THE HIDDEN DIAMONDS
“Look out, Dave!” shouted his young assistant and, as a snap sounded he
shot a quick hand towards the lever operating the rear control
mechanism.
“Blade cracked, nothing serious,” instantly announced the pilot of the
_Ariel_.
The machine had been hit in turning shorewards with a big wind blast
that boomed like a cannon, and bore down upon it heavily. They felt the
machine shiver and swerve, and there was some lateral flapping. Dave,
however, kept steadily on back over the course he had so recently won.
It took twenty minutes to overlap the shore line. They made out a
harbor and upon the pier at its end the flag of the life-saving service.
“You won’t lose time landing, Dave?” spoke Hiram anxiously. “We might
catch up yet.”
“Got to land,” reported Dave. “We can’t risk the blade snapping.”
The _Ariel_ was directed across a flat sandy reach near the end of the
pier. Dave sprang out instantly and ran towards two men who had watched
the descent.
“Schooner in distress,” he announced briskly to the men. “I think she
is sinking.”
“Where away?” was inquired.
Dave described the position of the imperiled vessel as best he could.
The men ran down the pier. Almost immediately a signal bell tolled, and
a steam yacht, and two lifeboats, set out on their mission of rescue.
Dave had hurried back to the _Ariel_. He had the machine overhauled in
a trice. One blade was seriously damaged. Those on the _Ariel_ were of
hard spruce wood, with a filling of mahogany. The lower veneer had
stripped off and was dangling.
“It’s a wonder it didn’t strike the tail and cripple us,” observed
Dave, as he got out some tools and catgut, and had the defect remedied
quickly. “I think that will last.”
A report officer of the service had strolled to the spot, and asked
some questions which Dave answered.
“He’s writing down our names,” whispered Hiram to his comrade.
“All ready,” ordered Dave.
“Good luck!” shouted the officer after the ascending machine.
“I suppose it’s hopeless to think that we’re going to even make a
showing in this race,” spoke Hiram disconsolately.
“I fancy you are right,” replied Dave as steadily as he could.
Hiram was in suspense and misery. About twenty miles further along they
made out one of the laggard airships fighting its way against the wind.
From its maneuvers it was easy to surmise that all its pilot was aiming
at was to keep out of trouble.
“Out of the race and knows it,” commented Hiram. “I suppose it’s forty
points more for the _Whirlwind_.”
Dave said nothing. He was thinking of the possible disappointment of
Mr. Brackett. He speeded the _Ariel_ to its best pace, but had no hope
now of reaching the International grounds first.
Hiram was in great suspense as they came up to the grounds from the
south. His eager eyes scanned the center field. Then he fell back in
his seat with a groan.
“One in—we’re beaten, Dave,” he almost sobbed. “It’s the _Whirlwind_.”
They could see the Valdec machine plainly as they descended. There was
a crowd around it. Dave landed near the judges’ stand, turned the
_Ariel_ over to two attendants in the employ of their hangar, and went
to headquarters to report. Bruce came running up to Hiram with a
decidedly long face.
“The blackboard gives the race to Valdec,” he spoke in a subdued tone.
“I guess they’ve won it,” snapped Hiram. “Lording it over all creation,
I suppose?”
“They feel pretty flighty,” pronounced Bruce. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”
“Where is Mr. Brackett?” asked Hiram, looking about for their friend
and backer.
“Why, he was called to Chicago on business, and had to go. Said he’d be
back by evening, though.”
It was with a laggard, disheartened way that Hiram proceeded to the
hangar. Dave joined the boys soon after. He tried to act cheerily, but
secretly he was quite depressed.
He had done his best. Better than that, he had done just right.
Business was business, however. Dave realized how greatly Mr. Brackett
counted on the _Ariel_ coming out victor and winner of the big prize.
It was not so much the amount involved that the manufacturer cared for
as a final recognition of the superior qualities of his machine.
“There’s the fancy stunt event left yet,” intimated Hiram after a
somewhat gloomy spell of silence.
“Of course we will make a try at that,” declared Dave, briskly. “I
can’t think of letting our practicing go for nothing.”
“But fifty and forty make ninety,” grumbled the disconsolate Hiram.
“There are only thirty points in the stunt event.”
“Perhaps we can pick up a few points in the last day minor events,”
suggested Dave, hopefully.
Hiram would not be comforted. He spent a miserable afternoon. It added
to his wretchedness as he wondered what Mr. Brackett would say. Hiram
did not regret their action in the instance of the sinking vessel. All
the same, their backer had a right to suppose they would have thought
of his business interests first.
They came across the manufacturer just as they were going to supper.
Hiram looked pretty serious as Mr. Brackett advanced towards them. He
was all smiles and animation. He grasped first the hand of Dave, and
then that of Hiram.
“Boys,” he said, with a thrill of heartiness in his voice, “I’m proud
of you!”
“Why—you see—don’t you know that we lost out on the long distance
race?” stammered Hiram.
“The long distance race is entirely secondary to what you two have
done,” declared the manufacturer. “I fancy you haven’t seen the city
evening paper? Well, there it is.”
Mr. Brackett drew a late edition from his pocket. He shook it open and
held it in front of his young friends.
“I’d rather be Dashaway and Dobbs, the way that article tells about
them,” said Mr. Brackett, “than win twenty races, and all the prizes
going.”
There, sure enough, was glory and honor for the young aviators. A
telegram with full details told of “the sure winner of the long
distance race” putting back to give warning to save a vessel fast
sinking in mid-lake with all on board.
“That’s the kind of advertising that counts!” cried Mr. Brackett, with
vim and satisfaction.
“But we’ve lost first place!” mourned Hiram.
“Not in the estimation of the world at large. That will not soon forget
the _Ariel_ and its crew.”
Dave was relieved at the way his backer took the incident. It enhanced
his regard and respect for a true friend and a true man a thousand fold.
The following day was to be given over to amateurs, and the exhibition
of machines and their utilities. There was no thought in the mind of
Dave of giving up the fancy stunt event, even if the grand prize had
escaped him.
“I say, Hiram,” suggested Bruce the next morning, “can’t you take me on
a little trip this morning? We’ve got nothing much to do to-day except
wait for to-morrow.”
“Where do you want to go?” inquired the pilot of the _Scout_.
“Oh, west—in fact, well, Hiram, I’d like to go to Wayville.”
“Hum! same old idea about those diamonds still in your mind; eh?” asked
Hiram.
“See here,” replied Bruce eagerly, “I’ve got good reason to believe
that the trip is worth making. You’ll see when we get to Wayville. I’d
like to have you land right where that diamond robber left the _Scout_
and show me as near as you can the route he took.”
“All right,” assented Hiram. “You won’t rest until you get there, I
suppose.”
The _Scout_ made a fast trip to Wayville. It was at the same hilly spot
where Hiram had parted with his uncomfortable passenger that eventful
night that he brought the machine to anchor.
“Here we are,” he announced and he proceeded to describe as best he
could the movements of the fugitive after he had left the _Scout_.
“That nearest thicket over yonder is the one he dove into first.”
“Come with me, Hiram,” invited his comrade eagerly. “You are sure he
went through that thicket? We’ll go, too. Do you see that?” he
inquired, as half-way through the densely wooded space they came to an
old hut.
“What about it?” asked Hiram.
“Well, that was a favorite hiding place for that man Wertz I’ve told
you about, when he wanted to keep out of the way of people hunting for
him to call him to account for some of his misdeeds,” explained Bruce.
“How well I remember it! Ever since you described the spot, I have
wondered if the diamond thief, who was just such a character as Wertz
was, didn’t know about it, maybe visited it in trying to escape.”
“Why,” observed Hiram as they came to the front of the rude structure,
“that padlock on the door looks rusty enough to have been untouched for
ages.”
Bruce tried the door, but nothing less than a crowbar would budge it.
“Aha!” he ejaculated suddenly, “look—the cellar window.”
“Smashed in—I see,” spoke Hiram.
“One pane of glass, yes,” proceeded Bruce excitedly. “And look, too,
stains of blood on the fragments of glass and the window frame. Oh,
say, I know! There’s a cistern right under that window. I remember it
perfectly and—Hiram, help knock out the rest of the window. I’m going
to get into the house that way.”
“And drop into a cistern!” railed Hiram.
“It’s an old leaky one and was dry as a bone, I remember, when I was
here with Wertz.”
They smashed out the window frame with a piece of plank they found near
by. Bruce let himself cautiously backwards through the aperture.
Hanging by both hands, he let go.
“It’s all right,” his voice sounded, hollowly. “Throw me down some
matches.”
Hiram awaited the next developments with some impatience, and
considerable curiosity. Then he saw a hand grasp the inside window
frame, then another, and he tugged at the shoulders of his struggling
comrade and pulled him up into daylight.
“For gracious sake, where have you been? In some dirty hole, I do
declare!” cried Hiram.
“It was dirty, but I don’t care about that,” panted the other youth.
“Ouch!” and he proceeded to rub some dirt out of his left eye.
“Shall I help you?” questioned Hiram, anxiously.
“No, it’s out now,” was the answer.
“Good.”
Bruce was covered with dust and cobwebs. He scrambled to his feet
breathless, but his eyes were fairly snapping from some intense
excitement.
“Where’s your cap?” asked Hiram, noticing that his friend was
bareheaded.
“Oh, that’s all safe,—and everything else!” cried Bruce, and he
unbuttoned his coat and revealed his cap all wadded up. “Just look at
that!” he shouted and he opened the cap. Within it rested a great heap
of jewelry, blazing with crystal sparks of radiance.
“The diamonds!” gasped the astounded Hiram.
“I guess so!” answered Bruce. “The bargain with the jeweler was five
thousand dollars’ reward. As my partner, Hiram Dobbs, I shall have the
pleasure of handing you over just half of it,—two thousand five hundred
dollars!”
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