The Flying Boys in the Sky

“The next time you want to try your hand,” said the angry Harvey, “I’ll put you in charge of a clam wagon.”

Bohunkus Johnson and Harvey Hamilton having been playmates from young childhood, had indulged in the usual number of “spats” natural to such a relation. They were fond of each other and the colored youth as a rule accepted the criticisms of his friend with good nature; but in the present instance the reproof given him was made in the presence of fully a score of men and boys and was heard by all of them. Several grinned, and had not nature made it impossible, Bunk would have flushed with resentment. As it was, he could not accept the slur with meekness.

“I done as well as yo’ could yo’self. Yo’ told me of I seed a cabin I was to shoot down and knock de chimbly off, and den when I started to do so, yo’ let out a howl dat nearly knocked my cap off. De next time yo’ can ’tend to things yo’self.”

“You may be mighty sure I shall; the wonder is that you didn’t smash this machine worse than the other one.”

“I wouldn’t keer if I did,” replied Bunk, stepping from his seat and striding off. He paused long enough to call back:

“I’m done trabeling wid yo’; I like to hab folks ’preciate what’s done for ’em, which is what yo’ never did.”

“The best thing you can do, Bunk, is to sail for Africa and make a visit to Chief Foozleum.”

Harvey laughed when he made this remark, for he never could feel angry for more than a few minutes with the faithful fellow, and he knew his resentment would soon cool. It did not occur to him that the colored youth’s grievance was due to the tantalizing enjoyment of the auditors. Had they been elsewhere, he would have brushed the criticism aside like so much thistle down, but he could not stand the ridicule of strangers.

“Dat’s what I’ll do,” replied Bunk in response to the absurd counsel of the other.

“All right; bring me back an elephant.”

Bunk had learned that in a verbal duel with Harvey he was always sure to get the worst of it, and he did not venture any reply to the last remark. With an angry sniff he stalked to the porch, dropped into one of the chairs there, crossed his legs and scowlingly watched the actions of his old friend.

Little did Harvey Hamilton dream what the result would be of this brief and somewhat hot exchange of words.

Convinced that the angry fellow would speedily regain his natural good humor, Harvey gave him no further thought. He made a careful examination of his aeroplane, and was relieved to find, so far as he could discover, that it had suffered no harm and was as good as ever.

He was anxious now to meet Detective Pendar, for he had important news for him, but the man was nowhere in sight nor could the youth tell where to look for him.

CHAPTER XXVIII

FIRED ON BY THE KIDNAPPERS

When glancing around in quest of Detective Pendar, Harvey Hamilton failed to look behind him. Some one touched his shoulder, as he stood beside his aeroplane. Glancing back, there was his man.

The time for them to be strangers to each other had passed. Pendar asked crisply:

“How did you make out?”

“I found the spot.”

“Certain there is no mistake about it?”

“I saw the little girl herself; we have located her.”

“Can you take me thither?”

“Yes, but I can’t land; there isn’t enough space.”

“Let me down in front of Uncle Tommy’s home; it isn’t far off.”

“All right; take your seat; I’ll have you there in a jiffy. I didn’t see either of those men.”

“There’s one of them now on the edge of the crowd, toward the porch of the hotel.”

While the detective was seating himself, the young aviator looked in the direction indicated. The Italian, Amasi Catozzi, was standing a little apart from the others, watching the couple as a cat watches a mouse which she expects to come within reach of her claws the next moment. Dressed in a gray, natty suit and slouch hat, he kept his hands in the pockets of his coat, which was buttoned to his gaudy necktie.

The hurried words between the man and boy must have told the truth to the Black Hander. The individual whom he had accepted as a commercial traveler was a professional detective, whose search for the kidnapped child had brought him to this country town and very near the spot where she was held a prisoner. He must have believed, too, that the aeroplane had come thither, not accidentally, but to play an assigned part in the drama. The prospect of the whole daring scheme being brought to naught filled the miscreant with unrestrainable rage. He stood for a moment like a statue, his swarthy face aflame with passion. Then he took several hasty steps forward as if to interfere. The propeller of the biplane was revolving faster and faster, and it began gliding down the moderate slope, preparatory to leaping upward from the earth. Harvey, with hands and feet busy, gave his whole attention to the task, but the shrewd Pendar rightly suspected they were not yet through with the wretch who strode toward them.

The machine was in the act of leaving the ground when Catozzi’s right hand was jerked out of his coat pocket. Leveling a revolver, he blazed away twice in rapid succession at the detective. The latter had turned in his seat so as to face him, and was barely a second behind him in returning the shot.

The couple were not fifty feet apart when this interchange took place. The Italian was an expert with firearms and had he not been incited by so consuming a passion, he assuredly would have got his man. He missed by a hair’s breadth, but the cool Simmons Pendar did better. He saw his enemy’s body twitch, the Italian staggered backward a couple of paces, and the pistol dropped from his grasp.

The detective knew, however, that he had only winged him. In truth he had not tried to kill but only to wound, and he succeeded. In that moment Pendar, who generally held himself well in hand, felt such a thrill of anger that he determined to end the wretch’s power for evil forever. He sighted his weapon with the utmost care, and had the conditions been favorable, he assuredly would have scored a “bull’s eye,” but it must be remembered that the aeroplane was in action, and already in the air, heading westward and going at a speed of thirty or forty miles an hour.

Moreover, Bohunkus Johnson at this point got into the game. He had seated himself, as we remember, on the porch and was sulking over the reproof of Harvey Hamilton. Now when he saw him going off without him, he sprang to his feet; leaped down the few steps, dashed forward and shouted:

“Hold on, Harv! Yo’ve forgot something!”

But his friend could not wait for him. In the racket made by the motor, he heard nothing, and, if he had caught the words he would have paid no heed. Far more weighty matters claimed his undivided efforts. The action of the colored youth, however, brought him in direct line with the Italian, and the fast receding detective dared not fire because of the danger of hitting the negro or some member of the group of staring spectators.

The incidents described took so brief a time that no one who witnessed them understood what had taken place until all was ended. Certainly they could not have dreamed of its meaning. Why the drummer seated behind the young aviator should turn about and exchange shots with another man who seemed also to be a drummer, was more than any person could figure out, unless he laid it to bitter business rivalry.

Conversation between Harvey Hamilton and Detective Pendar was impossible, nor was it necessary. The few sentences spoken were sufficient, though had there been the opportunity, the man would have asked for more particulars. Although on this warm summer day he wore no top coat, he carried two pairs of patent handcuffs, and his weapon still held four charges, which no man in the world better knew how to utilize. He would have been very glad to stand up in front of the raging Catozzi with both their revolvers cracking and only a few paces between them, but the time had not yet come for a duel of that kind. He gave his intensest attention to what was before him while Harvey Hamilton was equally resolute with his duty.

Catozzi was not hit so hard as he thought when the twinge first thrilled his shoulder. The bullet of the detective inflicted only a flesh wound, and the man rallied instantly from the shock. He recovered his weapon and for a minute watched the aeroplane speeding away like an enormous bird. Then he noted that its line of flight was directly over the spot. Not a vestige of doubt remained as to what this meant.

The landlord had come out on the porch during the stirring incidents and now approached the Italian.

“What the mischief did that man mean by shooting at you? Did he hurt you bad?”

“No, no, no,” replied Catozzi, who despite the fact that a crimson stain was beginning to show on his upper arm angrily added:

“I am not hurt; don’t bother me.”

He set off down the street, taking the direction followed by the detective the night before. He walked fast until he reached the beginning of the path which led to the home of the ancient weather prophet. There he turned off and his pace became almost a run. He needed no one to tell him the desperate need of haste.

He had gone only half way when he left the main path and followed a faintly marked trail, – so dimly indicated indeed that any person not keen sighted or looking for something of the kind would have missed it altogether.

Meanwhile Harvey Hamilton was attending strictly to business. Directly south of the tumble-down home of Uncle Tommy Waters, and less than an eighth of a mile away, stood a smaller and more dilapidated cabin, with no signs of cultivation about it. It seemed wedged among a mass of rocks and stones, which formed a part of the structure. One side was wholly composed of rocks. Surveying the miserable shanty, one would have concluded that it had never been used as a permanent dwelling, but might have been flung into shape by a party of hunters who, visiting that section, had aimed to provide against sudden storm and preferred to sleep there rather than at any house or in the town.

When the aeroplane was skimming over this unattractive spot, Harvey turned his head and, meeting the glance of the detective, nodded. The gesture said: “That’s the place,” and the answering nod indicated that the man understood.

What it was that had told the young aviator the startling truth was more than his companion could guess, for, search as he might, he could not detect the first sign of life below them. There was the gray pile of boards and rails, which looked as if they had been tossed among the boulders by a cyclone, but nothing else met the eye. All the same, the youth had not been mistaken.

Had not the interest of the two been centered upon what was beneath them, they would have made an interesting discovery. Less than a mile distant, a monoplane, as close to the earth as their own, was bearing down upon them. One glance would have made known to our friends that it was the well remembered Dragon of the Skies. There could be no doubt that its owner, Professor Milo Morgan, was on his way to take part in the game. But that interesting fact was not learned until a brief while later.

Having shown his companion the cabin he had sought so long, Harvey Hamilton shot beyond it, and circled about until over the clearing in front of Uncle Tommy Waters’ home, when he began descending by means of the spiral, that picturesque and graceful manœuver, always attended with peril, as was shown on the last day of the year 1910, when the daring aviator Arch Hoxsey was killed at Los Angeles and John B. Moisant met his death at New Orleans.

It will be remembered that the biplane was at an elevation of not more than five hundred feet when he began to volplane. The forenoon was clear, and radiant with sunshine. There was no breeze except that which was caused by the motion of the aeroplane. Harvey had excellent control, and was confident of coming down at the spot selected, when, without the slightest warning, he was caught in the fierce grip of an eddy, whirlpool or pocket, or whatever it might be called, and tossed about as if he were a feather. The ailerons fluttered and the machine lurched like a mortally wounded bird, frantically trying to hold its place in the air. Recalling the instructions of Professor Sperbeck, Harvey did not run away from the startling flurry, but plunged straight into it. It was another illustration of the peril to which all aviators are exposed, of being caught at any unexpected moment by the currents that must always be invisible.