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CHAPTER VIII
HERC GETS "A TALKING TO."
When Ned came to himself, it was to find the farmer's wife bending over him and laving the wound on his head with warm water. Herc, with a quizzical look on his face, stood nearby.
"Whoof!" he exclaimed, as Ned opened his eyes. "What struck us?"
"I guess a bullet nicked me," grinned Ned; "it isn't much of a wound, is it?"
"Only grazed the skin," the farmer's wife assured him. "I am so thankful. It would have been terrible if either of you had come to serious harm through your brave act in my defence."
"Oh, that's all right, ma'am," said Ned, scrambling to his feet, "glad to have been of service. But whatever hit you, Herc?"
For Herc was holding his head now, with a lugubrious expression.
"Blessed if I know. Wish I did. I saw you fall, and jumped in to land Kennell. I grabbed him, and was bearing him down, when something that felt like a locomotive hit me a fearful wallop. Then I went to slumberland."
"Oh, how frightened I was, when I recovered my senses, and saw you two brave lads lying on the floor," said the farmer's wife, almost overcome at the recollection.
"Well, unless this house is haunted by spooks, who can hit as hard as steam-hammers, we'll have to come to the conclusion that Kennell had some confederates," decided Herc.
"The whole thing has a queer look to me," admitted Ned, with a puzzled look. "I can't make it out at all. You are sure that the fellow who annoyed you had no companions, madam?"
"I'm certain," declared the farmer's wife positively. "He came here soon after my husband drove off to town. He asked for something to eat, which I gave him. When he had finished he frightened me by demanding money. I gave him what little I had, but he insisted that my husband had more concealed about the premises. If you had not come in time, I do not know what I should have done. But whom have I got to thank? You – you," looking hesitatingly at the queer combination of aviation costume and regulation jackie uniform the lads wore, "you aren't soldiers, be you?"
"Not yet, ma'am," rejoined Herc gravely, "although at times we are tempted to soldier."
"We're soldiers' first cousins," laughed Ned.
"Oh, I see, sailors. But then, what is that contraption out there?" She pointed out of the window at the aeroplane. "I saw one like it at the county fair. Be you flying sailors?"
"I guess that's just what we are, ma'am," laughed Ned. "And that reminds me that we must be getting along. It is going on for noon."
He appeared about to go, and Herc was following his example, when the woman checked them.
"Oh, you must not go till you have told me your names," she said. "My husband would like to thank you personally for your bravery."
"As for our names, they are soon given," said Ned. "But for thanks – I guess it's the duty of Uncle Sam's sailors to do all they can to help the weak, and – "
"Land the bullies," finished Herc, with a flourish of his fist.
"Only this time it looks as if the bully had landed us," put in Ned, with a chuckle.
"Humph!" grunted Herc, feeling his head ruefully. "But," he added, cheering up vastly, "we had him on the run, anyhow."
"That's so," agreed Ned, "and I see, 'by the same token,' as Mulligan says, that he was in such a hurry he left the spoons behind him."
He pointed to a scattered heap at the door which the farmer's wife pounced upon gratefully. The spoons were all there but one, and Kennell's exit must have been hurried, to judge by this fact. Evidently he had dropped them by accident and had not tarried to pick them up.
While the farmer's wife looked on in wonderment, and not a little fear, Ned and Herc prepared their machine for flight. In a little less than ten minutes' time, they had taken the air with a roar and whirr, throwing the domestic animals about the place into panic. Without incident they winged their way back to the aviation field, arriving there in time for a hearty noon-day dinner at the farmhouse.
Ned's head was bandaged, and Herc's cheek was swollen, but they volunteered no explanation of their injuries, and Lieutenant De Frees concluded that they had met with some slight accident of which they did not care to speak, and deemed it best not to ask questions.
During the noon-day meal, Ned watched the countenances of Merritt and Chance narrowly. Although he had not the slightest thing to base his belief upon, an obstinate idea had entered his head and would not leave it, and that was, that they had, in some manner, something to do with the occurrences of the morning. He mentioned this to Herc afterward, but was laughed at for his pains.
"It was some sort of a hard-hitting ghost that landed me that sleep wallop," declared Herc, who, as we know, was reprehensibly given to slang on all occasions.
The afternoon passed quietly. Merritt and Chance asked leave to go into the town, which was not far off, and they were granted an afternoon's furlough. In what manner they employed it, we shall learn before long. Ned and Herc watched them go off, arm in arm, and Herc turned to Ned with an indignant snort.
"Whoof! I'll bet those chaps are up to some more cussedness. Look how they've got their heads together. Wonder what they are plotting now?"
"Don't know, and don't much care," laughed Ned; "tell you what, Herc, you'd better get out and practice, instead of wasting time on speculations over Merritt, Chance and Co. By the way, I wonder what they would say if they knew that their old acquaintance, Kennell, was at large and up to his old tricks?"
"Join him, probably. Especially if it was in anything that would make trouble for us," returned Herc. "But what are you going to do this afternoon?"
Herc had noticed that Ned had not donned his aviation "uniform."
"I? Oh, Lieutenant De Frees told me I could get my drawings in shape for his examination of them to-night. He is to have one or two naval experts at his quarters, whom he is anxious to show them to. Herc, old boy, maybe we're on the highway to fame."
"Maybe you are, you mean," flashed back Herc. "I guess I'll be the same old stick-in-the-mud till the end of the chapter."
"Nonsense. Use your initiative. Think up something new in connection with our present line of work."
"A new way to tumble, for instance," grinned Herc.
"There you go. That's your great fault. You can never be serious for two minutes together."
"I can, too," remonstrated Herc indignantly. "That time I was in the brig on the Manhattan I was serious till – till they brought my dinner."
Ned couldn't help laughing at his whimsical chum's frank way of putting things. But presently he resumed, more seriously.
"Come, Herc, you don't do yourself justice. You laugh away your real ability. Look here, I'll give you an idea to work on. See what you can do with it."
"I'm all cheers – ears, I mean," declared Herc, leaning forward in interested fashion.
Ned realized that the flippant tone hid real interest. Without seeming to notice it, he went on.
"One of the most needed improvements in the modern aeroplane – I mean where it is used in warfare – is a perfected appliance for bomb-dropping. The present way is pretty clumsy. An aviator has to let go of his controls with one hand while he manipulates his bomb-dropping device with the other. Some bit of apparatus that would do the work, say by foot-power, would be a big improvement, and add a whole lot to the effectiveness of the machine using it."
Herc kindled to enthusiasm while Ned talked. His careless manner vanished.
"That's like you, Ned," he said with real warmth of affection, "always ready to help a fellow out. I'll try to work out something on the lines you suggested. It's time I did something, anyhow. But the idea will still be yours, no matter what I do with it."
"Pshaw!" chuckled Ned, "didn't Shakespeare work over old stories into great plays?"
"I suppose so," agreed Herc, who did not care to display his almost total darkness concerning the late Mr. Shakespeare and his methods.
CHAPTER IX
A CONSPIRACY IS RIPENING
"That you, boys?"
The speaker emerged from a patch of gloomy looking bushes, masking an old stone bridge.
"Yes, it's us all right, Herr Muller. On time, ain't we?"
It was Chance who spoke. Close behind came Merritt and another figure.
"Yes, you're on time, all right. But who's that with you? I don't want outsiders mixed up in this."
Merritt came forward with the third member of the newly arrived party. "This is Bill Kennell, an old chum of ours," he said. "He's all right, and we may find him useful in our plans."
"Very well, if you'll vouch for him."
It was noticeable that all trace of accent had now vanished from Herr Muller's tone. In fact, except for a very slight trace of foreign pronunciation, impossible to reproduce, he spoke remarkably good English.
"Oh, we'll vouch for him. And now to business," said Merritt, seating himself on the coping of the bridge. "You said this afternoon that you, as representative of the New York group of International Anarchists, would pay us well to keep you in possession of the latest moves of the United States navy."
"Yes, yes," responded the other eagerly, "we wish to know all – everything – I am authorized to pay you well for such information."
"But why – why do you want it?" demanded Chance bluntly.
"I will tell you. We anarchists hate all law and order. We wish to be a law to ourselves. All law is oppression. Such is our teaching. Navies and armies represent power and help to keep law and order, therefore, when the time comes, we wish" – he paused reflectively – "to destroy all such tools of oppression."
Chance, calloused as he was, gasped.
"You mean you would dare to destroy or try to damage, the property of the United States?" he gasped.
"I mean what I said, my young man."
"Oh, say, count us out, then. That's too much for me. Say, Merritt, let's be getting back."
"Hold on a minute," snarled the masquerading photographer, changing in an instant from a docile creature into an alert, dangerous martinet, "you can't refuse to fall in with my plans now. If you do I shall crush you. You are in my power now."
"Pooh!" scoffed Merritt. "How do you make that out?"
But, though he strove to make his tone easy, there was an under note of anxiety in it.
"How do I make it out? In this way, my friends: If you are false to your promises to me, I shall denounce you to the government authorities. I have witnesses to all that you said this afternoon in my room at the hotel. The man you thought was a waiter was in my employ, and is an anarchist, like myself. That shabby little peddler who came to sell some cheap jewelry was another of the same belief. They heard all you said. Moreover, they saw you accept money from me – "
"But you told us that all you wanted us to do was to get those plans from Ned Strong when he comes along this way from the lieutenant's house to-night," gasped Chance.
"Yes; but I may have other uses for you. Rest assured that you are in a web from which you cannot escape. If you try to play false to me, I will have you sent to the place which Uncle Sam reserves for traitors and spies."
"Oh, well," said Merritt slyly, "we may as well make the best of it. Let's talk business. In the first place, did you bring the disguises?"
Herr Muller, as we must know him, rejoined in the affirmative. "I have them in that old barn," he said.
"Very well. The time is getting along. We had better go up there and assume them. By the way, have you any pistols for us? We couldn't smuggle out our service revolvers."
"Pistols!" scoffed the other. "What do you want pistols for? Are there not three of you against one? And I will be in reserve in case he proves too much for you."
"Um, I know; that's all very well," muttered Chance, "but you don't know this fellow Strong. He's as powerful as a bull, and will fight like a wild-cat."
"But he's up against overpowering odds to-night," Merritt rejoined, with regained confidence. "This is the time that Ned Strong, the favored paragon of the navy, is going to get his – and get it good."
"You can bet he is," agreed Chance and Kennell, with clenched teeth.
"I've got a few scores to pay off on my own account," added the latter.
"Well, here are your disguises," said Herr Muller, striking a match and indicating a bundle in one corner of the barn. Presently he produced a pocket flash-lamp, and held it cautiously while Merritt and Chance, two traitors to the United States, invested themselves in the rough-looking garments he had provided. They were complete, even to false whiskers. When they had attired themselves in the tattered clothes and adjusted the remainder of their disguises, two more disreputable-looking specimens of the genus tramp than Merritt and Chance presented could not have been imagined.
"You'll do finely," declared Herr Muller, with deep satisfaction, when the preparations were concluded. "I'd be scared of you myself, if I met you on a dark road," he added, with peculiar humor.
"How about me?" asked Kennell. "That 'Dreadnought Boy,' as they call him, knows me."
"Pshaw! that's so," said Herr Muller. "Well, see here," producing a handkerchief, "tie this over the lower part of your face and you will be well enough disguised."
"I reckon so," agreed Kennell, adopting the suggestion.
In the meantime, Ned had been practically the guest of honor at Lieutenant De Free's quarters. Two or three other naval officers were present, and they all displayed frank interest in the bright, intelligent youth and his invention, which he explained at length.
"But, my dear De Frees," one of them – a young ensign named Tandy – had declared, "you can say all you like about the aeroplane in warfare. In efficiency it will never take the place of the submarine, for instance. I'm willing to wager any amount that on any night that I held the deck, an aeroplane, equipped with pontoons or anything else, could not, by any possibility, approach within a hundred yards of my vessel."
"You really think so, Tandy?" queried Lieutenant De Frees good-naturedly. "Well, I tell you what we will do: At some other time we'll meet and talk it over. If you are still in the same mind, we will draw up conditions for such a test. It should be interesting and of great value theoretically."
"Yes," laughed Tandy, "it will demonstrate the fact that no aerial craft could torpedo or blew up a war vessel at night without being perceived in time. Therefore, what is the use of equipping the ships with such craft? They take up valuable room and waste a lot of money which would be better spent on guns and ordnance."
"I agree with you, Tandy," said Lieutenant Morrow, a veteran of many years' service, "from my observation of aeroplanes, one could not get within bomb-dropping or torpedo-aiming distance of a war vessel at night. Why, the noise of their engines would alone betray their nearness."
"But what if she glided up on pontoons?" smiled Lieutenant De Frees.
"The same thing would hold good," declared young Ensign Tandy, with a confident air.
Of course, Ned, as a petty officer, could not take part in this conversation, but it made a deep impression on him. After warm good-nights from the officers, who really felt an admiration for this clean-cut and self-respecting, although perfectly respectful young sailor, Ned set out on his homeward way. In his breast-pocket – or rather tucked inside his loose blouse – he carried the plans of his invention.
It was quite dark, with the exception of a pallid light given out by a sickly moon, that was every now and then obscured altogether by hurrying clouds. Ned walked along quickly, at his usual swinging pace. His thoughts were too much upon his invention for him to pay much attention to his surroundings.
All at once, however, he stopped short and listened for an instant. But not a sound, except the sighing of a light, night wind in the trees that bordered the road, disturbed the stillness.
"Funny," mused Ned; "I could have been certain I saw a light flash by that old bridge right ahead. I guess I'm seeing things, too, like Herc."
So thinking, he struck once more into his regular pace. A few steps brought him into a patch of velvety shadow caused by the thick-growing shrubs and alders that edged the creek which the bridge spanned.
"What a spot for a hold-up!" thought the young man-o'-war's-man, when he entered the blackness. As he did so, a sharp chill struck him. A keen sense of impending danger caused him to swing sharply around.
It was well he had heeded his intuition, for, as he turned, a heavy bludgeon whistled by his ear. It had been aimed for his head, but his sudden and unexpected move had saved him.
For a breath, Ned stood rooted to the spot. Then his eyes blazed with anger.
"Come on, you skulking thieves!" he cried in a high, clear voice, "I'm ready for you!"
CHAPTER X
A DREADNOUGHT BOY AT BAY
The Dreadnought Boy's challenge was still vibrating when, from every side, dark figures seemed to spring. They rushed at him like so many tigers. Ned struck out blindly.
It was hard to distinguish anything in the darkness, but twice in the first few seconds of his desperate battle against odds, he felt his fists encounter some one's features. The feeling gave him a sense of distinct satisfaction.
"One! Two!" counted the young man-o'-war's-man grimly, as his fists shot out right and left like sledge-hammers.
But Ned knew, as well as his opponents, that four to one are almost insurmountable odds. Already he had knocked two of his foes sprawling, when he was struck a blow from behind that staggered him. But it was only for an instant. The next moment he had turned and seized by the throat the man who had aimed the blow. He shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. He could hear the fellow's teeth chatter, but it was too dark to distinguish features.
In the meantime, his fallen opponents had picked themselves up. So far the fight had progressed in ominous silence, save for the deep breaths and stamping feet of those engaged in it. But now, fury at this unexpectedly stubborn resistance brought words to the lips of his foes. They were not nice words, and Ned thrilled with a desire to silence their utterers, for he was a clean-spoken boy, who hated profanity in any form.
Suddenly, as if by concerted consent, his foes ceased their separate attacks, and massed like a wolf pack preparing to finish its prey. Ned had hardly sensed the new situation and braced himself to meet it before they were upon him.
Thud! thud!
The lad's fists met their mark fairly, and once more two of his opponents reeled back. But this time they did not fall. Instead, they rallied to the attack.
As if they had been one, all four of his assailants hurled themselves on the Dreadnought Boy. Strive as he would, Ned felt his arms pinioned to his sides, and he was borne down by sheer weight of numbers. He struggled with every steel-like muscle in his powerful young body. With teeth set and eyes that flamed, he fought with every fraction of an ounce of strength he possessed. But, with two men hanging like bulldogs to his neck from behind, and two more clinging to his arms and battering him in front, the lad could do nothing. With a sickening sense of helplessness, he felt a leg slide under his, and tottered backward.
With his four foes still clinging like leeches to him, Ned felt himself borne to earth, and then, despite his frantic struggles, a hand was thrust rapidly into each of his pockets. A cry escaped him for the first time – a cry of rage.
The rascals were rifling him of the plans of the pontoon-equipped aeroplane!
All at once a voice struck into the scene. Some one was coming down the road. At the top of a pair of lusty lungs the approaching individual was singing:
"A sailor's wife, a sail-or's star should be!
Star-r-r-r-r-r should be!
Star-r-r-r-r-r should be!"
"Herc!" shouted Ned.
"Ahoy, there!" came the hearty response, as Herc, who had been sauntering along the road, on his way to meet Ned, broke into a run. Something in the accent of Ned's cry had warned him that his comrade's need for help was urgent.
"Scatter!" came a sharp voice from one of the hitherto silent waylayers of the Dreadnought Boy.
Like so many leaves before a sharp puff of autumn wind, they instantly dissolved into the night. Ned, dusty, battered and furious, picked himself up. As he did so Herc plunged into the dark patch in which the desperate fight had taken place. He hailed Ned and received an instant response.
"What on earth has happened?" he exclaimed.
Ned soon told his story. His voice throbbed with anger as he talked. Ned was slow to wrath, but once aroused he was whole-souled in his anger, and surely he had justification for his rage.
"The scoundrels!" burst out Herc, "couldn't you recognize any of them?"
"No. They chose the place well. I could hardly tell you if it wasn't for your voice."
"I'll bet the hole out of a doughnut that Merritt and Chance had something to do with this."
"I don't know. I hardly know anything I'm so mad. At any rate I must have marked one or two of them. My knuckles are skinned where I hit them."
"Let's hope that Merritt and Chance were the two you walloped. If so, we shan't have much difficulty in identifying two of your assailants."
"You talk as if you were certain they had something to do with it."
"I am," responded Herc briefly.
"Tell you what we'll do," said Ned, suddenly, "let's light a match and look the ground over. Maybe we can find some trace of the fellows' identity. There's one thing sure, they were not common robbers."
"That's evident enough. It was the plans they were after. But who that knows about them could use them to advantage?"
"That remains to be seen. In the meantime, on second thoughts, I can do better than matches. I've got that small electric torch I use about the aeroplane."
"Good. Switch it on and we'll see what we can see."
Ned drew out a small object from his pocket. There was a sharp click and a bright ray of light shot out. Here and there about the ground the Dreadnought Boy flashed the tiny searchlight.
"Look here!" cried Herc suddenly.
In triumph he held up a tangled looking object.
"What is it?" asked Ned in a puzzled tone.
"That's easy. It's false hair like the kind we used on the Manhattan when we gave that show. The chaps that attacked you were disguised and this was a part of their makeup."
"I think so, too. But – shades of immortal Farragut! – look here, Herc!" Ned, as he spoke, pounced on a roll of papers lying in the dust at one side of the road, right under a clump of alder bushes.
"It's the plans!" gasped Herc.
"That's right," rejoined Ned, opening the roll and glancing at its contents, "they're all intact, too. One of the rascals that took them must have placed them in his pocket. Then, in pushing into this brush to escape, they were caught and thrown out."
"I guess that's it, and a good thing for us, too. But – gee whiz!"
Without another word Herc plunged into the brush. He fought his way through it furiously. Happening to look up while they had been talking he had caught the glint of a pair of eyes as the light from Ned's torch reflected in them. One of the men had noted the loss of the plans and had returned for them. That much was evident. At any rate, Herc, as usual, acted before he thought, and in two bounds was swallowed in the brush.
Ned, not realizing in the least what had happened, and half inclined to think that Herc had gone suddenly crazy, followed instantly. Presently he found himself at Herc's side. The freckle-faced lad gasped out a few disconnected sentences. Broken as they were, they apprised Ned of what had happened.
"The rascal must have come back to get the plans," he concluded; "I suppose he was watching us and waiting his chance to emerge into the road when the light glinted on his eyeballs."
"Oh, if we could only have captured him!"
"More especially," put in Herc dryly, "as I recognized the man as Chance."
"What! You did!"
"Sure. I could swear to it. This is the time they've overreached themselves. They tried to steal the plans for some reason best known to themselves, and failed. They tried to disguise their part in the job and failed. I guess their career in the navy has ended for good and all now. In the morning we – "
A pair of arms were thrown round Herc's neck from behind. Caught all unprepared, he was carried off his feet in a flash and in a second a stout cord had been whipped about his wrists confining his hands helplessly behind his back. While this had been going on Ned was served the same trick.
In a trice the two Dreadnought Boys were rendered helpless, where an instant before Herc had been crowing over their triumph.
Somebody aimed a vicious kick at Ned's face which he dodged by rolling over on his side. At the same time a spiteful voice snarled:
"Our career has ended, eh? Well, it looks to me more as if you were rapidly approaching your own finish."
The voice was that of Chance, and his chuckle of triumph was echoed by his three companions who stood about the recumbent boys, rejoicing in the bit of strategy which had wrought their undoing.
