The voices that Andy heard died away in the distance. In about ten
minutes, however, they came back again within his range of hearing. The
man he believed to be Tyrrell, who in some way had induced Mr. Parks to
accept him as a substitute for himself in the aviation race, was
speaking to his companion, who was Duske.
"That's the programme, is it?" he was asking.
"To a T."
"You will look out for the Nelson boy."
"Don't fret on that score. We'll cage him safe and sound until the race
is over."
"You think I had better use the bottle?"
"Yes, here it is. Stow it anywhere in your clothes."
"Isn't there some easier way? What's the use of fire? It may strike
investigators as suspicious."
"Not at all. They tanked you too full, a spark did the mischief, see?
You know enough to descend in among some trees?"
"Of course."
"Let the flame singe your clothing, tell some sensational story of a
hairbreadth escape, and you'll be quite a hero."
"You think with the _Racing Star_ out of the way that your machine is
bound to win, do you?"
"I know it," affirmed Duske confidently. "Those other aeroplanes are
mere botches. They will do as playthings, but as to distance, they're
not in it with the _Moon Bird_."
"All right, I'll follow instructions. Keep that boy safe. I'd better go.
It would be all up with our scheme if Parks should suspect I was your
friend."
Andy fairly writhed where he lay. The plot of the villains was now
perfectly clear to him. The man Tyrrell had wormed himself into the
confidence of Mr. Parks, who little suspected that he was a confederate
of Duske. Tyrrell was to make the start with the _Racing Star_, pretend
that an accident had happened, and burn up the airship.
"What shall I do--what can I do?" breathed Andy. "They don't intend to
let me go until after the race is over to-morrow."
In about an hour Duske and an old man who seemed to be the cook of the
camp came to where Andy lay. Duske released one hand of the captive. The
anxious prisoner did not feel much like eating, but he realized that he
must keep up his strength. He ate some bread and meat which the cook
brought, and drank some water.
Duske tied him up again, tighter than ever. Then he spoke to the cook:
"You get your armchair right outside the canvas flap here, Dobbins."
"All right, Mr. Duske," replied the man.
"Every fifteen minutes, right through till morning, you are to look in
on that boy. See that he is comfortable, but particularly that he is
safe."
"I'll attend to it."
"If you let him get away, you're out of a job, remember."
The cook followed out the programme directed by Duske to the minutest
detail. Andy had no opportunity to free himself--he was watched so
closely. He decided that the effort would be futile. Until midnight he
lay wide awake, nervous and worried. Then he made up his mind that it
did no good to fret, and got some sleep.
He was given his breakfast about six o'clock in the morning. Then he was
tied up again and left to himself. He lay on the mattress so that when
the wind blew the canvas lifted and he could look out. He was faced away
from the direction of the aviation field, however, and twenty feet away
the fence stared him blankly in the face.
From sounds near by and in the distance during the next two hours, Andy
could figure out just what was going on about him. The _Moon Bird_ was
carried from its aerodrome and taken to the aviation field. The old cook
seemed to be left in possession of the camp. He looked in on Andy every
so often. The rest of the time he was busy in the larger tent or outside
of it with his cooking utensils.
Poor Andy was in sore straits of despair. He had a vivid imagination,
and could fancy all that was shut out from his view by captivity. He
heard a distant town bell strike nine o'clock.
"In an hour the airships will be off," soliloquized the captive
mournfully, "and I won't be there."
Andy pictured in his mind all that was going on at the aviation field.
He could fancy the airships ranging in place for the start. He could
imagine the animation and excitement permeating the groups of
spectators. He shut his eyes and tried to forget it all, so keen was his
disappointment.
He heard the band strike up a gay tune. Then a gun was fired. Andy
almost shed tears. In twenty minutes the starting signal was due.
"They'll have a head wind," he ruminated, as the breeze lifted the
canvas at the side of the mattress upon which he lay. "It will be light,
though, and won't hinder much;" and then he thrilled, as he fancied
himself seated in the operator's stand of the splendid _Racing Star_,
awaiting the final word, "Go!"
Andy stared blankly at the fence of the enclosure of the Duske camp. A
section of it had been broken down, and the gate left open in removing
the airship. Of a sudden he stared eagerly. Some one had come into the
enclosure.
The intruder was evidently some casual sight-seer, a boy. His hands were
in his pockets, and he strolled about as if curiously inspecting
everything that came under his notice. He cast a careless glance at the
tent, and was proceeding on his way towards the main aviation field,
when Andy gave a great start.
"Silas--Silas Pierce!" he shouted, ignoring discovery by the cook.
Andy's heart was thumping like a trip-hammer. It seemed as if on the
verge of the blackest despair a bright star of hope had risen on the
horizon. He had recognized the intruder with surprise, but with gladness
as well.
It was his companion of the goose trip, the son of Mr. Pierce--the farmer
Silas--whom Andy had last seen at the Collins place, the farm he had
visited the day previous. Silas wore a brand-new suit of clothes. He
suggested the typical country boy, with some loose cash in his pocket,
enjoying a brief holiday to the utmost.
"Hey!" exclaimed Silas, with a startled jump, his eyes goggling all
about, and unable to trace the source of the challenge.
Andy uttered a groan. At the moment the breeze let down, and the canvas
dropped, shutting him in and Silas out. Then a puff of wind came and
lifted the flap again.
"Here, here, Silas!" called out Andy in tones of strained suspense.
"Quick--help!"
"I vum!" gasped the farmer boy, staring blankly at what he saw of Andy.
"Who is it? And--I say, you're dad's great friend, the Nelson boy!"
Silas had advanced, and took in the situation, and recognized Andy
slowly.
"Lift up the canvas; come in here," directed Andy in a more cautious
tone of voice. "You remember me, don't you?"
"Guess I do; but what in the world of wonder is the matter with you?"
"Don't talk so loud," pleaded Andy anxiously, fearing the arrival of the
cook at any moment. "Some bad men have tied me up. Have you got a
knife?"
"Yes; and a brand-new one. Won it in a funny game where you throw rings.
See there," and with great pride Silas produced and opened a
gaudily-handled jack-knife.
"Oh, thank you, Silas; I'll never forget this."
"Hold on! Say! Thunder! Is he crazy? Stop! Stop!"
In profound excitement, Silas Pierce regarded Andy. The minute he had
cut the bonds of the young aviator, Andy had bounded to his feet as if
set on springs. Afar from the aviation field there boomed out the
second, the get-ready gun.
"Ten minutes!" gasped Andy, on fire with resolve. "I've got to make it."
He swept aside the canvas, headed in the direction of the main camp. Hot
on his heels came his amazed rescuer, now a wondering pursuer. Andy ran
at the fence, gave a spring, and cleared its top in a graceful leap.
Silas, more clumsy, ran at two loose boards, and by sheer force of his
might and strength, sent them out of place and put after Andy.
"Nelson!" he bawled. "What's the matter? Nobody's following you.
Crickey, but you're a sprinter!"
"I'll see you later--Parks' camp--in a hurry."
In a hurry, indeed, was Andy. He was running against time. As a turn
past some tents brought him in full sight of the open field, he was a
lone heroic figure--heart, brain and body strained to reach the dainty,
natty _Racing Star_, just being wheeled in place for flight.
There were seven airships entered for the race. These were now stationed
a distance of several hundred yards apart, ready to start. The
spectators were held back from the dead line by ropes stretched from
post to post, but Andy was coming across the field from its inside edge.
Silas Pierce was putting after him, puzzled and excited, breathless, and
far to the rear. Their unconventional arrival attracted no attention,
for those in charge of the airships were engrossed in seeing that
everything was right for the start.
The _Racing Star_ was being pushed forward to its starting position. All
the others were in place. In a swift glance, Andy made out the _Moon
Bird_, and recognized Duske seated amidships.
Near the _Racing Star_ was Mr. Parks, directing affairs, and Scipio was
standing near by. At one side were Mr. Morse and Tsilsuma, deeply
interested in the manoeuvres going on.
"It's Tyrrell!" panted Andy, and he redoubled his speed as he made out
the treacherous ally of Duske. Tyrrell was arrayed in leather jacket and
gloves, keeping pace with the _Racing Star_ as it moved along. As the
airship came to a halt on the starting line, Andy saw him move forward
to take his seat amidships.
It was then that Andy massed all his strength of being, accompanied by
animated gesticulations, as he shouted out:
"Stop that man!"