AUNTY HEP TAKES A RIDE.
That which followed these words was so amusing that Harvey Hamilton
laughed outright. Aunty Hep dropped her sewing from her lap and sprang
to her feet, with hands upraised in self-reproach.
“Mercy sakes alive! Poor boy! You are starving!”
In the same moment, Ann Harbor without speaking, darted into the small
room at the rear which served as a kitchen. Evidently she believed in
deeds more than in words.
“Not so bad as that, Aunty,” protested the caller; “I am pretty hungry,
but I can stand it a little longer. I shall be glad to eat a belated
breakfast, but I beg you not to hurry.”
“Not to hurry,” she repeated reprovingly; “we can’t hurry too much.
You look pale and must feel faint. It won’t take us long to get you
something.”
He protested again, but was not displeased by the promptness with
which they met his need. Sooner than he expected, a bountiful meal was
ready, and the coffee remaining in the pot was quickly reheated and
a brimming cup poured out for him. They urged him to eat until he was
compelled to stop. He dared not offer payment and thanked them over and
over again. Their pleasure was as great as his own.
“I’m downright glad I didn’t have my regular breakfast this morning,”
he said, when he shoved his chair back.
“Why?” asked the hostess.
“I should have lost the best meal I ever ate.”
“La, now, you shouldn’t say that.”
“My mother taught me to speak the truth at all times; but Ann,” he
added, turning to the girl who was removing the dishes, “while you are
helping like the good girl you are, I shall go outside to watch for the
return of the Professor. It won’t do to lose sight of him and he may
come back at any time.”
He walked across the floor and paused with his hand on the latch.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll go to my aeroplane, and when it is safe I
shall bring it here for you and Aunty to look at.”
With this understanding he set out on his return to the spot where
he had left his machine. He was so grateful to the women that he was
anxious to gratify them in every way possible, but he could not
forget his simple-hearted friend who was in peril. More than an hour
had passed since the Professor had winged his way northward and he
was liable to return at any time or possibly he might wait for a long
while. Harvey had already run great risk and could not be too careful.
He found that no one had been near the machine and it was as ready as
ever for service. It would have been the height of imprudence for him
to bring it forth so long as the return of the Professor was impending.
He devoted a few minutes to oiling the moving parts and giving the
structure a minute examination, and frequently he stepped into the open
space and studied the sky through his field glass, searching for the
object that had become familiar to him.
Remembering what Aunty Hep had said, he scrutinized the country a
little to the east of north. It was mountainous, wooded, unsettled, and
so far as he could judge contained very few or no cabins.
“It is the place where I should think he would hide Bunk, but his
prison may be a score of miles beyond the farthest reach of my vision.”
A mass of cumulous, fleecy clouds was drifting across the sky low
down, while the firmament above was of a clear soft blue. Just below
a stratum of snowy vapor, he saw what looked like a bird with
outstretched wings sailing toward him. Its rapid increase in size and
the power of the binoculars quickly disclosed the fact that it was a
monoplane. Professor Morgan was returning to his workshop near the town
of Purvis.
Instead of taking the same course as before, the inventor circled to
the east, so that he was a fourth of a mile distant on his nearest
approach to where Harvey Hamilton stood on the edge of the cleared
space with leveled glass. He was still flying low, and in a few minutes
sank from sight.
“I am sure that Detective Pendar would agree with me as to the meaning
of what I have seen to-day. Professor Morgan carried food to Bunk, and
at the same time gave his machine a test so far as he could. He has not
yet accomplished all he has in mind, though he may be close to it, and
has gone back to his workshop to continue his experiments. He will stay
there for the rest of the day and make another trip to-morrow morning.”
This was drawing it fine, but our young friend was so confident he
was right that he acted upon the theory. It will be seen that he was
steadily narrowing the circle of search. At daybreak he had established
the fact that the place where Bunk was held a prisoner was north of
the ridge which the pursuer crossed on his way to the home of Aunty
Hephzibah Akers. He had learned later that it was somewhere in the wild
region a little to the east of north, which loomed up on the farther
limit of his vision. The next visit of the Professor to Bunk ought
to locate the spot so nearly that Harvey could, so to speak, put his
finger on it.
Aunt Hep had resumed her sewing by the window, and her niece having
cleared off the table was chatting with her about the remarkable story
told by their youthful caller, when both were startled by a roar and
racket which caused them to listen with bated breath. Neither had ever
heard anything like it, for it will be remembered that the monoplane to
which they were accustomed sailed on its aerial voyages without ripple
or noise. Ann sprang up and opened the door.
“O Aunty! here he is! come and look!”
As she called, she sprang off the little porch and ran out to where
Harvey Hamilton had just finished volplaning to the earth only a few
rods away from the front of the house. Her relative was at her heels,
as much amazed as she. They stared at the strange looking thing, and
upon the owner’s invitation went forward and listened, absorbed, to his
description of the functions of the different parts. Harvey patiently
answered questions that belonged more to a child than to an adult.
“And now,” he added, “I want you to take a ride with me.”
They shrank back in dismay and shook their heads.
“I wouldn’t do it for worlds!” gasped Aunty, and the awful thought
caused her niece to whirl on her heel and plunge through the door into
the house. A minute later she emerged again and hesitatingly approached
the others.
“Nothing could make me expose you to the least danger,” said Harvey
soothingly; “I have ridden hundreds of miles in this and never been
hurt; I know better how to handle it than ever before; it is in the
best condition and you need not have the slightest fear.”
The result of his persistent persuasion was that the two consented to
the venture which a half hour before they would not have faced for a
fortune. He explained that they had only to sit still, after he had
adjusted their seats so as to balance right, lightly grasp the rods
at their side, and then fancy that the long-reaching arms were their
own wings and they were two innocent birds coursing through the upper
regions. Just as everything was ready, Ann was seized with sudden panic
and would have leaped out, had not her relative caught her arm and
sternly ordered her to keep her seat.
When, in response to the whirl of the propeller the machine began
gliding down the slope, the girl screamed and her aunt had again to
check her. Harvey sprang nimbly to his place and at the proper moment
pointed the front rudder upward, and the aeroplane left the earth and
soared into the heavens. The load being greater than usual he kept the
propeller at its highest speed.
The young aviator proceeded on the principle of trying to kill two
birds with one stone. He could give his friends the treat of their
lives, but in doing so, he steered toward the point where he had first
caught sight of the monoplane on its last return from the north. He
had become so used to running the machine that he felt free to inspect
the country while gliding over it. Before starting he had fixed the
salient points in his mind,--the lofty peak to the westward, the
endless stretch of wilderness, the villages and towns in the distance,
the few scattered cabins, the ridge to the rear, the rushing, tumbling
streams, and the lake a little way ahead and to his right. Scattered
here and there were signs of life as shown by more than one canoe,
gliding over the smooth waters, or paddled up the current or floating
down it, with the fingers of vapor pointing skyward from the depths of
the forests where parties of tourists or campers were gathered beneath.
It was the glad summer time, and the visitors to the Adirondack region
were numbered by the thousands. The open season was not much more than
a month off when the hunters would shoot one another in the ardor of
their pursuit of big game, with an occasional deer thrown in as a
counterpoise to their mistakes.
With some misgiving as to how his passengers would stand what was
certainly an ordeal, Harvey looked around at them. Each was tightly
grasping the support at her side, and they sat as rigid as statues,
their faces pale, but the glow of their eyes showing how entranced they
were with the flight and how keen was their enjoyment of it. When Ann’s
eyes met those of her friend, she shook her head and tried to smile,
but did not make much of a success of it. Exalted as were her emotions
when she gazed down at the wonderfully picturesque landscape sweeping
past, she longed to feel it once more under her feet.
Harvey did not overdo matters. He flew ten or twelve miles, which he
was sure took him to the point in his mind. He peered below but saw
only trees, masses of rocks and a small waterfall, but no sign of life.
“Now if Bunk is down there, as I believe he is, he ought to notice this
biplane. Likely he is looking at me this very minute.”
Prompted by the fancy Harvey took off his cap and swung it round his
head, searching the earth below in the hope of catching a response.
“He is so ready to do that sort of thing he ought to reply. As I am
carrying two passengers he might not recognize me, but that need not
prevent his answering my salutation.”
The solitude remained as unbroken, however, as at “creation’s morn,”
and afraid to go any farther, Harvey made a wide curve to the right and
began his return.
Although he had not caught a sign of Bohunkus Johnson, he saw others.
Two men standing on the bank of the uppermost tributary of the Schroon
discharged their guns. They could have done no harm had they been
pointed at the aeroplane, for the distance was too great, but the
weapons were aimed at nothing and the action was meant as a salute to
the navigator of the air. He saw the gray puffs and waved his cap as
the only thing he could do by way of acknowledgment. A man paddling up
stream in a canoe held the blade motionless and circled his hat, while
his two feminine companions waved their handkerchiefs and doubtless
said something appropriate to the occasion.
The large white tent to which allusion has been made and which stood on
the shore of the small lake, was hardly a mile from the home of Aunt
Hephzibah Akers. The young aviator sailed almost directly over it,
leaning well to one side and peering downward, but the camp appeared to
be deserted. He decided that the campers were off on a tramp or fishing
excursion.
From this point to the little patch of ground in front of the home of
Gideon Akers, the guide, was so slight a distance that in a minute
or so, Harvey spiraled down as gracefully as an alighting bird, on
the spot where he had halted before. The women sighed with relief and
enjoyment as he helped them to the ground. They were grateful and urged
him to spend the remainder of the day at the house.
Harvey would have done so but for the feeling that it would be
neglecting the interests of Bunk. Aunt Hep herself had commended his
vigorous earnestness, but the question which he asked himself was
whether to lay aside his aeroplane at this point or to return to where
he had wheeled about when he came back. If he did the latter he would
advance that much nearer Bohunkus, but his scrutiny of the ground had
not disclosed a suitable spot for landing. He feared he would be caught
at a disadvantage and find his machine useless when he needed it the
most. He decided upon a compromise. He would leave the aeroplane at the
home of Aunt Hep, and since more than half the day remained, press on
afoot.
Accordingly he pushed the machine to the rear of the dwelling, where a
shed gave shelter to the single cow whenever she was in want of it, and
managed to screen the biplane from sight provided no one’s suspicion
was drawn to the spot. Then he bade his friends good-bye for the time
and started off on a tramp that was destined to bring him an experience
of which he little dreamed.