The Flying Boys in the Sky

A dozen glanced in different directions. Could they have laid hands on the miscreant his life would not have been worth a moment’s purchase.

“I saw him hurrying down the street, right after the flying machine left,” explained a large boy on the edge of the crowd.

“Where was he going?” demanded the first speaker.

“I didn’t ask him and I don’t ’spose he’d told if I had.”

“But you’ve got one of ’em?” said another man to Harvey.

“Yes; one was killed by the explosion, but the other wasn’t hurt to any extent.”

“Where is he?”

“Safely bound in the house of Uncle Tommy Waters.”

Uncle Tommy was in the group, somewhat back, chewing hard and listening to the absorbing relation. He had not yet spoken, but did not allow a word to escape him. The instant the last remark was made, he stopped chewing, pushed nearer the young aviator and asked:

“Did you say he’s in my house?”

“Yes, bound fast in a chair and under the watchful eye of your wife.”

“Do you mean to tell me that consarned critter is a-settin’ in my parlor this minute and talking love to Betsey?” roared the wrathful Uncle Tommy, in a still higher voice.

“I don’t think he is trying to make love to your wife; if he does, she has the poker at hand and she told me she would use it if he gave her the least excuse.”

The weather prophet boiled over. Ignoring the youth who had given the infuriating news, he addressed the crowd:

“Do you hear that, folks? That limb of Satan is a-settin’ in my front parlor and Betsey hasn’t any one with her! It’s the most outrageous outrage that was ever outraged. Do you ’spose I’m goin’ to stand it?”

“What will you do about it?” asked a neighbor tauntingly.

“What will I do ’bout it? I’ll show him. He’s one of the varmints that stole that sweet innercent child. Let’s lynch him!”

The proposal struck fire on the instant. Nothing is so excitable as an American crowd, and an impetuous leader can do anything with it. A dozen voices shouted:

“That’s it! lynch him! lynch him! come on, boys! we’re together in this.”

The last words were uttered by a tall, middle-aged farmer without coat or vest. He had a clear, ringing voice, as if born to command. In a twinkling he was at the head of the swarm which was increasing in numbers every minute, with every one ardent to carry out the startling proposal first made by Uncle Tommy Waters.

Harvey Hamilton was alarmed. It has been shown that he had not a shadow of sympathy for the criminal, who was bound in the cabin of the weather prophet, but he knew the detective’s sentiments. He had left the prisoner behind in order to save him from the very fate that now threatened, and which had been precipitated by the truth the youth saw no way of holding back from them.

Standing beside his silent machine, Harvey shouted:

“You mustn’t do that! It is contrary to law; the courts will punish him; leave him to them!”

“Yes,” sneered the leader, halting long enough to exchange a few words; “he won’t be in jail more than three months when he’ll be pardoned or they’ll let him out on parole; it’ll cost money to convict him and we’ll save the State the expense.”

“You are mistaken; there is too much resentment over this Black Hand business to show any mercy to the criminals.”

“That’s what’s the matter with this crowd; come on, boys!”

The mob was moving off, when Detective Pendar, still holding the hand of Grace Hastings, came hurrying from the street to the front of the hotel. He read the meaning of what he heard and saw, and raised his hand for attention.

“I appreciate your feelings, my friends, but you mustn’t stain the fair name of Pennsylvania by such an illegal deed as you have in mind. The law will punish these men. Here is the little child, and you can see she has not been harmed in the least.”

It was an unfortunate appeal. The sight of the frightened girl and the knowledge that she was the victim of a most cruel wrong, roused the fury of the men to a white heat. The protesting detective was swept aside like chaff, and the whole party broke into a run for the home of Uncle Tommy Waters, with the weather prophet himself in the lead.

CHAPTER XXXII

MYSTERIES ARE EXPLAINED

If the wrathful Uncle Tommy Waters could have looked in upon his home at the time Harvey Hamilton was telling his story, he would have seen there was no ground for misgiving so far as the partner of his joys was concerned.

A muscular woman, with a big iron poker in hand, a massive dog nosing about the house and ready at instant call, surely had little to fear from a man whose wrists were encircled by steel bracelets and who was swathed like a mummy in a network of rope, no matter how sinister his mood might be. She, too, had heard from her husband the story of the kidnapping of little Grace Hastings, and having a child of her own of about the same age, she gave it as her honest opinion that every one of the criminals should be burned at the stake, thrown head first into a well, tumbled over the highest precipice in the world, and then left to perish with cold in the region discovered by Commander Peary and not discovered by Dr. Cook.

When she found herself alone with the horrible villain, she told Peggy to go outside and play with the dog, while she had a little talk with the prisoner.

She seated herself a couple of paces in front of him, and looking piercingly into his glittering black eyes, demanded in a low, ominous voice:

“Now, what do you think of yourself? Don’t speak a word or I’ll bang you with this poker,” and she raised the stiff rod threateningly.

Understanding what was said to him, the prisoner prudently held his peace.

“I asked you what you thought of yourself. What oughter be done with a scamp that steals a little child from its father and mother? Hanging is too good for him. Ain’t you ashamed? Look out! Don’t you dare open your mouth!”

And again the primitive weapon was brandished close to the captive’s crown, whose shaggy wealth of hair could not have shielded it had the poker descended.

“You ask me what I think,” finally blurted Pierotti in desperation; “you say you strike if I open mouth; I think you are mighty big fool, – that’s what I think – now you know.”

As the Italian sat he faced the open door, toward which the back of the woman was turned. While striving to grasp the meaning of the broken sentences, she saw from the expression of the impish countenance that he was looking at some one behind her. She whirled about, and almost fell from her chair, for standing in the doorway was a second member of the Black Hand, in the person of Amasi Catozzi, who had been slightly wounded by the revolver of Detective Pendar.

This criminal, quick to read the meaning of the departure of the officer with the young aviator, in an outburst of uncontrollable passion fired at him, and then made all haste to the headquarters in the woods, whither his companion had preceded him. He was still running when the explosion told its horrifying story. He knew what had taken place as well as if he had been an eyewitness, with the exception of the personal results to his two associates. With a raging chagrin which no one can comprehend, he saw that the princely ransom which he had felt in the itching palm of his hand had slipped away forever. All that remained to him was to save his own neck, as well as that of the survivors, if so be there were any, provided he could bring about such a consummation without adding to his own peril.

Skilfully keeping out of sight in the wood, he saw Alessandro Pierotti handcuffed and driven to the cabin as a prisoner. Catozzi would have felt a gleeful delight in shooting the man with whom he had already exchanged shots, but to do that would have intensified his own danger, since it would have added ardor to the efforts to run him to earth. The certain result of such disaster would be a verdict of murder, when kidnapping at most involved only a sentence to a long term of imprisonment, with the cheering prospect of a speedy pardon in the background, or a release upon parole, and the opportunity to resume his atrocious misdeeds. Consequently, Catozzi did not interfere during the first part of the proceedings.

As stealthily as a red Indian he peered out from the depth of the forest. Waiting until the detective and child accompanied the young aviator in his flight to Chesterton and were gone long enough for him to feel no fear of their return, he went forward and presented himself in the door while the pointed and somewhat one-sided conversation was going on between Mrs. Waters and the bound prisoner in the chair.

It would have pleased the new arrival to give the woman her final quietus, but he was restrained by the same knowledge that stayed his hand when he might have shot Simmons Pendar. She was so terrified that she could only stare in a daze at Catozzi, with a limp grasp upon the simple weapon in her hand. She would have begged for mercy had she not quickly seen that it was not necessary. The Italian merely glanced at her, and striding forward to the chair, speedily cut the thongs and the prisoner rose to his feet. The loosening of the handcuffs would require more time and could wait. The two talked briefly in their own language. Pierotti indulged in the luxury of a hideous grimace at the woman as he was following his companion out of the door and across the clearing to the forest, into which they plunged and were immediately lost to sight.

This explanation will make clear the disappointment of the mob which swarmed out of the wood soon afterward, with the panting Uncle Tommy still at the head, and the worried detective beside him. He had turned over the care of Grace Hastings to Harvey Hamilton, who remained behind at Chesterton. In his flurry and eagerness Uncle Tommy caught the toe of his boot at the threshold and sprawled on his hands and knees into the “parlor” of his residence.

“Is my lamb safe?” he asked, scrambling to his feet and gazing at the pudgy figure still seated and maintaining a somewhat stronger grip upon the poker.

“You old simpleton! Why don’t you clean your boots?” was the loving response of his life partner, who quickly regained her natural disposition when she saw that all danger had gone by.

Her story was quickly told. The disappointment to all, except the detective, was keen, and his feelings were solely due to his respect for law and order. Uncle Tommy was asked whether his dog could not take the scent of the two fugitives and run them down, but the weather prophet replied that the canine wasn’t worth a shoestring for such work.

“You never will be able to find the couple in the woods,” said Pendar; “there are too many hiding places; they can dodge you for weeks; the only course is for us to return to Chesterton at once, and for me to telegraph to all the surrounding towns, asking the authorities to be on the lookout for them. They will have to leave the woods sooner or later and there is a fair chance of catching both.”