The Flying Boys in the Sky

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,” reflected Harvey; “I can’t imagine who he is or what news he will bring, but I shall learn in due time.”

A half hour later, while the two were seated side by side, occasionally making a guess as to what it all meant, which guess both knew was wide of the mark, Bohunkus said:

“Seems to me dem folks out dere am looking at something.”

Excitement was fast spreading through the town. Groups stood on the corners, halted in the middle of the street and at every coign of advantage. All were peering into the sky, where some object attracted their attention. Naturally Harvey and Bohunkus rose from their seats and passed out to the front where their view was clear.

“Gee! it am anoder airyplane!” exclaimed the negro.

“You are right; they seem to be growing plentiful in this part of the world.”

“Wonder if it am de Perfesser.”

Harvey whipped his binoculars around and leveled them at the object, whose outstretched wings identified it as one of the most modern ships of the air. A brief scrutiny showed that it was not the extraordinary invention of that extraordinary man who had crossed their path more than once. It was a biplane, and though still a considerable distance away the noise of its motor was audible. It was traveling fast and heading for the little town of Groveton.

It was evident that whoever was guiding the aerial craft was an expert. Harvey saw that it carried only the operator, who described a large circle over the town at a height of nearly a thousand feet and then began descending.

“He’s gwine to land here!” exclaimed Bunk.

“And has picked out his spot,” added Harvey.

Such proved to be the fact. There was a broad, open space in front of the Rawlins House, where a large number of teams could find room, the area being such as to offer an ideal spot for the landing of an aeroplane. The aviator, who was now seen to be a youth not much if any older than Harvey himself, guided his machine with consummate skill, and lightly touched the ground within fifty feet of where our young friends and half a hundred others were standing. The aeroplane ran a few yards on its wheels, and then came to a halt. The young man stepped lightly to the ground and smilingly greeted the crowd. His next words were:

“I am looking for Harvey Hamilton and his colored companion.”

“Dat’s us,” whispered the startled Bohunkus.

Harvey stepped forward.

“That is my name; what do you wish with me?”

“I have orders to hand over this biplane to you.”

“To me!” repeated Harvey, who felt as if wonders would never cease; “why to me?”

“Your father, Mr. Gabriel Hamilton, ordered it by telegraph to be sent here this morning. I understand your machine has been wrecked.”

“It has, but how did you learn it?”

The handsome youth smiled as he offered his hand.

“I am Paul Mitchell, from Garden City; we received a telegram from your father this morning asking us to send a biplane to you at once, as yours had been knocked out of commission. We happened to have one ready and I started right off and have made pretty good time to this spot in Pennsylvania.”

“I should say you had, for it is several hundred miles from Long Island; but how in the name of the seven wonders did father come to know of my mishap?”

Young Mitchell laughed.

“He gave no explanation, but some one must have told him.”

“Who could it have been?”

“I give it up.”

“Were you asked to come to Groveton?”

“No; Chesterton was given as the place where your misfortune overtook you. Since I did not know the particulars, our folks thought it best I should meet you at some point not far from there. In replying to your father’s telegram, I stated this, which explains why he repeated the name to you.”

“But not where he got his knowledge.”

“Let that question go till you meet him, when he will make it clear. What caused the breakage of your machine?”

“Somebody chopped it up; it was done in spite.”

“Did you catch the scoundrel?”

“Catch him! no; nobody knows where he is.”

“Well, such things happen and it is all a part of the game. Suppose we go to Chesterton, and have a look at the remains; there must be some salvage which I can ship to the factory. How about the engine?”

“It is battered, but must be worth repairing.”

“If you and your friend will seat yourselves, I shall have you there in a jiffy.”

Bohunkus and Harvey climbed into the seat and adjusted themselves. Young Mitchell examined the different parts of the biplane, which was an almost exact replica of the one that had been wrecked, and then took charge of the business. At his request one of the bystanders swung the blades of the propeller around so as to start the motor, and several held on until the tugging almost drew them off their feet. Then they let go, and away sailed the second machine for Chesterton.

CHAPTER XXI

BEGINNING THE SEARCH

There certainly had been lively work, for within six hours after the discovery of the destroyed aeroplane, a message had been sent from New York to Garden City, Long Island, a machine despatched from that point to the little town among the Alleghanies in eastern Pennsylvania, and an aerial ship had sailed across the State of New Jersey to the destination more than two hundred miles from its starting point. When and by what means the merchant had learned of the straits of his son could not as yet be guessed, but the news must have been waiting when he reached his office in the city, since young Mitchell said it was received at the factory between eight and nine o’clock that morning. The flight to Groveton was made in about four hours, with a brief halt on the way to replenish the supply of gasoline. Traveling at the rate of fifty miles an hour and sometimes faster was surely “going some.”

As Mitchell afterward explained, he had visited the section twice, and was familiar with it. He lost no time, therefore, in groping, but recognized rivers, cities, towns, and the general conformation of the country over which he glided, and identified Groveton long before any one there dreamed he intended to make a call.

Harvey glanced at the little watch on his wrist, and noted the exact time of starting. Eleven minutes later to the second, he volplaned into the open space in front of the hotel. Although the distance passed was less than by rail, he must have averaged nearly if not quite a mile a minute.

The lesson of the “accident” to the other machine was not lost upon the two young men. It was hardly to be supposed that any one would try to harm the new one, but Bohunkus was ordered to stay with it and see that all hands were kept off.

“Yo’ bet I will,” he replied, fully alive to his duty; “de fust chap dat lays an onkind hand on dis pet will git broke in ’leben pieces and den flung ober de fence.”