IN FRIENDLY HANDS
The young aviator did not delay for a single instant. So precipitately
did he start for the group about the tree, that he fairly knocked Hiram
off his footing.
“The mischief!” gasped the latter, righting himself and staring aghast
at the scene a little distance ahead of them.
“Stop! stop!” shouted Dave at the top of his voice, as he dashed across
the open stretch, and momentarily came nearer and nearer to the men who
surrounded the airmen.
Dave had a right to be urgent, for two men had seized hold of Mr. King
as if to handle him roughly.
Three rifles were aimed at Dave as he fearlessly ran up to the group.
One of the party, evidently the leader, stared at our hero as he came to
a halt, with a suspicious and threatening scowl.
“Hello,” he challenged, “another one? Why, strangers are getting thick
as bees in swarming time.”
“It’s another detective,” growled a man by his side.
Dave faced the fierce-visaged, reckless-mannered mob, all alive with
anxiety and excitement.
“You must not harm that man,” he declared, dauntlessly.
“Know him, do you?” inquired the leader, with a sinister look.
“I should say I did. There’s some mistake.”
“Who is he?”
“He is Mr. Robert King, the great aviator.”
“H’m that’s what he said, but we don’t believe him,” retorted the
leader. “Look at that badge on him.”
“Why, that is a trophy from an aero club,” explained Dave. “Read what it
says, and you’ll see that I am telling the truth.”
“Say, sonny,” observed the man, with a derisive laugh, “there ain’t any
schoolhouses in this district, and none of us know how to read. Now
then, who are you, and where did you come from?”
“I am in the same line as Mr. King,” replied Dave; “and I came from the
spot where our airship landed.”
“How did you find us?”
“Oh, yes,” said Dave, quickly. “I ran across the MacGuffins. They were
making a raid, and——”
If the young aviator had thrown a firebrand among the group he could not
have caused more excitement. At the mention of that dread name, “the
MacGuffins,” it seemed as though the men before him uttered a fearful
roar of hatred and rage. The leader sprang forward and grasped Dave’s
arm.
“Don’t you fool me!” he shouted. “Where did you run across the
MacGuffins?”
“About fifteen miles north of here. They were burning houses, and——”
Dave was interrupted by a cry. It proceeded from the woman he and Hiram
had helped. She appeared now upon the scene carrying her babe, and Hiram
following with the little girl in his arms.
“Jared!” cried the woman, and then Dave knew that the leader of the
outlaw band was her husband. The man stared at her in bewilderment.
“Nance,” he spoke in a husky voice, “what does it mean, you being here?”
“Oh, Jared, the MacGuffins!” she wailed. “They have burned us out! If it
wasn’t for these two brave boys, we might all have been killed! They hid
us and helped me get here with the children.”
“You did this?” spoke the man in a choked-up tone, turning to the young
aviator. “And that fellow is your friend?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Set him free,” ordered the man with a wave of his hand towards Mr.
King. “As to you, young man, you’ve made some friends, let me tell you.”
Dave and Hiram hurried eagerly to the spot where two of the band began
immediately to liberate Mr. King, who had looked worn and worried. A
glad smile of relief now covered his face.
“You came just in the nick of time,” he told his two young friends.
“It looks so,” said Hiram, seriously.
“There’s a bad nest of them,” cautioned the airman. “I never met such
stubborn, unreasonable beings. They seem to have two objects in life—to
fight each other and dodge revenue officers.”
“Regular outlaws, aren’t they?” queried Hiram.
“Yes, and with little idea of the value of human life.”
The band grouped together about the woman, who was reciting the
incidents of the raid of the MacGuffins. Wild shouts and threats
followed her story. The party split up, and half of them ran to a
thicket, to reappear with horses.
At a word from the leader they set off in the direction the refugees had
just come from. Then the man approached the airman and his companions.
“We’re rough fellows, maybe,” he said, “but we stick like glue to a
friend. You two young fellows saved my Nance and the babies. There isn’t
much we fellows wouldn’t do for you in return.”
“Well, you can probably help us out a good deal if you want to,” replied
Dave promptly.
“Just name how, son.”
“Mr. King has told you how we are balloonists. We need some quicksilver,
and the three of us had started out to locate some town where we could
get the article.”
“Quicksilver, eh?” repeated the outlaw, as though dubious and puzzled.
“Where would you be likely to get it now?”
“Most hardware or drug stores keep it,” explained Dave.
“Nothing else you need?”
“No, only to return to our balloon when we get the quicksilver.”
“Hi!” shouted the man, beckoning to two of his men. “Mount and make a
quick run for Forestville. How much quicksilver do you want?”
“It comes in iron tubes,” explained the airman. “One will answer. If
they keep it in some other form, about thirty ounces.”
“Get back soon as you can,” the outlaw ordered his messengers. “If the
places are shut, shoot up the town and get some action on the case.”
The speaker turned and proceeded to where a tent stood. In a little
while he reappeared to say to his guests that they must be hungry and to
follow him.
Seated on rude home-made camp stools, the three friends enjoyed a meal
of corn pone, sweet potatoes and wild turkey, all cooked to a turn. Then
their host threw some blankets on the ground outside. He invited them to
be seated, and for over an hour asked question after question regarding
their wonderful airship and the great world beyond the wilderness of
which he knew so little.
“We’re perfectly safe to sleep here,” remarked Mr. King, as the man left
them finally.
“More than safe,” declared Dave. “These people would protect us with
their lives, the way they feel about us.”
The wayfarers were pretty well tired out. All three were soon asleep. It
must have been two hours later when Dave felt himself roughly shaken.
The outlaw leader and two others were standing near, staring up into the
sky in an awed, puzzled way.
“What’s that?” asked the outlaw leader of the young aviator. “It’s
strange to us, and I thought you’d know.”
Across the sky in the direction of the airship a broad sweeping pencil
of light swept the heavens from zenith to horizon, and back again.
“Ah, that?” said Dave; “it’s the great searchlight of the _Albatross_.”