The Flying Boys in the Sky

“But we hain’t done wid him yit,” said Bunk; “he’s got his eye on us, for if he hadn’t why am he hangin’ round de country, bobbin’ up when we ain’t lookin’ fur him? He’ll find out where we’re gwine to stay to-night and den he’ll get a new axe as big as de side ob a house and smash dis machine wuss dan de oder. De Perfesser am mighty sly and I doan’ like him; I wish he’d take a shine to some oder part ob de world.”

Having surmounted the ridge, Harvey sailed ten or more miles to the northward and descended at a town containing probably ten thousand population. There he renewed his supply of gasoline and oil, and halted for an hour or so, when he was prepared to return to Chesterton. While he and Bohunkus were seated apart from the others at the hotel, the colored youth gave voice to his dissatisfaction.

“What’s de use ob hangin’ round dis part ob de country, Harv? How many times do yo’ expect to go to Chesterton?”

“I have some business there to attend to. When that is finished, we can travel as far as you wish in any direction.”

“Why can’t we go to Afriky?” was the astounding question.

Harvey laughed.

“Why, Bunk, that is thousands of miles off. We should have to cross the Atlantic Ocean.”

“What’s to hender doing dat?”

“You know we have to renew our supply of gasoline and oil every few hours. Can you tell me how it is possible to do it when hundreds of miles from land? We spoke of this before.”

“Don’t de ships and steamboats carry de stuff?”

“If we could count upon meeting one of them when needed, we might get on, but when father and I crossed the ocean, we passed days at a time without seeing a sail.”

“Hang a boat on to de bottom of dis keer and paddle till we run agin a ship.”

“Drive that wild idea out of your head, Bunk. I don’t doubt that you and I shall live to see the day when aeroplanes will make regular trips between the continents, but we must wait till that time comes.”

“Doan’ yo’ spose Perfesser Morgan can doot?”

“He has made so many wonderful inventions, he may be the first to succeed. When he does, we shall hear of it.”

Bohunkus was silent for a minute or so. If his friend had imagined what wild freak had entered the lad’s brain, he would have made all haste to root it out, but unfortunately he did not dream of anything of the kind.

The next query of Bunk was more startling to Harvey than anything that had gone before.

“Harv, did yo’ see dat little girl?”

“What do you mean?” demanded the other sharply.

“When we was sailing ober dem woods, after we’d left Chesterton.”

“I saw no little girl; did you?”

“Sartinously; yo’ doan’ forgot dat cabin down among the trees where a small creek runs in front ob it.”

This was unquestionably the place in which Harvey had been so much interested. He had not observed a living person near it, while his dusky companion had seen the very person that was in many minds.

“I saw the old house and the smoke coming out of the chimney, but did not catch sight of a man, woman or child. Tell me how it was with you.”

“Nuffin ’ticular; we’d got a little way beyont and you wasn’t looking back when I took a notion to turn my head. Dere warn’t any man or woman in sight, but a little gal was standin’ in front ob de door, a wavin’ her handkerchief at me. I took off my cap and swinged it at her, but we was too fur off and de ingine made too much noise for us to hold a conwersation.”

“This is very interesting, Bunk.”

Remembering the instructions of Detective Pendar, Harvey gave no hint of why he felt so much concern over what had just been told him. The slow wits of Bohunkus were likely to cause trouble and probably defeat the delicate plans which the officer of the law had in mind. What the colored youth had told removed the last vestige of doubt from the young aviator as to the identity of the cabin of which he had caught a passing glimpse. He felt certain that the little girl whom Bohunkus saw and with whom he exchanged salutations was Grace Hastings, kidnapped weeks before, and for whose recovery her father was spending a fortune. Harvey knew the exact spot where she was a prisoner and could direct the detective unerringly to it. He was eager to do so, for his heart was enlisted in the sacred task.

In his desire to do something effective, Harvey was on the point of setting out again with his aeroplane and taking a course that would lead him over the cabin in the clearing. He wished to gain another view of it, and particularly of the child whose absence had plunged her parents in anguish more poignant than if they had looked upon her pale innocent face in death.

But the youth was impressed with the necessity of using the utmost care with every step he took. If he sailed over the cabin again, the fact was likely to be noticed by the men in the structure. If they had not already observed the aeroplane, they had learned of its flight from the chatter of the young captive, and should it return within a few hours would mean something out of the ordinary. It would cause a change of quarters at once and place the recovery of the child beyond attainment.

“There is only one safe thing for me to do,” was his decision; “I must take so roundabout course to Chesterton that no one in the cabin will know of it. I shall wait in the town till I can have a talk with Pendar. I have done all he asked of me and from this point forward, under heaven everything depends upon him.”

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CABIN IN THE WOODS

Twilight had come when Harvey Hamilton, with Bohunkus Johnson seated behind him, descended in the same spot in Chesterton that he had used upon his disastrous visit of the night before. A similar crowd greeted him, and he hired several of their number to drag the aeroplane to the primitive hangar in which the wrecked one had been sheltered.

He learned that Paul Mitchell had shipped the engine and other valuable parts to Garden City, while the shattered framework had been piled to one side to serve as kindling wood for the hotel. Thus vanished one aeroplane to be succeeded speedily by another. Harvey announced that he intended to stay until the morrow. He first engaged two reliable men, upon the recommendation of the landlord, to stay by the machine all night, with instructions to challenge any one who approached and to shoot if necessary.

“We’ll likely shoot first and challenge afterward,” remarked one with a grin; “I only hope the same fellow will try his hand on this that splintered t’other one.”

Nine guests were at supper, that being the name of the meal which was served at the close of the day. One of them was Simmons Pendar, who hardly glanced in the direction of Harvey Hamilton seated opposite. The youth made no attempt to catch his eye, though aware that the detective glanced at him several times. When certain the action would be observed, the young aviator committed a breach of decorum by deliberately scratching his head with one hand. While this was not the precise telegram that had been agreed upon the night before, it was sufficiently to the point, and Harvey was confident it had accomplished its purpose.

The two lads lingered at the table after Pendar and most of the others had left the dining hall. Then they strolled outside on the porch, where by that time the full moon was shining in an unclouded sky. The air was so balmy and soft that few lingered indoors. The gas had been lighted in the sitting-room to which Harvey sauntered, and mosquitoes and other insects hovered in the glare. Three men were seated in lounging positions, one smoking a cigarette, while the others nodded as if yielding to drowsiness. Harvey identified two as having been present when the bit of paper was flipped upon the pad he was using for his crude sketches. The three looked like drummers, but a couple were distinctively foreign in appearance. One had a black curled mustache, with eyes and hair of midnight hue, a second was almost as dark, while the third was an unmistakable blond. They appeared to be unacquainted with one another, but Harvey was almost certain that two if not the three were the men who were watching Pendar while he in turn was keeping them under scrutiny. The officer, however, was nowhere to be seen and the youth did not think it prudent to make any search for him.

“I think I’ll go to my room,” he remarked, rising to his feet with a yawn; “we have had a pretty strenuous day and shall want to leave early to-morrow.”

“All right,” grunted Bohunkus; “I feels sorter sleepy myself, and if dese blamed ’skeeters don’t lebe me alone I’ll tumble into bed likewise.”

As Harvey passed out of the door, he carelessly lifted his cap and scratched his head, thus making the full signal previously arranged. He still failed to see the detective and doubted whether he was near.

The youth did not light the gas in his room, though he lacked the pretext of wishing to keep out the insects, since each window was furnished with a screen. He sat down and listened.

Fifteen minutes later, without the slightest preliminary warning, a soft, almost inaudible tap sounded on the door. He drew it noiselessly inward, and recognized the form of Detective Pendar against the soft yellow background. Neither spoke at first. The caller shoved the door shut and with extreme care turned the key. Then he whispered:

“Let’s take the other side of the room.”

Carrying their chairs thither they placed them side by side. Enough illumination came through the transom for them dimly to discern each other.

“You caught on at the table?” remarked Harvey inquiringly.

“Of course; I noticed your signal, too, when you walked out of the sitting-room.”

“Where were you?”

“On the porch, with my eyes on you. I knew you wished to speak with me, but I preferred first to receive your notice.”

“I caught your wink to-day when about to start off with my new machine, but I couldn’t guess what you meant.”

“I meant nothing except to wish you good luck; of course I was aware what you had set out to do and I shall be glad to know what success you met.”