THE PATH OF THE EAGLE
“Well, I declare!” almost shouted Hiram Dobbs.
“I should say so,” vociferated Elmer. “You see, Dave in his hurry forgot
that package under his pillow. There’s a photograph——”
“Of the girl who came in the automobile! What is it Dave calls her? Oh,
yes—Edna Deane.”
“And that pile of bank bills, Hiram!” cried the astounded Elmer, as he
gingerly flicked over the edge of a heap of bills surrounded by an
elastic band. “Big bills! See, look! Why, there must be hundreds there!”
“Hundreds?” repeated Hiram, equally dumbfounded, like his comrade. “See
the printed figures on that paper band—‘$5,000.’ Don’t touch them, cover
them up. It’s Dave’s business, and we have no right to spy into his
affairs. All the same—thunder!”
Elmer replaced the pillow. Then both boys sat down on stools and stared
at the cot and then at each other.
“It’s a mystery,” broke out Elmer, after a tantalizing spell of silence.
“What’s Dave doing with all that money? It puzzles me.”
“No, it’s what is he going to do with it,” corrected Hiram. “You can
make up your mind, it’s business. The girl’s picture I can’t exactly
figure out. Dave will explain it all when the right minute comes. Here
he is now.”
Somewhat flushed, the young aviator came hurrying into the tent. Hiram
pretended to be arranging his necktie and Elmer was lacing a shoe. Dave
proceeded to the bed and threw aside the pillow. He stored the package
he found there in an inside pocket.
“You want to hurry, fellows,” he said. “There’s a lot to do this
morning, you know.”
There was so much to do, that after a hurried breakfast the crew of the
_Comet_ found every minute occupied for the ensuing two hours. The
_Comet_ was in perfect trim for the start. There were a hundred little
things to think of in the way of supplies and duplicate parts of
machinery. Mr. Brackett appeared on the scene early, and went over the
biplane he understood so well with the care and anxiety of an automobile
owner entering his pet car for a race.
All the time bands were playing, banners flying, and a vast concourse of
people had gathered. There was a speech from the president of the
National Aero Association, with the contestants to the fore. The young
airman and his friends went down the line, looking over the various
machines that were to take part in the event. Each one bore a numeral,
and had some distinctive mark that gave it a clear identity.
“We are number three,” said Hiram. “That was always my lucky number. I
went to school three years, got licked three times before I left and
worked three years on the farm. This is the third big event I’ve had
anything to do with, there are three of us——”
“Three cheers for number three!” cried Elmer. “There’s father beckoning
to me. No, he wants us all, fellows.”
Our hero and the aero manufacturer had talked over all business details
earlier in the morning. The kind-hearted Mr. Brackett, however, could
not see his proteges start out on a long and perilous flight without a
few words of fatherly counsel. He gave them some sensible advice, and
Dave fancied he looked with considerable pride at Elmer. It was with
satisfaction that the indulgent father compared the present courageous
ambitions of his son with the useless life the prodigal had once led.
A bell was rung at the grandstand. This was the half-hour preparation
signal. The airmen now proceeded to their machines. The scene became one
of lively activity and gay colors. The _Comet_, neat, compact and
perfect, showed up for the beautiful piece of mechanism it was in the
clear, dazzling sunlight. Its crew, nattily attired, seemed to fit into
a pleasing natural picture.
There was no expectation of a general uniform start when the second bell
rang. With the long perilous journey before them, it was a matter of
small consequence starting on the moment. Some of the aeroplanes, in
fact, would not be in line for some hours to come. Ever ready at the
business call, however; always on time as a matter of principle, the
young pilot of the _Comet_ wasted no time. Number three was the first to
leave the field, and got all the first overflow of cheers and
enthusiasm. Until a course due northwest was attained, Elmer and Hiram
sat waving to the little group outside of their abandoned hangar. Mr.
Brackett kept them in sight until the _Comet_ was a fading blur, a mere
speck in the far distance. The splendid machine struck its best gait
staunchly, steadily, leaving a gasoline trail behind.
The boys had talked so much over the trip—they understood the _Comet_ so
well, that everything went like clockwork. Elmer had charge of the maps
and charts. Hiram insisted on being purser extraordinary. All hands were
prepared for any emergency that might arise.
The Aero Association had mapped out the general route the contestants
were to pursue. None was tied to rigid rules, however, outside of
reporting at certain stations. All this had been arranged by letter and
cable. The first reporting stop was to be made at Chicago, the next at
Winnipeg. Between all reporting points, the contestants could follow
their own route. They could land when they chose. Each one, however,
must report at the stations designated and secure the credentials
necessary to prove that he was still in the race.
The route chart showed towns and cities where an aero club or interested
airman could be located. These would also answer as repair and supply
stations. Even in foreign countries, so far as could be arranged, the
contestants would be able to locate friends and receive succor or
assistance as needed.
“We are going to blaze a great international trail,” observed Hiram,
proudly.
“That is, if we get through all right,” remarked Elmer.
“Oh, we’ve got to do that,” proclaimed his light and airy comrade. “The
_Comet_ was made to do it. I wonder how many of the others will even
reach Canada?”
“There were twelve entries,” spoke their pilot. “I will say, a finer lot
of machines never started a flight. Of course they won’t all get
through.”
“It will be kind of lonesome when we get pretty well scattered, and
trailing over some desert or water waste, way out of range of
civilization; eh, fellows?” suggested Elmer.
The _Comet_ made a non-stop run of nearly two hundred miles. It was
mid-afternoon when they descended half-way across a high mountain range.
Dave went all over the machine and Elmer oiled and cleaned up the
bearings. Hiram gathered some scraps for a little fire, and they had hot
coffee, as well as ham broiled on long forks, and the rest of a really
good meal.
Then there was a pleasant chat, some exercise, and they were all aboard
again and driving through a brief mountain rainstorm, coming into clear
weather beyond.
Before dusk Hiram reported four competitors visible through his field
glass. Two of them came pretty near to the _Comet_, and one signalled
them. Then their routes deviated, and after a second landing the boys
got ready for a six-hour steady night run.
About two o’clock in the morning they landed in a convenient field. The
register showed four hundred and ninety-two miles accomplished in a
little less than fourteen hours, almost straight flying.
It was late in the afternoon of the day following that the _Comet_ came
to a stop on the aero grounds just outside of Chicago. From having been
there before and from their description chart, Dave was able to locate
the place readily.
No meet was on at the time, but enthusiastic brother airmen were on hand
expecting an arrival. Amid cheers and warm hand clasps, the tired crew
of the _Comet_ were greeted royally.
There was a blackboard outside the office building of the course. As
they neared it Hiram uttered a triumphant chuckle. Its surface was
unmarked until a man approached it, and chalked on its line the first
arrival from starting point.
“_No. Three—the Comet._”