A TERRIBLE DISCOVERY
“Are you sure, Bruce?” challenged Hiram. “You are not mistaken?”
“In that man?” cried his companion, and his face was pale, and his
voice was trembling. “Oh, no! it makes me shudder to even look at his
picture. Where did you get it?”
“Well, Bruce,” explained Hiram, “that is the man you heard Dave and
myself talking about.”
“You mean the one who tried to blow up your machine?”
“That’s him; yes,” answered Hiram. “But, say, I thought he was hanging
around with that old fellow, your guardian?”
“He was,” replied Bruce. “You see, he came and went. About two weeks
ago I was in dread when Wertz showed up. I imagined he’d be putting me
into some new circus training or other. I was afraid he might get it
into his head to take Lois away, and train her to ride a horse
bareback, or jump through a blazing hoop, or some other trick. I never
was so relieved as when he went away again. He’d been waiting for some
one to come, I heard. An old crony of his showed up finally, a man who
used to come every few months to borrow money, ‘to get staked,’ as he
called it; by Mr. Dawson. He was always planning schemes. Why, say,”
added Bruce with animation, “I never thought of it till this moment,
but I remember now he was in the same line as you and Dave Dashaway.”
“You mean the airship line?” asked Hiram.
“That’s it. I recollect how he used to brag of the big flights he made,
and the money he got, and the tricks he played.”
“Who was he—what was his name?” inquired Hiram.
“Vernon.”
Hiram Dobbs grabbed the astonished Bruce by the arm with such fervor
that the latter was startled.
“Look here, Bruce,” he cried excitedly, “you don’t know how important
this is to us. Why, it connects up the whole scheme to put us out of
business, and——”
Something else suddenly distracted Hiram’s attention and he stopped
short, his companion staring at him in wonderment.
“Hush! This way, and easy!” a breathless voice had spoken, and a face
appeared around the end of the hangar.
“Mr. Borden,” whispered Hiram to himself. “Stay here Bruce. It’s a
great friend of ours.”
It was indeed the tramp-artist who had so unexpectedly appeared. As
Hiram came around to the side of the hangar, shielded from the other
camps of the field, he found Borden there, looking anxious, and
glancing about him as if fearful of being observed by others.
“Quick, Dobbs,” he spoke hurriedly, “where is Dashaway?”
“Dave isn’t around. Did you want to see him? He’s off on a practice
flight.”
“How long since?”
“About an hour ago.”
Borden looked disappointed and dismayed. He rubbed his chin in
perplexity. Then he asked:
“Do you know where he is?”
“I think I do,” answered Hiram. “He usually goes to the sand dunes
about thirty miles down the lake shore.”
“Got your machine, the _Scout_, handy here?” asked Borden, with
increasing urgency.
“Oh, yes—why, Mr. Borden?”
“Then don’t delay a minute,” directed the former tramp, earnestly.
“Find Dashaway as speedily as you can. Tell him I came to you. Warn him
to get back here, and stay close about the grounds for the next day or
two. There’s danger! Don’t neglect what I say.”
With these last words Borden, with a nervous glance across the grounds,
at some persons approaching, suddenly darted away from Hiram. In a
quandary of doubt and dread, the latter stood for a moment or two
watching his movements. Borden walked along near the fence and
disappeared behind the next hangar. Then Hiram aroused himself into
action. He ran back in front of their own hangar and rolled out the
Scout.
“Bruce,” he said hurriedly, “something’s up that may mean trouble for
Dave. I’ve got to go after him. Do you want to go with me?”
“I should say I did!” cried his companion eagerly. “Jump in,” ordered
Hiram. “Give us a lift,” he called out to a passing guard. “Thanks. Now
then, to find Dave!”
The manner and words of the young pilot of the _Scout_ convinced Bruce
that something was wrong. He asked no questions, however. As they got
into full flight, due south, Hiram was the first to speak.
“You’re our friend, Bruce,” he called back over his shoulder, “and I
know you’re interested in anything concerning us or our business. The
man who signaled me to the side of the hangar was the man who drew that
picture of Wertz.”
“And he’s a friend of yours, too; isn’t he?” inquired Bruce.
“I am sure that he is,” responded Hiram. “He’s acted like one just now,
if what he told me is true. He has discovered some new plot against us
and has sent me to warn Dave, and tell him to get back to the grounds
right away, and stay there.”
“I do hope nothing is wrong, and that you will be in time,” remarked
Bruce anxiously.
Hiram drove the _Scout_ to its best paces. He was familiar with the
route Dave usually took to reach the sand dunes. There was one especial
reach of the sterile stretch which Dave had, so to speak, appropriated
as his own private training grounds.
“We’re nearly there,” announced Hiram finally. “I don’t see any trace
of Dave or the _Ariel_, though.”
“Maybe he went further—maybe he has returned home,” suggested Bruce.
“We could hardly miss him,” answered Hiram. “There’s the spot where
Dave usually descends,” and he fixed his glance on a patch of stunted
field poplars. “There’s something lying on the ground. A man? No, a
coat, I think,” and the speaker strained his vision, and set the
_Scout_ on a sharp volplane.
He jumped out the moment the machine halted. He ran to the spot where
the object lay that had attracted his attention. Bruce followed his
example and dashed after him.
“It’s Dave’s coat,” declared Hiram, and he looked worried. “I can’t
understand it! The coat is torn and some of the buttons are off—see, on
the sand there. He wouldn’t leave it here. What can have become of him,
and the machine?”
“There’s a smell of burned wood, or smoke,” here broke in Bruce, and
following the scent he rounded the patch of brush and saplings. “Oh,
Hiram!” he shouted. “Come here! Come here!”
The young pilot of the _Scout_ reached the side of the staring Bruce to
observe with distended eyes what his new friend had first discovered.
Upon the ground was a mass of charred and twisted wreckage. Only the
metal parts of an airship remained. Hiram Dobbs recognized what was
left of the buoyant _Ariel_!
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