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

“Well, you at least look like a party as could use one,” remarked the stable man, gazing at Bart’s rugged face. “Now the only thing to do is to wait for them to come.”

“That’s it, I guess,” agreed Frank. “They can’t be so very long if they want to get away before daylight.”

But the boys little knew the ingenious plan that the rogues had decided on to compass their ends and destroy the Golden Eagle. Even while they sat there waiting Luther Barr and the others were working out their scheme.

Before long there was the distant chug-chug of an auto heard and as the machine drove away, the sound diminished till it died out.

“Well, I guess your friends decided that they’d put their little expedition off,” grinned the stable keeper. “There they go and good riddance to ’em, I say.”

They waited a while longer, but there was no demonstration of their enemies’ presence. Suddenly Frank sniffed curiously.

“Do you smell anything?” he asked presently. “It seems to me there’s something burning somewhere.”

“I noticed it, too,” said Harry.

At the same instant there was a glare of red flame from the rear of the stable.

“Fire!” shouted the stableman.

His cry rang through the night, and in a few seconds the small prairie town was ringing with it. The flames gained rapid headway. They ate through the sun-dried timbers of the stable as if it had been made of paper.

The stableman and his friends rushed madly about getting out horses and rigs to places of safety. As for the boys and Bart they seized hold of the aeroplane and dragged it beyond reach of the flames. They then ran out the auto. This done they returned and helped the stableman. Soon all the stock and valuable buggies were out of the place and it was a roaring mass of savage flames. There was no fire department in Gitalong, so the inhabitants, instead of wasting their efforts on trying to extinguish the blaze with buckets of water, devoted their attention to wetting down adjoining roofs in order to prevent the flames spreading. The boys were so busy attending to this work that they didn’t stop to notice what had become of their companions. They had had, however, a moment to exchange a hasty word with Billy, Lathrop and old man Joyce, who had hastened from the hotel at the first cry of alarm.

The flames were about out and the barn was reduced to a smouldering heap of ashes before they had time to look about them.

“Why, where’s Mr. Joyce?” suddenly exclaimed Bart.

“He was here a minute ago,” rejoined Frank. “Have you seen him, Billy?”

“Not for the last ten minutes,” replied the other. “What can have become of him?”

“I guess he got tired and went back to the hotel,” suggested Harry.

“That must be it. Come on, let’s go and see if he is all right.”

They started off, but on the way were halted by the stableman.

“Thank you, boys, for helping me!” he exclaimed warmly, extending his hand. “It was mighty white of you.”

“I hope your loss was not very heavy,” said Frank.

“Oh, no; I had that covered by insurance. A good thing I had, too. If ever I get my hands on that rascal, Wild Bill Jenkins, I’ll make it hot for him.”

“Why; do you suspect him of setting it?”

“Not only him but your friends – or whatever you like to call ’em. The scalliwags suspected we might be on the lookout for ’em, and so we were, but at the wrong door. While we were expecting ’em to come sneaking up in front they walks up behind and sets a fire. They’d fix your aeroplane forever and a day, they thought, and as for my barn they didn’t bother about that.”

“That must be it,” exclaimed Frank. “I’d like to get my hands on the rascals.”

“Let’s drive after them and have them arrested at Pintoville. We can easily do it,” suggested Billy.

“All right, you and Bart take the auto. I’ve got to find Mr. Joyce.”

“Where is the auto?” suddenly exclaimed Harry, looking about him. “It was here while we were working at the fire and now it’s gone.”

“Gone!” gasped the others.

“Yes, gone. Look, there’s not a sign of it.”

“That’s right,” said the stableman; “looks like that chu-chu cart had flown away. Wall, if it’s in this town it won’t take long to find it.”

The stableman, who the boys now found out was also mayor, at once ordered out several men with instructions to search for the missing car, but they all reported half an hour later, when the town had been thoroughly searched, that not a trace of it could be found.

In the meantime a search had been conducted for old Mr. Joyce, but he also had vanished as mysteriously as the auto.

“What can have become of them?” exclaimed Frank, despairingly. “Without the auto and our supplies we cannot go any further.”

At this juncture a man came rushing up with a report that searchers had found the tracks of two autos, both going out of the town over the Pintoville road.

“Pintoville is where Luther Barr is staying,” cried Frank.

“Then you can depend upon it,” rejoined their friend, the mayor, “that that is where your auto and the old man have gone.”

“But why should they want to kidnap old Mr. Joyce?” demanded Frank.

“You’ll have to ask me an easy one,” answered the mayor, picking up a straw and sucking it with deep meditation.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE WRONG MAN

In the meantime, while the glare of the flames still shone behind them, two autos were speeding over the plains. The first, in which was seated Luther Barr, Frank Reade and Hank Higgins, had been waiting just outside the town ever since the boys had heard it chug away before the fire started.

Barr and his companions had spent the interim in ill-disguised impatience. Reade in particular seemed gloomy and apprehensive.

“This is dangerous business, Barr,” he said. “If anything falls through, we might as well make up our minds to be lynched.”

“What is the use of talking like that,” snapped the old man. “Wild Bill Jenkins is a reliable man, Hank.”

“He sure is that, Barr,” rejoined the gambler. “If he says he’ll do a thing that thing is as good as did, and you may take your gospel on that.”

“And your partner, Noggy Wilkes?”

“Why, Barr,” declared the other earnestly, “that feller would rather stick up a stage or rob a bank than sit down to a chicken dinner.”

“Hum,” said old Barr, evidently highly pleased by the very dubious recommendations, “he must be an enterprising young man.”

“I don’t know what that ther word may mean, Barr,” declared Higgins, gravely, “but if et means he’s a good man for this job you can take your Davy he is.”