ANOTHER MISTAKE
Dave Dashaway’s limbs were stiff and his lips were sore. He could not
move nor speak. He tried to smile to reassure the farmer boy, who looked
startled and scared.
The latter swept aside the loose litter of straw and bags. The minute he
got a view of Dave’s condition he turned pale, jumped down from the
wheel hub and shouted out wildly:
“Father, father—come here quick!”
The dog kept running around the wagon making a great ado. Finally some
one seemed to come from the house in response to the call of the farmer
boy, for a voice inquired:
“What’s the row here?”
“A boy in that wagon box.”
“Some tramp, I suppose.”
“But he’s all tied up with ropes. There’s even something tied in his
mouth, so he can’t talk—only stare and grin.”
“You don’t say!”
“Yes, I do. Look for yourself.”
“Well! well! well!”
As the farmer lifted himself up on the wagon box and took a look at
Dave, his eyes grew big as saucers. He felt along the cord coming
tightly across Dave’s cheeks and of the rope binding his body.
“Jared, run into the house, quick, and get your mother’s scissors,” he
ordered.
The old man hoisted himself to the edge of the wagon box, and simply
gaped at Dave, as if too puzzled to figure out how his strange situation
had come about.
“Here’s the scissors, father,” finally reported the boy, who had hurried
into the house and out of it again.
The old man went to work on Dave as tenderly as if he had been a kitten.
He carefully snipped the gag cords.
“Bless me!” he said, as he noticed the big red welts across Dave’s face.
“This is mighty cruel I tell you. Now then,” as he cut the ropes at
hands and feet, “get up and tell us what this means.”
Dave tried to and failed. His tongue was so dry and swollen that he
could not articulate. His whole body was numb and spiritless. The farmer
saw his helplessness, ordered his son to let down the high tailboard of
the wagon, and they gradually slid Dave to the ground and held him up.
Gentle mannered people these, Dave decided, and he was ashamed of
himself for ever thinking that they were parties to the kidnapping plot
of the two men who had captured him the night previous.
“Walk him a bit, Jared, softly now, softly,” the farmer said. “He’s in a
mortal bad fix, circulation nigh stopped and weak as a cat. I reckon
we’d better get him into the house.”
The farmer’s wife looked surprised as her husband carried Dave to a
couch in the family sitting room and placed him upon it.
“Why, what’s this?” she exclaimed.
“It’s either a measly trick or attempted killing,” replied the old man
indignantly. “Speak up, lad, how did you come in that plight?”
“Water!” was all that Dave could choke out, and the good housewife soon
had a glass at his lips.
“Don’t stand gawking at the poor fellow and pestering him with
questions,” cried the farmer’s wife. “He needs some good hot coffee and
some strengthening food to brace him up,” and the speaker hurried to the
kitchen, where Dave could hear the sizzling of bacon.
“I can talk to you now, sir,” he said, but weakly, taking another gulp
of the reviving water. “I was kidnapped.”
“Hey!” ejaculated the farmer, with a start.
“Yes, sir.”
“In my wagon?”
“That was a mistake, I believe. Two rough men were hired to tie me up
and gag me and put me in a wagon in waiting outside of the aero grounds.
They mistook yours for the one they should have put me in.”
“Gracious!”
“They went back into the grounds, and you came along and drove me off
with you before they returned.”
“You don’t mean to say you’ve been lying in that wagon ever since last
evening?”
“I do,” replied Dave.
“Why didn’t you kick and holler?”
“How could I?”
“That’s so. Well, you just get a bit of breakfast and mended up, and
I’ll drive you back to town. I hope you intend to get those critters
arrested.”
“I certainly shall try and find them,” said Dave.
In a very few minutes our hero was as good as ever, as the saying goes.
He was young, healthy, active, and as soon as his blood got to
circulating, the stiffness and soreness began to go away.
He was better than ever, he told himself, after a breakfast so elegant,
home-like, and plentiful, that he made the farmer’s wife flush with
pleasure over his compliments.
The farmer’s boy took particular interest in Dave, when he learned that
he was employed among “the balloon men.” Dave did not go into details or
mention names, for he did not want anything to get out about his
kidnapping until he had consulted Mr. King.
He was anxious and glad, when two hours later, the farmer drew up his
horse at the main entrance to the aero grounds. Dave made the man accept
a dollar for all his trouble, which the farmer took reluctantly, saying
he would invest it in kitchen aprons for his wife. Dave also told him
how to send word to him, if he wished to visit the meet any day during
the week.
“You can count on free passes,” said Dave.
“Thank you, that will be fine,” nodded the delighted farmer as he drove
off.
Dave dashed breathlessly through the big gateway. He had simply to lift
his hand to the gatekeeper, who passed him in with a nod, knowing him
and not requiring him to show his entrance ticket. Then Dave ran down
the course, heading in the direction of the hangars. All his former
anxieties came back to him. He was safe and free himself, but what had
happened after his two captors had disposed of him?
“They had tools, they talked of the _Aegis_,” soliloquized Dave. “They
were up to some harm for Mr. King, just the same as myself. Oh, dear, I
hope nothing has happened to the monoplane!”
Dave passed the building where Hiram made his headquarters. That friend
would of course know of his strange spell of absence. Hiram could
probably relieve his present worry or heighten it, but Dave felt that
his first duty was to his employer.
“Hold on, there. Hi, stop, Dave—Dave Dashaway!”
This call was bawled out from a window in the building Dave had just
passed. At once he recognized the voice of his friend. Turning and half
halting, Dave made out Hiram waving his hand frantically.
“Can’t stop—see you later,” shouted Dave.
“Must stop.”
Hiram never waited to make for a door. He jumped recklessly from the
window, ran down the road, and overtook his friend.
“Say,” he cried, all excitement and curiosity, “where have you been?”
“Long story. Want to see Mr. King first. Have you seen him?”
“Have I seen him?” repeated Hiram volubly. “He woke me up at midnight,
worried to death about you. Made me get up and join him in a search. He
said it wasn’t like you to be off skylarking, with all there was to
think about, arrange and do for today’s flight.”
“He was right there.”
“I knew it, and told him so,” said Hiram. “Then he got thinking there
was foul play somewhere.”
“There was,” assented Dave.
“That Jerry Dawson?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Not positively. Keep along with me, and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m
on pins and needles till I reach Mr. King. Say, Hiram, answer me one
question.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Has anything happened to the _Aegis_?”
“Why, what could happen?” inquired Hiram in a puzzled way.
“It’s all right?”
“It was an hour ago, when I was up at the camp. Mr. King was oiling
things up himself, and in a great stew about you, but the _Aegis_ was
the same old beauty.”
Dave heaved an immense sigh of relief. They were just then passing the
shed into which he had run to escape his pursuers the evening previous.
Dave was about to point it out to his companion and relate his
adventures, when he noticed a big placard on the side of the shed.
“What’s that, Hiram?” he asked.
“Oh, that?” repeated Hiram. “It’s the talk of the meet. That’s Marvin’s
monoplane, you know.”
“Yes,” nodded Dave.
“Well, some one sneaked into the hangar last night, when all hands were
away, and wrecked the machine.”
“Why!” exclaimed Dave suddenly—and then added to himself: “I
understand!”
“That placard,” continued Hiram, “is an offer of a reward of one hundred
dollars for the detection of the vandals who did the dastardly work.”
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