“Ah, just so, just so,” assented the lieutenant,
with a searching look at Mr. Brackett. “Why, sir,
I have told our young friend here of the flight-camps
the British admiralty have established at
Aldershot. I have been commissioned to secure
some good tutoring material, and the fame of Dashaway
naturally led me to him. It is example and
direction that our novices need, and I can promise
fine pay and a permanency. We have the best
Benoist models, Gyro motors, and every standard
wrinkle. The war has made it just as insistent for
us to secure the best birdmen as armament and
shells.”
The lieutenant rattled on at a great rate and Mr.
Brackett listened quietly. Believing that he was impressing
his audience, Mortimer drew some papers
from his pocket, selected one, and began figuring
up the income possibilities of an energetic up to
date expert like Dave.
.bn 054.png
// 054.png
.pn +1
“This is very interesting, Lieutenant Mortimer,”
said the manufacturer finally, “but I fear Mr. Dashaway
is not in a position to accept your flattering
offer.”
“Regret—disappointed. I could cable my people
for more liberal terms if——”
“It would be of no use,” said Mr. Brackett.
“Dashaway is going to enter for the Chicago meet,
and will leave here forthwith.”
“Oh, indeed!” observed their visitor, as if he
had received a valuable piece of news, and he arose
quickly, brushing pencil and paper to the floor.
“Sorry! Going to make it in this superb biplane of
yours, Dashaway?”
“Yes, we shall take the Ariel with us, of course,”
replied Dave. He said it reluctantly, however. He
had noted a subtle eagerness in the face of his questioner
that he did not like.
“That fellow is a fraud,” broadly announced the
manufacturer, as the alleged representative of the
British admiralty bowed his way out of the hangar.
“That’s been my opinion all along,” echoed
Hiram promptly. “You can speak right out,” he
added to Dave. “The fellow’s out of sight. I followed
him purposely to the door, for he looked as if
.bn 055.png
// 055.png
.pn +1
he might be thinking of sneaking around to overhear
what we might say. He noticed me, and bolted
for it. Say, did you see him prick up his ears and
act sort of rattled, when you told him that we were
going to leave here?”
“That struck me,” acquiesced Mr. Brackett.
“As I said, he is palpably a fraud.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Brackett?” inquired
Dave.
“Because I happen to know something about the
aircraft situation in England. The big operating
point for military aviation requirements is not at
Aldershot, but at the Brookland Motor Course and
Flying Grounds, which has been taken over by the
government for tests and speed trials, the general
public being strictly excluded.”
“Huh!” bristled up Hiram, thinking hard—“what’s
coming along now?”
“Another thing,” resumed the manufacturer,
“when this lieutenant of yours speaks of Benoists
and Gyro Motors, he is talking about something he
does not understand. The principal flyers adopted
by the admiralty are American models, and the
Green water cooled engine has just won the two
hundred and fifty thousand dollar prize in the national
test in England.”
“Why, what can the man’s object be in going
to all this trouble and duplicity?” asked Dave.
.bn 056.png
// 056.png
.pn +1
“It doesn’t look clear, nor right, to me, Dave,”
answered Mr. Brackett. “If this is another part of
some plot to do you, or your machine harm, it is high
time that you were away from here and,——”
“It is!” startlingly interrupted Hiram. “Say,
I’ve got the key to the whole business!”
Both Mr. Brackett and Dave stared at the
speaker in wonderment. Hiram was very much excited.
He was waving something in his hand, but it
was not the “key” to which he alluded. It was,
in fact, the piece of paper on which Lieutenant
Montrose Mortimer had been figuring that Hiram
had picked up from the floor of the hangar.
“Look there!” he shouted, exhibiting its reverse
side. “See! It’s a telegram from Chicago. Read
it, and see if I’ve been guessing wrong all along!”
Hiram held the sheet so that his companions
could plainly read the following alarming message:
.sp 2
“Keep Dashaway and his machine out of the race
at any cost.”
.sp 2
And it was signed: “Vernon.”
.bn 057.png
// 057.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 07 VII "THE HIDDEN HAND"
“Hurray!” cheered Hiram Dobbs enthusiastically—“we’re
off! Oh, Dave, this is life!”
“We are going to make this a record attempt,
Hiram,” the young aviator advised his excited assistant.
“Got the sealed barographs in place? All
right. If we should really do something quite stunning,
at the end of the flight we’ll submit results to
the contesting committee of the governing organization
at New York City.”
“A cross country flight as the crow flies!” cried
Hiram. “It must be over three hundred and fifty
miles. Dave, what do you expect?”
“If this cross wind doesn’t interfere, I calculate
about three hours and thirty minutes.”
“Why, that would beat the Western record,”
suggested Hiram, wonderingly.
“That’s what I am setting out to do,” answered
the young airman quietly. “We are tanked up
forty-six gallons, and enough oil to last us for a five
hour run.”
.bn 058.png
// 058.png
.pn +1
The Ariel made three trips around the Midlothian
grounds, and then struck her going level. The main
plates of the machine were so arranged above the
fuselage or framework, that pilot and observer had
an almost unlimited range of vision. Dave experienced
a sense of relief at leaving a spot where
trouble seemed to menace them. Hiram comfortably
belted in, had eyes open for everything. This
was his second trip in the Ariel, and the novelty of
the machine had not yet worn off for him.
There was a minor trial course outside the Midlothian
grounds, given over to amateurs and non-eligibles.
There both Dave and his chum noticed a
good many ambitious airmen trying out their machines.
Several of them set the Ariel a pace, but all
but two of them soon fell behind. One of these, a
full type Curtiss, held a fair follow-up at a distance.
“Looks as if it was headed for Chicago, too; that
particular machine,” observed Hiram. “Do we follow
the railroad, Dave?”
“It’s the clearest and best course, I think,” responded
the pilot of the Ariel. “Did you leave
word for our tramp friend, Borden?”
“Yes, with that accommodating fellow at the
next hangar to ours. I left a little note telling him
to wire us if he made any important discoveries.
Say, Dave, do you suppose that fraud lieutenant
will show up again?”
.bn 059.png
// 059.png
.pn +1
“I think we must be careful all along the line,”
was the reply, delivered gravely. “That telegram
showed that our old-time enemy, Vernon, is after
us. The lieutenant, and undoubtedly the man
whose picture Borden drew, are certainly working
in the interest of Vernon.”
“But what can he be after?” persisted Hiram, in
a nettled way because he could not probe the mystery.
“That will develop later,” answered the young
air pilot. “To my way of thinking, and also that
of Mr. Brackett, our enemy has offered his services
to some contestant we do not yet know. Now we’ve
picked up the railway. That will be our guide to
our terminus.”
The biplane had been given a careful investigation
and adjustment. Dave had driven onward and
upward until they had attained an altitude of five
hundred feet. Hiram had been watching a receding
speck, the Curtiss machine, that seemed bent on
their own course, when, turning, he touched Dave
sharply on the shoulder, and called loudly above the
throb of the motor:
“There’s a heavy cloud-bank ahead.”
“I see that,” spoke the pilot of the Ariel.
“It ends in a mean fog, earthward.”
.bn 060.png
// 060.png
.pn +1
“Yes, I notice that, too. I tell you, Hiram, we
are safer up here, under the circumstances, than
trying to get down. We’ll nose up to a still higher
altitude and get above the clouds.”
“We’re nearly touching the seven thousand
mark,” reported Hiram, a few minutes later. “It’s
clear sailing ahead, though.”
Because of the maneuver just attempted, the
two young airmen became mixed as to their course.
For some time neither saw the earth again. Dave
tried to allow for the same drift as before, but could
only hope that he was steering in the right direction.
“There’s a change in the atmospheric conditions,”
announced Dave’s assistant, after a while.
“Yes,” responded Dave, “there’s a storm raging
below.”
“And ahead, too,” added Hiram.
“We’ve got to get above those newly formed
clouds,” declared Dave, and he shot the machine still
higher up.
“Dave!” cried his companion, “I never saw anything
so beautiful! Isn’t this grand!”
It was, indeed, an unusual sight. Dazzling white
clouds paved a seeming highway beneath them in
every direction. Overhead the sun was shining brilliantly.
The light reflected upon the cloud-mass
was so intense that it affected the eyes as snow
blindness would.
“It’s getting terribly cold!” Hiram remarked,
shivering.
.bn 061.png
// 061.png
.pn +1
“Yes,” answered Dave, with a glance at the thermometer,
“two degrees above freezing point,” and
even through his leather suit he could feel the sharp
and piercing cold. The wind above the clouds came
straight from the north. Below it was blowing
from the northwest. It was a wonderful sight
about then, and it reminded the young aviator
strongly of past experiences in the polar regions,
while on his famous trip around the world. He did
his best to keep a due east course, but had no landmarks
to steer by, and he decided they must have
drifted far to the south.
At last there were rifts in the clouds, which began
breaking up, giving a sight of the ground.
“We’ve been up here nearly three hours,” announced
Hiram, “and the gasoline is giving out.”
A slow glide brought them directly over a large
farm. They made out great stacks of hay, and the
Ariel settled down like a tired-out bird in the center
of these fields.
“There’s a man—with a gun!” Hiram sharply
exclaimed.
Dave, alighting, saw a farmer, of middle age.
He, indeed, had a gun—but he set this, and a game
bag, alongside a haystack, and advanced towards
them with no indication of antagonism.
“That was a pretty slick landing,” he said. “No
fire about your machine, is there?”
.bn 062.png
// 062.png
.pn +1
“None at all,” answered Dave. “I have shut off
everything.”
“I was thinking of the haystacks,” explained
the farmer. “You’ve got a fine machine there.
I’ve seen some, they’re getting so common they
often come out this way.”
“We have run out of gasoline,” said Dave.
“Do you happen to have a supply?”
“I don’t, for a fact,” was the reply, “but I
happen to know my nearest neighbor has. If you
want to come up to the house, and wait a bit, I’ll
send one of my men after it.”
“We need quite a quantity,” said Dave, “and will
be glad to pay a good price.”
“A bite of something to eat wouldn’t come in
amiss, either,” suggested Hiram.
“I reckon we can accommodate you in that particular,”
said the farmer. “Make things snug,
lads, and come up to the house.”
He led the way, chatting busily. Dave soon discovered
that he was up-to-date, readily pleased
with novelty, very inquisitive and hospitable in the
extreme. He learned of the extent of the needs
of his guests, and forthwith sent a hired man with
a wagon over to the neighbor’s for gasoline. Then,
as his visitors were comfortably seated on a screened
porch, with chairs and a table on it, he left them for
the kitchen of the house.
.bn 063.png
// 063.png
.pn +1
“The girl will fetch some victuals in a few minutes,”
he advised the boys upon his return. “Sort
of enjoyable, eating here in the air. Big meet out
in Chicago, I understand?”
“Yes, we are going there,” said Dave, and from
then on he was kept busy answering the questions
“fired” at him rapidly by their curious host.
“I declare! that’s an interesting trade of yours,”
he said. “But here’s the victuals. Sort of out of
reg’lar meal-time order, but you’ll find it all right,
I hope.”
Hiram was very hungry, and ate the cold roast
beef, biscuits and fried potatoes served in plentitude,
with the keen appetite of a hungry boy. Dave, too,
enjoyed the palatable lunch.
“I suppose it’s a great bracer to get away up in
the air,” observed the farmer. “Through, youngsters?”
“No. I say!—Why, where is that?” suddenly
ejaculated Hiram.
He had leaped up unceremoniously from the table,
and advanced to the end of the porch.
“Hear that chugging, Dave?” he inquired, peering
up into the sky. “There’s a machine somewhere
aloft. Oh, here’s the screen door! I want to look.
There she is!” he shouted, once out in the yard, and
staring upwards. “Dave, it’s the Curtiss we
thought was taking up our course!”
.bn 064.png
// 064.png
.pn +1
“Then they’ve made as good time as we have,”
called back Dave. “What now?” for Hiram had
uttered a new cry of excitement.
“Why, I say!” he shouted. “That’s strange!
It’s suddenly vanished!”
.bn 065.png
// 065.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 08 VIII "THE SECRET FOE"
The young pilot of the Ariel was sufficiently interested
to follow his assistant down into the yard.
The farmer followed. Three pairs of eyes scanned
the sky with no result.
“I say, it’s queer,” persisted Hiram, trying to
get a new focus of view by running about out of
range of surrounding trees and buildings.
“Mebbe they alighted behind the barn,” suggested
the farmer.
“Then they pretty nearly came straight down,”
declared Hiram.
“There’s a holler over beyond the orchard,” explained
the farmer.
“I’m going to find out where they landed,” persisted
Hiram, running away from the others.
He rounded the barn, a corn crib and then the
windmill shed. He heard: “Chug—chug!” Keen
as a ferret, the guiding sound spurred him on.
Suddenly Hiram halted.
.bn 066.png
// 066.png
.pn +1
“There it is,” he said to himself. “They
dropped, but they could not have touched the ground.
Sure, it’s the Curtiss. Why—the vandals!”
In a flash the quick senses of Dashaway’s apprentice
took the alarm. The antics of the Curtiss
had been curious. Now something caught the attention
of Hiram and awakened positive suspicion;
alarm, too, for the strange machine arose from amid
the haystacks where the Ariel had anchored.
“It means something,” muttered Hiram, resuming
his run. “Fire!”
For an instant he was appalled. A smell of
smoke was wafted to his nostrils. Then, getting in
range of the haystacks, he caught a gleam of leaping
flames. Rounding the first great heap of fodder,
Hiram uttered an angry cry. The Curtiss was sailing
away, and it was fully evident that its occupants
had descended purposely to set a match to the
enormous heaps of hay within ready reach.
“They were after our machine!” shouted the lad,
and he snatched up the gun the farmer had left behind
him. It was double-barreled. Hiram fired
twice. He fancied he could hear the shots rattle
against the planes of the fast-swaying biplane aloft.
Its speed was not diminished, however. He threw
down the gun and made a dive through a fire-fringed
space between the two nearest haystacks.
.bn 067.png
// 067.png
.pn +1
The one further along, near which the Ariel
stood, was now a mass of wispy, shooting blaze.
Two others beyond it had also ignited. It was now
that the lad ran fastest. His face was hot and blistered
as he came up against the tail rudder of the
imperiled machine with a force that gave him a rebound.
The smoke and the heat choked and blinded him.
He bent his head and gave the running gear a start.
He could not see before him now. With desperate
resolve Hiram buckled down to his task. The
aeroplane, upon which his hopes and interest were
fixed so intensely, was in peril. He knew it was
scorched, from the faint smell of melting varnish.
All he thought of was getting the Ariel outside
the spreading circle of fire. He could choose no
lanes between the numerous stacks, for the smoke
now obscured everything. He had to trust to luck.
Now he was running the machine along.
“The mischief!” uttered Hiram abruptly, and
went spinning back half a dozen feet. He had
driven the biplane squarely into an unseen stack.
The rebound shook him loose. He stumbled and
fell. Then his head met some hard solid substance
and he closed his eyes with a groan—senseless.
It was the echo of the two shots that first aroused
Dave Dashaway, who had stood looking after Hiram
until he disappeared, and then awaited his return.
The farmer had gone back to the porch, but now he
ran down into the yard again with the words:
.bn 068.png
// 068.png
.pn +1
“Hello! that was my gun—I’d know its sound
anywhere, I think.”
“Then something is wrong,” instantly decided
Dave, quite stirred up. “I see nothing of the airship—”
“No,” shouted the farmer, “but there’s a fire!”
The moment he got beyond the barn, Dave also
saw the smoke and flames.
“My haystacks!” cried the farmer.
“The Ariel!” murmured Dave. “And there is
the biplane Hiram saw. Mr. Rudd, there’s something
wrong going on!” but the farmer was speeding
towards the central scene of action. Dave broke
into a run. He out-distanced his companion.
The stranger airship was now high up in the air,
and heading due west. Dave could not make out
those on board. He fancied there were two in the
machine.
“Hiram! Hiram!” he shouted, and strained his
gaze to try and locate the Ariel. A sudden flurry
of wind lifted the smoke. Dave fancied he saw his
machine. It was in the midst of the stacks and
seemed doomed. Down a fire-fringed pathway he
darted, however. Then, more by the sense of feeling
than seeing, he came up against his sky-craft.
It was heroic work, for the heat was blistering,
the smoke and cinders blinding. Dave discerned
that the Ariel was wedged into the edge of a stack.
He drew it back, whirled it about heading a new
way, and bore it along with a strong push.
.bn 069.png
// 069.png
.pn +1
He gave a great breath of relief as it wheeled free
of the last stack. He fairly reeled the last few yards
of progress. Free of the fire, he held to the tail of
the machine for support. Dave was exhausted, almost
overcome with the ordeal he had gone
through. His leather suit, however, had saved
him from being badly burned. As it was, his hair
was singed and his face and hands red and blistered.
“Where is Hiram?” he breathed anxiously.
Then Dave called his chum’s name, steadied himself,
and rubbed clear his cinder-filled eyes.
“Had a fall—stumbled right over your partner,”
panted the farmer, and he emerged from the blazing
space with unsteady feet.
“Why, what’s this?” cried Dave.
The farmer was half-carrying, half-dragging a
human form. He flopped to the ground himself
overcome, as he dropped his burden.
“Hiram!” exclaimed the young aviator, recognizing
his senseless assistant.
“Lucky I found him,” panted the farmer. “He
lay on the ground the way he is now. My feet hit
him, and I took a header. If I hadn’t come across
him, it would have been all day for him.”
.bn 070.png
// 070.png
.pn +1
Dave was now kneeling at the side of his unconscious
chum. He lifted Hiram’s head. A damp
spot met his hand. Then he discovered a long
scalp wound, bleeding profusely. The farmer stood
dumbly viewing the destruction going on. He was
of a philosophical turn, it seemed, for finally shrugging
his shoulders resignedly he observed:
“Lucky most of it is poor swamp hay. It’s got
to go, I see that. Let it burn out, we can’t save any
of it, and I reckon it won’t reach the sheds. Hurt
bad?”
“I don’t think so,” replied Dave, but anxiously.
“There’s a cut in the back of his head.”
“Mebbe he fell against one of the big stone
weights used for holding down the hay. See here,
he’s the first to think of. We must get him to the
house.”
Dave was anxious to do this. They ran the
Ariel safely out of range of danger. Then they
lifted Hiram and carried him in the direction of
the house. By this time some field workers, near by
and on neighboring farms, came running to the spot.
They got rakes and bags and beat out the dry stubble
surrounding the stacks, which had become ignited.
They put Hiram on a bench near the well, and the
farmer filled a pail, and wetting his big handkerchief
applied it to the head of the insensible lad.
Its effect was noticed at once.
.bn 071.png
// 071.png
.pn +1
“Hello!” cried Hiram, sitting up and opening
his eyes. “Where did those rascals get to, Dave?
Oh, I remember now!” Then his glance swept the
blazing mass two hundred yards away. “Oh,
Dave!” he exclaimed, the tears coming to his eyes.
“I did what I could, but the Ariel is gone up!”
“No, ’tain’t—your partner saved it!” spoke the
farmer quickly.
At that glad news Hiram struggled to his feet.
He was wild-eyed and still unsteady, but his old grit
was fast returning.
“Dave,” he cried, “don’t let them get away—the
fellows in that big Curtiss, I mean. They set that
fire!”
.bn 072.png
// 072.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 09 IX "JUST IN TIME"
“Who is that man, Hiram?”
It was two days after the stirring adventure
among the burning haystacks. They were now
under a new and changed environment. Outside of
a roomy hangar on the training grounds near
Chicago, they seemed to have passed from a zone of
peril and trickery into an atmosphere of order and
security.
The chums had been oiling the Scout, which had
been shipped to them from the Midlothian grounds
the day previous. Dave had noticed a thin wiry man
standing outside of their hangar and studiously regarding
the Ariel. Then the stranger had moved
nearer to them, and transferred a steady, almost
insolent gaze to the young aviator. Hiram had been
so absorbed in his task that he had not noted what
the keen observation of Dave, always on the alert,
had taken in. Now he straightened up and shot a
glance at the stranger, just turning away.
.bn 073.png
// 073.png
.pn +1
“Hello!” he exclaimed, “he’s familiar. Why
it’s Valdec!”
“You don’t mean the crack cloud-climber, as they
call him, the Syndicate champion?” questioned his
companion.
“That’s him,” went on Hiram. “Yes, that’s ‘the
great and only.’ I saw him down at the clubhouse
last evening. Humph! I don’t like him any better
than I do his backer, and that’s Worthington.”
Dave viewed the rival airman from head to foot.
He was not only curious, but interested. The
chums had met a variety of amateurs and professionals
since their arrival at the present centre of
attraction in the aviation world. A portion of them
were a motley group. They ranged from expert
balloon trapezists to acrobatic notables. They were
essentially “stunt” men. The real professionals
were a widely different crowd. There were men
who had earned fame in their particular line of
activity. Some were inventors, and there was a
sprinkling of scientists. The name, Valdec, however,
Dave had heard a great many more times than
that of any professional on the grounds.
Valdec was an importation. He claimed some
wonderful records made in France and England.
His specialty was the handling of a machine in
speed, gyration and novelty effects. He had been a
public demonstrator and exhibitor at big fairs in
.bn 074.png
// 074.png
.pn +1
Europe. His daring was notorious. He was a
grim, unsocial specimen of humanity, and talked
but little. His backers talked for him, however.
These comprised the Syndicate, a group of old-time
racehorse and baseball promoters and the like.
They had taken to the aviation field as the newest
and likeliest sport where their peculiar abilities
would count.
A great many standard airmen besides Dave did
not like this feature of the great International meet.
It was not to be helped, however. The manager,
Worthington, paid for his special entrants, who
were able to qualify. It was his business to finance
them, and he claimed that such a connection was
legitimate. The Syndicate group formed quite a
camp of their own at one end of the grounds.
There were over half a dozen airmen in the combination,
covering various phases of flying, all out
for prizes, and selected by the promoter as likely to
win.
“Yes, that’s Valdec,” resumed Hiram. “I don’t
like him, nor his crowd, nor their hangers-on, but I
will say the fellow can do things. When you were
away yesterday he had half an hour’s practice on
spiral work. It was not only pretty, but it took
away your breath. I heard one of the bystanders
say that before Valdec makes one of his sensational
dives, he works himself up to such a point that he is
perfectly reckless. That’s his crowd—running
things just as they would for a track race.”
.bn 075.png
// 075.png
.pn +1
“Well, the steady nerve and the clear head counts
in the wind up,” observed Dave philosophically.
“This job is done. Now for some real work.”
It was not Dave’s habit to “show off” nor to advise
his rivals of his prospective programme. The
location of the practice grounds was ideal. The
country about was level, and there was a lake area
over which long distance flights would be unhampered.
The day before, however, and on the present
occasion, as soon as both aviators were in their
places in the machine, its pilot started a course for a
barren uninhabited reach among the sand dunes
twenty miles south of the grounds. Here they were
unnoticed and had free scope.
“No danger of collisions here,” observed the
cheerful Hiram, as they landed and Dave sailed off
alone. Then he sat down on a heap of brush and
chucklingly announced himself as “an audience of
one,” prepared to enjoy the spectacle of the occasion.
“Bravo!” voted the loyal and enthusiastic lad, as
Dave made a superb sweep that vied with a sailing
pigeon, fleeing in terror from this unfamiliar monarch
of the air.
.bn 076.png
// 076.png
.pn +1
Then Hiram clapped his hands loudly, and kicked
with his feet, as though in some auditorium, and
bound to applaud, as Dave made a volplane that
seemed destined to land the machine nose deep in
the flickering sands. Suddenly, twenty feet from
the ground, he balanced, even tipped, and went up,
up, up—until machine and pilot were a mere speck.
“Hurrah!” rang out briskly, when the daring
operator of the Ariel began a spiral drop. And then
as Dave landed, his assistant, half wild with delight,
was dancing from foot to foot. “Oh, I say,” he
shouted, “it’s up to Valdec! Honest, Dave, it beats
him. Yes, sir, it actually does!” and the faithful
chum laughed, as though already he saw the capital
prize of the meet safe in the hands of his friend.
The chums put in two hours about the flying field
afforded by the sand dunes. They started back for
the International grounds feeling duly satisfied.
Dave was more satisfied with the Ariel than ever.
The perfect piece of mechanism had never
“balked” yet. Hiram professed to see new skill
and expertness in his gifted chum with every succeeding
flight.
“Let’s take a view of the city before we go
home,” he suggested, and Dave was nothing loth.
“Doll houses and pigmies; eh?” submitted Hiram,
as they flew over the south end of the city. “A
little flat patch of the world, down there. Those
vessels on the lake look like play-ships. That big
skyscraper doesn’t appear much larger than a
.bn 077.png
// 077.png
.pn +1
chicken house. There’s some excitement!” and
Hiram leaned over to get a better view of what
had attracted his attention. “Dave,” he cried suddenly,
“it’s a fire!”
Dave made out smoke and flames about a very
high structure located near the river that traversed
the heart of the city. He was as much interested as
his companion, for a mimic play seemed going on
below. Everything appeared in miniature—the
hurrying fire engines, the puffing fire-boats on the
river, the great crowds, the giant building wreathed
with smoke. As they neared this Dave made out
more clearly the situation.
“It seems to be a storage warehouse, built solid
from the sixth story up,” he said. “The lower
stories are all on fire. It will be a bad blaze when
it gets up into the closely sealed upper part.”
“Dave,” cried Hiram sharply—“look, look, on
the roof!”
“Yes—a girl,” responded Dave. “Why, Hiram,
she is alone, and imprisoned up there by the fire!”
It was not difficult to understand the situation.
The sixth floor of the building was probably the
office of the warehouse. Such concerns hire but
little help outside of the men who handle consignments
for storage. The girl, probably a stenographer,
must have been alone on the floor noted
when the fire broke out.
.bn 078.png
// 078.png
.pn +1
She could not descend, for the five lower floors
were all ablaze. Escape was cut off, except upwards.
She had probably fled up the spiral staircases
without coming to a break in the solid masonry,
in the dark, and groping her way, and driven
to frenzy by the pursuing smoke.
Now she was plainly visible to the two chums.
She stood near the edge of the roof, waving her
hands frantically. Below, the hook and ladder service
attempted to reach her point of refuge, but they
could not get above the eighth floor.
“Dave,” spoke Hiram in a muffled tone that
trembled, “can’t we do something?”
Already the pilot of the Ariel had received the
same mental suggestion. His eye took in all the
chances. All that was chivalrous and humane in
him came to the surface.
“There’s just one way, Hiram,” he said. “That
is to make a volplane and a landing on the roof.”
“Yes, yes,” agreed Hiram eagerly. “It’s a long
narrow building, with plenty of room for a stop and
a start.”
“You’re willing to risk it?”
“Yes—surely!” cried Hiram. “Don’t delay,
Dave. We’re safe to try it, before the flames reach
her, or the building collapses.”
.bn 079.png
// 079.png
.pn +1
A great cry went up from the excited crowds in
the streets below, at the sight of what resembled
some mighty winged bird coming on a mission of
rescue and mercy, where other help seemed vain.
The girl on the roof saw the machine, and comprehended
what it meant for her. She ran towards
it with a glad cry as Dave dexterously directed it.
The Ariel struck the smooth flat roof, and came to
a stop, Hiram leaped out.
“This way!” he called, and, taking her outstretched
hand he guided her to the seat he had
just vacated, and belted her in. “Don’t get scared,
nor faint. You’ll be safe on solid land in a jiffy.
Go ahead, Dave,” added Hiram. “The machine
won’t stand my weight on the narrow margin
start we can give it.”
Onward went the Ariel. To the spellbound
crowd below it seemed to slide off the roof. Dave
made a spiral drop. A block away from the fire
there was a lumber yard, only half stocked, affording
a good landing place.
The girl was out of the machine and safe in
charge of two ladies who supported her. She
turned to Dave, her lips moving as if in gratitude,
and then swooned. Dave got started before the onrushing
mob got in his way. It seemed to him as
if the voices of thousands joined in a thunderous
cheer. There on the roof, as if in response to this
mighty tribute to daring heroism, stood Hiram,
smiling and unconcerned as though it were all an
every day occurrence.
.bn 080.png
// 080.png
.pn +1
“Good for you, and quite in time,” he commented
briskly, as Dave landed on the roof in
safety. “The fire is eating up through the staircases.
See, yonder!” and the speaker pointed to
wreaths of smoke and cinders shooting out through
a roof trap as if forced by an air compressor.
“Something wrong with the control,” said Dave,
as they skidded into space again. “The jar of that
roof, I guess. It needs fixing,” and the young aviator
was compelled to land again in the spot where
he had delivered the imperiled girl into friendly
hands.
.bn 081.png
// 081.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 10 X "A FRIEND IN DISGUISE"
“Dave, I’m famous!”
Hiram Dobbs burst into the little space just beyond
the threshold of the hangar, which he had
called “the office.” The partitioned-off corner
held some chairs and a table. Dave was busy
glancing over a catalogue of aeroplane accessories,
and he looked up with an inquisitive smile at his
excitable assistant.
“Well, what now, Hiram?” he questioned.
“Look—your picture, my picture, the burning
building, the Ariel. ‘Daring aeronaut’—that’s
you. ‘Heroic assistant’—that’s me. See, isn’t it
great!”
The impetuous speaker had just come in from
breakfast. He spread out a morning newspaper.
Its first four columns held a vivid description of the
warehouse fire. There had certainly been reporters
at the scene, and photographers also, for four excellent
pictures illuminated the printed page.
.bn 082.png
// 082.png
.pn +1
There was one scene of the swoop of the Ariel
to the roof of the building where the stenographer
had stood, with clasped hands gazing helplessly
down at the awed crowd, fourteen stories below.
Then there was a view of the ruins after the fire,
showing a low smouldering heap, all that remained
of the skyscraper.
When the Ariel had last landed, the photographer
had made a close snap shot of pilot and assistant.
The aeroplane, Dave, and Hiram were all clearly
shown. The final picture was a view of thousands
of persons waving hats and handkerchiefs in enthusiastic
adieu to the machine disappearing over
their heads.
“It’s a smart fellow who did that story,” declared
Hiram. “Regular poet, too. ‘Nervy young aviator,’
‘heroic lone figure of the handsome young
fellow who ran the risk of his life to save a poor
frenzied girl.’ Hum! I’ll have to look out if I’m in
that list. How they learned who we were, and got
your whole history, Dave, shows positive genius.”
“We were not interviewed,” responded the young
airman, “so I suppose they naturally traced us here,
and got their information from the manager. It
makes quite a pleasant thrill, to see ourselves pictured
as doing some good in the world; doesn’t
it?”
“I know some folks who didn’t have any pleasing
thrills over the affair,” remarked Hiram.
.bn 083.png
// 083.png
.pn +1
“Who is that?” questioned his chum.
“The Syndicate crowd. I came past there from
the restaurant. One of them had a morning paper.
Valdec saw me and scowled. Worthington looked
up, and I saw his lips move as if he were wishing us
up at Halifax. They don’t wish us any good luck
I’m sure. But at headquarters the manager was delighted.
He came up to me when I was eating
breakfast, clapped me on the shoulder and smiled
all over. ‘Tell Dashaway he’s given the meet a
capital advertisement,’ he said. You see, it mentions
that you will be one of the contestants in the
International, Dave.”
Hiram was in good humor over the event. He
whistled and sang in his routine work about the
hangar. Dave was his friend and he was proud of
him, and not for a moment doubted that he would
“scoop up every prize in sight,” as he expressed it.
When his chum sent him after some frame tape,
down to the supply depot on the grounds, Hiram
purposely took a detour by way of the Syndicate
camp.
“Guess I’ve got a bad streak in me somewhere,”
he chuckled, “for it sort of satisfies me to think
we’re making that crowd wriggle. Hello—well,
never! Oh, say, hello!”
.bn 084.png
// 084.png
.pn +1
Hiram walked on with sudden activity. He was
passing the central hangar of the Syndicate people,
when he noticed a man twenty feet ahead of him.
This individual chanced to turn his face sideways.
In an instant Hiram recognized him, and the youth
came to a sudden stop for he ran squarely into the
man.
“Mr. Borden!” Hiram cried. “Say, I’m
awful glad——”
“Hush!” came the caution.
It was the tramp artist. He was now neatly
dressed. The frowsiness he had shown at the Midlothian
grounds was gone, and he seemed prosperous.
As he evidently in turn recognized his friend
of the past, a glad gleam came over his face, and
then he became flustered. He seized Hiram by the
arm, turned his back to the people near the hangar,
and whispered quickly:
“Not a word! No names! Act out what I start
in on.” And then in a tone of affected ferocity he
gave Hiram a vigorous shake. “Who are you running
into, clumsy!” he shouted at the top of his
voice. “Get away from here, and stay away!”
He gave Hiram a swing and a push. For only a
moment was the latter bewildered. Then he was
almost stunned. Amid the jeers of the Syndicate
crowd near the hangars he went spinning almost
twenty feet, stumbled and slid flat on the ground
for a yard or two.
.bn 085.png
// 085.png
.pn +1
“I’ll get even with you!” he yelled at Borden,
shaking his fist at him, affecting a boylike rage at
his mistreatment, and then setting off on a run as
his pretended assailant made a feint of pursuing.
“Oh, say,” continued Hiram to himself, “Dave
must know about this right away. ‘Acting,’ Borden
called it. Good! Great! I see through it now!”
Hiram forgot about his errand for the time
being. He was a quiet thinker, and he fancied he
had made a big discovery. He rushed in on his
chum, flustered, perspiring and gasping for breath.
“Dave,” he almost shouted, “that man—the
tramp down at the Midlothian—you know—”
“Yes,” answered his chum, “Mr. Borden—what
about him?”
“He’s here! He’s with the Syndicate crowd. I
saw him. Listen,” and the words piled over each
other recklessly as he recited his recent adventure.
“Now what do you think of that? Plain as the
nose on your face. ‘Acting,’ see? I took him unawares.
He’s playing a part—for our benefit!”
“I believe you’re right,” agreed Dave thoughtfully.
“It looks that way, anyhow. I don’t know
why he should be so interested in our affairs and
go to a lot of trouble to help us——”
“I do,” pronounced Hiram energetically. “I
saw more of him than you did. He’s no ordinary
tramp. You treated him like a gentleman and he
appreciated it. You have a way of making everybody
like you, Dave.”
.bn 086.png
// 086.png
.pn +1
“Thank you,” answered the young aviator,
“but how about Valdec and the Syndicate outfit,
Hiram?”
“I meant everybody good,” corrected Hiram.
“That proves my argument. Borden is good. He
shows it, good all over and all the way through. I
think he has some track of the fellow whose picture
he drew and that the trail led him straight to the
meet here. Don’t you see? Vincent is in with
Worthington and his crowd and Borden has found
it out.”
Dave did not reply to the suggestion, but in his
own mind he secretly sided with the views of his
imaginative assistant. From the manner in which
Borden had just acted, it would seem that his being
with the Syndicate crowd was no accidental connection.
If its motive lay in a friendly move on
behalf of the airship chums, it was certain that the
tramp artist had discovered something of value.
“If things are as you say,” spoke Dave, “we will
be sure to hear from Borden in some way before
long. It is evident that he does not want us to
recognize him as a friend. That being so, he will
act with caution in getting word to us.”
.bn 087.png
// 087.png
.pn +1
“You’ll find out I’m guessing right,” asserted
Hiram, “you’ll find out that this Vernon, out of
revenge, and because he’s paid, is working for
Valdec to get us out of the contest.”
Hiram was much excited the rest of that day,
expecting word from Borden, which did not come.
The episode of the morning had somewhat disturbed
Dave. If there was a systematic plot on foot to
keep the Ariel out of the lists, extreme vigilance
was necessary.
The management had a night patrol, but more to
look after things in general than each individual
hangar. Dave had known one Dennis Rohan at a
former meet he had attended, a man who traveled
about selling favors and souvenirs. He was an old
man with one limb, crippled, not very active in getting
about, but sober and reliable. Until the meet
opened he had nothing particular to do. Dave
sought him out. He arranged that Rohan was to
act as watchman of the hangar, coming on duty at
dusk, and remaining until daylight.
The usual practice of the day was gone through
that afternoon. Hiram showed a good deal of restlessness,
however. Just before supper Dave came
up to him where he sat on a bench near the hangar
looking in the direction of the Syndicate camp.
“See here, Hiram,” spoke the young aviator,
“you’re letting this Borden affair get on your
nerves, and it won’t do. I’m looking out for tricks,
and things will develop of themselves. Get your
.bn 088.png
// 088.png
.pn +1
mind in a new rut. What do you say to a flight out
over the lake? It will be moonlight shortly after
dark and the air spin will make us sleep soundly.”
“That suits me,” proclaimed Hiram, his usual
animation restored—“you mean in the Ariel?”
“Why, just as you choose. If you want to take
the Scout, it will give you fine practice.”
“That will be fine,” said Hiram, and just at dusk,
after their evening meal, he ran the Scout out of
the hangar near the high fence surrounding the
grounds, and busied himself seeing that the machine
was in perfect trim for the flight.
Dave was similarly employed with the Ariel, inside
the hangar. He was ready to start out, but
glancing at his watch and discovering that Rohan
would be due on his night duty within a few
minutes, he decided to await his arrival to give him
some instructions.
“She’s in prime trim,” voiced his young assistant
outside, as he climbed into the pilot seat and ran
his hand over the various wheels, levers and buttons,
to see that everything was in order. “Why doesn’t
Dave come?” and he was about to give a customary
signal whistle when he exclaimed with a start
“Hello! what’s that, now?”
It was a shot, just outside the fence, and it was
followed by shouts. Then there was a scraping
sound on the surface of the outside of the boards.
.bn 089.png
// 089.png
.pn +1
“I declare!” cried Hiram, as a human head
bobbed into view over the top of the fence. There
was another shot. “Hi, you! what’s up?” challenged
Hiram.
In a great hurry, the owner of the head pulled
himself into view. He dropped to the inside, stumbled,
recovered himself and then glared all about
him. His glance lit on the machine and then on its
pilot.
Whoever he was, whatever his purposes, the sight
of the outfit seemed suddenly to infuse him with an
idea. He gave the machine a push, sent it spinning
ahead, ran around to its side and leaping up began
climbing over the planes.
“Here! here!” shouted the astonished Hiram,
“get off there. You’ll smash things.”
“Start her up,” ordered the intruder, “do it
quick, without a word, or—”
The speaker must have known something about
flying machines, for with a dexterous move he
landed in the cockpit. As he did so, he completed
his menacing words by holding a pistol close to the
head of the startled Hiram Dobbs.
.bn 090.png
// 090.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 11 XI "A STRANGE RACE"
Dave, busying himself about the Ariel inside the
hangar, had caught an echo of the shot outside the
fence and the shouts accompanying it. There
was generally considerable commotion about the
grounds, however, and he paid no particular attention
to these demonstrations.
Even the sound of the exhaust of the Scout did
not suggest anything out of the ordinary. It was
only when a loud cry sounded directly beyond the
open doors of the hangar, that the young airman
was aroused.
“Oh, Mr. Dashaway!” gasped out a startling
voice—“come here! come, quick!”
Dave looked up to discern Rohan, his newly employed
watchman. The latter was limping towards
the hangar. The light from the inside shone on his
face, showing excitement, and a sort of terror.
“Why, Dennis, what is the matter?” inquired
Dave, anxiously.
.bn 091.png
// 091.png
.pn +1
“Your partner, Dobbs—the Scout!” stammered
the watchman, so excited that he could scarcely
speak. “Hear it? See it? And here are the
police!”
Dave hurried out. His first swift glance showed
that the Scout was nowhere near. The gathering
lake haze formed its usual veil between the ground
lights and the upper clear area. A look in that
direction told nothing.
A crackling, tearing sound next directed Dave’s
glance. It proceeded from the fence. There the
uniformed figure of a man was to be seen. He
came through a two-foot gap in the barrier. A
companion on the outside was just tearing loose a
third board. He was pulling it from the bottom,
and did not release the top nails. He sprang
through after his mate.
“Where is he?” demanded the latter of Dave,
and just then Rohan came limping up to the spot.
“Tall man, wearing a buttoned-up frock coat?”
he announced in jerks.
“With a fortune in it, yes!” responded the police
officer, quickly. “Where is he?” followed the
sharp challenge.
“Up there,” answered the watchman promptly,
and he pointed aloft.
“Eh, what? Trying to guy us!”
“No, sir,” answered Dennis. “He’s gone, and
he’s gone in the little airship. I saw him!”
.bn 092.png
// 092.png
.pn +1
“Well, I’m flabbergasted!” puffed the officer.
“Mate, he’s slipped us. I wish we’d got another
shot at him. You mean the fellow has sailed away
in one of these balloons around here?”
“I saw him,” continued the watchman rapidly,
with a glow of excitement in his eyes. “He
dropped to the ground. Mr. Dashaway’s partner
here had just got into his machine. The fellow
you’re after ran for it. He gave it a shove, jumped
onto a side plane, crawled right up to young Dobbs,
and put a pistol to his head!”
Dave started. The thought of his chum in peril
set his wits at work in an instant.
“The man made some threat to Dobbs,” went
on Dennis. “Anyhow, up went the biplane. Then,
as the fellow dropped into the cockpit, I heard him
yell, ‘West—straight west.’”
“You did?” spoke Dave, questioningly. “That’s
a point,” and he made a dash for the hangar. The
officers were, indeed, “flabbergasted.” They stood
like dummies, dismayed and at a loss as to further
action. Dave ran the Ariel out into the field.
“Officer,” he called to the policeman who seemed
most to direct affairs, “that man—who is he?”
“Reddy Marsh, the slickest diamond thief in
America,” came the response.
.bn 093.png
// 093.png
.pn +1
“And he’s got a load of the sparklers in his coat
right now,” added the other officer. “Padded
brick, smashed a lighted show-window in a jewelry
store and off he was with a case, with stones in it
worth fifty thousand dollars. We thought we’d
run him down when he made for the fence.”
“Yes,” put in the other policeman, who was staring
overhead in a lost, puzzled way, “and it won’t
be a question of hundreds, but of thousands to the
person who gets him and his booty.”
“I’m not thinking of that,” said Dave in an
anxious way, “but of my friend. He’s clear grit,
but the man is armed. Officer, I’m going aloft. If
the Scout hasn’t got too far away, I may catch sight
of it. I may need protection; assistance. One of
you come with me.”
“Hey!” exclaimed the head officer—“you mean
in that airship?”
“It’s the only way, isn’t it?” propounded Dave.
“I’ll go,” spoke up the other officer. “This lad
must know his business or he wouldn’t be here. It’s
in my line of duty—besides, there may be glory in
it, and a reward. Go ahead!”
“Quick, then!” directed the young aviator.
“Now then,” as he guided the unusual passenger
to the seat behind the pilot post, “buckle on the
straps, keep cool and quiet, and I’ll see what can be
done.”
.bn 094.png
// 094.png
.pn +1
He liked the obedient composure of his passenger.
If the latter felt that he was taking a risk, and experienced
a little natural dread, he masked it by
shouting to his comrade:
“Tell the sergeant I’m off on special duty—joined
the airship corps—ha! ha!”
His laugh ended, however, and Dave could catch
a series of quivers and sharp short gasps as the
watchman gave the ground gear an impetus and the
Ariel rose up majestically. The machine pierced the
blanket of haze and came up above the lower strata
of obscuring ground air. Dave described a slow
broad circle. His eye swept in all directions the
level they were on.
“If the moon were only up,” he murmured.
“Well, the only course is west. Hiram is shrewd
and intelligent. If he guesses for a moment that
I am after him, soon as he gets his thinking cap on
he will find some way to signal, or get the best of
his passenger.”
“Don’t see anything,” observed the officer, and,
big, brave fellow that he was, there was the tremor
of the novice in air evident in his voice.
“They’ve got a start, you must remember,” explained
Dave, “and a big field. We can only go
on, keeping a sharp lookout. If you should happen
to get sight of a black speck against the stars, tell
me.”
.bn 095.png
// 095.png
.pn +1
There was a spell of silence for some minutes
after that, Dave paying strict attention to directing
the machine, his passenger keeping as keen a lookout
as was possible for him under the unfamiliar
conditions. Suddenly the officer shouted out:
“There! See, a little way ahead? No, it’s gone.
Now, again! Pshaw!—fireflies.”
“Too high for that,” spoke Dave, “I see what
you mean. Thanks my friend, this is important!”
Ahead of them, and on a higher level, there was
now visible a series of swiftly-vibrating brilliant
sparks. They filled a mere tiny spot in space. To
the expert young airman they were guiding. Dave
set the machine on a swift drift then climbed up
several hundred feet. Now the sparks, intermittent
but perfectly distinct, were clearer and nearer the
faster they went.
“It’s a machine,” soliloquized Dave, “and it
must be the Scout. If it is—clever Hiram! He
doesn’t dare show the lights, for that man aboard
wouldn’t let him. I can guess what he has done—the
vibrator.”
Dave, with a perfect knowledge of all the parts
and possibilities of the natty little Scout, was at
home with every detail of the mechanism of the
machine, and guessed what was transpiring. Later
on his surmises were verified. The young aviation
expert decided that his chum counted on his searching
for him. He had loosed the top of the vibrator,
probably sending it adrift.
.bn 096.png
// 096.png
.pn +1
If he awakened the suspicion of the passenger,
he could readily make a pretence of watching the
sparks jumping from one coil to the other, to see
that all the cylinders were working right. Correct
or not in his guess, those distant electric points of
light were now a direct guide to the eager pilot of
the Ariel.
“We’re getting nearer,” breathed the man behind
him. “You think it’s the airship we’re after?”
“I am pretty sure of it,” responded Dave. “It’s
a race, now, officer. This machine can overtake the
Scout and outdistance it within the next half hour.
Then the case is up to you.”
“Just get me in reach of Reddy Marsh,” spoke
the policeman, “and I’ll do the rest.”
.bn 097.png
// 097.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 12 XII "A DESPERATE PASSENGER"
“Due west—and no tricks!” the man had
ordered who had insisted upon being a free passenger
aboard the Scout.
Hiram Dobbs was not frightened. He was
simply startled. Most boys would have been unnerved
at the leveled weapon of a man who looked
so very dangerous. Momentarily taken off his
balance, the young airman obeyed the menacing
mandate given.
“In case you should think of cutting up any
capers,” was spoken next into his ear, “let me tell
you I am a desperate man.”
It was humiliating to Hiram, now he had got his
second breath, to submit to the dictation of a
stranger, and he an intruder, too. Hiram’s natural
disposition urged him instantly to drive the machine
back to earth. Then common sense assured him
that it would be at a risk. He really believed his
passenger would shoot. Hiram was a quick thinker.
He summed up the situation this way: the fellow
.bn 098.png
// 098.png
.pn +1
aboard the Scout was a criminal, a fugitive pursued
by the police. His only way of evading them was
by the air route. A spice of reckless love of excitement
came into the thoughts of Hiram. His passenger
was watching him closely.
“All right, I’ll see the end of the adventure,”
resolved Hiram, and the next minute the land mist
shut out all further view of the International
grounds.
“Those officers will never take me alive again,”
spoke his passenger. “If they get the two of us
it will be two dead ones, mind you, that.”
“My! but you’re a wicked one, aren’t you now?”
observed Hiram in a tone of raillery.
“Don’t you talk too bold, youngster—it mightn’t
be healthy for you,” growled the other. “You
obey my orders and you shan’t want a reward.”
“I don’t want money for helping a criminal to
escape,” retorted Hiram spicily—“which I take you
to be.”
“We all have our special business to attend to,”
coolly announced the man. “Yours is running an
airship. Mine is picking up what careless people
don’t watch close enough. We’ll both be in the
papers to-morrow. It will make a good story, on
your part. That will help, you see?”
.bn 099.png
// 099.png
.pn +1
Hiram, as he later explained it to his chum, was
“mad all over,” but he saw no safe way out of the
dilemma. He preserved a stubborn silence, but
thought steadily.
“If I know anything about Dave’s ways,” he
soliloquized, “he won’t let any grass grow under
his feet. He’ll think and act. A man ran up as
this fellow aboard here pushed up the machine. I
think it was Dennis, the watchman. The police
broke in through the fence, too. Oh, yes, Dave
will soon be aloft, and looking for me.”
So convinced of this was Hiram, that he immediately
put in operation a plan suddenly suggested
to his mind. He reached out one hand and began
loosening the screws that held in place the plate
covering the vibrator. His passenger was alive to
every move he made and was watching him intently.
“Hey, what you up to?” he snarled and then,
as if through accident, Hiram shifted the plate so
that it went whirling down through space, leaving
the mechanism of the vibrator entirely exposed.
“I guess I’ve got to see if the cylinders are sparking
right; haven’t I?” snapped Hiram.
“I don’t like that game!” growled the man behind
him.
“Say,” jeered Hiram impatiently, “if you don’t
take to my way of running this machine, suppose
we change places?”
“Oh, of course, I’m no sky pilot”—began the
other.
.bn 100.png
// 100.png
.pn +1
“Then allow me to run this biplane in my own
fashion. You’ll have to, I guess,” added Hiram,
“or drop. You may be desperate, but I’m in no
very good humor myself, drifting around to suit
your fancy, and you’ll leave me alone, if you’re
wise.”
The passenger relapsed into silence now. Probably
a realization of the fact that he might unnerve
the pilot, or actually drive him to some rash action,
caused him to assume a less forceful attitude. They
must have gone fully thirty miles before Hiram
spoke again.
“See here,” he demanded sharply, “how long is
this flight going to keep up?”
“The further the better,” was the indefinite response.
“You know what I’m after—to get us far
and fast as possible from the people I don’t want to
see. Hey—what’s that?”
Hiram uttered a quick cry of joy. Of a sudden a
swaying flash of light moved over and beyond them.
A radiant, searching pencil of brilliancy wavered
and dilated.
“It’s a biplane searchlight,” thought Hiram, holding
his nerves as steady as he could, and not daring
to look behind him. “It’s the Ariel—it’s
Dave!”
“Say, what’s that now?” muttered his passenger,
fidgeting about and straining his neck.
.bn 101.png
// 101.png
.pn +1
“It’s an airship, like our own,” replied Hiram.
“They’re chasing us!” exclaimed the man.
“I can’t help that,” retorted Hiram, coolly.
“Well, aren’t they?” persisted the passenger.
“See! they’ve got us in their focus, and they’re
keeping us there. You take a look and see if that
isn’t so.”
Hiram ventured a glance backwards. It was
swift and fleeting. It persuaded him that he was
not wrong as to the identity of the biplane.
“There are so many craft around here,” he said,
“that one might be a trailer, or setting a pace, or
trying to dazzle and play with us, or half-a-dozen
such things.”
“Oh, they’re after us—I feel it—I know it!”
declared the passenger anxiously. “How far are
they from us, do you think?”
“Perhaps a mile, perhaps two,” answered Hiram
grudgingly.
He could catch low mutterings, as though the
perturbed passenger were communing with himself.
Then the latter poked him on the arm.
“They’re getting nearer, and they’re after us,”
he spoke quickly, and with a queer thrill of excitement
in his voice. “See here, young fellow, I’ve
got no money with me, but I’ve got what is worth
money. Give me your name, and I promise you, if
you help me to get away from whoever may be after
.bn 102.png
// 102.png
.pn +1
me, I’ll send you something, as soon as I realize,
that will pretty nearly make you rich.”
“I wouldn’t take it,” declared the young pilot of
the Scout. “You must be up to something bad,
talking and acting as you do.”
“Land—land!” suddenly shouted the passenger.
“Where you see that rise. Do it, don’t you delay,
or I’ll knock you over, and risk running the machine
myself!”
The urgency of the speaker was caused through
the direct play of the headlight of the Ariel upon
them. Dave had gained on the Scout materially
within a very few minutes’ time. In truth, Hiram,
understanding the situation, had been “playing”
with the Scout, purposely deferring direct forward
progress, bent on giving the Ariel an opportunity to
come up with them. His passenger either discovered
or suspected this now.
“No fooling, youngster,” he spoke sternly, and
Hiram felt against his shoulder the pressure of the
weapon with which the man had previously threatened
him. He knew that his passenger was watching
him as a cat would a mouse. He could think
of no subterfuge to delay matters. Hiram chuckled,
however, as he noticed the ever increasing nearness
of the Ariel.
.bn 103.png
// 103.png
.pn +1
“Right over on that hill—where the grove of
trees is,” directed his passenger. “We can make
it first. No delaying, now! I won’t stand it!”
The searchlight of the Ariel was kept directly
upon the Scout, except when a curve, or turn, made
this impossible. As Hiram started a drift landwards,
he realized that the Ariel was not far behind
in the race.
His passenger had slipped loose the seat belt,
and showed eager suspense.
“Why don’t you land—why don’t you land!
those fellows will be right on our heels in a minute,”
he shouted.
“I can’t drop into the tree tops, can I?” challenged
Hiram—“well!”
The rebound of the biplane told him that it had
been lightened of a burden. His environment demanded
his strictest attention to the machine. However,
he shot one rapid look back and down. It
was to see his passenger risking a ten foot drop
directly into a nest of tree branches. They bent
with him like a rubbery surface. Hiram sent the
Scout in a rising circle so as to keep the man in
view.
The headlight of the Ariel had kept pace with his
sensational movements. The man soon reached the
ground, dropping recklessly from branch to branch.
The arrow of light revealed him running towards a
thick copse. Then it lost sight of him. A minute
.bn 104.png
// 104.png
.pn +1
later, however, the dazzling glare took up the trail
again. The fugitive had darted into a thicket, out
of it, into another, out of that one, and the last
Hiram saw of him he was dashing down the edge
of a gully.
The Ariel, fast descending, kept its boring eye of
radiance squarely upon the man. Hiram fancied he
could guess about where it would land and decided
to join its company. Then something happened
that thrilled Hiram. The fugitive stumbled and
went headlong over the edge of the gulch.
.bn 105.png
// 105.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 13 XIII "A REMARKABLE EXPLANATION"
The Ariel had found a landing place where some
short crisp grass covered a spot bare of trees and
rocks. Hiram brought the Scout to a halt not
twenty feet away. He shut off the power, leaped
out and approached Dave. The latter stood by the
side of his machine watching the police officer who
had run to the edge of the gully.
“Dave, this has been a startler; hasn’t it?” exclaimed
Hiram.
“You are one of the wisest boys in the world,”
spoke the young airman. “Without that spark
signal we should never have got a start on your
trail.”
“Has it done any good, after all?” questioned
Hiram. “My passenger has got into deeper
trouble; hasn’t he?”
“It looks that way,” answered Dave. “We saw
him stumble over that ledge yonder.”
“Maybe it was a trick,” suggested Hiram.
“He’s a bad one, I can tell you.”
.bn 106.png
// 106.png
.pn +1
“Here comes the policeman. Any trace of him,
officer?”
The recent passenger of the Ariel looked serious.
He held in his hand a dark lantern, the rays of
which, the others had noticed, he had been flashing
over the edge of the gully.
“Got a rope?” he asked.
“I have one, in the Scout. Always carry it,”
volunteered Hiram briskly and he ran to his machine
and returned with the coil in question.
“The fellow won’t run any further away from
us this time,” advised the policeman. “He’s lying
on a shelf of rock about twelve feet down. Both
of you can help me.”
The boys followed him. They took a look over
the edge of the gully as their leader flashed his lantern
down. There, plainly visible, was the recent
passenger of the Scout.
“He’s insensible, or dead,” spoke the officer in a
callous, professional tone. “He must have landed
head first. We must get him up here. I want a
look at those sparklers.”
The man’s word grated harshly on both Dave and
Hiram. They proceeded, however, to follow the
directions of the officer. The rope was not heavy,
but was very strong, being reinforced with strands
of flexible wire.
.bn 107.png
// 107.png
.pn +1
It took them nearly fifteen minutes to lower the
policeman and hoist, first the injured man and then
the officer, to the surface. As the fugitive lay extended
motionless upon the grass the officer inspected
him with the aid of the dark lantern.
“None of his limbs seem broken,” he reported,
“but he got a terrific crack on his head. I’ve seen
a good many cases of such hurts, and I guess this
fellow has run his last race.”
“Can’t we do something for him?” asked Dave
solicitously.
“Say,” broke in Hiram, “I see the lights of a
settlement over to the west there. It can’t be more
than a mile away.”
“You had better reach it, then,” suggested Dave.
“Yes, and get them to send a wagon, or an ambulance,
for this man,” added the policeman.
Dave helped his assistant get the Scout off the
ground, its pilot marking with his eye closely the
main points in the landscape. Thus he would be
able to pretty accurately direct those who came after
the injured man. The minute the officer was satisfied
that nothing could be done to add to the comfort
or safety of their charge until aid arrived, he
proceeded to examine the pockets of his insensible
prisoner.
The young aeronaut considered this rather a
heartless proceeding, but realized that the officer
was acting in pursuance of his duty. Twice he went
.bn 108.png
// 108.png
.pn +1
over every pocket and possible secret hiding place
in the clothing of the fugitive. He finally arose to
his feet with a baffled and angry expression of
face.
“He’s beat us!” he growled. “I fancied he was
getting away with his booty—but it was getting
away from me and my partner that he was after.”
“But what has become of the diamonds you spoke
about?” queried Dave.
“Got rid of them to some partner, I suppose, before
we finally ran him down,” was the explanation.
“It’s too bad to miss the big reward that we’d have
got.”
Hiram returned in half an hour. He had made
a brief and rapid trip.
“A sheriff and his men will soon be here with
an auto,” he reported, and a very few minutes after
that the machine in question halted near the spot.
A surgeon had accompanied the village officers. He
shook his head as he looked over his patient.
“He won’t live the night out,” he announced
with professional certainty. “Concussion of the
brain, and a very serious case.”
The city policeman accompanied the auto back to
the village. Before he did so, however, he wrote
something on a card and handed it to Dave.
.bn 109.png
// 109.png
.pn +1
“If you will take that card, and your bill for the
clever work you’ve done, to police headquarters,
they’ll treat you right,” he said.
“Queer about those diamonds, isn’t it, Dave?”
spoke Hiram as they found themselves alone with
their machines. “Maybe the man dropped them in
running, or they went over into that gully.”
“It would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack
to try and find them,” declared the young airman.
Excitement and trying work at the wheel had
worn them out considerably, and they were glad
when they crept into their beds at headquarters an
hour later. Hiram overslept himself. He awoke
late the next morning, in the room they occupied
jointly at the grounds clubhouse, to find his chum
missing. He hurried his breakfast and was soon at
the hangar. As he neared it he noticed some one
seated on a stool inside it. Dave had the Ariel
outside and was tanking up with “juice,” as they
called the gasoline.
“Some one to see you, Hiram,” he announced,
nodding his head towards the garage.
“Who is it?” asked his mate curiously.
“He didn’t give his name, but he’s a boy. Says
he knows you.”
“Is that so?” returned Hiram musingly, and advanced
towards the garage. Then his face expanded
in a welcoming good natured way. A lad
.bn 110.png
// 110.png
.pn +1
about his own age was seated with his back to the
door and seemed to be eagerly inspecting the little
Scout and the mechanical accessories belonging to
it. “Why, Bruce Beresford, hello!” Hiram
shouted suddenly.
“Eh—oh, excuse me, yes, it’s me,” answered the
visitor, springing up with a nervous start, and his
anxious face brightened as Hiram gave his hand a
friendly shake.
Hiram drew back a step or two, and with apparent
admiration looked over in a quizzical way
the lad he had so signally befriended in the past.
“Well,” he observed, “you’re looking more prosperous
than when I last saw you.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Bruce Beresford, his whole
face lighting up. “I’ve had such wonderful
luck!”
“You look it, and I’m glad,” said Hiram. His
friend of the swampy island certainly showed a
great improvement, with good shoes on his feet, and
wearing a neat suit of clothes. When Hiram had
first met him Bruce had worn a big cap pulled closely
down over his ears, clear to the nape of his neck.
Just now, too, Hiram observed that his head back
of his cheeks was well covered up. It gave Bruce
a rather uncouth appearance and the young pilot of
the Scout wondered why.
.bn 111.png
// 111.png
.pn +1
“I hope I’m not acting as if I was imposing on
you, coming in on you in this way, and so soon,”
began Bruce.
“Didn’t I invite you to do just that?” challenged
Hiram.
“I know, but it looks sort of—well, cheeky, following
you up when I owe so much to you as it is.”
“Don’t bother about that,” advised Hiram.
“Tell me about that luck of yours. I’ll be interested.”
“Well, you know how I got little Lois comfortably
settled at that children’s home at Benham.
Then I started in to work. It was surprising how
many little odd jobs a fellow can pick up who tries.
I was just delighted, until the second day of my
work when I happened to see a newspaper from
Hillsboro—that is the town where Martin Dawson,
the man who abused us so terribly, lives. There, in
the paper, was an advertisement offering a reward
for a runaway boy.”
“Meaning yourself, I suppose?” questioned
Hiram.
“No one else. It scared me, I tell you, because—because,”
and the speaker flushed up, and Hiram
noticed that he ran his hand over the back of his
head in a conscious sort of a way and seemed embarrassed.
“Well, because there was a very good
description of how I looked,” was added in a quick
short breath.
.bn 112.png
// 112.png
.pn +1
“Thought they’d be after you, eh?” asked
Hiram.
“I knew they would and that I wasn’t safe in
that section,” proceeded Bruce. “I felt sure that
sooner or later some one would suspect or identify
me. It wasn’t safe for my sister. I didn’t know
what to do, for what little I had earned wouldn’t
take us far. Then came my big luck,” and the face
of the speaker became radiant.
“Tell it,” directed Hiram, on the edge with
curiosity.
“Some one had stolen an automobile from the
village banker,” went on Bruce. “I had heard of
it. I had read the posters giving the number and
make of the machine, and offering a hundred
dollars as a reward for its recovery. Just think of
it! that very day an invalid lady I had chopped some
wood for, asked me if I could get her a bunch of
water lilies. I made a few inquiries of some boys I
met. They directed me to a swamp about two miles
from the town. I found a fine bed of the lilies, and
was wading out with an armful, when down among
a nest of reeds, where it had been run by the ride-stealers
was the missing automobile.”
“That was fine,” remarked Hiram. “I guess
you got back to town on the double quick.”
.bn 113.png
// 113.png
.pn +1
“I did for a fact,” agreed Bruce. “And inside
of two hours I had the reward in my pocket. Oh
but I felt rich! I went to the matron of the home
and told her my whole story for the first time. She
not only thought I had better get Lois to some safer
place, and further away from Hillshore, but gave
me a letter to a relative living on a farm near
Chicago. I got some new clothing for my sister
and myself, left Lois with the kind-hearted lady
who was only too glad to take her in at two dollars
a week, and her help around the house, and hunted
down the address you gave me. You see—you see,”
concluded Bruce longingly, “I wanted advice.”
“What about?” inquired Hiram.
“Well I’ve got over fifty dollars to invest.
There’s a good deal moving around this place. You
spoke of a friend, a Mr. Dashaway, and I
thought——”
“Yes, that’s my chum, Dave,” interrupted Hiram
proudly,—“the most level headed fellow who ever
lived. Dave!”
Hiram called his chum and there was an introduction.
An explanation followed. The pilot of
the Ariel soon had a knowledge of all the circumstances
of the case. He and Hiram had seated
themselves on a bench opposite their guest. It
was warm weather and both threw off their caps.
Bruce hesitated and then followed their example,
but in an awkward and confused way.
.bn 114.png
// 114.png
.pn +1
“Why,” exclaimed Hiram with a start, as he
noticed that under his cap their visitor wore a close
fitting skull cap—“what’s that for?”
Bruce Beresford fidgeted. He seemed at a loss
for an explanation. Then he scanned the friendly
face of Dave, and the good natured one of his assistant.
“Well, it’s my ears,” he said, slowly, evidently
embarrassed.
“Your ears; what about them?” asked Dave,
curiously.
“They’ve been cut,” explained the orphan.
“And they’re not healed yet. I keep them covered
up to keep out the germs the doctor said were floating
in the air. But they’re getting better now.”
He took off the skull cap and showed where both
ears presented a red surface.
“How in the world did that happen?” asked
Hiram. “Have you been playing football?”
.bn 115.png
// 115.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 14 XIV "THE NEW HELPER"
Bruce replaced the cap back over his injured ears
and smiled at his two friends.
“No, not exactly football,” he replied. “It was
worse than that.”
“Whew!” whistled Dave. “You must have
been ‘up against it,’ as Borden would say.”
“Up against a grindstone; yes,” assented Hiram.
“Go ahead, Bruce, and let’s hear about it.”
“It’s a long story about how my father died, and
how Martin Dawson got hold of his estate,” began
the homeless orphan. “I’ll tell you all the particulars
of that some time, and maybe you can advise
me, and help us to get our rights. Old Martin
Dawson has treated me meanly. He hired me out
to all kinds of hard work, and half-starved me, and
kept me in rags. As I told Hiram when I first met
him, Mr. Dawson had a regular set of bad men
around him. They were all rough characters.
There was one fellow who traveled with circus
shows. His name was Wertz. It was about two
.bn 116.png
// 116.png
.pn +1
years ago when Mr. Dawson farmed me out to
him. Wertz tried to train me for the trapeze, but
I wasn’t limber enough for that. Then he said he
would use me in his knife-throwing act. He made
me stand against a wooden shield while he threw
knives at me. I’ve got two bad scars on my body
now, where he missed, and the knives cut into me.
Then one day when practicing he clipped off a little
piece of my right ear. I ran away from him then,
but he got me back. I made him agree that after
that he wouldn’t aim at my head, only my arms and
the rest of my body. One night at a circus, though,
he got reckless. He aimed at my ear—the left one—intending
to set a circle of knives all around my
head. One clipped my other ear, as you have seen.
It hurt dreadfully, and I fainted away. The audience
was roused up about it, and the humane society
got after Wertz and he ran away. Then I
went back to Mr. Dawson. A doctor fixed up my
ears, but they are not quite healed yet.”
This story aroused the sympathy and interest of
Dave, and he decided to employ Bruce. The
watchman, Dennis, was called away by a partner
to a country fair and Bruce was installed as watchman
in his place. The young airman knew he could
trust him and he found Bruce willing and grateful.
.bn 117.png
// 117.png
.pn +1
“You see,” proceeded Hiram, “it’s only six days
to the meet. Monday the contests begin, and we
want to get everything in ship-shape order.”
“That is true,” agreed Dave. “What is it you
have to suggest, Hiram?”
The latter drew from his pocket a double printed
sheet and handed it to Dave.
“I got one of the first programmes,” explained
Hiram.
Dave scanned it casually. He had been informed
in advance, as had most of the entrants, of the
nature of the various contests. Towards the last,
however, something new and unexpected met his
glance.
“‘Mail delivered—twenty stations, minimum altitude
two hundred feet’—what does that mean?”
and he looked keenly at his assistant as the latter
began to laugh and chuckle.
“That, Dave,” answered Hiram with a great
deal of satisfaction, and some pride—“that means
me.”
“Oh!” observed quick-witted Dave, thinking
back, and guessing hard, “those leather bags——”
“You’ve hit it,” acquiesced Hiram. “The idea
came to me while we were practicing at the Midlothian
field. I reckoned it wouldn’t be hard to
work up the management to including a mail delivery
feature in the programme, so I set to practicing.
And I’ve been at it on the sly ever since,”
added the speaker with a laugh.
.bn 118.png
// 118.png
.pn +1
“Go ahead, Hiram,” encouraged Dave. “You
don’t usually stop half way, and you have got more
than that to tell.”
“Why, yes, I have,” admitted Hiram. “When
I was a boy—I mean a real little fellow—I was
always good at pitching quoits, and such things. I
was the local champion at ‘Duck on the Rock.’ I
saw an article in the newspapers discussing the idea
of establishing an airship route to deliver mail bags.
I practiced. First, Dave, I was going to tell you,
and have you work up the idea. Then I thought
how busy you were and—well, I’ll wager you I can
win the twenty point score on the mail feature over
anybody in the contest.”
“Well; twenty points isn’t to be sneezed at,” commented
Dave briskly. “It may be a saving clause
for us.”
“I suggested that programme number to the
management,” went on Hiram. “I showed them
the newspaper article about it. Now of course a lot
of fellows will be getting in trim for it, but don’t
forget that I have had three weeks’ practice ahead
of them. Oh, Dave, I forgot till now—another
thing: I met the policeman you took in the Ariel
after that diamond robber.”
“What did he say, Hiram?”
.bn 119.png
// 119.png
.pn +1
“The man died without coming back to consciousness.
Those diamonds will never be found
now, unless they locate the partner he passed them
to.”
“Have you seen anything of Borden lately?”
asked Dave.
“I’ve seen him, in fact I’ve passed right by him
at the Syndicate camp half a dozen times, but he
turns away, or scowls at me. It’s part of his ‘acting’
you know. He isn’t ready to report to us yet,
but I know he will when he is ready to do us some
good.”
Dave went away alone an hour later for a flight
with the Ariel over the sand dunes.
“It’s a good time to clean house,” suggested
Dave to Hiram, before leaving, and the latter and
Bruce, following his orders, cleared out a lot of rubbish
that obstructed the garage space. This they
proceeded to burn up.
“Here’s a box with a lot of catalogues, and
some papers in it,” said Bruce, lifting the article
from the top of a barrel.
“Dump them into the fire,” ordered Hiram.
“Maybe they are some good,” suggested Bruce,
looking over the litter, and then he uttered so
strange a cry that Hiram regarded him curiously.
Bruce had taken from the box and unrolled a
sheet of manilla paper. It was the one which bore
the crayon portrait of the man who had tried to
blow up the two airships at the Midlothian
grounds.
.bn 120.png
// 120.png
.pn +1
“Hiram,” spoke Bruce in a quick troubled tone,
“where did you get this? I know that man!”
“You do!” exclaimed Hiram, pressing closely to
his side. “Who is he?”
“It’s the man I told you about—the knife-thrower,
Wertz,” was Bruce Beresford’s reply.
.bn 121.png
// 121.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 15 XV "A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY"
“Are you sure, Bruce?” challenged Hiram.
“You are not mistaken?”
“In that man?” cried his companion, and his
face was pale, and his voice was trembling. “Oh,
no! it makes me shudder to even look at his picture.
Where did you get it?”
“Well, Bruce,” explained Hiram, “that is the
man you heard Dave and myself talking about.”
“You mean the one who tried to blow up your
machine?”
“That’s him; yes,” answered Hiram. “But, say,
I thought he was hanging around with that old fellow,
your guardian?”
“He was,” replied Bruce. “You see, he came
and went. About two weeks ago I was in dread
when Wertz showed up. I imagined he’d be putting
me into some new circus training or other. I was
afraid he might get it into his head to take Lois
away, and train her to ride a horse bareback, or
jump through a blazing hoop, or some other trick.
.bn 122.png
// 122.png
.pn +1
I never was so relieved as when he went away again.
He’d been waiting for some one to come, I heard.
An old crony of his showed up finally, a man who
used to come every few months to borrow money,
‘to get staked,’ as he called it; by Mr. Dawson. He
was always planning schemes. Why, say,” added
Bruce with animation, “I never thought of it till
this moment, but I remember now he was in the
same line as you and Dave Dashaway.”
“You mean the airship line?” asked Hiram.
“That’s it. I recollect how he used to brag of
the big flights he made, and the money he got,
and the tricks he played.”
“Who was he—what was his name?” inquired
Hiram.
“Vernon.”
Hiram Dobbs grabbed the astonished Bruce by the
arm with such fervor that the latter was startled.
“Look here, Bruce,” he cried excitedly, “you
don’t know how important this is to us. Why, it
connects up the whole scheme to put us out of business,
and——”
Something else suddenly distracted Hiram’s attention
and he stopped short, his companion staring
at him in wonderment.
“Hush! This way, and easy!” a breathless
voice had spoken, and a face appeared around the
end of the hangar.
.bn 123.png
// 123.png
.pn +1
“Mr. Borden,” whispered Hiram to himself.
“Stay here Bruce. It’s a great friend of ours.”
It was indeed the tramp-artist who had so unexpectedly
appeared. As Hiram came around to the
side of the hangar, shielded from the other camps of
the field, he found Borden there, looking anxious,
and glancing about him as if fearful of being observed
by others.
“Quick, Dobbs,” he spoke hurriedly, “where is
Dashaway?”
“Dave isn’t around. Did you want to see him?
He’s off on a practice flight.”
“How long since?”
“About an hour ago.”
Borden looked disappointed and dismayed. He
rubbed his chin in perplexity. Then he asked:
“Do you know where he is?”
“I think I do,” answered Hiram. “He usually
goes to the sand dunes about thirty miles down the
lake shore.”
“Got your machine, the Scout, handy here?”
asked Borden, with increasing urgency.
“Oh, yes—why, Mr. Borden?”
“Then don’t delay a minute,” directed the former
tramp, earnestly. “Find Dashaway as speedily as
you can. Tell him I came to you. Warn him to get
back here, and stay close about the grounds for the
next day or two. There’s danger! Don’t neglect
what I say.”
.bn 124.png
// 124.png
.pn +1
With these last words Borden, with a nervous
glance across the grounds, at some persons approaching,
suddenly darted away from Hiram. In
a quandary of doubt and dread, the latter stood for
a moment or two watching his movements. Borden
walked along near the fence and disappeared behind
the next hangar. Then Hiram aroused himself into
action. He ran back in front of their own hangar
and rolled out the Scout.
“Bruce,” he said hurriedly, “something’s up that
may mean trouble for Dave. I’ve got to go after
him. Do you want to go with me?”
“I should say I did!” cried his companion
eagerly. “Jump in,” ordered Hiram. “Give us a
lift,” he called out to a passing guard. “Thanks.
Now then, to find Dave!”
The manner and words of the young pilot of the
Scout convinced Bruce that something was wrong.
He asked no questions, however. As they got into
full flight, due south, Hiram was the first to speak.
“You’re our friend, Bruce,” he called back over
his shoulder, “and I know you’re interested in anything
concerning us or our business. The man who
signaled me to the side of the hangar was the man
who drew that picture of Wertz.”
.bn 125.png
// 125.png
.pn +1
“And he’s a friend of yours, too; isn’t he?” inquired
Bruce.
“I am sure that he is,” responded Hiram.
“He’s acted like one just now, if what he told
me is true. He has discovered some new plot
against us and has sent me to warn Dave, and tell
him to get back to the grounds right away, and stay
there.”
“I do hope nothing is wrong, and that you will be
in time,” remarked Bruce anxiously.
Hiram drove the Scout to its best paces. He was
familiar with the route Dave usually took to reach
the sand dunes. There was one especial reach of
the sterile stretch which Dave had, so to speak, appropriated
as his own private training grounds.
“We’re nearly there,” announced Hiram finally.
“I don’t see any trace of Dave or the Ariel,
though.”
“Maybe he went further—maybe he has returned
home,” suggested Bruce.
“We could hardly miss him,” answered Hiram.
“There’s the spot where Dave usually descends,”
and he fixed his glance on a patch of stunted field
poplars. “There’s something lying on the ground.
A man? No, a coat, I think,” and the speaker
strained his vision, and set the Scout on a sharp
volplane.
.bn 126.png
// 126.png
.pn +1
He jumped out the moment the machine halted.
He ran to the spot where the object lay that had
attracted his attention. Bruce followed his example
and dashed after him.
“It’s Dave’s coat,” declared Hiram, and he
looked worried. “I can’t understand it! The coat
is torn and some of the buttons are off—see, on the
sand there. He wouldn’t leave it here. What can
have become of him, and the machine?”
“There’s a smell of burned wood, or smoke,”
here broke in Bruce, and following the scent he
rounded the patch of brush and saplings. “Oh,
Hiram!” he shouted. “Come here! Come here!”
The young pilot of the Scout reached the side of
the staring Bruce to observe with distended eyes
what his new friend had first discovered.
Upon the ground was a mass of charred and
twisted wreckage. Only the metal parts of an airship
remained. Hiram Dobbs recognized what was
left of the buoyant Ariel!
.bn 127.png
// 127.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 16 XVI "IN DOUBT"
Hiram Dobbs sank down on the sand beside the
wreck of the Ariel and tears came into his eyes. In
a flash the truth dawned upon him. Vandal hands
had destroyed the flying marvel upon which such
hopes had been built. Dave had been tracked to
the present spot and captured; perhaps hurt.
Bruce Beresford stood regarding his new friend,
sharing his deep emotion. He rammed his hands
into his pockets and clenched them, pacing about the
spot to give Hiram time to regain his composure.
Finally he walked up to him and touched him on
the shoulder.
“Don’t take on so, Hiram,” he pleaded, “please
don’t. It may not be the Ariel, you know——”
“Not the Ariel,” cried Hiram, springing to his
feet, his tears becoming angry tears now. “Think
I wouldn’t know the Ariel if I came across one spar,
or rod of it in the desert of Sahara? The Ariel?
Look there!”
.bn 128.png
// 128.png
.pn +1
The speaker pointed to a place in the blackened
twisted mass near the pilot post. A silver plate
there bore in script the name of the machine, date
and maker. Blackened and abrased as it was Bruce
was able to make out the inscription.
“It’s too bad,” he said sorrowfully. “Do you
suppose something exploded and set it on fire?”
“No!” shouted Hiram wrathfully, now poking
in among the debris. “I can smell kerosene. And
there’s the cinders of a bunch of cotton waste. The
Ariel was set on fire! And—Dave!”
The thought of his missing friend roused the
young pilot of the Scout as no other idea could have
done. Bruce was glad to see Hiram come back to
his old rushing, go-ahead self. Hiram went back
to the coat they had at first discovered. He inspected
it more closely this time.
“See, it’s torn as if in a struggle, and the pockets
are turned inside out,” he said. “Oh, if we had
only received the warning from Mr. Borden sooner!
Dave is gone. The same persons who expected him
here, and watched for him, have taken him away.”
“But surely they would not dare to injure him,”
argued Bruce.
“Perhaps not, but don’t you see that they have
spoiled his whole future? They have put his biplane
out of the way—they will keep Dave out of
the way till the International meet is over.”
.bn 129.png
// 129.png
.pn +1
“The crowd you told me about—the Syndicate
people?” asked Bruce.
“Who else? What will Mr. Brackett say when
he hears of this? How am I going to find out
where they have taken Dave? Oh!” cried the excited
lad, “I’m just half crazy over these doings!
Wait here and watch the Scout. They’ll be after
that next,” and Hiram sped away, after a sweeping
glance in every direction.
He had made out a man with a rake covering the
ruts in the straggly winding road that ran across the
waste space. He came up with him and asked:
“Have you been here long?”
“All day, here and hereabouts,” was the reply,
as the worker rested on his rake and seemed glad to
break the monotony of his task in that lonely spot by
talking to some one.
“Did you notice an airship within the last hour or
so?”
“I did,” answered the old man. “It was over
to the north yonder. It did some fancy whirls. I
watched it a bit, then I went on with my work.
They’re getting common, those flyers.”
“Have you seen anybody over near that clump of
poplars?” and Hiram indicated the spot where he
had left Bruce and the Scout.
.bn 130.png
// 130.png
.pn +1
“Why, yes, I did,” answered the road-mender.
“Thought it was sort of queer, too. It must have
been nigh onto two hours since, when three men,
driving a covered wagon, drove off from the road
here. They cut across in the direction you say. I
wondered why, for the loose sand don’t make easy
going for a horse. The hummocks shut them out
after a bit, and I thought no more of them until I
noticed a lot of smoke near that patch of poplars.
I then made up my mind they were campers, come
down on a sand-crane hunt.”
“Did you see them after that?” inquired Hiram
eagerly.
“I did. Next thing I knew, the horse and wagon
cut across back this way. They struck the road
here, and went south, the same direction they had
come from.”
“Did you notice the men on the seat of the
wagon?”
“They weren’t near enough for that, and I’m
sort of poor sighted as I get older,” was the reply.
Hiram thanked the man, and hurried back to
Bruce.
“I hope you have found out something,” said the
latter anxiously.
“Not much that is any good, I fear,” replied
Hiram. “We’ll get back into the Scout. It’s just
as I guessed it, Bruce. I am satisfied that a covered
wagon with three men in it took Dave away and
that they went south.”
.bn 131.png
// 131.png
.pn +1
The country lay under them like a map as they
resumed the flight. Hiram followed the road as a
guide. At the end of ten miles it ran into a junction
of other diverging highways. So far they had
not caught sight of any vehicle answering the
description of the covered wagon.
They followed the main highway for some distance.
Ahead they made out a large town. It was
one of half a score dotting the landscape, and the
location of large iron plants. As they neared it,
and passed roads filled with all kinds of vehicles,
and the great industrial beehive spread out for miles,
Hiram gave up in despair.
“They’ve got a start of us, and have probably
run to cover by this time,” he said. “Oh, Bruce!
I don’t know what to do!”
Hiram was in deep distress. He realized that he,
only a boy, had on his hands a task that might well
baffle the shrewdest detective. A dozen impulses
and plans came to his mind, but he rejected them
all, fearing to cause complications.
“Indeed, I don’t know what to do,” he said to
Bruce. “If I go to the management back at the
grounds, they may cancel our entrant, and then Dave
may show up. They will want some evidence besides
my say so, and my suspicions, before they will
be willing to accuse anybody of having a hand in
the affair. If I charge that Syndicate mob boldly
.bn 132.png
// 132.png
.pn +1
with having a hand in the burning of the Ariel, it
will put them more than ever on their guard, and
they will hide Dave closer than ever. Oh, but I must
do some tall thinking! Of course the very next
thing is to get in touch with Mr. Brackett. We’ll
get back to the grounds right away.”
An unexpected shower came up, and pilot, passenger
and machine received quite a drenching. The
rain had stopped by the time they reached the
grounds. It made Bruce Beresford sad to watch
the face of his friend. Hiram was like a rudderless
boat, without Dave. The responsibilities suddenly
thrust upon him seemed to stagger him.
He was so harried, worried and flurried that he
walked up and down before the hangar, so nervous
and stirred up he could not keep still.
“It seems to me, Hiram,” suggested Bruce, “that
the best thing to do is to tell the management about
the whole business. Surely they will do something
to help you.”
“I’m trying to think if it’s best to do that,” responded
Hiram. “I’m trying to block out a way to
act so I won’t make any mistake. You don’t know
this game as well as I do. It isn’t the first time this
kind of a thing has happened to us. Let me alone
for a bit, Bruce, till I get everything straightened
out in my mind.”
.bn 133.png
// 133.png
.pn +1
“Don’t you bother about the Scout, Hiram. I’ll
clean up and get it into the hangar,” said Bruce.
He rubbed the metal parts dry and shining and
swept up the litter in the cockpit. A good deal of
sand had gotten into this. He was pulling out the
seat cushions, when something caught his finger,
pricking it sharply. It was a metal point of some
kind, and looking closer Bruce made out that it was
a stick pin.
He picked this up, and as he did so noticed a
second pin lying on the seat frame, hitherto concealed
by the cushion. A quick flash of intelligence
came into his mind. Quite roused up, Bruce shouted
to his friend:
“Hiram, come here, I think I’ve made an important
discovery!”
.bn 134.png
// 134.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 17 XVII "TROUBLE"
It was hard for the young pilot of the Scout to
set his mind upon anything outside of his missing
chum. As Hiram approached Bruce, however, it
was quite natural that he should be attracted by two
dazzling sparks of flashing light.
“Diamonds!” cried Bruce, moving the two pins
about so as to display their brilliancy to advantage.
“Sure as you live!” agreed Hiram. “Where
did you get them?”
“I found them behind, and under the cushion of
the cockpit seat. Don’t you understand, Hiram?”
“How they got there? I don’t.”
“Why, it’s clear, to my way of thinking. The
man the police chased, who made you take him in
the Scout——”
“Why, say, that may be so,” agreed Hiram with
a start. “He must have been loaded with them, to
drop them around promiscuously that way.”
“They slipped from his pocket probably,” explained
Bruce. “I don’t believe he had got rid of
.bn 135.png
// 135.png
.pn +1
his plunder, as the police think, when he made for
the Scout. I believe he had them with him, else
what are these pins doing here? Hiram, you said
it was Wayville, didn’t you? That was the town
nearest to the place where the robber fell into the
gully.”
“You’ve remembered it so pat you must have
heard of it before,” suggested Hiram, with a shrewd
glance at his companion.
“That’s so,” answered Bruce. “I was there
once. It was when the circus man, Wertz, was in
hiding. I was traveling with him then. He and
some other men at the show robbed an old farmer,
and had to get out of the way. It was near Wayville
that we stayed for a week, till things ‘blew over,’
as they called it. In fact, when you described that
thicket and the gully, it came right back to me, as
natural as life. It’s set me thinking, Hiram. I’ve
got a theory, somehow, that the diamond thief got
rid of his plunder after he left the Scout.”
“Shouldn’t wonder,” remarked Hiram rather indifferently,
“but we’ll talk about that some other
time. My mind is full of nothing but Dave and the
Ariel just now. I’ve decided what I’m going to do,
and you are to help me do it, if you will.”
“I’m glad, Hiram,” responded Bruce readily.
“I’ll work my finger nails off to be of any use to
you, or your partner.”
.bn 136.png
// 136.png
.pn +1
“I know that, Bruce,” said Hiram, “and I know
that I can trust you, which is a great relief to me
now, when I’m in such trouble. Bring that bench
out of the hangar, will you?”
“What for, Hiram?” asked Bruce in some
wonder.
“I want to have a long talk with you, and I want
to sit here in the open while we’re at it, so we can
watch out that no one hears us.”
Bruce brought out the bench, setting it near the
Scout, and facing the grounds in such a way that
they could see in three directions. Hiram’s face
wore a serious, business-like look as he sat down
beside his young friend.
“Maybe I’ve got it all wrong,” he began, “but
I’ve tried to imagine just what level-headed Dave
Dashaway would do if he were in my fix. Of
course I haven’t got his brains or smartness, but I
know one thing—he wouldn’t get rattled. So I’m
trying not to fly all to pieces and do all kinds of rash
things. There’s two men I want to see and get
word to.”
“Who are they?” inquired the interested Bruce.
“First, Mr. Brackett.”
“Oh, sure, him!” exclaimed Bruce. “I’ve
thought that all along.”
.bn 137.png
// 137.png
.pn +1
“He’s the head of all our plans,” went on Hiram.
“He’s a good business man, he’s rich and powerful,
and he’d know how to handle this muddle
better than I. Mr. Brackett must be seen, and you
can get ready to take the first train for the town
where he has his plant, Bruce.”
This looked like a pretty important mission to
Bruce. He was silent, however, as his companion
proceeded:
“You are to see Mr. Brackett, tell him everything
that has occurred, and ask him to send me instructions
as to what I am to do. He will probably
come right back with you. I hope so. There’s a
train leaving here inside of two hours. You will
get to the little Ohio town where the Aero plant is
located by early morning. Then, I suppose, Mr.
Brackett will wire me.”
“See here, Hiram,” interposed Bruce, “do you
think it’s as good for me to go as yourself? There’s
lots of things in detail about the plots that have been
working against you that I don’t know about and
you do.”
“No,” answered Hiram definitely, “I can’t go.
As I told you, there were two men to see about this
affair.”
“Yes, I remember. Who is the other one?”
“Mr. Borden.”
“Oh, I see,” said Bruce promptly. “Yes, indeed.
If he’s the true-blue fellow you think he
is he can do something to help you.”
.bn 138.png
// 138.png
.pn +1
“He gave us that warning,” remarked Hiram.
“He knew that something was going to happen.
He was on the watch for our benefit.”
“But Mr. Borden doesn’t dare to show himself
here and you can’t go to the Syndicate camp,”
argued Bruce.
“I’ve got to see that man just as soon as I possibly
can,” said Hiram, his eyes snapping with determination.
“You leave that to me. I’ve got to go
down to the offices of the meet for some money.
You get ready to start for the train as soon as I
come back.”
Bruce smiled to himself as he proceeded to “get
ready.” His wardrobe was not very extensive, and
he could pack in his pockets the extra collars and
handkerchiefs that comprised it. Hiram came back
in half an hour, and handed him some bills.
“Here’s a time-table,” he added. “I shall be
anxious till I hear from you.”
“Say, Hiram,” said Bruce, “that fellow,
Valdec——”
“Yes, what about him?” demanded the young
airman, sharply.
“He strolled by here while you were gone. He
was with one of the crowd that hangs around
their camp. He looked at me and scowled. Then
he grinned.”
.bn 139.png
// 139.png
.pn +1
“I’ll go with you down to the train,” said Hiram.
“Then I’ll know what he was grinning about, or my
name isn’t Dobbs!”
The boys kept their eyes open on the way to the
railroad depot. No one of the Syndicate crowd
seemed to be following, or watching them, however.
“Tell Mr. Brackett everything, Bruce,” directed
Hiram, “and get me word just as soon as you can.”
“Hope for the best, Hiram,” said Bruce cheeringly.
“There’s surely some way out of this
trouble for two smart fellows like you and Dave
Dashaway.”
Hiram waved his hand in adieu to Bruce as the
train started. Then Hiram proceeded back to the
hangar, his lips compressed and his face looking
resolute.
“Now to wait until dark!” grimly soliloquized
the young pilot of the Scout.
.bn 140.png
// 140.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 18 XVIII "A STRANGE MESSAGE"
“Too worried to eat,” spoke Hiram Dobbs to
himself at supper time. “Too busy to do any
sleeping to-night.”
Dusk had settled down over the International
grounds as he sallied forth after an impatient hour
spent in waiting for darkness. He locked the
hangar, and turned in the direction of the Syndicate
camp.
“Slow, and cautious, and sure,” murmured Hiram.
“I’ve got plenty of time, and I must be careful
not to muddle matters through any haste. It’s
Borden, first and foremost. When I locate him I’ll
find some way to attract his attention.”
Hiram followed the fence, keeping away from
casual pedestrians and crowds. He passed the
hangar next in the line to the Syndicate camp.
About to approach nearer, Hiram stretched himself
carelessly along a slanting fence support as though
taking a rest, for a man was coming towards him.
.bn 141.png
// 141.png
.pn +1
It was one of the “White Wings” battalion, Hiram
at once made out. The man wore the white
khaki uniform of the men supposed to keep the
grounds in order. He had a pronged stick, and
slung at his side a light but deep basket.
Whenever he came to a piece of paper, rags, or
the like, he would spear the same, and transfer it to
his basket. Daytimes the sanitary squad kept the
streets in order. Early in the evening they went
about gathering up the refuse that littered the
grounds.
Hiram decided to wait till the man got out of
the way before he approached nearer to the Syndicate
camp. He noticed that the man had an uncertain
gait. He missed spearing several pieces of
paper. One the wind kept scurrying along every
time he neared it. Hiram would have been amused
at any other time. Finally, in trying to corner a
whirling fragment of paper, the man stumbled and
fell flat, the basket on top of him.
“Here, let me help you,” proffered Hiram.
“That you, Palen?” spoke a sharp voice, as the
unfortunate man was mumbling out his thanks to
Hiram. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Hiram turned to observe one of the lieutenants
in charge of the grounds-workers.
.bn 142.png
// 142.png
.pn +1
“Late again, and in a fine condition, aren’t
you?” demanded the newcomer in a stern, censuring
tone. “You’re discharged, do you hear?
You’ve been careless for the last two days.”
“Yes, sir—bad cold. Not feelin’ well. Don’t
like this job anyhow,” the man mumbled.
“Well, get through with your work, if you’ve
sense enough to do it, and draw your pay. We can’t
have your kind around here.”
The official walked away with these words. His
subordinate steadied himself against a fence-support,
and watched the other disappear. Then he
threw the spear-stick to the ground, tossed the
basket after it and muttered glumly:
“All right. Sick of the place anyhow. I’ll do
no more work!”
Hiram had been casually interested in the episode.
Suddenly it suggested an idea to his quick mind.
He took a dollar bill from his pocket.
“Say, my friend,” he spoke, “I like exercise.
You lend me your jacket and hat, and I’ll give you
that, and do the rest of your work.”
“Well!” murmured the man stolidly. “Must
have lots of money to waste it that way. That’s a
bargain. Leave the old coat and hat where they’ll
find it, will you? There you are,” and the speaker
divested himself of the bulk of his uniform, and
went off with the dollar, chuckling gleefully.
.bn 143.png
// 143.png
.pn +1
Hiram waited till the man was out of sight. Then
he went to the side of a path and proceeded to
daub his hands and face with dust. The clumsy
jacket came nearly to his knees. The hat was
helmet-shaped. It dipped both front and rear and
well shadowed his face.
“I think I’ll do. I can surely pass for what I pretend
to be, if I don’t get where it’s too light,” decided
Hiram.
A more industrious “white wings” never worked
on the International grounds. Hiram seemed to
have eyes for every stray fragment of rubbish. He
boldly invaded the precincts of the Syndicate camp.
Just inside several hangar’s men were playing cards,
smoking and conversing.
“I don’t see anything of Mr. Borden,” soliloquized
Hiram disappointedly. “There’s Worthington,
though, and his special man, Valdec.”
The humble, dust-covered grounds-man picking
up rubbish, suggested nothing suspicious to the two
men, as Hiram poked around a bench on which
they were seated engrossed in earnest conversation.
Hiram speared an empty cigarette box not three
feet away from the foot of Valdec. He approached
close to the side of the bench making a great ado of
kneeling, and picking up the fragments of a torn
programme of the meet.
“Yes, I’ve got the altitude stunt fixed for good,”
he overheard Valdec observe.
.bn 144.png
// 144.png
.pn +1
“How is that,” inquired the big Syndicate manager.
“A dummy barograph,” chuckled the trick
aeronaut. “Oh, I’ll beat ten thousand feet easy as
pie! The Ariel might have made it, but—pouf!
We’ve got that off our minds, more’s the luck!
You’re sure there’s no chance of Dashaway coming
on the scene to spoil things?”
“Dashaway won’t get away,” coarsely laughed
Worthington. “I sent Borden down with Terry to
double the guard on him this afternoon.”
Some one hailed the manager just then and the
talk ended. Hiram’s spirits drooped. Borden had
been sent away from the meet before he could get
any further word to the Ariel hangar. For some
time Hiram hung around, hoping to overhear some
indication as to the place where his chum was undoubtedly
held a captive. His energy was unrewarded,
and he returned to his own hangar.
“I know two things,” he reflected, but disconsolately,
as he tossed restlessly in bed some hours later.
“Dave is alive—the Ariel is gone. Another thing;
we won’t be in this meet. Poor Dave! How will
it all come out?”
Hiram was fairly frantic when the next day
passed, and there was no word from Bruce. The
next morning he had decided to proceed to see Mr.
Brackett himself, fearing that something had happened
to his messenger, when Bruce himself appeared.
.bn 145.png
// 145.png
.pn +1
“What news? Quick!” spoke Hiram, in great
excitement. “What kept you?”
“I was delayed. Mr. Brackett was away until
yesterday afternoon. He listened to my story and
asked me a hundred questions. Then he sent a
note to you. Here it is.”
Hiram was so eager and anxious that he fairly
tore a folded sheet from the hand of Bruce.
Quickly his eyes scanned its contents.
And thus it read:
“Go right on, the same as if Dashaway and the
Ariel were ready for the contest.”
.bn 146.png
// 146.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 19 XIX "ARIEL II"
“Hold me, Bruce! I’m seeing things!” gasped
Hiram Dobbs, half whimsically.
“You’re seeing Dave Dashaway. Both of us
are. Oh, hooray!”
“And the Ariel——”
“A new Ariel—Ariel II; don’t you see? Brace
up—hurry! Don’t you understand that everything
has come out all right at last?”
It was nine o’clock in the morning of the great
day. All the entrants were expected to report
within the ensuing sixty minutes. On the Saturday
previous those who had not qualified fully had been
ruled out of the competition. Some had not supplied
the required data. Some had not been able to
promise the delivery of their machines on the
grounds before the contest began. Others were
mere amateurs in aviatics, with no demonstrated
records.
.bn 147.png
// 147.png
.pn +1
Those had been anxious, unsatisfactory days for
Hiram and Bruce that succeeded the strange, yet
definite message from Mr. Brackett. There was a
ray of hope in his explicit direction to go right on,
just as if there had been no break in the programme
laid out by Dave the day they arrived at the International
grounds. Both Hiram and Bruce were
very secretive. They took a flight each day in the
Scout. They mingled with the crowds at headquarters.
They picked up all the information possible
and kept in touch with everything going on.
The Syndicate crowd had gone past their hangar
frequently, as if trying to probe what lay behind
their composure and system. Twice they had detected
a lurker outside the hangar, eavesdropping.
He got little satisfaction, however, for the boys suspected
his pretense and talked of matters a thousand
miles away from Mr. Brackett, Dave Dashaway and
the Ariel.
And now, eager, anxious, prepared for disappointment
yet hoping, dreaming, they had come
down to the grand stand where the inspection of the
entrants of the day was to take place.
Valdec and his crowd were very much in evidence.
It was characteristic of the juggler airman
to assume airs of mystery, distinction and oddness.
He wore a score of trumpetry medals, and
gave a reckless swing to his machine as he circled
the grounds and alighted the nearest to the stand occupied
by the judges. It was plainly to be seen that
.bn 148.png
// 148.png
.pn +1
he believed himself the hero of the day. Worthington
strutted around followed by his contingent,
some of whom were to take part in various minor
contests after the first day. It had been depressing
to Hiram to note the buoyancy and assurance of
this crowd. It nettled him to think that for him the
meet, and all appertaining it to, was a hollow farce
without his chum. Then came the climax. Nearly
all the contesting air craft had reported, and were
in full view inside the roped off space near the
starter’s box. It lacked thirty minutes of the stroke
of the bell that would exclude all delinquent contestants,
when Bruce, seated on a bench, suddenly
nudged his companion.
“There’s a beauty,” he remarked and Hiram
lifted his rather gloomy glance to inspect a speck of
activity cutting the air like a swift yacht on a clear
water course.
Far to the south the stranger was evidently making
a bee-line direct for the center field. Other eyes
than those of the boys began to inspect the approaching
biplane. As it came nearer its graceful outlines,
its perfectly true maneuvers, caused attention
and speculation among expert airmen about the
stand. The Valdec crowd had become interested.
Then the strained gaze of Hiram Dobbs wavered
and he burst forth with the characteristic outbreak:
“Hold me Bruce—I’m seeing things!”
.bn 149.png
// 149.png
.pn +1
Then in a sort of delirious transport he allowed
his equally excited comrade to drag him towards the
center field with the ringing announcement that:
“Everything has come out all right at last!”
As they hurried along Hiram stripped off his
coat. It revealed him in flight trim, neat and natty,
for he had prepared for his very best appearance,
not knowing what might turn up. He threw the
garment to Bruce with the words: “Take care of
it.” Then: “Dave!—Dave!—Dave!” he shouted,
tumbled over a rope, and, regaining his feet, stood
still, for others had gathered about the Ariel II.
“Everything’s fixed!” gloated Hiram, eager
with delight. “Oh, but this is grand!”
Mr. Brackett had suddenly appeared from among
the crowd. With him was the manager of the meet,
and two other officials. Hiram fancied that the
manufacturer was dilating on the points of the new
machine, for he moved his hand about, making a
sweeping movement over this and that portion of
the beautiful mechanism.
Hiram fixed a look upon the chum of whom he
had such good reason to feel proud. Never had the
young aviator looked so completely at his best.
Dave’s eye was bright, his face bronzed with sunburn.
He wore an entirely new outfit. He was
paying respectful but intelligent attention to the
questions of those about him.
.bn 150.png
// 150.png
.pn +1
“I wonder,” breathed Hiram suddenly. He
turned squarely around. It was in the direction of
the Syndicate airship. They had named it the
Whirlwind. Its pilot had just alighted.
Valdec stood holding to one of the wings, as if
spellbound. His lower jaw had fallen, his face was
a picture of amazement and discomfiture. To
Hiram his usually sneering lips seemed drawn and
white as he put some question to Worthington, who
stood at his side.
The latter muttered something. Then his head
went forward until his big, full neck showed. It
was something like a mastiff baffled of its prey.
Hiram Dobbs laughed, he could not help it—a joyous,
boyish, delighted laugh, and those about the
Whirlwind heard him. He received a menacing
glance from Valdec. Worthington scowled darkly
and showed his teeth.
“Dave!” cried Hiram again, watching his
chance, and bolting past several persons engaged in
admiring inspection of the new Ariel.
His chum leaped from his seat and their hands
met. Their eyes also. In those of his tutor, and
close friend, Hiram read nerve and courage.
Somehow, he had a sure conviction that Dave Dashaway
had come upon the scene at the last moment
determined to win.
.bn 151.png
// 151.png
.pn +1
Not a word passed between them. Too many
were listening, and Hiram had sense enough to
copy the pleasing composure of his leader. The signal
for clearing the field was given from the judges’
stand. Hiram waved a hand joyously at his chum,
and got under the ropes. He made out Mr. Brackett
and hurried after him, to find Bruce at his heels.
The latter did not have the professional badge
which had admitted the others to the field.
“Ah, Dobbs!” greeted the big manufacturer, as
Hiram crowded up to his side. “And you too,
Beresford? Taken care of everything, of course?”
“Just followed orders—sure!” replied Hiram,
nodding energetically.
“It paid; didn’t it?” intimated Mr. Brackett,
with a wave of his hand towards the new machine
and its pilot.
“I should say it did!” cried the impetuous young
airman. “Oh, how did you ever bring it all
about?”
“Through one of the friends you and Dashaway
seem to have the faculty of gaining everywhere you
go,” answered the manufacturer.
“Was Dave shut up bad—or long?”
“No. Within twenty-four hours of his capture
he was at our plant and has been practicing every
day since. As to the old Ariel—what do you think
of Ariel II?”
.bn 152.png
// 152.png
.pn +1
Hiram was satisfied for the present with the brief
explanation made. In his own mind he could readily
reason out that Borden had, in some way, been
instrumental in the escape of Dave.
“They’re getting ready,” broke in Bruce. He
was bubbling over with excitement and exultation.
Mr. Brackett had led them to a section in the rows
just back of the big stand. He had seated himself
comfortably, but his two young guests were unable
to keep still, and stood up and moved about, buoyant
and expectant.
“Plain sailing,” announced some one from the
next section, reading the programme, and a smile of
satisfaction showed on the face of the big aeroplane
manufacturer.
There were twelve entries for this number, for it
was a free-for-all, purposely allowed to give air
craft builders a chance to show their machines.
Hiram and Bruce had eyes only for Dave and the
new Ariel. It left the ground at the signal,
smoothly and promptly.
“Self-starter,” spoke the complacent manufacturer
to his young allies. “For grace, lightness and
accuracy we back this, our latest machine, against
the world.”
Even to Hiram, daily in the past the companion
of Dave Dashaway in his marvelous cloud-work,
the aspect of the new machine was a revelation. Its
progress was noiseless, its sweep sure and scientific.
.bn 153.png
// 153.png
.pn +1
Within five minutes after the general ascent was
made the boys had but to listen to the comments going
on about them, to realize that on a popular vote
Ariel II would be awarded the prize.
Some of the contesting pilots could not sustain
a protracted flight, some of the machines did not
work smoothly. The contest narrowed down to six,
then to three. The Whirlwind showed great rapidity,
but was erratic and shifty at volplane work and
drift. Finally Valdec descended. Dave’s last competitor
followed his example. The Ariel floated to
anchor, buoyant as a swan gliding to rest.
Fifteen minutes later the official marker ascended
the little platform on which rested a great ruled-off
blackboard. He set at work on event number one.
Hiram’s eyes were snapping. Mr. Brackett drew
a long breath of mingled assurance and suspense.
“Hurrah!” yelled Bruce Beresford irrepressibly.
Hiram flung his cap up in the air. Mr. Brackett
beamed on everybody, and the crowd went wild.
“Event No. 1—Winner, Machine number five,”
the man wrote. That was the awarded numeral of
the Brackett entry. “Pilot—Dashaway. Points—thirty.”
Thus read the chronicle of the initial event on
the big programme, awarding to Dave Dashaway
the first victory of the meet.
.bn 154.png
// 154.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 20 XX "BEATEN"
Hiram Dobbs was whistling like a nightingale,
Bruce Beresford was polishing up the brass work
of the new Ariel for the fifth or sixth time, when
suddenly Hiram made a derisive sweep with his
handful of cotton waste towards two passers-by—Valdec
and one of his crowd.
“Hah!” uttered Dave Dashaway’s assistant—“you’ve
had your claws cut short this time!”
Safe and sound, more than hopeful, and very
happy felt the young pilot of the Scout. Hiram
could defy all his foes now. Day and night, half
a dozen men from the aero plant formed a perfect
cordon around the hangar which housed the almost
sure winner of the International, as Hiram insisted
on putting it.
There had been a sort of jollification conference
the evening before in a room at the grounds clubhouse,
where the manufacturer and his three
friends felt free to discuss affairs in general without
the fear of intruders or listeners. It was there
.bn 155.png
// 155.png
.pn +1
that Dave explained his recent adventure at the sand
dunes. His capture and the destruction of the old
Ariel had been the result of a well laid plot on the
part of the Syndicate crowd and their allies.
It was Borden who had saved the day. Hiram’s
heart warmed anew towards the tramp artist as he
realized how loyally the latter had repaid the slight
kindness they had shown a homeless wanderer at
the Midlothian grounds.
“Mr. Borden warned you too late, Hiram,” explained
Dave, “but he found a way, a little later,
to be doubly useful in our interests. The men who
made me a prisoner at the sand dunes and burned
up the old Ariel I had never seen before. I was
taken perhaps thirty miles in a closed wagon, tied
hand and foot, and guarded by a balking fellow, so
I kept pretty still.”
“Where did they take you, Mr. Dashaway?”
the interested Bruce had asked.
“To an old building in a big town over the state
line. It must have been a factory, at some time or
other. It had all gone to ruin, and they kept me in
a room in the boiler house, with a heavy iron door
to it. The Syndicate crowd sent Mr. Borden down
to help their man guard me. I don’t know how he
managed it, but he got entire charge of me, and
let his supposed fellow watchman lay around the
town. The first night he got a wire to Mr. Brackett
.bn 156.png
// 156.png
.pn +1
who came down for me. Since then I have been
practicing near the Aero Company’s plant, and
watching our new beauty of a biplane grow into the
finest craft of its class in the world.”
“And Mr. Borden?” pressed Hiram curiously.
“I don’t think the Syndicate crowd had the least
idea that I was free until I showed up on the
grounds here,” declared Dave.
“What’ll they do when they find out he’s hocussed
them?” asked Bruce.
“I have supplied our good friend, Mr. Borden,
with the means of going about where he pleases,”
observed Mr. Brackett with a smile. “They won’t
find him unless he wants to be found, you may rest
assured of that fact.”
“And are those fellows to be allowed to go scot
free after all they’ve done!” cried the indignant
Hiram.
“I hardly think we will disturb them if they leave
us alone—at least for the present,” replied the
manufacturer. “You see, Hiram, we might not be
able to fasten the plot directly upon them. It is still
my opinion that Vernon, our old time enemy, is the
main actor in all these outrages, although he has
pretty cleverly covered up his tracks.”
“Well, so far—everything is fine!” declared the
volatile Hiram. “Oh, Dave, if you only win the
altitude contest to-morrow!”
.bn 157.png
// 157.png
.pn +1
“The new Ariel can do its share,” insisted Mr.
Brackett.
“I shall try to do mine,” added the young aviator
modestly.
“Fifty points!” murmured Hiram. “Score that
and you are sure of the big prize,” and Hiram had
a vision of that official blackboard marker giving to
his chum the second award in the International contest.
Four machines besides their own were listed for
the altitude contest and the Whirlwind was among
them. The first thing the observant Hiram noticed
as they reached the center field was that Valdec
wore his ordinary sailing jacket. Dave was fully
prepared for any cold he might run into. Besides
that, at his side, was a light, round tank with a coil
of rubber hose running from it.
“We’re testing an emergency oxygen supply, if
the air gets too rarefied,” Dave explained to Hiram.
“It may work in quite well when we get up above
ten thousand feet.”
“Oh, Dave, you can’t hope to do that!” exclaimed
his young assistant.
The manager and a helper visited the five machines
while the rules of the contest were being
read by his secretary. The barograph of each
biplane was examined, sealed up and put in place.
Three hours was the time limit allowed, the pilots
to select their own course.
.bn 158.png
// 158.png
.pn +1
There was some cloudiness, but no wind, and the
five machines made a splendid initial rise. The
Whirlwind was all for speed. Dave took it more
slowly. Within fifteen minutes the five crafts were
scattered to all points of the compass. They became
mere specks as a lower strata of cloud haze obscured
them. Then they vanished from view as a denser
upper cumulus enveloped them.
At eleven o’clock one of the contestants came
back to the grounds because of a break in the control.
A comrade competitor gave up the contest a
quarter of an hour later. Number three reported
itself out of the race at noon.
“It’s the Ariel and the Whirlwind,” went the
rounds of the stand. Everybody was wrought up
to a great pitch of doubt and suspense. The clouds
still obscured all sight of the clear sky.
“There’s one of them!” burst out a voice and
there was great excitement as an air craft came sailing
swiftly into view.
“The Whirlwind,” spoke a man with a pair of
field glasses.
The Syndicate machine came to anchor as Worthington
and his allies rushed toward it. Valdec
stepped out of the biplane smiling and profuse in his
bows. He joked and laughed as the expert removed
the barograph, hastened to the judges’ stand and
then placed it in a strong tin box and locked it in.
.bn 159.png
// 159.png
.pn +1
“Here’s the other!” The shout announced the
Ariel. In about twenty minutes the boys and Mr.
Brackett were crowding about it. The machine was
dripping with moisture, and as it touched the ground
its pilot removed his head gear, and fell over to one
side, gasping for breath.
“He’s collapsed!” exclaimed an attendant and
ran for water. They lifted Dave out of the machine.
Mr. Brackett and Hiram supported him.
The expert had removed the barograph. They made
Dave swallow some water, rubbed his hands, and
finally he opened his eyes. He smiled vaguely.
“I made it,” he spoke with difficulty. “Nearly
went under, but I had set my mark—over eleven
thousand feet.”
“You couldn’t! It’s ahead of any record! He’s
dreaming!” blurted out Hiram.
“The barograph says so—I’ve won. I knew I
should,” murmured Dave. “Get me somewhere to
lie down. I’m weak and dizzy.”
“What’s that!” suddenly spoke Hiram, turning
sharply as they were leading Dave over to the club
house.
They were at a point where they could not see
the blackboard. Hiram noticed a great crowd about
it. Cheers rent the air. A man bolted from the
.bn 160.png
// 160.png
.pn +1
mass, bareheaded, excited, rushing down the road
wildly. Hiram recognized him as one of the Syndicate
hangers-on.
“What is it?” was demanded of him by an inquisitive
pedestrian.
“Record smashed!” came the breathless but
triumphant reply. “Valdec has won—12,350
feet!”
.bn 161.png
// 161.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 21 XXI "“FIFTY POINTS”"
“You’ve got something on your mind, Bruce!
What is it?” challenged Hiram Dobbs.
“Oh, just thinking,” answered Bruce in a way
meant to be off-handed, but palpably evasive and
embarrassed.
“You can’t fool me!” insisted Hiram in his persistent
fashion. “Ever since you took those diamonds
back to the police you’ve been mooning. You
don’t mean to tell me you’ve caught the detective-fever?”
“Me!” laughed Bruce. “No more chance of
that than of running an airship. I’d better correct
one false impression you’ve got, though, Hiram.”
“And what is that?”
“I didn’t take those diamonds to the police at
all.”
“Didn’t? Well, that’s news!” declared Hiram
wonderingly.
.bn 162.png
// 162.png
.pn +1
“You see, you were all so busy here I didn’t want
to bother you about a little thing like that. I took
the diamonds back to the people who lost them. I’ve
had an idea about those diamonds for some time.”
“You have some good ideas, Bruce—what’s this
one?”
“Why, I have felt satisfied all along that the
thief had those diamonds when he was escaping in
the Scout.”
“We all believe that. What of it?” inquired the
young pilot of the craft in question.
“So, I’ve dreamed—only dreamed, mind you—of
maybe some time going and looking for them.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed Hiram. “I guess you have
no idea of what hunting around the place where the
thief landed might mean. If he really had them and
lost them, or hid them, or threw them away, there’s
half a mile of thicket, gully and creek to go over,
with about one chance in a thousand of hitting the
right spot. You never ran across such a mixed up
place.”
“It’s because I was once right in it all for a week
or more that I got interested,” explained Bruce.
“Well, there may be something in your idea,
Bruce,” admitted Hiram. “Just now, though,
we’ve got more important business on hand. We
must add twenty points to our thirty before sundown,
you know.”
.bn 163.png
// 163.png
.pn +1
“Oh, I hope you make it!” said Bruce ardently.
“I’ve been worried ever since the Syndicate crowd
beat in the altitude work.”
“Beat! who’s—beat! what?” almost shouted
Hiram, becoming vociferous, and looking wrathful.
“Mr. Brackett and Dave are saying little and thinking
a good deal. They may talk out when the
governing committee passes on the prizes. I’m
doing some guessing myself, and I’d give all I’m
worth to see one man for just one minute, and that’s
Mr. Borden.”
“Aha!” cried Bruce—“got a secret yourself,
have you?”
“Never mind if I have. It isn’t the time to talk
about it just yet,” retorted Hiram mysteriously.
“I’ve got some common sense, though, and lots of
confidence in the word of Dave Dashaway. You
heard what he told us about that altitude climate.
It nearly finished him, even with that new oxygen
device aboard. He was soaked, frozen, exhausted
when he landed, wasn’t he? And Valdec wasn’t
even damp! Again, Dave says he never caught
sight of the Whirlwind over the 7,000 foot level.
There’s another county to hear from!” concluded
Hiram, “and I’ve got something under my hat.”
“What, Hiram?” asked Bruce, but his comrade
only laughed, and walked off to greet Mr. Brackett
and Dave, who, at that moment, approached the
hangar.
.bn 164.png
// 164.png
.pn +1
The mail bag delivery contest was one of several
set for that day. There were only five entries, the
Scout being among the number. Neither Dave nor
Valdec were listed as principals, but one of the Syndicate
machines had been entered.
It was in the Scout that its pilot had done his
practicing and the Ariel was not called into service.
A crew of two was apportioned to each machine
competing and Dave of course was to take charge
of the wheel.
“Looks like a game of basket ball,” remarked
Hiram as they drove the Scout over to center field.
The grounds had a two mile circular track, being
used on other occasions for motor contests. Around
this, and at each corner of the grounds, poles
twenty feet high had been set up. At the top of
the poles were woven baskets about two feet deep
and double that width at their flanging tops.
Poles and baskets were painted white and were
conspicuous to the eye for a long distance. There
were some twenty-five of these improvised postal
stations. That number of bags was put in the cockpit
of each machine. Each set was marked with a
numeral, those on the Scout bearing the Brackett
entrant number, which was five.
The bags had been furnished by the city post
office people, were about two by four feet and filled
each with twenty pounds of newspapers and old envelopes.
The time limit on the stunt was one hour.
.bn 165.png
// 165.png
.pn +1
“It’s going to be interesting,” Mr. Brackett remarked
to Bruce Beresford, who with him occupied
an advantageous stall near the central stand.
“The crowd seems to think so,” replied Bruce.
“It’s something new, and nearly everybody has a
score card.”
Bruce himself was prepared to keep “tab” on
the mail deliveries. One, three, five, nine and eleven
were in commission, and the machines were sufficiently
varied in construction and appearance to
enable even a novice to identify them separately
when in operation. There was valor and confidence
in Hiram’s last hand wave.
“I hope the lad makes his points,” spoke Mr.
Brackett.
“It will break his heart if he doesn’t,” declared
Bruce. “Why shouldn’t he, though? He’s ahead
of the rest of them on practicing, and he’s got an
expert pilot in his machine.”
“There’s a hit!” cried a voice near them, and
necks were craned and eyes strained to watch a
leather bag go tumbling over the edge of aeroplane
number three. It landed directly on the basket
aimed at—and the crowds yelled at this first sample
of a new feature in aviatics.
“What’s wrong?” inquired a curious voice.
.bn 166.png
// 166.png
.pn +1
The guard stationed under the basket where the
mail bag had fallen had stepped slightly away from
his post. He had unfurled and was waving a blue
flag.
“It doesn’t count,” guessed Bruce readily. “The
machine must have been under the low level.”
A great laugh next swept the mob of onlookers.
The Syndicate biplane had sent down a bag aimed
at another basket. It went so far wide of its mark
that it landed on the shoulders of a “White Wings”
man thirty feet away, knocking off his hat and sending
him scampering as though a bomb had struck
him.
“Hiram—good—one!” suddenly yelled Bruce.
“You mean two,” remarked Mr. Brackett quietly
a minute later, but with a slight chuckle of satisfaction.
The Scout had made two deliveries into different
baskets true as a die. Unlike any of the others, the
little machine sailed high, and as it approached a
delivery point described a swift swoop. So true
were the calculations of Dave Dashaway, that,
directly at the turn of the volplane Hiram let loose
the mail bag, counting on a forward sway of several
feet in the descent.
“Ah—missed! but it hit the edge of the basket,”
reported Bruce. Then the fourth one landed directly
within its intended receptacle.
.bn 167.png
// 167.png
.pn +1
There were generally cheers for the Scout, even
when Hiram missed on three deliveries. These,
however, never dropped more than five feet away
from the base of the pole, while some of the other
contestants saw their mail bags go half a hundred
feet from the goal.
“Seventy mail bags delivered, only thirteen not
gone foul, and the Scout scores seven of them,”
cried Bruce, half an hour later. “There’s a dive
for you—oh, grand!”
Three of the contestants with a decidedly poor
showing retired from the field, among them the
Syndicate entrant. Nine kept aloft, with three deliveries
to its score.
It seemed as though Dave and Hiram were husbanding
their strength for a final brilliant exploit.
The Scout took a backward swing of nearly a mile.
Then at full speed its pilot headed it down the last
side of the long track.
“Eight, nine and ten—oh, they’ve made it!”
shouted the delighted Bruce Beresford. “Thirty
and twenty are fifty. Mr. Brackett, we’re even now
with the Whirlwind people!”
.bn 168.png
// 168.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 22 XXII "QUEER PROCEEDINGS"
Hiram and Bruce talked of many matters the
rest of that day. The former was proud and elated
over his success, and Bruce would not discount the
greatness of his friend’s feat.
“You beat them all put together,” he told Hiram.
“I heard two men talking with one of the committee
near the grand stand. I think they had something
to do with the government postal service.”
“They can’t hire me away from Dave,” observed
Hiram with a wink and a laugh.
“Well, they asked the committee man for the
names of the crew of the Scout and took them
down.”
“Oh, it wasn’t much,” insisted Hiram. “All I’m
glad for is that it gives us twenty more points. I
feel safe now.”
“What with the big event, the long distance
stunt, ahead?”
.bn 169.png
// 169.png
.pn +1
“There hasn’t been a second that Mr. Brackett
and Dave have not counted on the Ariel winning
that particular event,” declared Hiram.
“It’s to-morrow; isn’t it?” asked Bruce. “I
hope we have a fine day.”
The conversation took place just before dusk.
Then Mr. Brackett and Dave called Hiram into the
little office of the hangar to go over some details
of the morrow’s race. Bruce got through with some
cleaning work about the Scout, put on his coat and
passed by the hangar entrance.
“Say, you go down to the restaurant and wait
for me,” spoke Hiram, appearing in the doorway.
“I’ll be along in about fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” assented Bruce, and he started across
the grounds, whistling cheerily.
It was wonderful the change that had taken
place in the appearance and fortunes of the orphan
lad, since his first chance acquaintance with Hiram
Dobbs, and later with Dave Dashaway. As he proceeded
to the restaurant, free, well dressed, with
money in his pocket and all worry about his little
sister Lois gone, Bruce felt like a new being.
“If ever a fellow was grateful I am!” he soliloquized.
“Those two friends have not only asked
me to stay with them, but really want me to do it.
Even Mr. Brackett has taken a liking to me. He
told Mr. Dashaway to put me on the pay roll at ten
dollars a week, and I’m a part of all this great bustle
and excitement going on here. And that scheme
of mine—the diamonds!”
.bn 170.png
// 170.png
.pn +1
The speaker’s eyes sparkled. He had not told
Hiram everything about them—an interruption had
diverted into business channels a conversation they
were holding. Then the winning of the mail bag
contest had put everything else out of the head of
the proud young pilot of the Scout for the time
being.
Bruce had not taken the diamond stick pins found
in the little biplane to the police. He had ferreted
around and had located the people from whom they
were stolen. The robbery had taken place at a large
jewelry store. Bruce had called upon its proprietor.
The latter regarded him at first with some suspicion,
for Bruce was guarded, and felt his way
cautiously. He produced the diamonds he had
found, and told his story.
“Why—I’ve come to you, is because I’m willing
to give some time to hunting for the rest of those
diamonds if you say the word,” he had told the
jeweler. “I’ve got some ideas. Maybe they’re no
good, but I’m pretty well acquainted around Wayville,
the town where the robber was hurt, and I
might stumble across something.”
The jeweler became eager. He was dissatisfied
with the police, he said. He encouraged Bruce in
every way he could. He even offered to pay a reward
for the recovery of the stick pins. This Bruce
.bn 171.png
// 171.png
.pn +1
declined. However, when he left the store it was
with a springy step and great hopes—and the
promise of a reward if he found the robber’s booty
thrilled him.
“Why, I’d be rich!” he told himself breathlessly.
“I’d have money enough to fight old Martin Dawson
through the courts to the last finish. Oh, yes—as
soon as the meet here is over, I’m going to go to
Wayville. There’s something I know that the police
didn’t know, and it may lead to big results.”
Bruce reached the restaurant dwelling on excited
anticipations over the diamonds, and filled with
pleasant thoughts as to his new environment generally.
His mind was fully occupied for about a
quarter of an hour. Then he began to get hungry
and impatient for Hiram to arrive. A man came
in rather hurriedly, and went over to a table in a
shadowed corner of the room. Bruce, studying
everything going on to pass the time away, noticed
something peculiar about the newcomer.
The latter wore a light overcoat with a well
turned up collar. He had a very dark beard, and
wore colored goggles.
“I’ll wager that man doesn’t want to be noticed
much,” thought Bruce, as the man took a seat with
his back turned to those at the other tables.
.bn 172.png
// 172.png
.pn +1
The newcomer ordered a light lunch. He did
not seem to enjoy it much. He ate it rapidly. Then
he kept looking at his watch as if impatient for
some certain minute to arrive. He drew the bill of
fare towards him, fumbled it over, took a pencil
from his pocket and began aimlessly to scribble on
its reverse blank surface.
Finally he arose, and, pulling his cap well down
over his eyes, proceeded to the cashier’s desk to pay
his check. Just then Hiram came in at a side door.
He slipped into the seat opposite Bruce and fixed his
eyes upon his face.
“Don’t make any suspicious move,” he spoke
under his breath and rapidly. “You noticed the
man who sat at the table over in the corner
yonder?”
“The one just paying his check? Why, yes,
I’ve been watching him for the last half hour. He’s
leaving the restaurant now.”
“Go after him, don’t delay,” urged Hiram excitedly.
“I’ve been watching him, too—through
the window. Follow him, and see where he goes
and get word to me as quick as you can.”
“Why, Hiram——”
“Don’t waste time!” interrupted Hiram almost
sharply. “I may be mistaken—I think not, and
this is important.”
.bn 173.png
// 173.png
.pn +1
Bruce questioned no further. He was used to
obeying his friend implicitly and he had a firm belief
that, impetuous as he sometimes was, Hiram
generally knew what he was about.
The minute Bruce was gone Hiram glided over
to the table recently occupied by the stranger. His
point of immediate interest was the bill of fare upon
which the man had just been scribbling—Hiram
scanned its surface eagerly. His eyes brightened
from surmise to conviction.
“Aha!” he almost cried out. “I was right. It’s
Mr. Borden.”
What that might mean to them all Hiram did not
know. Why Borden had appeared on the scene in
disguise he did not know, either. All Hiram considered
at that moment was that the tramp artist
had proven a good friend in the past. He had not
come to them of late, and probably had a reason for
it. He would scarcely venture in the vicinity of
the Syndicate crowd unless he had another reason.
Borden might have been a tramp once, but he presented
that appearance no longer. Artist he still
was, for he had idly sketched many faces upon the
bill of fare because it was natural for him to do it.
Hiram had been nearing the restaurant when he
saw the man enter it. Something in the free, careless
swing of the stranger had reminded him of
their old friend of the Midlothian grounds. He
had watched him through the window. Now he had
verified his suspicions.
.bn 174.png
// 174.png
.pn +1
“What is it going to lead to?” he meditated impatiently
and sat drumming his finger tips nervously
on the table, waiting for his friend and messenger
to show up.
Worthington, Valdec and three others of the Syndicate
crowd strolled noisily into the restaurant.
The coincidence of their arrival made the thoughtful
Hiram wonder if Borden had been timing their
movements.
In about twenty minutes he saw Bruce enter the
doorway, so Hiram arose quickly and jostled him
back into the street.
“Never mind supper for a bit,” he said, leading
his companion to a distance from the restaurant.
“The Worthington crowd are in there and they
might be snooping around if we got to talking.
The man you followed—what about him?”
“He slipped away from me,” reported Bruce
with some perturbation, “in the most remarkable
way.”
“Where did he go?” pressed Hiram.
“To the Syndicate hangar. Most of that crowd
were getting ready for supper. The man you sent
me to follow went in around the camp in a sly, slinking
way as if he knew his bearings pretty well.”
“He did, indeed!” murmured Hiram.
.bn 175.png
// 175.png
.pn +1
“I thought,” narrated Bruce, “that he had got
away from me, when he came bolting out from the
big hangar. I hadn’t seen him go in. He had something
in one hand wrapped up in a piece of cloth, a
bag I took it to be. He ran straight for the fence.
I got behind a tool shed and watched him.”
“Go on,” urged Hiram eagerly.
“Well, one of the electric lights shone pretty
bright just there. The man put his parcel on the
ground. Then he took something from his pocket
and slipped it across one ankle. I took it to be a
band with a hook to it. He must have had another
hook in his hand for he ran up that fence and vanished
over the top of it like a monkey.”
“But the package he brought from the Whirlwind
hangar?” asked Hiram.
“Oh, yes—I came near forgetting that. When
he set it on the ground the wrapping fell away from
it and I saw what it was.”
“And what was it?” asked Hiram.
“A barograph, just like the one you have in the
Ariel.”
“Are you sure?” eagerly asked Hiram. “A
barograph, you say?”
“Yes,” repeated Bruce, wondering at the earnest,
excited manner of his comrade. “Even at the distance
I was I could see the record reel and the metal
recorder, and—why, what are you grabbing my
arm that way for?” inquired Bruce in surprise.
“And you’re trembling all over.”
.bn 176.png
// 176.png
.pn +1
“Should think I would!” declared Hiram Dobbs,
his tones quivering with the satisfaction of some
great discovery—“I see the light at last!”
.bn 177.png
// 177.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 23 XXIII "A NOBLE DEED"
Whatever the “light” was that Hiram Dobbs
saw, he did not share the illumination with Bruce.
In fact the latter did not expect it, and asked no
questions.
So much had happened during the past two weeks
that had tested the sense, courage and good judgment
of the boys, that they had come to taking
things conservatively, no matter what transpired.
Bruce was aware that Hiram attached a great
deal of importance to the discovery of the disguised
Borden. The mention of the barograph had decidedly
stirred Hiram. Why, or wherefore, the
young pilot of the Scout did not just then say. Perhaps
outside of a theory he had formed, Hiram
could not clearly have told himself. At all events,
Bruce was satisfied to wait for further developments
at a time when his friend was ready to divulge
them.
.bn 178.png
// 178.png
.pn +1
The long distance flight was on for the next day.
It was the big event of the meet, with a large number
of entrants, and nothing else much was talked
of that evening or the following morning. “Biplane
and one passenger,” ran the schedule and
Hiram was glad of that.
“It’s a hundred and ten mile flight,” he remarked,
“and the winner will come in under two hours.”
“Not with that choppy northwest wind,” reminded
Dave. “There is one thing, though: the
Ariel is made for all kinds of weather. It really
gives the others a handicap.”
The contestants were fully advised as to the rules
of the race. The course was laid along the shore
of the lake and described a complete semi-circle
seventy miles in length. The turning point was at
Grand Bay. All along the course men were posted
to watch out for any deviation exceeding two miles
from the shore line of the lake. At Grand Bay it
was a straight away course back to the International
grounds.
The Whirlwind came out with Valdec in the
seat sneering and arrogant as usual. A youth about
the age of Hiram occupied the cockpit. The machines
were thus evenly matched. There were
eighteen other entrants for the event.
“There’re some pretty good machines in the race,
Dave,” his assistant remarked as they awaited the
starting signal.
.bn 179.png
// 179.png
.pn +1
“I see that,” replied the pilot of the Ariel. “We
mustn’t miss a point, or lose a yard, on turns or
drifting. Is everything all right?”
“As right as could be,” answered Hiram buoyantly.
“What’s the programme, a rush?”
“Not at the start. We won’t risk any mix up.
Let the others, particularly the Whirlwind, catch a
gait. Then we’ll strike the higher level and get a
clear course, if we’re lucky enough to outdistance
the others.”
The start was very fine. It resembled the progress
of a flock of birds trying their wings after a
rest. Mr. Brackett looked greatly pleased as the
Ariel did just what it had been built to do—rose
lightly, made smooth upward progress and showed
itself to be a very superior model of grace and efficiency.
“Oh, dear! over two hours’ blind waiting,”
sighed Bruce, as the aerial fleet spread out, and grew
less distinct, so that, even with a field glass, it was
difficult to distinguish one machine from another.
“There’s a breakdown!” Hiram announced, just
as they passed the first observation station on the
lake shore.
It was number six, a rather poor craft, and Dave
could tell from its maneuvers that some of its gearing
had gone wrong.
At the end of fifty miles, Hiram, watching out in
every direction, gave a quick cry of satisfaction.
.bn 180.png
// 180.png
.pn +1
“I’ve counted them,” he told his chum. “The
ragtag and bobtail fell out before we got forty
miles. There’re two men even with us below, Dave.
That one pegging away on the lower level is the
Whirlwind.”
“Yes, and doing very finely,” commented Dave.
“There’re the smokestacks of Grand Bay ahead.”
“Speed up, Dave,” urged Hiram, his usual excitable
nature getting the best of him.
The young aviator did not reply, but all his expert
senses were on the alert. So far as he could
judge, he had now but three rivals to fear. The
Whirlwind was in the lead, but not for any great
distance and would have to change its level when a
turn was due.
Dave had a point in view in first ascertaining the
number of his real rivals, and then their possible
capabilities in the return flight. The wind had
steadily grown stronger with the hours. The lake
was rough and muddy, and a cloud film had overspread
the sky.
To fly to the best advantage when the turn was
made at Grand Bay, Dave saw that a system of
tacking and circling would be necessary. The Ariel
had been built purposely to meet these exigencies.
He doubted if any of the three other machines could
go through on any great rate of speed.
.bn 181.png
// 181.png
.pn +1
“I am sure of one thing,” he reckoned quite confidently;
“the Ariel can outdo the Whirlwind two
to one in drifting with the wind at its stern.”
“Dave! I say, Dave!” cried Hiram Dobbs
breathlessly. “Here comes the Whirlwind!”
“I see,” answered Dave calmly.
“She’s turning, she’s first in rounding for the
home run. Can’t you speed up?”
Dave kept his eye on the machine he regarded as
his principal rival. He watched its maneuvering
narrowly. The Whirlwind had indeed turned, but
now it was evident it had to contend with new and
more difficult conditions.
“It’s one thing to face the wind, and quite another
to run away from it. Watch the control, Hiram,”
directed Dave.
“I’ve got both eyes in use,” reported his assistant.
“Now then,” said Dave simply. “Careful!”
He circled the point where a group of men were
gathered, one with a white flag in his hand. This
individual stood near a score board, and tallied off
the machines as they passed.
The Ariel made a sort of leap, as her pilot
brought the machine broadside to the fierce breeze.
In two minutes the young aviator comprehended,
and analyzed, the conditions as would an expert
running a yacht.
.bn 182.png
// 182.png
.pn +1
“A fog is coming up, and it’s misting,” announced
Hiram. “We’re not cutting due west, are
we?”
“Not on this occasion,” responded Dave coolly.
“Hiram, we’ll make time and distance drifting
south of the grounds. When we strike the land
breeze it will be easier to fight our way back north.”
“You know best, Dave,” said Hiram, and then
for a full quarter of an hour nothing further was
said. Dave did some fine maneuvering. Hiram followed
the signals given him as to the rear control
apparatus, a mission that relieved the pilot from a
sort of double duty under the present stress.
The muggy air prevented the young airman from
making out what had become of the Whirlwind or
their trailers. Dave had steadied quite successfully
on a lateral course when Hiram leaned over towards
him.
“Dave,” he spoke quickly—“to the left, and a
little ahead.”
“I see—a craft of some kind on the lake.”
“And a flag of distress—why, look! Dave,
they’ve put off a raft, and it’s swamped.”
The young pilot lessened the speed of the Ariel.
He eased its progress through a sliding drift. This
brought them nearer to the craft tossing on the
waters below.
.bn 183.png
// 183.png
.pn +1
“Water-logged and sinking!” exclaimed Hiram
excitedly. “Dave, it’s a real peril! See, the
ship has no wireless, and their lifeboat is gone.
She can’t last long, Dave!”
Dave had turned the head of the Ariel straight
back landwards. In a flash his assistant understood.
“Top speed for a rescue steamer, or the life-saving
service,” announced Dave. His voice was
slightly unsteady, for he realized the sacrifice he
was about to make. “There’re women and children
aboard that boat.”
“Yes, we’ve got to lose the race!” cried Hiram
in disappointed tones.
“Better that than forget our humane duty,” responded
the young pilot of the Ariel, but he said it
with a sinking heart.
The wind was now coming by fits and starts, and
the sky looked anything but encouraging to the
young airmen.
“We’re in for a nasty blow, Dave,” came from
Hiram, anxiously.
“Looks that way.”
“It’s bad for that schooner.”
“So it is.”
“Do you think we can get help in time?”
“We’ve got to do it, Hiram. Think of those
on board—maybe women and children as well as
men!” and our hero shook his head sadly.
“It’s quite a run.”
“I know that as well as you do.”
.bn 184.png
// 184.png
.pn +1
“And to miss winning that prize——”
“Do you want to win and let those people
drown?”
“No, no, never!”
“Then don’t say anything more about that prize.”
“I won’t, Dave. Yes, run for shore, and get
help as soon as possible.”
“I’ll do it—and we’ll save those poor people.
Hiram, there may be——”
Dave did not have time to finish what he was
going to say. A sudden gust of wind had struck the
air craft, sending it whirling off its course.
.bn 185.png
// 185.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 24 XXIV "THE HIDDEN DIAMONDS"
“Look out, Dave!” shouted his young assistant
and, as a snap sounded he shot a quick hand towards
the lever operating the rear control mechanism.
“Blade cracked, nothing serious,” instantly announced
the pilot of the Ariel.
The machine had been hit in turning shorewards
with a big wind blast that boomed like a cannon,
and bore down upon it heavily. They felt the machine
shiver and swerve, and there was some lateral
flapping. Dave, however, kept steadily on back
over the course he had so recently won.
It took twenty minutes to overlap the shore line.
They made out a harbor and upon the pier at its
end the flag of the life-saving service.
“You won’t lose time landing, Dave?” spoke Hiram
anxiously. “We might catch up yet.”
“Got to land,” reported Dave. “We can’t risk
the blade snapping.”
The Ariel was directed across a flat sandy reach
near the end of the pier. Dave sprang out instantly
and ran towards two men who had watched the
descent.
.bn 186.png
// 186.png
.pn +1
“Schooner in distress,” he announced briskly to
the men. “I think she is sinking.”
“Where away?” was inquired.
Dave described the position of the imperiled vessel
as best he could. The men ran down the pier. Almost
immediately a signal bell tolled, and a steam
yacht, and two lifeboats, set out on their mission
of rescue.
Dave had hurried back to the Ariel. He had the
machine overhauled in a trice. One blade was
seriously damaged. Those on the Ariel were of
hard spruce wood, with a filling of mahogany. The
lower veneer had stripped off and was dangling.
“It’s a wonder it didn’t strike the tail and cripple
us,” observed Dave, as he got out some tools and
catgut, and had the defect remedied quickly. “I
think that will last.”
A report officer of the service had strolled to the
spot, and asked some questions which Dave answered.
“He’s writing down our names,” whispered Hiram
to his comrade.
“All ready,” ordered Dave.
“Good luck!” shouted the officer after the ascending
machine.
.bn 187.png
// 187.png
.pn +1
“I suppose it’s hopeless to think that we’re going
to even make a showing in this race,” spoke Hiram
disconsolately.
“I fancy you are right,” replied Dave as steadily
as he could.
Hiram was in suspense and misery. About
twenty miles further along they made out one of the
laggard airships fighting its way against the wind.
>From its maneuvers it was easy to surmise that
all its pilot was aiming at was to keep out of trouble.
“Out of the race and knows it,” commented Hiram.
“I suppose it’s forty points more for the
Whirlwind.”
Dave said nothing. He was thinking of the possible
disappointment of Mr. Brackett. He speeded
the Ariel to its best pace, but had no hope now of
reaching the International grounds first.
Hiram was in great suspense as they came up to
the grounds from the south. His eager eyes
scanned the center field. Then he fell back in his
seat with a groan.
“One in—we’re beaten, Dave,” he almost sobbed.
“It’s the Whirlwind.”
They could see the Valdec machine plainly as they
descended. There was a crowd around it. Dave
landed near the judges’ stand, turned the Ariel over
to two attendants in the employ of their hangar, and
went to headquarters to report. Bruce came running
up to Hiram with a decidedly long face.
.bn 188.png
// 188.png
.pn +1
“The blackboard gives the race to Valdec,” he
spoke in a subdued tone.
“I guess they’ve won it,” snapped Hiram.
“Lording it over all creation, I suppose?”
“They feel pretty flighty,” pronounced Bruce.
“I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Where is Mr. Brackett?” asked Hiram, looking
about for their friend and backer.
“Why, he was called to Chicago on business, and
had to go. Said he’d be back by evening, though.”
It was with a laggard, disheartened way that Hiram
proceeded to the hangar. Dave joined the
boys soon after. He tried to act cheerily, but secretly
he was quite depressed.
He had done his best. Better than that, he had
done just right. Business was business, however.
Dave realized how greatly Mr. Brackett counted on
the Ariel coming out victor and winner of the big
prize. It was not so much the amount involved that
the manufacturer cared for as a final recognition of
the superior qualities of his machine.
“There’s the fancy stunt event left yet,” intimated
Hiram after a somewhat gloomy spell of
silence.
“Of course we will make a try at that,” declared
Dave, briskly. “I can’t think of letting our practicing
go for nothing.”
.bn 189.png
// 189.png
.pn +1
“But fifty and forty make ninety,” grumbled the
disconsolate Hiram. “There are only thirty points
in the stunt event.”
“Perhaps we can pick up a few points in the last
day minor events,” suggested Dave, hopefully.
Hiram would not be comforted. He spent a miserable
afternoon. It added to his wretchedness as
he wondered what Mr. Brackett would say. Hiram
did not regret their action in the instance of the
sinking vessel. All the same, their backer had a
right to suppose they would have thought of his business
interests first.
They came across the manufacturer just as they
were going to supper. Hiram looked pretty serious
as Mr. Brackett advanced towards them. He was
all smiles and animation. He grasped first the hand
of Dave, and then that of Hiram.
“Boys,” he said, with a thrill of heartiness in his
voice, “I’m proud of you!”
“Why—you see—don’t you know that we lost
out on the long distance race?” stammered Hiram.
“The long distance race is entirely secondary to
what you two have done,” declared the manufacturer.
“I fancy you haven’t seen the city evening
paper? Well, there it is.”
Mr. Brackett drew a late edition from his pocket.
He shook it open and held it in front of his young
friends.
.bn 190.png
// 190.png
.pn +1
“I’d rather be Dashaway and Dobbs, the way
that article tells about them,” said Mr. Brackett,
“than win twenty races, and all the prizes going.”
There, sure enough, was glory and honor for the
young aviators. A telegram with full details told
of “the sure winner of the long distance race”
putting back to give warning to save a vessel fast
sinking in mid-lake with all on board.
“That’s the kind of advertising that counts!”
cried Mr. Brackett, with vim and satisfaction.
“But we’ve lost first place!” mourned Hiram.
“Not in the estimation of the world at large.
That will not soon forget the Ariel and its crew.”
Dave was relieved at the way his backer took the
incident. It enhanced his regard and respect for a
true friend and a true man a thousand fold.
The following day was to be given over to amateurs,
and the exhibition of machines and their
utilities. There was no thought in the mind of
Dave of giving up the fancy stunt event, even if
the grand prize had escaped him.
“I say, Hiram,” suggested Bruce the next morning,
“can’t you take me on a little trip this morning?
We’ve got nothing much to do to-day except wait
for to-morrow.”
“Where do you want to go?” inquired the pilot
of the Scout.
“Oh, west—in fact, well, Hiram, I’d like to go
to Wayville.”
.bn 191.png
// 191.png
.pn +1
“Hum! same old idea about those diamonds still
in your mind; eh?” asked Hiram.
“See here,” replied Bruce eagerly, “I’ve got good
reason to believe that the trip is worth making.
You’ll see when we get to Wayville. I’d like to have
you land right where that diamond robber left the
Scout and show me as near as you can the route he
took.”
“All right,” assented Hiram. “You won’t rest
until you get there, I suppose.”
The Scout made a fast trip to Wayville. It was
at the same hilly spot where Hiram had parted with
his uncomfortable passenger that eventful night that
he brought the machine to anchor.
“Here we are,” he announced and he proceeded
to describe as best he could the movements of
the fugitive after he had left the Scout. “That
nearest thicket over yonder is the one he dove into
first.”
“Come with me, Hiram,” invited his comrade
eagerly. “You are sure he went through that
thicket? We’ll go, too. Do you see that?” he inquired,
as half-way through the densely wooded
space they came to an old hut.
“What about it?” asked Hiram.
“Well, that was a favorite hiding place for that
man Wertz I’ve told you about, when he wanted
to keep out of the way of people hunting for him
.bn 192.png
// 192.png
.pn +1
to call him to account for some of his misdeeds,”
explained Bruce. “How well I remember it! Ever
since you described the spot, I have wondered if the
diamond thief, who was just such a character as
Wertz was, didn’t know about it, maybe visited it
in trying to escape.”
“Why,” observed Hiram as they came to the
front of the rude structure, “that padlock on the
door looks rusty enough to have been untouched for
ages.”
Bruce tried the door, but nothing less than a crowbar
would budge it.
“Aha!” he ejaculated suddenly, “look—the cellar
window.”
“Smashed in—I see,” spoke Hiram.
“One pane of glass, yes,” proceeded Bruce excitedly.
“And look, too, stains of blood on the
fragments of glass and the window frame. Oh,
say, I know! There’s a cistern right under that
window. I remember it perfectly and—Hiram,
help knock out the rest of the window. I’m going
to get into the house that way.”
“And drop into a cistern!” railed Hiram.
“It’s an old leaky one and was dry as a bone, I
remember, when I was here with Wertz.”
.bn 193.png
// 193.png
.pn +1
They smashed out the window frame with a piece
of plank they found near by. Bruce let himself
cautiously backwards through the aperture. Hanging
by both hands, he let go.
“It’s all right,” his voice sounded, hollowly.
“Throw me down some matches.”
Hiram awaited the next developments with some
impatience, and considerable curiosity. Then he
saw a hand grasp the inside window frame, then another,
and he tugged at the shoulders of his struggling
comrade and pulled him up into daylight.
“For gracious sake, where have you been? In
some dirty hole, I do declare!” cried Hiram.
“It was dirty, but I don’t care about that,”
panted the other youth. “Ouch!” and he proceeded
to rub some dirt out of his left eye.
“Shall I help you?” questioned Hiram, anxiously.
“No, it’s out now,” was the answer.
“Good.”
Bruce was covered with dust and cobwebs. He
scrambled to his feet breathless, but his eyes were
fairly snapping from some intense excitement.
“Where’s your cap?” asked Hiram, noticing that
his friend was bareheaded.
“Oh, that’s all safe,—and everything else!” cried
Bruce, and he unbuttoned his coat and revealed his
cap all wadded up. “Just look at that!” he shouted
and he opened the cap. Within it rested a great
heap of jewelry, blazing with crystal sparks of radiance.
.bn 194.png
// 194.png
.pn +1
“The diamonds!” gasped the astounded Hiram.
“I guess so!” answered Bruce. “The bargain
with the jeweler was five thousand dollars’ reward.
As my partner, Hiram Dobbs, I shall have the pleasure
of handing you over just half of it,—two thousand
five hundred dollars!”
.bn 195.png
// 195.png
.pn +1
.pm chap 25 XXV "THE FALSE BAROGRAPH"
“He’s a wizard, but——”
The speaker, one of many gathered near the
grand stand of the International grounds, paused in
the middle of the sentence, and looked significantly
at his companion.
“I understand,” agreed the latter. “You want
to say that the fellow Valdec is an aviatic contortionist.
Whew! there’s a risky turn. And he’s
bobbed up all right. There’s not much practicability
or science in the stunt, though.”
The Whirlwind had gone up third in the last big
event of the meet. Valdec had completely overshadowed
his previous contestants. There was no
doubt as to his agility, daring and complete mastery
of his machine at critical junctures. He suggested
reckless bravado, and acted like a man not caring
one whit for life or limb.
“He’s hair-raising and blood-curdling, and that
is all,” declared Hiram. “But——”
“There’s his big stunt—looping the loop!” cried
the thrilled and really interested Bruce.
.bn 196.png
// 196.png
.pn +1
There could not help but be vociferous applause
as a result of the marvellous gyrations of Valdec.
He was showing off his strongest points. To the
lover of sensations they were fascinating. To the
real, progressive airman, however, they showed
little in the way of grace or real utility.
For all that, the ever observant Hiram looked
sober and anxious as Valdec brought the Whirlwind
to center field, and was greeted with a real ovation.
Dave next received the signal to begin, and the
Ariel arose in the air.
“I’m tingling all over!” declared Hiram.
“Keep your nerves steady,” advised Mr.
Brackett, at his side. “Dave will, I am sure.”
“Pretty work, that,” pronounced a bystander,
and the staring, gaping Hiram echoed the sentiment
enthusiastically.
The Whirlwind had been a mad, erratic, dashing
creature full of strange turns and jerky movements.
Valdec had looped the loop twice, but it was with
a dive, rather than a swoop. The Ariel proceeded on
its course with a gliding movement until about
eight hundred feet up in the air. Then the pilot
began a spiral. The crowd watched the maneuver
breathlessly. There was not a break in the swift,
perfect circles, narrowing to a space not three times
the length of the biplane.
“Pretty neat, that!” sang out an admiring voice.
.bn 197.png
// 197.png
.pn +1
“One—two—three” added a strident echo—“he’s
discounted the record!”
Three times in succession, far up aloft, the Ariel
had turned a complete loop-the-loop somersault.
So graceful, so easy it seemed to the expert young
aviator, that the maneuver was a pleasant contrast
to the rapid rush work of the venturesome Valdec.
A roar of commendation arose from the spectators.
Not yet, however, had Dave Dashaway won
his full laurels. The Ariel sailed away from its
recent field of action straightaway west. Then,
five hundred feet up in the air, within the full view
of every person on the ground, distinctly the Ariel
began “writing.”
“A-R-I-E-L”—in small letter script; every curve
and letter formation could be traced.
The watching crowd went wild with delight. As
the Ariel descended gracefully to the ground, even
the Syndicate crowd themselves knew that the day
had gone against them. The judges were of one
voice. The official blackboard gave to number five
thirty additional points.
“Ten points shy—oh, dear!” lamented Hiram.
“Mr. Dashaway has shown his mettle all the
same,” proclaimed Bruce proudly.
.bn 198.png
// 198.png
.pn +1
“There’s nothing open for the Ariel class to-morrow,
the last day,” observed Hiram. “I suppose
the committee will give out the official award
of the big prize this evening.”
“Oh, Hiram! Hiram!” shouted Bruce three
hours later, bursting into the hangar where his
comrade was writing a letter to some home friends.
“You’re to come down to headquarters right
away.”
“That so? Who says it?” challenged Hiram in
his usual offhand way.
“Mr. Brackett. And Dave. Something’s up.
A row, I think.”
“A row? Why? what about?” questioned Hiram,
fully interested now.
“About the awards. I don’t know—I just guess.
I know this much, for Dave Dashaway told me that.
The committee of awards wants all our people, and
the Syndicate folks.”
“I’m such a small potato I can’t see why they
include me,” observed Hiram. “Unless—thunder!
if it’s about——”
“That barograph” he was about to add, but he
suppressed the utterance. All the way to the club
building, however, there was an excited flush on his
cheeks, and he was thinking hard and hopefully.
“Ariel? You’re to go in,” spoke the guard at
the door of the committee room—and the boys entered.
Hiram was last. He paused for a moment
as he passed a man seated somewhat back in the
shadow. In an instant he recognized the disguised
man of the restaurant.
.bn 199.png
// 199.png
.pn +1
“Mr. Borden!” he spoke in a whisper. Then
he passed on. The tramp artist had placed a warning
finger to his lips.
Mr. Brackett and Dave sat slightly back of a
table around which were gathered the five official
committeemen. Opposite to them were Worthington,
Valdec and two others of their crowd. The
chairman of the committee took up a bundle of
papers and arose to his feet.
“All those interested in the matter under consideration
are here, I believe,” he observed. “Mr.
Worthington,” he continued, “we have to announce
a revision of the unofficial announcement of prizes
won.”
“How is that? What do you mean?” flared up
the fiery Valdec.
“Just this,” replied the chairman steadily, almost
sternly. “The committee has awarded the altitude
test to number five.”
“Why! see here!” shouted the choleric Valdec,
springing to his feet. “The barograph test”—but
the chairman silenced him with a dignified wave of
his hand and went on:
“You are barred from the grounds hereafter
and the Association will be notified. You can take
your choice with your entrant, Mr. Worthington:
a public exposure, or a quiet withdrawal from membership
in and privileges of the National Aero Association.”
.bn 200.png
// 200.png
.pn +1
“I cannot understand,” stammered Worthington,
uneasily.
“This gentleman will explain,” observed the
chairman and Borden advanced from the shadows,
minus his disguise.
It was a brief but conclusive story—that which
the artist tramp recited. He charged the Syndicate
people with conspiring to defeat the high aims of
aviatics. He claimed that Valdec had never made
the altitude flight and had substituted a “doctored”
barograph for the one the officers supplied to him at
the start of the contest.
“The man you employed to provide the fraudulent
instrument has been brought to us by Mr.
Borden,” proceeded the chairman. “His private
mark was on the barograph and the one removed is
in our possession, secured secretly by Mr. Borden
at your hangar.”
Dismay, exposure, defeat!—like some snarling
animal Valdec left the room. Humiliated and degraded
Worthington sneaked after him.
.bn 201.png
// 201.png
.pn +1
“You are credited with forty new points, Mr.
Dashaway,” announced the chairman of the committee,
“giving you a winning lead. The committee
has decided to award you the ten thousand dollar
prize.”
.tb
The grand event was over, the victor crowned,
and Dave Dashaway stood champion in his line,
eager for new laurels.
It all came to him pleasantly as he started
the Ariel homeward for the International grounds
after a brief pleasure flight.
The incidents of the past two days had been most
enjoyable. The Interstate Aero Company had won
approved recognition of their output, and their machine
had been driven by the top-notch artist in the
aviation field.
The result of the discovery of the diamonds had
made Bruce Beresford supremely happy. He could
now provide permanently for his little sister, Lois,
and he could afford to wait till the next season to
rejoin his young friends in their airship experiences.
His ears healed so that only a scar showed.
The diamond thief had undoubtedly smashed the
window of the old hut at Wayville to throw his
plunder into an obscure hiding place. The jeweler
was faithful as to the payment of the promised reward.
Then, when the business of the meet was
over Dave had gone on a little trip of his own.
.bn 202.png
// 202.png
.pn +1
The young aviator was about fifteen miles from
his destination, when a swift biplane he had noticed
casually, crossed for the second time in front of
him and made a sudden flight aloft. Then it swung
around, followed the same course the Ariel was pursuing
and, putting on full speed, got directly above
him.
“That’s a queer maneuver,” observed Dave, and
the words had scarcely left his lips when there shot
down a dark object with a sputtering sparkling spot
of fire in its center. It struck the tail of the Ariel,
rebounded, descended perhaps a hundred feet and
exploded in mid air.
“Meant for me!” cried Dave, “but why? Who
is this new enemy——”
A yell fell upon the ears of the astonished pilot
of the Ariel. It proceeded from above. Dave ventured
one glance overhead. He was truly startled.
The rival biplane was in flames. The pilot had
given the wheel a wrench, and as the machine went
hurtling down, not thirty feet above the Ariel, he
tore himself from his seat and jumped.
Like a shot he struck the Ariel cockpit rail, and,
helpless, crippled, and apparently insensible, began
to slip across the wings. Dave reached for him and
pulled him into the machine.
“Just in time!” he breathed, his mind in a tumult.
Only by a dexterous movement did Dave save the
aeroplane from capsizing for his momentary inattention
to the wheel and the shock of the falling body
.bn 203.png
// 203.png
.pn +1
had nearly wrecked the machine. His involuntary
passenger did not move. The other biplane fell
earthwards all aflame.
Dave had no idea as to the identity of his baffled
enemy, whom he decided must have been hurt by
striking the metal edge of the cockpit. He made for
the International grounds and landed directly in
font of the Ariel hangar.
“Help me get a man out,” he directed Hiram,
who stood awaiting the descent.
“What’s up now, Dave?” inquired his assistant,
leaning over and looking into the cockpit. “Why,
say—it’s Vernon!”
Dave was greatly startled. Into his mind flashed
the truth. Filled with malice and revenge because
he had lost a probably rich reward for putting
through his infamous plottings, Vernon had essayed
a final attack upon the young aviator.
“He tried to destroy the Ariel,” said Dave, “but
he seems hurt. Phone for an ambulance, Hiram.”
Vernon was, indeed, hurt. Both of his arms were
broken at the wrists. He would never drive an airship
again.
Good came of Dave’s care for him, miscreant as
he was. The old accomplices of Vernon abandoned
him in his wretched plight, but Dave saw that he
was given the best of care at a hospital.
.bn 204.png
// 204.png
.pn +1
Vernon broke down under this kind treatment.
He not only confessed his share in the plots of the
Syndicate, but betrayed the secrets of old Martin
Dawson.
Not much of the Beresford fortune was wrested
from that schemer, but at least Bruce Beresford
had the satisfaction of so working out affairs that
Dawson could no longer interfere with him or his
little sister, Lois.
“You are a credit to your friends,” proclaimed
Mr. Brackett, as he handed Dave Dashaway the ten
thousand dollar check that represented the first
grand prize of the International meet.
“And what lots of them he’s got!” cried Hiram
Dobbs.
“I hope I’m somewhere on the list,” modestly intimated
Bruce Beresford.
“Be sure of that,” was the hearty reply. “So
much so, that, when we start in for new triumphs,
next season, I hope to enroll you as one of the crew
of the Ariel,” said Dave.
“Fine!” cried Bruce. “That would suit me
down to the ground—to become an airman like you,
Mr. Dashaway.”
“You can’t become an airman like Dave,” broke
in Hiram, loyally. “There isn’t a man that flies
who can come up to him. He’s the champion, and in
a class by himself.”
.bn 205.png
// 205.png
.pn +1
“And that’s the truth,” added Mr. Brackett.
“There is only one Dave Dashaway.”
“Then I propose three cheers for him!” cried
Bruce.
“Whoop! Hurray! That’s the talk!” burst out
Hiram. And then the cheers were given with vigor,
and a “tiger” was added.
And here let us say good-bye to Dave Dashaway,
Air Champion.
.sp 2
.ce
THE END.
.pb
.ce
Transcriber's Notes
.in +4
.nf l
Small capitals are rendered in full capitals.
.if h
.sp
.if-
.if t
Italicized phrases are presented by surrounding the text with underscores.
Boldface phrases are presented by surrounding the text with equal signs.
.sp
.if-
frontispiece - added comma to title to be consistent
with other usage of title in book
original text: Dave Dashaway, Air Champion
page 13 - moved dashes inside end quote
original text: Maybe it’s a joke"——
page 26 - changed "maximun" to "maximum"
original text: maximun span of thirty-five feet
page 34 - added period at end of sentence
original text: choked out the lad by Hiram's side
page 46 - changed "manufacfacturer" to "manufacturer"
original text: asked the manufacfacturer
page 65 - changed "holdng" to "holding"
original text: weights used for holdng down the hay
page 69 - changed "oldtime" to "old-time" to be consistent with
usage in the book
original text: a group of oldtime
page 83 - added missing opening quote
original text: Hello! what’s that, now?"
page 86 - changed "promply" to "promptly"
original text: answered the watchman promply
page 92 - removed extraneous comma
original text: who looked, so very dangerous.
page 100 - added period at end of sentence
original text: it was a trick," suggested Hiram
page 108 - changed "kind hearted" to "kind-hearted" to be
consistent with usage in the 1910's
original text - with the kind hearted lady
page 111 - removed extraneous quote
original text: "A doctor fixed up my
page 118 - capitalized sentence
original text: "stay here Bruce.
page 131 - changed comma to period
original text: plans," went on Hiram,
page 141 - changed "sand" to "stand"
original text: alighted the nearest to the sand occupied
page 145 - changed "spell-bound" to "spellbound" to be
consistent with other usage in the book
original text: as if spell-bound.
page 156 - changed "offhanded" to "off-handed" to be
consistent with other usage in the book
original text: meant to be offhanded, but
page 158 - added missing quote
original text: Mr. Brackett and Dave are saying little and thinking
page 186 - removed extraneous quote
original text: "You are...thicket? "We’ll go, too. Do you see that?"
page 186 - removed extraneous "the"
original text: the movements of the the fugitive
page 187 - removed extraneous quote
original text: would budge it."
page 192 - changed "Dashawhay" to "Dashaway"
original text: “Mr. Dashawhay has shown his
page 195 - added beginning quote
original text: “You are...Dashaway,” announced the chairman
of the committee, giving you a winning lead
page 197 - changed "purstung" to "pursuing"
original text: followed the same course the Ariel was purstung
page 198 - removed extraneous quote
original text: ...he seems hurt." Phone for an ambulance, Hiram."
page 199 - changed "Dodds" to "Dobbs"
original text: "And what lots of them he’s got!" cried Hiram Dodds.
.nf-
.in