Kitabı oku: «Dave Dashaway, Air Champion: or, Wizard Work in the Clouds», sayfa 3
CHAPTER VI
A STARTLING DISCOVERY
“Go in by all means, Dave.”
It was Mr. Brackett, the aircraft manufacturer, who spoke, and never was a decision more welcome to boyish ears than this announcement. Prompt with his engagement, as was his business rule, the President of the Interstate Aero Company had arrived at the Midlothian grounds at eight o’clock in the morning, of the day succeeding Hiram’s adventure with the Scout.
There had been warm greetings, for Dave felt deeply grateful to the wealthy manufacturer who had so advanced his interests. His impetuous assistant was equally responsive. As to Mr. Brackett, it had been a great satisfaction for him to realize that his young protégés had not only made good the promise of their early professional career, but had largely been the means of popularizing the machines turned out at his plant.
He had listened to all that Dave had to say, had gone over the papers sent from the promoters of the International meet at Chicago, had considered for a few moments, and then had settled the matter of Dave’s participation in the six words above noted. Hiram’s eyes sparkled. A dazzling picture of new fame and sure success came into his imaginative mind.
“I’ve got to say something or bust, Mr. Brackett!” he exploded. “I hardly slept last night for thinking of it all. Why, where should Dave be but in the front ranks at Chicago? A first-class prize meet would be second-class without the aviator who won the trans-Atlantic medal, and looped the loop at Philadelphia ahead of all the competitors, and invented all the new wrinkles in hydro-aeroplane work at Cape May, and – ”
“There, there, Hiram – that will do,” interrupted Dave, but smiling indulgently. “From the entrants’ list they send us there will be no ordinary talent at the Chicago meet and no worn-out stunts will pass. We’ve got to better ourselves and prepare for real work, if we expect to make a showing.”
“You’ve got the last word, the real finishing touch in the Ariel, Dave,” reminded Mr. Brackett.
“I appreciate that, yes, indeed,” responded the young airman warmly, and with pride. “And it means half the battle.”
“I suppose you can realize our interest in this meet,” continued Mr. Brackett. “If the Ariel wins, it standardizes our new model in a manner, and means thousands of dollars in effective advertising for the Interstate Aero Company.”
“I’m going to do my level best,” Dave assured him, and he was so stirred with hope, faith and eagerness that he paced about restlessly. “There are some points I am sure of – distance flights, altitude and speed. None of them can meet the Ariel there. The stunt programme, though, is another thing. I want to study up on that and practice, and I would like to have a talk with the managers at Chicago as soon as possible.”
“Just what I was about to suggest, Dave,” said Mr. Brackett. “I don’t see anything gained by your staying here at the Midlothian grounds. In fact, after what you tell me of the explosion yesterday morning, I strongly advise making a move. Has that tramp friend of yours shown up?”
“No, he hasn’t reported, as I expected he would,” replied Dave rather disappointedly, and the manufacturer looked thoughtful as though entertaining some suspicions. Hiram broke in with the words:
“He’s true blue, though, Mr. Brackett; I’ll vouch for him! If he hasn’t got to us yet, it’s because he hasn’t found any trace of the man he’s after.”
“And have you no idea as to the motive for the attempt to destroy the Ariel?” asked the manufacturer.
“I have!” cried Hiram in his usual forcible way. “When we come to trace this thing down, we will certainly find that it goes back to that schemer, Vernon, who has made us so much trouble in the past.”
“Have you heard anything of Vernon lately, Dave?” inquired Mr. Brackett.
“Nothing definite. Of course I realize that he would find it policy to keep out of our way. He knows we would advise the management of any meet where he might happen to be, that he is a dangerous man, and as such ought to be excluded by the Association.”
“Yes, but cloud-work is all the fellow knows,” suggested Hiram, “and he will naturally always be a hanger-on in that line. He’s slick enough to work under cover. He’s bad enough, too, to agree to do any unfair work a rival might want to have done against us. That dynamite wasn’t planted in our hangar for fun. Look out for Vernon, I say, and look out sharp, for we haven’t heard the last of him yet, you mark me!”
“Well, once at Chicago, you will find better protection,” submitted Mr. Vernon. “Ah whom have we here?”
“A thousand pardons,” spoke an intruder, and there crossed the threshold of the hangar at that juncture Lieutenant Montrose Mortimer. The suspicion was instantly suggested to Dave that the reputed Englishman might have been lingering outside to choose this special moment for an appearance.
“Got a cablegram from my people abroad this morning, Dashaway,” he continued glibly. “They are urging me to reach some definite results.”
“This is Mr. Brackett, of whom I spoke to you yesterday, Lieutenant,” said Dave, introducing the manufacturer. “He might be interested to bear of the remarkable aviation progress in England.”
“Ah, just so, just so,” assented the lieutenant, with a searching look at Mr. Brackett. “Why, sir, I have told our young friend here of the flight-camps the British admiralty have established at Aldershot. I have been commissioned to secure some good tutoring material, and the fame of Dashaway naturally led me to him. It is example and direction that our novices need, and I can promise fine pay and a permanency. We have the best Benoist models, Gyro motors, and every standard wrinkle. The war has made it just as insistent for us to secure the best birdmen as armament and shells.”
The lieutenant rattled on at a great rate and Mr. Brackett listened quietly. Believing that he was impressing his audience, Mortimer drew some papers from his pocket, selected one, and began figuring up the income possibilities of an energetic up to date expert like Dave.
“This is very interesting, Lieutenant Mortimer,” said the manufacturer finally, “but I fear Mr. Dashaway is not in a position to accept your flattering offer.”
“Regret – disappointed. I could cable my people for more liberal terms if – ”
“It would be of no use,” said Mr. Brackett. “Dashaway is going to enter for the Chicago meet, and will leave here forthwith.”
“Oh, indeed!” observed their visitor, as if he had received a valuable piece of news, and he arose quickly, brushing pencil and paper to the floor. “Sorry! Going to make it in this superb biplane of yours, Dashaway?”
“Yes, we shall take the Ariel with us, of course,” replied Dave. He said it reluctantly, however. He had noted a subtle eagerness in the face of his questioner that he did not like.
“That fellow is a fraud,” broadly announced the manufacturer, as the alleged representative of the British admiralty bowed his way out of the hangar.
“That’s been my opinion all along,” echoed Hiram promptly. “You can speak right out,” he added to Dave. “The fellow’s out of sight. I followed him purposely to the door, for he looked as if he might be thinking of sneaking around to overhear what we might say. He noticed me, and bolted for it. Say, did you see him prick up his ears and act sort of rattled, when you told him that we were going to leave here?”
“That struck me,” acquiesced Mr. Brackett. “As I said, he is palpably a fraud.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Brackett?” inquired Dave.
“Because I happen to know something about the aircraft situation in England. The big operating point for military aviation requirements is not at Aldershot, but at the Brookland Motor Course and Flying Grounds, which has been taken over by the government for tests and speed trials, the general public being strictly excluded.”
“Huh!” bristled up Hiram, thinking hard – “what’s coming along now?”
“Another thing,” resumed the manufacturer, “when this lieutenant of yours speaks of Benoists and Gyro Motors, he is talking about something he does not understand. The principal flyers adopted by the admiralty are American models, and the Green water cooled engine has just won the two hundred and fifty thousand dollar prize in the national test in England.”
“Why, what can the man’s object be in going to all this trouble and duplicity?” asked Dave.
“It doesn’t look clear, nor right, to me, Dave,” answered Mr. Brackett. “If this is another part of some plot to do you, or your machine harm, it is high time that you were away from here and, – ”
“It is!” startlingly interrupted Hiram. “Say, I’ve got the key to the whole business!”
Both Mr. Brackett and Dave stared at the speaker in wonderment. Hiram was very much excited. He was waving something in his hand, but it was not the “key” to which he alluded. It was, in fact, the piece of paper on which Lieutenant Montrose Mortimer had been figuring that Hiram had picked up from the floor of the hangar.
“Look there!” he shouted, exhibiting its reverse side. “See! It’s a telegram from Chicago. Read it, and see if I’ve been guessing wrong all along!”
Hiram held the sheet so that his companions could plainly read the following alarming message:
“Keep Dashaway and his machine out of the race at any cost.”
And it was signed: “Vernon.”
CHAPTER VII
THE HIDDEN HAND
“Hurray!” cheered Hiram Dobbs enthusiastically – “we’re off! Oh, Dave, this is life!”
“We are going to make this a record attempt, Hiram,” the young aviator advised his excited assistant. “Got the sealed barographs in place? All right. If we should really do something quite stunning, at the end of the flight we’ll submit results to the contesting committee of the governing organization at New York City.”
“A cross country flight as the crow flies!” cried Hiram. “It must be over three hundred and fifty miles. Dave, what do you expect?”
“If this cross wind doesn’t interfere, I calculate about three hours and thirty minutes.”
“Why, that would beat the Western record,” suggested Hiram, wonderingly.
“That’s what I am setting out to do,” answered the young airman quietly. “We are tanked up forty-six gallons, and enough oil to last us for a five hour run.”
The Ariel made three trips around the Midlothian grounds, and then struck her going level. The main plates of the machine were so arranged above the fuselage or framework, that pilot and observer had an almost unlimited range of vision. Dave experienced a sense of relief at leaving a spot where trouble seemed to menace them. Hiram comfortably belted in, had eyes open for everything. This was his second trip in the Ariel, and the novelty of the machine had not yet worn off for him.
There was a minor trial course outside the Midlothian grounds, given over to amateurs and non-eligibles. There both Dave and his chum noticed a good many ambitious airmen trying out their machines. Several of them set the Ariel a pace, but all but two of them soon fell behind. One of these, a full type Curtiss, held a fair follow-up at a distance.
“Looks as if it was headed for Chicago, too; that particular machine,” observed Hiram. “Do we follow the railroad, Dave?”
“It’s the clearest and best course, I think,” responded the pilot of the Ariel. “Did you leave word for our tramp friend, Borden?”
“Yes, with that accommodating fellow at the next hangar to ours. I left a little note telling him to wire us if he made any important discoveries. Say, Dave, do you suppose that fraud lieutenant will show up again?”
“I think we must be careful all along the line,” was the reply, delivered gravely. “That telegram showed that our old-time enemy, Vernon, is after us. The lieutenant, and undoubtedly the man whose picture Borden drew, are certainly working in the interest of Vernon.”
“But what can he be after?” persisted Hiram, in a nettled way because he could not probe the mystery.
“That will develop later,” answered the young air pilot. “To my way of thinking, and also that of Mr. Brackett, our enemy has offered his services to some contestant we do not yet know. Now we’ve picked up the railway. That will be our guide to our terminus.”
The biplane had been given a careful investigation and adjustment. Dave had driven onward and upward until they had attained an altitude of five hundred feet. Hiram had been watching a receding speck, the Curtiss machine, that seemed bent on their own course, when, turning, he touched Dave sharply on the shoulder, and called loudly above the throb of the motor:
“There’s a heavy cloud-bank ahead.”
“I see that,” spoke the pilot of the Ariel.
“It ends in a mean fog, earthward.”
“Yes, I notice that, too. I tell you, Hiram, we are safer up here, under the circumstances, than trying to get down. We’ll nose up to a still higher altitude and get above the clouds.”
“We’re nearly touching the seven thousand mark,” reported Hiram, a few minutes later. “It’s clear sailing ahead, though.”
Because of the maneuver just attempted, the two young airmen became mixed as to their course. For some time neither saw the earth again. Dave tried to allow for the same drift as before, but could only hope that he was steering in the right direction.
“There’s a change in the atmospheric conditions,” announced Dave’s assistant, after a while.
“Yes,” responded Dave, “there’s a storm raging below.”
“And ahead, too,” added Hiram.
“We’ve got to get above those newly formed clouds,” declared Dave, and he shot the machine still higher up.
“Dave!” cried his companion, “I never saw anything so beautiful! Isn’t this grand!”
It was, indeed, an unusual sight. Dazzling white clouds paved a seeming highway beneath them in every direction. Overhead the sun was shining brilliantly. The light reflected upon the cloud-mass was so intense that it affected the eyes as snow blindness would.
“It’s getting terribly cold!” Hiram remarked, shivering.
“Yes,” answered Dave, with a glance at the thermometer, “two degrees above freezing point,” and even through his leather suit he could feel the sharp and piercing cold. The wind above the clouds came straight from the north. Below it was blowing from the northwest. It was a wonderful sight about then, and it reminded the young aviator strongly of past experiences in the polar regions, while on his famous trip around the world. He did his best to keep a due east course, but had no landmarks to steer by, and he decided they must have drifted far to the south.
At last there were rifts in the clouds, which began breaking up, giving a sight of the ground.
“We’ve been up here nearly three hours,” announced Hiram, “and the gasoline is giving out.”
A slow glide brought them directly over a large farm. They made out great stacks of hay, and the Ariel settled down like a tired-out bird in the center of these fields.
“There’s a man – with a gun!” Hiram sharply exclaimed.
Dave, alighting, saw a farmer, of middle age. He, indeed, had a gun – but he set this, and a game bag, alongside a haystack, and advanced towards them with no indication of antagonism.
“That was a pretty slick landing,” he said. “No fire about your machine, is there?”
“None at all,” answered Dave. “I have shut off everything.”
“I was thinking of the haystacks,” explained the farmer. “You’ve got a fine machine there. I’ve seen some, they’re getting so common they often come out this way.”
“We have run out of gasoline,” said Dave. “Do you happen to have a supply?”
“I don’t, for a fact,” was the reply, “but I happen to know my nearest neighbor has. If you want to come up to the house, and wait a bit, I’ll send one of my men after it.”
“We need quite a quantity,” said Dave, “and will be glad to pay a good price.”
“A bite of something to eat wouldn’t come in amiss, either,” suggested Hiram.
“I reckon we can accommodate you in that particular,” said the farmer. “Make things snug, lads, and come up to the house.”
He led the way, chatting busily. Dave soon discovered that he was up-to-date, readily pleased with novelty, very inquisitive and hospitable in the extreme. He learned of the extent of the needs of his guests, and forthwith sent a hired man with a wagon over to the neighbor’s for gasoline. Then, as his visitors were comfortably seated on a screened porch, with chairs and a table on it, he left them for the kitchen of the house.
“The girl will fetch some victuals in a few minutes,” he advised the boys upon his return. “Sort of enjoyable, eating here in the air. Big meet out in Chicago, I understand?”
“Yes, we are going there,” said Dave, and from then on he was kept busy answering the questions “fired” at him rapidly by their curious host.
“I declare! that’s an interesting trade of yours,” he said. “But here’s the victuals. Sort of out of reg’lar meal-time order, but you’ll find it all right, I hope.”
Hiram was very hungry, and ate the cold roast beef, biscuits and fried potatoes served in plentitude, with the keen appetite of a hungry boy. Dave, too, enjoyed the palatable lunch.
“I suppose it’s a great bracer to get away up in the air,” observed the farmer. “Through, youngsters?”
“No. I say! – Why, where is that?” suddenly ejaculated Hiram.
He had leaped up unceremoniously from the table, and advanced to the end of the porch.
“Hear that chugging, Dave?” he inquired, peering up into the sky. “There’s a machine somewhere aloft. Oh, here’s the screen door! I want to look. There she is!” he shouted, once out in the yard, and staring upwards. “Dave, it’s the Curtiss we thought was taking up our course!”
“Then they’ve made as good time as we have,” called back Dave. “What now?” for Hiram had uttered a new cry of excitement.
“Why, I say!” he shouted. “That’s strange! It’s suddenly vanished!”
CHAPTER VIII
THE SECRET FOE
The young pilot of the Ariel was sufficiently interested to follow his assistant down into the yard. The farmer followed. Three pairs of eyes scanned the sky with no result.
“I say, it’s queer,” persisted Hiram, trying to get a new focus of view by running about out of range of surrounding trees and buildings.
“Mebbe they alighted behind the barn,” suggested the farmer.
“Then they pretty nearly came straight down,” declared Hiram.
“There’s a holler over beyond the orchard,” explained the farmer.
“I’m going to find out where they landed,” persisted Hiram, running away from the others.
He rounded the barn, a corn crib and then the windmill shed. He heard: “Chug – chug!” Keen as a ferret, the guiding sound spurred him on. Suddenly Hiram halted.
“There it is,” he said to himself. “They dropped, but they could not have touched the ground. Sure, it’s the Curtiss. Why – the vandals!”
In a flash the quick senses of Dashaway’s apprentice took the alarm. The antics of the Curtiss had been curious. Now something caught the attention of Hiram and awakened positive suspicion; alarm, too, for the strange machine arose from amid the haystacks where the Ariel had anchored.
“It means something,” muttered Hiram, resuming his run. “Fire!”
For an instant he was appalled. A smell of smoke was wafted to his nostrils. Then, getting in range of the haystacks, he caught a gleam of leaping flames. Rounding the first great heap of fodder, Hiram uttered an angry cry. The Curtiss was sailing away, and it was fully evident that its occupants had descended purposely to set a match to the enormous heaps of hay within ready reach.
“They were after our machine!” shouted the lad, and he snatched up the gun the farmer had left behind him. It was double-barreled. Hiram fired twice. He fancied he could hear the shots rattle against the planes of the fast-swaying biplane aloft. Its speed was not diminished, however. He threw down the gun and made a dive through a fire-fringed space between the two nearest haystacks.
The one further along, near which the Ariel stood, was now a mass of wispy, shooting blaze. Two others beyond it had also ignited. It was now that the lad ran fastest. His face was hot and blistered as he came up against the tail rudder of the imperiled machine with a force that gave him a rebound.
The smoke and the heat choked and blinded him. He bent his head and gave the running gear a start. He could not see before him now. With desperate resolve Hiram buckled down to his task. The aeroplane, upon which his hopes and interest were fixed so intensely, was in peril. He knew it was scorched, from the faint smell of melting varnish.
All he thought of was getting the Ariel outside the spreading circle of fire. He could choose no lanes between the numerous stacks, for the smoke now obscured everything. He had to trust to luck. Now he was running the machine along.
“The mischief!” uttered Hiram abruptly, and went spinning back half a dozen feet. He had driven the biplane squarely into an unseen stack. The rebound shook him loose. He stumbled and fell. Then his head met some hard solid substance and he closed his eyes with a groan – senseless.
It was the echo of the two shots that first aroused Dave Dashaway, who had stood looking after Hiram until he disappeared, and then awaited his return. The farmer had gone back to the porch, but now he ran down into the yard again with the words:
“Hello! that was my gun – I’d know its sound anywhere, I think.”
“Then something is wrong,” instantly decided Dave, quite stirred up. “I see nothing of the airship – ”
“No,” shouted the farmer, “but there’s a fire!”
The moment he got beyond the barn, Dave also saw the smoke and flames.
“My haystacks!” cried the farmer.
“The Ariel!” murmured Dave. “And there is the biplane Hiram saw. Mr. Rudd, there’s something wrong going on!” but the farmer was speeding towards the central scene of action. Dave broke into a run. He out-distanced his companion.
The stranger airship was now high up in the air, and heading due west. Dave could not make out those on board. He fancied there were two in the machine.
“Hiram! Hiram!” he shouted, and strained his gaze to try and locate the Ariel. A sudden flurry of wind lifted the smoke. Dave fancied he saw his machine. It was in the midst of the stacks and seemed doomed. Down a fire-fringed pathway he darted, however. Then, more by the sense of feeling than seeing, he came up against his sky-craft.
It was heroic work, for the heat was blistering, the smoke and cinders blinding. Dave discerned that the Ariel was wedged into the edge of a stack. He drew it back, whirled it about heading a new way, and bore it along with a strong push.
He gave a great breath of relief as it wheeled free of the last stack. He fairly reeled the last few yards of progress. Free of the fire, he held to the tail of the machine for support. Dave was exhausted, almost overcome with the ordeal he had gone through. His leather suit, however, had saved him from being badly burned. As it was, his hair was singed and his face and hands red and blistered.
“Where is Hiram?” he breathed anxiously. Then Dave called his chum’s name, steadied himself, and rubbed clear his cinder-filled eyes.
“Had a fall – stumbled right over your partner,” panted the farmer, and he emerged from the blazing space with unsteady feet.
“Why, what’s this?” cried Dave.
The farmer was half-carrying, half-dragging a human form. He flopped to the ground himself overcome, as he dropped his burden.
“Hiram!” exclaimed the young aviator, recognizing his senseless assistant.
“Lucky I found him,” panted the farmer. “He lay on the ground the way he is now. My feet hit him, and I took a header. If I hadn’t come across him, it would have been all day for him.”
Dave was now kneeling at the side of his unconscious chum. He lifted Hiram’s head. A damp spot met his hand. Then he discovered a long scalp wound, bleeding profusely. The farmer stood dumbly viewing the destruction going on. He was of a philosophical turn, it seemed, for finally shrugging his shoulders resignedly he observed:
“Lucky most of it is poor swamp hay. It’s got to go, I see that. Let it burn out, we can’t save any of it, and I reckon it won’t reach the sheds. Hurt bad?”
“I don’t think so,” replied Dave, but anxiously. “There’s a cut in the back of his head.”
“Mebbe he fell against one of the big stone weights used for holding down the hay. See here, he’s the first to think of. We must get him to the house.”
Dave was anxious to do this. They ran the Ariel safely out of range of danger. Then they lifted Hiram and carried him in the direction of the house. By this time some field workers, near by and on neighboring farms, came running to the spot. They got rakes and bags and beat out the dry stubble surrounding the stacks, which had become ignited.
They put Hiram on a bench near the well, and the farmer filled a pail, and wetting his big handkerchief applied it to the head of the insensible lad. Its effect was noticed at once.
“Hello!” cried Hiram, sitting up and opening his eyes. “Where did those rascals get to, Dave? Oh, I remember now!” Then his glance swept the blazing mass two hundred yards away. “Oh, Dave!” he exclaimed, the tears coming to his eyes. “I did what I could, but the Ariel is gone up!”
“No, ’tain’t – your partner saved it!” spoke the farmer quickly.
At that glad news Hiram struggled to his feet. He was wild-eyed and still unsteady, but his old grit was fast returning.
“Dave,” he cried, “don’t let them get away – the fellows in that big Curtiss, I mean. They set that fire!”
