A DASH FOR FREEDOM.
To Ned's intense relief, the little cortege did not attract much
attention as it passed down the street. Most of the town was at the
circus, attracted, doubtless, by the prospect of a big, free aeroplane
flight.
At last they reached the circus grounds. The performance had commenced,
and the spaces outside the tents in which it was going on were almost
deserted. Only a few canvasmen and hangers-on lounged about. From time
to time a loud blare of music or a shout of applause came from the
tent. Over by the main entrance Ned saw Professor Luminetti, still
tinkering with his aeroplane. Some men were helping him. Among them was
the man with the big moustache, who had addressed Ned so roughly when
he pointed out the defective link.
"There, professor," he was exclaiming, as the constable came up,
"that's done. I guess everything is all right now for the night
performance."
"It all came from not paying attention to what that young chap said,"
put in one of them.
"Yes, the professor thought he knew it all," put in another.
"Hullo! There's the young chap now," said the black-moustached man, who
was the manager of the show. "Say, young feller, you're all right. Any
time you want a----"
He was about to shake Ned by the hand, when the constable interposed.
"You the manager of this sheebang?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Wa-al, I'm ther constable. Whar's that pickpocket yer telephoned
about?"
"Right inside the sideshow tent. We put him in there under the guard of
two canvasmen."
"All right. I'll come and git him. Two uv you boys guard the prisoner
here while I'm gone."
He hastened off. Ned felt his face burn as some of the men who had
been clustered about Professor Luminetti gazed curiously at him. The
word "prisoner" had attracted their attention.
The professor was too busy with his machine to pay any attention. He
was starting up the engine to test it. The motor burred wildly and
emitted flashes of flame and blue smoke. Suddenly he looked around.
"Say, young feller," he said to Ned, "if you know so much about
aeroplanes, just tell me what ails this motor?"
Ned looked at his two guardians. They, perhaps curious to see if the
lad really knew anything about air-craft, nodded permission. After all,
they argued to themselves, there was no chance for the lad to escape.
Ned, forgetting his troubles for a time in his joy at again being able
to "fuss" over an aeroplane, bent over the refractory engine.
"The trouble's in one of the footpedals," he announced before long.
"Have to climb into the seat to fix it?" asked Luminetti.
"Reckon so."
Ned looked at his guardians. They nodded.
"Don't fly away," cried one of them jokingly, as Ned seated himself,
grasped the levers and placed his foot on the pedals to test the
mechanism.
"It would be a good joke if----"
Professor Luminetti, standing by the machine, was suddenly brushed off
his feet and rolled over on the sward.
"Br-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r!"
A terrific whirring, like the voice of a multitude of locusts, filled
the air.
Something huge and winged and powerful flashed by the amazed deputies,
and launched itself into the air. Before they recovered their wits, it
was out of reach.
"It's the aeroplane! He's stolen my aeroplane!" screamed Professor
Luminetti.
"Hi! Come back!" yelled the deputies.
But so swiftly had the aeroplane shot into space that Ned was already
out of ear-shot.
Hearing the babel of excited sounds, the constable came dashing from
the tent. In the excitement, he let go of the pickpocket's collar, and
that miscreant at once darted off.
"Get him! Bring him back!" shouted the arm of the Dundertown law.
"What do you think we are--a couple of birds?" demanded his deputies.
"Get him yourself!"
The constable drew out his revolver and began firing into the air. He
might as well have fired at the moon as at Ned. The aeroplane dwindled
swiftly to a winged blot, then to a speck, and, finally, vanished
altogether.
"I'll swear out a warrant for him!" shouted the manager.
"Well, don't do any more swearing, then," warned the constable, "er
I'll arrest you fer usin' profane langwidge. I've lost two prisoners,
an' I've got ter lock up somebody."
Luckily, at that moment, a small boy was captured as he was creeping
under the canvas. In the act of giving him a sound spanking, the
irate group left behind found some salve for their wounded feelings.
Luminetti raved and tore his hair. The manager promised to wreak dire
vengeance on Ned as soon as he got hold of him. As for the populace,
when the story leaked out, some of them, among these being Sam, were so
unfeeling as to laugh heartily. As for the quartermaster, he at once
set about to report the constable to all the authorities in the United
States, from the president down.
In the meantime, what of Ned?
If any of our readers imagine that he took the aeroplane on purpose,
they are mistaken. What seemed like a cleverly executed plan of escape
was, in reality, the result of an accident, pure and simple, but a
fortunate one, as it proved.
When Ned had placed his foot on the starting pedal, to his astonishment
the bit of machinery refused to budge. He pressed harder, and,
suddenly something snapped. The next instant Ned felt himself being
hurtled forward over the ground.
To prevent the aeroplane plunging into a tent or wagon and being
wrecked, he had resorted to the only mode of procedure possible. He had
set the rising planes.
Instantly the aeroplane responded. Behind him Ned could hear shouts and
cries, and guessed that those he had left behind were imagining he was
attempting to escape.
"If I land I'll have a hard job convincing them I wasn't," said Ned to
himself.
But nevertheless, the lad tried with all his might to check the
aeroplane's flight. But whatever had broken rendered this impossible.
Try as he would, he could not stop the engine. His only safety,
therefore, lay in keeping aloft. As the aeroplane rushed on through
space, it gathered speed instead of diminishing the fury of its course.
It was all Ned could do to cling to the seat and control the frantic
buckings and plungings of his aerial steed. The fact that though
similar to the one he used, he was unfamiliar with the particular
aeroplane in which he found himself, complicated his difficulties.
"I guess the only thing to do is to keep on till the gasolene gives
out," he thought, after his twentieth attempt to check his runaway
engine. "Reminds me of Don Quixote's ride with Sancho Panza to the
palace of the magician in cloudland," was the whimsical thought that
occurred to him. "Poor old Herc! It's not very complimentary to him to
compare him to Sancho, but I wish he was here with me."
The fuel tank of the aeroplane must have been well filled, for the
engine ran just as strongly at the end of an hour of aerial traveling
as it had at the beginning of the trip.
"I'd turn round if I dared," thought Ned; "but I can't check the speed
of the thing, and it would be suicidal to try to switch my course
while going at this speed."
Ned's plight may be compared to that of a lad on a runaway bicycle on
a steep hill. He did not dare turn for fear of disaster, and yet he
didn't quite know what would happen if he kept on. However, he didn't
have to be scared of colliding with a wagon!
Suddenly, to Ned's huge joy, the engine showed signs of slackening
speed. He gently manipulated a lever, and found that he had partial
control of the machine now. This being so, he decided to land as soon
as practicable. From a clump of trees some distance ahead, the white
spire of a church told him of a village. To his left hand lay the sea.
Ned gazed at it longingly, as he dropped nearer and nearer to the
ground.
He landed at the edge of a meadow adjoining a building which was
occupied by the village post-office and telegraph office. A sign on a
house across the way made his heart leap:
"Blackhaven Hotel."
Chance had actually brought him within close range of the fleet. It
seemed too good to be true. But a crowd of villagers, who came rushing
to inspect the visitor from cloudland, soon put all other thoughts but
the safety of his machine out of his mind. If he had not watched it
carefully, there seemed to be danger of its being ripped to bits by
souvenir hunters.
A brief inspection showed Ned that a broken tension-spring had caused
the runaway. It was soon adjusted. Then he peeped into the gasolene
tank. It was almost empty.
"They sell gasolene in ther store there, mister," said a bright lad.
"Gasolene gigs come through here onct in a while."
"When they's lost," struck in another lad.
This was good news to Ned. Leaving the lads to guard the machine, he
entered the post-office. The postmaster imperturbably sold him five
gallons of gasolene. Ned recollected that he couldn't pay for it. But,
unfortunately, this did not occur to him till he had emptied it into
the tank.
Hardly had he done so, and was starting back to the store with
explanations, when the postmaster, who was also telegraph operator,
appeared in the doorway of his emporium. He was waving a yellow
telegram.
"Hold that feller, one of yer!" he shouted. "That thar's a stolen
sky-buggy, and he's no better than a thief!"
A dozen men started forward to lay hands on Ned.
But a sudden determination had come to the lad. He was within striking
distance of the fleet. It was his duty to warn the officers of the
peril that menaced their vessels.
A rough hand seized his arm. Ned flung it off. At the same instant his
fists drove full at a big fellow--the village blacksmith--who tried to
bar his path, swinging a heavy hammer.
"Stand clear!" shouted Ned, as he sprang into the seat of his
machine--or rather Professor Luminetti's--"this machine isn't
stolen--_it's borrowed on Uncle Sam's service_!"
The next instant the machine skyrocketed upward, leaving behind it a
trail of smoke, and sensation that furnished talk for the village of
Blackhaven for more than a year.