The Dreadnought Boys on Aero Service

"Ned, Hope you find the boat. I heard them say they had marooned you on an island, so I cut the rope. Herc."

Ned saw at once what had happened, even if a glance at the cut end of rope in the bow had not told him. Herc had managed to reach out of the cabin port and slash the rope by which the dinghy had been attached to the sloop's stern. It had been a long chance, but it had won out.

"I don't believe there's another chap in the world like good old Herc," thought Ned tenderly, with a suspicious mist in his eyes as he thought of his absent comrade; then he took up the oars.

"Now where shall I row to?" he asked himself, as he pulled the boat along.

He scanned the barren-looking coast, with its inhospitable sand dunes and melancholy-colored grass, with the sea birds wheeling and screaming above.

"Humph! Not much choice, apparently. I guess I'll pull just inside of that little point yonder, and then strike out across the country. I'll have to trust to luck to find somebody who'll give me a hand."

Half an hour later Ned pulled the small boat ashore and abandoned it.

When he landed he had cherished some hopes of finding a fisherman's hut, or "beachcomber's" dwelling behind the rampart of sand dunes. But no trace of even such primitive habitations met his eye. Salt meadows, threaded by muddy, sluggish creeks, lay inland, and beyond was rising ground dotted with clumps of woodland.

This looked hopeful. Determined to keep pegging along to the uttermost that was in him, Ned struck out across the salt meadows.

It was harder work than he had thought. Under the hot sun the miasmic salt land steamed and perspired. Rank odors arose, and the muddy creeks steamed. Once or twice he had to wade through the foul water courses, and, at such times myriads of bloated-looking crabs, that had been sunning themselves, scuttled, with splashes, into the water.

To add to his discomfort, as the sun grew higher, millions of black flies and stinging midges arose to plague him. They settled on him in swarms. Every time Ned wiped out a legion of the tormentors that had settled on his face, his countenance bore a red smudge. By the time he had – he hardly knew how – traversed this bad bit of country and found himself on a dusty white highroad, Ned was scarcely a presentable-looking object. Mud, from the creeks he had waded, caked his legs; his face was red and bloody from the onslaughts of the insects. His clothes were tattered from his fight on the sloop, and, altogether, he was not an object to inspire confidence.

To add to his misfortunes, he had no money, and Ned knew enough of the world to know that a lad in his condition, tattered and penniless, does not, as a rule, excite any feeling but suspicion. However, when about half a mile further on he came to a small house nestling among rose vines and creepers, he walked bravely up to the door and knocked.

A prim-looking old maid, in a checked apron, opened the door. As soon as her eyes fell on Ned she uttered a shrill scream and slammed the door with an exclamation of alarm and indignation.

"Get along with you, you tramp!" she cried.

Ned turned and trudged down the footpath. But, as he reached the gate, he heard a commotion behind him. He turned just in time to face a big, savage-looking bulldog that was about to fly at his leg. Ned raised his foot and planted it fair and square on the snarling animal's mouth.

The dog fled with a yelp of pain. Ned followed it with his eyes.

"I'll bet that cur has fared better than I have for the last twenty-four hours," he muttered as he once more began his weary trudging along the dusty highroad.

CHAPTER XXII

SOME ADVENTURES BY THE WAY

By noon his hunger was positively ravenous. Yet he did not like to risk another rebuff by asking for something to eat at any of the thrifty-looking farmhouses he passed.

Of course, Ned could have represented himself as one of Uncle Sam's sailors, but it was, somehow, repugnant to him – the idea of asking for food and urging, as an excuse for the petition, the uniform he was entitled to wear and the flag he served under.

All at once as he rounded a turn in the road he came upon a scene that quickened his hunger tenfold. A group of men, women and children were bivouacked under a tree enjoying the shade, and were evidently about to enjoy a picnic lunch. Two or three buggies, and an aged carry-all stood near at hand. Ned, with averted gaze, was hurrying by, when a voice hailed him.

"Hullo, there, shipmate!"

Ned turned quickly. It was a middle-aged man, with a sunburned face, dressed in a prosperous farmer's best, who had hailed him.

"Sam Topping!" exclaimed Ned, genuinely pleased, "what are you doing here?"

"Why, picnicking, as you see. But what on earth does all this mean?" his eyes roamed over Ned's disreputable figure. "What has happened? What are you tramping about in that rig for?"

Sam Topping had served on the Manhattan during Ned's days as a raw apprentice. He had retired, a short time before, on a well-earned pension, and his savings had served to buy him a farm. Ned recalled now having heard that Sam had settled down in that part of the country.

The lad colored as Sam put his question. He could feel the women and children of the group looking curiously at him, while the men regarded him with more frank curiosity. It was plain that they looked upon him as a tramp or something of the kind. A traveling peddler, possibly.

As Sam seemed to be waiting for an answer to his question, Ned drew him aside. He told him as much of his story as he thought advisable. Sam was sympathetic. He invited Ned to lunch with them, and after the lad had washed and made himself more presentable at a small stream, he joined the party. They made him welcome, and no embarrassing questions were asked. Sam had concocted a story to fit the case while Ned was at his wayside ablutions. How good that food tasted to the half-famished boy! He could not help thinking, in the midst of his enjoyment, of poor Herc. He wondered sadly how his shipmate was faring.

With this came another thought. The safety of the fleet was imperilled. Its salvation lay in his hands. He alone could give warning of the danger that threatened from the anarchists. When he got an opportunity, he questioned the friendly Sam.

"How far is it to Blackhaven?"

"Well, let's see," rejoined Sam thoughtfully, "it's about one hundred miles to the closest point. But Blackhaven Bay, where the warships go, is twenty miles from a railroad, and only a few fishing villages are on its shores. It's a wild and desolate spot."

"I've got to get there," said Ned.

Sam looked at him as if doubtful that he was in his right mind.

"Get to Blackhaven!" he exclaimed. "What for?"

"To join my ship," explained Ned, not wishing to go into details concerning the anarchists. Sam was a talkative person, and if all he knew was noised abroad it might defeat the justice Ned was grimly determined to visit on them.

Sam had already explained the occasion of the roadside picnic. The party was composed of himself and several of his neighbors on their way into Dundertown, about five miles off, to witness a performance of the circus. Ned had already noted upon barns and outhouses as he came along the gaudy colored posters announcing its arrival. They had interested him particularly, as one flaming bill had set forth the wonderful aerial feats of one Professor Luminetti, who was modestly billed as "The King of the Air." The professor, it appeared, performed his feats in an aeroplane of similar construction to the one which Ned had been using.

"I'd like to see that chap," Ned had thought, as he regarded the pictures.

"Tell you what you do, Ned, old shipmate," quoth Sam suddenly. "You come into town with us and see the circus. There's a recruiting office in Dundertown. You can go there afterward and tell them your story. They'll probably advance you the money to get back to your ship."

Ned agreed that this would be a good idea. But he declined the circus invitation. He was too anxious, for reasons of which we know, to rejoin the fleet. The gravest danger threatened the flower of the American navy, and, for all Ned knew, its fate depended on the speed with which he could reach Blackhaven.

Soon afterward the farmers and their wives clambered into their rigs and started driving toward town. Sam, who was unmarried, drove alone, and Ned shared a seat in his buggy. It seemed to his tired frame and blistered, worn feet, the most luxurious conveyance he had ever known. Sam drove straight on to the circus lot. It presented a lively scene of shifting color and action.

Bright flags, huge erections of lumping canvas, blaring brass bands were everywhere. In front of the main tent a big crowd had gathered. Sam and Ned were caught in a swirl of humanity and rushed toward it. By a shifting of the crowd they soon found themselves in its midst. The throng was grouped about an aeroplane, the motor of which was already whirring and buzzing. By it stood a man in red tights, bright with spangles. He was lecturing on the points of the machine, which formed a "free attraction" to draw the crowds.

Ned smiled as he listened. The fellow evidently didn't know much about his subject. But even at that, he knew more than his listeners, who gazed on him, gaping and awestruck. It was the first time that most of them had seen an aeroplane at close range. The sight seemed to fascinate them.

"I will now make a short flight," announced the man as he finished, and as he clambered into the seat, a regular "barker" began shouting at the top of his voice:

"Lum-in-e-t-t-i! The King of the Ae-ar! See him in his unprecedented frantic, furious, thrilling flight into space! Watch him soar toward the haunt of the eagle bird and cloud-land! The sight of a century! The wonder of the nations! Lumin-e-t-t-i! Luminett-i-i-i-i-i! The Ke-eng of the Ae-ar!"

The crowd came running from all directions at the cry. It was soon packed so densely about "The King of the Air" that Ned and Sam found themselves almost within touching distance of the wing tips. All at once Ned's trained eye noted something. A link in one of the drive chains of the propellers was badly twisted.

Under a sudden strain it would be likely to snap.

He stepped forward and touched "The King of the Air" on the shoulder.

"Well," growled the King gruffly, "what's up?"

His gruffness was not unnatural. He saw in Ned only a rather tattered-looking member of the crowd, and not one of the most competent airmen of the United States Navy.