[Illustration: “IT’S A NOTICE ABOUT A REWARD THAT’S JUST BEEN POSTED,”
SAID A MAN.]
THE MOTOR BOYS
ON THE WING
Or
Seeking the Airship Treasure
BY
CLARENCE YOUNG
Author of
“The Racer Boys Series” and “The Jack Ranger Series.”
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS BY CLARENCE YOUNG
=THE MOTOR BOYS SERIES=
(_=Trade Mark Reg. U. S. Pat. Office=_)
12mo. Illustrated
THE MOTOR BOYS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVERLAND
THE MOTOR BOYS IN MEXICO
THE MOTOR BOYS ACROSS THE PLAINS
THE MOTOR BOYS AFLOAT
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE ATLANTIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN STRANGE WATERS
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE PACIFIC
THE MOTOR BOYS IN THE CLOUDS
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE ROCKIES
THE MOTOR BOYS OVER THE OCEAN
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE WING
=THE JACK RANGER SERIES=
12mo. Finely Illustrated
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOLDAYS
JACK RANGER’S WESTERN TRIP
JACK RANGER’S SCHOOL VICTORIES
JACK RANGER’S OCEAN CRUISE
JACK RANGER’S GUN CLUB
JACK RANGER’S TREASURE BOX
Copyright, 1912, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
=The Motor Boys On The Wing=
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TWO QUEER MEN 1
II. WARNED AWAY 12
III. A SUDDEN DISAPPEARANCE 21
IV. NODDY NIXON’S PLIGHT 29
V. A SIGHT OF THE BIPLANE 38
VI. “HOLD THE TRAIN!” 45
VII. A CURIOUS RACE 56
VIII. NODDY’S AEROPLANE 64
IX. A DISASTROUS FLIGHT 72
X. SUSPICIOUS CONVERSATION 82
XI. OFF TO THE MEET 90
XII. NEWS OF BROWN AND BLACK 97
XIII. WINNING A PRIZE 105
XIV. A RISKY CLIMB 118
XV. A BREAKDOWN 124
XVI. STARTLING NEWS 130
XVII. SEEKING CLEWS 136
XVIII. A NEW THEORY 143
XIX. SUSPICIONS 150
XX. A BIG REWARD 158
XXI. THE RAG ON THE STATUE 163
XXII. OFF ON THE HUNT 172
XXIII. AFTER BROWN AND BLACK 180
XXIV. THE LONELY FARMHOUSE 189
XXV. QUEER ACTIONS 197
XXVI. THE WOUNDED MEN 204
XXVII. THE CAPTURE 213
XXVIII. TOSSED BY THE STORM 222
XXIX. THE WRECKED AIRSHIP 228
XXX. THE AIRSHIP TREASURE--CONCLUSION 235
THE MOTOR BOYS ON THE WING
CHAPTER I
TWO QUEER MEN
“Don’t try it Jerry, you can’t make it.”
“Yes, I can Bob. There’s more room than you think. Besides, the hay is
soft.”
“No, don’t, Jerry. We’re in no hurry,” put in the third member of a
trio of boys in a big touring car that was skimming along a pleasant
country road behind a load of hay. “Don’t do it!”
“Say, I’m tired of taking in all that fellow’s dust,” returned Jerry
Hopkins. “Hold fast fellows, here we go!”
He pressed down the accelerator pedal of the machine and headed the car
for a narrow space that showed between the load of hay and the side
rails of a bridge that the farm wagon was just crossing.
It was a rather small opening to get through but Jerry was a skillful
steersman, and, as he had said, he had traveled behind the load of hay
so long, breathing the dust kicked up by the plodding horses, that he
was tired of it. The driver had been obstinate and would not pull over,
and this was the first chance Jerry had had to pass.
“You’ll have a smash!” predicted Bob Baker.
“Not on your life, Chunky!” called back Jerry.
“Hug the hay--not the bridge--those side rails may be rotten,” advised
Ned Slade, as he took a firm grip on the lap-robe rail in front of him.
“Right you are,” admitted Jerry. “Here’s where we hit the red top and
timothy. All ready now!”
The big car shot ahead. The farm wagon was rumbling over the bridge,
which was none too strong, and when the auto also reached the
clattering planks it sounded as if a thunder storm had broken loose.
With quick eyes and ready hands Jerry guided the car. Close up against
the sides of the billowy hay he sent the machine to avoid hitting the
bridge rail, yet so narrow was the space that the hub caps raked a
furrow in a retaining plank, while the hay whipped the faces of the
autoists.
“Look out!” yelled Bob.
“Farther over--farther!” cried Ned.
“Oh, all right. Don’t get excited,” advised Jerry calmly. “We’re safe
now.”
They would have been, in another instant, for with a quick turn of the
steering wheel the tall lad on the front seat was about to send the
car cutting in ahead of the horses, having nearly passed the wagon.
But whether the steeds were frightened by the shouts of Ned and Bob,
or whether the driver unconsciously or intentionally turned toward the
auto was not known. At any rate only by a rapid shifting of his course
was Jerry able to avoid a collision. He screwed the wheel around to the
left, and then, as he saw that he was running the front tires into the
bridge rails he twisted his “helm” once more to the right. By this time
the end of the bridge was reached, and Jerry saw an open road ahead of
him, having emerged from behind the hay wagon.
He cut sharply into it, so sharply in fact that the mud guard on the
right rear wheel scraped the nigh horse, causing the animal to swerve
against its mate in fright.
“Whoa there! Hold on! I’ll have th’ law on you fellers!” cried the
driver of the hay load.
“Say, you _did_ hit his horse,” remarked Bob in a low voice.
“Better pull up and see if he’s going to make trouble. Otherwise he
may take our number and report us,” advised Ned.
There was a grinding and shrieking of brakes and the auto came to a
stop just ahead of the farm wagon, the driver of which had now quieted
his horses.
“What do you mean?” he roared, as he dismounted, whip in hand. “What
right you got to smash into me that way?”
Jerry stood up in the machine, and looked at the steeds before replying.
A quick glance told him that beyond a mere scratch that had not even
drawn blood, the horse he had struck was not injured. Then the tall lad
replied.
“Look here, Mister Man. I don’t want any of your talk!”
“Oh you don’t; hey? Wa’al, I’m goin’ to give you some, an’ then I’m
going to make a complaint agin ye!”
“No, you’re not,” declared Jerry with easy assurance. “In the first
place you’re a road-hog of the worst type. We kept behind you for
nearly a mile, swallowing your dust, and, though there were several
places where you could have turned out, and let us pass, you wouldn’t
do it. I got tired of tooting my horn, and when I saw a chance to slip
by I took it. I wouldn’t have barked your horse, if you’d kept to your
own side of the bridge, and you know it.
“As it is, your animal isn’t hurt a bit, but you were nearly the
cause of something serious happening to us. Now go ahead and make a
complaint if you dare. We’ll come right back at you with a worse one
for obstructing the road. That’s all I’ve got to say to you, and you
can put it in your pipe and smoke it! Hold fast, fellows, here we go!”
And with that Jerry threw in his gear, let the clutch slip into place
and they were off down the road before the angry and chagrinned farmer
could think of anything to say.
When he did get his brain to working all he could ejaculate was:
“Wa’al, I’ll be gum-swizzled! Them auto fellers is gittin’ wuss an’
wuss every day. I wish I’d upsot ’em!”
Jerry and his chums were too far off, however, to hear this uncharitable
wish, and it would probably have given them little concern had it come
to their ears.
“Whew! That was hot while it lasted,” remarked Bob, breathing easily
for the first time since the beginning of the little scene.
“You certainly had his number all right, Jerry,” said Ned.
“Yes, there are too many farmers like him,” retorted the tall steersman.
“We autoists don’t want any more than our rights on the road.”
“Yes, and that’s one disadvantage of traveling in an auto,” went on
Ned, when they were once more skimming peacefully along the highway.
“Now if we’d been out in our motorship _Comet_ we shouldn’t have had
any trouble at all. There’s no blockading of the roads up there,” and
he motioned to the blue sky above them.
“No, it’ll be some time before we have to take anybody’s dust up in the
air,” was Bob’s opinion.
“Still the upper regions are more crowded than when we first took to
‘sky-larking,’” spoke Jerry. “Especially at an aviation meet. Which
reminds me that I saw something in a paper I bought back there in
Hammondport about a big gathering of birdmen that’s to take place soon.”
“Where is it?” asked Bob.
“Didn’t have time to look,” replied Jerry. “Here, you and Ned have a
peep at it. If the meet is anywhere around here we might take it in.”
Jerry reached in his pocket, and pulled out a folded newspaper. He
passed it back to Ned, who exclaimed a moment later:
“Say, fellows, we ought to take this in. It’s going to be great, and
maybe we can pull down one of the prizes.”
“Where’s it to be?” asked Jerry.
“At Colton.”
“And where’s Colton?” demanded Bob.
“Not far from the city of Harmolet. We stopped there once to fix up
after a blowout.”
“Oh, I remember that place!” exclaimed Bob. “It was there we had such a
jolly chicken pot-pie dinner.”
“Hum! Yes! Trust Bob to remember anything that had ‘eats’ in it,” came
from Jerry, with a chuckle. “But Colton isn’t so far away. We could
take it in. What do you say?”
“I’m for it,” declared Ned.
“Same here,” added Bob. “But, speaking of chicken pot-pie makes me
hungry. There’s a good hotel just ahead and what’s the matter with
stopping there for dinner?”
“Nothing, I guess,” conceded Jerry. “We’re out for a good time, and we
might as well have it. We’ll stop for grub, fellows, and then we can
talk about this meet.”
A run of five minutes more brought them to a small country town called
Freedon, where they ran their car under the hotel shed, and were soon
arranging for dinner.
While waiting for the meal to be served the boys sat in the hotel
lobby, which contained quite a few persons; farmers who had come in
on business, or to sell produce, traveling men, and one or two well
dressed persons, apparently auto tourists like our heroes.
Two men in particular attracted the attention of Jerry and his chums.
They were dark-complexioned chaps, evidently used to being out of
doors, and their quiet but expensive clothes betokened that they were
well off, or posed as being in that condition.
But it was neither the clothes nor the appearance of the men that
attracted the attention of the boys as much as their manner. They sat
together, not far from the hotel clerk’s desk, and sharply scrutinized
every person in the lobby. Nor did our friends escape observation. The
dark, eager, shifting gaze of the two men rested on the boys from time
to time, and then darted off toward newcomers.
“Have either of you seen those two men before?” asked Jerry of Ned and
Bob, in a low voice.
“No,” replied Bob, who because of his fleshiness was still panting from
the exertion of climbing the hotel steps.
“How about you, Ned?”
“I agree with Chunky,” was the other lad’s reply, giving his stout chum
his often-used nickname. “But they certainly will know us if they see
us again.”
“They sure will,” came from Jerry. “But now let’s have a look at that
paper. I want to read about the meet. Where did you say it was to take
place Ned? I mean that aviation meet.”
“At Colton, near Harmolet. We could put up at Harmolet I think, for
there are not likely to be many accommodations in Colton. I know there
is a good hotel in Harmolet.”
“Then Harmolet for ours!” exclaimed Bob in rather a loud voice. “I
think--”
At the mention of the name of that city the two queer men, as if moved
by the same impulse, stared straight at our heroes. The eyes of Jerry
met first those of the man nearest him, and then shifted to the face
of his companion. The two men hastily glanced away, and then, as Bob,
who had noticed their strange action and who had interrupted himself,
resumed his remarks about the desirability of Harmolet as a stopping
place, the two strangers whispered eagerly together.
“Hum,” mused Jerry. “That’s rather odd. They must know something about
Harmolet.”
“That’s not strange, seeing that it’s a good-sized place,” observed
Ned. “But I don’t believe I’d care to have anything to do with those
chaps--especially after dark,” he added in a low voice. “I don’t like
their looks.”
“Same here,” agreed Jerry. “But we’re not likely to have anything to do
with them. Now about this meet. If we’re going we’ll have to give our
motorship _Comet_ an overhauling,” and with that our friends fell to
talking of air travel, in which they were well-nigh experts.
Dinner was presently announced, and the boys went up to the hotel desk
to register. Just in front of them were the two strange men, whose
conduct had been the cause of some speculation among the three lads.
The men put their names down on the books just ahead of Jerry Hopkins.
“Hum--James Brown and John Black,” mused Jerry as he looked at the
signatures. “Couldn’t be any more common names than those I guess.”
“Where are they from?” asked Bob, for Jerry had registered for his two
chums.
“It might be almost any place,” was the answer, “for it’s such a
scrawl that I can’t read it. Brown and Black; eh? Well, they’re both
dark complexioned enough to be called ‘black.’ However let’s go in to
dinner. I hope we don’t sit anywhere near them. It would spoil my
appetite to be stared at the way they have been looking at us.”
“It’ll take a good deal to spoil _my_ appetite,” observed the stout lad
with a heart-felt sigh.
The fears of our heroes were groundless, for they were seated well away
from the two odd men, and they managed to do ample justice to the meal.