BOHUNKUS AT THE LEVERS.
Fortunately for Detective Pendar, the room which he occupied at the
hotel in Chesterton gave him a view of the immense forest to the
westward, over which Harvey Hamilton’s aeroplane was to sail in its
search for the headquarters of the men who had kidnapped little
Grace Hastings.
The keen-witted officer was right in his belief that he had diverted
suspicion from himself, but how long this favorable situation would
continue was problematical to the last degree. It seemed impossible
to make any effective move without betraying his real character, as
well as the business that had brought him to this little country
town in eastern Pennsylvania.
Pendar easily learned one fact: neither Catozzi nor Caprioni had
occupied their room the previous night, nor did they show up in the
morning at the hotel. His theory was that the couple had gone to the
retreat in the woods, where they were likely to stay until the
ransom was paid for the child. The nearness of the crisis made this
reasoning plausible. It followed, therefore, that at the time the
detective was threading his way through the gloomy labyrinths, they
were doing the same, though over a different course. They and he
must have been near each other some time during the night, but it
was well he saw nothing of them. While it may be difficult for one
person to shadow another in certain circumstances, an Apache warrior
could not have trailed two vigilant kidnappers, when they were alert
against such a betrayal. The chances would have been in favor of the
detective himself being discovered and all his schemes brought to
naught.
In his exceeding caution, he continued to meet the two youths as if
they were strangers. When the time came for the starting of the
aeroplane, Pendar did not join the gaping crowd, but stayed in his
room on the upper floor, awaiting the call to use his field glass.
He heard the deafening roar of the motor, and a minute later saw the
odd looking structure climb from the open space into the upper
regions, and sail away to the westward. He saw Bohunkus Johnson, the
proudest youth in the whole country, seated in front, with his hands
upon the levers, behind him was Harvey Hamilton with a sharp eye
upon his movements.
Detective Pendar saw the aeroplane slant upward and travel at a
rapid pace. It was not necessary to employ his glasses, and he
watched the flight of the machine until it was nearly a half mile
away. Then he brought the instrument to his eyes, carefully adjusted
the focal distance and did not allow anything to escape his
searching vision. His first sensation was pleased surprise over the
excellence of the instrument. Every outline of the aeroplane came
out clear and sharp, and it seemed as if the two youths were near
enough for them to hear him if he spoke in a conversational tone. He
noticed that the negro continued to sit straight, as if under the
eyes of the crowd that had seen him leave Chesterton, but Harvey
Hamilton was leaning slightly forward, like one studying every
feature of the landscape sweeping under him.
The several days which the detective had spent in the neighborhood
had given him a good knowledge of its topography. He was quick,
therefore, to observe that the aeroplane was following a course well
to the north of its former one. This was prudent on the part of the
young aviator, for it gave him new view instead of the old one which
could serve him no further. He was approaching the ridge over which
he had sailed the previous day.
As the distance between the watcher and the aeroplane rapidly
increased, the detective almost held his breath. He was leaning
against the window sill in order to make his posture firm and
prevent the slightest wavering of the instrument. With one hand he
occasionally turned the little cogged wheel in front so as to keep
the focus right, and not allow the slightest detail to escape him.
“He is as far to the west as Uncle Tommy’s house, but a half mile
north of that. This will show him all he needs to see in that
direction.”
The watcher’s heart began to misgive him, for the machine was fast
receding, and though Harvey must be intently watching he failed to
make any sign. Even with the power of the field glass, the great
bird with its spreading wings began to flicker, and Pendar was no
longer able to clearly make out the forms of the youths seated
therein.
Suddenly the aeroplane flickered, became indistinct and the nearer
margin of the woods shut it from sight.
“Another failure!” muttered the watcher bitterly. “I may as well get
ready to hand over that fortune to as vile a gang as was ever
disgorged from the mountains of Sicily.”
The upper sash was lowered that he might obtain an unobstructed view
of the soft tinted sky beyond. He took care to stand far enough back
in the room to be out of sight of any persons in the street below.
If either of the Italians had returned, he did not mean they should
learn how he was spending the minutes.
“I did not provide last night what young Hamilton should do if he
failed to make the discovery on his first, or rather second voyage
over the woods. It will be risky for him to come back, but it may
look as if he were on a little trial trip with his negro and wished
to return so as to take charge himself. If he does that he will take
a course to the south of his first trip, and, by Jove! there he
comes!”
It gave the detective an expectant thrill to see the ship of the sky
swim into his field of vision and head directly toward him. Harvey
Hamilton was following the plan which had presented itself to the
man. The first flight disclosed the home of Uncle Tommy Waters the
weather prophet; the second revealed nothing, and the third, well to
the south, must tell the tale. The crisis was at hand.
The officer did not call his field glass into play. The aeroplane
was not only plainly visible, but was becoming more vivid every
minute. Its elevation was five or six hundred feet, and the watcher
breathlessly waited for the sudden shift that was to proclaim the
discovery. The machine skimmed through the air without deviation,
like a stone when it first leaves the sling, and then the abrupt
shift came.
But to Pendar’s consternation the aeroplane instead of shooting
upward dived toward the ground!
He snatched the glasses to his eyes. By their aid he saw Harvey
Hamilton leaning forward and gesticulating excitedly to Bohunkus
Johnson. The deafening racket of the engine rendered his voice
useless, but he managed to make his wishes known. In desperate need
he might reach the levers, and if anything had gone wrong with the
machine this would have been done. But it was quickly evident that
there had been a misunderstanding between the two. Bohunkus must
have thought Harvey meant him to approach the earth, though it was
impossible to land unless some open space presented itself. The
dipping of the forward rudder brought the biplane half way down
before the controller comprehended what was expected of him. Then he
pointed the horizontal plane upward at so great an angle that the
ascent became startlingly rapid.
Even in the extremity of anxiety, Detective Pendar could not repress
a smile at the sight which the glass revealed. The head of Bunk kept
flitting back and forth, in his efforts to handle the machine and to
learn what Harvey was trying to tell him. Pendar saw the young
aviator shake his fist angrily, and once he seemed on the point of
cuffing the heavy-witted youth for his stupidity. For a minute or
two the aeroplane wavered and swayed to that degree that it seemed
on the point of capsizing, but Bohunkus gradually regained control,
and began his manœuvers to land in the open space from which he had
ascended. He made a mess of it, the wheels striking the ground so
hard that both the boys came within a hair of pitching out. Then the
biplane banged over the road, coming to a halt barely in time to
escape a disastrous collision with a telegraph pole.
“The next time you want to try your hand,” said the angry Harvey,
“I’ll put you in charge of a clam wagon.”
Bohunkus Johnson and Harvey Hamilton having been playmates from
young childhood, had indulged in the usual number of “spats” natural
to such a relation. They were fond of each other and the colored
youth as a rule accepted the criticisms of his friend with good
nature; but in the present instance the reproof given him was made
in the presence of fully a score of men and boys and was heard by
all of them. Several grinned, and had not nature made it impossible,
Bunk would have flushed with resentment. As it was, he could not
accept the slur with meekness.
“I done as well as yo’ could yo’self. Yo’ told me of I seed a cabin
I was to shoot down and knock de chimbly off, and den when I started
to do so, yo’ let out a howl dat nearly knocked my cap off. De next
time yo’ can ’tend to things yo’self.”
“You may be mighty sure I shall; the wonder is that you didn’t smash
this machine worse than the other one.”
“I wouldn’t keer if I did,” replied Bunk, stepping from his seat and
striding off. He paused long enough to call back:
“I’m done trabeling wid yo’; I like to hab folks ’preciate what’s
done for ’em, which is what yo’ never did.”
“The best thing you can do, Bunk, is to sail for Africa and make a
visit to Chief Foozleum.”
Harvey laughed when he made this remark, for he never could feel
angry for more than a few minutes with the faithful fellow, and he
knew his resentment would soon cool. It did not occur to him that
the colored youth’s grievance was due to the tantalizing enjoyment
of the auditors. Had they been elsewhere, he would have brushed the
criticism aside like so much thistle down, but he could not stand
the ridicule of strangers.
“Dat’s what I’ll do,” replied Bunk in response to the absurd counsel
of the other.
“All right; bring me back an elephant.”
Bunk had learned that in a verbal duel with Harvey he was always
sure to get the worst of it, and he did not venture any reply to the
last remark. With an angry sniff he stalked to the porch, dropped
into one of the chairs there, crossed his legs and scowlingly
watched the actions of his old friend.
Little did Harvey Hamilton dream what the result would be of this
brief and somewhat hot exchange of words.
Convinced that the angry fellow would speedily regain his natural
good humor, Harvey gave him no further thought. He made a careful
examination of his aeroplane, and was relieved to find, so far as he
could discover, that it had suffered no harm and was as good as
ever.
He was anxious now to meet Detective Pendar, for he had important
news for him, but the man was nowhere in sight nor could the youth
tell where to look for him.