A REMARKABLE EXPLANATION
The _Ariel_ had found a landing place where some short crisp grass
covered a spot bare of trees and rocks. Hiram brought the _Scout_ to a
halt not twenty feet away. He shut off the power, leaped out and
approached Dave. The latter stood by the side of his machine watching
the police officer who had run to the edge of the gully.
“Dave, this has been a startler; hasn’t it?” exclaimed Hiram.
“You are one of the wisest boys in the world,” spoke the young airman.
“Without that spark signal we should never have got a start on your
trail.”
“Has it done any good, after all?” questioned Hiram. “My passenger has
got into deeper trouble; hasn’t he?”
“It looks that way,” answered Dave. “We saw him stumble over that ledge
yonder.”
“Maybe it was a trick,” suggested Hiram. “He’s a bad one, I can tell
you.”
“Here comes the policeman. Any trace of him, officer?”
The recent passenger of the _Ariel_ looked serious. He held in his hand
a dark lantern, the rays of which, the others had noticed, he had been
flashing over the edge of the gully.
“Got a rope?” he asked.
“I have one, in the _Scout_. Always carry it,” volunteered Hiram
briskly and he ran to his machine and returned with the coil in
question.
“The fellow won’t run any further away from us this time,” advised the
policeman. “He’s lying on a shelf of rock about twelve feet down. Both
of you can help me.”
The boys followed him. They took a look over the edge of the gully as
their leader flashed his lantern down. There, plainly visible, was the
recent passenger of the _Scout_.
“He’s insensible, or dead,” spoke the officer in a callous,
professional tone. “He must have landed head first. We must get him up
here. I want a look at those sparklers.”
The man’s word grated harshly on both Dave and Hiram. They proceeded,
however, to follow the directions of the officer. The rope was not
heavy, but was very strong, being reinforced with strands of flexible
wire.
It took them nearly fifteen minutes to lower the policeman and hoist,
first the injured man and then the officer, to the surface. As the
fugitive lay extended motionless upon the grass the officer inspected
him with the aid of the dark lantern.
“None of his limbs seem broken,” he reported, “but he got a terrific
crack on his head. I’ve seen a good many cases of such hurts, and I
guess this fellow has run his last race.”
“Can’t we do something for him?” asked Dave solicitously.
“Say,” broke in Hiram, “I see the lights of a settlement over to the
west there. It can’t be more than a mile away.”
“You had better reach it, then,” suggested Dave.
“Yes, and get them to send a wagon, or an ambulance, for this man,”
added the policeman.
Dave helped his assistant get the Scout off the ground, its pilot
marking with his eye closely the main points in the landscape. Thus he
would be able to pretty accurately direct those who came after the
injured man. The minute the officer was satisfied that nothing could be
done to add to the comfort or safety of their charge until aid arrived,
he proceeded to examine the pockets of his insensible prisoner.
The young aeronaut considered this rather a heartless proceeding, but
realized that the officer was acting in pursuance of his duty. Twice he
went over every pocket and possible secret hiding place in the clothing
of the fugitive. He finally arose to his feet with a baffled and angry
expression of face.
“He’s beat us!” he growled. “I fancied he was getting away with his
booty—but it was getting away from me and my partner that he was after.”
“But what has become of the diamonds you spoke about?” queried Dave.
“Got rid of them to some partner, I suppose, before we finally ran him
down,” was the explanation. “It’s too bad to miss the big reward that
we’d have got.”
Hiram returned in half an hour. He had made a brief and rapid trip.
“A sheriff and his men will soon be here with an auto,” he reported,
and a very few minutes after that the machine in question halted near
the spot. A surgeon had accompanied the village officers. He shook his
head as he looked over his patient.
“He won’t live the night out,” he announced with professional
certainty. “Concussion of the brain, and a very serious case.”
The city policeman accompanied the auto back to the village. Before he
did so, however, he wrote something on a card and handed it to Dave.
“If you will take that card, and your bill for the clever work you’ve
done, to police headquarters, they’ll treat you right,” he said.
“Queer about those diamonds, isn’t it, Dave?” spoke Hiram as they found
themselves alone with their machines. “Maybe the man dropped them in
running, or they went over into that gully.”
“It would be like hunting for a needle in a haystack to try and find
them,” declared the young airman.
Excitement and trying work at the wheel had worn them out considerably,
and they were glad when they crept into their beds at headquarters an
hour later. Hiram overslept himself. He awoke late the next morning, in
the room they occupied jointly at the grounds clubhouse, to find his
chum missing. He hurried his breakfast and was soon at the hangar. As
he neared it he noticed some one seated on a stool inside it. Dave had
the _Ariel_ outside and was tanking up with “juice,” as they called the
gasoline.
“Some one to see you, Hiram,” he announced, nodding his head towards
the garage.
“Who is it?” asked his mate curiously.
“He didn’t give his name, but he’s a boy. Says he knows you.”
“Is that so?” returned Hiram musingly, and advanced towards the garage.
Then his face expanded in a welcoming good natured way. A lad about his
own age was seated with his back to the door and seemed to be eagerly
inspecting the little _Scout_ and the mechanical accessories belonging
to it. “Why, Bruce Beresford, hello!” Hiram shouted suddenly.
“Eh—oh, excuse me, yes, it’s me,” answered the visitor, springing up
with a nervous start, and his anxious face brightened as Hiram gave his
hand a friendly shake.
Hiram drew back a step or two, and with apparent admiration looked over
in a quizzical way the lad he had so signally befriended in the past.
“Well,” he observed, “you’re looking more prosperous than when I last
saw you.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Bruce Beresford, his whole face lighting up. “I’ve
had such wonderful luck!”
“You look it, and I’m glad,” said Hiram. His friend of the swampy
island certainly showed a great improvement, with good shoes on his
feet, and wearing a neat suit of clothes. When Hiram had first met him
Bruce had worn a big cap pulled closely down over his ears, clear to
the nape of his neck. Just now, too, Hiram observed that his head back
of his cheeks was well covered up. It gave Bruce a rather uncouth
appearance and the young pilot of the Scout wondered why.
“I hope I’m not acting as if I was imposing on you, coming in on you in
this way, and so soon,” began Bruce.
“Didn’t I invite you to do just that?” challenged Hiram.
“I know, but it looks sort of—well, cheeky, following you up when I owe
so much to you as it is.”
“Don’t bother about that,” advised Hiram. “Tell me about that luck of
yours. I’ll be interested.”
“Well, you know how I got little Lois comfortably settled at that
children’s home at Benham. Then I started in to work. It was surprising
how many little odd jobs a fellow can pick up who tries. I was just
delighted, until the second day of my work when I happened to see a
newspaper from Hillsboro—that is the town where Martin Dawson, the man
who abused us so terribly, lives. There, in the paper, was an
advertisement offering a reward for a runaway boy.”
“Meaning yourself, I suppose?” questioned Hiram.
“No one else. It scared me, I tell you, because—because,” and the
speaker flushed up, and Hiram noticed that he ran his hand over the
back of his head in a conscious sort of a way and seemed embarrassed.
“Well, because there was a very good description of how I looked,” was
added in a quick short breath.
“Thought they’d be after you, eh?” asked Hiram.
“I knew they would and that I wasn’t safe in that section,” proceeded
Bruce. “I felt sure that sooner or later some one would suspect or
identify me. It wasn’t safe for my sister. I didn’t know what to do,
for what little I had earned wouldn’t take us far. Then came my big
luck,” and the face of the speaker became radiant.
“Tell it,” directed Hiram, on the edge with curiosity.
“Some one had stolen an automobile from the village banker,” went on
Bruce. “I had heard of it. I had read the posters giving the number and
make of the machine, and offering a hundred dollars as a reward for its
recovery. Just think of it! that very day an invalid lady I had chopped
some wood for, asked me if I could get her a bunch of water lilies. I
made a few inquiries of some boys I met. They directed me to a swamp
about two miles from the town. I found a fine bed of the lilies, and
was wading out with an armful, when down among a nest of reeds, where
it had been run by the ride-stealers was the missing automobile.”
“That was fine,” remarked Hiram. “I guess you got back to town on the
double quick.”
“I did for a fact,” agreed Bruce. “And inside of two hours I had the
reward in my pocket. Oh but I felt rich! I went to the matron of the
home and told her my whole story for the first time. She not only
thought I had better get Lois to some safer place, and further away
from Hillshore, but gave me a letter to a relative living on a farm
near Chicago. I got some new clothing for my sister and myself, left
Lois with the kind-hearted lady who was only too glad to take her in at
two dollars a week, and her help around the house, and hunted down the
address you gave me. You see—you see,” concluded Bruce longingly, “I
wanted advice.”
“What about?” inquired Hiram.
“Well I’ve got over fifty dollars to invest. There’s a good deal moving
around this place. You spoke of a friend, a Mr. Dashaway, and I
thought——”
“Yes, that’s my chum, Dave,” interrupted Hiram proudly,—“the most level
headed fellow who ever lived. Dave!”
Hiram called his chum and there was an introduction. An explanation
followed. The pilot of the _Ariel_ soon had a knowledge of all the
circumstances of the case. He and Hiram had seated themselves on a
bench opposite their guest. It was warm weather and both threw off
their caps. Bruce hesitated and then followed their example, but in an
awkward and confused way.
“Why,” exclaimed Hiram with a start, as he noticed that under his cap
their visitor wore a close fitting skull cap—“what’s that for?”
Bruce Beresford fidgeted. He seemed at a loss for an explanation. Then
he scanned the friendly face of Dave, and the good natured one of his
assistant.
“Well, it’s my ears,” he said, slowly, evidently embarrassed.
“Your ears; what about them?” asked Dave, curiously.
“They’ve been cut,” explained the orphan. “And they’re not healed yet.
I keep them covered up to keep out the germs the doctor said were
floating in the air. But they’re getting better now.”
He took off the skull cap and showed where both ears presented a red
surface.
“How in the world did that happen?” asked Hiram. “Have you been playing
football?”
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