BEGINNING THE SEARCH.
There certainly had been lively work, for within six hours after the
discovery of the destroyed aeroplane, a message had been sent from
New York to Garden City, Long Island, a machine despatched from that
point to the little town among the Alleghanies in eastern
Pennsylvania, and an aerial ship had sailed across the State of New
Jersey to the destination more than two hundred miles from its
starting point. When and by what means the merchant had learned of
the straits of his son could not as yet be guessed, but the news
must have been waiting when he reached his office in the city, since
young Mitchell said it was received at the factory between eight and
nine o’clock that morning. The flight to Groveton was made in about
four hours, with a brief halt on the way to replenish the supply of
gasoline. Traveling at the rate of fifty miles an hour and sometimes
faster was surely “going some.”
As Mitchell afterward explained, he had visited the section twice,
and was familiar with it. He lost no time, therefore, in groping,
but recognized rivers, cities, towns, and the general conformation
of the country over which he glided, and identified Groveton long
before any one there dreamed he intended to make a call.
Harvey glanced at the little watch on his wrist, and noted the exact
time of starting. Eleven minutes later to the second, he volplaned
into the open space in front of the hotel. Although the distance
passed was less than by rail, he must have averaged nearly if not
quite a mile a minute.
The lesson of the “accident” to the other machine was not lost upon
the two young men. It was hardly to be supposed that any one would
try to harm the new one, but Bohunkus was ordered to stay with it
and see that all hands were kept off.
“Yo’ bet I will,” he replied, fully alive to his duty; “de fust chap
dat lays an onkind hand on dis pet will git broke in ’leben pieces
and den flung ober de fence.”
Several idlers were gaping at the fractured aeroplane huddled in the
wagon sheds of the hotel. Mitchell quickly finished his examination.
“The man or men who did that,” he said in a low voice to Harvey,
“showed the devil’s own spite. It looks as if the scoundrel was
crazy.”
Harvey glanced at his companion. Did he suspect the truth? His looks
and manner, however, showed that he was not thinking of Professor
Morgan. The remark was a natural one, under the circumstances.
Harvey was not disposed to reveal anything, since he saw no good to
be accomplished thereby, while an unpleasant situation might
develop.
“You can save something out of the wreck?” remarked the owner
inquiringly.
“Considerable; I shall ship what’s worth while to the factory at
Garden City, and in a few weeks you will have a new machine as good
as ever.”
“The greater part of it will have to be _new_,” commented Harvey.
“That being so, you can return this one in exchange, if you wish.”
“Is there any way, Mitchell, in which I can serve you?”
“None; I shall have what is left of the machine gathered up, as I
said, and sent to the factory; that will take the remainder of the
day, when I shall follow in the train. Meanwhile you are not called
upon to lose any part of your vacation. There is no perceptible
difference between the two biplanes, so you don’t need any help from
me.”
The youths walked back to where a small group remained staring at
the biplane in which Bohunkus Johnson was still seated, as alert as
a watch dog. As the couple approached, the negro crooked his stubby
forefinger to his friend, who went forward.
“What is it, Bunk?”
“Yo’s forgot something.”
“What is that?”
“It’s ’bout dinner time.”
The colored youth meant to whisper, but his husky aspiration carried
as far as if he had spoken in a loud tone.
“He is right,” remarked Mitchell; “let us have dinner together.”
The old fellow who served the hotel as hostler was hired to stay by
the machine and to keep every other person at a distance, while the
three went in to their meal.
During these minutes, Harvey was on the watch for a sight of
Detective Pendar. He much wanted to have a few words with him, but
was puzzled how to bring it about. Harvey had given up his room, so
he could not signal to the officer to follow him thither and there
was no understanding as to how they should otherwise meet.
Pendar, however, remained invisible until Bohunkus had perched
himself in the seat in front of the tank, and Harvey had his hands
on the levers. Mitchell stepped to the rear to give a swing to the
propeller blades. The machine was pointed to the left, where the
highway showed quite a sharp slope downward, of which the young
aviator meant to take advantage.
At this crisis, when twenty pairs of eyes were upon the party,
Harvey heard an odd sounding cough. He looked around and saw a man
standing on the porch above the other spectators. It was Detective
Pendar, who was looking keenly at Harvey. As their eyes met the
former rubbed his smooth chin thoughtfully and winked once, but made
no other sign that he recognized the youth.
“Now what does he mean by that?” Harvey asked himself; “a wink may
signify one of a score of things.” As the only reply he could make,
he winked in return. A dozen of the group might have accepted it as
meant for him, but, if so, he must have been equally puzzled with
the author of the signal, who a minute later was scooting through
the air and steadily rising.
Harvey had decided to carry out so far as he could the programme
agreed upon the day before by him and Pendar. The only change was
that caused by the enforced delay. Instead of making his search in
the forenoon, it now would have to be done in the afternoon. He shot
upward, until barely five hundred feet above the earth, and then
headed westward over the long stretch of forest of which mention has
been made. It was advisable that he should keep as near the ground
as practical, since his view would thereby be improved.
Bohunkus Johnson was still in the dark on two points: he had no
conception of the serious business upon which his companion was
engaged, knowing nothing of the kidnapped child, and, though certain
in his own mind that Professor Morgan was the man who had wrecked
the aeroplane, he had never suspected that he was insane. Ignorance
on the former point was a good thing, but as regards the latter it
proved a serious mistake, as has been intimated in another place.
It need not be said that a heavier-than-air machine must progress
rapidly in order to sustain itself aloft. When such motion stops,
through breakage, accident or the will of the aviator, an aeroplane
obeys the law of gravity and comes to the ground. It does not fall,
as is the case with a balloon.
It would never do to withdraw care from the machine, which worked
with perfect smoothness, but having headed westward and struck as
moderate a gait as was practical, Harvey Hamilton gave all the
attention possible to the country under his feet. He noted the wide
expanse of forest in its exuberant foliage, a flashing stream of
water and the foam of a tumbling cascade on the slope of the farther
ridge. In the other direction wound the railway line over which he
and Bunk had ridden earlier in the day. The sky was clear and
sunshiny with a rift of fleecy clouds in advance, but at so great an
elevation that no inconvenience was to be feared from them. The town
of Groveton was so distinctly seen that he recognized several of the
buildings, including the hotel, which he had observed on his brief
visit. Far away in the radiant horizon the steeples and tall
buildings of a city showed, but it was all strange to him. He could
identify nothing beyond that which has been named.
Harvey had sailed probably three or four miles from Chesterton when
he was thrilled by a sight that roused instant hope. In the midst of
the wood, an open space several acres in extent was crossed by a
stream of considerable size, on its winding way to the distant
Delaware. In the center of this clearing stood a log cabin, which
recalled that of Abisha Wharton where Harvey and Bunk had spent a
night after leaving home on their outing. The land showed slight
signs of cultivation, but from the stone chimney running up the
outside of the decayed structure, he traced a faint blue spiral of
smoke.
[Illustration: IN THE CENTER STOOD A LOG CABIN.]
“That shows somebody lives there,” was Harvey’s thought; “from what
Pendar told me I believe it’s the very place where the kidnappers
are holding the child a prisoner.”
He leaned far over and scrutinized the picture as he swept over it.
What he longed to see was the little girl running about or playing
in front of the cabin, or one or more of her captors. It would seem
that the loud throbbing of his motor ought to have attracted the
attention of the occupants, but it did not do so, and the spot
speedily glided from sight. When Harvey twisted his neck, however,
in the effort to see more, he noticed that Bunk had also turned and
was attentively studying the picture. Conversation in such
circumstances was impossible, but Harvey hoped his companion had
discovered something—a supposition which he was certain to remember
when the time came for a halt in their flight.
Had our young friend followed his inclination, he would have circled
around and returned over the cabin, in order to inspect it further,
but that most likely would have roused the suspicion of the
abductors, and the moment they believed an aeroplane had been
impressed into the service against them, that moment the usefulness
of the contrivance would be ended. He could remember the location
clearly, and would give the detective all the directions he needed.
“I didn’t see any wagon road or trails, but there must be one path
at least which connects the house with the outer world. Those men
have a source of supplies and they can’t help leaving footprints.”
As Harvey reasoned out the problem, the solution was simplified.
Simmons Pendar was confident that the hiding place was somewhere in
the stretch of wilderness, but to search for it would prove fatal.
The effort was certain of discovery by the watchful guards. Now,
however, since the exact location of the cabin seemed to have been
found, a speedy approach ought to be within the detective’s power.
The near future must answer the question.