The Flying Boys in the Sky
by Edward Sylvester Ellis · English · Gutenberg #50823 · 356,240 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Flying Boys in the Sky
Author: Edward Sylvester Ellis
Illustrator: Edwin John Prittie
Release date: January 1, 2016 [eBook #50823]
Most recently updated: October 22, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLYING BOYS IN THE SKY ***
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FLYING BOYS SERIES
THE FLYING BOYS IN THE SKY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FLYING BOYS SERIES
Timely and fascinating stories of adventure in the air, accurate in
detail and intensely interesting in narration.
—BY—
EDWARD S. ELLIS
--------------
FIRST VOLUME
THE FLYING BOYS IN THE SKY
SECOND VOLUME
THE FLYING BOYS TO THE RESCUE
--------------
THE FLYING BOYS SERIES is bound in uniform style of cloth with side and
back stamped with new and appropriate design in colors. Illustrated by
Edwin J. Prittie.
Price, single volume $0.60 Price, per set of two volumes, in attractive
box $1.20
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: THE BIPLANE FORGED BRAVELY AHEAD.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE FLYING BOYS SERIES
THE FLYING BOYS
IN THE SKY
BY
EDWARD S. ELLIS
Author of “Catamount Camp Series”,
“Deerfoot Series”, etc., etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
EDWIN J. PRITTIE
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1911, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LEARNING TO FLY 9
II. BOHUNKUS JOHNSON 18
III. THE AEROPLANE IN A RACE 27
IV. TRYING FOR ALTITUDE 36
V. A WOODLAND EXPERT 45
VI. WORKING FOR DINNER 54
VII. THE DRAGON OF THE SKIES 63
VIII. THE PROFESSOR TALKS ON AVIATION 72
IX. THE PROFESSOR TALKS ON AVIATION 79
(Continued)
X. THE FLYING BOYS CONTINUE THEIR JOURNEY 90
XI. FIRED ON 98
XII. PEACEFUL OVERTURES FAIL 107
XIII. SCIENCE WINS 117
XIV. MILO MORGAN SAVES THE DAY 125
XV. UNCLE TOMMY 134
XVI. A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION 143
XVII. CALLED TO THE RESCUE 152
XVIII. PLANNING THE SEARCH 161
XIX. THE AEROPLANE DESTROYED 170
XX. A PUZZLING TELEGRAM 179
XXI. BEGINNING THE SEARCH 188
XXII. IN DANGER OF COLLISION 197
XXIII. THE CABIN IN THE WOODS 206
XXIV. ON THE TRAIL OF THE BACKHANDERS 215
XXV. A FALSE CLUE 224
XXVI. THE SEARCH RENEWED 233
XXVII. BOHUNKUS AT THE LEVERS 242
XXVIII. FIRED ON BY THE KIDNAPPERS 251
XXIX. RETRIBUTION 260
XXX. THE RESCUE 269
XXXI. LYNCH LAW 278
XXXII. MYSTERIES ARE EXPLAINED 288
XXXIII. WHERE IS BOHUNKUS? 297
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
--------------
THE BIPLANE FORGED BRAVELY AHEAD _Frontispiece_
PAGE
A FANLIKE STREAM OF LIGHT SHOT OUT 64
IN THE CENTER STOOD A LOG CABIN 194
THE BOMB HAD EXPLODED WITH TERRIFIC 262
FORCE
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Flying Boys
in the Sky.
--------------
CHAPTER I.
LEARNING TO FLY.
One mild summer morning in 1910, Ostrom Sperbeck, a professional
aviator, stood on the edge of a broad meadow belonging to the merchant,
Gabriel Hamilton, closely watching the actions of Harvey Hamilton, the
seventeen-year-old son of his friend, to whom the lithe, smooth-faced
German was giving his first lessons in flying an aeroplane.
It was on the return voyage from Naples to New York of the Italian
steamer _Duca degli Abruzzi_, that Mr. Hamilton and his boy made the
acquaintance of the genial foreigner, who was on his way to the United
States to take part as a competitor in several of the advertised meets
in different parts of the country. The acquaintance thus begun ripened
into a strong friendship and the Professor became the guest of the
merchant, who was a commuter between his country residence and the
metropolis.
The youth, like thousands of American boys, was keenly interested in the
art of flying in the air, and the Professor was glad to undertake to
give him instruction. The two went by train to Garden City, Long Island,
where the elder found his new Farman biplane awaiting his arrival.
Harvey mounted to the aluminum seat in front of the gasoline tank and
engine, while his conductor placed himself a little below him in front,
where his limbs had free play. The machine was pointed to the southwest
and Harvey enjoyed to the full his first ride above the earth. His
attention was divided between the wonderful moving panorama below and
studying every action of the expert, who was as much at home on his
elevated perch as when seated in the smoking room of the _Duca degli
Abruzzi_, chatting with his friends. He noted the movements of the feet
which controlled the vertical rudder at the rear, and the lever beside
which the Professor sat and elevated or depressed the horizontal rudder
on the outrigger in front, thus directing the ascent and descent of the
machine.
A thrilling surprise awaited Harvey when, after two stops on the way for
renewing the gasoline and oil, they reached the merchant’s home.
Professor Sperbeck wished to make a preliminary tour through the country
which he had now visited for the first time, and he left his order at
Garden City for the construction of a new biplane. The one that had been
finished was sold to Mr. Hamilton, who made a birthday present of it to
his son, it being a question as to who was the more pleased, Harvey or
his parent.
Omitting other preliminaries for the present, let us return to the
smooth, sloping meadow where under the eye of the German expert, the
young aviator was receiving his first instruction in the fascinating
diversion.
“I know that you did not let an action of mine elude you,” said the
Professor, “and you feel that you understand pretty much all.”
Standing by the biplane, the smiling Harvey nodded his head.
“I have a dim suspicion in that direction.”
“You can never make yourself an aviator without self-confidence, but you
may have too much of it. In that case you become reckless and bad
results are certain to follow. Nor can you learn by simply observing the
conduct of another. You have a motto in your country about experience.”
“It is Benjamin Franklin’s,—‘Experience keeps a dear school but fools
will learn in no other,’” said Harvey, atremble with eagerness.
“Quite true; well, if you please, you may seat yourself.”
The lad stepped forward and sat down, his feet resting on the cross
lever below, while he grasped the upright control lever on his right.
“Suppose you wish to leave the ground and mount into the air?”
“I pull this lever back; the motion turns up the horizontal rudder out
there in front and the auxiliary elevating rudder in the rear; when I
have gone as high as I wish, I hold the rudder level, and when I wish to
descend, I dip it downward.”
“Nothing could be more simple; and when you desire to change your
direction to the right or left?”
“I work this lever with my feet, as we do in tobogganing.”
“You have two smaller levers on the left.”
“They control the spark and throttle.”
“We won’t enter further into the construction of the machine at present.
I am sure you were born to be a successful aviator.”
The quiet assurance of these words vastly strengthened the confidence of
Harvey Hamilton. He knew the Professor believed what he said, and who
could be more capable of correct judgment? Then, as if fearing he had
infused too much courage into the youth, the instructor added:
“So far everything seems easy and simple. We were fortunate on our way
here, in having the most favorable weather conditions, but you are sure
sooner or later to run into complex conditions. Columns of cold air are
forever pressing downward and warm ones pushing upward. This constant
conflict creates air holes and all sorts of twists and gyrations that
play the mischief with aviators, unless they know all about them.
“You have seated yourself, but don’t try to start till I give the word.
I wish first to put you through a little drill. I shall call certain
conditions and you must do the right thing on the instant. Are you
ready?”
“Fire away,” replied Harvey, on edge in his expectancy.
“Ascend!”
Like a flash the youth pulled the control lever back.
“Too far; lessen the angle.”
He promptly obeyed.
“Volplane!”
Harvey pushed the lever forward, but not too far.
“Quite well; go to the right.”
The youth started to shift the rear rudder with his feet and smiled.
“That is hard work.”
“Why?”
“Because of the gyroscopic action of the propeller; it is much better to
turn to the left, though I suppose one can manage a long turn to the
right.”
“The Wright brothers have no trouble in swinging that way.”
“Because they use two propellers, revolving in opposite directions, thus
neutralizing that gyroscope business.”
“You are tipping to the left!” shouted the Professor.
On the instant the aviator swung the control lever to the right.
“You are caught in a fierce tempest.”
Since Harvey could not well make the right evolution he replied:
“I should dive into it.”
“That’s right; never run away from a maelstrom. I suppose you feel
competent to make a voyage through the air?”
“I don’t see why I cannot,” replied Harvey; “I studied everything you
did on our way from Garden City and I think I know what to do in any
emergency.”
“Admitting that that is possible—which it isn’t—it is all-important that
before you leave the earth you should get acquainted with your machine.”
“Ask me about its parts and see whether I am not.”
“That isn’t what I mean; you got that information from the answers to my
inquiries at the factory at Garden City, which I asked for your benefit.
You must be as familiar with the aeroplane as with your pony which you
have ridden for years and feel as much at home in your seat as if you
had occupied it for months. It will take time to acquire that
knowledge.”
“I am at home now,” replied Harvey, who could not help thinking his
friend was over-cautious.
“Your danger is of having too much self-confidence. Remember and do
exactly what I tell you to do and nothing else.”
The pupil assured his instructor of the strictest obedience.
“Very well.”
The Professor stepped to the rear, grasped a blade of the propeller and
gave it a vigorous swing. That set the motor going with its deafening
racket, but it was so throttled that the machine stood still for a
minute or two, Sperbeck holding back all he could with one hand until
the pressure became too great to resist. Then the aeroplane began moving
forward, with fast increasing speed. When it had traveled a hundred
yards, Harvey grasped the lever ready to point the front rudder upward
upon receiving the order from the Professor. The noise of the motor
would have drowned the loudest voice, and the youth kept glancing around
for the expected signal. But it was not made. Instead, the Professor
motioned with one hand for him to circle to the left. Harvey was
disappointed but did not hesitate for an instant. He came lumbering and
lurching over the sward, and, shutting off the motor, halted a few paces
in front of his instructor, who had lighted a cigarette.
“It is best to cut grass for two or three days,” explained the teacher.
“It surely will not take that long,” replied Harvey in dismay.
“I trust not, but no ascent will be attempted to-day.”
Harvey forced himself to smile, though he made a comical grimace.
“Put me through the paces; I’m bound to learn this business or break a
trace.”
Several spectators had gathered on the edge of the field and were
watching the actions of the two with the aeroplane. They would have come
nearer had not Harvey warned them by a gesture not to do so. He did not
mind their enjoying the sight, for they could do that when a little way
off as well as if closer, but they were likely to get in his way, and
hinder matters.
Again and again the biplane went awkwardly forward on its three small
wheels with their rubber tires. The field contained ten or twelve acres,
thus giving plenty of space for maneuvering. Once he came within a hair
of running into the fence, because as it seemed to him the machine did
not respond with its usual promptness, but he showed rapid improvement
and the Professor complimented him on his success.
“I’m playing the part of a navigator of a prairie schooner,” said the
youth, “though they are drawn by animals instead of being propelled by
wind. I suppose, Professor, that before the summer is over you will let
me try my wings?”
“That depends upon how well you get on with your first lessons.”
CHAPTER II.
BOHUNKUS JOHNSON.
Suddenly a shout came from the edge of the field, and a negro lad
vaulted over the fence and ran toward the couple. As he drew near he
called:
“Why didn’t yo’ tole me ’bout dis, Harv?”
“I did call at your house for you, but Mr. Hartley said you were
asleep.”
“What ob dat? Why didn’t yo’ frow a brick fru de winder and woke me up?
Gee! What hab yo’ been trying to do, Harv?”
The newcomer was about the same age as Harvey Hamilton, but taller,
broader and larger every way. He was the “bound boy” of a neighbor and
had been a playmate of the white youth from early childhood. He was as
much interested in aviation as Harvey, and had been trying to build an
air machine for himself, or rather helping his friend to construct one,
but their failure was so discouraging that they gave it up. What was the
sense of attempting such a task when Mr. Hamilton stepped in and bought
one of the best of aeroplanes for his son?
Professor Sperbeck had met Bohunkus Johnson, being first attracted by
his odd name and then by the willingness and good nature of the colored
youth. Bunk, as he was generally called by his acquaintances, was much
disappointed because he had not been present earlier, but no one was to
blame except himself. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked about
the aeroplane, which he had admired upon its arrival, inspecting and
trying to understand its workings.
“Hab yo’ flowed?” he asked, abruptly halting and looking at Harvey who
retained his seat.
“Not yet.”
“Why doan’ yo’ do so? What’s de use ob fooling round here?”
“Professor Sperbeck thinks I should learn more before leaving the
ground. How would you like to try your hand?”
Bohunkus took off his cap and scratched his head.
“I guess I’ll watch yo’ frow flipflaps awhile.”
Harvey turned to the Professor, who shook his head.
“You don’t wish to smash the biplane so soon. You will have enough
tumbles without his help. If you are ready you may try it again.”
By this time Harvey had become somewhat accustomed to the sensitiveness
of the machine. It required slighter movements of the lever than he had
supposed and the response was sometimes quicker than he expected. He
understood what his instructor meant by insisting that an aviator should
become familiar with his machine.
Bohunkus was asked to hold the rear of the aeroplane until the revolving
propeller acquired more velocity. The dusky youth buried his heels in
the dirt and held the framework with might and main. The pull rapidly
increased, while he put forth all his strength, which was considerable.
The Professor gave no help, but trying to keep his face straight,
watched things. Despite all he could do, Bunk was compelled to yield a
few inches. He still resisted desperately, but while he could not add to
his power, the uproarious motor fast did so. Suddenly it made a bound
forward, and Bunk sprawled on his face, with his cap flying off. His
hold had slipped and the machine shot forward with a speed far greater
than any one of the three could have reached.
“Hang de ole thing!” exclaimed Bunk, climbing to his feet and brushing
the dust from his clothes; “what’s de use ob it yanking a feller like
dat?”
The roaring motor was too near for either of his friends to understand
his words, but it was easy to imagine their substance.
When Harvey had completed his circuit of the field, Bunk asked that he
might try his hand. He certainly was not lacking in assurance, but the
Professor would not consent.
“You might do well, but the chances are you would not. You will get your
chance after a time. You may ride with Harvey if you wish.”
With some hesitation, Bunk climbed into the seat behind his friend.
“Am yo’ gwine to go up?” he asked.
“Not at present. Why do you wish to know?”
“So I can jump if yo’ don’t manage things right.”
He grasped one of the supports on either side and braced himself.
Naturally he was timid, but it did not seem to him there could be much
danger so long as they remained on the ground. Half way round the field,
his self-confidence returned, and his dark face was lighted with a broad
grin as the machine came to a stop near where the Professor was waiting.
“Why can’t yo’ fly fru de air by staying on de ground?” was the next
bright question of Bohunkus; “dat would be as nice as habin’ Christmas
come on de fourth ob July, so yo’ could slide down hill barefoot.”
“Suppose I relieve you for awhile,” suggested the instructor. Harvey
sprang to the ground and Mr. Sperbeck took his place, indicating, when
Bohunkus started to leave his seat, that he should remain.
A few minutes later, the negro received the shock of his life. The
Professor allowed the aeroplane to rush over the ground until its speed
must have been forty miles an hour. Then he pulled back the lever and it
instantly began mounting into the air. Bohunkus did not comprehend what
was going on until he was fifty feet aloft and still ascending.
He threw his head to one side and stared at the ground, which appeared
to be rushing away from him with dizzying swiftness. For an instant he
meditated leaping overboard and catching the earth before it got beyond
his reach. He partly rose to his feet, but the distance was too great.
He called to the Professor:
“Stop! I doan’ feel well; let me git down. What’s de use ob such
foolishness?”
But there was too much uproar for the aviator to hear, and had he caught
the words he would have given no attention. Bohunkus in his affright
glanced across the field to where Harvey Hamilton was standing with his
gaze on the machine. Harvey waved his hand and the simple act did much
to bring back the courage of the negro.
“I guess I can stand it as well as him,” was his reflection; “so go
ahead.”
The course of Professor Sperbeck might well give the youth a calmness
which he could not have felt in other circumstances. He skimmed several
miles over the country, rising five or six hundred feet in the air, and
attaining a velocity of fifty miles an hour. He had been pleased with
the aeroplane on the ride from Garden City, and was still more pleased
upon trying it out again. It seemed to have gained a steadiness and
sureness which it lacked before.
As has been said, the real test of an aviator’s skill is not in sailing
through the air where all is tranquil, but in starting and in landing.
Professor Sperbeck had left the ground without the least difficulty and
he now came down with the grace and lightness of a bird.
In the afternoon Harvey Hamilton resumed his lessons, the instructor
complimenting his proficiency.
“If the conditions are favorable to-morrow, we shall leave the ground
with you at the helm,” he assured his pupil, when they gave over the
attempts for the day. At the side of the field nearest the house, Mr.
Hamilton had had a hangar built into which the aeroplane was run and the
door carefully locked. It was natural that the neighbors should show
much curiosity in the contrivance, and there was no saying what mischief
they might do. Bohunkus felt so much concern on this point that he came
over to his friend’s home after the evening meal and joined them on the
porch, where Mr. Hamilton was also seated.
“I think,” said Bunk, “that we hadn’t oughter leave dat airyplane by
itself.”
“We haven’t,” replied Harvey; “the building is strong and the door
locked.”
“But some folks mought bust off de lock and run off wid it; some ob dem
people am mighty jealous ob me and yo’, Harv.”
“They are all good friends of ours,” remarked the merchant; “I’m sure
nothing is to be feared from them.”
“I hopes not, but I feels oneasy.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Dat some one keeps watch all night.”
“Suppose you do it?”
“I’ll take my turn wid Harv.”
“Very well; when the night is a little farther along, Bunk, you may go
out there and stand guard till say about midnight; then come to the
house and wake up Harvey, and he will take his turn at playing
sentinel.”
“That soots me,” Bunk was quick to say, knowing it would be much easier
to keep awake during the first half of the night. So, while the others
chatted as the evening wore on, the colored youth rose, yawned,
stretched his arms and announced that he would go to his home not far
off, tell Mr. Hartley and his wife of the arrangement and then assume
his duties at the hangar.
Although he saw no call for all this extra care, Harvey was quite
willing to divide the duty with his colored friend, but he meant that
Bunk should come to the house and rouse him, for he could not be
expected to stay awake. However, the young aviator dreamed so much of
flying through the air, and was so absorbed with the entrancing scheme,
that he was the first one to wake in his home. He sprang out of bed, as
the sun was creeping up the horizon, and lost no time in hurrying out to
the hangar to learn why Bohunkus had not called him, though he held a
strong suspicion of the real reason.
As Harvey sped around the corner of the low, flat structure, the first
object upon which his eyes rested was Bohunkus, stretched out on his
back, his mouth open, and breathing loudly, as no doubt he had been
doing through most of the night. Harvey left him lying where he was, and
rejoined his folks with the story of what he had seen.
An hour later, Professor Sperbeck, accompanied by the merchant and
Harvey, walked to the hangar to resume the instruction of the previous
day. In the interval, Bohunkus had awakened and gone for his breakfast.
He said nothing of his remissness and his friends did not refer to it,
since they had more serious matters to hold their attention.
Mr. Hamilton was much pleased with the proficiency shown by his son, but
did not stay long, since important business called him to the city. The
day was a busy one for the young aviator, who was allowed to make a
flight in the afternoon with the watchful Professor seated behind him.
He had very few suggestions to make.
When Harvey came down to earth, he bumped rather energetically, but no
harm was done, and on the third trial no criticism was made. Two more
days were spent in practice and then the instructor said:
“You are prepared to make as long a voyage through the air as you wish,
and without any assistance from me.”
CHAPTER III.
THE AEROPLANE IN A RACE.
The barograph showed that the aeroplane was more than nine hundred feet
above the earth and the anemometer, or small wind wheel, indicated that
the speed was forty-odd miles an hour, with the propeller making a
thousand revolutions a minute. It was capable of increasing that rate by
twenty per cent. and the aviator was gradually forcing it to do so.
The youth who sat in front, with the long control lever in his right
hand, was our friend Harvey Hamilton, who, under the instruction of
Professor Ostrom Sperbeck, the German aviator, had become so expert that
he felt equal to any emergency that was likely to occur during his
aerial excursions. The small levers on his left, governed as we remember
the spark and throttle, while the vertical rudders were operated by the
feet. So long as the heavens remained calm or only moderate breezes were
encountered, everything would go as smoothly as if he were treading firm
ground, but there was no saying what troubles were likely to arise,—some
of them with the suddenness of a bolt from the blue.
Harvey had his back to the tank, which held ten gallons of gasoline, or
petrol as it is called on the other side of the ocean, and two gallons
of oil, one being as indispensable as the other.
In the aluminum seat just in front of the tank was Harvey’s passenger,
the support being adjustable and capable of carrying two persons without
threatening the center of gravity, provided care was used. This
passenger has already been introduced to you under the name of Bohunkus
Johnson, who was the bound boy of a neighboring farmer, Mr. Cecil
Hartley. He was a favorite with his easy-going master, who sent him to
the district school during winter and let him do about as he pleased at
other times. He had picked up the simplest rudiments of a primary
education and with the expenditure of a good deal of labor could write,
though he scorned to pay any attention to so unimportant a matter as
spelling.
Bunk and Harvey being of the same age, were playmates from earliest
childhood. The fact that they were of different races had no effect upon
their mutual regard. Being the son of a wealthy merchant, the white
youth was able to do many favors for his dusky comrade, who, bigger and
stronger, would have risked his life at any time for him.
Although this particular flight was made on a sultry summer afternoon,
each lad wore thick clothing and a cap specially made for aviators, as a
protection against wind and cold. The first intention of Harvey was to
climb high enough in the sky to establish a record for himself that
would make all other rivals green with envy.
But not yet. There was too much fascination in coddling to the earth,
where the wonderful varied panorama was ever changing, and always of
entrancing novelty and beauty.
Bohunkus having little to do except use his eyes enjoyed the visual
feast to the full. At the beginning he studied the action of Harvey,
seated at his feet, having in view that thrilling hour when he would be
permitted to handle the levers and guide the airship through space
himself.
“I can do it as well as him,” he said to himself; “de machine sets on
its three little wheels wid dere rubber tires, and de propeller am
started so fast dat yo’ can’t see de paddles spin round; den dem dat am
holding de same lets go and it runs ’bout fifty yards, like lightnin’;
den Harvey pulls de big lever back and dat flat rudder out front am
turned upward and de ting springs into de air like a scared bird and
dere yo’ am!”
As Bohunkus sat he grasped a bit of the framework on his right and a
corresponding support on his left. This was not always necessary, for it
was smooth sailing, but, as has been intimated, there was no saying when
a sudden squall or invisible pocket or hole in the wind would shake
things up, and force one to hold on for dear life. He leaned slightly
forward and looked down at the world sweeping under him. They were
skimming over a village, numbering barely a score of buildings, the only
noticeable one being the white church with its tapering spire pointing
toward the realm to which erring men were directed. Just beyond the
dusty winding road disappeared into a wood a mile in extent, emerging on
the other side and weaving through the open country until it could no
longer be traced.
The river far to the left suggested a ribbon of silver, so small that
several tiny sails creeping over it appeared to be standing still. To
the right and front a large city was coming into clearer view. The
spires, skyscrapers and tall buildings were a vast jumble in which he
could identify nothing. He did not attempt even to guess the name of the
place.
A railway train was just leaving the village below them on its way to
the city in the distance. The youths saw the white puff of steam from
the whistle, which signalled its starting, and the black belchings of
smoke came faster and faster as the engine rapidly gained headway.
Harvey slightly advanced the lever and the aeroplane began descending a
little way in front of the train. The contestants in this novel race
should be nearer each other to prevent any mistake and make the contest
more exhilarating.
Two hundred feet from the ground, Harvey pulled back the lever and the
flat rudder on the front outrigger became horizontal. The downward dip
of the machine ceased and with a graceful curve glided forward on a
level course. No professional could have executed the maneuver with more
precision. Harvey during these few moments decreased the revolutions of
the propeller so as not to draw away from the locomotive. The race
should be a fair one, even if the result was not in doubt.
This lagging caused the biplane to fall somewhat to the rear and gave
the train time to hit up its pace. The engineer and fireman had caught
sight of the machine some minutes before, and eagerly accepted the
challenge. Both were leaning out of the cab windows and the engineer
waved his hand at the contestant aloft. The fireman swung his greasy cap
and shouted something which of course the youths were unable to catch.
The passengers had learned what was in the wind, and crowded the
platforms and thrust their heads from the windows, all saluting the
aviator and intensely interested in the struggle for mastery.
Harvey was too occupied with the machine to give much attention to
anything else. He knew he could rely upon Bohunkus for all that was due
in that line. The dusky youth was so wrought up that he came startlingly
near unseating himself more than once. He leaned far over, circled his
cap about his head and shouted and whooped and kicked out his feet with
delight. The laughing passengers who stared into the sky, saw the black
face with its dancing eyes, bisected by an enormous grin, which
displayed the rows of perfect even teeth, and all learned what a
perfectly happy African looks like.
Jim Halpine, the engineer, said grimly to his fireman:
“I’ve heard about their flying faster than anything can travel over the
ground, but I’ll teach that fellow a lesson. Old 39 can make a mile a
minute as easy as rolling off a log; watch me walk away from him.”
He “linked her up” by drawing the reversing lever back until it stood
nearly on the center and dropped the catch in place. Then the puffs came
faster and faster, and not so loud, and 39 rapidly rose to her best
pace. Having done all he could in that direction, Jim kept his left hand
on the throttle lever, and divided his attention between peering out at
the track in front and glancing upward at the curious contrivance that
was coursing through the air just above him. The fact that it was
creeping up caused no misgiving, for that was manifestly due to the fact
that he himself had not yet acquired full headway.
Harvey meant to get all the fun possible out of the race. He was certain
he could beat the engine, but to do so “off the reel” would spoil the
enjoyment. He would dally for a time and when defeat seemed impending,
would dart ahead—always provided he should be able to do so.
The locomotive had a straight away run of seven or eight miles, when it
would have to slow down for the city it was approaching. The race
therefore must be decided within the next ten minutes.
Harvey Hamilton played his part well. The engine and train being
directly under him, his view of them was perfect without detracting from
the necessary attention to his biplane. He was just behind the last car
when he knew from the appearance of things that the engineer had struck
his highest pace. The youth speeded up the motor so as slightly to add
to the propeller’s revolutions, but he showed no gain in swiftness. He
was only holding his place.
The shouting passengers shouted still more, if that could be possible,
and called all sorts of tantalizing cries:
“Throw down your rope and we’ll give you a tow.” “Get out and run
alongside of us!” “You ain’t racing with a cow.” “We’re going some!”
Such and similar were the good-natured taunts, which produced no effect
upon the aviators for they did not hear them. The most exasperating
gesture was that of Jim Halpine the engineer, who leaned far out of his
cab and gently beckoned to the youths to come forward and keep him
company. The fireman stood between the cab and tender and imitated his
chief.
Harvey Hamilton seemed to see and hear them not. Bending far over with
the lever grasped, he acted as if trying to add to his speed by the
pose, as a person in his situation will sometimes do unconsciously. His
face was drawn, as if with tense anxiety, and there was not the shadow
of a smile upon it. All the same he was chuckling inwardly.
Bohunkus Johnson was almost beside himself. At first he did not doubt
that a crushing triumph would speedily come to him and his companion,
but as the seconds flew by and there was no gain upon the train
thundering over the rails, a pang of doubt crept over him.
“Go it, Harv! Put on more steam! What’s de matter wid yo’?” he shouted,
swinging his arms and hitching forward as if to add an impulse to their
progress. “If yo’ lose dis race I’ll jump overboard and swim to land.
Dem folks see me blushing now!”
Less than a minute later, the African shouted to unhearing ears:
“Glory be! Dat’s de talk! Now we’ve got ’em!”
The aeroplane was overtaking the train. Though the gain was slow it was
unmistakable.
CHAPTER IV.
TRYING FOR ALTITUDE.
Ah, but Harvey Hamilton was sly. He began slowly creeping up until his
machine was directly over the rear passenger coach, there being three
beside the express car. Had he dropped a stone from his perch, it would
have fallen upon the roof of the last one. The exultant expression on
the myriad of faces took on a tint of anxiety. The fireman yanked open
the door of the fire-box and shoveled in coal. No need of that, for 39
was already blowing off, even when running at so high speed. Jim Halpine
had drawn over the long reversing lever till it stood within a few
inches of perpendicular and another shift would have choked the engine.
The young aviator held his place for a brief while and then began
gradually drifting back again. Bohunkus Johnson groaned.
“Confound it! what’s de use ob trying to be good?” he wailed; “dem folks
will grin dere heads off. Harv! make tings hum!”
Heedless of him, Harvey was carrying out his own scheme. He saw that the
game was his and he was playing with the locomotive. When gaining on it,
the airship was not doing its best, and his slight retrogression was in
order to make his victory more impressive. Each contestant was going
fully sixty miles an hour. No. 39 could do no more, but the aeroplane
had not yet extended herself. She now proceeded to do so, inasmuch as in
the circumstances the struggle must soon terminate.
Having dropped well to the rear again, Harvey called upon the motor to
do its best. Its humming took on the character of a musical tone, and
the propeller spun around, twelve hundred revolutions to the minute. The
keenest eye could detect nothing of the ends of the blades, and only
faintly discern them nearer the shaft, as if they were so much mist.
And then the biplane forged bravely ahead. She moved steadily along over
the roofs of the cars, one after the other, and pulled away from the
engine whose ponderous drivers appeared to be spinning around with the
dizzying swiftness of the propeller overhead. Jim Halpine was utilizing
every ounce of power, but could do no more, for he was already doing his
best. It humiliated him to be thus left behind, but there was no help
for it. In his chagrin he tried a little trick which deceived no one,
not even the two victors. Pretending he detected something amiss on the
rails, he emitted a couple of blasts from his whistle and shut off
steam. It looked as if he was actuated by prudence, but the obstruction
was imaginary.
Most of the passengers like true sportsmen cheered the winner. Even the
grinning fireman circled his cap again about his tousled head, but the
engineer was glum and acted as if the only thing in the world of
interest to him was the rails stretching away in front. What did he care
for airships bobbing overhead? They were only toys and could never
amount to anything in the economy of life.
As for Bohunkus Johnson he could not contain himself. Harvey remained as
calm as a veteran, and gave no attention to anything except his machine,
but his companion stood up in the hurricane at the imminent risk of
playing the mischief with the aeroplane’s center of gravity, waved his
cap and furiously beckoned the engineer not to lag behind. His thick
lips could be seen contorting themselves and evidently he was saying
something. Had the laughing passengers been able to catch his
words—which they were not—they would have heard something like the
following:
“Why doan’ yo’ trabel? Yo’s only walking; we ain’t half trying; can’t
yo’ put on more steam and make us show what we can do? I’m plum
disgusted wid yo’.”
Harvey Hamilton did not speak. He was “letting out” the machine. He
meant to learn what it could do. When several hundred yards ahead of the
train, he lifted the lip of the rudder in front, and the structure
glided upward until he was a quarter of a mile above the earth. Even
then Bohunkus behaved so extravagantly that the aviator turned his head
and motioned to him to cease.
“Can’t doot, Harv! My mouf am so wide open dat it’ll take me a good
while to bring my jaws togeder agin, and I’m ready to tumble out head
fust.”
By and by the colored youth toned down enough to resume his seat and
check his explosions of delight, though he looked around and waved his
hand several times at the train which was now so far to the rear that
his action was not understood.
“Gee! but it’s getting cold!” he exclaimed some minutes later, with a
shiver. He buttoned his thick coat to the chin, donned his mittens, and
wondered what it all meant. He had never understood, though he had been
told more than once, that temperature decreases with increasing
altitude. He had objected to donning such thick garments when about to
start on their flight, but Harvey was the boss and insisted.
Bohunkus’s next surprise came when he looked between his feet. They were
directly over the city noticed some time before, but the buildings were
shrunken and mixed together in a way that even he understood.
The anemometer suspended at the side of Harvey Hamilton showed that the
aeroplane was coursing through the air at the rate of not quite a mile a
minute. With the low temperature caused by the altitude, the wind
created in the still atmosphere cut the faces of the two like a knife,
and even penetrated their thick clothing. Bohunkus turned up his coat
collar, and drew his cap over his ears, but his feet ached. He hoped the
aviator would soon strike milder weather, though the colored youth did
not know whether it was to be sought for above or below.
“If it gits colder as yo’ go up,” he reflected between his chattering
teeth, “it must be orful cold when yo’ reach heben; I remember now dat I
was tole something ’bout dat, but I thought dey was fooling me.”
The front rudder still sloped upward, and Harvey showed no intention of
dropping lower or even of maintaining the level already reached. He and
his companion had started on a week or ten days’ outing, and it struck
him that now was as good a time as he was likely to have for making a
notable record.
So the propeller kept humming and they continued to climb. A glance at
the barograph by his side showed that he had reached five thousand feet;
to this he added another thousand, then another, and he felt a thrill
when the indicator made known he was close to nine thousand.
Although, as you may know, several aviators have mounted almost two
miles, none had done so at the time of which I am now speaking. Harvey
was near the limit, and he had but to persevere a little longer to
achieve a grand triumph. But the cold was becoming almost unbearable. In
the hope of moderating the piercing chill, he lessened his speed, but
was not sensible of much improvement.
His unremitting attention was not needed and he turned his head and
looked at Bohunkus. The sight made him laugh. The negro had not only
drawn his upturned collar about his ears, with his cap sunk low over
them, and his mittened hands shoved into his pockets, but he had shrunk
within himself to that degree that only his staring eyes and the tip of
his nose were visible. He was hunched together, and gave one of the best
imitations imaginable of a young man freezing to death.
“I know his race doesn’t like cold weather, but it won’t hurt him,”
reflected Harvey with another look at his barograph. To his
astonishment, he had made no perceptible gain during the last several
minutes. He turned on full power and kept the forward rudder inclined
upward. He waited awhile before examining the instrument again. So far
as it could indicate he was not a foot higher than before.
He was mystified. What could it mean? With the propeller revolving more
than a thousand times a minute, he ought to have risen a half mile
higher.
“I never heard of anything like it; the explanation is beyond me.”
With a thrill of misgiving, he glanced at the different parts of the
machine. There were the two slightly curving wings, measuring
thirty-five feet from tip to tip; the horizontal rudder on the front
outrigger responded easily to the levers, as he proved by test; the
ailerons or wing tips, one above the other, worked simultaneously and
with the same ease; the ash which formed the foundation of the engine,
the whitewood of the ribs, and the sprucewood of most of the structure,
all scraped and highly varnished, did not show the least flaw. The
rigidity which is indispensable in the framework was maintained
throughout. The rubberized linen covering of the wings was taut and as
smooth as silk, and the eye could not detect the slightest wire or thing
out of gear.
“Professor Sperbeck never told me anything of this, though if he were
here, he would understand it. I wonder whether we have climbed any
farther.”
Another inspection of the instrument failed to show that the biplane had
ascended an inch.
“Can it be that our height has anything to do with it——”
Harvey Hamilton uttered an exclamation. The mystery was solved. The
aeroplane had risen so high that the rarefied air refused to lift it
farther. The propeller was whirling at its utmost velocity, but the
cold, thin atmosphere could sustain no more. It was impossible, situated
as he was, to go any higher.
“If Bohunkus wasn’t with me, I could rise a half mile or more, but
there’s no use of trying it now. Some time I’ll do it alone.”
The limit marked was a trifle under nine thousand feet. It was a notable
exploit, but, as we know, it has been surpassed by other aeroplanes, and
more than doubled by aeronauts.
Another fact flashed upon Harvey: it was two hours since he and his
companion had started on the flight that was destined to be a memorable
one, and they were a hundred miles from home. There could be only a
small amount of gasoline left in the tank, and it would be impossible to
return without procuring more. Prudence urged that he should lose no
time in doing so. He slowly advanced the control lever, the front rudder
dipped downward and he began approaching the earth. Some minutes must
pass before they should feel the pleasant change of temperature, but it
could not be long delayed.
In the midst of his pleasant anticipations, Harvey was startled by a
shriek from Bohunkus:
“We’s gone, Harv!” he shouted; “nuffin can sabe us!”
CHAPTER V.
A WOODLAND EXPERT.
The aeroplane was caught in a furious snow squall. While descending it
ran into the swirling tumult which in an instant enveloped it like a
blanket, the myriads of particles filling the air so thickly that the
terrified Bohunkus could not see the ailerons and even the aviator was
partly shrouded from sight. Harvey Hamilton was faintly visible as he
leaned over and manipulated the levers. Not only was the snow
everywhere, but the machine itself was rocking like a ship laboring in a
storm. It tipped so fearfully that the negro believed it was about to
capsize and tumble them out. He shrieked in his terror, and held fast
for life.
Harvey paid no heed to him. He had enough to engage his skill and wits.
He recalled that Professor Sperbeck had told him what to do when caught
in one of those elemental outbursts. Instead of running away from it, he
headed for its center, so far as he could locate it, as the navigator
does when gripped by the typhoon of the Indian Ocean.
Within five minutes of the aerial explosion, as it may be called, the
biplane was sailing in the same calm as before. The sun was shining low
in the sky and all was as serene as the mildest summer day that ever
soothed earth and heavens. The gust had come and gone so quickly that it
seemed like some frightful nightmare. The youths might have doubted the
evidence of their senses, but for the reminder of the snowflakes on the
wings, different parts of the machine and their clothing. They had
entered so balmy a temperature, however, that the particles soon
dissolved and left only a slight moisture behind them.
“Wal, if dat don’t beat all creation,” mused Bohunkus; “de fust ting I
knowed I didn’t know anyting and de next dat I knowed wasn’t anyting.
Wonder if Harv seed dat yell I let out when dat rumpus hit me on de side
ob my head.”
The aviator acted as if unaware of the dusky youth’s presence. Knowing
the gasoline was nearly gone, he centered his thoughts upon making a
landing. To his astonishment he saw an immense forest below him, many
miles in extent. This seemed remarkable in view of the fact that only a
short time before he had sailed over a large city, which could not be
far to the south. He would have turned about and made for it, knowing he
could renew his supply of fuel there, and find accommodations for
himself and companion. But the fluid was lower than he had supposed. It
would not carry him thither and he must volplane, or glide to earth, the
best he could.
It need not be said that a stretch of woods is the worst place in the
world for an aeroplane to descend to the earth. In fact it is impossible
to land without wrecking the apparatus and endangering the lives of
those it is carrying.
The keen eyes of the youth were scanning the ground below when to his
surprise he caught sight of a village of considerable size to the
westward. Why he had not observed it before passed his comprehension. It
was barely two miles distant and he was wondering whether he had enough
gasoline left to carry him over the woods to the broken country beyond
when he made a second and pleasing discovery. A short distance ahead an
open space in the forest showed,—one of those natural breaks that are
occasionally seen in wide stretches of wilderness. It was several acres
in extent and seemed at that altitude to be free of stumps and covered
with a sparse growth of dry grass, so level that it formed an ideal
landing place. He did not hesitate to make use of it.
Now when an aeroplane comes down to earth, the greatest care is
necessary to avoid descending too suddenly. A violent bump is likely to
injure the small wheels beneath or the machine itself. The aviator
therefore oscillates downward somewhat after the manner of a pendulum.
When near the ground, he shifts his steering gear so that the machine
glides sideways for a little way. Then he circles about or takes a
zig-zag course, until it is safe to shut off power and alight. As our
old friend Darius Green said, the danger is not so much in rising and
sailing through the sky as it is in ’lighting.
Harvey Hamilton displayed fine skill, seesawing back and forth until at
the right moment the three small wheels touched the ground, the machine
under the slight momentum ran forward for two or three rods, and then
came to a standstill. A perfect landing had been effected.
“Gee, but dat’s what I call splendacious!” exclaimed Bohunkus; “it’s
jest de way I’d done it myself.”
The aviator leaped lightly from his seat, and his companion did so more
deliberately. He yawned and stretched his arms over his head. Harvey
gave him no attention until he had examined the different parts of the
machine and found them in order. Then he looked gravely at the African
and asked:
“Didn’t I hear you make some remark at the moment we dived into that
snow squall?”
“P’raps yo’ did, for de weather was so funny dat it war nat’ral dat I
should indulge in some obserwation inasmuch as to de same.”
“But why use so loud tones?”
“Dat was necessumsary on ’count ob de prewailing disturbance ob de
atmospheric air wat was surrounding us.”
“I’m glad to hear your explanation, but it sounded to me as if you were
scared.”
“Me scared! Yo’ hurts my feelings, Harv; but I say, ain’t yo’ gwine to
tie de machine fast?”
“What for?”
“To keep it from running away.”
“It won’t do that unless some one runs away with it; but, Bunk, we can’t
do any more flying till we get some gasoline and oil, and it doesn’t
look to me as if there is much chance of buying any in these parts.”
“Mebbe we can git it ober dere.”
“Where?”
“At dat house jest behind yo’.”
Harvey turned about and met another surprise, for on the farther edge of
the natural clearing stood a dilapidated log dwelling, with portions of
several outbuildings visible around and beyond it.
“I must be going blind!” was his exclamation; “I came near passing this
spot without seeing it and never noticed that house.”
But the young man was hardly just to himself. In his concentration of
attention upon a landing place, he had given heed to nothing else, and
the descent engaged his utmost care until it was finished. It was
different with his companion, who had more freedom of vision. Moreover,
the primitive structure which the aviator now saw for the first time was
so enclosed by trees that it was hardly noticeable from above.
No fence was visible, but a small, tumble-down porch was in front of the
broad door, which was open and showed a short, dumpy woman, slovenly
dressed and filling all of the space except that which was above her
head, because of her short stature. Her husband, scrawny,
stoop-shouldered, without coat, waistcoat or necktie, wearing a straw
hat whose rim pointed straight upward at the back and almost straight
downward in front, with a yellow tuft of whiskers on his receding chin,
and a set of big projecting teeth, was slouching toward the two young
men, as if impelled by a curiosity natural in the circumstances. The
thumb of each hand was thrust behind a suspender button in front, and it
was evident that he felt some distrust until Harvey Hamilton’s genial
“Good afternoon!” greeted him. His trousers were tucked in the tops of
his thick boots, which now moved a little faster, but came to a stop
several paces off, as if the owner was still timid.
“How’r you?” he asked with a nod, in response to Harvey’s salutation;
“what sort of thing might you be calling that? Is it an aeroplane?”
“That’s its name; you have heard of them.”
“I’ve read about them in the newspapers and studied pictures of the
blamed things, but yours is the first one I ever laid eyes on.”
Despite the uncouth manner of the man, it was evident that he possessed
considerable intelligence. He stepped closer and made inquiries about
the machine, its different parts and their functions, and finally
remarked:
“It’s coming, sure.”
“What do you refer to?” asked Harvey.
“The day when those things will be as common as automobiles and
bicycles. If I don’t peg out in the next ten years, I expect to own one
myself.”
“I certainly hope so, for you will get great pleasure from it.”
“Not to mention a broken neck or arm or leg,” he remarked with a
chuckle. “Now I suppose you call this contrivance a biplane because it
has double wings?”
“That is the reason.”
“And it seems to me,” he added, turning his head to one side and
squinting, “the length is a little greater from the nose of the forward
rudder to the end of the tail than between the wing tips?”
“You are correct again; there is a difference of about two feet.”
“The wings are curved a bit; I have read that that shape is better than
the flat form to support you in air.”
“Experiments have proved it so.”
“And this stuff,” he continued, touching his forefinger to the taut
covering of one of the wings, “is rubberized linen?”
“It is with our machine, though some aviators prefer other material.”
“Spruce seems to be the chief wood in your biplane.”
“Because of its lightness and strength.”
“The horizontal rudder in front must be used in ascending and descending
and the two vertical ones at the rear for steering your course. I should
judge,” he said, scrutinizing the motor, “that your engine has about
sixty-horse power.”
“You hit it exactly; I am astonished by your knowledge.”
“It all comes from remembering what I read. And the wing tips are the
ailerons, and the engine weighs about three hundred pounds.”
“A trifle less, the whole weight of the aeroplane being eight hundred
pounds.”
“Your propeller is made of black walnut, and has eight laminations, and
when under full headway revolves more than a thousand times a minute.”
“See here,” said Harvey; “don’t say you haven’t examined aeroplanes
before.”
“As I told you, I never saw one until now, but what’s the use of reading
anything unless you keep it in your memory? That’s my principle.”
CHAPTER VI.
WORKING FOR DINNER.
Further conversation justified the astonishment of Harvey Hamilton. The
countryman, who gave his name as Abisha Wharton, showed a knowledge of
aviation and heavier-than-air machines such as few amateurs possess. In
the midst of his bright remarks he abruptly checked himself.
“What time is it?”
Harvey glanced at the little watch on his wrist.
“Twenty minutes of six.”
“You two will take supper with me.”
Bohunkus Johnson, who had been silently listening while the three were
standing, heaved an enormous sigh.
“Dat’s what I’se been waitin’ to hear mentioned eber since we landed;
yas, we’ll take supper wid yo’; I neber was so hungry in my life.”
“I appreciate your kindness, which I accept on condition that we pay you
or your wife for it. We have started on an outing, and that is our
rule.”
“I didn’t have that in mind when I spoke, but if you insist on giving
the old lady a little tip, we sha’n’t quarrel; leastways I know _she_
won’t.”
“That is settled then. Now I should like to hire you to do me a favor. I
don’t suppose you keep gasoline in your home?”
“Never had a drop; we use only candles and such light as the fire on the
hearth gives.”
“How near is there a store where we can buy the stuff?”
“I suppose Peters has it, for he sells everything from a toothpick to a
folding bed. He keeps the main store at Darbytown, two miles away. I
drive there nearly every day.”
“Will you do so now, and buy me ten gallons of gasoline and two gallons
of cylinder oil?”
“I don’t see why I shouldn’t; certainly I’ll do it. Do you want it right
off?”
“Can you go to town and back before dark?”
“My horse isn’t noted for his swiftness,” replied Abisha with a grin,
“but I can come purty nigh making it, if I start now.”
“Dat’s a good idee; while yo’s gone, Harv and me can put ourselves
outside ob dat supper dat yo’ remarked about.”
Harvey’s first thought was to accompany his new friend to the village,
but when he saw the rickety animal and the dilapidated wagon to which he
was soon harnessed, he forebore out of consideration for the brute.
Besides, it looked as if he was likely to fail with the task.
Accordingly, our young friend handed a five-dollar bill to his host and
repeated his instructions. Then he and Bohunkus sauntered to the rude
porch, where Mrs. Wharton came forth at the call of her husband, and was
introduced to the visitors, whose names were given by Harvey. She
promised that the evening meal should suit them and passed inside to
look after its preparation.
The winding wagon road was well marked, and Abisha Wharton, seated in
the front of his rattling vehicle, struck his bony horse so smart a blow
that the animal broke into a loping trot, and speedily passed from sight
among the trees in the direction of Darbytown. Harvey and Bohunkus,
having nothing to hold their attention, strolled to the woodpile and sat
down on one of the small logs lying there, awaiting cutting into proper
length and size for the old-fashioned stove in the kitchen. A few
minutes later the wife came out and gathered all that was ready for use.
As she straightened up, she remarked with a sniff:
“That Abisha Wharton is too lazy ever to cut ’nough wood to last a day;
all he keers about is to smoke his pipe, or fish, or read his papers and
books.”
When she had gone in, Harvey said to his companion:
“We haven’t anything to do for an hour or so; let’s make ourselves
useful.”
“I’m agreeable,” replied Bohunkus, lifting one of the heavy pieces and
depositing it in the two X’s which formed the wood horse. The saw lay
near and was fairly sharp. The colored youth was powerful and had good
wind. He bent to work with a vigor that soon severed the piece in the
middle. He immediately picked up another to subject it to the same
process, while Harvey swung the rather dull axe and split the wood for
the stove. It was all clean white hickory, with so straight a grain that
a slight blow caused it to break apart. The work was light and Harvey
offered to relieve his companion at the saw.
“Don’t bodder me; dis am fun; besides,” added Bohunkus, “I cac’late to
make it up when I git at de supper table; I tell yo’, Harv, yo’ll hab to
gib dat lady a big tip.”
“I certainly shall if I wish to save her from losing on you.”
For nearly an hour the two wrought without stopping to rest. By that
time, most of the wood was cut and heaped into a sightly pile. The odor
of the hickory was fragrant, and it made a pretty sight, besides which
we all know that it has hardly a superior for fuel, unless it be
applewood.
By and by the woman of the house came to the door and looked at the two
boys. She was delighted, for she saw enough wood ready cut for the stove
to last her for a week at least. Bohunkus was bending over the saw horse
with one knee on the stick, while a tiny stream of grains shot out above
and below, keeping time with the motion of the implement, and Harvey
swung the axe aloft with an effect that kept the respective tasks equal.
Gazing at them for a moment, the housewife called:
“Supper’s waiting!”
“So am I!” replied Bohunkus, who, having a stick partly sawn in two
worked with such energy that the projecting end quickly fell to the
ground. Harvey would not allow him to leave until the pieces were split
and piled upon the others.
“Now let us each carry in an armful.”
They loaded themselves, and Harvey led the way into the house, where the
smiling woman directed them to the kitchen. There being no box they
dumped the wood upon the floor, then seated themselves at the table, and
she waited upon them.
Despite her untidy appearance, Mrs. Wharton gave them an abundant and
well-cooked meal, to which it need not be said both did justice. They
were blessed with good appetites, Bohunkus especially being noted at
home for his capacity in that line. They pleased the hostess by their
compliments, but more so by their enjoyment of the meal.
It was a mild, balmy night, and at the suggestion of the woman they
carried their stools outside and sat in front of the house and on the
edge of the clearing, to await the return of the master of the
household. Sooner than they expected, they heard the rattle of the
wheels and the sound of his voice, as he urged his tired animal onward.
It took but a few minutes for him to unfasten, water and lead him to the
stable. Then the man came forward and greeted his friends.
“How did you make out?” asked Harvey.
“I got what I went after, of course; the gasoline and oil are in the
wagon, and there’s about three dollars coming to you.”
“Which you will keep,” replied Harvey. “We have finished an excellent
meal and shall wait here for you if you don’t mind.”
“I’m agreeable to anything,” remarked the man, as he slouched inside,
where by the light of a candle he ate the evening meal with his wife.
Our friends could not help hearing what she said, for she had a sharp
voice and spoke in a high key. She berated him for his shiftlessness and
declared he ought to be ashamed to allow two strangers to saw and split
the wood which had too long awaited his attention. She made other
observations that it is not worth while to repeat, but evidently the man
was used to nagging, for it did not affect his appetite and he only
grunted now and then by way of reply or to signify that he heard.
When Abisha brought out his chair and lighted his corncob pipe, it was
fully dark. The night was without a moon, and the sky had so clouded
that only here and there a twinkling star showed.
“Do you ever fly at night?” asked their host.
“We have never done so,” replied Harvey, “because there is nothing to be
gained and it is dangerous.”
“Why dangerous?”
“We can’t carry enough gasoline to keep us in the air more than two
hours, and it is a risky thing to land in the darkness. If I hadn’t
caught sight of this open space, it would have gone hard with us even
when the sun was shining.”
“It’s a wonderful discovery,” repeated Wharton, as if speaking with
himself, “but a lot of improvements will have to be made. One of them is
to carry more gasoline or find some stuff that will serve better. How
long has anyone been able to sail with an aeroplane without landing?”
“I believe the record is something like five hours.”
“In two or three years or less time, they will keep aloft for a day or
more. They’ll have to do it in order to cross the Atlantic.”
“There is little prospect of ever doing that.”
“Wellman tried it in a balloon, but was not able to make more than a
start.”
“I agree with you that the day is not distant when the Atlantic will be
crossed as regularly by heavier-than-air machines as it is by the
_Mauretania_ and _Lusitania_, but in the meantime we have got to make
many improvements; that of carrying enough fuel being the most
important.”
At this point Bohunkus felt that an observation was due from him.
“Humph! it’s easy ’nough to fix dat.”
“How?”
“Hab reg’lar gasumline stations all de way ’cross de ocean, so dat
anyone can stop and load up when he wants to.”
“How would you keep the stations in place?” gravely inquired Wharton.
“Anchor ’em, ob course.”
“But the ocean is several miles in depth in many portions.”
“What ob dat? Can’t you make chains or ropes dat long? Seems to me some
folks is mighty dumb.”
“I’ve noticed that myself,” remarked the host without a smile. Failing
to catch the drift of his comment, Bohunkus held his peace for the next
few minutes, but in the middle of a remark by his companion, he suddenly
leaped to his feet with the gasping question:
“What’s dat?”
CHAPTER VII.
THE DRAGON OF THE SKIES.
The others had seen the same object which so startled Bohunkus. Several
hundred feet up in the air and slightly to the north, the gleam of a red
light showed. It was moving slowly in the direction of the three, all of
whom were standing and studying it with wondering curiosity. It was as
if some aerial wanderer was flourishing a danger lantern through the
realms of space.
“What can it be?” asked Abisha Wharton in an awed voice.
Not knowing the proper answer, Harvey Hamilton held his peace, but
Bohunkus had an explanation ready.
“It am de comet!” he exclaimed, having in mind the celestial visitor
named in honor of Halley the astronomer, over which the world had been
stirred a short time before; “it hab broke loose and is gwine to hit de
airth; we’d better dodge.”
And he plunged into the house, where the wife had lighted a candle and
set it on the table in the front room. The others left him to his own
devices while they kept their eyes on the mysterious visitant to the
upper world.
They saw that the light was moving in a circle a hundred feet in
diameter, and gradually descending. Whatever connection anything else
had with it was invisible in the gloom. If the peculiar motion
continued, it must come down in the clearing where Harvey’s biplane had
settled to rest some time before.
Suddenly a fanlike stream of light shot out from a point directly above
the crimson glow. It darted here and there, whisked over the small
plain, flitted above the treetops and then flashed into the faces of the
two persons who were standing side by side.
“It’s another aeroplane!” cried Harvey; “it carries a searchlight and
the man is hunting a spot to land.”
At this juncture, Bohunkus’s curiosity got the better of him. He came
timidly to the open door and peeped out.
“Hab it struck yet?” he asked; “it’ll be mighty bad when it swipes yo’
alongside de head. Better come in here——”
At that instant the blinding ray hit the dusky youth in the face, and
with another gasp of affright, he dashed to the farthest corner of the
room, where he cowered in trembling expectancy.
[Illustration: A FANLIKE STREAM OF LIGHT SHOT OUT.]
The couple outside were too much absorbed in what they saw to give heed
to him.
“You’re right,” said Wharton; “it’s an aeroplane and the aviator means
to alight.”
The searchlight continued darting here and there, but the spreading glow
finally settled upon the ground near where the biplane stood silent and
motionless.
“It is unaccountable that it makes no noise. Look!”
The aviator now demonstrated that he was an expert in the management of
his machine. He oscillated downward, zig-zagging to the right and left,
until he gently touched the earth and the wheels running a short
distance settled to rest. The searchlight flitted toward different
points several times and then was abruptly extinguished. Harvey and
Wharton walked across the ground toward the machine. Before they reached
it, they made out the dim forms of a monoplane and a man standing beside
it. To the youth he was the tallest and slimmest person he had ever
seen. His stature must have been six and a half feet and in common
language he was as thin as a rail. He had observed the approach of the
two and silently awaited them.
“Good evening!” saluted Harvey, who was slightly in advance of his
companion.
“How do you do, sir?”
The voice would have won an engagement for the owner as the basso
profundo in an opera troupe. It was like the muttering of thunder, and
as Abisha Wharton expressed it, seemed to come from his shoes.
Since Wharton left it to his young friend to do the honors, Harvey,
pausing a few paces away, exerted himself to play the host.
“I see that your machine is a monoplane; you seem to have it under good
control.”
“Why shouldn’t I? I made every part of it.”
“Even to the searchlight?”
“Of course; is that biplane yours?”
“It is; we landed several hours ago, having been kindly furnished a meal
and lodgings for the night. I presume you will keep us company; my
friend here, I am sure, will be glad to do what he can for you.”
“Kerrect,” added Wharton; “you’re as welcome as the flowers in spring.”
“Don’t you travel by night?” asked the visitor, ignoring the invitation.
“Not when I can avoid it; it is too risky to land in the darkness.”
“Night is the favorite period with me.”
“But you can’t keep in the air all the time.”
“What do you know about it, young man?” asked the other in his
sepulchral tones; “I don’t expect to make a landing till after sunrise
to-morrow.”
“I never heard of such a thing.”
“There are lots of things you never heard of; I built this monoplane,
without help from any one; it embodies a number of new principles, one
of which is the ability to keep in the air for twelve hours without
renewing the gasoline; I mix a certain chemical with that fluid which
increases its power tenfold; I shall not rest until it is multiplied a
hundred times.”
“You have an invention that will make you wealthier than Carnegie or
Rockefeller.”
“I’m not seeking wealth,” said the other sourly, as if not pleased with
the suggestion; “there are better things in life than riches.”
“All the same, it’s mighty pleasant to have them,” replied Harvey,
nettled as much by the manner as by the words of the stranger.
“See here,” interposed the hospitable Wharton; “we are keeping you
standing——”
“There is no compulsion about it, sir; I am doing what pleases me best.”
“Will you walk into my house and have something to eat? There isn’t much
style about us, but my wife will give you a good cup of coffee and some
corn bread and fried chicken.”
“I’ll go to your house, but I’ll not eat for I’m not hungry.”
Wharton led the way to the porch. Harvey, who was curious to learn more
of this strange individual, deftly placed his chair so that the rays
from the candle fell through the open window upon him. In obedience to
the youth’s order, Bohunkus brought out a fourth stool, so that all were
seated, the woman of the house remaining inside and attending to her
duties, as if she felt no interest in what was going on.
The negro sat close to his companion and huskily whispered:
“Am he de feller dat rid down on de comet?”
“Bunk, the best thing you can do is to keep still and listen; our
conversation is likely to be above your head.”
“Jest like de comet; all right; I ain’t saying nuffin.”
A part of the yellow rays touched Harvey, and the stranger turned and
scrutinized him as if impelled by curiosity similar to that of the
youth. The movement revealed the visitor’s face plainly, and it may be
said it was in keeping with the impression he had already made. He wore
a motorman’s cap, and a long, linen duster, buttoned to the chin and
reaching downward to his slim tan shoes. What clothing was within this
envelope was out of sight.
The face was long and covered with a grizzled beard that reached well
down on his breast. He had removed his buckskin gloves, crossed his
legs, and placed one of the hand coverings in his lap, while he loosely
grasped the other and idly flipped the first with it as he talked.
But his eyes were the most striking feature of the remarkable man. They
were overhung by shaggy brows, were of a piercing black color, and
glowed as if with fire. Their startling glare caused a sudden suspicion
in the mind of Harvey Hamilton that the man was partially insane. At
least, he must be the curious individual best described by the word
“crank,” one whom much study and research had made mad. As is well
known, such a person often succeeds in hiding his affliction from his
friends, or gains the reputation of being simply eccentric.
“What is your name and why are you here?” he abruptly asked, still
looking in the face of Harvey, who said he lived at Mootsport, something
more than a hundred miles distant.
“I have started on an outing with my colored friend, without any
particular destination in view; when we have had enough sport, we shall
return. Who are you?” queried the youth, feeling warranted in asking a
few equally pointed questions.
“My name is Milo Morgan; I have no special home, but stop where the
notion takes me; my business is invention, as it relates to the
aeroplane.”
“May I ask what improvements you have made, Professor?”
He hesitated a moment as if uncertain what to reply.
“Not half as many as I am sure of making in the near future. The rigging
of a searchlight cannot be called an invention, for it has long been in
common use on warships and others, and all aeroplanes are supplied with
electricity. I have rigged up a wireless telegraph, so as to pick out
messages from the air; I have succeeded in compounding a fluid which as
I told you is ten times stronger than gasoline; I run without noise, and
my uplifter will carry me vertically upward, as high as I care to go.”
“I should think you were blamed near the limit,” suggested Abisha
Wharton, profoundly interested in what the Professor was saying.
“I have only begun; and I intend to justify the name of my monoplane.”
“I didn’t hear it.”
“Because I haven’t spoken it, but when you have a daylight view of my
machine you will see the name painted on the under side of the wings,
‘The Dragon of the Skies.’”
This was said with so much solemnity that Harvey had hard work to hide
his smile. He no longer doubted that he was talking with a crank.
“Do you mind telling me what is the great object you have in view?”
“It is to build a machine that will keep afloat and travel at an average
speed of sixty miles an hour,—probably greater. That will enable me to
cross the Atlantic in a little more than two days and I shall have no
difficulty in sailing to Asia or Africa.”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PROFESSOR TALKS ON AVIATION.
The last remark of Professor Morgan threw Bohunkus Johnson into a state
of excitement. He had obeyed Harvey and remained mute during the
conversation, but he now addressed the visitor directly:
“Did yo’ say Afriky, boss?”
The man looked in his direction and nodded his head.
“That’s what I said, sir.”
“Dat’s where my fader libs.”
Harvey felt it his duty to explain:
“My colored friend claims to be the son of a distinguished African
chief, whom he hopes to visit some day.”
“What is the name of the chief?” asked the Professor.
“His given name is the same as his; the full name is Bohunkus Foozleum.”
“I can’t say I ever heard of him,” remarked the Professor without
cracking a smile.
“I sent him a letter a month ago, in de care ob Colonel Roosevelt and
it’s ’bout time I got an answer. I’m sure de Colonel will call on him
while he’s hunting in Afriky.”
“Well, when my machine is perfected, I’ll take you with me and it
sha’n’t cost you a penny,” said Professor Morgan.
Bohunkus chuckled with delight and settled down to listen. The visitor
now ignored him and addressed the others.
“Aviation is the theme that fills nearly all minds and it is daily
growing in importance. The possibilities are boundless; it will
revolutionize travel, social life and the methods of warfare. It will
render the destruction of life and property so appallingly easy that no
nation will dare array itself against another. You and I are likely to
see that day when:—
“‘The war drum throbs no longer and the battle flags are furled
O’er the parliament of nations, o’er a reunited world.’
“We can remember the universality of the bicycle; then came, and it
stays with us, the automobile, and now it is the aeroplane. The day is
near when there will be numberless routes established between cities and
countries and when the ocean will be crossed east and west by a
procession of heavier-than-air machines, and every family will have its
hangar and its occupant awaiting the wish of the owner.”
The Professor showed a disposition to quiz the young aviator, who met
him as best he could, though sensible of his lack of knowledge as
compared with one who had given so much thought and experimentation to
it.
“Naturally,” said he, “men’s first ideas were of using wings as birds
do, but it would take a Samson or a Hercules to put forth the necessary
strength. But it has been tried times without number. I think the
ancient Greeks wove many romantic tales of aerial flights—”
The Professor paused and Harvey accepted the invitation:
“Such as Daedalus and Icarus, who were said to have flown to the sun and
back again. The Greek Achytus made a dove of wood, driven by heated air,
and one of his countrymen constructed a brass fly which kept above the
ground for some minutes.”
“Do you recall what aviator first came to grief?”
“‘Simon the Magician,’ who during the reign of the emperor Nero made a
short flight before a Roman crowd but tumbled to death, as did a good
many during the Middle Ages.”
“The Chinese were centuries ahead of the rest of the world in the use of
the mariner’s compass, printing, gunpowder and the flying of kites.
There are authentic records of balloon flights in the fourteenth
century, and a hundred years later discoveries were made of which
present aviators have taken advantage. You have learned that although
America was visited a thousand years ago and even earlier by white men,
the glory of the discovery is given to Christopher Columbus. So the
credit of the first real step in aviation belongs to two Frenchmen. Can
you help me to recall their names?”
“I don’t think you need any help,” laughed Harvey, who saw the drift of
his friend’s quizzing, “but the men you have in mind were Joseph and
Etienne Montgolfier, who lived at Annonay, about forty miles from
Lyons.”
“What was their idea of aerostation?”
“They learned from many experiments that a light globe filled with hot
air will rise because its weight is less than the surrounding
atmosphere, just as a cork or bit of pine comes to the surface of water.
They made a globular ball, thirty-five feet in diameter, of varnished
silk, and in June, 1783, in the presence of an immense crowd at Annonay
built a fire under the mouth on the lower side. Soon after when the
ropes were loosened, the balloon mounted upward for more than a mile,
then was carried to one side by a current of air and as the vapor within
cooled, came gently down to earth again.
“The incident caused a sensation and Paris subscribed money for
manufacturing hydrogen, a very buoyant gas to take the place of hot air.
The brothers sent up such a balloon in Paris in the latter part of
August. It sailed aloft for half a mile, finally drifted out of sight
and came down fifteen miles from the starting point.”
“Did it carry any passenger?” asked the Professor.
“No; the time had not come for that venture, but soon after the brothers
sent up a second hot air balloon at Versailles, in the presence of the
king and queen. A wicker cage was suspended below and in it were a duck,
a rooster and a sheep, all of which showed less excitement than the
cheering thousands. It rose about a fourth of a mile, and eight minutes
after leaving the ground descended two miles away.”
“Who was the first man to go up in a balloon?” asked Abisha Wharton.
“I don’t remember his name; can you tell me, Professor?”
“Pilatre de Rozier, whose ascent was made on the 15th of October, 1783,
in an oval balloon constructed by the Montgolfiers. It was not quite
fifty feet in diameter and half again as high. A circular wicker basket
was suspended beneath, and under the neck of the balloon in the center
was an iron grate or brazier supported by chains, the whole structure
weighing sixteen hundred pounds. M. de Rozier fed the flames with straw
and wood and thus kept the air sufficiently heated to lift him
eighty-four feet, where held by ropes, the balloon remained suspended
for four and a half minutes and then gently came back to earth.
“This incident blazed the way for successful aerostation. M. de Rozier
accomplished higher and more durable ascents and occasionally took a
passenger with him. We must remember, however, that in all these
instances, the balloon was restrained by ropes and could not wander off.
The aeronauts chafed under such restriction, and on November 21, 1783,
M. de Rozier and the Marquis d’Arlandes cut loose from the earth in
front of a royal palace in the Bois de Boulogne, it being the first time
such a thing was ever done. The ascent lasted not quite half an hour,
when the aeronauts came safely down in a field five miles distant from
the starting point.” [1]
Footnote 1:
It is well to bear the following distinctions in mind: aerostation is
the art of flying in a balloon; when the balloon is equipped with
motor and propellers so as to be navigable, it is dirigible; an
aerocar is any kind of a flying machine; an aeronaut is any one who
navigates the air in a balloon; an aeroplane is a flying machine which
is heavier than air; a monoplane is a one-planed and a biplane a
two-planed flying machine; a triplane consists of three superposed
planes; a quadruplane of four planes; airmen are either aeronauts or
aviators; aviation is the art of flying in an aeroplane and an aviator
is one who so flies; aeronef is an aeroplane as defined by
International Congress; a hangar corresponds to a garage for an
automobile; ornithopter is a heavier-than-air machine, with wings upon
which it depends for support and propulsion; petrol is the European
name for gasoline.
-----
CHAPTER IX.
THE PROFESSOR TALKS ON AVIATION (Continued.)
Professor Morgan continued: “Thus far the aeronauts had used hot air
with which to make their ascents, but the fire under the balloon was
always dangerous and more than one fatal accident resulted therefrom.
Hydrogen gas was far better, but more costly. Public subscriptions
enabled two brothers named Robert, assisted by M. Charles, to construct
a spherical balloon, twenty-eight feet in diameter, the silk envelope
being covered with varnish, and the upper half inclosed in a network
which supported a hoop that encircled the middle of the sphere. A
boat-like structure dangled a few feet below the mouth, and was attached
to the hoop, while a safety valve at the apex prevented bursting through
expansion of the gas as the balloon climbed the sky.
“This structure was inflated with hydrogen gas in the Garden of the
Tuileries, Paris, on the first of December, 1783. M. Charles and one of
the Roberts seated themselves in the car, provided with extra clothing,
provisions, sand bags for ballast, a barometer and a thermometer, and
gave the word to let go. The balloon soared swiftly, the aeronauts
waving hands and hats in response to the cheers of the multitudes below.
The ascent was a success in every respect. Having drifted thirty miles
from Paris, the balloon safely descended near Nesle. There was so much
gas left that the enthusiastic M. Charles decided to go up again, after
parting with his companion. He climbed nine thousand feet and then by
the dexterous use of his ballast came to earth again without the least
jar.
“The impulse thus given to ballooning spread to other countries and it
would be idle to attempt any record of their efforts. It may be said
that for nearly a hundred years little or no progress was made in
aerostation. Then came the second stage, the construction of dirigible
or manageable balloons. All the structures which had hitherto left the
earth were wholly under control of air currents, as much as a chip of
wood is under the control of the stream into which it is flung. People
began to experiment with a view of directing the course of the ships of
the sky. While it was impossible to make headway against a gale or
strong wind, it seemed that the aeronaut ought to be able to overcome a
moderate breeze. The first attempt was by means of oars and a rudder,
but nothing was accomplished until 1852, when Giffard used a small
engine, but the difficulty of constructing a light motor of sufficient
power checked all progress for awhile. It could not do so for long,
however, as the inventive genius of mankind was at work and would not
pause until satisfied. One of Giffard’s stupendous ideas was a balloon
more than a third of a mile long with an engine weighing thirty tons,
but the magnitude and expense involved were too vast to be considered.
“It would be tedious to follow the various steps in dirigible
ballooning. It was not until 1882, that the Tissandier brothers, Gilbert
and Albert—Frenchmen—built a dirigible cigar-shaped balloon
substantially on the old lines, but it could not be made to travel more
than five miles an hour in a dead calm, and was helpless in a moderate
wind. None the less their attempts marked an epoch, for they introduced
an electric motor. The ‘La France,’ when constructed some time later,
was a hundred and sixty-five feet long, twenty-seven feet at its
greatest diameter, and had a capacity of sixty-six thousand cubic feet.
Many changes and improvements followed and an ascent was made in August,
1884, during which the balloon traveled two and a half miles, turned
round and came back in the face of a gentle breeze to its starting
point, the whole time in the air being less than half an hour. This was
the first exploit of that nature.
“But,” added the Professor, “I am talking too much about dirigible
ballooning, for our chief interest does not lie there. I am sure you
have read of the Schwartz aluminum dirigible; Santos-Dumont and his
brilliant performances with his fourteen airships; Roze’s double
airship, and Count Zeppelin’s splendid successes with his colossal
dirigibles.
“We have dealt only with structures that were lighter than air. The
wonderful field that has opened before us and into which thousands are
crowding, with every day bringing new and startling achievements, is
that of the heavier-than-air machines. In other words, we have learned
to become air men and to fly as the birds fly.
“Success was sure to come sooner or later, and when it did come every
one wondered why it was so late, since the principles are so simple that
a child can understand them. Otto Lilienthal, after long study and
experimentation, published in Berlin in 1889, as one of the results of
his labors, the discovery that arched surfaces driven against the wind
have a strong tendency to rise. Then he demonstrated by personal
experiments that a beginning must be made by ‘gliding’ through the air
in order to learn to balance one’s self. He piled up a lot of dirt fifty
feet high, and from its summit made a number of starts, succeeding so
well that he tried a small motor to help flap his wings. Sad to say, an
error of adjustment caused the machine to turn over in August, 1896, and
he was killed.
“Percy S. Pilcher of England experimented for several years along the
same lines and used the method of a kite by employing men to run with a
rope against the wind, but he was destined to become another martyr, for
he was fatally injured one day by a fall. Chanute and Herring of Chicago
taught us a good deal about gliders. Herring used a motor driven by
compressed air and had two plane surfaces for his apparatus, but his
motor was too weak to sustain him for more than a few minutes.”
“Professor,” said Wharton, “I have often heard of the Hargrave kite; why
do folks call it that name?”
“You mean the box pattern, made of calico stretched over redwood frames.
They are the invention of Lawrence Hargrave of Sydney, Australia. He
attached a sling seat to one and connected three above it. A brisk wind
showed a lift of more than two hundred pounds, and he made a number of
ascents, the kites preserving their stability most satisfactorily.
“Of course you do not need to be told anything about Orville and Wilbur
Wright of Dayton, Ohio. These plucky and persevering fellows
experimented for years in the effort to overcome obstacles that had
baffled inventors for centuries. Among the problems they solved were
whether stability is most effectively gained by shifting the center of
gravity, or by a special steering device, and what the power of a rudder
is when fixed in front of a machine. They decided that in gliding
experiments it is best for the aviator to lie in a horizontal position;
that a vertical rudder in the rear of a machine is preferable in order
to turn to the right or left, and a horizontal rudder or small plane in
front is the most effective device for guiding the aeroplane up or
down.”
The Professor was in the middle of his interesting talk, when he
abruptly paused and came to his feet.
“I’ve stayed longer than I intended,” said he; “I must bid you good
night. If it won’t be too much trouble to your wife I shall be glad to
drink a cup of coffee.”
“No trouble at all,” replied Abisha Wharton springing from his stool;
“won’t you eat something?”
“I don’t need it.”
The three walked through the open door into the larger room where the
wife was sitting. Bohunkus was leaning back against the front of the
house sound asleep, as he had been for some minutes. No one disturbed
him. The woman had heard the words of the visitor, and quickly brought
in a big coffee pot from which she poured a brimming cup, placing some
milk and sugar on the table. The Professor had not yet thanked any one
for the proffers made him and he did not do so now, but standing erect,
with his cap almost touching the ceiling, he drank, smacked his thin
lips and remarked that the refreshment was good.
Standing thus clearly disclosed in the candle-light, the Professor
impressed Harvey Hamilton more than before. He was as straight as an
arrow and his piercing black eyes had a gleam that must have possessed
hypnotic power. In fact the woman showed so much restlessness under his
glances that she made a pretext for leaving the room and remained out of
sight until he departed. He did not offer to pay his host and still
forgot to acknowledge by word the kindnesses shown him.
Harvey and Abisha accompanied him on his brief walk across the little
plain to where his machine was waiting. Without any preliminaries such
as testing the wires, levers, framework and different parts of the
apparatus, he seated himself.
“Now,” he said in his thunderous bass, “note the action of my uplifter.”
This contrivance was simply a horizontal propeller under the machine,
which being set revolving with great rapidity hoisted it gently from the
ground and as straight upward as a cannon shot fired at the zenith. It
was easy to understand the principle of the action, but not of some of
the other performances of the eccentric inventor. When the aerocar was
well off the earth, the regular propeller in front began work and the
uplifter became motionless.
All this time only a faint humming noise was noticeable, but in a few
minutes that became inaudible. Professor Morgan was swallowed up in the
darkness and speedily vanished, for he made no use of his searchlight.
He must have been half a mile to the northward when he let off a rocket.
Ordinary prudence on account of sparks probably caused him to send it
sideways. It formed a striking picture,—this germination as it were of a
blazing object in mid air, which shot away with arrowy swiftness in a
graceful parabola that curved downward, and when about half way to the
ground burst into a myriad of dazzling sparks of different hues that
were quickly lost in the gloom.
The two spectators waited and gazed in silence, but saw nothing more and
returned to their seats in front of the cabin.
“Strange man,” said Harvey, “I wonder whether we shall ever see him
again.”
“I don’t think there is much chance of my meeting him, but you may bump
against him some time when you are cruising overhead.”
“That seems hardly likely, for the field is too big.”
And yet Harvey Hamilton and Professor Milo Morgan were destined to meet
sooner than either suspected and in circumstances of which neither could
have dreamed.
Wharton refilled his corncob pipe and puffed with deliberate enjoyment.
“What do you think of him, Mr. Hamilton?” he finally asked.
“He’s wonderfully well informed about aviation, but is cranky.”
“He’s more than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s plumb crazy.”
“You wouldn’t think so from his conversation; no one can talk better
than he.”
“But his eyes! They gave him dead away; I’m glad he didn’t stay all
night.”
“What difference could that make?”
“More’n likely he would have got up and killed us all while we were
asleep.”
Harvey laughed.
“While he isn’t the sort of companion I should fancy, I’m sure he is not
that kind of a lunatic. The chances are that he will lose his life
through some of his experiments in aviation, the same as those we talked
about.”
“Shall we say anything to Bohunkus about the man being off his base?”
asked Wharton, as if in doubt regarding his duty in the circumstances.
“It isn’t worth while; nothing can be gained by doing so.”
And in reaching this decision, Harvey Hamilton made a grand mistake, as
he was fated to learn before many days. It would have been a fortunate
thing, too, had the colored youth kept awake during this chat, but it
was not so to be.
As the night advanced, the host told his guest he was at liberty to
retire whenever agreeable. The couple had a sleeping room upstairs, and
not being well provided for company, a blanket was spread on the floor
in the lower front room. Bohunkus was still unconscious, his cap having
fallen at his feet. Harvey reached over and shook his shoulder.
“Come, Bunk, it’s time to go to bed—excuse me!”
Although the action was gentle, it destroyed the sleeper’s center of
gravity, and he and the stool tumbled over on the floor. Even then, he
was only partially awakened and mumbled a wish that folks would stay on
their own side of the bed, as he climbed unsteadily to his feet.
The weather was so mild that there was no discomfort in occupying a room
whose windows and door were open. With the aid of the candle, Bohunkus
stumbled to the blanket in the corner, pitched down upon it and the next
minute was slumbering as soundly as when his stool tipped over with him.
He and Harvey had laid aside their heavy coats before they sawed and
split the supply of wood, and the single blanket gave them all the
protection they needed. Thus the two lay down to pleasant dreams.
CHAPTER X.
THE FLYING BOYS CONTINUE THEIR JOURNEY.
The morning dawned clear, mild and bright. Harvey and Bohunkus were
astir at an early hour and filled the tank with gasoline and replenished
the supply of oil. An examination of the aeroplane was made and every
wire, brace, lever and appurtenance found, so far as could be judged, in
perfect condition. The two went back to the house where an excellent
meal was awaiting them. Harvey slipped so liberal a fee into the hands
of the woman that she was delighted and showed it to her husband, who
grinned appreciatively. It may be said that he earned the extra pay
through a valuable suggestion to the aviator,—one that was effective and
so simple that it was strange it had not been thought of before.
“You tell me,” said Abisha, “that when one of them things is ready to
start on its flight, you hold it until the propeller has got its grip
and then let it go with a jump.”
“Something like that is the practice.”
“When there’s only two of you, how do you manage it?”
“The only way is to start the thing, with Bunk in his seat; I run
alongside for a few steps and spring into my seat.”
“You might slip and let the aeroplane get away from you. Then Bunk would
be thrown out on his head.”
“He wouldn’t be hurt if he landed that way,” replied Harvey with a
laugh, “but he might alight on his shins and that would be bad.”
“Let me show you a better plan.”
Abisha strode to the woodpile and came back with a long, strong stick.
He set one end in the ground, with the upper inclined against the
footboard. The prop thus gained held the biplane immovable before a
strong push.
“Let her shove all she wants to,” explained the man, “and when you’re
ready, kick the stick aside.”
“The scheme could not be better,” said Harvey admiringly, as he made
sure that the point in contact with the machine could not injure it. He
seated himself and Abisha swung the propeller around; the engine
instantly responded with its deafening roar and a powerful thrust was
exerted against the prop. In a few minutes, the youth leaned over,
grasped the stick and swung it aside. The machine made a bound like a
runner starting on a race, spun over the ground for a hundred feet or
more, and then in obedience to the upturned rudder in front, leaped
clear of the ground. She was off.
Harvey glanced back. In the door was the smiling housewife, with her
husband on the spot where he stood when the flight began. He waved his
hand in salutation and the two aviators responded.
This is a good place in which to give the explanation that must be made
in order to understand how it came about that these two youths were so
far from home, and engaged upon the outing that was destined to prove
the most memorable in the life at least of one of them.
Harvey Hamilton was the son of a wealthy merchant, whose business took
him to New York every week-day morning. The youth was preparing to enter
Princeton University, and his elder brother Dick was a student in Yale.
In the beginning of the summer the family separated, each member
indulging his or her taste in the way of vacation, with the parent glad
to pay the bills. The mother and daughter Mildred went to the White
Mountains, Dick to the Adirondacks with a party of students, while
Harvey and his father took a jaunt through a part of Europe, sailing
home from Naples on the _Duca degli Abruzzi_. Wife and daughter, knowing
when they were due, were at home to meet them. Dick was still in the
mountains, from which he wrote the most glowing accounts of his life in
camp and conquests of the gamy trout that are still to be found in the
cool streams.
On the homeward passage, Harvey and his father were lucky enough to meet
the noted German aviator, Ostrom Sperbeck, of whom we have heard
already.
Mr. Hamilton explained to the Professor that his son Harvey with the
assistance of the colored youth, who was “bound out” to a neighbor, were
at work on an aeroplane with which they hoped to fly, but the Professor
warned them against it.
“It is too dangerous; some of the best aviators have lost their lives
and you know that one of the Wright brothers came within a hair of being
killed. Encourage your son, if you wish, in the sport, for those who are
boys to-day are the ones that will make the greatest discoveries and
advances in aviation, but do not let him take any risks that can be
avoided. Buy him a first-class machine and forbid him to use any other.”
Mr. Hamilton was impressed with the advice and acted upon it.
Bohunkus Johnson was as ardent as his young friend, but, lacking his
mental brightness, was not given charge of the aeroplane, though
promised a chance of trying his hand later on.
So much having been told, it will be understood how on a pleasant summer
day, Harvey and Bohunkus started on their outing, with permission to be
gone several weeks, though their expectation was to return in the course
of ten days or so.
Several facts will be borne in mind. Nothing not deemed absolutely
necessary was taken with the aviators. Inasmuch as they could not stay
more than two hours in the air, without replenishing their supply of
fuel, they carried no food, nor were any weapons taken along, for it was
not probable they would ever need anything of the kind. Although Harvey
headed toward a spur of the Alleghany Mountains, with the object of
relieving what promised to become a monotonous experience at times, it
did not seem possible that they would ever run into personal danger from
that cause. He carried a pair of binoculars held by a strap over one
shoulder, for such an instrument was likely to prove useful in their
voyages through the air.
Harvey ascended for a fourth of a mile, and Bohunkus shuddered at the
thought of plunging again into the arctic regions, but his friend
lowered the front rudder and they skimmed away on a level. The view was
as entrancing as ever, with cities, towns, villages, scattered houses,
stretches of wood and cultivated country, winding streams, puffing
engines pulling trains that looked like insignificant toys, and the
gleam of what seemed to be a lake of several miles area in the distance.
The wanderer through the finest picture galleries in Europe can become
sated with the numberless master-pieces, and wonderful as was the
unfolding panorama, the youths grew tired of its splendid sameness. When
they gazed at the earth it was without any clear impression of what they
saw.
Far to the westward loomed a mountain, the outlines showing a dim blue
haze against the summer sky. Harvey had fixed the elevation in his mind
before leaving home and, it was his intention to sail over the summit
into the more unsettled country beyond. As near as he could judge the
range was about twenty miles distant.
“I can easily make it in an hour,” he reflected, “and not hurry.”
He was traveling at a moderate pace, for he did not like to impose a
strain upon the machine by pressing it to the limit. There was no call
for hurry, and after clearing the elevation he could land at some town
and buy what gasoline he needed. He shifted the course of the aeroplane
slightly, and descended until within two or three hundred feet of the
earth. There were no tall buildings to be avoided, and none of the trees
that showed were lofty enough to interfere. Bohunkus sat in his usual
seat, idly grasping the supports, for the progress was so smooth that he
might have folded his arms without risk, always provided the aeroplane
did not collide with any of the fierce aerial gyrations, which are so
dangerous to aviators, because being invisible, no precaution can be
taken against them.
Harvey slackened his speed still more, and coursed easily forward,
crossed a winding creek, and was skimming toward a moderate stretch of
woods, when he noticed a man standing on the margin and watching the
aeroplane. The fact that he held a gun in one hand did not concern the
youth, who, prompted by the spirit of mischief natural in one of his
years, dropped still lower and headed for the man, as if he meant to
crash into him.
The stranger, instead of turning about and dashing into the wood where
he would have been safe from pursuit, suddenly raised his
double-barreled shot gun and let fly with both charges. Nothing of the
kind had been dreamed of, either by Harvey or his companion, and they
were startled indeed when they heard the shot rattle through the wires
and framework of the machine. One of the pellets nipped the cheek of
Harvey and Bohunkus yelled,
“I’m shot all to pieces, Harv!”
Harvey turned his head in affright, but saw no evidence that the other
had been harmed in the least. The man, seeing that his hasty aim had
been ineffective, began hastily to reload his weapon with the evident
purpose of doing execution next time.
CHAPTER XI.
FIRED ON.
Bohunkus Johnson was never so angry in his life and the resentment of
Harvey Hamilton was equally intense. That a man should deliberately
shoot at their machine without provocation more than a bit of harmless
mischief, was beyond bearing. The colored youth stood up and shouted to
his friend:
“I’m gwine to jump! I’ll teach him sumfin!”
“Wait one moment,” replied Harvey, as he shut off power and hastily
dropped to earth. His momentum carried him several rods beyond the young
man, who was still busy reloading his gun. Fortunately for our friends
it was of the old-fashioned muzzle pattern, and required more time than
the modern weapon. He roared with an oath:
“I’ll larn you better than to go skyugling over the country and trying
to scare folks to death. Jes’ wait till I git my gun loaded agin!”
But neither Harvey nor Bohunkus had any intention of waiting. Before the
machine came to a rest, the colored youth leaped to the ground and broke
into a run for the man, who held his position.
“Yo’s gwine to larn me something, am yo’? Wal, dis am de time to begin!”
“Sail into him, Bunk!” shouted Harvey, “and if you need any help, I’ll
give it!”
“All yo’ got to do am to keep out ob dis bus’ness; I’m running dis
funeral,” replied the African, without shifting his gaze from the young
farmer, who could not have been much older than Bohunkus. Not once did
the latter check his pace, but dashed at full speed at the man. The
instant he was within reach, he landed a blow that sent the other
spinning backward, with his feet pointing upward and the weapon hurled
from his grasp.
It was not a knockout, however, and the fellow was game. He bounded up
again as if made of rubber, and charged in turn upon his assailant.
Bohunkus had little “science,” but he had been in many bouts, and was as
strong as a bull. He braced himself to receive the attack, which came
the next instant. A clenched fist landed on his jaw with a force that
nearly carried him off his feet, and then the two went at it hammer and
tongs, with no apparent advantage at first on either side.
Harvey, seeing that his machine was unharmed, watched the fight. Nothing
would have suited him better than to take Bunk’s place, for he had been
taught boxing by a professional and he knew, though he might not have
been so big or strong as his comrade, that he could readily vanquish the
awkward but powerful fighter. Coolness, straight hitting and skilful
parrying would do the business. He did not mean to stand idly by and see
Bunk maltreated, but it would not be sportsmanlike to break in unless to
stop the struggle.
The countryman was tough and wiry, and it is doubtful how the fight
would have ended had it depended upon fists alone, but in one respect
Bunk was much the other’s superior. He was known as the best wrestler in
the neighborhood of his home. When nearly a score of blows had been
exchanged, the negro rushed in, grasped his antagonist about the waist,
lifted him clear of the ground, and flung him on his back with a
violence that it seemed must have jarred his teeth. Before he could
spring to his feet again, Bunk was across his chest and evening up
things in the most impressive style that can be imagined.
Suddenly the victim shouted at the top of his voice:
“Bill! Sam! Dick! Tom! Hurry up and part us afore we kill each other!”
This was a strange appeal and puzzled Harvey, who was disposed to think
it was simply a bluff. The victim was too proud to beg for mercy, and
tried to scare off his assailant. Harvey stepped forward, picked up the
partially loaded gun from the ground, and with several quick stamps of
his shoe so broke the two hammers that the weapon became useless for the
time.
“That will prevent his using it against us,” was the thought of our
young friend, who again turned his attention to the combatants on the
ground.
“Don’t be too hard on him, Bunk; I guess he’s had enough.”
“Why doan’ he holler ‘_’nough_!’ den? dat’s what I’m waitin’ fur.”
The victim had ceased his outcries, and was desperately trying to writhe
free and roll off the burden, but his master couldn’t be shaken from his
perch.
“Why doan’ yo’ holler like a gemman oughter do when he’s had ’nough?
Holloa!”
When Harvey Hamilton thought the fellow was merely bluffing by his calls
for help, he made a mistake. From out of the wood came running a man
larger and older than any one of the three, and he was followed by a
second, third and fourth,—all full grown, massive, muscular and each
with fire in his eye. They had heard the cry of their comrade in
extremity and made haste to come to his help.
Their arrival caused a change of program. Much as I like Bohunkus
Johnson (and I trust that you, too, share the feeling), I am obliged to
confess that like many of his race he had a tinge of yellow in his
composition. So long as he held the upper hand, or so long as the fight
was in doubt, he displayed courage, but the arrival of reinforcements
threw him into a panic. He whisked off the prostrate figure, leaped to
his feet and dashed at his highest speed into the woods. He ran like a
person whose life was in danger, and the young man who had suffered at
his hands sped after him, breathing threatenings and slaughter.
The new arrivals, who had been referred to as Bill, Sam, Dick and Tom,
were evidently young farmers, none more than twenty-five years old. They
had sturdy frames and could have given a good account of themselves in a
physical struggle. They must have been mystified by what they saw, for
the one who had dashed off in pursuit of Bohunkus had not paused to make
explanation.
One fact was a vast relief to Harvey Hamilton: none of them carried a
weapon, though it may be thought the quartet did not need anything of
the kind in order to work their will with the slim active youth. The
latter, with a quickness of resource which would have done credit to one
older than himself, picked up the discarded shotgun at his feet,
covering the lock as he did so with one hand in order to hide the harm
it had suffered. So long as the others believed it sound and loaded, he
could command the situation.
“Say, you,” said the tallest of the quartette in a loud voice, “what’s
the meaning of this row? We don’t exactly git the hang of things.”
Facing the group and with his back toward the biplane, Harvey answered:
“Your friend had a misunderstanding with my friend, and it doesn’t seem
to be settled yet, though it looks as if yours had the advantage.”
“What was the quarrel about?”
“Your friend—”
“That’s Herb,” interrupted the other speaker.
“Herb fired his gun at us without any cause.”
“Yes; we heerd it; if he didn’t have any cause, what was the reason he
took a shot at you?”
“Pure cussedness is all I can think of.”
“Didn’t he hit either of you?”
“He grazed my face; we came down to ask an explanation, and my colored
companion was giving him a good pummeling, when you came up and scared
him away.”
“I take it, stranger, that that contraption over there is one of them
infarnal flying machines.”
“It is a flying machine, but there’s nothing infernal about it.”
“Folks hain’t no bus’ness to cavort round the country in them.”
“I don’t see why they haven’t; we are not injuring you or any one else.”
“Boys,” said the speaker, turning to his companions who were standing
near and listening to the conversation; “the best thing we can do is to
rip the blamed thing to slathers. What do you say?”
“Them’s our sentiments,” replied one while the three nodded.
“Come on then; it won’t take us long to make kindling wood of it.”
He took a step forward, and then stopped. Harvey had leveled the gun.
“The first one that lays a hand on my aeroplane must be prepared to have
daylight let through him.”
It was a staggering threat, but in the trying moment, Harvey Hamilton
could not help reflecting that the weapon was not only injured, but
unloaded. He would be in a sorry situation should they learn the truth.
The strained situation could not last, and he slowly backed toward the
machine, holding the weapon in front, ready to be raised again to a
level should it become necessary.
“Four of you are rather too much for me,” he said with a grim smile.
“Hooh! One of us could lay you out as easy as rolling off a log.”
“I am willing to take you one at a time, but I know that as soon as I
get the best of him the rest of you will pitch in and do me up.”
It was “Bill” who was talking for the four. He grinned and with a snort
replied:
“I’d ax nothing better than one crack at you, but there ain’t no show
with that loaded gun in your hands; nobody but a coward would use that.”
“Then you may consider me a coward, for I am on to your tricks.”
By this time Harvey had reached his machine, but the problem remained as
to how he could seat himself and start the motor without inviting an
attack that must overwhelm him and wreck his property. He stood for a
minute undecided, while his enemies, less than a dozen paces away, were
on the alert for a chance to seize any advantage that offered.
Suddenly the young aviator stepped into his seat, but, standing upright,
faced about and confronted them still with gun in hand. They showed an
ugly disposition at the prospect of his eluding them, but seemingly
there was no way to prevent it.
“If you would like a closer view,” Harvey said, “I have no objection,
but you must come one at a time. You may do so first.”
He indicated Bill, who hesitated:
“No shenanigan!”
“Nothing of the kind, I promise you.”
After a moment’s pause, he gingerly approached, but showed he was not
wholly free from misgiving.
“What do you think of that big wheel?” asked Harvey.
“Hooh! seems to be made of black walnut,” replied the other, laying a
hand on one of the propeller blades.
“So it is; have you enough muscle to turn it round?”
“That’s dead easy,” replied Bill, grasping one of the arms and whirling
it about with double the force that was necessary.
CHAPTER XII.
PEACEFUL OVERTURES FAIL.
The revolution of the propeller of course started the engine, with such
a terrific outburst of noise that Bill instinctively drew back a pace or
two. In an instant the blades were spinning round with tremendous
velocity, and the aeroplane began moving over the ground with fast
increasing speed.
The sight roused Bill, who dashed forward to intercept it. He had almost
reached the machine when it bounded upward and glided beyond his grasp.
The delighted Harvey tossed the gun toward him, and in a rage at his
slip Bill snatched the weapon from the ground and shouted:
“Stop or I’ll shoot!”
His action and movement of the lips told the young aviator the substance
of the threat, and with a tantalizing gesture he called back:
“Shoot and be hanged!”
Bill was in a savage mood and brought the gun to his shoulder. He aimed
carefully, and with the brief distance between the two could hardly have
missed had the weapon been in order; but we recall that the hammers were
broken, to say nothing of the lack of a full charge in the barrels.
Either would have been sufficient to save the fleeing aviator, who
having set the machine going, looked round to watch his enemy.
He saw him suddenly lower the gun and then fling it angrily to the
ground. No doubt his chagrin was intensified by the remembrance of the
chance he had let pass when the youth was really at his mercy. He shook
his fist at Harvey, who was now a hundred feet above the ground and
going at moderate speed.
In that hurried scrutiny, however, the aviator made a disquieting
discovery. Two of the remaining young men were invisible. Doubtless they
had dived into the wood in pursuit of the panic-stricken Bohunkus, who
of necessity was left in a most dangerous situation. Harvey had been
compelled to desert him for the time, though he was the last person in
the world to abandon a friend in trouble. How to save him from the
vengeance of the baffled party was a serious question.
“If there were only one chasing him,” thought Harvey, “I shouldn’t care
a fig, for Bunk has already proved himself his master, but he will be
helpless against four or even two, and it looks as if he will have three
at least to fight.”
The problem was a puzzling one. The flight of the colored lad was so
sudden that he and Harvey had not been able to exchange a word. A few
sentences would have effected an understanding. His friend would have
told him to make his way to the nearest town and there wait until he
could hunt him out and take him aboard again. Moreover, among Bunk’s
accomplishments was a remarkable fleetness of foot. He could have
continued his flight through the wood into the open country and gained
enough advantage to offer Harvey the opportunity of picking him up
before his enemies interfered.
But it was useless to speculate, since all this was out of the question.
Having ascended some three hundred feet, Harvey began slowly circling
around, with just enough speed to hold the elevation. He returned so as
to hover directly over the head of Bill, who still stood alone on the
edge of the wood closely watching him. Thus the situation remained for
several minutes, during which Harvey Hamilton met with one of the
narrowest escapes of his life.
Feeling that in one respect the countrymen were the masters, he decided
to express to Bill, who was evidently the leader of the quartet his
willingness to apologize, pay for the injured gun, and leave a liberal
tip for Herb, the only one who had suffered during the singular meeting;
and then descend, take Bunk aboard and bid good-bye to the inhospitable
country.
The objection to the plan was the probability of treachery on the part
of Bill and his companions. All had shown an ugly disposition and so
much resentment that it was more than likely they would break the
agreement, and at least destroy the aeroplane so utterly as to place it
beyond repair.
It was this misgiving that caused Harvey to hesitate. He circled several
times—always to the left—gradually descending, and kept watch of the
solitary figure below him. Finally, having made his decision, he leaned
over the side of the aeroplane and shouted as he slowed down the motor:
“Say, Bill, what’s the use of our quarreling?”
Bill did not attempt to answer the conundrum.
“If I do the fair thing, will you call it off?”
“What do you mean by the fair thing?” demanded the surly young man.
“I broke that gun and will pay you for it; I’ll give you ten dollars to
hand to Herb, though I don’t see why he should get anything.”
Bill was silent a minute, as if turning the proposition over in his
mind. Finally he glared upward and uttered the one query:
“Wal?”
“When I have done that, I shall take my colored friend aboard and have
the honor of bidding you good day until we meet again.”
This was a clear proposal and could not fail to impress Bill favorably,
no matter whether he meant to “tote fair” or not. Bill didn’t seem able
to think of any objection or to suggest an amendment.
“All right,” he shouted back; “I’ll do it.”
Harvey meant there should be no room for a misunderstanding.
“I am to come down to the ground, hand you ten dollars as a salve—”
“I guess Herb will need some salve for that face of his,” grimly
interjected Bill.
“And another ten dollars to pay for the damages to the gun. That will
make everything right between us and none of you will interfere
further.”
“I’m agreeable; hurry down.”
It was at this juncture that Harvey Hamilton received warning of a
frightful peril that in another moment would have caught him
inextricably. He had started to volplane to the ground, when an impulse
caused him to turn his head sufficiently to glance at the man with whom
he had just made his agreement. In that passing glimpse, Harvey saw a
hand reach from behind the trunk of a large oak at the back of Bill and
exchange guns with him.
It was done in a twinkling, only the arm holding the weapon and the
corner of the fellow’s face showing for an instant, during which he
placed in the grasp of Bill a loaded piece and relieved him of the
useless one.
There could be no mistake as to the meaning of the sinister action: Bill
intended to play false. He would secure the money promised, and quite
likely rob Harvey of all that remained, would wreck the aeroplane and
shamefully maltreat both youths. But for this discovery, Harvey would
have walked into the lion’s den the next moment, but with that coolness
which was one of his most striking traits, he began edging away and
upward, as if it were a part of his plan of manipulating the descent. If
Bill chose to use his gun, he was near enough to make only a single shot
necessary, and Harvey’s object was to get beyond range, before revealing
his purpose.
“What are you doing?” called Bill, handling his weapon threateningly.
“I want to make sure the machinery is working right; it will take only a
minute.”
Bill was partly satisfied, but had no excuse for objecting.
The circling grew wider, until the right height was attained, when
Harvey headed toward the dim range of mountains in the distance, with a
speed of at least fifty miles an hour. Only a few seconds were needed to
place him far beyond range. Checking his motor for an instant so as to
permit his voice to be heard, he called to Bill:
“I don’t like the looks of that new gun in your hand; don’t expect me
before to-morrow or some day next week.”
In his impotent rage, Bill brought his weapon to his shoulder, took
quick aim and discharged both barrels. It was a foolish thing to do, for
not one of the shots carried to the aeroplane, all being dissipated long
before they could reach it.
Clever as had been the strategy of Harvey, the grave problem remained as
to how he was to extricate Bohunkus Johnson from his dangerous
situation. Disappointed in capturing the aviator and his machine, the
party were quite sure to turn their rage against the colored youth,
unless by his superior fleetness he could elude the whole party.
Harvey’s altitude gave him a clear view of the patch of woods, which was
perhaps a third of a mile in width and double that length. It was the
season of the year when the foliage was at its full, and if Bunk gained
a fair start he ought to have no trouble in hiding himself from his
enemies; but how were he and his friend to come together again?
“It is as hard to decide as it is to figure out why that man behind the
oak with his loaded gun did not keep hidden till I came within reach,
and then open on me without giving away his scheme as he did; that would
have cooked my goose, though they may have felt doubt of getting hands
on the machine if they fired before it touched ground.”
Without climbing higher, Harvey circled about the woods, scanning the
green depths below for some signal from his comrade. Bill and his
companion had passed from sight, so that the five were somewhere in the
depths of the forest. The aviator glided along the sky over the tree
tops without catching a glimpse of anything to give hope. Then he passed
a little way beyond the western end and circled about again. He saw a
farm house a mile distant, and unless hope presented itself in some form
very soon, he determined to go thither in quest of help against the
lawless young men.
What was that which suddenly caught his roving eye? On the margin of the
wood something flitted for a moment like a bird hopping from one branch
to another. He would have believed it was such, had it not been so near
the ground. Whisking his binoculars from his shoulder, he scanned the
object. His heart thrilled when he recognized a cap swung by a person
standing behind the trunk of a large tree.
“It’s Bunk!” exclaimed the delighted youth; “his foes are so near that
he daresn’t show himself.”
Harvey was quick to make up his mind. Shutting off power for a moment he
called in his clear, ringing voice:
“Wait where you are, Bunk! I’ll be back in a minute or two; don’t leave
till I give the word and then come a-running.”
The cap was waved again and Harvey fancied he saw the corner of the
negro’s countenance as he peered round the trunk.
The fear of the aviator was that the five men who were sure to be
watching his movements, knowing he was trying to save his colored
companion, would have their attention drawn to the spot over which the
aeroplane was hovering. There was the danger that they had heard his
call and would act on the hint, but the risk had to be taken.
Harvey next shifted to the opposite side of the wood, where he dallied
back and forth for half an hour, as if trying to fix upon a good landing
place. He knew he was under the eyes of the angered countrymen, but was
certain he had drawn them to that side of the forest, where they were so
far from Bohunkus that it would take considerable time for them to
return to his neighborhood.
Suddenly the aeroplane darted off like a swallow, skimming over the
trees, at the spot selected.
“Quick, Bunk! Don’t lose a second! Jump aboard!”
Out of the wood dashed a young man and ran straight for the machine at
headlong speed, but he was not Bohunkus Johnson!
CHAPTER XIII.
SCIENCE WINS.
Clever as was Harvey Hamilton, and skilfully as he had played the game,
he was outwitted at last, for the individual who rushed toward him was
his enemy Bill, and he carried a loaded gun.
Not only that, but after him hurried one, two, three, four others, ready
to back up their leader. One of them carried a deadly weapon. Bohunkus
Johnson was nowhere in sight.
No wonder the young aviator was dumfounded for the moment. He was still
seated, with his hands grasping the levers, but he was too wise to try
to flee, with that gun commanding him and the holder of it in the mood
to use it. In a twinkling, the grinning Bill was at his side and laid
his free hand upon one of the propeller blades.
“Shall I start the thing humming agin?” he asked with grim irony.
Harvey’s wits flashed back to him.
“Wait till I do my part,” he replied, as if the slightest
misunderstanding had not come between them.
As he spoke, he stepped on the ground and drew out his pocket book,
while the five stood expectantly around, all not understanding what the
action meant.
“I was so afraid we might have some accident with that gun,” he
remarked, observing the damaged weapon in the hands of one of the party;
“that I broke the hammers; you can get them fixed at a gunsmith’s for a
dollar, so I guess that will about make it right.”
With which he handed a ten-dollar bill to Bill, who crumpled it up and
shoved it into his pocket, without a word of acknowledgment.
The situation was delicate to the last degree. A few feet away stood
Herb, whose homely face spoke eloquently of the scrimmage through which
he had passed. One eye was closed, the upper lip was swollen to twice
its usual size, and the cheeks were bruised, to say nothing of the rent
shirt, with more than one crimson stain showing upon it. To offer to
settle the matter by handing the sufferer money was like adding insult
to injury, though the majority of mankind have little trouble in
swallowing offenses of that nature.
No one could have met the point more tactfully.
“Herb,” said Harvey, stepping toward him; “you and my colored man had a
run-in and the last I saw of him he was going for life.”
“You bet he was!” said the other; “it’s blamed lucky for him he run so
fast I couldn’t ketch him; if I’d done so there would have been a dead
nigger in these parts.”
Harvey hid the pleasure that this reply gave him. Bunk had escaped from
his foe and was safe somewhere.
“He got me foul,” Herb added, feeling that some explanation was due his
fellows who had seen him in his humiliating situation; “but I throwed
him off and then he took to his heels.”
Herb added several sulphurous exclamations which it isn’t necessary to
place on record.
“I saw him running, but I notice that he managed to injure your clothes
and it is no more than right that the damage should be taken out of his
wages. Will this make it square?”
When Herb saw the size of the bill handed to him his little gray eyes—or
rather one of them—sparkled with greed. But the three who had not been
thus remembered were angered.
“Say, boss, you seem to have a purty good wad there; ’spose you hand out
a few more of the long green.”
This suggestive remark was made by the scowling scamp who answered to
the name of Sam. As if there should be no doubt of his meaning, Bill
took it upon himself to add:
“That’s right; you don’t need any money when you’ve got that sky wagon
to tote you about. So fork over.”
Harvey’s face flushed, but holding his anger under control, he said to
Bill:
“The agreement between us was that if I handed this money to you, my
colored friend was to rejoin me and neither he nor I nor the machine be
molested.”
“How can the moke jine you when he’s run off?” asked Herb.
“We’ll waive that point, but you are not to injure my machine nor expect
any more money from me.”
“Do you mean to say you won’t give it?” demanded Bill truculently.
“I’ll die first; I didn’t know you were a gang of cowards as well as
scoundrels.”
“Who’re you calling a coward?” growled Bill, his sunburned face flushing
an angrier red.
“Every one of you! Five against one; you wouldn’t dare attack me
singly.”
“I wouldn’t, hooh? Boys,” added the bully, addressing his companions,
“this lily is my game. You don’t have any put here. Understand?”
They sourly nodded, though little or no reliance could be placed on any
promise they might make.
“Will you agree to fight me alone?” asked Harvey.
“Of course; that suits me down to the ground.”
“And the rest are not to mix in, no matter what happens?”
“Hain’t I told you that? What ails you?”
“That suits me,” replied Harvey, who coolly took off his coat and flung
it across the footrest of the aeroplane. If anything like fair play was
shown him, he had no fear of the result, for though his antagonist was
taller and possibly stronger, he knew nothing of the science of boxing.
Having doffed his outer garment, Harvey proceeded in the same deliberate
fashion to roll up his sleeves. Then he poised his right fist a few
inches in front of his chest and diagonally across it, with the left
extended toward his antagonist. The left foot was advanced so that the
weight of his body rested on the right leg, so balanced that he could
leap forward or backward as might suddenly become necessary. His
handsome face was a shade paler, and he compressed his lips as he said
in a quiet even voice:
“I’m ready!”
The prospect of a fight between two men or even boys is always sure to
interest the spectators no matter who they may be. Every one of the five
men was in a state of delighted expectation, for not an individual felt
the faintest doubt that the dandified youth was about to undergo the
beating of his life. The four were ready to promise they would remain
neutral, for they could not believe a possibility existed of their
champion needing help.
As for Bill himself, he chuckled, for he dearly loved a fight and he
felt venomous toward this intruder, because he seemed to be rich and had
lately played a humiliating trick upon him. He handed his gun to Dick,
but did not remove his coat, because he did not happen to be wearing
any. He made a motion with each hand in turn, as if to shove the bands
of his shirt toward the elbow, but he merely tightened them. He did
indulge, however, in a little act that is generally peculiar to a
countryman. He spat on his horny palms and rubbed them together.
Harvey saw from the first that though Bill might be a powerful man, he
lacked even a rudimentary knowledge of boxing. He held his fists in
front, but they were well down, separated by a wide space, and when he
drew near enough to deliver a blow, his feet were side by side. While
Harvey Hamilton’s pose was an ideal one, that of Bill was the opposite.
In contests of this nature, the sympathies of the reader are naturally
with the “gentleman,” and the story teller generally arranges that he
shall be the victor, though in real life it is not likely to happen that
way. Had the elder undergone the training of the younger, he assuredly
would have beaten him to a “frazzle,” but it was that one thing lacking
which proved the undoing of Bill.
His awkward advance upon the youth gave the latter the opening he was
waiting for, and coolly, promptly and fiercely he seized the advantage.
Bill lunged out terrifically, but the blow was a round one and being
cleverly parried, swished in front of Harvey’s face. In the same instant
his opponent made a single bound forward, so as to throw the weight of
his body into the straight, lightning-like thrust of the left fist,
which crashed against Bill’s receding chin with the force of a mule’s
kick. He went over on his back, completely knocked out and with no more
sense than a log of wood. It may be said that the fight was ended before
it fairly began.
Harvey knew some seconds must pass before Bill would be able to climb to
his feet. He shifted front in a flash and said:
“I’m waiting for the next.”
He still held his arms in position and danced deftly about as if
impatient over the slight delay in their attack. But their hesitation
was due more to bewilderment than fear, though the sight of the
motionless form stretched on the ground told its own story.
It would be thought that the courage shown by the young pugilist would
have appealed to the manhood of the others, but, sad to say, they had no
manhood to which appeal could be made. The one known as Dick shouted:
“Are we going to stand that, boys? Didn’t you see him hit Bill? He hit
him foul! Let’s lay him out!”
Harvey braved himself for the shameless attack, determined to make their
victory cost them dear. He knew that more than one would suffer, but a
pang shot through him when Dick called out:
“Let’s smash that old thing to flinders first and then serve him the
same way.”
“That’s the idee!” answered Sam; “we’ll make one job of it!”
And they charged together to carry out their cowardly threat.
CHAPTER XIV.
MILO MORGAN SAVES THE DAY.
As straight downward as if fired from the zenith, a tiny missile shot
through the air so swiftly that no one saw it. It struck the ground
directly in front of the four men and burst with a deafening report. In
the same second, another followed the first, landing just behind the
group with the same terrifying explosion. All saw the flash, the smoke
and the flying particles.
Then a third and fourth followed with similar results. Succeeding the
fire and crash a voice rang out:
“Run for your lives! Take to the woods or you are dead men!”
The command, which sounded as if it came from heaven, acted like an
electric shock upon the four young men, who with gasps of dismay dived
in among the trees with such headlong panic that two dropped their hats,
and the others stumbled, crawling forward and scrambling to their feet
as best they could.
The bewildered Harvey might have done the same, for it seemed the only
way of escaping a frightful death, had he not fancied there was a
familiar note in the deep bass voice. When he looked aloft, the strange
occurrence was explained. Balanced directly overhead and not more than a
hundred feet high, floated a monoplane. A slim man more than six feet
tall and clothed in a long flapping duster was standing erect with a
small, oblong object in his hand to which he had just applied a match.
He let it hiss for a moment, and then tossed it away so that it fell
only a few feet from where Harvey stood.
“Don’t be scared,” he called; “I’m just practicing how to drop a bomb on
the deck of a vessel; these things make a loud noise but nothing more.”
As the delighted youth stared upward, he saw painted in glaring letters
on the under side of the single plane the words:
“THE DRAGON OF THE SKIES.”
“Aren’t you coming down to call?” asked Harvey. “No one could be so
welcome as you.”
“So I judged from the way things looked; I have been up here some time
watching matters. You keeled over that brute beautifully.”
“He is showing signs of revival.”
“Stand a little out of the way and watch me help revive him.”
Harvey, relieved beyond expression by the happy turn of affairs, sprang
several paces aside and watched his friend aloft. He was still standing
erect, balanced so perfectly in the calm that he did not have to steady
himself. The missiles which he had flung to the earth were simply giant
firecrackers, some six inches long and more than an inch in diameter. He
knew when he lighted the powder-soaked string which served as a fuse how
many seconds it would require to reach the powder within. It has been
shown how accurate he was in his calculations.
Harvey saw the flicker of the smoking match as it was touched to the
short dangling twist of fuse attached to the cracker which he held in
his left hand beside his waist, while with one eye closed he squinted
along the red tube as if aiming a gun. Then he parted his thumb and
forefinger and the cracker tumbled downward end over end, and either
through extraordinary skill or by good luck dropped upon the chest of
Bill and burst with terrific force and deafening noise.
It certainly “revived” the man, for with a howl he leaped to his feet
and plunged in among the trees in the wildest panic conceivable. A
fifty-pound bombshell would have caused more damage but could not have
created greater terror.
Harvey in the reaction of his spirits leaned against his biplane to keep
from falling through excessive mirth. He had never seen anything so
funny in his life. In the midst of his merriment, Professor Milo Morgan
called down:
“I must be off; good-bye; better not bother with such folks as these.”
“But, Professor, won’t you make me a call?”
“Haven’t time; other matters are awaiting me.”
“Can you tell me anything about Bohunkus?”
“He’s round on the other side of the wood, waiting for you.”
As he spoke, the elongated aviator extended one arm, so that no doubt
was left of the direction meant. Then he resumed his seat, and the
Dragon of the Skies darted into space like an eagle diving from his
mountain perch.
Harvey noticed again that swiftly as the man was speeding, his monoplane
seemed to emit no noise whatever. It was certainly a remarkable muffler
that enabled him to do this, and it explained why none of the party
below had any inkling of the crank’s proximity until he made it known in
the startling manner described. Moreover his uplifter held him sustained
without motion, as we sometimes see a bird hovering over the ocean and
preparing to dart downward for its prey.
“He has made enough inventions already to give him riches beyond
estimate, but the fact seems to be the last to enter his head.”
But Harvey could not forget his dusky comrade. Professor Morgan had told
where he could be found, provided he had not gone elsewhere in the
meantime. The five young men with whom the couple had had their affray
were still capable of making trouble. It was possible that when they
found none was harmed, they would return to look into matters. The
minutes were too valuable to be wasted.
Although the aeroplane had been exposed to danger it had suffered no
injury. Instead of procuring a brake, in the form of a prop from the
nearby wood, with which to hold the machine until momentum was gathered,
the young aviator whirled the propeller about, stepped into his seat and
grasped the control. The motor started at once and sent out its
deafening racket. The little rubber-tired wheels began slowly turning
and sped swiftly across the open space. Harvey waited until he was going
very fast, when he drew back the handle and in the same instant felt he
was traveling on nothing. Upward and outward he shot to a height of
three hundred feet, when he circled about and came back over the wood,
beyond which he glided to the other side.
It was there he ought to find Bohunkus. Slowing his progress as much as
he could and still remain aloft, he scanned the earth in quest of the
colored youth. There was the stretch of woodland, meadow and sparsely
cultivated ground, with the small dwelling in the distance, the
landscape being crossed by a winding creek which skirted the forest and
lost itself far to the eastward.
But Bohunkus Johnson was nowhere to be seen.
“Likely enough he has started off on a run again with nobody chasing him
and may not look behind until he has gone several miles. It would serve
him right if I left him to get home the best he can. He has enough money
to pay his way and—.”
Harvey’s eye rested on a large maple lying on the edge of the wood. It
had fallen recently, for the foliage of the abundant limbs was still
green. The trunk, which must have been two feet in diameter at the base,
showed no branches for several yards, but was held a little above the
ground by the sturdy and bent limbs upon which the greater weight was
resting.
There was no particular reason why this object should interest Harvey,
but it did, and he scrutinized it closely, as he slowly sailed past.
Something moved, but so vaguely that he could not identify it. The
object appeared to be under the log in the open space between it and the
ground upon which it was supported. The distance was so trifling that
Harvey did not call his binoculars into use.
The top of a person’s head, without a cap or covering except a mass of
black wool, and a pair of staring eyes, showed over the top of the log.
Their owner was watching the biplane, as if uncertain of its identity.
Had the individual remained stationary, he would have come into clear
view, as Harvey glided beyond him, but before that could take place, he
ducked under the maple, whisked beneath, and raising his head, again
peered over the trunk from the other side. He did not speak, but
evidently was mystified and undecided what to do.
The amused Harvey curved about and then volplaned to the ground within
fifty paces of the fallen tree. As he did so, he saw Bohunkus standing
erect and grinning at him. He had donned his cap and was delighted.
“Did I scare yo’?” he asked, going forward to meet his friend.
“Scare me? How could you do that?”
“I knowed it was yo’ all de time; I thought I’d have a little fun wid
yo’.”
“What were you doing behind that log, Bunk?”
“Nuffin; I felt sorter tired and laid down to rest till yo’ come along;
I was getting out ob patience wid yo’; what made yo’ so late?”
“I have been looking for you; those were queer performances on your
part.”
“What oblusions am yo’ obluding to, Harv?”
“You gave that fellow the best thumping he ever had, and then jumped up
and ran off like a big coward.”
“Didn’t run away from nobody; it was dem ’leben fellers wid dere loaded
guns dat was a chasing me like all creation; wouldn’t yo’ run yo’self?”
“Certainly, if I had been attacked by such a force, but I stayed behind
and entertained the other four and there was only the one that troubled
you. What became of that fellow who tried so hard to overtake you?”
“He’s dead,” was the solemn answer of Bunk.
“What killed him?”
“Me,” was the unblushing response; “I kept running till I got him away
from de oder nine, so dey couldn’t help him; den I whirled about and
lammed him so hard dat it was de last ob him; he’ll neber insult any
’spectable colored gemman agin.”
“Well, Bunk, I am afraid you will have to do your job over, for I saw
him only a little while ago. He may be near at hand this minute.”
And Harvey glanced around as if alarmed by the probability of such a
thing.
“Being dat am de way things stand, hadn’t we better emigrate, Harv?”
CHAPTER XV.
UNCLE TOMMY.
Like a sensible young man, Harvey Hamilton had made a study of his
itinerary before leaving home. Allowing himself a margin of several
days, he expected to rejoin his friends at the end of a fortnight. If
all went well he would do so earlier, while there was always the
possibility that he might be absent still longer.
He knew that the little town nestling several miles to the left was
Darmore. It was at the base of a spur of the Alleghanies toward which he
had been working his way from the first. His wish was to pass beyond the
thickly settled districts. Nothing palls sooner upon an aviator than the
endless succession of towns, villages, cultivated sections and
monotonous scenery. While there must be a certain sameness in the
expanses of forest there was always the chance of adventure which a
normal youngster craves as he does his meals when hungry.
Harvey had meditated going to Darmore to renew his supply of fuel, but
recalled that after passing the mountain ridge, another and larger town
lay some miles away in the broad forest valley. He had enough gasoline
to carry him thither and he decided to make the trip. He followed his
general rule of not rising far above the altitude necessary to clear the
tallest trees and elevations. Thus, viewed far from the rear, the
aeroplane suggested that it was climbing the mountain side by resting
upon and sailing over the billowy sea of foliage.
The summit proper was no more than two or three hundred yards in height,
and having cleared it the young aviator mounted higher than before in
order to secure a comprehensive view of the surrounding country and
learn how correct his impressions were.
He was vastly pleased. Almost in a direct line and not far away lay
Chesterton, a town of several thousand population and in the midst of a
thriving section of the country. He traced the winding highways, the
scattered farm houses, the broad, cultivated fields, the signs of busy
life everywhere, and the enormous wealth of forest which continued up
the farther slope, crowned the top of the ridge and stretched down the
incline beyond.
The noisy motor in the sky and the queer looking object which seemed to
be advancing sideways and at a rapid pace, drew attention wherever it
was seen. Farmers riding over the dusty roads stopped their teams and
stared aloft until they got kinks in their necks; men and women climbed
to the roofs of their houses, as if the slight decrease of distance
would help them, and breathlessly studied the strange sight, some of the
spectators with the aid of spy-glasses; groups gathered on lawns,
porches and in front of their homes; every window of a passenger train,
to say nothing of the platforms, was wedged with curious observers,
while several white puffs which shot upward from the steam whistle
showed that the engineer was sending out a salutation to the aerial
wanderer who could not hear it. Everybody had read of aeroplanes and
seen pictures of them, but this was the first time the real thing had
sailed into their sea of vision and no picture can stir like the
actuality itself.
Two men, one of them carrying a gun, were walking over the high road, a
little way to the right, and probably two hundred yards from the
aeroplane. They had stopped and were surveying the strange object
overhead. One of them abruptly raised his weapon and the little faint
blue puff showed he had used the machine as his target. Instead of a
shotgun the fellow fired a rifle. It was impossible of course to hear
the report, but the sudden appearance of a small white spot on the
framework of the upper wing, showed where the bullet had nipped off a
splinter. Strange that so many people cannot observe a curious object
without yearning to shoot it.
Harvey looked around at Bohunkus, and by a nod and the expression of his
face asked whether he wished to be set down that he might properly
chastise the scamp. The colored youth shook his head. He had gone
through enough in that line to satisfy him. Harvey shied off and
speedily passed beyond range. The fellow did not try a second shot.
Thus far the weather had been ideal, but a disagreeable change
threatened. The sun was hidden by clouds, which increased in density and
number, and the air became so chilly that both shivered. Harvey headed
for Chesterton, for it was evident that soon all pleasure in aerial
sailing would be ended for the time.
The approach of the aeroplane roused the usual excitement in the little
country town, and when Harvey descended in an open space near the
collection of houses, half a hundred people rushed thither to greet and
give him whatever help he needed. He aimed to make a graceful landing so
as properly to impress the spectators, but he got another reminder of
the astonishing sensitiveness of the aeroplane, which must be handled
far differently from an automobile. He was not quick enough in shifting
the lever and hit the ground with so violent a bump that Bohunkus, who
was not expecting anything of the kind, was thrown headlong from his
perch and landed in a sitting posture with so loud a grunt that the
onlookers laughed.
“What’s de matter wid yo’?” he asked angrily; “dat’s de right way to
come down in an airyplane. Hab yo’ any ’bjections?”
“It’s the way _you_ land,” replied one of the men, “because you don’t
know any better.”
Bohunkus would have been glad to make a scathing retort, but was unable
to think of one. So he said in the way of reproof to his companion:
“De next time yo’s gwine to try to knock a hole fru de airth, let me
know so I can jump.”
“It will do you as much good to jump afterward as before. It looks to me
as if a storm is coming, Bunk, and we must get the machine under
shelter.”
The pleasant feature about the situation was that the crowd which had
gathered and continued to gather was a friendly one. No one spoke an
ill-natured word and all were eager to help in every way possible.
When Harvey stood on the ground, facing the group, he asked:
“Are we going to have a rain?”
“_He’s_ the man that’ll tell you all about the weather for a week to
come and hit it every time.”
The one who spoke pointed to an old farmer, without coat or waistcoat,
with a ragged straw hat, chin whiskers and bent shoulders, who was
chewing tobacco after the manner of a cow masticating her cud.
“How is it, Uncle Tommy?” asked the man who had just spoken.
The old fellow, still chewing, looked up at the sky and then around the
heavens, squinting one eye as he carefully studied the signs.
“It’ll rain like all creation inside of a couple of hours; then it’ll
hold up a little while and bime by start in agin and drizzle all night.”
“How about to-morrow?” asked Harvey.
“It’ll be bright and clear, but a little cooler than to-day.”
“Tell the young gentleman how the rest of the week will be,” insisted
his neighbor.
“The next three days will be clear and rayther warmish; I won’t say
anything beyond that this afternoon, but if ye wanter know, I’ll obleege
ye to-morrer when I’ve had a snifter and my breakfast.”
“I am much obliged; you have told me what I wanted to know. I shall need
shelter for this aeroplane; can any of you gentlemen help me?”
There was less difficulty than Harvey anticipated. Chesterton had a
single large hotel or tavern as the townspeople called it, with the
usual rows of sheds for the convenience of countrymen when they drove in
from the neighborhood. With the help of several bystanders the machine
was shoved over the road and through the alley—where much care was
necessary to save the wings from injury—to the sheds at the rear. There,
after some delicate maneuvering, the machine was worked into the shelter
at the corner, where a fair hangar was secured.
“Here we stay till the weather clears,” said Harvey to Bunk, as they
strolled into the hotel to get their dinner, for which each had a keen
appetite.
Where all showed so hospitable a disposition, Harvey felt little fear of
any harm to the aeroplane, though Bohunkus strolled out once or twice to
make sure everything was right. After the meal the young aviator seated
himself in the utility room, as it may be called. This was connected by
a door that was always open with the bar, and was intended for the
convenience of those who wished something a little less public. It was
provided with several chairs, a round table standing in the middle of
the apartment, and had a sanded floor and a few cheap sporting prints on
the walls. A half dozen men were seated around, most of them with feet
elevated on other chairs or the window sills, while they gossiped of the
affairs of the neighborhood. They showed little interest in Harvey and
Bunk. The former obtained pen, paper and ink from the landlord and spent
a part of the afternoon in writing to his parents and to brother Dick in
the Adirondacks. He named a town in advance which he expected to reach
at the end of a week, as the proper one to which to address their
replies. This duty attended to, Harvey looked at Bunk, whose cap had
fallen on the floor as he leaned back in his chair and slept. There was
no prejudice so far as yet shown against his race in that section and he
was not annoyed by any one.
Recalling the words of the old weather prophet, Harvey went out on the
long covered porch in front of the hotel. The two hours had passed and
the rain was coming down in torrents. Then, just as the venerable farmer
had said would be the case, it slackened, with the promise of renewal
before nightfall.
“Some of those old fellows can beat the government every time,”
reflected Harvey; “I shall believe Uncle Tommy until I see the proof of
his mistake. Well, I declare!”
It happened at that moment that Harvey Hamilton was the only person on
the porch, where several wooden chairs awaited occupants. Here and there
a man or woman could be seen hurrying along the sloppy street, all eager
to reach home or shelter. The youth’s exclamation was caused by sight of
an unusually tall man, in a long, flapping linen duster, striding
forward on the same side as the tavern, so that he passed within a dozen
paces of where the astonished youth stared wonderingly at him, for,
without his distinctive attire, the long grizzled beard and glowing
black eyes identified him at once.
“How are you, Professor?” called Harvey; “I’m mighty glad to see you
again.”
The individual upon being hailed looked at the young man as if he had
never seen him before, and then, without the slightest sign of
recognition, stalked up the street and out of sight.
CHAPTER XVI.
A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION.
Harvey Hamilton stood speechless. When he spoke to Professor Morgan,
they were no more than a rod apart, with only the broad open space in
front of the hotel between them. Upon hearing himself addressed, the man
had looked straight into the face of the lad and then, as already said,
passed on without the faintest sign of recognition.
A more direct snub cannot be imagined, and yet it was not in the nature
of a snub. Nothing had occurred that could justify so marked a slight.
The humiliation which Harvey felt for a few seconds quickly passed away.
“He must have been too absorbed in reverie to see me, and yet that can’t
be possible, for he showed that he heard me call him by his title.”
By and by the young aviator reached the only conclusion that seemed
reasonable.
“He is a crank in every sense of the word; he is as crazy as a June bug;
he was friendly enough last night and this forenoon, and now he is in a
different mood. Well, I shall always feel grateful for the good turn he
did me. If we meet again, he may be in a more genial frame of mind; at
least I hope so.”
The downpour was increasing and the air had become so chilly that Harvey
passed inside to the sitting-room. The same number of men were present
as before, smoking, chewing and gossiping. He glanced into their
countenances, as he moved his chair beside the sleeping Bohunkus
Johnson, prepared to pass the dismal hours as best he could without
finding any reading matter in the form of books or newspapers. He had
registered before dinner and engaged a room for himself and another for
his companion. His letters were given to the landlord, who promised to
send them to the post office in time for the afternoon’s mail.
Somehow or other, there was one man among the group in whom Harvey felt
a slight interest, though he attributed the fact to the lack of anything
else to engage his mind. This individual was standing at the desk, when
Harvey came from the outside, studying the dog-eared register, as if he
too was guided by some idle impulse. He glanced at the newcomer and
followed him into the larger room, where he lighted a cigar and took a
seat against the other wall.
He was of slight frame, in middle life, dressed in a gray business suit,
with clean shaven face, a thin sharp nose, good teeth and keen blue
eyes. He was alert of manner, and might well have been a drummer held in
town for a brief while against his will. When Harvey glanced at him
again he quickly averted his eyes. Apparently he did not wish to be
detected in the act and he came within a hair of succeeding in his
attempt. He gazed in an absent way through the door leading to the
bar-room and smoked his cigar like a man who thoroughly enjoyed the
weed.
Being in an idle mood, Harvey twisted the corner of his handkerchief
into a tight spiral, making the end quite stiff and pointed, and,
leaning forward, began drawing it back and forth against the base of the
sleeping Bohunkus Johnson’s nose. Immediately every other person in the
room began watching the proceedings.
For a little while the negro slept on undisturbed. Then he suddenly
crinkled his broad, flat nose and flipped his hand at the fly or
mosquito that was supposed to be tickling him. The spectators grinned,
and Harvey waited till Bunk was slumbering as heavily as before. Then he
resumed his role of Tantalus. This time he tickled so energetically that
Bunk struck impatiently at his tormentor and banged the top of the chair
a vigorous blow—so vigorous indeed that several of the men snickered and
the dusky youth opened his eyes and raised his head, as wide awake as
ever in his life.
“Think yo’s smart, doan’ yo’?” he growled, donning the cap that had
fallen to the floor and shaking himself together.
“The next thing, Bunk, you’ll fall asleep in the biplane and tumble out
head first.”
“I doan’ see dat it’ll make any difference to yo’ if I do,” replied the
other, nettled by the general laughter more than by the manner of his
awaking.
“It won’t, but it will to you. If you want to sleep all the time go to
your room.”
Bohunkus mumbled something, shifted his position, sank down in his chair
until he seemed to be sitting on the upper part of his spine, and in a
few minutes was nodding again. Harvey molested him no further, but
looking up discovered by a furtive glance that the thin young man in
gray had been studying him for an indefinite time, though quick to shift
his gaze as before.
Harvey drew his note-book from his pocket, and, bringing his chair to
the table, began making sketches with his pencil, wholly from
imagination. The stranger, a little while later, drew up his seat
opposite and busied himself in the same way. Thus the situation remained
for perhaps ten minutes.
Suddenly a pellet of paper the size of a dime was flipped across the
brief space and fell upon the page that was covered with Harvey’s
tracings. He knew it came from the man on the other side of the table,
and he understood it was meant to be secret. It was an extraordinary way
by which to communicate with him, when it would have been easy to speak
one or two words in so guarded tones that they could not be overheard.
But the man must have had his reasons, which would appear later.
With that quickness of resource that has been shown to be a marked trait
of Harvey Hamilton, he did a bright thing. Without betraying any haste
or interest, he picked up the tiny wad and slipped it into his waistcoat
pocket. He did not even look at the stranger, but nodded his head,
keeping his eyes on his note-book. A minute later the man rose from his
chair and sauntered into the bar-room, turning off to one side so as to
be out of sight of the youth had he looked for him while still in his
seat, which he did not.
It was with curious emotions that Harvey saw he was called upon to play
a peculiar role. He had been given a written communication in such a
manner as to make it certain the sender wished no other person to know
what had taken place. The youth must read the message, but do so
secretly. To untwist the bit and examine it while in the sitting-room
would betray everything. Only one course remained.
It was not yet dark, for it will be remembered it was summer time, but
stepping to the bar, behind which the landlord was standing serving a
customer, Harvey asked for the key to his room. It was handed to him
from a nail and he was directed to ascend the stairs to the upper hall,
along which he was to walk until he saw the number “34” on the door.
As Harvey started to follow directions, he glanced about the bar-room,
in which there were six or eight persons, but the author of the
mysterious message was not among them. He was standing on the porch
outside, and looked for an instant through the window at Harvey, but no
sign or signal was exchanged between them.
Not until he had entered his room and locked the door did Harvey unroll
the paper pellet, and, standing by the window where the light was good,
read the following words:
“I shall knock at your door at nine o’clock this evening. Keep
your colored servant out of the way. I have something important
to say to you. When we meet outside of your room neither must
show that he has ever met the other. Don’t fail me.
S. P.”
After the perplexity caused by these curious sentences, Harvey
Hamilton’s feeling was that of amusement.
“I have come to Chesterton in my aeroplane, and dived head first into
one of the most tremendous mysteries that ever was. Bunk and I set out
to find adventure and it looks as if we had struck it rich. But what the
mischief can it all mean?”
Try as hard as he might, he could not take the matter as seriously as it
seemed to him he ought to do. The time was well on in the twentieth
century, he was in one of the most civilized sections of the Union, and
things as a rule were conducted in accordance with law. Surely “S. P.”
was not hinting at murder, or burglary, or incendiarism, or any other
heinous crime.
“What is he driving at and who is he?”
Harvey Hamilton would not have been a bright, high-spirited youth of
seventeen years had he not been stirred by the curious communication
that had been delivered so oddly to him. He speculated and theorized,
and the more he did so the more he was puzzled.
“Some folks like to be mysterious,” he said, “and the less cause they
have for being so the more secret they are. Why didn’t ‘S. P.’, whoever
he is, drop me a word, which he could have done without it being noticed
by any one else?
“It must have been there was another person in the room that he was
afraid would become suspicious, but I have no idea who he was. It is odd
that this fellow is the only one who interested me.
“What can his business be with me? I was never in this part of the world
before and haven’t had anything to do with the people here, nor anywhere
in the neighborhood, except those young men this forenoon. It can’t have
any relation to them, for they have not had time to reach Chesterton
since our run-in.”
“How about Professor Morgan?” Harvey asked himself with a start. “I know
he is in town and didn’t show any pleasure when I recognized him. Can it
be that he and ‘S. P.’ have anything between them in which I am
concerned?”
He sat for a long time turning over the perplexing subject in his mind,
with the only result of becoming more befogged.
“Pshaw! what’s the use?” he exclaimed impatiently, as he came to his
feet and donned his cap; “it is nearly night and I have to wait but a
few hours, when he will make everything clear. So here goes.”
He locked his door behind him and started down the long hall. At the
head of the stairs, whom should he meet but the alert looking man in
gray? Harvey was about to suggest that they return to his room together
and have their conference, but the other did not seem to see him; and
recalling the warning, the youth passed down the steps as if he had
encountered an utter stranger. The latter did not show up at the supper
table and Harvey was relieved, for it would have been some embarrassment
to him. It may have been the man’s knowledge of this fact that caused
him to keep out of the way.
Time passed slowly. When Harvey looked at his watch and saw that it
lacked fifteen minutes of the time appointed, he started for his room.
Bohunkus had already gone up stairs. When he bade his friend good night,
he said to him:
“I need sleep, Bunk, so stay in your room till I call you in the
morning.”
“All right; I hain’t no ’bjection; I sha’n’t get up till yo’ bang on my
door.”
CHAPTER XVII.
CALLED TO THE RESCUE.
Harvey Hamilton struck a match, after he had unlocked the door of his
room and stepped inside. He lighted the gas and seated himself beside
the stand in front of the mirror, to wait the brief interval. He
continually glanced at his watch and twice held it to his ear to make
sure it had not stopped. At three minutes to nine, he slipped it into
his pocket, leaned back and listened.
“I shall soon hear his footstep,” was his thought; “everything is so
still that if he comes in his stocking feet it will be perceptible on
the bare floor——”
But, though the listening youth had not caught the slightest noise, he
now heard a gentle tap, tap. He stepped hastily across the room and drew
the door open. The gas light in the apartment showed the man in gray
wrapped in the fainter illumination of the hall around and behind him.
He did not speak until he had stepped inside. Then in the lowest and
softest of voices he said:
“If you don’t mind,” gently turning the key in the closed door, and
stepping forward so as to be as far as possible from the threshold. As
if still uneasy, he glanced under the bed as his head came on a level
with the post. Then he rose and peeped into the closet, where nothing
hung but the outer coat of the rightful occupant.
“You will excuse me, Harvey, but I must make sure we are alone,” said
the man apologetically.
The host felt a touch of surprise at being addressed by his given name,
but smiled as he also seated himself, with only the width of the little
stand in the middle of the room between them.
“You need have no misgivings, sir; we are as much alone as if we were a
mile high in my aeroplane.”
Asking permission, the guest lighted a cigar and hitched as near as he
could to the young man.
“You were surprised to receive that note from me?”
“My surprise was due as much to the style of delivery as to its
contents. Why didn’t you use your tongue instead of your pencil?”
“Two men in the room were watching me.”
“Didn’t they see you flip the paper?”
“No; without looking directly at them I knew when their heads were
turned and they were occupied with that dispute in the bar-room. Then it
was that the bit of paper which I was holding and awaiting my chance,
dropped on the page of your note-book. Had I spoken, they would have
heard me, though they might not have understood the words, but no sound
was made by the tiny missive.”
“It would have been natural for me to betray you by my surprise, and to
open the fragment and read it at the time their attention came back to
the room in which we were all sitting.”
“I knew you were not that kind of a young man.”
The compliment did not wholly please Harvey.
“How could you know that? What means had you of learning anything about
me? I noticed that you know my first name.”
“The hotel register told me that you are Harvey Hamilton, from
Mootsport, New Jersey; a little study of you when you did not suspect
what I was doing imparted the rest. We detectives become skilful in
reading character.”
“So you are a detective?” said Harvey in surprise, such a thought never
having come to him until this announcement was made.
“That is my profession, but you are the only person in Chesterton who
suspects anything of the kind.”
“You mean you _believe_ so, but, brilliant as are detectives—that is
some of them—they occasionally make mistakes.”
“They would not be human if they did not.”
“But some blunder less than others. You signed your note with your
initials, ‘S. P.’ I have some curiosity to know what they stand for.”
“The hotel register would have told you.”
“But I had not enough interest to look; I feel different now.”
“You may call me Simmons Pendar.”
“Knowing at the same time that it is not your real name.”
“But will serve as well as any other.”
“I am sure I have no objection; well, Mr. Simmons Pendar, I am in my
room to keep the appointment you requested. I await your pleasure.”
It may be said that the professional detective, as he announced himself,
was somewhat surprised by his reception. He supposed that his
host—inasmuch as he was only a boy—would be markedly impressed when he
learned the profession of his caller, but he seemed almost indifferent.
Pendar was pleased, for it helped to confirm the opinion he had formed
of the mental acuteness of the lad.
“I have no intention of assuming the mysterious, Harvey, as some people
are fond of doing. Since I have told you I am a detective, you naturally
wonder what possible business I can have with you.”
“You guessed right the first time.”
“I assume that you are willing to aid me in the cause of justice.”
“You have no right to assume that, for our ideas of justice, as you term
it, may differ.”
The visitor laughed, but without the least noise.
“Well said! But I am sure we shall agree in this business.”
“That remains to be seen.” And Harvey continued his attitude of close
attention. Detective Pendar came to the point with a rush:
“Some weeks ago Grace Hastings, the five-year-old daughter of the
wealthy Mr. and Mrs. Horace Hastings, of Philadelphia, was stolen by
members of the Italian Black Hand, who hold her for a heavy ransom.
Perhaps you read the account?”
“I did,” replied Harvey, compressing his lips as his eyes flashed; “I
was never so angered in my life. This kidnapping business has become so
common during the last few years that I should like to help in burning
some of the Mafia and Black Hand devils at the stake. There’s more
excuse for such punishment than for burning those black imps in the
South.”
The youth was so wrought up that he bounded to his feet and paced
rapidly up and down the room. His caller coolly watched him and remained
silent. The result of his revelation was what he wished it to be. The
leaven was working. When Harvey became calmer, he resumed his seat, but
his white face betrayed his tense emotion.
“Would you like to help to rescue the little girl and bring the
scoundrels to justice?”
“I would give anything in the world for the chance.”
“_You have it!_”
“What do you mean?” demanded Harvey, bounding to his feet again.
“Just what I said; pull yourself together and listen.”
“Don’t keep me waiting.”
“You are making an excursion through the air with your aeroplane; this
fact gives you an advantage which may prove a deciding one. I need not
dwell on the grief of the parents of the little one, which is worse than
death itself could cause. They will give any amount of money to recover
their only child from the grip of those wretches. They have employed
many detectives in searching for her; I have been doing nothing else for
six weeks.”
“Why don’t they pay the ransom? That has been done in other cases, with
the result of recovering the stolen one.”
“The father wished to pay the demand as soon as it came to him, but
somebody or something has convinced him that it will prove only the
first of other demands still more exorbitant, with the recovery of the
child much in doubt.”
“Has no clue been obtained as to the whereabouts of the little girl?”
“There’s been no end of clues, but they lead nowhere. The mother in her
frantic grief insists that her husband shall pay the price without more
delay, and I believe he will not hold out much longer, satisfied that it
is the only hope left to him.”
“But how can I give any help with my aeroplane?”
“I have reason to think the gang has its headquarters not many miles
from this place.”
Harvey looked his astonishment.
“If that is true, what prevents you from running them down?”
“An almost insurmountable difficulty faces me. I am the only searcher
who holds this theory, as I am the only one who has reason for it. But
it is diamond cut diamond. These miscreants are alert, shrewd and
cunning to the last degree. They have their watchers out, and upon the
first sign of danger they will signal the others, who will make a
lightning change of base, taking the child with them.”
“Have you any idea of the spot where they are?”
“Only that it is several miles away, in the depth of the forest which
covers so large an extent of this mountainous country.”
“Then why in heaven’s name don’t you and a posse rush them?” asked
Harvey, impatient with what seemed the dilatoriness of the officer.
“No one man nor a dozen men could find their way over the faint trails
in time to surprise the gang. They keep lookouts on duty day and night.
There isn’t a stranger who comes to Chesterton that is not watched. Two
of their men are in the hotel this minute; they have had you and even
your stupid colored youth under scrutiny.”
“Have they any suspicion of _me_?” asked Harvey with a grim smile.
“No; for you are too young and your actions are too open.”
“How about yourself?”
“I am hopeful that they are in the dark regarding me, though I am not
positive; I am playing the role of a drummer for a hardware firm in New
York. I have taken quite a number of orders, and all the time have been
on the watch for a chance to go upon an exploring expedition through the
surrounding wilderness. You understand the delicacy of my situation. A
single attempt in that line, even if immediately abandoned, will give me
away and end all possibility of my accomplishing any good. Still, I had
made up my mind that the essay would have to be made, with all the
chances against success, or I must abandon the business altogether. Your
coming has raised the hope that you can aid me.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
PLANNING THE SEARCH.
Harvey Hamilton was about to speak when Detective Pendar raised a
warning hand.
“Sh!” he whispered; “some one is in the hall.”
The youth listened intently, but could not detect so much as the “shadow
of a sound.” None the less, his guest was right.
“He has gone by; listen!”
The faintest possible noise, as if made by some one opening and closing
a door with the extremest caution, came to their ears.
“It’s one of them,” remarked the detective, in the same almost inaudible
tone; “let’s sit as near together as we can, and not raise our voices
above a whisper. I allowed you to do so a few minutes ago, because there
were no listeners.”
“Are those two watchers as you call them staying at the hotel?”
“They occupy the fourth room beyond.”
“And my negro lad has the third.”
“And I the second; so we are all neighbors.”
“How will you manage to leave without detection?”
“I am used to that kind of business,” replied Pendar with a smile; “give
it no thought. Let us return to the matter in which you are as much
interested as I. My proposal is that in sailing over the surrounding
country, you scrutinize it, so far as your keen vision, assisted by your
binoculars, will permit, in search of the headquarters of this gang.”
“How shall I recognize the place if I see it?”
“You will have to follow the law of probabilities. The woods are
uninhabited, except in the eastern part—that is, in this direction. If
you observe any old house or cabin that shows evidence of being
occupied, probably it’s the place for which we are looking. Locate it
definitely, and then we shall have something upon which to act. As soon
as you report to me, I’ll move with all the vigor and common sense at my
command.”
Here was the proposal as clearly as it could be put. Harvey nodded his
head several times and compressed his lips, as does one who is in deadly
earnest.
“Heaven grant that I shall be able to do something.”
“Then I was not wrong in assuming you were interested in the cause of
justice?” remarked Detective Pendar.
“Not by a large majority.”
“Whoever has a hand in restoring the little girl to her parents will
receive a munificent reward. Perhaps this fact may be of interest to
you.”
“None whatever. Now that I shall undertake the task, we must have an
understanding; suppose I discover such a place as you mention, while
cruising aloft, how am I to communicate with you without drawing
suspicion to myself?”
“There will be no trouble in that. You can return to the hotel, as will
be quite natural for you to do, take a room under some pretense such as
not feeling well, and I shall get to you without much delay. That done
it will not be long before we formulate a plan of action.”
“Will my negro prove any handicap to me?”
“On the contrary, I am hoping he will be of help.”
“In what way?”
“It is impossible for him to be secretive or cunning; he is so open that
his honesty speaks for itself; no one can doubt that you and he are on a
little outing, with no purpose except enjoyment.”
“You have gauged his character correctly.”
“As I did yours.”
“Don’t be too certain of that; you were correct at least in believing
you would enlist my efforts in your work.”
“When will you be ready to begin?”
“To-morrow morning,—provided the weather proves as clear as that old
farmer declared it would be.”
“I heard his prophecy; his neighbors believe him infallible; I think you
can count on favoring conditions. Bear in mind that your task is simple.
You cannot halt and rest in the air, because you have to travel rapidly
to sustain yourself, but you see the enormous advantages your position
gives you. Wherever a house, even the smallest one, stands in the woods,
the roof or some part of it must be visible from above. The abductors of
the child will treat her well so long as there is a prospect of
obtaining the ransom, for it is to their interest to do so. There must
be cooking done in the dwelling, and the smoke will show; washing and
other things are necessary,—all of which you can learn without the aid
of glasses from a perch of several hundred feet. Are you acquainted with
an aviator known as Professor Morgan?”
The abrupt question startled the youth.
“I met him last night and again this forenoon. He is a crank.”
“Rather; his mind is unbalanced, but for all that it is a brilliant
intellect which has been knocked topsy-turvy by studying out inventions
in aviation.”
“And he has made some wonderful ones. He told me he had discovered a
chemical which mixed with gasoline will keep him in the air for twelve
hours, and he is confident that he will soon double and triple its
effectiveness. He has already learned how to sustain his machine for
some time motionless.”
“Have you seen him do it?”
“I have,” and Harvey related the incident of the Professor dropping the
giant crackers among the group on the edge of the wood.
“It is a most extraordinary achievement. I suppose he has managed to
secure in some way the action of supports which operate like the wings
of a bird, when he holds himself stationary in the sky.”
“Furthermore, he runs his machine without noise, which is another feat
that no one else has been able to attain. It seems to me also that his
‘Dragon of the Skies,’ as he has named it, can travel faster than the
swiftest eagle.”
It was in the mind of Harvey to ask the detective how he came to form
the acquaintance of Professor Morgan and to inquire whether he knew the
crank was in Chesterton at that moment, or had been there during the
afternoon; but, as the caller did not volunteer the information, the
youth forbore questioning him.
“We shall not forget that whenever and wherever we meet outside of this
room, it will be as strangers. If you wish to speak to me on anything,
you will take off your cap and scratch your head. If I see that, I shall
accept it as notice that you have something important to say. As soon as
you can do so without attracting notice you will go to your room. When
the coast becomes clear I shall follow you, but prudence may require me
to delay doing so for an hour or for several hours.”
At that moment both were startled by a loud knock on the door. On the
instant, Detective Pendar whispered:
“Make believe you are asleep.”
Waiting, therefore, until the summons had been twice repeated, Harvey
asked mumblingly:
“Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Bunk.”
“What do you want?”
“Didn’t yo’ tole me dat I warn’t to bodder yo’ and yo’ would call me in
de morning?”
“Of course I did; what’s the matter with you?”
“I woke up a little while ago and couldn’t disremember for suah what it
was yo’ tole me, so I slipped to yo’ door to find out. Dat’s all; good
night!”
And his heavy tread sounded along the hall to his door through which he
passed. The colored youth had slept so much during the day that he
needed little more refreshment of that nature.
“What do you think of that for stupidity?” asked Harvey.
“I am not surprised. I do not recall that I have anything more to say.
Will you be good enough to glance up and down the hall in search of
anything suspicious?”
The detective himself noiselessly opened the door. Harvey stepped
outside and stood listening and gazing toward the rear through the dimly
lighted avenue, that being the direction in which the rooms referred to
were situated.
“I cannot see or hear anything——”
Turning to face the man whom he addressed, and whom he supposed to be
standing directly behind him, Harvey saw nobody. The room was empty. The
amazed youth looked the other way, where the stairs lay. He was barely
in time to catch a glimpse of his caller in gray as he turned the short
corner and disappeared down the steps like a gliding shadow.
“That beats everything,” remarked the wondering young aviator, who now
locked his door and prepared for bed.
It was a long time, however, after he turned off the light and stretched
out on the soft mattress before he was able to woo slumber. Now that the
detective had recalled the kidnapping of the Hastings child in
Philadelphia, many minor particulars came back to the youth. All these
helped to stir his feelings, until he longed for the morning when he
could begin his work of bringing the unspeakable miscreants to justice.
He comprehended vividly the anguish of those stricken hearts in their
luxurious home, and shuddered to think that his own sister Mildred might
have been the stolen child.
With his thoughts flitting with lightning rapidity from one subject to
another, Harvey regretted that he had not questioned the officer about
Professor Morgan. It would be interesting to learn how the two had
become acquainted.
“I wonder,” added our young friend, following one of his innumerable
whimsies, “whether the Professor is on this job too. He seems to be
lingering in these parts, and he certainly has advantages which can
never be mine. Perhaps when I called to him, he feared it would
complicate matters if I was allowed to mix in. What’s the use of
guessing?” he exclaimed impatiently, as he flung himself on his side and
tried for the twentieth time to coax gentle slumber to come to him.
The coquettish goddess consented after a time, though the hour was past
midnight when the youth closed his eyes. Such being the situation, it is
not strange that Bohunkus Johnson was the first out of bed in the
morning, and down stairs. He was thinking of the aeroplane and fearful
that it had been molested during the night.
“I orter watched it agin,” was his thought as he dashed out of doors.
A few minutes later, Harvey Hamilton was startled by footsteps rushing
along the hall, followed by a furious thumping on his door.
“Git up, Harv, quick!” he shouted; “somebody has busted de airyplane all
to flinders!”
CHAPTER XIX.
THE AEROPLANE DESTROYED.
With one bound Harvey Hamilton leaped out of bed and jerked open the
door. Bohunkus Johnson stood before him, atremble with excitement.
“What is it you say?” demanded the young aviator.
“De airyplane am smashed all to bits! It am kindling wood and nuffin
else!” replied the dusky lad, who staggered into the room and dropped
into a chair, so overcome that he was barely able to stand.
Never did Harvey dress so quickly. While flinging on his garments, his
tongue was busy.
“Have you any idea who did it?”
“Gee! I wish I had! I’d sarve him de same way!”
“Is any one near it?”
“Not a soul; dat is dere wa’n’t anyone when I snoke out dere and took a
look. Ain’t it too bad, Harv? We’ll have to walk home.”
“We can ride in the cars; that isn’t worth thinking about.”
Talking in an aimless way, the youths a minute later ran along the hall,
skittered down stairs and dashed out to the sheds at the rear of the
hotel. The landlord, who was alone in the bar-room, stared wonderingly
at them as they shot through the door, but asked no questions.
Bohunkus had scarcely exaggerated in his story. No aeroplane that gave
out in the upper regions and slanted downward to rocky earth was ever
more utterly wrecked. One or more persons had evidently used a heavy axe
to work the destruction. Both wings had been smashed, fully two-thirds
of the ribs being splintered; the lever handles were broken and even the
two blades of the propeller had been shattered. The machine had been
hacked in other places. The engine, carbureter and magneto were about
all that remained intact, and even they showed dents and bruises as if
attempts had been made to destroy them.
Harvey walked sadly around the ruin and viewed it from every angle. His
face was pale, for his indignation was stirred to the profoundest
depths. He said nothing until his companion asked:
“Who’d you think done it?”
“I have no more idea than the man in the moon. There may have been only
one person, or there may have been half a dozen. Ah, if I knew!”
Several men straggled into the open yard and to the shed where they
gathered about the two youths. Harvey looked around and saw there were
six, with others coming into sight. Somehow or other the news of such
outrages seems to travel by a system of wireless telegraphy of their
own. In a short time a score of spectators were gathered, all asking
questions and making remarks.
The thought struck Harvey that among this group were probably the
criminals. He looked into their faces and compressing his lips said:
“I’ll give a hundred dollars to learn what scoundrel did this.”
“I’ll gib fourteen million,” added Bohunkus enthusiastically.
A tall, stoop-shouldered young man shook his head.
“Whoever he was he oughter be lynched and I’d like to help do it.”
The suspicion entered the mind of the young aviator that it was not at
all unlikely that the speaker was the guilty one. With him might have
been joined others and Harvey studied their faces in the hope of gaining
a clue, but in vain. Knowing his father would back his action he said:
“That was done by some person in Chesterton; you know the people better
than I do; if you would like to earn two hundred dollars find who he or
they were.”
Something in the nature of a reaction came over our young friend.
Ashamed of his weakness, he turned his back on the group, walked rapidly
to the hotel and went to his room. And it must be confessed that when he
reached that, he sat down in his chair, covered his face with his hands
and sobbed as if his heart were broken. Bohunkus, who was at his heels,
faced him in another chair, and unable to think of anything appropriate
for the occasion, held his peace, frequently crossing and uncrossing his
beam-like legs, clenching his fists and sighing. He yearned to do
something, but couldn’t decide what it should be.
Harvey’s outburst lasted only a brief while. He washed his face and
deliberately completed his toilet.
“There’s no use of crying over spilt milk, Bunk,” he remarked calmly;
“let’s go down to breakfast.”
“I knowed dere was something I’d forgot,—and dat’s it. Seems to me I’m
allers hungry, Harv.”
“I have thought that a good many times.”
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, so’s to git rewenge on ’em.”
“What’s that?” asked Harvey, who, as is sometimes the case in mental
stress, felt an almost morbid interest in trifles.
“Let’s eat up eberything in de house, so de rest ob de people will
starve to def; de willain dat done dat will be among ’em and dat’s de
way we’ll get eben wid him.”
“You might be able, Bunk, to carry out your plan, but I couldn’t give
you much help. Come on and I’ll try to think out what is the best thing
to do.”
The second descent of the boys was a contrast to their first. They
showed little or no trace of agitation, as they walked into the
dining-room and sat down at the long table where three other guests had
preceded them. Harvey was so disturbed that he ate only a few mouthfuls,
but hardly less than an earthquake would have affected the appetite of
his companion.
In turning over in his mind the all-absorbing question, Harvey Hamilton
could think of only one explanation. He believed the destruction of his
aeroplane was due to simple wantonness, for many a man and boy do
mischief just because it _is_ mischief and they know such action is
wrong on their part. It was impossible that he should have an enemy in
this country town. It might be the guilty one or ones were actuated by
an unreasoning jealousy or a superstitious belief that the strange
machine was likely to inflict evil upon the community.
Something like this we say was his theory, though he was not entirely
rid of a vague belief that some other cause might exist. This was an
occasion when he needed the aid of the detective, Simmons Pendar, who
was not in the dining-room nor had he seen him about the hotel. In the
hope of discovering his friend Harvey strolled into the sitting-room and
took the seat he had occupied the day before. The man in gray was
invisible, as were the two foreign looking individuals who were under
suspicion by the officer.
The question which the young aviator was asking himself was as to the
right course for him to follow. Deprived in this summary fashion of his
air machine, he was without power of giving Pendar any help in his
attempt to recover little Grace Hastings from the kidnappers. Any essay
on his part in that direction, now that he was confined to earth, was
sure to hinder more than to aid.
He was still in a maze of perplexity when Bohunkus came ponderously to
his feet and started through the door connecting with the hall which led
up stairs. Harvey naturally looked up to learn why he did so. With the
door drawn back and the negro in the act of stepping across the
threshold, he turned his head, grinned and winked at his friend. Then he
passed out, closing the door behind him, and the mystified Harvey heard
his muffled footsteps along the hall and ascending the stairs.
“What can he be driving at?” Harvey asked himself; “that wink looked as
if it was an invitation for me to follow him.”
Thus early in the day the two were the only ones in the sitting-room, so
that no one could have noticed the action of the two. Nor is it easy to
understand why Bohunkus should have relied upon a wink of the eye, when
it was as easy and would have been much clearer had he used his gift of
speech; but we know how fond his race are of mystery.
When Harvey reached the top of the stairs, where the view was
unobstructed along the hall, he saw Bunk standing at his door, as if
waiting for him. The space between the two was such that this time the
dusky youth instead of winking flirted his head. Then he stepped into
Harvey’s room and stood just beyond the partially open door and awaited
his friend.
Harvey did not forget that they were near the apartment of Detective
Pendar as well as that of the suspected parties, and while moving along
the passage way he did his utmost in the way of looking and listening.
He made no attempt to soften the noise of his footsteps, for that of
itself would have betrayed him. He strode forward and through the doors
and stood beside the waiting Bohunkus, who stealthily turned the key in
the lock. Then he beckoned to Harvey to bring his chair and place it
alongside the one in which the African softly seated himself on the far
side of the room.
By this time the white youth was beginning to lose patience.
“What is the matter with you, Bunk?”
“Sh! not so loud,” replied the other, placing a forefinger against his
bulbous lips.
“Use a little common sense if you have such a thing about you. If you
don’t speak out and explain things, you must get out of my room.”
“All right den; Harv, _I know who smashed yo’ airyplane!_”
“You do! Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Wanted to break it to yo’ gentle like.”
“Who was it?” demanded the astounded youth.
“Perfesser Morgan!”
Harvey stared in amazement for a moment and then asked:
“How do you know it was he who did it?”
“I seed him!”
“Are you crazy or only a fool, Bunk? Explain yourself. Do you mean to
tell me that you saw Professor Morgan destroy my aeroplane?”
“Didn’t perzactly see him doot, but I seed ’nough.”
“How much did you see?”
“When I fust went out ob de hotel and round de corner in de yard by de
sheds I seed a tall man, wid his long linen duster, slip fru dat place
where two boards had been ripped off. Jes’ as he was slipping fru, he
turned and looked at me; dere was de long part-gray whiskers and de
black debilish eyes. Oh, it war him and no mistake, Harv,” added
Bohunkus with an air of finality.
CHAPTER XX.
A PUZZLING TELEGRAM.
Harvey Hamilton was astounded. In all his imaginings he had never
dreamed of this explanation of the destruction of his aeroplane. One
admirable trait of the thick-witted Bohunkus Johnson was his
truthfulness. His friend knew he was not trying to deceive him and what
he had told could be accepted as fact.
“Why did you wait so long, Bunk, before telling me this story?”
“Wal, Harv, I didn’t want to ’bleve it myself; I didn’t at first,—dat
is, I didn’t think de Perfesser was as mean as all dat, but it was him
and no mistake.”
“I am sure you are right, though I can’t understand why he should do
such a thing.”
“Guess he war jealous ob us.”
“Possibly so, but even then it is hard to understand.”
Harvey still refrained from giving the obvious explanation that
presented itself. A man who is mentally unbalanced cannot be held
accountable for his acts. It was impossible to feel the resentment
toward Professor Morgan which he would have felt had the man been in his
right mind. Harvey sighed.
“Only one thing remains for us to do, Bunk.”
“What is that?”
“Go home and give up our outing. Hist! some one is coming.”
Footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. Whoever the person was, he
came with deliberate tread along the hall, and halting in front of the
door, knocked smartly. Harvey sprang to his feet and opened. The
landlord stood before him.
“Here’s a telegram for you; I signed; nothing to pay.”
The wondering youth accepted the yellow envelope and tore it open. He
read:
“Go to Groveton and wait. You will learn something to your
advantage.”
“GABRIEL HAMILTON.”
The message was dated at his father’s place of business in New York,
and as shown was signed by him.
“There is no answer,” said Harvey to the waiting landlord, who
departed.
“This is beyond me,” he remarked after reading the telegram to
Bohunkus, who of course was as much mystified as his companion. “Why
we should go to Groveton and what is there that can be of advantage
to me, is a greater puzzle than the wrecking of the aeroplane.”
“What am yo’ gwine to do, Harv?”
“Obey orders. Come on.”
The two traveled with so light baggage that they had only to fling
their extra coats over their arms, the few minor articles being in
their pockets, and descend the stairs. Harvey paid his bill and
explained that he had been called suddenly away by the telegram from
his father, but it was possible he might return. The landlord
expressed his sympathy for the loss of the aeroplane and promised to
do all he could to find out who the criminals were.
“Don’t bother,” said Harvey airily, “it’s lucky it didn’t happen
when we were a mile or two up in the sky.”
“I understand that you will pay a reward of two hundred dollars for
the detection of the scamps?”
“Yes, the offer stands,” replied Harvey, confident that the really
guilty individual would never be discovered. “You have my address on
your register; if you learn anything, write or telegraph me. By the
way, how far is Groveton from here?”
“Twelve miles by railroad.”
“Is it much of a town?”
“Not quite as big as Chesterton.”
“What time can we leave for the place?”
The landlord glanced at the clock behind him.
“If you walk briskly you can catch the next train.”
Harvey engaged the man to take care of the remains of the aeroplane
during his absence, and having been directed as to the right course,
the two hurried along the single street and turned off to the
station on their right. They were just in time to buy tickets and
take their seats. Their course was to the westward, which was the
direction of the wide valley between the mountainous ridges. Twenty
minutes later they stepped out on the platform and inquired the name
of the nearest hotel. As in the town they had just left, there was
only one hostelry, the Rawlins Hotel, to which they made their way.
Wondering and perplexed to the last degree, Harvey entered the place
of board and lodging. He explained that he did not know how long he
would stay, and as it was only the middle of the forenoon, he did
not register, saying he would do so at noon, in the event of his
remaining that long.
The day was so pleasant—the prophecy of the weather prophet having
been fulfilled to the letter—that they sat down on the long bench
which ran along the front of the hotel, and waited for whatever
might turn up.
“If any one is to meet me, he would come here,” refl
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