"Come on," ordered Gus to Andy, unfastening the end of the rope and
giving it a jerk.
"Hey, not that way," dissented Dale.
"Why not?"
"Think you can parade him through the town without attracting attention?
We've got to be careful to cut out from here without a soul seeing us
till we strike a country road. You march," commanded Gus anew to his
captive, heading in another direction. "And you just so much as peep if
we meet anybody, and you get a whack of this big stick."
Andy submitted to circumstances. He figured out that it would be some
time before his captors could perfect their arrangements for interesting
some officer of the law in their scheme. He readily guessed that for
some reason or other they did not wish or dare to return personally to
Princeville. Andy calculated that it was nearly ten miles to the county
line. He believed he would have half a dozen chances to break away from
his captors before they reached it.
"Huh, what you going to do now?" inquired Gus in a grumbling tone, as
they came directly up against a high board fence.
"You wait here a minute," directed Dale.
The speaker ran down the fence in one direction to face at its end a
busy field occupied by aviation tents. He tried the opposite direction
to find matters still worse, for there the fence ended against a lighted
street of the town.
"What's beyond the fence?" inquired Gus.
"Not much of anything--a sort of a prairie," reported Dale, peering
through a crack in the fence.
"We can't scale it."
"Not with Andy in tow. Here we are, though."
Dale had discovered a loose board. He began tugging at its lower end,
and succeeded in pulling it far enough out to admit of their crowding
through the opening. He went first, grabbing and holding Andy till Gus
made the passage.
"Keep away from those lights over yonder," ordered Dale, indicating a
point on the broad expanse where some aeroplane tents showed. "This way,
I tell you," he added in a hoarse, hurried whisper. "There's a man."
Andy pushed forward, came to a dead halt, bracing himself as his captors
tried to pull him out of range of a man seated on a hummock, apparently
watching some night manoeuvres of airships over where the lights showed.
"Mister, oh, mister!" shouted Andy.
He received a blow on the mouth from the fist of Gus, but that did not
prevent him from renewing the outcry. The man sprang quickly to his feet
and came towards them.
He was small, thin, dark-faced, and so undersized and effeminate-looking
that Andy at once decided that he would not count for much in a tussle
with two stout, active boys. Dale thought so, too, evidently, for he
squared up in front of Andy, trying to hide him from the view of the
stranger, while Gus attempted to pull his captive back towards the
fence. Andy, however, gave a jerk that drew Gus almost off his feet, and
a bunt to Dale that sent him forcibly to one side.
"What is this?" spoke the stranger in a soft, mellow, almost womanly
tone of voice. "Did some one then call?"
"It was I," proclaimed Andy. "These fellows have tied me up and are
trying to kidnap me."
"It is wrong, I will so investigate," said the little man, coming
straight up to the group and scanning each keenly in turn.
"See here," spoke Dale, springing in front of the man, "this is none of
your business."
"Oh, yes, it is," returned the stranger in the same gentle, purring way.
"I am interested. Speak on, young man."
"Get him away!" directed Dale in a sharp whisper to Gus.
Then, quick as lightning, he made a pass at the stranger. He was double
the weight of the latter and half a head taller. Andy expected to see
his champion flatten out like the weakling he looked.
"Ah," said the latter, "it is so you answer questions. My way, then."
What he did he did so quickly that Andy could not follow all of his
movements. The hands of the little man moved about like those of an
expert weaver at the loom. The result was a marvel. In some way he
caught Dale around the neck. The next moment he swung him from the
ground past his shoulder and his adversary landed with a thump.
Gus dropped the rope and ran at the stranger, club uplifted. Again the
wiry strength of the little man was exerted. He seemed to stoop, and his
arms enclosed Gus about the hips. There was a tug and tussle. Gus was
wrenched from his footing, and went skidding to the ground, face down,
for nearly two yards.
"Thunder!" he shouted, wiping the sand from his mouth.
[Illustration: THE WIRY STRENGTH OF THE LITTLE MAN WAS EXERTED]
"Go," said the stranger, advancing upon the prostrate twain, who
scrambled promptly to their feet.
Both dove for the loose plank in the fence and disappeared through it.
The stranger drew out a pocket-knife and relieved Andy of his bonds.
"I look at you and then at those two," he said simply, "and your face
tells me the true story. Where would you go?"
Andy pointed in the direction of the Parks' Aerodome, and the man walked
by his side in its direction.
"I don't care to have those fellows find out where I am working,"
explained Andy. "Mister," he added admiringly, "how did you do it?"
"It was simple jiu-jitsu."
"Eh? Oh, yes, I've heard of that," said Andy, but vaguely. "It's a new
Japanese wrestling trick, isn't it?"
"I am from Japan," observed his companion with a courteous dignity of
manner that impressed Andy.
"I see," nodded Andy, "and you come from a wonderful people."
"We strive to learn," replied his companion. "That is why I am here. I
was sent to this country to study aeronautics. Besides that, the science
has a peculiar attraction for me. My father was chief kite maker to the
family of the Mikado."
"Is it possible?" said Andy.
"I therefore have an absorbing interest in your airmen and their daring
work. You must know that we make wonderful kites in my home country."
"I have heard something of it," said Andy.
"Two hundred years ago many of the principles now used in your airships
were used in our kite flying, only we never tried to fly ourselves."
"We have a gentleman up at our camp who would be just delighted to talk
with you," declared Andy enthusiastically. "He is an inventor, a Mr.
Morse."
"I should like to meet him," said the Japanese.
"Then come right along with me," invited Andy cordially; "only, say,
please, don't mention the fix you found me in."
"It shall be so," declared his companion.
Andy made sure that his recent captors were not following them as they
made a cut across a field and reached the Parks' camp. He led his guest
into the sitting room of the living building, to find his employer and
Mr. Morse there. Andy introduced his companion. It did not take long for
the inventor to discover a kindred spirit in the Japanese, who gave his
name as Tsilsuma.
That night after he had got into bed Andy wondered if he had not better
tell Mr. Morse or his employer his entire story, and the former about
the near proximity of his old-time enemy, Duske. Then, too, he worried
some over the appearance of Gus and Dale and his daily risk of being
arrested. With daylight, however, Andy forgot all these minor troubles.
There was to be a race for a small prize that afternoon on the aviation
field, and Parks had arranged for the _Racing Star_ to participate. The
aeronaut was busy half the morning seeing to the machine, while Mr.
Morse flitted about adjusting a device suggested by the intelligent
Tsilsuma for folding the floats under the aeroplane. The Japanese, too,
had suggested sled runners in front and wheels at the rear for starting
gear.
The _Racing Star_ had not appeared in the general field before, and this
was a kind of qualification flight. Just after two o'clock Parks made
his final inspection of the bearings of the motors and the word to go
was given. Andy sailed over the railroad tracks and landed in the field
half a mile distant, with a dexterity that made his rivals there take a
good deal of notice of him and the _Racing Star_.
When the word came Andy started the motor, and a friend of the aeronaut
tugged at the propellers. With a blast that resembled a cyclone the
airship started.
The helpers worked at the rudders, and after a run of only seventy-five
feet the _Racing Star_ shot up into the air.
Andy tried a preliminary stunt that he had practiced for two days past.
It was to fly around the field in a figure eight at a height of
ninety-five feet. Then, just to test the excellency of the machine, he
plunged for the ground.
"The boy will kill himself!" shouted the man in charge of the race, but
just at the critical moment Andy shifted his steering planes and flew
across the ground, barely skimming the grass.
Once in this fashion he went around the course, then another upward
lunge and he circled back to the starting point and came gently to
earth. The crowds sent up an enthusiastic roar.
Four other machines made their exhibition in turn. Two went through a
clumsy process, one became disabled, and the other retired with the
derisive criticism of "Grasshopper!" as its pilot failed to lift it more
than ten feet from the ground at any time.
"Mind the wind checks, Andy, lad," warned John Parks anxiously, as the
three aeroplanes were ranged for the prize test of a mile run around the
course.
"I'll be the pathfinder or nothing!" declared Andy, his eyes bright and
observant, his nerves tingling with the excitement of the moment.
"Go!"
The three powerful mechanical birds arose in the air, dainty creations
of grace and beauty, Andy in the lead. Then his nearest competitor
passed him. Then No. 3 shot ahead of the other two, and then the turn.
"Huzza!" breathed Parks.
At his side, safe from recognition in his great disfiguring goggles, Mr.
Morse moved restlessly from foot to foot. The _Racing Star_ had
accomplished what he had worked so hard to bring about--a true circle in
a rapid turn.
The two other machines bungled. One nearly upset. Down the course came
Andy, headed like an arrow for the starting point. A slanting dive, and
the _Racing Star_ skimmed the ground fully five hundred feet in advance
of the nearest opponent.
Watch in hand, John Parks ran up to Andy, his face aglow with
professional pride and delight.
"Won the race--but better than that you have beat the home record by
eight seconds!"
"Winner, the _Racing Star_," sang out the starter.
And then he added:
"Time: forty-eight seconds and seven-eighths."
"Hurrah!" shouted John Parks, throwing his hat in the air.