FIRED ON BY THE KIDNAPPERS.
When glancing around in quest of Detective Pendar, Harvey Hamilton
failed to look behind him. Some one touched his shoulder, as he
stood beside his aeroplane. Glancing back, there was his man.
The time for them to be strangers to each other had passed. Pendar
asked crisply:
“How did you make out?”
“I found the spot.”
“Certain there is no mistake about it?”
“I saw the little girl herself; we have located her.”
“Can you take me thither?”
“Yes, but I can’t land; there isn’t enough space.”
“Let me down in front of Uncle Tommy’s home; it isn’t far off.”
“All right; take your seat; I’ll have you there in a jiffy. I didn’t
see either of those men.”
“There’s one of them now on the edge of the crowd, toward the porch
of the hotel.”
While the detective was seating himself, the young aviator looked in
the direction indicated. The Italian, Amasi Catozzi, was standing a
little apart from the others, watching the couple as a cat watches a
mouse which she expects to come within reach of her claws the next
moment. Dressed in a gray, natty suit and slouch hat, he kept his
hands in the pockets of his coat, which was buttoned to his gaudy
necktie.
The hurried words between the man and boy must have told the truth
to the Black Hander. The individual whom he had accepted as a
commercial traveler was a professional detective, whose search for
the kidnapped child had brought him to this country town and very
near the spot where she was held a prisoner. He must have believed,
too, that the aeroplane had come thither, not accidentally, but to
play an assigned part in the drama. The prospect of the whole daring
scheme being brought to naught filled the miscreant with
unrestrainable rage. He stood for a moment like a statue, his
swarthy face aflame with passion. Then he took several hasty steps
forward as if to interfere. The propeller of the biplane was
revolving faster and faster, and it began gliding down the moderate
slope, preparatory to leaping upward from the earth. Harvey, with
hands and feet busy, gave his whole attention to the task, but the
shrewd Pendar rightly suspected they were not yet through with the
wretch who strode toward them.
The machine was in the act of leaving the ground when Catozzi’s
right hand was jerked out of his coat pocket. Leveling a revolver,
he blazed away twice in rapid succession at the detective. The
latter had turned in his seat so as to face him, and was barely a
second behind him in returning the shot.
The couple were not fifty feet apart when this interchange took
place. The Italian was an expert with firearms and had he not been
incited by so consuming a passion, he assuredly would have got his
man. He missed by a hair’s breadth, but the cool Simmons Pendar did
better. He saw his enemy’s body twitch, the Italian staggered
backward a couple of paces, and the pistol dropped from his grasp.
The detective knew, however, that he had only winged him. In truth
he had not tried to kill but only to wound, and he succeeded. In
that moment Pendar, who generally held himself well in hand, felt
such a thrill of anger that he determined to end the wretch’s power
for evil forever. He sighted his weapon with the utmost care, and
had the conditions been favorable, he assuredly would have scored a
“bull’s eye,” but it must be remembered that the aeroplane was in
action, and already in the air, heading westward and going at a
speed of thirty or forty miles an hour.
Moreover, Bohunkus Johnson at this point got into the game. He had
seated himself, as we remember, on the porch and was sulking over
the reproof of Harvey Hamilton. Now when he saw him going off
without him, he sprang to his feet; leaped down the few steps,
dashed forward and shouted:
“Hold on, Harv! Yo’ve forgot something!”
But his friend could not wait for him. In the racket made by the
motor, he heard nothing, and, if he had caught the words he would
have paid no heed. Far more weighty matters claimed his undivided
efforts. The action of the colored youth, however, brought him in
direct line with the Italian, and the fast receding detective dared
not fire because of the danger of hitting the negro or some member
of the group of staring spectators.
The incidents described took so brief a time that no one who
witnessed them understood what had taken place until all was ended.
Certainly they could not have dreamed of its meaning. Why the
drummer seated behind the young aviator should turn about and
exchange shots with another man who seemed also to be a drummer, was
more than any person could figure out, unless he laid it to bitter
business rivalry.
Conversation between Harvey Hamilton and Detective Pendar was
impossible, nor was it necessary. The few sentences spoken were
sufficient, though had there been the opportunity, the man would
have asked for more particulars. Although on this warm summer day he
wore no top coat, he carried two pairs of patent handcuffs, and his
weapon still held four charges, which no man in the world better
knew how to utilize. He would have been very glad to stand up in
front of the raging Catozzi with both their revolvers cracking and
only a few paces between them, but the time had not yet come for a
duel of that kind. He gave his intensest attention to what was
before him while Harvey Hamilton was equally resolute with his duty.
Catozzi was not hit so hard as he thought when the twinge first
thrilled his shoulder. The bullet of the detective inflicted only a
flesh wound, and the man rallied instantly from the shock. He
recovered his weapon and for a minute watched the aeroplane speeding
away like an enormous bird. Then he noted that its line of flight
was directly over _the_ spot. Not a vestige of doubt remained as to
what this meant.
The landlord had come out on the porch during the stirring incidents
and now approached the Italian.
“What the mischief did that man mean by shooting at you? Did he hurt
you bad?”
“No, no, no,” replied Catozzi, who despite the fact that a crimson
stain was beginning to show on his upper arm angrily added:
“I am not hurt; don’t bother me.”
He set off down the street, taking the direction followed by the
detective the night before. He walked fast until he reached the
beginning of the path which led to the home of the ancient weather
prophet. There he turned off and his pace became almost a run. He
needed no one to tell him the desperate need of haste.
He had gone only half way when he left the main path and followed a
faintly marked trail,—so dimly indicated indeed that any person not
keen sighted or looking for something of the kind would have missed
it altogether.
Meanwhile Harvey Hamilton was attending strictly to business.
Directly south of the tumble-down home of Uncle Tommy Waters, and
less than an eighth of a mile away, stood a smaller and more
dilapidated cabin, with no signs of cultivation about it. It seemed
wedged among a mass of rocks and stones, which formed a part of the
structure. One side was wholly composed of rocks. Surveying the
miserable shanty, one would have concluded that it had never been
used as a permanent dwelling, but might have been flung into shape
by a party of hunters who, visiting that section, had aimed to
provide against sudden storm and preferred to sleep there rather
than at any house or in the town.
When the aeroplane was skimming over this unattractive spot, Harvey
turned his head and, meeting the glance of the detective, nodded.
The gesture said: “That’s the place,” and the answering nod
indicated that the man understood.
What it was that had told the young aviator the startling truth was
more than his companion could guess, for, search as he might, he
could not detect the first sign of life below them. There was the
gray pile of boards and rails, which looked as if they had been
tossed among the boulders by a cyclone, but nothing else met the
eye. All the same, the youth had not been mistaken.
Had not the interest of the two been centered upon what was beneath
them, they would have made an interesting discovery. Less than a
mile distant, a monoplane, as close to the earth as their own, was
bearing down upon them. One glance would have made known to our
friends that it was the well remembered Dragon of the Skies. There
could be no doubt that its owner, Professor Milo Morgan, was on his
way to take part in the game. But that interesting fact was not
learned until a brief while later.
Having shown his companion the cabin he had sought so long, Harvey
Hamilton shot beyond it, and circled about until over the clearing
in front of Uncle Tommy Waters’ home, when he began descending by
means of the spiral, that picturesque and graceful manœuver, always
attended with peril, as was shown on the last day of the year 1910,
when the daring aviator Arch Hoxsey was killed at Los Angeles and
John B. Moisant met his death at New Orleans.
It will be remembered that the biplane was at an elevation of not
more than five hundred feet when he began to volplane. The forenoon
was clear, and radiant with sunshine. There was no breeze except
that which was caused by the motion of the aeroplane. Harvey had
excellent control, and was confident of coming down at the spot
selected, when, without the slightest warning, he was caught in the
fierce grip of an eddy, whirlpool or pocket, or whatever it might be
called, and tossed about as if he were a feather. The ailerons
fluttered and the machine lurched like a mortally wounded bird,
frantically trying to hold its place in the air. Recalling the
instructions of Professor Sperbeck, Harvey did not run away from the
startling flurry, but plunged straight into it. It was another
illustration of the peril to which all aviators are exposed, of
being caught at any unexpected moment by the currents that must
always be invisible.
Harvey braced himself, hoping that a few seconds would carry him
across the zone of danger, and came within a hair of pitching from
his seat. The wabbling machine suddenly tilted upward, and stood
almost vertical. The escape of Detective Pendar was equally narrow.
Although he gripped the supports with both hands, it seemed to him
that for one terrible moment he hung by them alone, with his legs
dangling in midair. He was certain the aeroplane was capsizing, and
he could only wait for the end of all things. Gladly would he have
given the whole reward, which dazzled his vision, for the privilege
of feeling the solid earth under his feet.