RESCUED.
All those on the _Christina_ were astounded at the move made by the two
boys.
"Leave 'em in the water for a while!" shouted Brady, Sr. "I guess
that'll take the ginger out of 'em. Don't be in any hurry, captain,
about turning around."
The captain could not have turned very quickly, even if he had wanted
to. With all sail set, the _Christina_ was driving through the water at
race-horse speed. It would take time, and she would inevitably have to
get a long way from the boys before she could be put about.
Both Carl and Ferral were good swimmers and had little difficulty in
keeping themselves afloat, hampered though they were with their wet
clothing.
"We're in for it now, Carl!" gurgled Ferral. "That sailboat will put
about and we'll be hauled aboard--then that swab of a Brady will have
us just where he wants us." Ferral rose in the water, shook his head
to clear his eyes, and peered after the _Christina_. "They're coming
around now," he added.
"Led dem come aroundt all vat dey blease," sputtered Carl; "Matt vill
pull us oudt oof der vet pefore dey ged here."
"Matt?" echoed Ferral.
"Look oferheadt vonce, Tick."
Ferral took a look upward. Rushing toward that part of the lake and
swooping downward like a huge bird was an air ship. The strange craft
was almost upon him and Carl. Two men were leaning over the guard rail
of the car on each side; both held coiled ropes in their hands, and one
of them was shouting instructions to Matt, who was in charge of the
motor.
The _Christina_ was forging along on the back track, the Bradys well
forward and clinging to ropes while they watched the manoeuvres of the
Hawk. It must have been apparent to them that the Hawk would pick up
the boys before the _Christina_ could come anywhere near them.
Splash! splash!
Two ropes dropped in the water just as the Hawk, with a graceful,
gliding motion, came to an even keel some fifteen or twenty feet above
the surface of the lake. The whirling propeller lessened its speed and
the air ship hovered over the water.
"Grab the ropes!" shouted a voice from the Hawk's car.
It was a useless suggestion, for the ropes had already been caught.
"Can you climb up?" called one of the men. "It isn't safe to bring the
air ship any closer to the water."
Climbing the rope was easy for Ferral. Hand over hand he lifted himself
upward, was caught by the man and pulled over the rail and into the
car. But Carl was no sailor, and every time he tried to climb the rope
he slid back into the water again.
"Hang hard," shouted the man in the car, "and we'll pull you up."
The _Christina_, by then, was quite close. Carl had hardly been lifted
clear of the water before the crack of a revolver rang out.
Brady, Jr., had passed his own revolver to his father, and the latter
was pecking away at Carl as he gyrated under the car of the air ship.
"Keep a firm hold on that rope!" cried the man in the car. "We've got
to ascend and get away from that sailboat."
The nose of the Hawk tilted sharply upward, the propeller whirred at
steadily increasing speed, and the air ship bore swiftly away with the
dripping form of the Dutch boy swinging underneath.
Crack! crack! came the reports from Brady's revolver.
Carl, however, was not a good target, and, besides, Brady had to fire
from the pitching deck of the _Christina_. All the bullets flew wide,
and before Brady could fire more than three shots the air ship was out
of range.
The Dutch boy's position was in no wise comfortable for his nerves.
The Hawk was steadily mounting toward the clouds, and Carl was swaying
underneath like a pendulum. As soon as the air ship was out of pistol
range of the _Christina_, however, hands were again laid on the rope
and Carl was jerked up to the car and pulled to safety.
"Well, great spark plugs!" cried the voice of Motor Matt. "Of all the
brain twisters I ever ran up against, this takes the banner! Where did
you come from, Dick? And how does it happen Carl is with you?"
Matt was in a chair at one end of the open space in the middle of the
car, his hands on the levers that worked the mechanism and controlled
the motor.
Ferral, wet as a drowned rat, was sitting up on the floor of the car,
his back against the rail. Across from him was Carl. In the other end
of the car were the other two passengers. One of these wore the uniform
of a policeman.
Ferral's novel situation filled him with wonder. His eyes were darting
all around him, above at the swelling gas bag, around him at the
machinery, the propeller, the rudder and space, and below him at the
heaving expanse of water.
"Well, strike me lucky," he breathed, "but all this seems like a dream.
Am I doing a caulk, and imagining I'm wide awake? If I am, pinch me,
somebody."
"You're not asleep, old chap," laughed Matt, "if that's what you mean
by 'doing a caulk.' Where did you come from?"
"Denver. I'm on my way to Quebec. Heard you were anchored in Chicago
and stopped off there to see you. Couldn't find you at home, but I did
find Carl."
"How in the world did you and Carl happen to be on that sailboat?" went
on Matt. "And why did you jump overboard?"
"Carl pulled me overboard," replied Ferral.
"It vas healthier for us in der vater dan it vas on der poat," put in
Carl, slapping at his wet clothes. "Aber I vouldn't haf pulled Verral
oferboardt oof I hatn't seen der Hawk skyhootin' along toward us. Ach,
dot vas pully! How you habben to be vere you vas schust ven ve needet
you, bard?"
"Mr. Jameson"--and Matt nodded toward the passenger forward with the
officer--"is thinking of buying the Hawk, but he wanted to try her out
with a good long flight and to see if she would be perfectly safe over
water. So we sailed over Chicago and headed into the lake. We saw that
sailboat, but didn't pay much attention to her until Harris saw some
one waving something on her deck. Then, thinking we were being hailed,
we laid a course for her. As we came closer, we saw two persons jump
into the water. That was our cue to get closer to the lake and pick you
up. But what was the matter on that boat? You haven't told me yet."
Ferral ran one hand into the front of his shirt and fished out his
water-soaked roll of greenbacks.
"That's what caused the trouble," said he. "Brady wanted the money."
"Brady?" Motor Matt looked questioningly at Carl.
"Yah, so," spoke up Carl. "It iss der same Prady vat you hat sooch a
time mit, ofer py Villoughpy's svamp."
"What do you think of that, Harris?" cried Matt, looking at the officer.
"If Brady is on that boat," returned Harris, showing a good deal of
excitement, "we ought to tip somebody off and have him captured."
"We'll turn back toward Chicago," said Matt. "Meantime, Carl, you and
Dick tell us all about how you got into that fix. Hurry up with the
yarn. If we're to do anything toward capturing Brady, we haven't much
time to lose."
Carl and Ferral went over their recent experiences. Matt's wonder
grew as he listened. It was strange the way events had fallen
out and brought the three chums together just in time to avert a
robbery--perhaps a tragedy.
"It's main queer, mate, don't you think?" queried Ferral, when the
details had all been given.
"Queerest thing I ever heard of!" avowed Harris. "I knew Brady had a
son, but I hadn't a notion where he was, or what he was doing. Looks as
though young Brady was a chip off the old block."
"It's a lesson for me," remarked Ferral ruefully, "never to pick up a
fellow on his own showing. The queerest part of the whole business was
my meeting young Brady on the train, walking right into the trap he had
set for me and his father was going to help him spring, and towing Carl
along."
"We're coming close to the shore, King," called Jameson.
Matt stole a look over the side.
"Take out your notebook and pencil, Harris," said he, drawing back,
"and write a note. Address the memorandum to the police department
and say that Hector Brady and his son are off the government pier in
a sailboat called the _Christina_, and that if the scoundrels are
captured, a tug better put off at once."
Harris scribbled the note. When it was finished, Matt had him tie the
small sheet of paper around a bolt taken from the tool box.
"We'll fly low over the park near the Art building," said Matt, "and
you yell to the first policeman you see, Harris, and drop the note."
There was no need of yelling to attract anybody's attention in the
park, for every person was looking upward at the air ship.
Harris was not long in sighting an officer, and his own uniform
demanded the officer's respectful attention.
The note was dropped, and those in the air ship could see the policeman
pick it up, untie the sheet of paper and read the communication.
Before the Hawk got out of sight of the park, Matt and the rest had the
satisfaction of seeing the policeman wave his hand to signify that he
understood, and then hurry off toward the lake.
"I guess that will cook Brady's goose for him," muttered Harris
complacently.
"Are you satisfied with the Hawk, Mr. Jameson?" inquired Matt.
"I never imagined that an air ship had been invented which could be
manoeuvred as you have manoeuvred this one," said Jameson. "I'm so well
satisfied with the Hawk that I will give three thousand for her."
Carl gave a gasp and stared at Ferral, only to find that Ferral was
already looking at him.
Were Matt and Ferral to lose the air ship, after all?