The Boy Aviators in Record Flight; Or, The Rival Aeroplane

“Then take that,” cried Barr, in a cruel tone.

The horrified boys saw him lunge forward with the red-hot iron. His victim gave a loud cry of pain as he felt the red-hot metal approach his eyes to burn them out; but even as Barr raised his arm Frank had decided what to do.

“Stop that!” he cried in a loud, clear voice.

As Frank had expected, this sudden interruption so startled the miscreants that they at once left their victim and started for the door. As they rushed toward the portal, Frank, with a cry of “Come on,” leaped through the window frame, from which the glass sash had long ago been broken, and followed by the others, was in the room the next instant.

“Quick, Harry; cut him loose,” he ordered, handing the other boy a big hunting knife.

It was only the work of a few seconds to free the man. But before the ropes had fallen from him Luther Barr and the two other men had rushed back from the door and made a dash at the boys.

“Stay where you are, Mr. Barr,” said Frank, leveling his revolver; “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“What, you interfering whelps, have you crossed my path again?” shouted Barr, who had recognized the boys instantly. “This time I’ll fix you for interfering with my plans.”

He suddenly whipped out a revolver and fired point-blank at Frank. The bullet whistled past the boy’s ears and buried itself behind him.

The next instant the room was plunged into sudden darkness. One of Luther Barr’s companions, in stepping backward to get a rifle that leaned against the wall, had knocked the light over.

“Quick, boys, run for the auto,” shouted Frank, taking advantage of this sudden diversion.

Before the others could recover their wits, the boys, half dragging the man they had rescued with them, reached the door, and the next minute were in their auto.

“Shoot at their tires,” they heard old Barr shout, as they whizzed off down the road.

A shower of bullets followed, some of which struck the tonneau. But none of the missiles, fortunately, either wounded them or hit the tires, in which latter case they would have had to come to a standstill.

Frank put on full speed, and with the start they already had they soon outdistanced the auto which held Barr and his two companions. It followed them for a short distance, however, old Barr shouting maledictions after them.

“Oh, how can I ever thank you boys?” exclaimed the rescued man, as he gratefully clasped Frank’s arm. “That terrible man, Luther Barr, would certainly have blinded, and perhaps killed me, if you had not arrived in time.”

“How did you come to get in his power?” asked Frank.

“It is a long story, young man, and begins in Arizona,” said the stranger; “but first, I must tell you my name is Bart Witherbee, and I am well known in the West as a prospector. I located a valuable mine, which seems abandoned, some time ago in the northern part of the state, and I have managed to keep the location a secret till I can file a formal claim to it. In some way the two men whom you saw with Barr to-night, and who are Hank Higgins and Noggy Wilkes, two bad men, and gamblers, heard of this. They formerly worked for Barr, who has mining property in Arizona. When they learned I was coming to New York to see my daughter, they came along, too, and informed Barr of what they knew about the valuable mine I had found. At that time I did not know Barr, and by these two men was tricked into meeting him on the pretense that he had some real estate he was willing to trade for mines in Arizona. I have other claims beside the one I located recently, and I thought I might trade one of them for some of Barr’s property in the East.

“You can imagine my consternation when we arrived out here to find myself in the hands of Hank Higgins and Noggy Wilkes. I tried to run, but they caught and tied me, and, as you saw, would have either killed me or maimed me for life if you hadn’t saved me.”

“What part of Arizona is your mine in?” asked Harry, deeply interested, as they all were, in the man’s narrative.

“It is near to a place called Calabazos, in the northern part of the state near the Black Cañon,” replied the man. “I want to let you boys have a share of it for what you have done for me to-night. It would be only a slight return.”

“Why, we are going near to Calabazos,” exclaimed Billy. “I noticed it on the map. It’s near the Black Cañon.”

“That’s right, young feller,” said the miner; “but what are you tenderfoots going to do out there?”

Frank explained about the transcontinental flight.

“Wow,” cried the westerner, “that’s going some, for fair. Well, boys, I’m going to get on the fastest train I can and get back to Calabazos, and file my claim, for you can call me a Chinese chop-stick if that thar Luther Barr isn’t going to camp on my trail till he finds where the mine is located.”

“I guess you are right,” remarked Frank. “Luther Barr won’t stop at anything when he starts out to accomplish a purpose.”

“Why, you talk as if you knew him,” exclaimed the astonished miner.

“Know him?” echoed Billy with a laugh. “I should say we do, eh, boys?”

The boys’ previous acquaintance with the unscrupulous old man was soon explained to Bart Witherbee, who interrupted the narrative at frequent intervals with whistles of astonishment and loud exclamations of, “Wall, I swan”; “Call me a jack-rabbit, now,” “If that don’t beat hunting coyotes with a sling-shot,” and other exclamations that seemed peculiar to himself.

“Wall, now, boys, you’ve got to have some part of that mine, if only for the sake of getting even with that old man.”

The boys tried to insist that they had no right to any of Witherbee’s property, but he was so insistent that finally they consented to visit the mine with him when they reached Calabazos, that is, if they were far enough ahead in the race to be able to spare a few hours.

Witherbee told them some of his history. He was the son of a stage-coach driver, who had been killed by robbers. The miner, after the murder, had been adopted by somebody whose name he could not recollect. It seemed that some years after his adoption he had been kidnapped by a traveling circus, and had sustained a severe blow on the head by falling from a high trapeze. This made him forget everything but his very early youth. After a while he escaped from the circus and joined a camp of miners. He had been a miner ever since.

“I’ve often thought I’d like to meet the man who cared for me when my father was killed,” he said, “fer he was good ter me, I remember. Sometimes I have a flash of memory and can almost recollect his name, but it always slips me at last. If he ever met me, though, he’d know me all right. See this?” He rolled up his sleeve and showed them a livid scar. “I was on the coach when it was attacked, and that’s a souvenir I got. They didn’t mean to hit me, it was just a stray bullet.”

“And your mother,” asked Frank, “is not she alive?”

“She was killed, too, the night the robbers attacked the stage,” said the miner softly. “She was sitting by my father when the attack came.”

They reached their camp without further incident, and found that Mr. Joyce had sat up for them and had a hot supper ready. That they did justice to the meal after their exciting adventures of the night, you may be sure. The meal disposed of, the adventurers turned in for a few hours of badly needed sleep.

“Our adventures seem to have begun with a vengeance,” sleepily remarked Billy Barnes, as he was dozing off.

“Do you think we shall see any more of Luther Barr?” asked Harry.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” rejoined Frank. “He is not the kind of man not to seek vengeance for the rebuff we gave him to-night.”

CHAPTER IX.

LUTHER BARR FORMS AN ALLIANCE

At daybreak Frank was out of his cot and after dashing cold water over himself – the liquid being carried from a clear stream in a neighboring field in a bucket he aroused his companions and breakfast was soon sending an appetizing odor into the air. The boys fell to with hearty appetites, and after leaving several telegrams and post cards to be forwarded to their friends and parents in New York, they started actively in on preparations for the resumption of their long journey. The new wheel was soon fitted, and found to answer perfectly. The broken wire was also soon adjusted.

The work had just been completed and the auto and aeroplane fed with fresh gasolene, lubricants and water when Witherbee, the miner, who had slept at a hotel in the village, came hurrying up.

“Call me a horn-toad of the sagebrush desert if here ain’t a go, boys!” he exclaimed.

The boys looked up at their new friend and saw that his face was pale and he looked dismayed.

“Whatever is the matter?” they demanded.

“Matter?” echoed the miner; “call me a gila monster if that there dod-gasted Barr and his companions ain’t stolen my pocketbook.”

“Did it have much money in it?” asked Frank in a sympathetic tone, for the poor miner’s distress was very real.

“Why, it had two hundred dollars. All I have till I can get back to Arizonee. Call me a doodelbug, if that ain’t tough luck.”

“It certainly is,” sympathized Harry; “perhaps we could lend you – ”