WHAT'S TO BE DONE WITH THE WREN?
The _Golden Butterfly_, as an examination proved, had not been damaged
during their imprisonment in the hut. Evidently, the men who had slammed
the door and padlocked it had made off at top speed as soon as they had
completed what they hoped would be a source of sore trouble to the young
aviators.
"And now we'll fly back as agreed," declared Peggy merrily.
Her spirits, almost down to zero in the hut, had recovered themselves
marvellously in the fresh open air. She was radiant.
"I declare that the stay in the hut has done you good," declared Jimsy,
looking at her admiringly.
"Maybe it has--by contrast," returned Peggy.
"Like a sea trip," put in Roy. "I've heard that people who suffer from
sea sickness are so much relieved when they get ashore that they imagine
their good spirits are due to a change in their condition."
"Well, that applies to me," returned Peggy; "I didn't think we'd get out
of that hut so easily. How do you suppose that gun came to be there?"
"The hunters who use the hut must have left it there," rejoined Roy;
"I wonder if they'll ever know how useful it was to us."
"More likely they'll be mad when they find that the lock is blown off
the door," laughed Jimsy.
"Well, so-long, folks, I'm going to start back in the auto," declared
Roy.
"We'll beat you into town," challenged Jimsy.
"More than likely, if the _Golden Butterfly_ is doing her best," was
the rejoinder.
Ten minutes later the two machines were racing back to Meadville at
almost top speed. Of course the speedy _Golden Butterfly_ won, but then
a vehicle of the air does not have to contend with the obstacles that a
land conveyance does.
They found Miss Prescott almost on the verge of hysterics. A garbled
version of the events of the night had been brought to her and this,
coupled with the long absence of the three young folks, had made her
extremely nervous.
"I declare, it seems as if you just can't keep out of trouble," she
said.
"Well, it actually does seem so, I admit," confessed Peggy; "but we
promise to be very good for the rest of the trip."
"And never trouble trouble till trouble troubles us," chanted Jimsy
airily.
"That's all very well, but you keep me continually in suspense as to
what you'll do next," almost wailed Miss Prescott. "We set out for a
quiet trip and encounter nothing but troubles--"
"Adventures, Aunt Sally," laughingly corrected Roy; "what is life
without adventures?"
"Well, I'm sure I don't know what young people are coming to," sighed
Miss Prescott with resignation. "There's another thing, what are we to
do with this little Wren?"
"We can't leave her here, that's certain," declared Peggy with
vehemence.
"No, indeed," echoed Jess and Bess, who were of the council.
"Then what are we to do with her?"
"Just tote her along, I suppose," rejoined Peggy; "poor little thing,
she doesn't take up much room; besides, Jess thinks she's an heiress."
They all laughed.
"You must have had an overdose of Laura Jean Libby," declared Roy.
"Roy Prescott, you behave yourself," cried Jess, flushing up; "besides,
she has a strawberry mark on her left arm."
"My gracious, then she surely is a missing heiress," exclaimed Jimsy
teasingly; "all well-regulated missing heiresses have strawberry marks
and almost always on their left arm."
It was at this juncture that a knock came at the door. A bell boy stood
outside.
"A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, handing Roy a card.
On it was printed: "Mr. James Kennedy, Detective, Meadville Police
Station."
"Goodness, a real detective!" exclaimed Jess excitedly; "let's see him."
"You won't be much impressed I'm afraid," rejoined Roy with a smile
at his recollection of the Meadville sleuths.
"Why, doesn't he wear glasses, have a hawk-like nose and smoke a pipe?"
inquired Bess.
"And hunt up missing heiresses?" teasingly struck in Jimsy.
"No, he's a very different sort of person. But hush! he's coming now."
A heavy tread sounded in the hall and Mr. James Kennedy, Detective of
the Meadville Police Force, stood before them. As Jimsy had said, he was
not impressive as to outward appearance, although his fat, heavy face,
and rather vacant eyes, might have concealed a giant intellect.
"I've investigated the case of the attempted burning of the stable last
night," he began.
"Yes," exclaimed Roy eagerly. "Have you any suspicions as to who did
it?"
The man shook his head.
"As yet we have no clews," he declared, "and I don't think we'll get
any."
"That's too bad," replied Roy, "but let me tell you something that may
help you."
The lad launched into a description of their adventures of the morning.
"That hut belongs to Luke Higgins, a respectable man who is out West at
present," said the detective when Roy had finished. "He uses it as a
sort of hunting box in the rabbit shooting season. He couldn't have had
anything to do with it."
"I'd like to know his address so that I could write and thank him for
leaving that gun there," declared Peggy warmly.
The detective shook his head solemnly.
"I reckon you young folks had better stop skee-daddling round the
country this way," he said with heavy conviction; "you'll only get into
more trouble. Flying ain't natural no more than crowing hens is."
With this he picked up his hat, and, after assuring them that he would
find a clew within a short time, he departed, leaving behind him a
company in which amusement mingled with indignation. In fact, so angry
was Roy over the stupidity or ignorance of the Meadville police, that he
himself set out on a hunt to detect the authors of the outrages upon the
young aviators.
The sole result of his inquiry however was to establish the fact that
both Cassells had left town, closing their house and announcing that
they would be gone for some time.
As there was nothing further to be gained by remaining in Meadville, the
entire party, after lunch, set out once more, a big crowd witnessing the
departure of the aërial tourists.
They flew fast, and as the roads were excellent the auto had no
difficulty in keeping up with them. On through the afternoon they soared
along, sometimes swooping low above an alluring bit of scenery and again
heading their machines skyward in pure exuberance of spirits. Their
troubles at Meadville forgotten, they flew their machines like sportive
birds; never had any of them experienced more fully the joy of flight,
the sense of freedom that comes from traveling untrammeled into the
ether.
They had passed above a small village and were flying low, those in
the auto waving to them, when Peggy, in the _Golden Butterfly_, gave
a sudden exclamation.
"Oh, look," she shouted, "a flock of sheep, and right in the path of
the auto."
At that moment all of them saw the sheep, a large flock, headed by a
belligerent looking ram with immense horns. Jake, who was driving the
car, slowed up as he approached the flock. The woolly herd, huddled
together helplessly, made no effort to get out of the road. Behind them
a man and a boy shouted and yelled vigorously, but with no more effect
than to bunch the animals more squarely in the path of the advancing
car.
All at once, just as the car was slowed down to almost a walking pace,
a big ram separated himself from the flock and actually rushed for the
front seat of the car.
Jake uttered a yell as the woolly creature gave him a hard butt,
knocking him out of his seat. But this wasn't all.
By some strange freak the animal had landed in the car in a sitting
posture. Now the young aviators roared with laughter to behold the
creature seated in Jake's forcibly vacated place. Its hoofs rested on
the driving wheel.
Forward plunged the car, its queer driver with his feet wedged in the
spokes of the steering wheel. Aloft the flock of young aviators roared
with laughter at the sight. It was the oddest experience they had yet
had--this spectacle of a grave-looking, long-horned ram driving an auto,
while Jake prudently kept out of reach of those horns. As for Miss
Prescott and The Wren, they cowered back in the tonneau in keen alarm.
"Oh!" cried Peggy suddenly, "there comes a runabout; that ram will
surely collide with it!"
A runabout coming in the opposite direction dashed round a corner of the
country road at this juncture. The driver was a young girl, but she was
veiled and her features could not be seen under the thick face covering.
Apparently the ram saw the other car coming, for the animal actually
appeared to make a halfway intelligent effort to steer the car out of
the road.
For her part the girl in the runabout swerved her car from side to side
in a struggle to avoid a collision, which appeared inevitable.
"Stop it!" shrieked Bess; "she'll be killed."