IN DANGER OF COLLISION.
The cabin in the clearing being no longer in Harvey Hamilton’s field
of vision, he gave his attention to the management of his aeroplane.
In order to avoid so far as possible arousing suspicion, he made a
sweeping bend to the northward, with a view of passing over the
ridge and then returning to Chesterton from the east. By following
this course, he would make it impossible for the tenants of the log
cabin to see him, and thus render distrust on their part out of the
question.
It was important that he should remain over night in Chesterton, in
order to report to Detective Pendar and receive instructions from
him. The youth was morbidly sensitive about offending the gentleman,
or doing anything that could interfere with the success of the
extraordinary enterprise in which he was engaged.
Harvey had changed the course of the machine and lifted the edge of
his front rudder in order to make sure of clearing the top of the
ridge, when Bohunkus touched him smartly with the toe of his shoe.
The aviator turned his head to learn the cause, and the dusky youth
with staring eyes pointed to the northwest, that is somewhat to the
left of the course they were following. Looking in that direction,
Harvey to his astonishment saw an aeroplane no more than a mile
distant. With a minute or two at his disposal, he brought his
binoculars into play.
The first glance told him an amazing fact.
“As sure as I’m alive, it’s the Dragon of the Skies! Professor
Morgan is coming this way too! I’ll be neighborly and meet him.”
The vertical rudder at the rear was shifted, and the two machines
the next moment were so headed that a collision threatened unless
one changed its course.
Bohunkus kicked the shoulder of his friend again. His dark face
revealed his terror.
“He’s gwine to smash dis locumotive! What’ll ’come ob us?”
Of course not a syllable of these words could be heard in the
thunderous throbbing of the motor, but the expression of Bunk’s face
and the vigorous contortions of his lips made his meaning clear. It
occurred to Harvey that there might be cause for his companion’s
alarm. There is no accounting for the whimsies of a crank, and,
having destroyed one aeroplane, what more likely than that he should
wreak his fury upon another, particularly when it was handled by the
owner of the former?
Harvey’s first inclination was to shift his course again and run
away from the Professor, but he reflected that if he did so, he
would invite pursuit, and speedy as was the new machine it was
certain the Dragon of the Skies was speedier. An inventor who was
able to construct an “uplifter” that would hold his monoplane as
stationary as a bird waiting for sight of the fish far below before
making its dive, or could muffle his motor into noiselessness
without lessening its power, was sure, beside doing all this, to
acquire a speed that no rival could equal.
It was better to put a bold face on the situation, and paying no
heed, therefore, to the gestures and mute shouts of his companion,
Harvey headed for the monoplane, which approached with the speed and
accuracy of an arrow.
Less than two hundred yards separated the two when Professor Morgan
veered to the right, curving so far that his course shifted to a
right angle of the other machine, toward which he turned broadside.
There sat the strange man in plain view, his feet on the cross-piece
below, his hands resting on the upright levers, between which he sat
bolt upright, with his linen duster buttoned from chin to ankles,
his cap drawn low, while those blazing black eyes above his grizzled
beard suggested an owl peering through a thicket and were turned
full upon the two youths in the biplane.
Harvey waved his hand in salutation, but the Professor did not seem
to see him or Bunk. He glided past, and when he had shot beyond a
point opposite, turned his head so as to look directly in front.
Harvey gave him no further notice, for he was now so near the ridge
that all his skill was needed to direct his aeroplane.
Bohunkus was not yet free from his shivering fear, and kept his eye
upon the dreaded Professor.
“I know what de willain am up to,” he reflected; “he’s only makin’
b’lieve dat he’s gwine to lebe us. He’ll snoke round behind and de
fust thing we know will be when dat rudder out in front jams into
us, slides under me, lifts me out ob dis seat and pitches me head
fust down among dem treetops.”
But the form of the Dragon of the Skies grew smaller and fainter
until the aching eyes of the negro could see it no longer. By that
time the watcher concluded that nothing for the present was to be
feared from the eccentric individual.
“But we hain’t done wid him yit,” said Bunk; “he’s got his eye on
us, for if he hadn’t why am he hangin’ round de country, bobbin’ up
when we ain’t lookin’ fur him? He’ll find out where we’re gwine to
stay to-night and den he’ll get a new axe as big as de side ob a
house and smash dis machine wuss dan de oder. De Perfesser am mighty
sly and I doan’ like him; I wish he’d take a shine to some oder part
ob de world.”
Having surmounted the ridge, Harvey sailed ten or more miles to the
northward and descended at a town containing probably ten thousand
population. There he renewed his supply of gasoline and oil, and
halted for an hour or so, when he was prepared to return to
Chesterton. While he and Bohunkus were seated apart from the others
at the hotel, the colored youth gave voice to his dissatisfaction.
“What’s de use ob hangin’ round dis part ob de country, Harv? How
many times do yo’ expect to go to Chesterton?”
“I have some business there to attend to. When that is finished, we
can travel as far as you wish in any direction.”
“Why can’t we go to Afriky?” was the astounding question.
Harvey laughed.
“Why, Bunk, that is thousands of miles off. We should have to cross
the Atlantic Ocean.”
“What’s to hender doing dat?”
“You know we have to renew our supply of gasoline and oil every few
hours. Can you tell me how it is possible to do it when hundreds of
miles from land? We spoke of this before.”
“Don’t de ships and steamboats carry de stuff?”
“If we could count upon meeting one of them when needed, we might
get on, but when father and I crossed the ocean, we passed days at a
time without seeing a sail.”
“Hang a boat on to de bottom of dis keer and paddle till we run agin
a ship.”
“Drive that wild idea out of your head, Bunk. I don’t doubt that you
and I shall live to see the day when aeroplanes will make regular
trips between the continents, but we must wait till that time
comes.”
“Doan’ yo’ spose Perfesser Morgan can doot?”
“He has made so many wonderful inventions, he may be the first to
succeed. When he does, we shall hear of it.”
Bohunkus was silent for a minute or so. If his friend had imagined
what wild freak had entered the lad’s brain, he would have made all
haste to root it out, but unfortunately he did not dream of anything
of the kind.
The next query of Bunk was more startling to Harvey than anything
that had gone before.
“Harv, did yo’ see dat little girl?”
“What do you mean?” demanded the other sharply.
“When we was sailing ober dem woods, after we’d left Chesterton.”
“I saw no little girl; did you?”
“Sartinously; yo’ doan’ forgot dat cabin down among the trees where
a small creek runs in front ob it.”
This was unquestionably the place in which Harvey had been so much
interested. He had not observed a living person near it, while his
dusky companion had seen the very person that was in many minds.
“I saw the old house and the smoke coming out of the chimney, but
did not catch sight of a man, woman or child. Tell me how it was
with you.”
“Nuffin ’ticular; we’d got a little way beyont and you wasn’t
looking back when I took a notion to turn my head. Dere warn’t any
man or woman in sight, but a little gal was standin’ in front ob de
door, a wavin’ her handkerchief at me. I took off my cap and swinged
it at her, but we was too fur off and de ingine made too much noise
for us to hold a conwersation.”
“This is very interesting, Bunk.”
Remembering the instructions of Detective Pendar, Harvey gave no
hint of why he felt so much concern over what had just been told
him. The slow wits of Bohunkus were likely to cause trouble and
probably defeat the delicate plans which the officer of the law had
in mind. What the colored youth had told removed the last vestige of
doubt from the young aviator as to the identity of the cabin of
which he had caught a passing glimpse. He felt certain that the
little girl whom Bohunkus saw and with whom he exchanged salutations
was Grace Hastings, kidnapped weeks before, and for whose recovery
her father was spending a fortune. Harvey knew the exact spot where
she was a prisoner and could direct the detective unerringly to it.
He was eager to do so, for his heart was enlisted in the sacred
task.
In his desire to do something effective, Harvey was on the point of
setting out again with his aeroplane and taking a course that would
lead him over the cabin in the clearing. He wished to gain another
view of it, and particularly of the child whose absence had plunged
her parents in anguish more poignant than if they had looked upon
her pale innocent face in death.
But the youth was impressed with the necessity of using the utmost
care with every step he took. If he sailed over the cabin again, the
fact was likely to be noticed by the men in the structure. If they
had not already observed the aeroplane, they had learned of its
flight from the chatter of the young captive, and should it return
within a few hours would mean something out of the ordinary. It
would cause a change of quarters at once and place the recovery of
the child beyond attainment.
“There is only one safe thing for me to do,” was his decision; “I
must take so roundabout course to Chesterton that no one in the
cabin will know of it. I shall wait in the town till I can have a
talk with Pendar. I have done all he asked of me and from this point
forward, under heaven everything depends upon him.”