Title: The Flying Boys to the Rescue
Author: Ellis, Edward Sylvester
Language: English
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  THE FLYING BOYS SERIES


  THE FLYING BOYS
  TO THE RESCUE

  BY

  EDWARD S. ELLIS

  Author of “Catamount Camp Series”,
  “Deerfoot Series”, etc., etc.

  ILLUSTRATED BY
  EDWIN J. PRITTIE


  THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
  PHILADELPHIA



  COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY
  THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.

  PRINTED IN U. S. A.



CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                               PAGE

      I. SEEKING A CLUE                    9

     II. A REMARKABLE LETTER              20

    III. A WORKSHOP IN THE WOODS          31

     IV. THE BIPLANE IN ACTION            43

      V. BY AERIAL EXPRESS                55

     VI. RECONNOITERING                   67

    VII. AN UNWELCOME VISITOR             78

   VIII. THE PROFESSOR LEADS THE WAY      89

     IX. MEETING AN OLD FRIEND           100

      X. AUNTY HEP TAKES A RIDE          112

     XI. THE CAMPERS                     123

    XII. BROTHER DICK                    135

   XIII. DISCOVERY IMPENDS               146

    XIV. A NATURAL PRISON                157

     XV. A DISMAL NIGHT                  168

    XVI. DICK IS TEMPTED                 179

   XVII. AN UNCEREMONIOUS ARRIVAL        190

  XVIII. BUNK JOINS THE PROFESSOR        202

    XIX. IN THE WORKSHOP                 214

     XX. A CHANGE OF QUARTERS            225

    XXI. BUNK CAMPS OUT                  236

   XXII. FACE TO FACE AT LAST            247

  XXIII. MILO MORGAN’S WATERLOO          258

   XXIV. A NEW RISK                      266

    XXV. “I’LL DO IT!”                   276

   XXVI. THE END OF THE DRAGON           285

  XXVII. BRAVE MEN ALOFT                 295



The Flying Boys to the Rescue.



CHAPTER I.

SEEKING A CLUE


Harvey Hamilton, the young aviator, found himself in the most
distressful dilemma of his life. He and his devoted friend, the colored
youth Bohunkus Johnson, had left their homes near the New Jersey
village of Mootsport, and sailing away in the former’s aeroplane had
run into a series of adventures in eastern Pennsylvania, which have
been related in “The Flying Boys in the Sky.” It was the good fortune
of Harvey to help in the recovery of the little girl who was kidnapped
from her home in Philadelphia some weeks before. All having gone well
down to the time of her rescue, he was awaiting the return of “Bunk”
to continue their outing, when to his consternation he learned that
his dusky comrade had gone off with Professor Milo Morgan in his unique
monoplane, which bore the fantastic name “The Dragon of the Skies.”
To add to the annoyance of the situation, the couple had started on
the maddest enterprise of which a mortal has ever been guilty,--a trip
across the Atlantic Ocean to the continent of Africa. That fact of
itself would have stamped the gaunt, grizzled aviator as the veriest
lunatic outside of a hospital for the insane.

Two remembrances caused Harvey Hamilton keen regret: one was his
hasty words to Bunk, which were the indirect cause of this astounding
venture, and the other his failure to warn him of the mental weakness
of Professor Morgan. Had he done as he ought to have done, in either
instance, the lad would have been saved from the terrifying peril into
which he had rushed.

But while our young friend condemned himself without stint, it was now
too late for mere grief. The momentous question was whether he could do
anything to save Bunk, and if so, how should he go about it?

The Dragon of the Skies was not only much swifter than his biplane, but
it had a start of at least two days. If the owner had headed for the
Dark Continent, he was already well advanced upon the fateful journey.
In that event Harvey could do nothing but wait through the long days
and weeks for the news that might never come to him.

The more he strode up and down the hotel porch and thought of the
matter, the more he was puzzled. He must attempt nothing without good
counsel and the best man to give it was Simmons Pendar, the detective,
who had been the means of rescuing little Grace Hastings from the band
of kidnappers. Although inaction was torture, he stayed in Chesterton,
with his aeroplane in the primitive hangar, until Pendar, having
finished the rush of business, found time to greet him. When Harvey
asked him for a few minutes, the officer, who naturally was in high
spirits, replied in his hearty manner:

“My dear boy, you shall have all the time you want; I can never forget
the obligations under which you have placed the Hastings and me; let me
know how I can serve you.”

They seated themselves at the farther end of the porch, beyond earshot
of eavesdroppers and talked in low tones. It took Harvey only a short
time to tell his story. The detective whistled softly when he finished.

“Well, this is a peculiar situation indeed. Neither of us ever dreamed
of anything of the kind. You are asking yourself whether you can do
anything to help your friend?”

“Is it possible for me to lift a hand for him?”

“I hope so.”

“There’s mighty little comfort in those words, Mr. Pendar.”

“Would it cheer you more if I said there was no hope at all?”

“I am afraid it would not make much difference in my feelings. I cannot
remain idle, but I don’t know which way to turn or what to do.”

The detective proved his power of quick thinking and of concentrating
his faculties upon any theme that might claim them, by saying in his
positive manner:

“In the first place, I don’t believe Professor Morgan has started for
Africa.”

Harvey Hamilton almost sprang from his chair.

“Why do you say that, after what we have learned?”

“I may be wrong, but I am strongly of the opinion that while he has in
mind such a trip he isn’t prepared to try it just yet. No mistake about
it, he is a wonderful inventor. He has already done enough to make him
wealthy and famous. He courses through the air without noise; he can
go straight aloft by means of his uplifter, which enables him to hover
stationary like a bird over any spot he selects. From a remark I once
heard him make, I believe the great idea upon which he is working is
that of drawing electricity from the air and using it as motive power.
When he is able to do that--and who shall say that he will not solve
the problem very soon?--he can stay aloft indefinitely; that is, until
he uses up his supply of food and oil.”

“He has already formulated a chemical composition that will keep him
aloft for half a day.”

“Not long enough to cross the Atlantic. He is figuring on his scheme
now, and time and experiment are necessary for him to reach success.”

“He is likely to make a mistake, is he not?”

“Being human, though crazy, he will do that. But there is a method in
his madness. Having accomplished several remarkable things, he has
proved that thus far all has gone right with him. Now, my dear boy,
while he is sure he will sooner or later cross the Atlantic, he will
not start till he is ready and his machine fit. Therefore, I repeat
that days and perhaps weeks will pass before he makes the attempt of
which other aviators are still dreaming.”

“And what will he do in the meantime?”

Detective Pendar shrugged his shoulders.

“Experiment.”

“You encourage me by what you say, but from what point is he likely to
start?”

“Naturally where the width of the ocean is narrowest. He will not leave
the New Jersey or New York or New England coast, but in my judgment
will bid North America good-bye at Quebec or its neighborhood and head
directly eastward for Liverpool.”

“What is the distance between those two cities?”

“Twenty-six hundred miles. Say he can average seventy-five miles an
hour.”

The detective did a little mental figuring.

“If he can do that and has no accident, he will reach Liverpool in one
day and a half after leaving Quebec. If he can make a hundred miles an
hour--and depend upon it the aviators of the near future will surpass
that speed--he can bid Canada good-bye in the afternoon and watch the
sun set in England on the following day.”

“When at Liverpool he will still be a long way from Africa.”

“But the after trip will be mainly by land. The Channel has already
been frequently crossed by air men and when he follows suit he will be
on the continent. Then it will be a pleasing excursion southward over
France and Spain to Gibraltar, from which it is only a step to Africa.
Have you any idea in what part of the Dark Continent your colored
friend expects to find his distinguished parent?”

“I have no more idea than he has himself, but I should think it is well
to the south.”

“That route would take him through Morocco, Rio de Oro, Senegal, to
Liberia, with the larger half of Africa still to the southward. But it
is idle to speculate on their course after crossing the ocean, a feat
they are not likely to accomplish for some time to come. Let us figure
on what they will probably do while in our own country.”

“That is the great question. If we can’t head off the lunatic and
rescue poor Bunk before he turns his back upon these shores he will
never be rescued at all.”

“Professor Morgan is a moody man. Only on rare occasions does he come
out of his shell, as he did on the night when he first called upon you
at the home of the countryman.”

“When we met afterward he was hardly willing to look at, much less
speak to me.”

“That is his natural frame of mind; now and then the reaction hits
him, when he will admit there are other human beings on our earth.
It is useless, therefore, to look for the Professor in any of the
cities or towns. He will not share his secrets with others, but will
push his investigations in private and far from the haunts of men.
I believe he will locate somewhere to the northward, either in the
mountainous regions of New York, New England or Canada, so that when
he is prepared, he will have only a short distance to go to get to his
starting point. But,” added Detective Pendar, “we are in the realm of
guesswork and that part of the earth lying yonder” (he made a sweep of
his arm to the northward) “is pretty big. Of course you will never find
him without first picking up some clue.”

“And how shall that be done?”

“Ah, I wish I could answer.”

The detective lighted another cigar, leaned back in his chair with his
legs crossed and puffed awhile in silence. He was thinking hard and his
listener waited for him to speak.

“I have been trying to decide upon what fact I base a vague belief that
this loon has his workshop in the northern part of New York State, well
toward the Canadian border. He never told me anything about himself and
I have not seen his name or doings in print. The impression must be
one of those hazy ones that steal into the brain without any apparent
reason, and are explained by some as due to a sixth sense.”

“Such as when you located the kidnappers in this part of the world,”
ventured Harvey Hamilton.

“That was quite different; I accidentally ran upon a definite clue, but
there is nothing of the kind in sight here. You have no idea how many
of the successes among us detectives are due to lucky accidents. Now
such an original genius as Milo Morgan cannot always keep out of the
public eye. His achievements are so remarkable that several of them
must become known; the omni-present reporters will hunt him up; if they
can get snapshots his picture will appear on the printed page, with
interesting interviews, all probably faked. If this does not occur, his
doings will be mentioned in some journal; if you will arrange with a
press-clipping bureau, you will probably get the clue you need.”

Harvey had never thought of anything like this. It added to his
hopefulness and he began to believe it quite possible that Bohunkus
Johnson might be run down and saved from what seemed impending death.

“The character of Professor Morgan being what it is, why was he willing
to take my colored friend with him?”

“It was not altogether the whim of a lunatic. He could not have failed
to note that the negro is stupid, consequently would not bore him with
questions which he did not wish to answer. At the same time, Bunk is
big, powerful and good-natured,--in short an ideal assistant, for there
must be arduous labor connected with the experiments of the brilliant
inventor. In my judgment it was these facts which influenced Morgan to
take the lad with him; Bunk would be desirable for the same reasons on
a trip across the ocean and it would be an easy reward to give him for
his help.”

“It seems to me, Mr. Pendar, that valuable time will be lost while
waiting for news through the sources you name.”

“Possibly you are right, but I can think of no other way that promises
success. From Chesterton you will first go to your home; you can reach
there to-morrow; you will tell your father everything of course, and he
will be as helpful as he was in getting you a new aeroplane.”

“How?”

“When he returns to New York he can telephone the leading
press-clipping bureaus and not only set them on the watch for future
bits of information, but have them hunt for that which has been
published lately. Something will be picked up quite soon and then your
real work will begin.”

“What course do you advise me to follow?”

“Go to Albany or Troy, or even farther north, making sure your father
knows where to reach you by telegraph. As soon as he receives the
information he wants, he can wire it to you and then you will have to
depend upon your own wits. I shall venture upon a few more words of
advice. Have you had much experience in revolver shooting?”

“No; I have a fine Colt’s at home and my brother Dick has one, and we
sometimes try our skill at targets, but he prefers a rifle or shotgun,
and I don’t particularly care for either.”

“You may not need any firearms, but don’t forget to take your pistol
and a fair supply of cartridges with you. As they say out West, you
don’t often want a revolver, but when you do, you want it blanked bad.
It will be well also to supply yourself pretty liberally with funds,
for there’s no saying what necessity you will run against.”

“I shall not forget your counsel; I appreciate it and shall follow it
in spirit and letter.”

“I wish I could go with you, but I am not my own master. You have my
address and will inform me when you have any news to tell.”

The two shook hands and separated.



CHAPTER II.

A REMARKABLE LETTER.


Seated on the broad veranda of his home at Mootsport, in the soft
summer moonlight, with his father, mother, sister Mildred and Mr.
Hartley grouped around him, Harvey Hamilton told the story of his
aerial trip to Chesterton in eastern Pennsylvania. All listened
intently to the account of the rescue of little Grace Hastings from
the Black Hand kidnappers, followed by the strange disappearance of
Bohunkus Johnson in the company of the cranky Professor Morgan.

They had read of the former event in the newspapers, but their interest
naturally centered upon Bunk, for whom each felt a warm regard. It is
not worth while to set down all that was said, the conclusion of which
was summed up by the merchant:

“The advice of your detective friend is good, Harvey, and you must
follow it to the letter. I shall set the clipping bureaus to work as
soon as I reach the city to-morrow morning. You will go by train to
the Ten Eyck House in Albany and wait there for a telegram from me. I
feel sure you will not have to wait long. The curious fact in this
affair is that within the last two or three days I read an item about a
wonderful inventor who traveled through the air without noise and could
remain stationary as long as he wished.”

“Can you remember the particulars?” eagerly asked his son.

“I have been trying to do so but am unable. It was only one of the
many references to flying machines with which the papers are filled.
Whatever I might recall would be misleading, so it is better to let it
go. Some of those wide-awake people will speedily unearth the facts,
and I shall lose no time in sending them to you. I can telephone the
agencies and have them begin at once.”

Thus it came about that the next evening found our young friend in the
sitting-room of the Ten Eyck, the fashionable hotel in the capital of
the State. The weather had turned chilly, with a drizzling mist which
made the warmth within pleasant, even though it was the sultry season
of the year. It is tedious to await the deferred coming of a friend or
the happening of some expected event. Harvey had gaped and yawned and
glanced through most of the metropolitan dailies in the reading-room,
weakly hoping to run across reference to the subject that engrossed his
mind, but he found nothing and decided that he must depend upon his
father for the information needed.

He finished his evening meal, returned to the sitting-room and a few
minutes later received the expected message. It was so full that it is
better to summarize what it said:

Professor Milo Morgan was referred to as the coming Edison of aviation.
He had perfected a number of amazing inventions, such as a noiseless
monoplane that could be held motionless at will, and was capable of
a speed of nearly a hundred miles an hour. The Professor was able
to remain above the earth for twelve hours. As soon as he could
triple this period he would start on an aerial voyage from Quebec
to Liverpool. He was not quite ready to do so, but was certain that
a few days or possibly a week or two would see the marvelous feat
accomplished. He had sailed over several of the States and gone as far
south as the Carolinas. His first intention was to cross the Rockies
and visit the Pacific coast, but he had decided to travel in the
opposite direction. The Professor’s workshop was somewhere in Essex
County, northern New York, but he kept the exact location a profound
secret because he did not wish to be annoyed by visitors and reporters.

“In Essex County are the Adirondacks, where brother Dick is camping
out with his friends,” reflected Harvey; “it is the close season, so
they daren’t disturb deer and other big game, but they are having
plenty of fun. Now if I could locate the workshop of the Professor I
should be able to do something for Bunk.”

Aye, there was the rub. As we know, the Adirondacks cover a large
area, so large indeed that many a hunter has lost his way among the
solitudes and died of starvation and exposure. A person might spend
months in searching for another, and unless he had some clue never gain
a glimpse of him. It would be the wildest folly for Harvey Hamilton to
try to trace the Professor without more enlightenment than thus far he
possessed.

The only information of value in the long telegram was that the
inventor made his home in the large county, most of which lies to the
westward of Lake Champlain. It seemed reasonable to believe that he was
there at that time putting the finishing touches to his machine, but
so far as finding him was concerned he might as well have been in the
heart of Canada or far out over the boisterous Atlantic.

It will be recalled that Detective Pendar insisted that many of the
most brilliant successes in his profession were due to accidental
or trifling incidents. Never did this truth receive a more striking
illustration than in the case of Harvey Hamilton, within the same hour
in which he read the first telegram from his father. He had laid the
yellow sheets on the table in front of him and was trying to figure out
what he should do, when one of the bellboys, in obedience to an order
of the clerk at the desk, handed him a second lengthy message, which
like the former was from his parent. It said:

“A letter has just arrived from Bunk addressed to you. It is without
town or date, but the postmark on the outside is ‘Dawson, N. Y,’, and
it was stamped yesterday. You can readily locate the place as I haven’t
the time to do so. I had to get Mildred to help me translate Bunk’s
spelling and sentences, but we finally succeeded and here is the result:

  “‘Dear Harv,--I hope you are well, because I am. Have had a bully
  time, but the Professor isn’t quite ready to start for Africa. He
  will do so in a few days. He treats me well, but sometimes he acts
  blamed queer. I guess that is because he feels sort of scared about
  meeting so great a man as my father, the Chief Foozleum. He told me
  not to write to anybody at all because he didn’t wish any one to
  know where we are. He has gone off for a little while and I take the
  chance to write you, for I know you would like to hear from me and I
  can get a chance to mail it when he isn’t around. He must think I’m
  a chump not to know how to write a letter without blabbing a secret.
  I can keep things to myself as well as anybody. If you’d give me a
  thousand dollars I wouldn’t let you know that we have a cabin in the
  woods near Dawson. No, sir; you can’t fool me; I’m mum every time. My
  next letter will be from Africa and written in the palace of Chief
  Foozleum.

  “‘No more at present. Your loving friend,

                                                               “‘Bunk.’”

Yielding to his first impulse Harvey Hamilton threw back his head and
laughed till the tears came.

“Bless your heart, Bunk! What should I do without you? No more loyal
heart ever beat than yours. I can’t blame you for giving me the slip as
you did, and it is natural that you should be filled with the scheme of
an aerial voyage across the Atlantic. If I can succeed in saving you
from the attempt, it will be through the help which in the innocence of
your heart you gave me.”

Manifestly the first thing to be done was to find where the town of
Dawson is situate. Harvey had never heard of it, and in his perplexity
he applied to the clerk, who was not only courteous but well informed.
Pondering a moment, he replied:

“Dawson is a small town, though large enough to support a newspaper,
two churches and a public school. It is in Warren County, well up to
the north and not far from Essex.”

“Then it is near the Adirondack region?”

“It may be said to be in it. Mount Gore, a part of Schroon Lake, and
several spurs of the Adirondacks are in Warren, though you must travel
pretty well up into Essex to reach the heart of the mountain district.
Do you think of visiting the section?”

“That is my purpose.”

“Don’t forget that the open season for deer is from September 16 to
November 1, with the chances that half a dozen amateurs will take you
for big game and plug you before you get a hundred yards from camp.”

“I have no thought of hunting except for a person who I have reason
to believe is near the town of Dawson. Can you tell me how I can best
reach the place?”

“Go by rail to Beelsburg, where you will meet a stage that makes the
daily trip from and to Dawson.”

“How long is the stage ride?”

“It is called ten miles, but it is more. The road is rough with a good
many hills and bad places. The journey takes nearly three hours each
way.”

“Can you inform me when I should leave Albany to reach Dawson on the
same day?”

The clerk had to consult the time tables before answering this
question. It took only a brief while to fish out what he sought.

“It is eighty-four miles by rail with one change of cars at Thurston,
where you have to wait twenty minutes. Leaving Albany at eight-thirty,
you reach Beelsburg in time for a midday dinner, after which comes a
jolt of a dozen miles to Dawson. The doctors tell us that a vigorous
shaking up is good for digestion, so when you reach Dawson you ought to
be ready for another square meal.”

Harvey could not ask for more explicit directions, and thanking the
clerk for his kindness, he went to his room. In the morning he sent a
telegram to his father’s office explaining his plans and expressing
hope of success. The programme as outlined in the conversation between
Harvey and the hotel clerk was followed. Arriving at Beelsburg on
time, Harvey ate his noon meal at that station, after which he and
two passengers had a tedious wait for the stage which ought to have
arrived from Dawson an hour before the train. When at last the
lumbering vehicle swung round the corner and drew up at the station
platform, the explanation of the delay was prosaic. An axle had broken
and the driver had patched it up until he reached the wheelwright shop
at the other end of the village, where a longer time was needed to mend
the fracture.

Harvey’s fellow-passengers were middle-aged men and neighbors who had
much to say to each other. What he overheard was of no interest to him.
Once or twice he was on the point of asking questions about Professor
Morgan, but they showed no sociability toward him, and a feeling of
distrust held him mute upon the one subject that filled his thoughts.
He decided that it was prudent to await his arrival in the country town.

Harvey found the dozen-mile ride all that was pictured by the hotel
clerk of the Ten Eyck House. For most of the way the gaunt horses
walked, except when going down-hill, and in many places it was hard
pulling for them. But nothing of note happened, and as it was growing
dark, the stage halted in front of the Washington House and Harvey,
with traveling bag in hand, sprang out. The others remained in order
to ride to their homes farther down the street.

The hotel, with its rather high-sounding title, was a small, modest
structure, as was to be expected where the guests were scant and far
between. The young aviator had no trouble in obtaining a comfortable
room. Had he been accompanied by a dozen friends, they would have been
accommodated with the same promptness.

He had decided upon doing as he did in Albany, that is, question
the clerk of the hotel, who it might be reasonably supposed would
have a wide acquaintance with the affairs of the neighborhood. But a
difficulty appeared at the outset: the primitive hotel had no clerk.
The landlord, a large, beefy, slow-witted man, who wheezed when he
waddled about and seldom spoke unless spoken to, and not always then,
managed affairs, and sat at the head of the table during meals. He
showed not the slightest interest in his solitary guest, but filled and
sent his plate to him by the hands of a tidy young woman who evidently
was his daughter.

Since, however, the Boniface seemed to be the only available source
of information, Harvey wasted no time. The dining-room being empty of
all except the two, he finished his meal first, and walking beside the
table to its head, sat down in a chair near the phthisical landlord,
who glared at him from under his shaggy brows as if he failed to
understand the meaning of the movement.

“If you please,” opened the guest, “I should like to ask you a few
questions.”

The host kept on eating, but grunted a response which the young man
accepted as permission to proceed.



CHAPTER III.

A WORKSHOP IN THE WOODS.


The brief conversation that followed was unique.

“I am looking for Professor Morgan,” said Harvey by way of setting the
ball rolling. The landlord thrust a big piece of meat in his mouth and
continued chewing, but a side glance showed he had heard the words.

“Do you know him?” continued Harvey.

“Is he the chap that’s got a shop about a half a mile out in the woods,
where he makes airships?” asked the host in turn.

“That’s the man! What can you tell me about him?”

“I never heerd of him; can’t tell you nothing.”

“Then how do you know his workshop is half a mile out in the woods?”

Harvey Hamilton had a quick temper and resented the manner of the other.

“I don’t; I asked you if he’s the chap.”

“What chap?”

“The one that has a shop a half mile away, where he makes airships.”

“How do you know he does?”

“See here, young man,” said the landlord, so nettled that he suspended
mastication for the moment and looked threateningly at his questioner;
“you’re getting too flip; I didn’t say that long-legged galoot does
nothing of the kind; I asked _you_ if he did.”

“And I answer that of all fools that pretend to have a grain of sense
you’re entitled to the medal.”

And with flushed face Harvey sprang from his chair, stalked out of the
room and banged the door behind him. Perhaps he should not have been
so rude, but surely he had great provocation. Undecided what he ought
to do next, he went up-stairs to his room. Dawson had not yet risen to
the dignity of gas, but he lighted the kerosene lamp that stood on the
little bureau, and sat down in one of the two chairs with which his
apartment was furnished.

“It’s provoking that I should hit upon the biggest chump in this place
to question, when probably every one else could tell me what I want to
know--_Come in_!”

The last was in response to a knock on the door, which was pushed open
the next moment, and the young woman who had served in the dining-room
stepped within.

“Good evening,” she said to the surprised Harvey, who politely rose to
his feet; “you know I waited on the table.”

“I remember you; I am at your service.”

“I was standing just outside the door that goes to the kitchen and I
heerd everything you said to paw and what he said to you.”

“I got very little satisfaction from him,” remarked Harvey, ashamed of
his hasty words at that time; “and am afraid I lost my temper.”

“You mustn’t mind paw, that’s a way he has. He thinks it isn’t right
to tell a stranger anything about folks that have been guests at our
hotel.”

Harvey saw that here was the well of the information he sought. He
asked the young woman to take the chair near the door, while he resumed
his own seat. She complied without any false pretense of modesty. Being
chambermaid, there was nothing to criticise in her action.

“I gather from what you just said that Professor Morgan has stayed at
your hotel?”

“He never stopped over night, but he has eat a good many meals in our
house; he took dinner here to-day.”

“How long has he made his headquarters in this part of the country?”

She reflected a moment.

“He come here last fall, that is, to stay. But for weeks before that he
had been sending all sorts of stuff,--wheels, cranks, knives, engines,
pieces of machinery and lots of things the like of which I have never
saw, and they was carted out into the woods, where he hired some
carpenters to put up a big cabin, and a still bigger one that ain’t
very high where he stowed his flying machine and other things.”

“And he has made his home there ever since?”

“I ’spose you might say so, though he’s away a good deal; sometimes
he’s gone for weeks afore he shows up agin.”

“How long has he been able to fly with his machine?”

“I can’t say for certain, but the first time I seen him was last
spring--April, I think--when he sailed over the town and we didn’t see
him agin for more’n a week.”

“Where is his shop?”

“You walk down the main street to the second turn, then foller a road
that ain’t much traveled, for about a quarter of a mile; then you turn
to the left over a hunter’s trail that has been there ever since any
one can remember, and keep along that till you run aginst his cabin.”

The young woman, who announced that her name was Ann Harbor,
illustrated her explanations by so many gestures that her listener was
sure he could readily trace the eccentric inventor to his retreat.

“You say he ate dinner at your hotel to-day?”

“Yes.”

“You mean him and the young colored man with him.”

Ann’s big gray eyes became bigger with surprise.

“He didn’t have any colored person with him.”

“But you have seen them together within the last few days?”

The young woman gravely shook her head.

“Professor Morgan is the strangest man I ever have saw; he has been
here a good many times but never spoke a word to me, and I don’t
believe he’s said a half dozen words to paw; he never brought any
person to the hotel and I’ve never saw a colored boy with him.”

“Have you ever been to his place in the woods?”

“No; folks say he won’t let anyone come nigh it; if a person does so he
has some contraption that will blow him into the sky; you don’t catch
me running such a resk.”

Harvey Hamilton’s heart sank within him. The fact that Professor Morgan
had come alone to this house for his meals had a sinister meaning as
regarded Bohunkus, whose appetite was something which could be soothed
only in the way nature intended.

Had the lunatic discovered that Bunk sent a letter to his friend, and
had he punished him for it? Was he starving the poor fellow to death,
or had he taken quicker means of ridding himself of his company? Had
he turned him adrift, dropped him from his airship, or chosen one of a
score of methods for wiping the lad out of existence?

Such and similar were the questions that rushed through the brain of
Harvey as he held converse with the young woman. While by no means
ready to give up hope, he felt that the outlook for his friend could
not well be much darker.

Since his caller had nothing further of importance to impart, she bade
him good-night and thanked him for the liberal tip he gave her.

“I’ll say nothing to your father of what you have told me,” he
promised, as she rose to go.

“You can tell him all you wanter; I don’t care what paw thinks about
it.”

“There is no need of disclosing anything and I don’t believe he wishes
to talk with me after our spat this evening in the dining-room.”

The night was unusually chilly for the season, but the sky showed
signs of clearing. Harvey was hopeful that the morrow would be
pleasant, although the country which he had entered lies so far
north and is so elevated that he found a marked difference between
its temperature and that of his own home. It was on the edge of
the Adirondack region famous throughout the Union, and so great an
attraction that some of its annual visitors come from across the ocean.

His plan was to go to the headquarters of Professor Morgan, tell Bunk
the real situation and compel him to return to his home in New Jersey.
The actual problem he would have to face was the inventor, who was
likely to interpose and probably forbid any action of the kind.

“I am glad I brought my revolver,” reflected the youth, as he lay in
bed waiting for slumber to close his eyelids; “I pray that I shall
never have to use it, but it may prove the only means of saving Bunk
and perhaps myself.”

When he awoke in the morning he was delighted to find that the day was
an ideal one. The sun was shining brightly, the sky was free of clouds
and the air mild, but with the crispness peculiar to that remarkable
section of our country. The landlord did not appear at the breakfast
table, but remained in his office smoking a big briarwood pipe, from
which fact Harvey decided that he had already broken fast. His daughter
Ann did the honors, and the remembrance of the tip of the night before
made her do her best to please the guest. When she had set down a plate
of hot griddlecakes and a cup of steaming coffee, she said:

“Professor Morgan was here last night when you and me was talking
up-stairs.”

“Did he have the negro lad with him?” asked the astonished Harvey.

“He was alone like he always is; he and paw had a talk.”

“I suppose your father told him I was here.”

“I don’t know a word that either said; I asked paw and he told me it
was none of my business; but I guess paw told him all you and him
spoke.”

“Well, I don’t see that any harm was done, for the Professor would
learn it when I called upon him.”

“La sakes! you ain’t going out to that awful place, be you?”

“That’s what I mean to do.”

“Look out you don’t git blowed sky high.”

“I shan’t forget your warning.”

“Will you be back to dinner?”

“I am not sure, but I hope to see you again before I leave this part of
the country.”

“If you go into the mountains look out for bears and deers.”

Harvey assured her that he would do his best to follow her counsel.
There could be no doubt that his _douceur_ had done good work.

His first impulse was to say a few pleasant words to the landlord, as a
sort of an apology for the little misunderstanding of the night before,
but the man looked so sour that he feared another snubbing and let him
alone.

Directly after breakfast, therefore, the guest stepped off the porch
and started along the principal street, but purposely took a direction
opposite to that named by Ann Harbor. Having gone a few rods, he
turned about and followed the right course. He resorted to this little
subterfuge in order to learn whether the landlord felt any curiosity
as to his movements, and the trick worked. The man had come out of his
office, and still smoking his briarwood, was watching him. He knew of
course that the youth was on his way to the retreat of Professor Morgan.

“They discussed me last night. All of the landlord’s sympathies are
with the crank, so I can count on no aid from him. It is well for a
person to know how he stands with his acquaintances.”

Ann’s directions were so clear that Harvey could not err. He followed
the street, took the turn named, and finally struck the trail that led
straight to his destination. He was impressed by the abrupt change in
the character of the country. A few steps seemed to have taken him from
a settled section to the primitive wilderness. The ground rose steeply,
rocks abounded, and the path wound in and out among pines which stood
like sentinels guarding the approach to the forbidden spot beyond. He
pressed on, walking slowly, with eyes and ears alert, listening and
watching for whatever might occur.

“I wonder what the Professor and Bunk will say when I walk in on them.
I have been told that the safest course with a lunatic is not to show
any fear of him. If you keep cool you can bluff it through with the
most violent--hello! here we are!”

He had passed around a mass of boulders which towered twenty-odd feet
above his head and had come in sight of the structure for which he was
hunting. His first impression was regarding its ordinary appearance,
for it might be taken for the home of some poor dweller in the woods.
It was a log cabin recalling that in which he had spent an evening
with Abisha Wharton in the Pennsylvania solitudes, where he first met
Professor Morgan. There were the two windows with the door and small
porch between, the half-story above, and the stone chimney on the
outside at the gable end. The open space in front was smaller than
that of the other cabin, and not the first attempt had been made at
cultivation. The owner’s interest lay wholly inside. Harvey noticed one
significant fact: the windows, instead of consisting of a number of
small panes, had each a big plate of glass for the upper and a similar
one for the lower sash. This was probably with a view of improving the
light. From where the youth stood he caught a glimpse of innumerable
appliances, such as wheels, rubber tires, coils of wire, tools and
strange models, which hung upon hooks or stood on shelves; the top of a
lathe showed, though his view was imperfect.

A broad low flat building to the right was the hangar for the “Dragon
of the Skies,” but he saw the front was open and the remarkable
monoplane was not in sight; nor did he gain a glimpse of the man or
colored youth. While debating as to what was best to do, he caught
sight of a square of white paper pinned on the door. Going forward he
read:

                          “WARNING!

“All trespassers are warned that any attempt to enter this building
without invitation from me will cause their instant death. The
electrical apparatus cannot be avoided and it strikes with the
suddenness of a bolt from heaven.

“The undersigned starts this morning for a distant country and will
not return for several weeks. When he does so, the presence or absence
of dead bodies in front of this door will inform him whether any one
or more or none at all has dared to disregard my notice. It will be
equally futile for any one to try to follow me.

                                                            “M. MORGAN.”



CHAPTER IV.

THE BIPLANE IN ACTION.


Harvey Hamilton read the strange “Warning” twice through, by which
time every sentence and word were imbedded in his memory. I am glad to
say that in one respect he showed common sense: he did not venture a
step farther upon forbidden ground. He was tempted to try the door or
windows or to explore the premises, but the chances were a hundred to
one that Professor Morgan said no more than the simple truth in the
pencilled notice tacked upon the oaken door of the cabin.

Possibly it was a violation of that law which forbids a person to use a
trap gun in guarding his property against burglars, but if so, the fact
itself remained. The person who attempted to force an entrance would
undoubtedly run into some infernal contrivance that would instantly
blot him out of existence. Consequently, instead of advancing, the
youth withdrew several paces where he knew he was safe. He was still
near enough to read the ominous words had it been necessary, but he
could not forget them.

During the brief while in which he thought upon their meaning, Harvey
did a bit of reasoning that would have been a credit to Detective
Simmons Pendar himself.

“That notice is meant for _me_. The Professor learned last night that
I was at the hotel and he needed no one to tell him my business. The
closing sentence is intended to check any pursuit by me. His statement
that he has started for a distant country to be gone several weeks is
also a bit of information for my exclusive benefit. He doesn’t name
Africa, but that is the destination in his mind.

“Why didn’t he take Bunk to the hotel for his meals? Evidently he
feared to trust him, suspecting he would write to me, as the Professor
may have learned he had already done. Although Ann did not tell me
and likely did not know it, he has brought the necessary food to this
place. He forbade Bunk to stray from the cabin, and the fellow was
so scared by the words and manner of the Professor that he dared not
disobey him.

“Why is he so resolute that I shall not prevent Bunk from going on a
trip which only the brain of a lunatic could originate? Bunk, in his
first feeling of resentment toward me, won the sympathy of this strange
person, who, as Detective Pendar said, saw how useful my friend would
be as his assistant. Had Bunk wished to leave him at the beginning of
their venture, the Professor might have consented, but the poor lad
is as eager as he for the trip. The inventor is angered against me
because I am trying to interfere, and is resolute I shall not succeed.
His disordered brain has settled into an iron resolve that I shall be
defeated at every cost. Until I can bring about some understanding with
Bunk and make an ally of him, I have the biggest kind of a job on my
hands, but with the help of Heaven it shall be pushed through to the
end.”

One phase of the situation gave Harvey a new thrill of hope. Professor
Morgan on his visit to the hotel the night before must have learned
that the young aviator had come to Dawson by train and stage, leaving
his aeroplane behind. Naturally he would conclude that his pursuer
meant to make no further use of the machine. Harvey’s manifest course
therefore was to turn to his aerocar to solve the problem.

“I shall go home as fast as steam can carry me and return faster than
it can bring me to this point and it will then be do or die.”

The perplexing problem was to guess what course the crazy inventor
would follow from that morning when he, with Bunk as his companion, had
sailed into the northern skies. Was he really heading for Quebec or
some distant point that would shorten the distance across the Atlantic,
with the purpose of striking out upon his crazy venture, or was he
subjecting his machine to a crucial test before doing so?

Whatever might be the intention of Professor Morgan, it was evident
that he could not escape that test, for previous to plunging into
the aerial ocean to the eastward, he must sail for hundreds of miles
over the New York wilderness and the solitudes of Canada, so far from
cities, towns and settlements that if any accident befell the monoplane
it would mean the end of the aviator and his companion. If perchance
the long voyage through the upper air was effected in safety, who
should insist the Professor was not warranted in trying the far grander
one that should land him and his companion in Great Britain on their
road to Africa?

Hopeless as such an attempt must be (at least until the science of
aviation is much further advanced than now), it was as promising as
the effort of Harvey Hamilton, to follow the flying machine by rail,
steamboat, stage, and on foot or horseback. There were vast reaches
over which he would have to travel by roundabout routes and at a
snail’s pace. Using every advantage at command, he could not get to one
of the Canadian cities until at the end of several weeks.

We have no means of knowing what fancies filled the brain of the man
whose powers of reasoning were warped, but who in some directions was
capable of as perfect logic as is ever displayed by the most brilliant
mathematician. The probable conclusion reached by him was that his
pursuer would abandon the unsettled sections of the country and take a
direct course to the leading Canadian seaport, with a view of heading
him off on the assumption that the monoplane would meet with accident
or delays on the way.

It seemed to Harvey that he had other ground--though shadowy--for hope
of tracing the elusive Professor. He would not venture upon his ocean
voyage, as it may be called, until satisfied that his preparations were
complete. He had spoken only a short time before of his conviction that
they would soon be finished. He was too skilled an aviator to start
for Europe before his machine was ready. The chemical compound which
he had discovered would carry him the greater part of the distance
and it was reasonable to believe he needed a few days in which to
perfect its composition. To effect this he would make excursions
over the surrounding country, returning to his workshop to push his
investigations. It followed that if this theory was correct, he would
stay in the vicinity of Dawson for an indefinite though probably a
brief time. If such proved the fact, Harvey had fair prospect of
success by shaping his own conduct in accordance with such theory.

If I have made clear the conditions which our young friend had to face,
some deception on his part will be justified. As has been said, the
wording of the “Warning” posted on the door of the workshop proved that
the inventor’s real aim was to throw his pursuer off his track and end
pursuit by him. If the Professor could be made to believe he had done
this, he would use all the time necessary to complete his preparations
for his stupendous aerial voyage.

These thoughts filled the brain of Harvey on his return to the
Washington House in the little town of Dawson. Stepping upon the porch
and seeing nothing of the landlord, he passed inside, where he came
upon him seated in his big armchair, slowly puffing his briarwood.

“Will you let me know the amount of my bill?” was the guest’s first
greeting.

It was not necessary for the innkeeper to consult his books, and
without rising from his chair he answered:

“Supper, breakfast and lodging is two dollars.”

Harvey handed him the exact amount, and the landlord folded and tucked
the bill into his waistcoat pocket.

“Going back to New York?” he grunted, disposed to relax now that he was
about to lose a guest.

“I’m going to New Jersey where I live. I walked out to Professor
Morgan’s place, only to find a notice posted on the door to the effect
that he had gone away for several weeks. So what’s the use of my
loitering about here for all that time?”

“What the Professor says you can depend on. If you come back in a
fortnight, you mought git sight of him, but there’s no sense in coming
afore that time.”

“So it would seem. Have you seen anything of him lately?”

“He hasn’t been here for several days and when he does come he has
powerful little to say.”

Harvey did not show that he knew this reply was a falsehood. The
inventor had been in the house the night before and learned of the
presence of the young aviator without his machine. It remained for the
latter to make him think his attempt at deception was successful. What
surer method could there be than the one Harvey was following?

His next inquiry was as to the trains from the railway station at
Beelsburg, a dozen miles away. The stage did not leave until early
in the afternoon and generally an hour’s wait was necessary before a
passenger could start southward. Harvey proposed to hire a conveyance,
which if it made fair progress could intercept a train that passed at
noon. When the landlord named the charge for the services of such a
team, the guest accepted off-hand and hurried to his room to bring down
his traveling bag. He encountered daughter Ann in the hall, to whom
he told his purpose. It was safer not to enlighten her as to his real
intention, since nothing could be gained by doing so and she would be
likely to drop some remark to her “paw” that would disclose Harvey’s
scheme. So with a friendly good-bye, he added to his former tip and
scurried down stairs, where he had to wait only a few minutes when the
open carriage drawn by a gaunt, bony horse drew up and he climbed in.
The driver was a youth of about his own age, and a sort of hostler and
man of all work. Harvey never met a more grouchy person. It was hard to
make him say yes or no to a question, and the passenger gave it up,
after letting him know he was on his way to his own home a good many
miles distant.

None the less, the fellow knew his business and landed his charge at
the station half an hour ahead of train time. Harvey slipped a silver
half dollar into his hand and he did not so much as speak or nod, but
circled around, struck his rangy animal a whack with his splintered
whip and faded from sight in a cloud of dust.

Most of Harvey’s time on his way home was spent in studying an
elaborate map of the Adirondack region, northern New York, and the
lower portion of the Dominion of Canada. His interest in this work and
his retentive memory caused him to absorb knowledge rapidly and soon
he began to feel more familiar with the region than he had believed
possible without months of exploration.

“If I ever get through with this job I think I’ll hire out as a guide
for hunters in the Adirondacks. I’m told some of them are paid big
wages. It’s odd that Dick should be somewhere up there and it will be a
good deal more odd if he and I should meet. I forget what part of the
country he dated his letters from and it isn’t likely he stays long in
one place. Won’t he be astonished if I drop down on him some fine day
from the sky?”

It was on the following afternoon that Harvey Hamilton appeared again
at his home near the village of Mootsport. A disappointment met him. He
expected as a matter of course that his father would be in New York,
but he learned that his mother and sister had accompanied him thither
that morning. Harvey went to the house of Mr. Hartley, but he too was
absent for the day. The caller explained everything to the wife of
the farmer and she promised to transfer the information to the others
that evening. To make sure on this point Harvey wrote a letter to his
parents in which he told all that had occurred with him since his
previous departure. He laid this missive on his fathers table in the
library, said a few parting words to the servants, and then hurried out
to the hangar to bring his aeroplane into service.

“I expect big things of you,” he said as he carefully examined wires,
ribs, engine, ailerons, propeller, rudders and every part down to the
minutest detail. “It won’t do to have any defect, which reminds me.”

He ran to the house again and furnished himself with an outfit of the
most modern fishing tackle.

“There’s no saying when I may need it. If I should be lost in the
Adirondack wilderness, I might have to depend upon what I can take
from the lakes and streams. It won’t do any harm too to add to my
stock of safety matches.”

There was little to make in the way of addition to his former
preparations. The same bag that he had brought home was taken away
swelled to plumpness by indispensable articles, while his extra coat
was folded and tied to the seat, behind him, where it could not be
blown away by any gale or flurry of wind. He did not think it worth
while to ask for help in making a start, for the long sloping meadow
was perfect for that purpose. He followed his old plan of setting the
propeller revolving, when he dashed alongside the moving machine,
slipped into his seat, grasped the levers and was off.

It seems incredible, even with the science of aviation so well
advanced, that starting from northern New Jersey, the young aviator
should reach the Adirondack region before nightfall, but such was the
fact. His first stop was at Poughkeepsie where he renewed his gasoline
and oil, stretched his legs, made another minute examination of his
machine and answered a few of the hundreds of questions that were asked
by the ever-increasing swarm of people that gathered around him. They
were as friendly and good-natured as they had been to Glenn Curtiss,
who made his memorable flight from Albany to New York a short time
before. When Harvey soared aloft once more, he carried with him the
best wishes of the cheering scores whose conduct was in pleasing
contrast to that of the young farmers in eastern Pennsylvania who were
bent on destroying the aeroplane and became angered enough to try to
add the young aviator himself to the wreck and ruin.



CHAPTER V.

BY AERIAL EXPRESS.


No more glorious panorama ever enthralled a human spectator than that
upon which the eyes of Harvey Hamilton feasted while gliding northward
on his way to the Adirondack region. There were towns, cities, forests,
streams, and expanses of woodland in his own State of New Jersey and
the white-capped Atlantic rolling to the eastward, with steamers and
sailing craft dotting its surface all the way to the horizon, where the
Atlantic’s convexity dipped and the eye could penetrate no farther.
The second greatest city in the world spread out below him, with
smaller ones continually rising and sinking from view as he coursed
up the Hudson valley, sometimes to the right, then to the left and
again straight over the picturesque stream whose crafts of all kinds
were hieing away from or to the metropolis. Absorbed as was the young
aviator in the mission on which he had started he could not help gazing
below and drinking in the indescribable beauty of the ever-changing
picture.

“How much those who went before us lost!” he sighed; “and what delight
awaits those that are coming upon the stage of life! Aviation will
bring the greatest revolution mankind has ever known. It is my happy
fate to be one of the pioneers. I wonder what remains before me and
others. At any rate none can feel more thankful than I for the goodness
of Heaven in permitting me to see this day.”

As he progressed up the romantic valley after leaving Troy, his
thoughts came back to the serious work before him. He had set out to
save his colored friend from a dreadful fate, and to that he must bend
all his energies until success or hopeless failure came.

Basing his action upon the theory that Professor Morgan had not yet
started on his aerial voyage across the Atlantic, his pursuer aimed
to return to the vicinity of his headquarters. It was important that
he should go as near to them as he could without exposing himself to
discovery. It would never do for the crazy inventor to learn that
the youth’s withdrawal from the field was a trick. The moment such
discovery was made, that moment the last vestige of hope would be
snatched from the would-be rescuer.

Harvey therefore made a circuit around Troy and Albany, and when he
turned in the direction of the little country town of Dawson, became
more alert than before. The local geography of the section was so
impressed upon his memory that he recognized the leading points as he
swept over them. Besides directing his machine, he made frequent use of
his field glass. He scanned the heavens in search of the Dragon of the
Skies, that he might flee from it in time. If the Professor was abroad
he would not be looking for the pursuer, who counted upon detecting him
first and dodging out of his sight.

When he identified Dawson in the distance he knew his supply of liquid
fuel was pretty low. He could renew it at that town, but it would have
been imprudent to do so, for his whole scheme would be disclosed. In an
effort to avoid attracting the attention of the inhabitants, he veered
to the right, sailing as near the ground as was safe. If Professor
Morgan should learn that an aeroplane had been observed in the sky, his
suspicions would be excited and he would see through the trick that had
been played upon him.

Eight or ten miles to the northeast, in the direction of Schroon River,
which empties into the lake of the same name, Harvey saw the village
of Purvis, containing less than one-half the population of Dawson.
Gasoline is so common an article that he was sure he could buy all
he wished in that place and he shifted his course accordingly. He was
still flying so low that he was not noticed until he descended in a
large field a little way to the eastward. He had hardly come to rest,
however, when he heard wild shouts and saw not only men and boys, but
women and girls running toward him in a high state of excitement.
Harvey was uneasy until he found that their curiosity did not decrease
their friendliness.

“Say, Mister, can’t you give a feller a ride in that gimcrack?”

The questioner was a barefooted gawky youth with big projecting front
teeth. He wore a ragged straw hat, and his nankeen trousers were held
up by a single leathern suspender, skewered with a nail in front.
Harvey thought he might win the good-will of the crowd by gratifying
the applicant and perhaps several others.

“I don’t mind if you’re not afraid to trust yourself with me,” he
replied, surveying the grinning, freckle-faced countryman.

“Gosh! what am I afeard of? If the blamed thing can carry you round the
kentry, why can’t it tote me, eh?”

And he laughed so hard that his shoulders bobbed up and down and the
wrinkles obscured his eyes.

“All right; take your seat and hold on tight; you must sit very quiet,
for if you move the least bit you may upset the machine and kill us
both.”

The lad, nothing abashed, climbed to his place with the help of Harvey
and still grinning broadly announced that he would not so much as bat
an eye while aloft.

“Let her whiz! I’m ready and I don’t keer--.”

At that moment a tall, muscular woman strode from the crowd, caught
hold of one of the ankles of the boy above the bare foot, and jerked so
hard that seemingly elongated by the energetic pull, he came bumping
from his seat and struck the ground so hard that it made him grunt.

“I’ll teach you how to play the fool, Josiah Bilkins! The idee! You
sailing up into the sky! What are you thinkin’ of yourself? Do you hear
me? Take _that_!”

By this time Josiah had struggled to his feet, and with his hands over
his ears to ward off the cuffs that were rained upon them, and amid the
jeers of his acquaintances, he started on a run across the open space.
But his mother was fleeter than he and kept up her castigation as they
passed out of sight around the corner of a house.

None laughed harder than Harvey at the scene, and when the turmoil had
subsided he said to those remaining:

“If any one would like to take a ride, I shall be glad to give it to
him.”

To his surprise, a middle-aged man, likewise without coat or waistcoat,
wearing a dilapidated straw hat with his trousers tucked into the tops
of his cowhide boots came forward. When Harvey looked into his tanned,
grinning face, and noted the yellow tuft of chin whiskers, and the
fast-working jaws, he recalled Uncle Tommy Waters, the weather prophet
of Chesterton. Encouraging shouts were uttered by the man’s friends,
but they quickly ceased to allow him to talk with the visitor to their
town.

“Sure the blamed thing won’t kick up its heels?” asked the
stoop-shouldered man, whom his neighbors called “Gin’ral.”

“It never has done so.”

“How fur have you kim?”

“From beyond the city of New York.”

“Ye ain’t lying, sonny?”

“No; do as you please about trusting or believing me.”

“I’m consarned if I don’t try it,” remarked the General, stirred by the
taunts of his neighbors.

He climbed gingerly to his seat, aided by Harvey, who was much
entertained by his experience thus far in Purvis. The passenger rigidly
grasped a support on each side, and chewing more vigorously than
before, nodded his head:

“I’m ready; let the blamed thing go!”

Cautioning him again not to shift his position while aloft, but to
keep perfectly motionless, Harvey also seated himself, and asked one
of the men to give the propeller a whirl. The roar and racket of the
machine were deafening, but it began creeping over the grass, rapidly
increasing its pace, until the moment came for the aviator to tilt the
front rudder upward. At the instant the bound took place, the crowd,
who were watching it all, saw the General make a dive from his seat,
sprawl through the air like a frog and, lighting on his face, roll over
several times before coming to a stop. The frightened Harvey made as
quick a circle as he could and returned to his starting point to find
the General standing among his friends, who were chaffing him for his
sudden loss of courage.

“What was the matter?” asked Harvey, though he knew well enough that
his passenger had yielded to a sudden panic.

“Why, I happened to think jes’ as we started that I’d promised to meet
Bill Smithers at his home and it wouldn’t do fur me to make him wait,
so I jumped.”

“I was here all the time a-lookin’ at you,” replied the sarcastic
Smithers.

“That’s so,” said the unabashed General, “but I didn’t know it till I
observed you.”

“What did you want to see me fur, Gin’ral?”

“To git you to pay me that two dollars you borrered t’other day.”

Smithers joined in the laugh at his expense and Harvey inquired whether
any one else wished to take a ride with him. But the panic of the only
passenger at liberty to accept the invitation seemed to have its effect
upon the others, and no one went forward.

Harvey now engaged one of the bystanders to bring him a supply of oil
and gasoline and filled his tank. Then he bade his new friends good-bye
and sailed away.

His plan was to go as near as was safe to the shop of Professor Morgan,
then descend, leave his aeroplane and make his further investigations
on foot. He could do this so guardedly that there was little danger of
detection. To attempt it with his machine would bring certain discovery.

As before, he rose only high enough to clear the large trees, many of
which were taller than any of the buildings. The surrounding country
was wooded and mountainous. To the northward he made out two peaks
with a hazy ridge in the horizon and knew that many miles of craggy
wilderness stretched beyond. He was all nerves while drawing near the
workshop, a half mile to the north of Dawson, for necessity drove him
forward fast and the danger of detection increased with every hundred
yards he advanced.

Convinced that he had gone as far as was prudent he sought out a
suitable landing place, fixing upon what had once been a cultivated
field of several acres, but was now lush grass, inclosed on all sides
by woods and matted undergrowth. As nearly as he could tell he was
within less than a mile of the building from which all trespassers
had been warned under peril of death. He had no time now to give to
anything except the work of landing and he did that with a skill that
would have won the praise of Professor Sperbeck, his old instructor in
the difficult science of aeronautics, could he have seen it.

As soon as the wheels stopped running over the ground, Harvey stepped
out and pushed the aeroplane to the side of the meadow and as near the
forest as possible. He even shoved it a little way into the brush and
under the limbs of the trees, taking care to injure none of its parts.
The reason for this precaution he explained to himself:

“Professor Morgan has the eye of a hawk, and if I leave the machine in
the open, he will catch sight of it if he passes within a mile. He will
hardly see it, now that it is so well screened.”

There was risk of another nature in all this, but he could think of
no way to avoid it. If the weather should turn bad, the apparatus was
not well protected. He would have given a good deal for the verdict
of Uncle Tommy Waters, but made himself believe that no change of the
character feared was likely to occur.

If any persons had observed the descent, they might make their way to
the spot and wreck the machine or disable it through their curiosity,
but he had to take the chances in that respect also, and since there
was no choice he did not hesitate. He had located the shop of the
Professor so clearly while in the air that he was in no doubt as to the
course to take. He saw no signs of a path or trail, and travel was as
rough as that encountered on his former visit.

Standing on the edge of the rocky forest, the young aviator raised his
field glasses and began a study of the visible heavens, and within five
minutes of doing so he made a startling discovery.

Far in the northern sky he descried an object that looked like a
stupendous eagle, soaring through the air on its way southward. It was
traveling fast and steadily increased in size. Careful scrutiny left no
doubt that it was an aerocar, and a second look revealed that it was a
monoplane!

“It is the Professor!” exclaimed Harvey, keeping the binoculars in
place. “How fortunate that I hid my machine when I did! He doesn’t
dream that I’m within hundreds of miles of him.”

The course of the car was toward the spot where the mysterious cabin
stood in the woods. All doubt that the air man was going thither was
removed. Harvey’s theory was verified. The crazy inventor was not yet
ready to start on his momentous voyage and was experimenting before
doing so. Now that he had driven his pursuer off the scent as he
believed, he could complete his investigations in his own shop where no
one dared disturb him.

As the monoplane coursed swiftly through the air, a faint fear that it
might not be the Dragon of the Skies caused Harvey to listen intently.
Had the machine been of the ordinary kind he would have heard its
racket some minutes before, but his straining senses caught no sound.

“It’s the Professor and no mistake; I can see his erect body in his
seat and almost recognize those long, grizzled whiskers.”

But now when the monoplane had come still nearer, Harvey Hamilton made
the alarming discovery that the crank inventor was alone in his flying
ship.

_Where was Bohunkus Johnson?_



CHAPTER VI.

RECONNOITERING.


The all-important question still confronted the young aviator: where
was his colored friend, Bohunkus Johnson?

There might be several answers to the query, but none was satisfactory.
Possibly he was at the workshop of Professor Morgan, or had been set
down at the end of the experimental tours the inventor was making, or
the fate which Harvey dreaded may have already overtaken him.

“The one thing for me to do is to have another look at the Professor’s
place at close range, when he has no thought of my being near. I shall
surely be able to learn something worth while.”

Our friend kept the Dragon of the Skies under scrutiny so long as it
remained in his field of vision. It was heading toward the cabin and in
a brief while dipped from sight. The inventor had descended to resume
work.

The day was drawing to a close. The sun had set, and twilight was
creeping over the dismal wilderness. It was a hard walk through the
broken, rocky solitude where he could not find any trail but simply
knew the right course to follow. He had brought a goodly package of
sandwiches with him and he now ate of the lunch. Fully a dozen remained
in the paper bag that was placed on the seat before the tank, reserved
to serve him on the morrow. He was loath to leave the aeroplane
unwatched, but, as has been shown, there was no help for it, and he now
trusted to the good fortune that had clung so markedly to him from the
time he first left home.

With a final inspection of the machine, he skirted the edge of the wood
to the farther corner and then went toward the inventor’s headquarters.
It was hard work from the first. He was forced to go around huge
boulders and masses of rock, push through the intricate undergrowth,
now and then checked and driven to make long detours, but he kept the
right course and knew he had only to persevere to reach the spot in
the end. The moon did not rise until late, but the sky was clear, and
studded with brilliant stars, while the partial lighting up of the
obscurity enabled him to avoid going astray.

As nearly as he could judge he had traversed half the distance when,
without thought of any such thing, he came abruptly to the margin of
a large pond or lake. He could not recall having noticed a sheet of
water in studying his map of the region and was in a dilemma. In the
obscurity the gleaming surface stretched beyond his vision on the right
and left, nor could he see anything but darkness in front.

“I must cross in some way,” he reflected, “but how shall I do it?
I shouldn’t mind taking a long swim, but it would be awkward in my
clothes and I shouldn’t like to call upon the Professor in the costume
of Adam and Eve.”

He had not left any of his garments with the aeroplane, for there
was no saying when he was likely to need his outer coat. While the
temperature was mild, a certain crispness natural to the season brooded
in the air, and when he thrust his hand into the water he found it
thrillingly cold. He inclined to the plan of fastening enough dry limbs
together to float his garments, while he swam and pushed the little
raft in front. He would not have hesitated to do this despite the
chilliness of the water, could he have been certain that the swim would
not prove a long one. True, he was within a half mile of the cabin, as
he figured it, and it would seem that slight risk was involved.

“There’s no saying how far I should have to tramp to go round the
lake,” he said, as he turned the question over in his mind, “but the
other shore can’t be very distant. The swim will do me good and I’ll
take it.”

He began groping along the shore in quest of the material with which
to make the float. It was while he was doing this that he uttered an
exclamation of delight over another unexpected piece of good fortune.
He almost fell over the prow of a canoe drawn lightly up the bank where
its owner had left it. The graceful craft was a dozen feet long and the
broad-bladed paddle lay in the bottom ready for use whenever needed.

“If that isn’t rare luck then there was never such a thing,” added
Harvey after examining the primitive boat, which, Indian fashion, was
constructed of birch bark sewed and gummed together and thoroughly
water-tight. He knew something of canoes, shells and motor boats and
had no misgiving of his ability to handle this craft.

But what of the owner? Where was he and when was he likely to return?
Suppose he was a hunter or woodman who would discover him before he
could get far from shore? What treatment would he deal out to the one
that was running off with his property?

Hoping that the man might be near and could be hired to set him on the
other side, Harvey called “Hello!” three or four times, in a voice
that carried several hundred yards. There was no reply however, a fact
which convinced him that even if the owner soon returned the one who
was making use of his property would be beyond rifle range.

Night was advancing and Harvey did not linger. He laid his outer coat
in the farther end, and stepping carefully into the unstable structure,
picked up the paddle, and pressing it against the bank, pushed the
canoe well out upon the placid bosom of the lake. Taking his bearings,
he glanced often at the sky and with the aid of the constellation Ursa
Major (which always seemed to confront him when he looked into the
sky), he proceeded as truly as if steering by compass. The paddle was
light, with a broad blade at one end. Facing the way he was going,
he dipped it first on the right and then the left, so gently that he
caused only a faint ripple and made no noise.

He smiled at the discovery which came within the following five
minutes. The wooded shore in front loomed to sight at the same time
with the terminus of the lake on his right. A detour of two hundred
yards would have led him around the body of water, and a swim for the
same distance would have landed him on the shore opposite his starting
point.

“I hope the owner won’t feel offended when he finds his canoe has been
shifted to another point, for he won’t have to travel far to get it
again.”

A few minutes later, Harvey drew the boat up the bank and resumed his
journey toward the workshop of Professor Morgan. It will be remembered
that he was now quite near the little town of Dawson, which he left to
the right. He held to his bearings so well that he came directly upon
the place where the trail turned off from the highway and began picking
his course to the cabin.

He was now “skating on thin ice.” The inventor might be going to the
Washington House for his evening meal, or possibly returning therefrom.
In either case, the utmost caution was necessary to avert a meeting
with him. The trail over which Harvey was advancing with the utmost
care may be described as an alley or avenue or cañon, walled in for
most of the way by rocks and overhanging trees, with open places at
intervals, where the star-gleam showed objects indistinctly for a
hundred feet or less.

It will be noted that the youth had to guard the front and rear,
for there was no saying from which direction danger would appear.
He remembered the character of the path, and stepped as softly as a
burglar stealing over a carpeted floor. When he had gone a few paces,
he paused, listened, and peered into the inclosing gloom. He had little
fear of meeting strangers, for the Professor had impressed all with the
peril they ran in yielding to their curiosity. It was the fanatical
inventor whom he held in dread.

But his tense senses told nothing, and Harvey finally turned the corner
of the rocky avenue, where there was a small open space, and the cabin
loomed before him. He stood staring, wondering and speculating as to
what it all could mean. The building was utterly dark and silent. Its
shadowy outlines showed against the starlit sky, but it was as if he
were looking upon some huge tomb. The gloom would not permit him to see
whether the Dragon of the Skies was resting in the hangar provided for
it, but he believed the strange air craft was there, awaiting the whim
of its owner.

While making his guarded survey, Harvey did not forget the delicate
situation in which he stood. He was partially veiled in shadow and
though he heard not the slightest sound he turned his head and looked
back over the trail which he had followed to the spot. A few rods
distant it showed a slight rise, so that he came down a moderate
slope to where he had halted. This low elevation threw the summit
of the incline against the starlit sky behind it and at the moment
of looking, Harvey saw Professor Morgan’s gaunt form in silhouette
striding over the rise and coming toward him, with the well-known linen
duster flapping about his heels.

The watcher slipped a little farther to one side, where he was
effectively screened, and silently awaited the man whose soft footfalls
could now be heard. A minute later he passed so near to where the
eavesdropper stood that a step toward him would have enabled Harvey
to touch him with outstretched hand. But the last thing of which the
Professor was thinking was of intruders into his domain. The tall form
stalked across the brief open space, halted an instant in front of the
door, at which the inventor fumbled a moment and then passed inside.

Almost immediately the interior was flooded with dazzling light,
brighter and more vivid than that of the noonday sun. Through the plate
glass window could be seen the endless paraphernalia of the workshop
of an inventive genius--the lathe, bottles of chemicals, boxes, tools,
coils of wire, retorts, queer-shaped utensils, some suspended on the
wall, others resting on shelves, and many as partially revealed lying
on the solid planking of the floor. The Professor himself took a few
steps toward the rear of his shop and thus came into full view. He did
not doff his headgear nor remove the linen duster which hung almost to
his ankles. Harvey saw him reach up to one of the hooks on the wall,
lift off a coil of copper wire, and then bending over the lathe, set
a small wheel revolving rapidly by means of the treadle which one of
his feet pressed. No one could guess the nature of what he was doing,
except that it was a part of his experimentation for the perfecting of
the monoplane which was already a wonder of its kind.

What Harvey Hamilton looked upon was of absorbing interest, but he
could not forget the painful fact that Bohunkus Johnson was nowhere
in sight, and the painful question which he had asked himself so many
times still remained unanswered. It was certain the colored youth was
not here.

For a half hour the spectator stood as motionless as a graven image,
staring, listening, wondering what was coming next. The inventor now
and then moved about the brilliantly lighted room, but he was busy as
a bee and as absorbed in his work as if only a few minutes remained at
his command in which to complete the most important task of his life.
By and by he lighted a briarwood pipe, and never once removed it from
his mouth. The clearness of Harvey’s view was proved by the sight of
each little puff of smoke which at intervals shot along the stem from
his lips.

Being assured that Bunk was nowhere near the place, Harvey saw nothing
to be gained by acting further as eavesdropper. He was withdrawing,
when, as suddenly as it had been lighted, the workshop was shrouded in
darkness. He waited awhile thinking some slight accident had occurred,
but the impenetrable gloom continued. Professor Morgan evidently was
through his work for the night, though it would be supposed that like
most monomaniacs he would have been unconscious of the passage of time.

“It may mean he has solved the problem over which he has studied so
long,” thought Harvey, softly groping his way back to the trail, along
which he threaded his course to the highroad and then as nearly as he
could judge to the point where he entered it when coming from the small
lake. He was in a more confused state of mind than ever, and could not
decide what step he should next take.

He had settled upon one thing: while so near Dawson he must so far as
possible keep out of sight of everybody. He dared not go to the hotel
for lodging and it was imprudent to apply at any private house. His
plan was to return to where he had left the aeroplane, wrap himself
in his outer coat and cuddle up in the seat for the remainder of
the night. The weather was so comparatively mild that the exposure
would not harm him nor need he be uncomfortable. There is something
attractive to a robust, rugged youth in the idea of camping out or
roughing it, besides which he was uneasy over leaving his machine
without guard. He was in a section quite well settled and the finding
of the canoe showed that people were liable to pass that way at any
time.

Having now no trail to follow, Harvey could not accurately retrace his
steps, but held to the course so well that he reached the shore of the
lake at the time expected. But nothing was to be seen of the canoe that
had brought him over. He made a brief but unsuccessful search.

“It can’t be far off,” was his conclusion; “the owner will have no
trouble in finding it, if he hasn’t already done so and gone back to
the other side.”

Recalling the slight expanse of water, Harvey picked his way along the
margin until he reached the curving end, around which he passed, and
then resumed his direct course to the clearing on whose edge he had
left his machine. He saw and heard nothing to disturb him during his
return and reached the spot while the night was still comparatively
young.



CHAPTER VII.

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR.


Yielding to a feeling of slight uneasiness, Harvey Hamilton lighted
several matches and made an inspection of his aeroplane. With vast
relief he found it unharmed. If any one had come upon the machine he
had not molested it. It was ready for service and he had a good supply
of gasoline and oil.

He had placed his bag of sandwiches on the rear seat. Removing the food
to the one he used when sailing through the air, he adjusted himself
in the upper seat. Here with his coat wrapped about him he said his
prayers, and settled down for a night’s slumber. He was tired and
needed rest, but his mind was so full of what he had learned, and with
speculations as to the immediate future, that he remained awake far
longer than was his usual habit.

A strange theory took shape in his mind. It was in effect that when
Professor Morgan made his first experimental flight he took Bohunkus
with him to some point where he had been left with orders to stay
until his master--as the man undoubtedly was--called for him. If
he kept Bunk at the “works,” the boy was quite sure to meet others
who might persuade him to run away. Hidden somewhere in the wilds
of the Adirondacks he would not dare do this, but would meekly obey
instructions. He would be kept there until the Professor had perfected
his invention and returned, when he would pick up the youth and start
on their trip to Africa. The question of food was simple: Morgan could
readily take what the fellow needed, though not all he wished, to him.

On the supposition that our young friend was right in his surmises,
what could he do to save his comrade? In what respect was the situation
improved or the problem simplified? A man can disguise his personal
appearance and often successfully shadow another, so long as both keep
their feet on the solid earth. But nothing of that nature was possible
in the present instance. The first sight which Professor Morgan should
catch of Harvey’s biplane would tell the whole story. He would know the
youth had returned to the lower Adirondacks to take Bohunkus Johnson
from him. The discovery could not fail to throw him into a flaming
rage, and he would exert himself to destroy the audacious pursuer.
Harvey felicitated himself upon his possession of the revolver and
a supply of cartridges. While he did not hold the crazy inventor in
fear, he dreaded unspeakably a hostile encounter with him, for the
consequences were sure to be tragical.

Finally the wearied youth drifted into dreamland, slightly chilled but
on the whole fairly comfortable. He became cramped and as a consequence
awoke before the night had fully passed. He shifted his posture and
noticed that the risen moon lighted the plain and showed the dark line
of the forest on the farther side. He had reached the point of half
consciousness, with his nerves at the highest tension, when he was
startled by hearing a footfall among the shadows at his side.

“Somebody is prowling near,” was his thought as he sat upright and
listened. He heard again the sound of rustling leaves, which showed he
was not mistaken.

“Hello out there!” he called in a guarded undertone; “who are you?”

The noise ceased and there was no reply. Once more the rustling was
noticeable.

“Why don’t you answer me? What do you want?--Great heavens!”

Well might he utter the exclamation, for there was an ominous growl and
a big black body lumbered from the wood in the moonlight and swung
toward the aeroplane.

“A bear, as sure as I live!” gasped Harvey, leaving his seat at a bound
and taking care to land opposite the intruder. The latter stopped,
looked at him and rearing on its hind legs, reached out one of its
huge paws and drew the bag of sandwiches from its place. He must have
scented the meat between the slices of bread.

The food dropped to the ground and he clawed the paper into strips,
thrusting his snout among the tidbits, which he began devouring
with the gusto of Bohunkus Johnson himself. No doubt he found them
delicious, but the drawback was that the supply only whetted his
appetite for more and there was none to be had. Again he rose on his
hind feet and began exploring the framework of the machine.

“Confound you!” shouted the alarmed Harvey; “you’ll smash things all to
pieces!”

It looked the next moment as if the bear meant to climb into the seat
and take charge of matters. The grim humor of the situation struck the
boy.

“I wonder if he has had lessons in aviation and wants to show off his
skill. Wouldn’t he cut a fine figure in my place, yanking the levers
and cruising round in the sky? What would Professor Morgan think if he
saw him? Probably he would suspect it was I trying to disguise myself.”

But there was a serious side to the situation. The machine was likely
to be injured beyond the present power of repair unless the brute were
driven away. After nosing for some minutes he seemed to know that no
more sandwiches remained. That being the case, what more tempting
morsel could he ask than a plump American youngster about seventeen
years old? Probably from his standpoint there was none, for at this
juncture he dropped back on all fours and started round the aeroplane
with a view of sampling that youngster.

“This is a good time for me to leave,” was the hasty conclusion of
Harvey, who plunged into the woods, with the bear in hot pursuit. He
knew something of such animals, and although he could see only dimly in
the gloom under the trees, he recognized a sapling by running against
it and nearly knocking himself senseless. He staggered back, recovered
himself, and grasping the small trunk, ascended it faster than he had
ever before climbed a tree. He strove desperately, expecting every
second that the enormous claws of the bear would grip one of his legs
and drag him back to the ground, but when he had gone so high that his
support began bending over alarmingly, he knew he was secure for the
time.

A few moonbeams straggled through the limbs and showed the dim outlines
of the shaggy brute, which once more rose on his rear legs and reached
upward, as if he expected his supper to drop into his maws.

“You can wait there till doomsday, but you won’t see me coming down to
meet you.”

Harvey was twelve or fifteen feet from the ground, enough to ensure his
safety so long as present conditions continued. He had reached a limb
half as thick as the sapling and he swung a leg over it. Thus he was
able to sustain himself, but the position soon began to be irksome. The
limb chafed his leg, and when he shifted it as much as he could the
relief lasted only a few minutes.

Meanwhile, he kept his enemy under observation. The _ursus_ species is
not noted for its intelligence, but after awhile this one decided he
was baffled for the time. His kind cannot climb a small tree, though
they find little difficulty in going up a shaggy trunk around which
their claws do not meet. This specimen sank back on all fours, but held
his place at the foot of the sapling.

“Now what is he thinking about?” Harvey asked himself, with a chill of
fear the next minute, when his support was violently shaken; “I wonder
whether he’s going to pull up this young tree by the roots. I don’t
believe he can do it, but if he knew enough he could wrap his paws
around it and draw it over to bring me within reach.”

The shaking ceased, as if the bear had given up that idea, if indeed he
had ever held it. The obscurity was too deep for Harvey to make sure,
but he fancied that a tree, probably an oak, with trunk several feet in
diameter, grew so near the sapling that it was within reach of his hand.

“Like enough he will climb it,” reflected Harvey, “till he is higher
than I am and then drop down on my head. Why don’t he give up and clear
out?”

A little later it looked as if the brute had decided to do the very
thing a certain youth up a tree wished him to do. He lumbered off a
few paces, taking him beyond sight in the dense shadows. The rustling
of the leaves grew fainter, and by and by ceased altogether. Harvey’s
hopes rose, when fifteen minutes passed without the sound of a growl or
the stirring of the dead leaves on the ground.

“I believe he has gone,” whispered the lad, as if afraid his voice
might bring back his enemy. “But it’s best to make sure.”

By and by the chafing by the limb which he bestrode grew unbearable.
He drew his leg over and began sliding down the smooth trunk, inching
along, often pausing, listening, and peering into the dusk, ready to
scramble up again on the first sign from his foe.

After a long time, he felt the toe of one shoe softly touch the leaves.
He lowered the other and stood erect. The relief from his onerous
posture was great.

“It does a fellow good,” he mused, “I wonder how those hunters stand it
when they are treed and kept off the ground for hours at a time. I’m
glad I’m rid of this plaguy bear--Great Cæsar!”

A terrific threshing of the undergrowth showed that the brute was
returning like a cyclone. He had gone only a few paces, as if to tempt
the fugitive to do the very thing he had done. I have said that Harvey
Hamilton when first chased by the black bear climbed the sapling more
quickly than he had ever done a similar thing before. I must add
that this second exhibition in that line surpassed his first, and
established a record. In a twinkling he was up on his perch again, with
one of his muscular legs doubled over the limb, feeling as if he would
stay there a week before running so fearful a risk as the one from
which he had just escaped.

“Of all creatures in the world,” he said disgustedly, “the bear is the
meanest. I never harmed this one, and what has he got against me? He
stole my lunch and wants to use me as dessert. It isn’t very pleasant
up here,” he sighed, “but it beats being chewed up by a bear. I wonder
whether there’s anybody near enough to hear me if I yell.”

He was reluctant to resort to this, since the coming of any person
in the circumstances was likely to interfere with his search for his
missing comrade. He decided to wait, hoping that after all the bear
would grow tired of hanging around and swing off into the woods.

Harvey held on like a hero, shifting his position so far as he was
able, until it became so irksome that he decided to slide down the
trunk and run for another tree. His dread was that in making the
attempt he would blunder and not find the refuge at instant command;
for with a ravenous bear at one’s heels no person can afford to move
leisurely.

When it seemed that an hour had passed, though the time was much less,
he called out, pretended to descend the sapling and really did go part
way. The silence was so complete that hope sprang up again, and by and
by he glided slowly down inch by inch until his feet once more touched
the leaves. He stood waiting and listening, but heard nothing to send
him scrambling back to his perch.

“I’ll try it!” he said and began stealing toward the edge of the wood
where the aeroplane was half hidden in the foliage and under the limbs
of the trees. He stepped as carefully as an Indian scout, with hands
outstretched, feeling his way and ready to climb in a flash another
trunk the instant it became necessary. He knew he was advancing so
silently that if the brute was within two or three yards he could not
hear him.

Harvey took comfort in the thought that whatever might happen, he was
through with the refuge that had tried him so sorely. There couldn’t be
another precisely like it and that of itself was immeasurable relief.

“I should prefer a big tree even with the risk of his following
me--Confound it!”

Just then he caught his foot in a thick root which lay parallel to his
course and with the free end projecting toward him. He raised his shoe
to step over it, but the obstruction rose also, and despite a fierce
effort to save himself he fell forward on his hands and knees with a
racket that could have been heard far away in the stillness. Certain
that his foe would be upon him the next moment, he made a dash in the
dim light, but was brought up standing by an obtruding limb which
slipped under his chin and fairly lifted him clear of the ground. For
a single second, he fancied his head had been shorn off his shoulders,
and he made a wild dash for another sapling. He collided with a trunk
and in his panic turned again, and then suddenly halted.

Surely, if the bear was anywhere near, he would rush for the spot, but
he heard nothing. He now changed his course so as to reach the open
within a few yards of his aeroplane. Most likely the brute had grown
tired of waiting and gone off. The youth might have left his sapling
some time before and escaped all he had suffered.



CHAPTER VIII.

THE PROFESSOR LEADS THE WAY.


Harvey Hamilton was making his way toward the aeroplane, when his right
hand touched a big lump at his hip. Reaching down to learn what it was,
he drew forth his six-shooter.

“Well, I’ll be hanged! I’m the champion idiot of the twentieth
century!” he exclaimed, with a pang of self-disgust as he looked at the
small weapon. “Every chamber is loaded, and I have a lot of cartridges
in my pocket, but I forgot all about them until this minute! While I
was chafing my legs on that limb I might have filled the bear with
lead. His snout wasn’t a dozen feet from me, and though I didn’t see
clearly I couldn’t have missed him if I had tried.”

He certainly had cause for exasperation. While a Colt’s revolver isn’t
a very formidable weapon, and hunters as a rule do not seek big game
with small arms, yet the modern make possesses great penetrative powers
and it is quite likely that, counting Harvey’s reserve ammunition, he
might have given the bear his quietus. Strange that our young friend
never realized he was armed until the necessity for it had passed.

“I wish he would show up again,” he added, peering around in the gloom;
“I should like to square matters with him for what he made me go
through.”

But the brute was not seen or heard again, and perhaps it was as
well for the young aviator, who might have been disappointed in the
effectiveness of his weapon.

A pleasing fact became manifest. Night was ended and moonlight was
giving place to the increasing glow in the eastern sky that showed day
was breaking. The hours of trouble, annoyance, vexation and danger
were over and he must gather up the threads of life again. He was
hungry, but no food was within immediate reach, and he could afford to
wait until the situation cleared before seeking nourishment. He was
within easy reach of thriving settlements, towns, and even cities of
considerable size. To the north stretched the picturesque Adirondacks,
with their wealth of streams, rivers and lakes, their vast areas
of wilderness and many recesses where only the solitary hunter had
as yet forced his way. Hundreds of people in quest of health and
recreation were roaming through the wilds, living in log cabins or
tents, or sleeping in blankets by wood fires, kindled in the depth of
the solitude. They spent the glorious days in fishing, tramping and
breathing the life-giving ozone, which sent them back to their duties
invigorated, strengthened and renewed in body and spirit. It was a
famous clergyman who, a half century before, published a book of his
experiences in the Adirondacks, insisting that the mountains would cure
men who had almost reached the last stages of consumption. The tonic
properties of the region are extraordinary and the entrancing story
sent droves thither. The majority were disappointed by his glowing
pictures and when they emerged and registered their names at the
primitive hotels on the outskirts, they added, “Murray’s Fools.” None
the less, unnumbered invalids have found the section a veritable land
of hope.

There was no thought of anything of this nature in the mind of Harvey
Hamilton when he stood beside his aeroplane, after an inspection had
shown him it was in perfect condition and ready for whatever service he
required of it. As is often the case with the brain which is perplexed
at night, it was clarified in the morning. He was confronted by a
formidable task, but his policy was settled.

He fully believed that Professor Morgan after studying his invention
in his workshop, subjected it to the decisive test in the open air,
by sailing well to the northward and returning to his retreat when
he discovered any defect. The distance passed might be ten, fifteen,
twenty or a greater number of miles. He had not yet perfected his
invention, but expected to do so quite soon. He was resolute in his
purpose to carry Bohunkus Johnson across the ocean to Africa, and would
fight to prevent any one taking the negro from him. With the whimsical
persistence of an unbalanced brain he grew to distrust Bunk himself.
The dusky youth had asked that he might be a passenger on the wonderful
journey, and having received permission, would be held to the agreement.

It was this state of mind that led the inventor to transport his
assistant, as he may be considered, to the northern terminus of those
experimental flights, and there leave him until the time should come
to start on the aerial voyage to the other side of the world. As has
been said, it was an easy matter to take such food as he required,
and Bohunkus having no weapons and being in the heart of an unknown
wilderness, would be terrified by the thought of trying to make his way
out without some one to guide him.

Such in brief was the theory that Harvey had formed and upon which he
decided to work until its error appeared. As he figured matters, the
great problem to solve was the location of the spot where Bohunkus was
held a virtual prisoner, for the young aviator put from him the fear
that the crazy Professor had made way with Bunk.

If Harvey was right in his surmises, the monoplane would soon wing its
way northward, passing not far from the spot where the other machine
was partially hidden on the edge of the small meadow. Harvey must learn
so far as he could where the Professor’s destination lay. It would be
easy to do this, provided he could pursue without danger of discovery,
but that was impossible: some other method must be followed.

Harvey decided to wait where he was until the monoplane sailed past and
then watch its course through his field glass. If he failed to locate
the precise spot, he would approximate it and narrow the area of search.

The aeroplane rested on the northern side of the clearing, from
which position it was impossible, because of the intervening trees,
to see the country lying in that direction. It was so early in the
morning that Harvey felt safe in walking to the other side, where his
observation would be clear. Prudence suggested that he should not
expose himself to the risk of detection, and it would have been easy
to skirt the open, thus keeping out of sight for the whole distance,
but the danger was seemingly so slight, that he did not hesitate to
move out from the margin of the wood toward the opposite limit of the
unfenced meadow.

Straightway he received a lesson which he could never forget and which
came within a hair of upsetting all his carefully laid plans. He was
in the middle of the space when there was a whirring rush overhead as
of the wings of a mighty bird, and Professor Morgan in his monoplane
shot past directly above the youth, at a height of not more than two
hundred feet. Harvey stood still, dumfounded and scared, for he was
sure he was or would be discovered in the next instant. Staring upward,
he saw the well-remembered machine and read the ominous name painted
on the under side of the immense wings: “The Dragon of the Skies.” The
gaunt, long-limbed Professor sat upright, staring ahead with his hands
grasping the levers, while he watched every movement of his car. So
absorbed was he in this task that he did not glance downward at the
form standing like a statue and gazing up at him.

It was the narrowest escape conceivable for Harvey Hamilton. He
waited until the monoplane in its arrowy flight was several hundred
yards away, and still going with the speed of the wind. Even then if
the Professor should look behind him, he could not fail to see the
spectator on the ground. In a panic, the latter broke into a run, not
pausing until under the shadow of the protecting limbs of the trees.
There he waited, glass in hand, and raised it to his eyes when the
gigantic bird was a long way off.

“He did not wait for breakfast,” was the conclusion of Harvey; “which
may mean that he intends soon to return, or will eat his morning meal
somewhere else, or will go without it altogether.”

The sky was as clear and radiant as before, and stepping into the
open, the young aviator leveled his binoculars at the inventor and his
machine. They seemed to be aiming for the mountainous ridge ten or
twelve miles away.

“If he stops on this side,” thought Harry, “it will mean that Bunk is
there awaiting him; if he goes over the summit, it will signify that
beyond it is the place.”

For the twentieth time, the youth blessed the makers of the admirable
field glass which adds so markedly to the power of the natural eye. The
whole expanse of romantic country, with its masses of rocks, belts of
forest, wild, uncultivated land, broad fields, small, winding streams,
scattered dwellings, three villages at varying distances, rough surface
of hill, valley and precipitous elevations, some of which deserved the
name of mountains, was spread before him. The ridge, like a mighty
wall, shut in this impressive prospect on the north. The side of the
ridge was covered with a growth of exuberant though somewhat stunted
trees, gray towering masses of rocks showing at intervals; a couple of
tumbling waterfalls, whose bases looked like rumpled snow, could also
be seen.

Harvey Hamilton, however, had no eye for any of these: his interest lay
in that object which was coursing through space at tremendous speed,
as if it meant to dive into the forest which blocked its course. He
kept gently shifting the focal distance of the glasses so as to hold
the monoplane in distinct view, though the edges of the wings showed at
times a fringe of prismatic hues that did not interfere, however, with
his vision.

Professor Morgan was flying low, but at the base of the ridge, when
Harvey expected to see him make a landing, he used his elevating
rudder and skimmed upward toward the summit. The picture was that of
an enormous bird which with its vast wings outspread was scaling the
mountainside by stepping lightly on the treetops and lofty rocks. Up,
up, he climbed with dizzying swiftness, was silhouetted for a moment
against the clear sky, and then shot out of the watcher’s field of
vision.

“Bohunkus is on the other side,” was Harvey’s conclusion, as he screwed
up the glasses and shut them in their leathern case, which he slipped
over his shoulder.

It was guesswork as to when the Professor would come back. He might
make a brief circuit in the sky beyond and return in a few minutes to
his workshop, or be out of sight for hours. It might occur to him that
it was wise to eat breakfast and to get food for his dusky assistant.
Be all this as it may, Harvey decided to act at once, since nothing was
to be gained otherwise.

He ran across the open to his machine, pulled it clear of the
undergrowth and limbs, pointed it toward the western limit of the
clearing, spun the propeller round, and sprang into his accustomed seat
in time to direct the fast rising speed. He had a good supply of fuel
and the biplane worked smoothly. Swerving to the north, he “put on
steam” and was off.

His plan was to spin ahead until he reached the base of the ridge, or
perhaps passed a part of the way up its side. He would be on the watch
for a good landing place, hide the aeroplane as before, and then press
his investigations on foot.

Before he had gone half the distance, he abandoned the plan of flying
part way up the ridge. A dread of the Professor’s return grew, and
his eyes began roaming over the surface in quest of a safe place to
descend. He regretted having come thus far, and resolved to take the
first chance that offered. It appeared on a slight swell near the base
of the ridge, but somewhat to the right of the course he was following.
It was not the spot he would have selected had he not been pressed for
time, but such as it was he had to accept it and he believed it would
answer.

He was not in a settled section, though one of the villages could not
have been more than two miles to the eastward. The ground upon which he
rested his hopes could not have contained more than a couple of acres
and the upper end was shut in by a lot of boulders which threatened to
play havoc with his machine. Both on the left and right, however, were
undergrowth and stunted pines that promised to be a good hiding place
for the aeroplane. Accordingly, he dropped as low as was safe, shut off
his motor and dipped to the rough ground. He landed with a bump that
came near unseating him, and would have shattered his front rudder
against the boulders had he not managed to veer his course so as to
avoid them in time.

“I don’t fancy this business,” he muttered, as he stepped to the ground
and looked the machine over; “the folks at Garden City know how to
construct these things, for this one has stood a good deal of jarring
without harm so far as I can see.”

It was a work of considerable difficulty to work the biplane among the
trees where it was not likely to be seen by any one passing overhead,
though in plain sight of a person on the ground. Some five or six
hundred feet had to be climbed to reach the summit. The surface was of
the roughest character, his way leading around piles of stone, through
thick woods, which fortunately were not cluttered with undergrowth,
across deep gullies, and so steep in some places that it was trying
even to a professional guide or hunter.

Standing thus and debating the situation, Harvey caught the murmur of
the waterfall on his right. He recalled that it was near, and would
have paid it a visit had not more important matters demanded attention.



CHAPTER IX.

MEETING AN OLD FRIEND.


It was a half hour’s climb to the top of the ridge, it being so
precipitous in places that even a lusty youth like Harvey Hamilton
had to pause more than once to rest his limbs and regain his wind.
He accomplished his task in due time and reaching the crest, uttered
an exclamation of amazement at the wonderful beauty of the landscape
spread before him.

He had crossed the boundary of the county and was in Essex, which
includes nearly all of the romantic Adirondack region, familiar to the
thousands who visit it every year. As far as the vision could travel
were wooded mountain peaks, craggy spurs, lakes, some of considerable
size, the headwaters of the Hudson and other rivers, waterfalls,
dashing streams, the country dotted here and there with straggling
hamlets, a fashionable hotel or two, scattered cabins and rude
dwellings, while tiny columns of smoke climbing through the treetops
told where parties had their camps and were living in the open, with
the sensible resolve to get all that the forest, redolent with spruce
and balsam, could give them.

With the aid of his glass, Harvey identified a canoe containing a man
and woman, the latter paddling up the winding stream far to the left,
while on the shore of the lake, to the right, gleamed the white tent
of some campers. He even recognized the tiny figures moving about, and
saw a man enter a canoe and hurry out upon the sheet of water, which
gleamed like a vast mirror of silver.

The view was worth traveling thousands of miles to enjoy. In all his
wanderings through Switzerland, the Tyrol, and Italy, Harvey had beheld
nothing like it. While those parts of the Old World far surpass the
Adirondacks in magnificence and grandeur, there was a certain witching
charm in this place not easily describable that enthralled the young
American and held him mute under a spell that no European scene had
been able to weave about him.

While in other circumstances he could have stood or sat for hours
drinking in the fascinating beauty, he could not keep his thoughts
from the serious task upon which he had entered days before. Bohunkus
Johnson, if alive, was in peril from the demented man who held him a
prisoner, and his rescue must be accomplished without waste of time.

Somewhere in that unrivaled landscape, Professor Morgan had gone with
his monoplane. Possibly he had crossed the limit of the searcher’s
vision, but the latter did not think it likely. At any rate he
determined to examine the territory at his feet before entering new
fields.

The prosaic truth forced itself upon Harvey Hamilton that his most
pressing need just then was food. He was sure he never felt quite so
hungry, and there was no call for him to suffer so long as he was in a
land of plenty, where hospitality is the law.

His first intention was to go down the slope to the lake, on whose bank
the tent stood. He knew he would be welcome and be given abundantly of
what he needed. But the spot was two miles off at least, and somehow he
disliked meeting a party of jovial campers, as they were likely to be.
He was not in the mood for jest and quip and feared that the contact
would not help him in his self-appointed task.

In the opposite direction from the lake, nestling in a small clearing,
was a cabin similar to those which he had seen during his adventurous
days in eastern Pennsylvania. It was not more than a third as far from
where he stood as the camp. While he observed no one moving about, a
tiny spiral of smoke climbing from the stone chimney showed that the
dwelling had occupants. He decided to go thither.

This compelled him to leave his aeroplane behind. Had the distance been
greater he would have used it, though still dreading a sudden return of
the crazy inventor and his machine. His own brief flight to the spot
did not seem to have attracted attention and he gave the matter no
further thought, but set out at once.

As he drew near the humble structure he was favorably impressed. It
was made of logs, but the two or three acres of surrounding ground
were under cultivation and the vegetables were not only plentiful and
vigorous, but there was an air of neatness brooding over all, that
proved the owner and occupant to be thrifty and tasteful. The front
of the house was covered with climbing vines and flowers, and the
windowpanes were clean, as was the little porch upon which he stepped.

That which he now saw pleased him still more, for an old-fashioned
latchstring hung outside in accord with the primitive form of welcome.
When the leathern string thus shows it says: “Come in without knocking.”

All the same, Harvey hardly felt warranted in accepting the invitation.
Instead, he knocked sharply, and straightway bumped into another
surprise. He heard quick footsteps, the lifting of the latch from
within, and then the door was drawn back. He had raised his hat in
salutation but recoiled in pleased astonishment.

“Well, I declare!” he exclaimed, “I didn’t expect to meet _you_ here.”

“Nor did I think I should ever see you again,” was the reply, as the
girl extended her hand, which was grasped and shaken.

She was Ann Harbor, the daughter of the keeper of the Washington Hotel
in Purvis, where Harvey had spent a night a short time before.

“Come in,” said she hospitably; “Aunty will be as glad as me to see
you.”

Harvey stepped across the threshold into the living-room of the
tidy dwelling. Seated at the opposite window was a small, neat,
motherly-looking woman in spectacles engaged in sewing. She looked up
with a winsome smile and greeted the visitor as his name was announced.
She was Hephzibah Akers, sister of the landlord of the Washington
Hotel, in Purvis, with whom her niece Ann was a favorite. Hat in one
hand, the young aviator bowed and extended the other to the woman. She
motioned him to a chair and expressed her pleasure in welcoming him to
her humble home. After a few commonplaces, Harvey turned to Ann, who
had also seated herself.

“You are quite a distance from Purvis?” he said inquiringly.

“Not so very far,” she replied lightly; “Aunty doesn’t come to see us
often, so I run up to see her.”

“I am not as young as she is,” replied the elder, “and she is kind
enough to come to see me, though not half as often as I should like to
have her come.”

“How long have you been here?” asked Harvey.

“I left home yesterday morning; bus’ness is dull with paw just now and
he let me come up to Aunty’s for a day or two. I shall have to go back
to-morrow or next day. Now, how is it _you_ are here when I thought you
had gone to your home in New Jersey?”

The visitor had considered this question before it was asked. He
decided that the best course was to be frank with the woman. So in a
few words he told them that Professor Morgan had taken the colored lad
with him, and since the aviator was known to be unbalanced in mind,
Harvey was doing his utmost to get his friend away before it was too
late. The story was so absorbing that Aunty ceased her sewing while she
and her niece listened.

“I did go to my home,” added Harvey, “but came back as soon as I could.”

“Did you stay at our hotel last night?” asked Ann.

“No, your father likes the Professor better than he does me and I
thought it best not to let any one know I was in the neighborhood.”

“I guess you did right, for what you say is true. The night of the day
you went away, the Professor stayed a good while at the hotel after
supper and he and paw had a long talk. I was in and out of the room
most of the time, so I heard nearly all they said. Paw told him you had
gone off and we’d never see you agin; the Professor said it was lucky
for you that you’d done so, for if you come round poking your nose into
other people’s bus’ness, you wouldn’t live to try it a second time.”

“Mercy!” exclaimed the shocked Aunty; “why did he say _that_?”

“’Cause he’s crazy,” was the prompt explanation of her niece.

“Ann is right the Professor has formed a plan which no one but a
lunatic could think out; it is that of crossing the Atlantic Ocean with
his aeroplane and of taking the colored boy with him. If they ever try
it, it will be the last of both. I cannot rest idle if there is any
way to prevent them.”

“Of course not,” assented Aunty; “it would be wicked if you didn’t do
your best to stop it. Can Ann and I help you?” she asked with such
childlike simplicity that Harvey smiled.

“I see no way unless you have some information to give.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“You have seen the Professor and his airship, I suppose?”

“Several times. I went to the spring on last Sunday morning for a pail
of water, when the thing skimmed over my head so low that I ducked,
though there wasn’t any need.”

“Which way was it traveling?”

“Straight north,” she replied, indicating the direction by gesture.

“Did the man give any attention to you?”

“He didn’t seem to see me, but was staring ahead, with his hands on the
levers each side of him. He didn’t look down, but the person with him
did.”

“Ah!” said the interested Harvey; “he had a companion then?”

“Yes; it must have been the young man you spoke of, for I remember he
had a black face; he leaned over, waved his hand at me and shouted
some words which I didn’t catch. He was sitting beside the Professor.”

“That was Bohunkus. When he and I sailed together, he never lost a
chance of saluting every one who looked up at him. Now, Aunty, you tell
me you saw an aerocar going northward; can you tell me how far it went?”

The woman shook her head.

“I watched him till my eyes ached. I can’t see very well with my
glasses and he soon passed out of sight.”

“But what was his course?”

“Not exactly north, but a little to the east of north, toward Dix
Peak and the Schroon River. He may have kept on to Nipple Top and
Elizabethtown or even farther.”

“What time of the day was this?”

“A little after breakfast. I was expecting Gideon and had waited for
him, but he must have been too busy to come home.”

“And may I know who Gideon is?”

“Why haven’t you heard of Gid Akers?” asked the surprised niece; “he’s
one of the greatest guides in the Adirondacks. He is off now with a
party, near Sanford Lake and Mount McMartin. He’s been hired till the
end of August, but manages to take a run down here once in awhile.”

“You know I never was in the Adirondacks till the other day and really
know nothing of them. You tell me, Aunty, that it was on Sunday morning
that you saw the couple going northward in the airship. Did you see
them return?”

“That was the funny part of it,” replied the woman with a smile; “I
was home alone all day, busy about the house, for I don’t often get to
church, when I went out again to the spring. I was dipping up water,
when a queer shadow whisked over me and made me look up. There was the
Professor, as you call him, going with the speed of the wind to the
south.”

“Alone?”

“Yes; he paid no more attention to me than before, though he must have
seen me, but the seat beside him didn’t hold any one.”

This information was important, as confirming a part of Harvey
Hamilton’s theory: Professor Morgan had carried Bohunkus Johnson to
some spot at an uncertain distance to the north, and left him there,
with orders to stay until his master was ready to pick him up and start
across the Atlantic.

“He went north again this morning,” said the visitor, “and of course
was alone.”

“Where were you when you saw him?” asked the lady.

“On the other side of the ridge to the south, where I had hidden my
aeroplane.”

His listeners showed their astonishment.

“Have you got one of them things too?” asked Ann.

“I should have explained that I came all the way from home this second
time in such a machine.”

“Why didn’t you come here in it?” asked Aunty; “I should dearly love to
see one when it isn’t whizzing like a bird through the air.”

“You shall have a ride in mine, if it can possibly be arranged, and you
too, Ann, for your kindness to me.”

The big gray eyes sparkled.

“That will be bully--I mean splendaceous. Ain’t you afeard something
will happen to it, while you’re gone?”

“I think not; it is well screened from sight, unless some one should
happen to pass near. I was afraid to use it to come any farther lest
the Professor should discover me. It is necessary that I should prevent
that at all costs.”

“Where did you stay last night?”

“In the woods with my aeroplane. You remember the weather was mild,
and I was comfortable in my thick coat.”

He did not think it worth while to tell them of his experience with the
bear.

“Where did you have breakfast?”

“I didn’t have any, and only a bite or two last night and, Ann, if you
ever want to look upon a starving fellow, just take a good look at me.”



CHAPTER X.

AUNTY HEP TAKES A RIDE.


That which followed these words was so amusing that Harvey Hamilton
laughed outright. Aunty Hep dropped her sewing from her lap and sprang
to her feet, with hands upraised in self-reproach.

“Mercy sakes alive! Poor boy! You are starving!”

In the same moment, Ann Harbor without speaking, darted into the small
room at the rear which served as a kitchen. Evidently she believed in
deeds more than in words.

“Not so bad as that, Aunty,” protested the caller; “I am pretty hungry,
but I can stand it a little longer. I shall be glad to eat a belated
breakfast, but I beg you not to hurry.”

“Not to hurry,” she repeated reprovingly; “we can’t hurry too much.
You look pale and must feel faint. It won’t take us long to get you
something.”

He protested again, but was not displeased by the promptness with
which they met his need. Sooner than he expected, a bountiful meal was
ready, and the coffee remaining in the pot was quickly reheated and
a brimming cup poured out for him. They urged him to eat until he was
compelled to stop. He dared not offer payment and thanked them over and
over again. Their pleasure was as great as his own.

“I’m downright glad I didn’t have my regular breakfast this morning,”
he said, when he shoved his chair back.

“Why?” asked the hostess.

“I should have lost the best meal I ever ate.”

“La, now, you shouldn’t say that.”

“My mother taught me to speak the truth at all times; but Ann,” he
added, turning to the girl who was removing the dishes, “while you are
helping like the good girl you are, I shall go outside to watch for the
return of the Professor. It won’t do to lose sight of him and he may
come back at any time.”

He walked across the floor and paused with his hand on the latch.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll go to my aeroplane, and when it is safe I
shall bring it here for you and Aunty to look at.”

With this understanding he set out on his return to the spot where
he had left his machine. He was so grateful to the women that he was
anxious to gratify them in every way possible, but he could not
forget his simple-hearted friend who was in peril. More than an hour
had passed since the Professor had winged his way northward and he
was liable to return at any time or possibly he might wait for a long
while. Harvey had already run great risk and could not be too careful.

He found that no one had been near the machine and it was as ready as
ever for service. It would have been the height of imprudence for him
to bring it forth so long as the return of the Professor was impending.
He devoted a few minutes to oiling the moving parts and giving the
structure a minute examination, and frequently he stepped into the open
space and studied the sky through his field glass, searching for the
object that had become familiar to him.

Remembering what Aunty Hep had said, he scrutinized the country a
little to the east of north. It was mountainous, wooded, unsettled, and
so far as he could judge contained very few or no cabins.

“It is the place where I should think he would hide Bunk, but his
prison may be a score of miles beyond the farthest reach of my vision.”

A mass of cumulous, fleecy clouds was drifting across the sky low
down, while the firmament above was of a clear soft blue. Just below
a stratum of snowy vapor, he saw what looked like a bird with
outstretched wings sailing toward him. Its rapid increase in size and
the power of the binoculars quickly disclosed the fact that it was a
monoplane. Professor Morgan was returning to his workshop near the town
of Purvis.

Instead of taking the same course as before, the inventor circled to
the east, so that he was a fourth of a mile distant on his nearest
approach to where Harvey Hamilton stood on the edge of the cleared
space with leveled glass. He was still flying low, and in a few minutes
sank from sight.

“I am sure that Detective Pendar would agree with me as to the meaning
of what I have seen to-day. Professor Morgan carried food to Bunk, and
at the same time gave his machine a test so far as he could. He has not
yet accomplished all he has in mind, though he may be close to it, and
has gone back to his workshop to continue his experiments. He will stay
there for the rest of the day and make another trip to-morrow morning.”

This was drawing it fine, but our young friend was so confident he
was right that he acted upon the theory. It will be seen that he was
steadily narrowing the circle of search. At daybreak he had established
the fact that the place where Bunk was held a prisoner was north of
the ridge which the pursuer crossed on his way to the home of Aunty
Hephzibah Akers. He had learned later that it was somewhere in the wild
region a little to the east of north, which loomed up on the farther
limit of his vision. The next visit of the Professor to Bunk ought
to locate the spot so nearly that Harvey could, so to speak, put his
finger on it.

Aunt Hep had resumed her sewing by the window, and her niece having
cleared off the table was chatting with her about the remarkable story
told by their youthful caller, when both were startled by a roar and
racket which caused them to listen with bated breath. Neither had ever
heard anything like it, for it will be remembered that the monoplane to
which they were accustomed sailed on its aerial voyages without ripple
or noise. Ann sprang up and opened the door.

“O Aunty! here he is! come and look!”

As she called, she sprang off the little porch and ran out to where
Harvey Hamilton had just finished volplaning to the earth only a few
rods away from the front of the house. Her relative was at her heels,
as much amazed as she. They stared at the strange looking thing, and
upon the owner’s invitation went forward and listened, absorbed, to his
description of the functions of the different parts. Harvey patiently
answered questions that belonged more to a child than to an adult.

“And now,” he added, “I want you to take a ride with me.”

They shrank back in dismay and shook their heads.

“I wouldn’t do it for worlds!” gasped Aunty, and the awful thought
caused her niece to whirl on her heel and plunge through the door into
the house. A minute later she emerged again and hesitatingly approached
the others.

“Nothing could make me expose you to the least danger,” said Harvey
soothingly; “I have ridden hundreds of miles in this and never been
hurt; I know better how to handle it than ever before; it is in the
best condition and you need not have the slightest fear.”

The result of his persistent persuasion was that the two consented to
the venture which a half hour before they would not have faced for a
fortune. He explained that they had only to sit still, after he had
adjusted their seats so as to balance right, lightly grasp the rods
at their side, and then fancy that the long-reaching arms were their
own wings and they were two innocent birds coursing through the upper
regions. Just as everything was ready, Ann was seized with sudden panic
and would have leaped out, had not her relative caught her arm and
sternly ordered her to keep her seat.

When, in response to the whirl of the propeller the machine began
gliding down the slope, the girl screamed and her aunt had again to
check her. Harvey sprang nimbly to his place and at the proper moment
pointed the front rudder upward, and the aeroplane left the earth and
soared into the heavens. The load being greater than usual he kept the
propeller at its highest speed.

The young aviator proceeded on the principle of trying to kill two
birds with one stone. He could give his friends the treat of their
lives, but in doing so, he steered toward the point where he had first
caught sight of the monoplane on its last return from the north. He
had become so used to running the machine that he felt free to inspect
the country while gliding over it. Before starting he had fixed the
salient points in his mind,--the lofty peak to the westward, the
endless stretch of wilderness, the villages and towns in the distance,
the few scattered cabins, the ridge to the rear, the rushing, tumbling
streams, and the lake a little way ahead and to his right. Scattered
here and there were signs of life as shown by more than one canoe,
gliding over the smooth waters, or paddled up the current or floating
down it, with the fingers of vapor pointing skyward from the depths of
the forests where parties of tourists or campers were gathered beneath.
It was the glad summer time, and the visitors to the Adirondack region
were numbered by the thousands. The open season was not much more than
a month off when the hunters would shoot one another in the ardor of
their pursuit of big game, with an occasional deer thrown in as a
counterpoise to their mistakes.

With some misgiving as to how his passengers would stand what was
certainly an ordeal, Harvey looked around at them. Each was tightly
grasping the support at her side, and they sat as rigid as statues,
their faces pale, but the glow of their eyes showing how entranced they
were with the flight and how keen was their enjoyment of it. When Ann’s
eyes met those of her friend, she shook her head and tried to smile,
but did not make much of a success of it. Exalted as were her emotions
when she gazed down at the wonderfully picturesque landscape sweeping
past, she longed to feel it once more under her feet.

Harvey did not overdo matters. He flew ten or twelve miles, which he
was sure took him to the point in his mind. He peered below but saw
only trees, masses of rocks and a small waterfall, but no sign of life.

“Now if Bunk is down there, as I believe he is, he ought to notice this
biplane. Likely he is looking at me this very minute.”

Prompted by the fancy Harvey took off his cap and swung it round his
head, searching the earth below in the hope of catching a response.

“He is so ready to do that sort of thing he ought to reply. As I am
carrying two passengers he might not recognize me, but that need not
prevent his answering my salutation.”

The solitude remained as unbroken, however, as at “creation’s morn,”
and afraid to go any farther, Harvey made a wide curve to the right and
began his return.

Although he had not caught a sign of Bohunkus Johnson, he saw others.
Two men standing on the bank of the uppermost tributary of the Schroon
discharged their guns. They could have done no harm had they been
pointed at the aeroplane, for the distance was too great, but the
weapons were aimed at nothing and the action was meant as a salute to
the navigator of the air. He saw the gray puffs and waved his cap as
the only thing he could do by way of acknowledgment. A man paddling up
stream in a canoe held the blade motionless and circled his hat, while
his two feminine companions waved their handkerchiefs and doubtless
said something appropriate to the occasion.

The large white tent to which allusion has been made and which stood on
the shore of the small lake, was hardly a mile from the home of Aunt
Hephzibah Akers. The young aviator sailed almost directly over it,
leaning well to one side and peering downward, but the camp appeared to
be deserted. He decided that the campers were off on a tramp or fishing
excursion.

From this point to the little patch of ground in front of the home of
Gideon Akers, the guide, was so slight a distance that in a minute
or so, Harvey spiraled down as gracefully as an alighting bird, on
the spot where he had halted before. The women sighed with relief and
enjoyment as he helped them to the ground. They were grateful and urged
him to spend the remainder of the day at the house.

Harvey would have done so but for the feeling that it would be
neglecting the interests of Bunk. Aunt Hep herself had commended his
vigorous earnestness, but the question which he asked himself was
whether to lay aside his aeroplane at this point or to return to where
he had wheeled about when he came back. If he did the latter he would
advance that much nearer Bohunkus, but his scrutiny of the ground had
not disclosed a suitable spot for landing. He feared he would be caught
at a disadvantage and find his machine useless when he needed it the
most. He decided upon a compromise. He would leave the aeroplane at the
home of Aunt Hep, and since more than half the day remained, press on
afoot.

Accordingly he pushed the machine to the rear of the dwelling, where a
shed gave shelter to the single cow whenever she was in want of it, and
managed to screen the biplane from sight provided no one’s suspicion
was drawn to the spot. Then he bade his friends good-bye for the time
and started off on a tramp that was destined to bring him an experience
of which he little dreamed.



CHAPTER XI.

THE CAMPERS.


As midday approached, the weather grew warmer. Harvey Hamilton left his
traveling bag at the home of Aunt Hephzibah Akers, since he did not
intend to journey far, and it would be easy to go back when necessary.
Most of the distance between him and the tent on the edge of the lake
was a gradual slope downward, through the usual underbrush and around
occasional rocks and boulders, but the traveling, on the whole, was
not difficult, and he made fair progress. He doffed his outer coat and
slung it over an arm as a sort of balance to the field glass suspended
by a cord from the opposite shoulder.

He remembered that when he peeped down from his aeroplane he saw no
signs of any one near the tent, but if the owners had gone on a tramp
as he supposed, some of them had returned during the brief interval.
While drawing near along the beach he saw a man a little to one side of
the primitive dwelling, where he had started a fire and was evidently
preparing the noonday meal. His companion lifted the flap, stooped, and
was in the act of passing from sight when Harvey caught his first good
view of the tent from the ground. A little later the other person came
out. This brought him face to face with Harvey when about a hundred
paces separated them. The back of his companion was toward the caller
of whose coming as yet he was not aware.

Harvey had noticed that they were attired in modern camping costume,
with leggings, gray flannel shirts, and caps instead of hats. A gaudy
handkerchief was knotted loosely about the neck and dangled over the
shirt front, across which the big red letters “C A & W E S” could be
traced, as far as the young men themselves were distinguishable.

The one who confronted Harvey looked at him for an instant, and then
touched the forefinger of his hand to his cap in military salute. The
visitor returned it and pushed on. The second camper heard his footfall
and wheeled around.

“How do you do, sir?” he called. “We’re glad to see you.”

They both offered their hands as Harvey went forward. He was won by
their hospitality and cheeriness of manner. He explained:

“I am Harvey Hamilton, from Mootsport, New Jersey, and I have come to
the Adirondacks on a strange errand in which perhaps you can help me.”

“It will give us pleasure to do so,” replied the one with the
briarwood. As he made this answer Harvey distinctly saw him wink at his
companion, who returned the trivial and yet often significant signal.
The young aviator was mystified, for he suspected instinctively that
something was back of it.

“We are sophomores at Yale, and are up here on a little outing. My name
is Val Hunter, and I am from Vicksburg, Mississippi. This ugly looking
tramp with me is Fred Wadsworth, from the wilds of western New York.
We have a third member who sneaked off with our boat this morning and
there’s no saying when we shall see him again.”

“I have a brother who is a sophomore at Yale,” said Harvey; “and he is
or was a short time ago somewhere in the Adirondacks. You must know
him.”

“What is his front name?”

“Dick.”

The two looked at each other and Hunter said: “I recall him and there
isn’t a more popular fellow in college. He can box, row, play baseball
and football, and leads his class in his studies.”

Harvey’s heart warmed to the Southerner.

“I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that; something of the
same nature has come to us at home and father and mother are proud
enough, but Dick never tells us anything about himself.”

“We tried to get him to go with us on this trip, but a party of seniors
dragged him off. He was very sorry to part with us and wouldn’t have
done so but for his promise made earlier. We are honored in having his
brother with us and beg he will make more than a short call.”

Harvey was sure he had never met two finer gentlemen. Val Hunter
was a true specimen of the aristocratic Southerner, with his black
hair and eyes, olive complexion, now darkened by tan, and his lithe,
sinewy limbs. His words were marked by the slight drawl now and then
and the suppressed “r” which often mark the speech of those born and
reared south of Mason and Dixon’s Line. His companion, Wadsworth, from
New York, was of stumpy build, with a round ruddy face, also well
tanned, light gray eyes and inveterate good-nature, but by no means as
comely in looks as Hunter. It was evident that they were attached to
each other, probably on the principle of like and unlike being drawn
together.

In front of the tent and a little to one side, a short decayed log
had been rolled. This was useful as well as convenient. When the young
men wished to smoke they could use it, if they preferred to sit rather
than loll on the bare ground. Besides, if they needed a table for their
plates when eating, here it was, though an up-ended box served them
oftener.

“I was about to prepare dinner,” said Hunter, “It being my day for such
menial duty, but it is early and we can sit for awhile. Have one?”

He handed a package of cigarettes to Harvey, who thanked him and shook
his head.

“Father and Dick do the smoking for our family.”

“You’ll be along in time,” replied the other; “cigarettes aren’t good
for some folks and I’m one of ’em, which explains why I smoke ’em.
You know that’s the basic principle of human nature; the way to make
a person do a thing is first to convince him he shouldn’t do it. It
shines out in those beautiful lines of Shakespeare or Milton, I forget
which:

  ‘I ne’er would have been in this condition
  But for mother’s prohibition.’”

“That’s clever in its way, because of the profound truth involved,”
remarked the New Yorker, “but for fine, delicate fancy it does not
equal that quatrain:

  ‘This road is not passable,
  It is hardly jackassable,
  And you who do travel it
  Should turn to and gravel it.’”

Harvey laughed at the solemn manner in which this nonsense was
delivered. Nodding toward Wadsworth he asked:

“What do those letters mean?”

The other smiled.

“That reminds me of a day when I saw a scorer in the grandstand at the
ball grounds ruling off and writing captions on his card. With much
twisting of his mouth he scrawled the word ‘Ares.’ I asked him what it
meant. With a look of pitying scorn he answered: ‘Why them’s errors.’
It is with something of the same emotion that I reply to your question:
Those letters signify ‘Champions of the Adirondacks and the Whole
Empire State.’”

“If your modesty strikes in,” said Harvey, catching the spirit of the
moment, “it will be fatal.”

“That’s what we’re afraid of, but wait till you meet the Duke.”

“And who is the Duke?”

“I beg pardon for not explaining before. His full title is Duke de
Sassy. He really is a poor Cracker from Florida, who has such a hard
time getting through the University that several of us are paying his
expenses on the dead quiet.”

“Has he much ability?”

It was the Southerner who took it upon himself to reply:

“Below the average, which makes it all the harder for him. Wadsworth
and I, out of pity, invited him to go with us on this outing. Florida
is a mighty poor place in the summer season.”

“Or any other season,” amended Wadsworth.

“We were glad to do so, but it galls us to fail to see the first spark
of gratitude or appreciation on his part. Not once has he said so much
as ‘Thank you’ for all the favors done him.”

“It is hardly fair to refer to his prodigious appetite and I shall not
do so further than to say that it has doubled our expenses.”

“I hope you don’t begrudge him his food,” said Hunter reprovingly to
his friend, whose slur struck him as in poor taste.

“Of course not; it’s _our_ food that I dislike to see appropriated by
him.”

“I suppose the treat is so rare a one for him,” suggested Harvey,
“that he cannot help making the most of it.”

“There may be something in that,” replied Wadsworth, “but the fellow
is absent and it doesn’t seem fair to abuse him when he can’t reply,
though what we have just said has been said to his face.”

“How does he take it?”

“Grins and eats more than ever. Which reminds me that the Adirondacks
seem to have become a favorite tramping ground for airships. Two of
them are hovering over and about us.”

“Yes,” remarked Hunter, “and we saw a rarity to-day. We were fishing
when a biplane sailed overhead with two women as passengers.”

“Did you recognize the aviator?” asked Harvey.

“How should we?”

“It was myself.”

“No!” exclaimed the Southerner, and he and his companion stared in
astonishment at their caller; “you don’t mean it?”

“It was certainly myself and the two ladies belong to that house up
yonder at the head of the lake. I came to this section from New Jersey,
covering the whole distance in my aeroplane, and I expect to return the
same way, but with only one passenger. My machine awaits me at the
house of Guide Ackers.”

Thereupon Harvey told his story, which it need not be said was listened
to with deep interest by his new friends.

“I never heard of anything stranger,” commented Hunter; “that crazy
inventor whom you call Professor Morgan has been in these parts for
nearly a week. We must help you to get the colored boy away from him.”

“I shall be glad if you can, for from what I have told you he is in
imminent peril. You understand that the first necessity is to locate
the prison where he holds the poor fellow.”

“By George!” exclaimed Wadsworth, slapping his knee; “don’t you
remember, Val, that the first time we saw the machine sailing overhead
there were two persons in it?”

“You are right; we were sitting on this very log with the Duke, all
three smoking and talking of nothing in particular, when the Duke
caught sight of the thing well over toward the other side of the lake.
He dived into the tent, brought out his binoculars and we all took a
squint at it. It was going very fast and the man on the driving seat
sat up very straight with his hands on the wheel and his feet down in
front.”

“That was the Professor,” said Harvey.

“We couldn’t make out whether the one sitting beside him was colored or
not. He must have fancied we were watching him, for he waved his cap at
us and we returned the salute.”

“That was Bunk: he always does that. Now, how long did you watch the
monoplane?”

“As long as it was in sight. It returned later in the day and went back
over the same course, but it carried only one person.”

“That confirms the theory I formed some time ago. Professor Morgan was
afraid to have Bunk with him at his workshop, because he might change
his mind and run away, or could be found more readily by his friends.
So he took him to some place out yonder, where he intends he shall stay
until he is ready to start on the maddest trip an aviator ever dreamed
of. Now can you tell me how far the Professor went with his machine?”

“I had the glass and was standing right here watching him,” replied
Wadsworth. “Up among those rocks and trees which you see a little to
the left and six or eight miles away, the machine seemed to come to a
stop and to hang motionless in the air, but that could not be.”

“That is exactly what you saw; the Professor has invented what he calls
an ‘uplifter,’ which is nothing more than a horizontal propeller under
the engine, by which he can hold himself stationary when he wishes.”

“I was so puzzled by the sight that I handed the glass to the Duke, who
laughed at what he called my fancy. But when he had looked it was his
turn to be surprised, for he couldn’t see any aeroplane at all. It had
vanished as completely as if it had dived into a hole in the ground. He
passed the glass back to me, but I was no more successful than he. Then
Val tried it with the same result.”

“You knew what that meant?” said Harvey inquiringly. “There was no
mystery about it.”

“I presume the aviator made a landing among the trees.”

“His uplifter enables him to descend where he chooses, for he can come
as straight down as a stone falling from the sky. A space a few yards
wide will answer and there must be plenty of such spots even in so wild
a region as that beyond us.”

“That must be the explanation,” said Hunter, “and of course he can
make the same kind of start, though we have never seen him do it. We
couldn’t afford to wait here until he came back, but have noticed him
several times since.”

“Hello! that must be the Duke!” said Wadsworth as the three heard the
sound of whistling from the wood on the other side of the tent.

“Brace yourself to meet this undesirable citizen,” added Hunter,
lowering his voice; “try to bear with him, for he needs your charity.
He’s a ‘bad egg.’”

The next moment the third member of the little party, still whistling a
popular air, came into view from behind the tent and Wadsworth, who had
risen, said impressively:

“Mr. Hamilton, permit me to introduce you to the Duke de Sassy, a
general nuisance and--”



CHAPTER XII.

BROTHER DICK.


The tall, handsome young man who came into view and who had been
referred to as “Duke de Sassy” stopped short, his music nipped in
two, and for an instant stood speechless. It was the same with Harvey
Hamilton, who stared as if unable to believe his eyes. Val Hunter and
Fred Wadsworth doubled over with laughter, and dropped on the log
behind them.

The latest arrival was the first to regain his self-command. It was a
gasp rather than an exclamation:

“Well, I’ll be hanged!”

“Dick, as sure as I’m alive!” responded Harvey, rushing forward and
grasping the hand of his elder brother, who dropped the string of fish
he was carrying, and flinging an arm over the shoulders of the younger,
pressed him to his breast. There could be no mistaking the affection
of the two for each other, and both Hunter and Wadsworth felt ashamed
of the harmless trick played their caller. They abruptly stopped their
merriment and the Southerner swallowed a lump in his throat. He had
once been blessed with a younger brother, but kissed him their long,
last farewell two years before. Wadsworth had never passed through
the sorrowful experience, but he saw the emotion of his friend and
respected it.

Dick and Harvey shook hands several times, laughed, slapped each other
on the back, and asked and answered numerous questions before they
awoke to the fact that others were near. Harvey had to tell about home
and all the news concerning the folks. Neither they nor Harvey had
thought of the brothers meeting, though it would seem that the fact
that Harvey’s destination was the Adirondacks, where Dick was known to
be, ought to have suggested the possibility of such a thing.

Grouped at the front of the tent the four youths had a merry chat, for
all were in high spirits.

“The minute I looked at Harvey,” said Hunter, “I noticed his
resemblance to Dick, but did not suspect the relationship until he gave
his name. Then Fred and I knew before he furnished any more particulars
that you were brothers. Since the Duke was absent, we felt it our duty
to acquaint Harvey with a few facts about his big brother, though the
task was anything but pleasant.”

“It seemed to give both of you a mighty lot of pleasure,” said Harvey,
who was so glad to see Dick that he reached over and shook hands with
him again.

“Possibly you are correct, though we tried to keep down all signs of
it, which reminds me that the dinner hour is approaching and even now
is at hand.”

It being the turn of Hunter to serve in the culinary department, he
sprang to his feet, walked over to where Dick Hamilton had dropped his
string of mountain bass and carried them to the edge of the lake, where
he began dressing and preparing them for the fire, which was burning
briskly in the rough stone stove whose pattern, you will recall, was
described in the “Catamount Series.”

All three of the young men were the sons of well-to-do parents and they
went into the Adirondacks fully equipped for their outing of a month or
more. The guide, Gideon Akers, had helped them in transporting their
tent luggage and provisions, consisting of sugar, coffee, tea, prepared
flour, condiments, ham, condensed milk, etc., and the necessary cooking
utensils. After camp was made, the professional guide left, to fill an
engagement with a larger party which penetrated much farther into the
wilderness. That all were provided with firearms followed as a matter
of course. Each carried a Colt’s six-shooter, in addition to which
Dick Hamilton had a small Winchester rifle. He needed no reminder that
the game protectors in the Adirondacks are keen in their work, and it
would have been very imprudent for him to shoot any big game during the
close season. He had no intention of doing so, but he might need the
larger weapon in some emergency.

When he wrote home to his father that he was on the trail of a gigantic
buck, he told a partial truth. He had met such an animal twice, and
knew its favorite haunt was in that region. The temptation to run the
risk of bagging him was strong, and if all the circumstances were
favorable, he was not sure he would not take a shot at him, though how
to get the antlers home was a grave problem likely to involve him in
difficulty, with the loss of the trophy and a tremendous fine to pay.
However, that was a question which may be dismissed for the present.

As the three were seated on the log, Harvey told again the story
of Professor Morgan, the cranky inventor, and the missing Bohunkus
Johnson. The negro lad was strongly liked by Dick as well as his
brother, and the sympathies of the elder were roused. He insisted that
no thought or attention should be given to anything else until the
colored youth was rescued from what beyond question was a situation of
gravest danger.

“And I can lead you almost to the spot,” added Dick. “As you know, I
went off early this morning in the canoe which I drew up in the little
inlet behind the tent where you didn’t see me. I paddled to the farther
end of the lake to fish in a splendid spot and was there when that
monoplane sailed by and dropped down among the rocks and trees not more
than half a mile away.”

“Did you notice where it landed?” asked Harvey.

“Not precisely, for my position was so low that it dropped out of sight
before coming down, but I can hit it pretty closely. What is your plan,
Harv?”

“Let us all start for the section as soon as we have finished dinner,
and then scatter and begin our search. We can’t miss it.”

A difficulty presented itself. The canoe was not buoyant enough to
carry the four, though possibly it might bear three. It was six miles
at least to the end of the lake and the tramp was a hard one because of
the roughness of the country, while the water offered the easiest kind
of a passage. Dick struck the solution. Addressing Val Hunter and Fred
Wadsworth he said:

“There is not the slightest need of you going with us. Harv and I will
paddle to the northern end. We shall then be quite near where there
is every reason to believe Bunk is a prisoner. When it isn’t best to
paddle any farther we shall pull the canoe up into the bushes and hide
it. Then Harv and I will separate. We know how to signal to Bunk, who
will recognize the call and answer it. If the Professor doesn’t come
back and interfere it will be as easy as rolling off a log.”

“That shuts us out altogether,” said Hunter, “which we don’t like.”

“Not by a large majority,” added Wadsworth.

“I shall leave the glass with you, and when the monoplane comes in
sight you can study every movement and quite likely pick up useful
information.”

The proposal did not give the two much comfort, but it was really the
right thing to do. Provided the brothers landed near Bunk, it ought
to be as easy for two to locate him as it would be for a score of
searchers. He had been an old friend of Dick and Harvey from earliest
childhood, and they knew all his peculiarities. Held, as he no doubt
was, under the spell of the Professor’s domineering brain, he might
shrink from trusting himself in the care of strangers. It was not
unlikely, as the brothers viewed it, that he would keep out of sight
of Hunter and Wadsworth, having no knowledge of why they sought him,
or whether they meant well, but it would be the other way when he
recognized his old friends.

This being explained to Val and Fred they accepted it and the plan was
agreed upon before the midday meal was concluded. Dick led the way to
the tiny inlet at the rear of the tent, where the pretty little canoe
had been drawn up the bank. He carried his rifle and a full supply of
cartridges with him and had also his revolver, as did Harvey.

“I don’t suppose you have had occasion to use it yet?” said the elder
inquiringly, while they paused for a minute or two to admire the
graceful craft in front of them.

Harvey shrunk from telling the story of his meeting with the bear.

“I haven’t fired it off since leaving home,” he said.

“It isn’t likely you will have to do so,” remarked the elder, with no
suspicion of the whole truth, “but it is well to be prepared. Step in.”

The canoe had been shoved into the water and Harvey carefully seated
himself in the bow, though there was no difference in the fashion of
the ends, except in the arrangement of the seats. Dick followed, first
handing his gun to Harvey, who, having left his outer coat in camp,
had nothing more to look after. The elder had had more experience in
handling the ashen paddle, which he manipulated in Indian fashion,
dipping the broad blade in the water on one side and drawing it back
with a powerful sweep and outward twist of the wrists at the end of the
stroke, which kept the canoe on an even course. Harvey, seated in the
bow with his back to Dick, handled his paddle in a similar fashion on
the other side of the craft.

The task of propelling the boat was so light and everything around so
quiet that the two said much to each other. They had a great deal in
common and talked of many things, of no interest to any one else.

“You did mighty well, Harv,” said Dick, softly swinging the paddle from
which the water silently dripped, “in tracking the Professor to the
Adirondacks. We get the papers now and then in camp and read of the
kidnapping case of the Philadelphia merchant’s child, but with never a
thought that _you_ were mixed up in it. After plucking this dark-hued
brand from the burning, why not make it your profession? You can
skyhoot around the country in your airboat and hunt out such jobs.”

“I’ll think it over, Dick, but I don’t see much profit in it.
Detective Pendar offered to divide the reward with me, but I couldn’t
think of that.”

“Of course not; Bunk hasn’t much wealth and I don’t believe Mr. Hartley
will give more than twenty-five cents to get him back again.”

“That would hardly pay for the gasoline and oil, to say nothing of my
own keep.”

“But think of the fun you would have. When this business is finished I
should like to try that aeroplane.”

“I shall be glad to give you and your friends all the air excursions
you would like.”

“To get down to serious business, Harv, I see only one thing that
stands in the way of our success.”

“What is that?”

“I am sure you are right in believing the Professor spends all his
spare time in his workshop, and visits Bunk only to carry him food and
to see that he stays where he put him. But he may complete his plans
sooner than we are figuring upon and make his start for Africa before
we can get our hands on Bunk.”

“It may be so, but I haven’t much fear of it. He will have to take
enough food to last them two or three days and you know something of
Bunk’s appetite.”

It will be borne in mind that the canoe was moving toward the northern
end of the lake, in which direction the two occupants faced. Before
them was the section in which they hoped to find their missing friend.
Their backs were turned upon the workshop of Professor Morgan in
the neighborhood of the little town of Purvis. When last seen he
was traveling in that direction, and the brothers ought not to have
forgotten to watch the sky to the south. None the less they did so and
the oversight proved unfortunate.

Harvey said something which Dick did not fully catch. Without ceasing
to swing his paddle, he turned his head, glanced over his shoulder and
asked for a repetition of the words. Before the younger could comply,
Dick said in an excited undertone:

“Cover your face with your handkerchief, Harv!”

The younger was quickwitted enough to obey without stopping an instant
to learn the reason for the strange command. He snatched out the piece
of silk and held it to his nose in a natural manner and awaited the
explanation which he knew would come in a second or two.

At the moment of looking back, Dick Hamilton saw the monoplane coming
with the speed of a hurricane barely fifty feet aloft and directly
over them. Professor Morgan had noticed the two young men in the canoe
and a tinge of suspicion caused him to sail thus low that he might gain
a look at the faces of the occupants. Since the elder brother was a
stranger to him, it was better that his countenance should be clearly
seen, but one glimpse of the face of Harvey would reveal everything. If
he bowed his head to hide his features the act would be significant,
but calling into play his handkerchief had nothing singular about it.
To give naturalness to the action, Harvey emitted a blast from his
nasal organ which suggested the honk of an automobile horn. In the
uninterrupted stillness the aviator probably heard it.

Dick gazed aloft and watched the swoop of the machine with the
strange man controlling the levers, who leaned forward and over,
and scrutinized the couple so keenly that Dick caught the gleam
of the piercing black eyes, and circled his dripping paddle about
his shoulders by way of salutation; but the Professor made no
acknowledgment. He continued to peer sharply downward until he had shot
well past, when he curved upward and continued his swift course over
the sheet of water and the wooded country beyond. It could not be seen
that he glanced again behind him but skimmed away with undiminished
swiftness.



CHAPTER XIII.

DISCOVERY IMPENDS.


Harvey asked in a muffled voice: “May I take away my handkerchief?”

“It can do no harm, but I don’t know that your precaution did any good.”

“I kept my eyes open and peeped over the top; the way the Professor
studied us proved he had misgivings, but he did not see my features.”

“It looks as if he is not satisfied.”

The elder referred to the fact that the aviator, instead of veering
to the left and coming to a stop as he had done earlier in the day,
continued his straightaway course. Harvey unshipped his field glass
and leveled it at the object which rapidly grew smaller and finally
flickered from sight.

“He is doing that to mislead us,” said Harvey.

“Is there any way by which we can make him believe he has succeeded?”

“How would it do to stop paddling and begin fishing if he comes into
sight again?”

“I am proud of a brother bright enough to think of that; it is a good
plan, for if he is not satisfied he will come back for another view
and he mustn’t catch us napping.”

Accordingly the paddle was swung again, and the younger brother
gave his attention to watching the sky in every direction, for it
was possible that with so swift a machine as was at his command the
Professor might make a wide circuit and swoop down upon them again from
the rear.

“If he does,” said Harvey, “it will show that he doesn’t like the look
of things, and if I resort to my handkerchief again he will know why I
do so.”

“Which will be as bad as if you didn’t do it. If we can reach the end
of the lake before he returns we’ll begin our hunt without more delay,
but--”

“By George! Yonder he comes!”

“Quick! Get out your fishing line; I always carry mine.”

Dick dropped the paddle in the bottom of the canoe and in a twinkling
had flung the sinker into the crystalline water. It took Harvey a
little longer, but he did it, with a number of seconds to spare. They
could well affect not to be aware of the aerocar, though it was sailing
low down, since it moved silently, and true fishermen are always
absorbed in the work, or rather pleasure, of trying to woo a bite from
the finny inhabitants below the surface. Neither seemed to look up,
but none the less they kept a stealthy watch for the monoplane in which
they were interested.

Professor Morgan gave a thrilling exhibition of his machine’s
capability and his skill in handling it. He made a sweeping curve which
took him past the fishermen, swooping gracefully to the right and to
the left at a height of less than a hundred feet. When he was nearest
them he shouted:

“Hello, there! What are you doing?”

Harvey Hamilton just then was excitedly pulling at his line as if he
had a bite and was more anxious to land his catch than to do anything
else. Dick suspended his occupation and looked up.

“Can’t you see we are fishing?” was his fitting reply in the form of a
question.

“You are watching _me_,” insisted the aviator, as he made another
circle and came nearer.

“What do we care about you? You are scaring away the fish; I wish you
would clear out and leave us alone.”

“Who is that with you?”

“Bill Jones, from Squedunk; he hasn’t much sense and if you don’t look
out he’ll take a shot at you with his revolver, and if he doesn’t _I
will_!”

And Dick dropped his fishing line over the edge of the canoe, picked
up his rifle and pointed it at the loony inventor.

“Get!” he commanded, “before I fire!”

The demonstration was unexpected, and scared Professor Morgan. Had
it not been done at the psychological moment, it is likely he would
have approached still closer and forced Harvey to disclose himself.
The youth was in a tremor, but it was hard for him to restrain his
merriment over the rank bluffing of his brother. The Professor yanked
his levers and with his feet abruptly turned the rudder so that his
machine shot off at a tangent at an amazing rate of speed. Instead
of turning back over his course, he made for the wooded, rocky,
mountainous country which had been his destination when he believed he
was not under the eye of any one. As soon as he was beyond distinct
vision, Harvey dropped his fishing line and brought his field glass
into use.

“Keep an eye on him as long as he’s in sight,” warned Dick, who also
laid his line aside and turned to watch the aviator. The latter held
to a direct course for half a mile or more, by which time he was above
the section where the brothers believed Bohunkus Johnson was kept in
confinement.

“He seems to have stopped,” said Dick.

“He has; he is descending.”

Holding his machine in poise for a minute or two, Harvey saw it
dropping down like a weight suspended at the end of a rope. It
disappeared behind a mass of rocks and amid a group of large trees
covered with exuberant foliage.

“It looks as if that is the spot for which we are hunting,” said Harvey
lowering the glass.

“All the same it isn’t; it’s a trick meant to make us believe it is.
Professor Morgan may be crazy regarding aeroplanes, but he isn’t in a
good many other things. It has become a game of hide and seek between
us.”

Conceding this to be the truth, our young friends had to decide upon
their next step.

“If we land and go to the place, he will know we are more interested
in him than he thinks we ought to be. He is watching us from where he
landed.”

“And if we go there we shall not find Bunk. I do not think he is
anywhere near. Meanwhile, the best thing we can do is to keep on
fishing. Doubtless he has a glass and is scrutinizing us like a cat
watching a mouse. Let’s drop our lines into the water.”

They did so and a minute later Harvey felt a tug at his hook. Drawing
in his line, he landed a plump bass that must have weighed nearly two
pounds.

“If the Professor has noticed that,” remarked the younger, “it will
help him to believe we are no more than we pretend to be; but, Dick, I
don’t understand why he doesn’t shut us off from interfering with him.”

“How would he do it?”

“Pick up Bunk and carry him away.”

“Where to?”

“He could keep him in his workshop for the little while that must pass
before he starts on his grand flight.”

“The Professor is shrewd enough to know the risk he will run. He took
him away from that place because he was afraid Bunk would give him the
slip. It would require too much of the Professor’s time to watch Bunk
and hold him under his thumb. Besides, what is to prevent our hurrying
to Dawson or some other nearby town and securing a writ of _habeas
corpus_ from a judge which would require the Professor to produce the
body of Bunk in court and explain why he is held in durance,--I believe
that’s the way they put it. Such a proceeding would not only be highly
unpleasant to the Professor but would be followed by more unpleasant
ones,--such as a lunacy commission to look into his own affairs.
The aerial trip across the Atlantic would be knocked higher than
Gilderoy’s kite.”

“If he is afraid to keep Bunk in his workshop, he can take him to any
one of a score of places where he would be as well hidden as now.”

“That is what I’m afraid of. It seems to me we played our parts so well
that very little suspicion is left in the Professor’s mind. Were it
otherwise he would shift Bunk’s temporary home, though it isn’t likely
he can hit at once upon one that is as satisfactory.”

“Then for the present we must continue to be fishermen.”

“So it strikes me, and if he is observing us closely he will admit that
we are giving a very good imitation of fishermen,” added Dick as he
drew in a bass almost as large as his brother’s. “You are facing the
spot where you last saw him; give that as much attention as you do your
line.”

Thus the situation remained for more than half an hour, during which
two more fish were landed. It irked the brothers thus to sit idle,
with the soft summer afternoon slipping past and the minutes going by
unimproved. When they left camp it was with high hopes of bringing Bunk
back before nightfall, but the prospect looked doubtful.

Suddenly Harvey saw a peculiar flickering agitation behind the rocks
where the monoplane had disappeared.

“Something’s up!” he whispered, letting his line fall and bringing his
glass again into play. “The Professor is bestirring himself.”

First the widespread wings of the monoplane rose slowly into sight; the
powerful engine, slender body and rudders at the rear following. The
uplifter was doing duty and the Dragon of the Skies climbed the aerial
stairway smoothly and silently.

“See whether he has Bunk with him,” cautioned Dick, looking keenly in
the same direction; “that’s the important point.”

“By George! _he has!_” exclaimed Harvey; “I see him plainly!”

“Let me have a look!”

Harvey passed the instrument to his brother, who hastily leveled it at
the machine. “You can’t miss him,” added the younger; “he is sitting in
his old place on the seat beside the Professor, who is so tall that his
head rises far over Bunk’s.”

Dick was silent for a brief while. Suddenly he lowered the glass with a
laughing exclamation.

“Ah, but the Professor is sly. I see the form behind him as you have
described, but it isn’t Bohunkus Johnson!”

“What do you mean?” asked the amazed Harvey.

“Study it out for yourself,” replied the other, handing over the
instrument.

A few seconds’ scrutiny was enough. That which Harvey had taken for
their colored friend was a cunningly arranged dummy which might well
deceive a spectator. Professor Morgan had adjusted a coat and other
garments so as to resemble the form of the negro and make the mistake
almost certain. But for the keener shrewdness of his brother, Harvey
would have been deceived.

“I see what you mean, Dick; I hadn’t the first suspicion of such a
trick.”

“We are not dealing with a fool when we butt against the Professor.”

“He keeps going toward Purvis,” said Dick, who had once more resorted
to his field glass; “he seems to be certain he has misled us.”

“Why shouldn’t he be? His last view showed him we were fishing as
hard as ever and he must believe we shall not figure any more in his
affairs.”

“Well, Dick, we must be up and doing if we expect to help Bunk.”

“True; we are through fishing for the present.”

They flung the lines down in the boat, Dick took up the paddle.

“If we have to camp out to-night, we shall have our supper with us.
There’s some consolation in that. I don’t believe the Professor will
show up again before to-morrow morning. He may have his invention
completed by that time, but everything must remain guesswork for
awhile.”

Under the propulsion of the paddle the light craft skimmed swiftly over
the placid lake. Dick put forth all his skill and the canoe touched the
shingle a few minutes later and both stepped ashore and drew the boat
up the shore.

“It strikes me, Harv, that it will be better for us to separate. We
don’t know whether to hunt for Bunk at the place where the Professor
halted awhile ago, or to look for him farther over to the right where I
have seen his machine several times.”

“I should say that the spot you saw is most likely the right one.”

“So it seems to me, but the afternoon is so far gone that we shall need
every minute and we mustn’t go too far astray. It’s a safe guess that
one of us will establish communication with Bunk pretty soon.”

Further discussion made it seem that the section selected by Dick
was about a fourth of a mile to the east of the other. Thus it would
not become necessary for them to lose mutual touch. Like all boys
accustomed to hunt and wander together in the woods, they had a system
of signaling by means of whistling. Bunk was also familiar with the
code. The three had made their wishes known when a mile apart.

“If you find him,” said Dick, “whistle three times and I’ll do the same
if I succeed.”

“Suppose both fail?”

“When it becomes too dark to hunt longer, I’ll call to you; you will
answer in our usual way and each will tramp toward the other. Then
we’ll make camp and start in again at daybreak.”

It was agreed that in case either met the Professor or ran into danger
and needed help, he would summon it by five or six short sharp blasts
from his lips.

“You have your rifle and I only my revolver, so I shall be more likely
to need you,” said Harvey as the brothers parted company.



CHAPTER XIV.

A NATURAL PRISON.


Our young friend Harvey Hamilton often recalled the words of Detective
Simmons Pendar. One remark impressed him when his course diverged from
that of his brother, and they passed from the sight of each other.
Whenever a crime or bit of wrongdoing comes to light, the officers
whose duty it is to bring the guilty ones to justice proceed to
formulate their theories. Their guesswork is often ingenious to the
degree of brilliancy, and an error seems impossible. The skeins when
unraveled must make clear everything as was promised at the beginning.

And yet it not infrequently comes about that the whole theory turns out
to be a rope of sand. It crumbles and truth assumes a wholly new guise.
The brothers had done a good deal of guessing and might be far astray.
It seemed to them that the missing Bohunkus Johnson would be found
either near the spot where Professor Morgan had made his last descent
and rise, or at the other place not far off where Dick Hamilton had
seen the monoplane more than once. And still it was possible that the
colored youth was not within miles of either locality.

Since, however, the two had no other basis upon which to act, they
promptly set out to test the truth of their guesses. Although they
were not far from settlements, towns, villages and camps of visitors
in the wilderness, both straightway plunged into the wildest section
of the southern Adirondacks. Harvey found the steeply ascending
surface so precipitous that it was often hard work to force his way
forward. Rarely could he do so in a straight line, and he was obliged
to make many long, laborious detours, but he had a fine perception of
direction, and a glance at the lake and country behind him prevented
any confusion of the points of the compass. So arduous was his work
that a full hour passed before he believed he was near the spot where
the monoplane last halted. He was in doubt for some time, but finally
identified the vast pile of rocks, with the exuberant growth of
underbrush and trees only a little way beyond.

“This is the place,” he decided, after some time spent in inspection;
“over yonder is where the machine was hidden from sight for awhile. I
am sure I am not mistaken, though it remains to be seen whether the
discovery will do any good.”

Nothing striking was observed when he looked around. Working his way to
the right of the pile of stones, his eye rested upon an open space only
a few rods in area, just beyond and between the rocks and the trunks of
the trees. The decayed leaves on the bottom proved that not long before
vegetation had taken root in the spot, but some cause which he did not
understand had obliterated all traces of it.

An examination of the ground showed a disturbance of the leaves as if
made by the feet of a person, and closer scrutiny disclosed where the
small rubber-tired wheels of the monoplane had pressed. Unquestionably
the young aviator had come upon the place for which he was searching.

But where was Bohunkus Johnson? Harvey saw nothing to suggest a cavern
or the rudest kind of shelter. He groped here and there, but the search
was unavailing. It might be, however, that the machine had descended at
this point because no other near at hand would serve.

Harvey had hesitated through a strange dread of disappointment to
appeal to the help that was his from the first. He now inserted his
thumb and forefinger between his lips and sent out two resounding
blasts which were twice repeated, the last closing with a queer tremolo
that may be said to have been the highest attainment of the art of
signaling. Only he, his brother and Bunk had mastered this crowning
achievement.

“If that reaches Bunk’s ears he will know from whom it comes,”
reflected Harvey in the attitude of intense listening.

From some point a long way off sounded the faint report of a gun; he
heard the shout of a person answered by that of another; the soft
breeze rustled the foliage overhead, but there was nothing more. Then
he again repeated the calls, but in vain; not the slightest suggestion
of a reply was returned.

Harvey’s depressing dread was that his colored friend had heard the
call and refused to reply. It might be he refrained through fear of
the Professor, whom he held in abject awe, or possibly he was so
obsessed by the trip to Africa that he was resolute not to allow any
interference by his friends. Finally Harvey muttered:

“I don’t believe he is within reach of my signals; it will be the
fortune of Dick to bring him out from cover.”

A possibility occurred to the young aviator. If Bunk had heard his call
he would set out on a stealthy search for Harvey. He would steal like
a red Indian through the undergrowth, around the rocks and among the
tree trunks in the effort to gain a peep at the one who had followed
him to his lonely retreat. Harvey stood motionless, listening and
peering around for some minutes, and then, hearing nothing more than he
had heard from the first, he started on a little search of his own.

Feeling the necessity of the utmost caution, he inched around to
the rear of the ledge, halting at every step and peering into the
labyrinth of undergrowth and tree trunks, many of which grew close to
one another as if crowded for room. When he reached the spot he had in
mind, a thrill ran through him, for he assuredly heard something moving
apparently with the same care he was himself using. He stood motionless
and listened.

The noise was so faint that for a time he could not tell the direction
whence it came. He was in the midst of a dense growth of bushes, woven
through in many places by matted vines which at times blocked his way.

“Bunk was always good at this business,” he reflected; “I remember he
used to trace me and Dick and dodge us when we were hunting for him. I
don’t believe he has detected me, but may suspect I am looking for him.
Sh! there it is again.”

This time he identified the point from which the indistinct rustling
issued. It was to the left and perhaps a hundred feet away. The
intervening growth made his view uncertain, but while gazing he saw
some bushes agitated, as they might have been by a person stealing
through them. He noticed that the very gentle breeze which was blowing
came from the spot toward him, whereat he was glad, for he fancied his
own movements were not so likely to be noticed by Bunk, provided it was
really he who was so near.

Fearful of being discovered before he could get nigh enough to the
colored youth to prevent his running off, Harvey took several guarded
steps, which placed him behind the trunk of a large oak, and peered out.

The rustling ceased; then he heard it again and saw the bushes stirred.
He thought this was a most peculiar way of acting on the part of his
friend. After waiting until it had lasted several minutes without any
change, he grew impatient. He stepped from behind the oak and advanced,
keenly watching the bushes in front.

Suddenly an immense pair of antlers loomed to view amid the dense
shrubbery and Harvey observed the head of a huge buck which was
browsing upon a species of berry that grew on the upper part of a group
of bushes. The direction of the wind prevented the animal from scenting
the nearness of an enemy, but he had discovered something that roused
his suspicion. He stopped chewing and holding his head high stared
around in quest of the cause.

Harvey did not think of screening himself from sight of the buck, and
immediately recalled the accounts Dick had written home of the huge
creature for whose antlers he yearned.

“This must be the fellow; I don’t suppose he would mind such a weapon
as my revolver, even if it wasn’t against the law to shoot his kind at
this season, but Til give him a good scare for making me think he was
Bunk.”

With which the youth flung up his arms, uttered a loud “Whoof!” and
bounded through the undergrowth toward the buck. Instead of making off
in a panic, the animal looked for a moment at the approaching form, and
then lowering his head charged straight at it.

This was turning the tables with a vengeance. Harvey Hamilton had set
out to hunt a magnificent buck only to awake suddenly to the fact that
the buck was hunting him.

“Jingo! I didn’t expect that!” exclaimed our young friend, whirling
round and dashing off at headlong speed.

“I wonder if he can climb a tree,” was the next thought of the
panic-stricken youth, who, without drawing the small weapon, which
would have been practically useless, glanced hurriedly around for
a refuge. He had precious little time to spare, for the brute was
crashing down upon him like a runaway locomotive on a down grade.

A few paces away the fugitive thought he saw what he longed for, in the
shape of a limb as thick as his arm, which put out at right angles from
a trunk eight or ten feet above the ground. He could leap upward, catch
hold and swing himself above the branch, but while running with might
and main it suddenly occurred to him that the support was too low, and
the towering antlers would overtake him before he could scramble out of
their reach.

He heard the superb terror so close on his heels that, after running a
few paces farther, he glanced over his shoulder to learn how many more
seconds he had to live. As he did so, his foot caught in a wirelike
vine which wound along the ground and he sprawled forward on his hands
and knees.

Harvey not only fell but kept on falling. He had struck the edge of a
ravine down which he shot so abruptly that he was gone beyond the power
of checking himself, before he knew what was happening. He felt he was
sinking and flung out his hands in a desperate effort to save himself,
though he might well have questioned whether he was not fortunate after
all in the promised escape from his infuriated pursuer. He gripped bush
after bush, but in every instance it was uprooted and remained in his
hands or gave way to others which he seized and which in their turn
yielded to the strain. Then came the terrifying thought that the buck
would tumble down upon him and crush out the breath of life.

Harvey was absolutely helpless. He might have been badly hurt by his
fall had not his attempts to stop his descent so broken its force that
when he suddenly landed on his feet he was only slightly jarred. In the
same moment that this occurred, he plunged to one side so as to be out
of the way of the avalanche which he expected from above.

But the buck was wiser in his way than the young aviator. Stillness
followed the involuntary descent of the latter, and then the animal was
heard threshing through the undergrowth. Whatever intentions he had
held regarding the lad were given up and he went off.

“I wonder whether any fellow ever had a stranger escape,” reflected
Harvey, when he realized that he had nothing more to dread from the
brute; “he would have had me sure but for that tumble.”

The fear that the buck might be waiting in the vicinity held Harvey
listening for some minutes. He was disturbed by the thought that his
foe might find a path into the gorge and still have it out with him,
but nothing of the kind occurred.

When finally he felt it safe to move about, he set out to learn his
real situation, and the result was disquieting. His first thought was
that the gap through which he had been precipitated was a ravine out of
which he could climb with little difficulty; but to his dismay he found
that it was a pocket or hole, which might be compared to an immense
irregular well, twenty or thirty feet in diameter, with a depth nearly
as great. The inclosing walls were of rock not only perpendicular but
in several places the top narrowed, thus leaving the bottom broader
than above. Only in one spot did the bushes grow to the edge, and that
was where he had fallen, bringing so much undergrowth with him that he
was not harmed.

Having made an inspection of his rocky prison, the all-important
question presented itself: How was he to get out of it?

His hope was that by grasping the projecting bits of stone, he could
climb to the upper edge, but the more he studied the problem the
harder it seemed. There was one place where he finally decided to
make the attempt. He believed he could raise himself to the top, but
for the fact that about half way thither, the wall protruded in a way
to suggest in a modified form the feat of treading a ceiling after the
manner of a fly.

This slope, however, was so moderate and so short that he believed he
might succeed. He was not encumbered with luggage and his outer coat
had been left by the lakeside with the canoe and the fish which he
and his brother had counted upon to furnish them their evening meal.
The field glass being suspended by a cord behind his shoulders was no
handicap; arms and legs were free to do their best, and few youths of
his age were more capable athletes than he. The longer he studied the
situation, the higher his hopes rose.



CHAPTER XV.

A DISMAL NIGHT.


Before making an attempt to climb out of the flinty “pocket” Harvey
Hamilton studied his situation again, weakly hoping he could discover a
more favorable spot for the essay upon which so much depended.

“This must be more than a hole in the ground,” he decided, “for if it
weren’t, it would be filled with water from the rains and melting snow.”

His supposition was right. It would be more proper to speak of the
trap in which he was caught as an expansion of a gorge. On one side
a fissure reached from the bottom to the top, with a similar opening
opposite. Peeping through these in turn, Harvey noted that the channel
beyond widened to several feet. Thus a torrent of water rushing
through the ravine from the higher level, would find an outlet on the
other side of the expansion and in a miniature way the wonderfully
picturesque “Gorge of the Aare” would be reproduced.

“Ah, if either was a little wider!” mourned Harvey, after vainly trying
to wedge his body through the narrow openings; “it would be fun to
follow the ravine to its outlet or to some spot where I could find a
ladder up the side, but that can’t be.”

Thus far nothing in the nature of fear had disturbed the young aviator.
Several hours of daylight remained and he was confident that by
bestirring himself, or, if necessary, calling for help, he would be
extricated from his vexatious situation. He came back to the place upon
which he had fixed his hopes and girded himself for the effort.

“I could do it if it wasn’t for that bulge,” he said to himself,
glancing aloft, “though the wall happens to be higher there than
anywhere else.”

Grasping a rocky projection with one hand, he found a resting place for
his feet and pulled himself upward for ten or a dozen inches. Looking
over either shoulder he had a partial view of his groping shoes which
after awhile found a resting place, and then he made another hitch.
This was comparatively easy work, and if it would only last he could
climb out as readily as if ascending the stairs at home. But nature
delights in irregularity, and when she built the steps in the side of
the gorge she did not consult the convenience of anyone.

As has been stated the inward thrust of the wall began at about half
the height from the bottom. The slope was so slight that it might have
been overcome, had the projections occurred at the right intervals
and had they been big enough to give a secure foot or handhold. With
the utmost pains Harvey closed his fingers around the support, one in
each hand and began groping with the toes of his shoes. He recalled
the configuration over which he had passed, and succeeded in thrusting
the front of his right shoe into a crevice, but was unable to find a
rest for the other foot. Once the toe caught, but the instant he bore
upon it the shoe slipped free and beat the air. The rattling fragments
showed that he had struck a spot where the shale was too rotten to be
depended upon.

At his waist a horizontal fissure had served for his hands. If he could
lift his feet sufficiently to use it and gain another support above, it
would be of vast help, but he must first secure an upper hold. Looking
aloft he saw a ledge that he thought would answer.

“If it gives way or my hands slip I shall fall,” he concluded, after
studying the task, “but it’s my only hope and here goes.”

He bent his knees slightly and leaped upward. His calculation was made
so nicely that he caught the projecting ledge, and had nearly worked
his shoes into the lower opening, when the shale in his grasp broke as
if it were a decayed limb, and unable to stay his descent, he dropped
to the bottom of the gorge. The distance was not sufficient to harm him
much, though he was considerably jarred.

“Confound it!” he exclaimed, chagrined and angered; “if I could have
passed that spot I should have reached the top.”

He wondered whether it was worth while to try it again, but decided
there was no reason to expect success. Even if he could climb beyond
the place of his mishap, new obstacles would check him.

“As it was, I fell as far as I care to tumble; that is about all I’ve
been doing,” he grimly added, “since that plaguy buck took a shy at me.
If a fellow could only fall upward, there would be a chance for me.”

For the first time since his slip he asked himself how this affair was
to end. He was sure he had nothing to fear as to the final outcome.

“Dick will wait where he is, if he gets on the track of Bunk; he will
signal me to go to him, and when I don’t come, he will head this way.
He knows the spot near enough to come within hail and the rest will be
easy.”

Once more his thoughts reverted to Bunk. While the fellow might keep
out of his reach, so long as he believed Harvey was trying to prevent
his trip with Professor Morgan, and while he undoubtedly would resent
such interference, it would be far different when he learned that
Harvey was in trouble. The dusky youth would abandon everything and
rush to his rescue. None knew this better than Harvey Hamilton himself,
and he wondered whether there was not some way of apprising Bunk of his
dilemma.

“At any rate, it’s worth trying,” was the conclusion which he proceeded
straightway to act upon.

Instead of whistling as he had done before, Harvey shouted the name of
his friend and added in the loudest voice at his command the emphatic
declaration that he was in a hole and wished Bunk to come and help him
out. The appeal, if heard, was certain to bring results, but the truth
forced itself upon the supplicant, that the voice of a person at the
bottom of a well thirty feet or so in depth cannot be made to carry
far. Bunk might be within two or three hundred yards and yet not hear
him.

Harvey kept up his appeals until he grew hoarse, but without bringing
the rescue for which he so ardently hoped. Help was beyond reach and he
must depend upon other means to free himself from prison.

If you can imagine his situation, you will understand how hard it was
for him to stay idle. To fold one’s hands and wait for the assistance
that is likely to be delayed for an indefinite time, is impossible for
a lad in the vigor of health and strength. By this time he had formed
the conviction that Bunk was nowhere near. It was the brother who had
gone to the right spot to find him.

“From the way Bunk has acted all along he will fight shy of Dick; even
if he doesn’t know what his errand is, he will try to avoid meeting
him. Besides, my brother won’t know how to handle him, as I should in
his place.”

Having given up hope of climbing out of the gorge by the means already
tried, Harvey inspected the other portions more minutely. He studied
the path by which he had made his hasty descent when running from the
buck. There was a luxuriant growth of shrubbery on the upper edge,
through which he had fallen, bringing down several handfuls with him.
The roots were so weak that they simply broke his fall without checking
his downward course.

“I wonder whether I can get enough support to allow me to climb out
there. A bush is within reach that looks as if it might hold. I’ll try
it.”

By standing on tiptoe he grasped the top, upon which he began slowly
pulling until he lifted himself clear. Then with the same patience he
drew himself up several feet, when he had to let go and grip the bush
above. This did not look so strong, but it held and he climbed two or
three feet farther.

“I shall make it,” he thought with a thrill of hope; “if the next will
stand it and several after that, I shall get to the top.”

But that was what did not take place. He had caught hold of the third
support when it instantly came out by the roots, and he tumbled again,
landing upon his back, though still without hurt, for the distance was
slight.

The last attempt convinced Harvey that he was so securely trapped that
he was utterly unable to help himself. Irksome as was the task he could
do nothing but await the arrival of his brother.

Before his encounter with the buck, he had had a long tramp through the
wilderness and he had toiled so hard to liberate himself, that he was
tired in body. He sat down at the base of the bushes that had failed
him and thought over the situation.

“If I had come into the mountains alone,” he reflected with a shudder,
“nothing but heaven could save me from starving to death. I can’t get
out and there isn’t a bit of food or a drop of water within reach.
If anything should happen to Dick, it will be the end of me. But what
could happen to him?” he asked in a sharp effort to drive away the
frightful thought. “He is looking for Bunk and will keep it up till
night, when he’ll set out to look for me. He knows where to come and
won’t be long about it.”

Thus Harvey sat in melancholy reflection until the gathering gloom
told him the day was drawing to a close and night was closing in.
Despite his natural hopefulness, he could not fight off a depression of
spirits, which after all was natural in the circumstances. He was alone
in a vast solitude, no one could hear his calls for help, and Dick
might hunt for hours without finding him.

With his nerves strained to the tensest point, Harvey suddenly heard
something move in the bushes at the top of the wall and directly above
his head. The suspicion that it might be a wild animal likely to tumble
down upon him caused him to leave his place and station himself on the
opposite side of the gorge, where he drew his revolver and stood ready
to defend himself if attacked.

Something was certainly stirring above. He caught the rustling at
intervals, with pauses that lasted so long that he believed the
creature, whatever it might be, had left the spot. Suddenly it
occurred to the youth that it might be his brother or some person.

“Hello up there!” he called; “is that you Dick, or Bunk?”

The fact that no reply was returned satisfied Harvey that it was
neither of his friends. Hoping it might be a man, he added in the same
distinct voice:

“I fell down here this afternoon and can’t get out unless somebody
gives me a lift.”

Harvey heard the rustling again, but nothing more. It was some kind of
a wild animal prowling in the vicinity.

“He may be looking for a meal and is trying to decide upon the best
way of attacking me,” added the youth, keeping a sharp watch, with his
weapon tightly grasped.

A chill ran over him at the belief that he caught the glint of a pair
of eyes peering through the dusk, but if so they were withdrawn, and
the fact that he heard nothing more made him suspect he had been
mistaken. His imagination was so wrought up that he saw things which
did not exist.

By and by the all-pervading darkness shut out everything from sight.
He could not discern the rugged margin of the gorge that had become
so familiar to him. There was a growing chilliness in the air which
would have made his extra coat welcome. He thought of gathering enough
sticks to start a fire, but recalled that all the fuel within reach
was green and it would be almost impossible to kindle it. Besides,
though wild animals dread a too close contact with flames, he feared
the light would attract some of them to the spot. Even if he could set
a blaze going, he could not maintain it long, and then the turn of his
enemies would come. Accordingly, he gave over all intention of trying
to brighten up his sombre surroundings.

The bottom of the gorge was free from dampness, for rain had not fallen
for a long time, and had the circumstances been different Harvey might
have passed the night in comparative comfort. He could not bring
himself to lie down, but assumed a sitting position with his back
against the wall. He was opposite the spot down which he had tumbled.
Somehow he felt that if danger came it would be from that point, and he
intended to be prepared for it.

“There’s no possibility of my falling asleep; I am too nervous. I don’t
understand what keeps Dick away,” he added petulantly, for he had
reached anything but a pleasant frame of mind, in which he conjured up
many causes that might explain his brother’s absence. Aside from the
difficulty he was likely to find in bringing Bunk to terms, he himself
might have met with accident. The fact that he carried a rifle was no
guarantee against the very mishap that had befallen Harvey himself.

It would be hours before the moon rose and though the sky was clear and
the orb was near the full, the foliage was too abundant to permit its
light to reach him. In the hope that Dick might be moving about not far
off, the imprisoned young aviator shouted his name at intervals. He
ceased to call for Bunk, for he no longer felt any hope that he was in
the neighborhood.

When a young man sits on the ground with his back against a support
and in an easy posture, and is absolutely certain that he will stay
wide awake until morning, such a belief is generally soon followed by
profound slumber. Such was the case with Harvey Hamilton, who would
have remained unconscious throughout the darkness had he not been
roused in the most startling manner conceivable.



CHAPTER XVI.

DICK IS TEMPTED.


You will remember that Dick Hamilton was not only a sophomore in Yale
University, but had attained his twenty-first year. He was warranted
therefore in looking upon himself as a full-grown man, while in his
mind his brother Harvey was only a “kid.” He treated him as such, but
was none the less fond of him. It need not be added that Dick had
a strong affection for Bohunkus Johnson because of his simplicity,
honesty, unfailing good nature and love for the two brothers.
Consequently when the elder learned of the singular peril in which the
colored lad had fallen through no fault of his own, he was as resolute
as Harvey that he should be saved if the task was within the range of
accomplishment.

But he took an impulsive man’s view of the situation. He was impatient
with the regard shown the crazy inventor, Professor Morgan, and what he
looked upon as awe and fear on the part of Harvey.

“I’ll end this monkey business when I gain the chance,” he reflected,
after parting from his brother on the shore of the lake. “Let me once
get within reach of Bunk and I’ll yank him back to common sense quicker
than he can say Jack Robinson. If he objects, I’ll wipe the ground with
him, and if Harv makes a kick I’ll serve him the same way. As for the
lunatic, if he can’t be bluffed I’ll use other means. He ought to be
jugged where he can’t get a chance to run off with such numskulls as
Bunk. All I want is a show.”

Which it may be said was all that Harvey wanted. Dick was confident
that if he could once reach the colored lad all trouble would be over.
But that was the crux of the situation: Bunk had not yet been found.

The elder Hamilton was sure that he was on his way to where the colored
youth was a prisoner. And it was because of that confidence that he
sent Harvey on his wild-goose chase.

“He won’t get near Bunk. If he does, the wild man may drop down on both
and raise the dickens with them. I should like to see him try it with
me. I told Harv that I knew the section where I had seen him come down
in his monoplane more than once, but I didn’t tell him that I know
pretty nearly the exact spot. If the court knows herself and she thinks
she do, that spot is whither my footsteps are now tending.”

It came about that the paths pursued by the brothers diverged more than
the younger suspected. Instead of leading to points a fourth of a mile
apart, the distance between them was fully double that.

“Now I shouldn’t mind if the Professor arrived just behind me and tried
to butt in. If he does I’ll make things lively for him. I haven’t had
any special exercise since my boxing bout with big Burt Thompson and I
should like to have a little fun with a full-grown man.”

From which it will appear that the elder Hamilton held views which, to
say the least, would have surprised his brother.

To Dick all seemed plain sailing, but such did not prove the fact.
Having his destination clearly in mind he went straight to it. The
place was similar in several respects to that visited by Harvey; but
after a little search among the rocks, he came upon a cavern, which
extended twenty feet back, with half that width and height, and the
entire front open. It would serve well as a shelter during a storm but
a fire would become necessary in cold weather.

One comprehensive glance showed that some one had occupied this
primitive retreat during the past few days. The flinty floor was strewn
with bones, bits of dry bread, pieces of paper that had evidently
served for wrapping, bottles, and other debris which suggested that
a party of picnickers had recently made use of it. At the rear was a
single rumpled blanket that no doubt had served for a bed.

“This is Bunk’s home,” was the conclusion of the visitor, after his
survey. “The Professor has warned him not to wander off, and keeps him
supplied with the necessaries of life, which, knowing Bunk’s appetite
as I do, is no small job.”

So much being conceded, Dick looked around for the occupant, satisfied
that he must be near. Not seeing him, he raised his voice, as his
brother did some time later at the other place.

“Come here, Bunk!” he called; “come a-running too, for if you don’t
I’ll lambaste you out of your three and a half senses!”

When the summons had been repeated several times without results it
occurred to Dick that he had been somewhat hasty. Gentler means might
have prevailed. He decided that it might be well to appeal to the
affectionate side of Bunk’s nature, by calling out that Mr. and Mrs.
Hartley were dead, that Harvey had fallen down stairs and broken his
neck, and that Dick himself was not feeling well; but he decided to
retain this stupendous bluff as a last reserve.

“He can’t be far off,” continued the young man, fast losing patience.
Enough light entered the cavern from the front to show the interior
clearly, but to make sure, he jerked the blanket from the stone floor
and peeped under it, where a mouse would not have found room to hide
itself. Then he strode outside and glanced sharply toward the different
points of the compass.

“I’ll shake him till his teeth rattle for doing this,” muttered Dick;
“I believe he is watching me all the time.”

The conviction forced itself upon Dick Hamilton stronger than ever
that he had taken a wrong method of dealing with the African youth. He
ought to have waited until the fellow was within reach before being so
emphatic. Bunk must have detected the approach of his old friend and
hidden himself. The chances of doing this successfully were so numerous
that it was useless for Dick to hunt for him. He must decide upon his
next step.

He would have shouted out the fiction of misfortune having overtaken
Harvey, thus appealing to the friendship of Bunk, had he not believed
it was too late to adopt the subterfuge. The colored lad would see
through the trick.

The only recourse that occurred to Dick was to pretend he had given up
the search and go away as if to return to camp. He therefore called:

“Good bye, Bunk; when you get back from Africa you must tell us about
your trip. I wish you good luck.”

There was no response and he did not expect any. He picked his way
through the undergrowth and among the trees and rocks, heading toward
the lake, but soon changed his course with the purpose of joining
Harvey a half mile distant. He would have preferred to notify him of
his approach by whistling, but the signal most likely would have been
heard by Bunk and would put him on his guard.

“I can reach Harv without trouble and he and I will fix upon a plan.”

The young man was so impatient with Bunk that he longed for the chance
to punish him for his foolishness.

“He holds that Professor in deadly fear, and is more afraid of
offending him than of vexing us. I can understand how such a crank
with his wild, magnetic eyes can gain a hypnotic power over the simple
fellow, but he ought to throw off the spell when he knows the man is a
long distance away and we are near him.”

The route was so rough that Dick, who did not hurry, spent a long
time in traversing it. He had gone the greater part of the way when a
threshing in the underwood in advance brought him to an abrupt halt.
He sprang behind the nearest tree and held his Winchester ready for
use. He knew from the peculiar racket that an animal of some kind was
approaching. As in the case of his brother, the gentle breeze was in
his favor and the brute as yet was unaware of his presence.

“Well, I’ll be hanged!”

The very buck about which he had written home in glowing terms, and
which he had seen several times in the neighborhood, was stalking
through the brush like a forest monarch, his course such that unless
alarmed, he must pass within a few paces of the young hunter.

The temptation to bag the prize was almost resistless. Dick had only
to reach out his hand, as may be said, to seize the treasure. With
the deadly weapon in his grasp and many shots at command, he could
drop the gigantic animal in his tracks. It would be easy to remove the
magnificent antlers, hide them among the rocks, and return for them
weeks later when the season was open. After that he would fill his
classmates with rank unbearable jealousy.

It was natural perhaps that Dick Hamilton should fall back upon the
specious reasoning which comes to him who meditates breaking the
law. How can it be right to shoot an elk or deer on the sixteenth of
September, and wrong to do so on the fifteenth? Can the simple wording
of a statute decide the question? Of course not. Besides, none of the
game protectors were near and at the most Dick would be compelled only
to pay a big fine, for which the accommodating “governor” would readily
stand.

It has been said that, as to the question of free moral agency, a
logician may argue so subtly as to convince his hearers that such a
thing is impossible. And yet there always remains one person whom he
cannot convince, and that person is himself. So it came about that
Dick’s conscience would not down. He could not hush the still small
voice.

Twenty yards away the buck was warned by his strange instinct that
danger was in the air. He came to a halt, his big brown body only
partially disclosed among the foliage, but when he reared his head,
that and the glorious crown of curving prongs rose in relief against
the emerald background. It was an ideal target and Dick Hamilton in a
tremor brought his rifle to his shoulder. Slight as was the movement
and imperceptible the noise, the buck wheeled and fled on the instant.
Just then the youth should have pressed the trigger, but instead he
lowered his weapon.

“I can’t do it!” he said, compressing his lips; “it isn’t out of mercy
for you, my fine fellow, but because the law says ‘No!’”

It will be understood that the buck had finished with the younger
brother, who escaped his knife-like hoofs through accident. The query
naturally occurs as to why the creature should run toward one youth and
away from the other. Ask any veteran or amateur hunter, and he will
answer that it was because in one case the biped had a deadly weapon
and in the other he had not. It sounds absurd, but you can never make a
ranger of the woods believe that the game animals do not govern their
actions in accordance with the open and close seasons.

“I must be real good,” said Dick Hamilton airily as he resumed his
tramp, “thus to crush my fondest hopes and dash away the tempting cup
held to my lips, but all the same, I almost wish I had dropped that
fellow.”

By this time he was so much nearer Harvey than to Bohunkus that Dick
emitted the signal to which all were accustomed. He hardly expected a
reply and did not receive any, the singular situation being that at
that very moment the brothers were issuing their calls and yet neither
could hear the other. Harvey’s location at the bottom of the gorge shut
in his voice and signals and shut out those of Dick. Had the former
been standing above the gorge where only trees and brush intervened,
the two would have come together in a brief while.

Despite the assurance of Dick, he wandered from the course he intended
to follow. It will be remembered that the region was strange to him and
he had no guiding landmarks. When he awoke to the unpleasant fact night
was closing in. He did not know what direction to take to reach Harvey
and signaled repeatedly, but inasmuch as he was a good deal farther
off than in the first place, it need not be said that his calls failed
to reach the ears for which they were meant. He strove to regain his
bearings, and since he was able to locate the lake and saw the glimmer
of the camp fire beyond, he accomplished much in the way of correcting
his course.

“I wonder whether anything has happened to Harv,” he mused, with a
vague uneasiness stealing over him; “I don’t see what could have harmed
him, for he has his Colt and no animals in this part of the world will
attack a fellow in his situation. He is too used to tramping through
the woods to fall over the rocks or to tumble into any chasm.”

Little did the elder brother suspect how near he had hit upon the truth.

Satisfied that he was on the right course, Dick pressed on until the
darkness became too deep for him to see his way. He halted and peered
around in the starlight, but his vision was too obstructed to give any
satisfaction.

“As nearly as I can figure out I am pretty near the spot. If I am
right, why in the mischief doesn’t he answer me?”

He raised his voice once more and shouted and whistled. In this
instance Harvey would have made reply but for the fact that he was
asleep. All through the racket he slumbered as serenely as if in his
own bed at home.

Dick, with his hands extended in front, one grasping his Winchester,
groped forward, careful where he placed each foot in turn.

“I can’t say that I fancy this work. If I don’t bump against Harv
pretty soon I’ll give it up for the night.

“What the deuce--” he abruptly exclaimed as he felt himself sinking
downward.



CHAPTER XVII.

AN UNCEREMONIOUS ARRIVAL.


By a remarkable coincidence Dick Hamilton trod in the very steps of his
brother Harvey while groping about the gorge, and went crashing and
tumbling to the bottom in the precise fashion of his predecessor.

Retaining his grasp on his Winchester, he strove desperately to check
his descent, but from the causes mentioned failed and landed on his
feet, bewildered and unable for the moment to comprehend what had
taken place. The racket and his exclamations roused Harvey, who was
so mystified that he whipped out his revolver and fired a shot in the
direction of the noise without being able to discern his target.

“Stop that!” shouted the elder; “you may hit me!”

“Heavens, Dick, is it you?” demanded the younger.

Finding himself unharmed, Dick’s waggery asserted itself.

“I don’t know who else it is. That’s the way I always come downstairs.
What are you doing here?”

“Waiting to welcome you.”

“A pretty way to receive a long lost brother by shooting at him.”

“I didn’t harm you, did I?”

“Of course not, for you aimed at me.”

“How could I do that when I didn’t see you?”

“All the same in both cases. But I say, Harv, what does all this mean?
It’s the queerest mix up I ever ran into.”

“The same with me; I tumbled down that bank while picking my way along
the edge.”

“You see the effect of a bad example. How long have you been here?”

“It seems about a month, but I guess it is only a few hours.”

“Why didn’t you answer my signals?”

“For the same reason that you didn’t answer mine.”

“But I was so near when I last called that you ought to have heard me.”

“So I should if I hadn’t been asleep. You woke me rather suddenly.”

“Couldn’t help it; you might have put up a notice warning me to look
out. But I say, Harv, what sort of a hotel is this?”

“One that I should like very much to leave.”

“Why haven’t you done so?”

“Couldn’t; I wish you would show me the way out.”

“Take the first door you come to.”

“But there isn’t any door; I tried to bid farewell until I had to give
it up.”

Harvey now told the particulars of his mishap. The gloom was so deep
that neither could see even the outlines of the other. But their hands
met and both were thankful over their escape, though their situation
was anything but enviable. Dick drew out his match safe and held the
tiny flame above his head. As the reflection lighted each face, they
laughed.

“We set out to find Bunk,” said the elder, “and now it’s up to him to
find us. You say you know of no way of climbing out of this gorge?”

“Not unless some one gives us help. I have tried it over and over
again, and shouted until I was hoarse, but without any one hearing me.”

“I certainly did not. Now instead of one young Hamilton in a hole there
are two. That makes the situation twice as bad as before. Why haven’t
you started a fire?”

“The fuel is too green.”

“Thereby resembling us. However, we must find some way to leave in the
morning. You see, Harv, we haven’t our outer coats, nor any food, nor
moisture enough to wet our lips. By and by our situation will become a
bore.”

“It is pretty near that now.”

Since it was certain they would have to spend the night there, they
seated themselves where Harvey had been resting when awakened with such
startling suddenness.

“Did you learn anything of Bunk?” asked Dick.

“I didn’t get the first trace.”

“I knew you wouldn’t when you left me.”

“How did you make out?”

“I found the cave where he was staying and had a talk with him.”

“What!” exclaimed the amazed Harvey; “do you tell me that?”

“I suppose it is hardly fair to say I had a talk with him, being that I
did all the talking and he hadn’t a word to reply.”

“Why not?”

“Fact is I didn’t lay eyes on him; he kept out of sight.”

Thereupon the elder related his experience after the two had parted
company. There was no doubt that he had come upon the temporary
dwelling of the missing Bohunkus, but the fellow eluded him.

“We’ll have him yet,” added Dick, “and if I feel then as I do now, I’ll
teach him a lesson he won’t forget if he lives a thousand years.”

“Perhaps he deserves it, though I don’t blame him as much as you do.”

“I am speaking for myself, and I’ll drop a hint to you that it won’t be
prudent to interfere. I may be in a different mood when I reach him.”

“Remember, you haven’t reached him as yet and there’s no saying when
you will.”

“I haven’t any doubt that the morning will show us so easy a way of
getting out of this hole, that you’ll be disgusted because you didn’t
see it at once.”

Dick’s optimism cheered Harvey. They talked for two hours and then both
succumbed to drowsiness. They adjusted their positions so as to bring a
part of their bodies in contact, thus gaining a slight degree of mutual
warmth. While the night continued cool they did not suffer, and the
slumber into which they sank lasted without break until morning.

Dick was the first to regain his senses. Gently moving so as not to
disturb his brother he made a minute inspection of the gorge, passing
twice around it, and studying every spot upon which it seemed possible
to build hope. He was scrutinizing the inward sloping wall overhead
which Harvey had tried to climb when the latter, still seated, looked
up.

“Well, what do you make of it?”

“I must own that it looks dubious. I don’t see any way of getting to
the top. I thought of raising you on my shoulders but that wouldn’t
amount to anything.”

“It will do no good to whistle or shout, for no one, unless near, can
hear us. How long before Hunter and Wadsworth will suspect something is
wrong and set out to hunt you up?”

“They will probably wait for one or two weeks, by which time we should
be somewhat hungrier and thirstier than now, though that doesn’t seem
possible. Then,” grimly added Dick, “if they come to this spot they
would probably tumble into the gorge the same as we did, and we should
all have to die together. I have a plan that may possibly amount to
something.”

Dick took his Winchester from where it leaned against the rocks, and
pointing the muzzle toward the sky, discharged each of the ten charges
with a few seconds between them. Then he refilled the chamber with
cartridges and waiting a few minutes, did as before.

“Those reports will carry farther than our whistling or shouting, but
not as far as I should like. It depends upon whether anyone is in the
neighborhood.”

The experiment proved delightfully successful. Dick Hamilton was
preparing to fire a third series, when they were thrilled by a shout:

“Hello, down there! What the blazes is the matter?”

The hail came from a point behind them. On the edge of the gorge and
close to where the brothers had fallen one after the other, stood a
middle-aged man in rough clothing and a slouch hat, carrying a rifle.
His face was smooth-shaven, and the expression kindly.

“Look out!” Harvey shouted, “or you’ll fall into the gorge.”

“I reckon I ain’t fool enough to do that,” was his grinning reply; “is
that the way you managed it?”

“That’s what we did,” said Dick; “be good enough not to laugh too hard,
for we feel bad enough as it is, without your rubbing it in.”

“You do seem to be in a fix, but we can soon get you out.”

“You have no surer way of earning our undying gratitude,” said Dick.

“Wait where you be till I come back.”

“There’s no fear of not waiting, but please don’t forget to return.”

“Don’t be afraid.”

With which the man drew back and disappeared. He was not gone long
when he reappeared with a long, slim sapling, which he had trimmed of
its nubs and excrescences except at the top. Bracing himself firmly
on another part of the edge of the gorge, which was the lowest and
gave firm footing, he grasped the larger end of the pole and carefully
thrust the smaller part down into the opening.

“Can you make it?” he called, peering over.

By standing on tiptoe Dick could grasp the bushy end. He suggested that
Harvey should go first, but there was really no choice, and the younger
replied by telling his brother not to wait.

“Are you ready?” asked the man above.

“Hold fast and I’ll climb up. You needn’t lift me.”

It was easy for the elder, even with his rifle in one hand, to ascend
the pole monkey fashion, and a minute later he stood on the upper
ground beside his friend. Then he helped to hold the larger end and
Harvey climbed up with the same facility. The rescue was effected
so readily that it was almost ridiculous. The two warmly thanked the
stranger. Harvey offered a money reward, but the man shook his head.

“I’m Jim Haley, one of the game protectors for this part of the
country. I heard your gun and wondered what it meant. We have to keep
sharp watch of them as are inclined to forget this is the close season.
Why have you brought your Winchester with you?” asked the official,
with a suspicious look at Dick.

“I generally carry it in the woods so as to be ready for danger. I met
a big buck yesterday; fact is, I’ve seen him several times and he was
mighty tempting, but I haven’t any wish to get into trouble with the
courts.”

“Don’t forget that, young man, for if you do it’ll go hard with you.”

“I’ll remember,” meekly replied Dick, who almost trembled to recall how
near he had come to violating the game laws; “a couple of friends and
myself have a tent on the other side of the lake. If you will go there
with us I can promise you a good breakfast and a smoke.”

Haley thanked them but declined the invitation, and bidding them
good day strode off. His manner showed that he was still a little
distrustful of the intentions of the young man, who, it need hardly be
said, gave him and his brother officials no further cause to suspect
him.

“The next thing to be done,” said Dick, “is to get back to camp for
breakfast. On the way we’ll stop long enough to lower the lake six
inches in slaking our thirst.”

“What about Bunk?” asked Harvey.

“On his account, I shall give him no attention till after I have had a
full meal. If I should run across him before, nothing can prevent me
from murdering him.”

“We have a fine mess of fish awaiting us at the canoe.”

“But nothing else; we need seasoning, coffee, biscuit and lots of other
things that can’t be had short of camp. I’ll run you a race.”

“Not if I know myself.”

So it came about that Bohunkus Johnson was dismissed from their
thoughts for the time, and all their energies were given to making
the trip as quickly as possible. Dick plied the paddle with skill
and vigor. They found their friends awaiting them and the meal which
followed was all that two hungry youths could ask.

While it was under way, Hunter and Wadsworth having concluded theirs,
the Hamiltons told their story. The morning was now well advanced and
Professor Morgan and his monoplane might appear at any moment. The
couple, who were making ready for a tramp in the woods to the eastward,
volunteered to go with Dick and Harvey, but it was feared that their
presence might prove an obstacle to success.

“We are starting for that sable gentleman in earnest this time,” said
the elder, “and what’s more, we’re going to get him. You can bet your
last dollar on that. I’ve got a hunch to that effect.”

“You are likely to run into a row with the Professor,” said Hunter.

“Nothing would suit me better; I have had so much experience while in
camp in dealing with cranks that I understand ’em.”

With good wishes the parties separated as on the day before, and once
more Dick Hamilton sent the canoe skimming toward the extremity of the
lake He would not permit Harvey to take the paddle, for he was less
skillful. The minutes were important.

“Keep watch for that lunatic, Harv, and leave the rest to me.”

The younger not only scanned the sky to the south, but studied the
mountainous country ahead. The greater part of the distance had been
passed when he uttered an excited exclamation.

“What is it?” asked Dick, holding his paddle suspended and glancing
over his shoulder.

“Take a look at that pile of rocks where you went yesterday and let me
know what you see.”

Dick laid down the paddle and leveled the instrument. A moment later he
called out:

“I’ll be hanged! It’s Bunk and no mistake!”



CHAPTER XVIII.

BUNK JOINS THE PROFESSOR.


I fear that our glimpses of Bohunkus Johnson have been so vague that
you think it is time something more positive should be told. Let us
therefore give our attention to the colored youth and make clear
what befell him. It becomes necessary to go back to that day in
eastern Pennsylvania when he parted company with Harvey Hamilton. His
extraordinary experience was wholly due to the little tiff he had had
with the young aviator. How true it is that “great oaks from little
acorns grow.” But for that trifling affair I should have finished my
story long ago.

It is a hard thing to deal with a brilliant mind gone askew, especially
when the line between sanity and insanity becomes at times indistinct,
if it does not wholly disappear. Professor Milo Morgan was carried
away by his intense interest in aeronautics. You have learned of
the remarkable inventions he had already made in that field. He had
discovered how to make the flight of his machine noiseless, and could
remain in the air for ten or twelve hours. Not only that, but he had
succeeded in constructing a helicopter,--that is, an aeroplane that
will rise vertically by means of the horizontal screw or propeller
beneath.

Having achieved all this, he became absorbed in the scheme of remaining
aloft for two days at least. When he could do that he would be able,
while traveling at the rate of seventy-five miles an hour, to cross the
Atlantic between Quebec and Liverpool (2600 miles) in a trifle less
than a day and a half. That his ambition was not so mad as it may seem,
I may add that, while I am writing these lines, a professional aviator
has declared that he is certain of accomplishing the feat in the near
future. I venture to predict, that within the next three years the trip
will be made by more than one aviator.

The Professor was so rapt in his work that he thought of nothing else
and became indifferent toward every one. He cared nothing for Harvey
or Bunk or the great task of Detective Pendar. What he did by way of
aiding them may be called side issues. The chances came in his way and
he used them as he might have used a score of others of a different
nature, with no thought or interest or care in what should follow.

When the African youth came to him at the hotel in Chesterton and
asked the privilege of accompanying him to Africa, the proposal was
promptly accepted. It may have been that the crank took a liking to the
big, honest fellow, but it is more probable he saw that Bohunkus would
become more than a simple passenger. The man had felt the need of an
assistant,--not a negative person, but one who could help him in what
might be called the rough work he had in hand. It was physical, not
mental aid that he wanted while engaged in completing his experiments
with full success in sight.

The Professor inquired whether Bunk was at liberty to go with him on
the long aerial voyage. In other words must he have the permission of
young Hamilton?

“Huh!” sniffed the lad, in whose heart still rankled resentment because
of his late rebuke; “he hain’t got nuffin to do with me; I’m my own
boss and he knows better dan to put on airs with me.”

“That being the case I will take you, but it will be two or three days
before I shall be ready to start.”

“Dat don’ make no diff’rence, so you starts _some_ time. I can wait, I
reckons, till yo’ am suited.”

“And you may have some hard work to perform in helping me.”

“I’m used to work; dat don’t scare me; jes’ tell me what yo’ want done
and I’ll doot.”

“I recall something about your father being a great chief in Africa.”

“Dat’s de fac’,” replied Bunk proudly; “he am de greatest chief in de
whole state; he’ll treat yo’ mighty well for fetching me ober to wisit
him.”

How Bohunkus first gained the belief that his parent belonged to the
native nobility of the Dark Continent is interesting of itself. When
he was very small he was brought to Mr. Cecil Hartley, the well-to-do
farmer who was a neighbor of Mr. Hamilton near Mootsport, by an aged
negro who had been a slave in the South. He said the father of the
urchin was the great chief Bohunkus Foozleum, who was at the head of
a clan numbering thousands of warriors in Central Africa. The old man
added that the Christian name of Bunk was Johnson, which, if a fact,
is rather hard to understand. However, Bunk was turned over to the
kind-hearted farmer and his wife, and was known as a bound boy, though
the transfer was not accompanied by the usual legal steps.

The yarn of the old negro was repeated many times in the hearing of
Bunk, and the Hartleys and Hamiltons often laughed over it. The
gravity they assumed when telling the story to Bunk naturally caused
him to believe it, and again naturally he formed the resolution that
whenever a chance offered he would visit that hazy country and make a
call upon his royal parent. Hence his quickness to seize what looked
like a golden opportunity.

“You must understand one thing from the start,” said the Professor
impressively.

“Yas, sir.”

“If you enter my service there will be no turning back,--you must go
with me to the end.”

“Dat soots me from de sole ob my head to de crown ob my foot. I doan’
keer if I neber come back; being chief among dem folks am a good deal
better dan being lambasted and aboosed by white folks.”

“How long will it take you to get ready?”

“’Bout four seconds; all I’ve got to git am my coat and a few little
tings dat am in my room up-stairs.”

“Get them then.”

Bunk sprang to his feet and was hurrying through the door of the hotel
when the Professor called him back.

“You mustn’t tell anyone of this, especially young Hamilton.”

“How am I gwine to tell him when he ain’t here to tell? We’ll be half
way to Afriky afore he comes back.”

“You mustn’t write any letter and leave it here for him.”

“Neber thought ob doing dat,” replied Bunk, as he dived from sight and
went up the stairs three steps at a time.

It was just there that Professor Morgan made his first mistake. It
was true, as Bunk said, that he had no thought of leaving any message
for his young friend, but since he had been forbidden to do so, the
temptation to disobey was irresistible. Temporary resentment could not
quench his affection for Harvey Hamilton.

“When he comes back and finds me gone, he’ll cry his eyes out; he’ll
butt his head agin de wall and call on de hotel to fall down and mash
him flat. Harv ain’t such a bad feller as some folks think.”

The result of all this was that Bunk wrote his farewell epistle in his
room and had no trouble in handing it to the landlord who, as we know,
carried out his wishes.

Now that the decision had been made, the colored youth was all
eagerness to start. He was in mortal fear that Harvey would return at
any moment. While Bunk was as resolute as ever he did not wish to come
to an open quarrel with Harvey Hamilton.

Not once did a thought enter his mind that the aviator’s brain was
muddled. He looked upon the strange person with awe and fear. While
he might disregard instructions when the eye of his master was not
upon him, nothing could have made him do so otherwise. The Professor’s
hypnotic power was complete. By fixing those piercing orbs upon the
negro, he could readily cast over him that strange spell which we
have all seen and which made the youth as putty in his hands. The man
did not call this ability into play, because the need had not as yet
appeared, but he knew it was at his command whenever he wished to use
it.

“We’re off for Afriky!” was the thrilling thought of Bunk, when he sat
back in his seat and with swelling heart looked out into the radiant
sky and the variegated landscape sweeping under him. Never was he so
proud and never did his heart swell with such abounding emotion.

“Won’t Harv feel sorry when he sees me coming back from my visit to the
great chief dat has de honor of being my fader? I’ll catch de biggest
elephant in Afriky as I promised Harv and hang him to de bottom of
dis machine so dat his legs will swing clear and he can see de country
below him. I can make room fur de giraf in dis seat alongside ob me,
and let his head stick frough de top where he can obsarbe eberyting
in front and back and at de side, and above and below. Gee! how he’ll
enjoy it.

“Chief Foozleum must be mighty rich. I’ll git him to gib me two or free
bushels ob diamonds and sew ’em all ober my clothes and hab a big one
on de end ob each foot.”

There was no end to the extravagant fancies that roved through the
brain of Bohunkus. He looked at that strange figure in front, always
sitting bolt upright with a hand loosely grasping a lever on each side,
while he stared straight ahead as if trying to peer beyond the range of
ordinary vision. For long intervals Bunk could not see the slightest
movement of limb or head. The linen duster was buttoned closely about
the gaunt form and as he sat on the lower end of the garment the keen
wind did not cause any flapping. By and by there would be a slight
twitch of one of the levers and a change in direction would follow,
though otherwise it would not have been noticeable. Since the air was
calm, a keen breeze was produced by the progress of the helicopter,
which was traveling fully a mile a minute. Bunk had donned his heavy
coat before starting and was glad he did so, for he had to rub his ears
to keep them warm.

As was his custom the aviator flew low, sometimes approaching within
a hundred feet of the tops of the trees or the tall buildings in the
towns over which he skimmed. Bunk was startled once or twice by fear of
a collision, but the Professor was not only a marvelous expert, but his
machine responded with quick sensitiveness. At the slightest move of
hand or foot it would turn to one side, dart upward or dive downward,
as he willed. After a time Bunk’s misgiving left him and his confidence
in the man became perfect.

The aerial voyage to the southern Adirondacks was so similar in most
respects to what has been described that we need not dwell upon it. The
Professor did not stop on the way, and when he reached his workshop
the fluid in the tank would have taken him back without halt to his
starting point. He believed he could keep aloft with undiminished
speed for twenty hours if not longer, but it would not answer to head
eastward over the Atlantic until able to do better than that. He had
set the limit at two days, for he was wise enough to give himself a
fair margin. It might become necessary to reduce his speed when over
mid-ocean, or some slight disarrangement of his machinery was possible,
though of the latter he felt little fear.

Upon the arrival of the couple at the workshop, Bunk was pleased to do
his first work for his master. He was told to run the monoplane into
the hangar which stood to one side and slightly to the rear of the more
important structure. He performed the task so deftly that the Professor
complimented him.

“I see that you may become quite valuable to me,” said he in his
sepulchral voice, after he had opened the door of the cabin and peeped
in. “Sit down on those steps while I have a few words with you.”

“Yas, sir,” responded Bunk as he obeyed him.

“How much wages do you think you ought to receive, Bohunkus?”

“Bress yo’ heart, Perfesser, I doan’ want no wages for what I does for
yo’; ain’t yo’ gwine to take me ’cross de Pacific Ocean?”

“Not the Pacific,--the Atlantic.”

“Dat’s what I meant; yo’s gwine to do a good deal moah fur me dan I am
fur yo’.”

“I don’t wish anyone to work for me without pay; suppose I give you ten
dollars a week and your keep.”

Bunk airily waved his hand and replied:

“Doan’ make no difference to me; if yo’s gwine to feel bad I’ll take
it, but,” he added with an inspiring thought, “it am on two conditions.”

“What are they?”

“Dat when we calls on Chief Foozleum I shall gib you a pocket full ob
diamonds so as to make it squar’.”

“I have no objection to that; what is the other condition?”

“Dat yo’ gib me plenty to eat.”

For the first and only time in his life, Bunk saw the grizzled whiskers
at the side of the Professor’s mouth twitch in a way that showed he was
smiling. It was only for an instant, however, when he was as grave as
before.

“Your terms are reasonable. I had forgotten about it’s being meal time.”

“I hadn’t,” said Bunk with a sigh.

“You may have noticed that we have landed not far from a town; it’s
name is Dawson; I am acquainted with the landlord and will go there for
supper. I shall bring back a good meal for you.”

“Ain’t yo’ gwine to take me along?” asked the surprised Bunk; “I can
carry de food a good deal better inside ob me dan yo’ can outside ob
yo’self.”

“I prefer that it should not be known for the present that you are with
me; I’ll walk to the hotel and I promise you not to keep you waiting
long.”

A few minutes later the Professor took his departure and did as he had
agreed.



CHAPTER XIX.

IN THE WORKSHOP.


That night the Professor forgot the existence of Bohunkus Johnson and
indeed of everything in the world except the absorbing task before him.
He threw his workshop into one dazzling, overwhelming blaze and began
labor at once. The structure of his machine was perfected: all that
remained was to force nature to yield her secret by which the fuel of
the aeroplane could be held effective for two days of twenty-four hours
each. He was sure he was on the verge of the marvelous discovery.

Before delving into his fascinating work he instructed Bunk as to how
he should dispose of himself. The boy had eaten a bountiful meal and
though the hour was early was drowsy.

“You can hear the ripple of the small stream at the rear of the hangar;
there you can drink or bathe night or morning; here are your sleeping
quarters.”

He pointed to the rear of the shop where lay a plank covered with
a single blanket. It was the custom of the Professor to stretch
himself upon this when he felt the need of rest, which it may be
said was infrequently. He did not expect to sleep on this night, but
if compelled to do so, would snatch brief repose by half reclining
in a rustic chair which stood back of the door at the front. By and
by, Bunk’s head began to nod, and bidding the Professor good night he
made his way uncertainly to his couch. Just then the man’s foot was
on the treadle and he was pressing some kind of instrument against
the whizzing face of a tiny stone wheel. He made no response to the
salutation of his assistant and probably did not hear him.

Bunk lay on his side so as to watch the aviator at his work. He saw
him flit from one side of the shop to the other and mix several kinds
of liquid, one of which gave out so pungent an odor that the youth
sneezed, but without attracting the attention of the experimenter.
Then followed a series of vivid flashes in which all the colors of
the spectrum blinded the awed spectator. The man filed, cut, scraped,
compounded, and did no end of things until Bunk grew weary and glided
into dreamland.

He must have slept well beyond midnight, when apparently without cause
he awoke. For a few minutes he was too confused to locate himself.
Gradually his recollection came back, and he realized that he was in
blank darkness. His immediate surroundings were so still that he heard
the soft ripple of the brook near the hangar.

“I ’spose de Perfesser hab retired,” concluded Bunk, “and I shan’t see
anything ob him till morning.”

It was so easy, as a rule, for the colored youth to sleep at all times
that he could not understand why he not only awoke from sound slumber
but could not woo it back. The longer he lay the wider awake he became.
Finally he sat up.

“Dis am mighty qu’ar,” he muttered; “it looks as if morning hab come
afore de night am frough; I wonder if tings doan’ got mixed dat way
sometimes in dis part ob de world.”

The question was beyond his solving. His next feeling was of curiosity
as to the whereabouts of the Professor. When Bunk last saw him he was
working in the vividly lighted shop. By and by the lad made out a faint
illumination through the windows that was caused by the partially
obscured moonlight. The door was shut, since nothing of the kind showed
in that direction.

“I’ll bet dat he’s goned off,” was Bunk’s decision; “I wonder if he
means to gib me de slip and sail to Afriky without me. I’ll find out.”

He recalled the interior of the building well enough to remember that
a wide passage led from his couch to the opening at the front. The
workbenches were along the sides, so as to give the inventor elbowroom.
Bunk began groping his way with hands extended to avoid falling over
any obstacle that might have been placed there while he was asleep. His
wakefulness was probably due to the effect of the fumes of chemicals,
for he had noted them the moment he roused from slumber.

“I’ll go outside and if I doan’ see de Perfesser I’ll yell for him--”

Bunk did not wait until he got outside before yelling. At that moment,
one of his extended hands came in contact with a live, or rather partly
live wire, and with a wild shout he bounded several feet in air,
tumbled over on his back, kicked and rolled in an agony more of mind
than of body. In the same instant, the interior of the building was
illuminated as if from the burst of a hundred suns. As his bewildered
senses straggled back he rose to a sitting posture and saw the towering
form of Professor Morgan looking down upon him with the most terrible
expression he had ever witnessed on his countenance. Like the youth,
he had not removed his garments and the long duster still wrapped his
towering figure. The eyes glowed with piercing intensity and Bunk even
fancied that the long grizzled beard was in flames.

“What is the matter with you?” sternly demanded the crank, in the voice
which sounded like the rolling of thunder.

“I guess I’m killed,” replied the bewildered Bunk, slowly climbing to
his feet, “or mebbe it were a mule dat kicked me. Hab yo’ got a mule
round here?”

“Fool!” exclaimed the Professor angrily, “didn’t you know better than
to go groping round the shop in the darkness? It is a miracle that you
were not killed by a thousand volts; why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t see yo’ nowhere ’bout; ’scuse me.”

“If you had called I should have heard you. I was asleep like yourself.”

“I didn’t hear yo’ breeving; I say, Perfesser,” added Bunk with more
boldness than he had yet dared to show, “ain’t yo’ keerless in leaving
dem blue blazes layin’ ’round where dey am likely to swipe a feller in
de face when he ain’t doing nuffin?”

“You surely will be killed if you go nosing round the shop when I’m not
with you.”

“Yo’ war wid me but I didn’t know it. I say, Perfesser, wouldn’t yo’
as lieb move to some oder place?”

The inventor in front of the trembling Bunk still looked keenly at him,
as if a new thought had flashed into his brain. He spoke with more
kindness than he had shown since they had been together:

“Bohunkus, I’m satisfied that this isn’t the place for you, though I
shall have to stay myself until we are ready to start. To-morrow I
shall take you to new quarters.”

“Dat am de best news I’ve heerd in sebenteen years; dere’s only one
thing dat would soot me better.”

“What is that?”

“To hear yo’ say dat we’s gwine to start to Afriky.”

“Be patient for a day or two. Now, wouldn’t you like to go back to your
home at Mootsport and stay there?”

Bunk did not suspect this was a test question and was honest in his
answer:

“No, sah; not till we’ve been to Afriky and spent a few weeks wid Chief
Foozleum.”

“You wouldn’t leave me if I gave you the chance?”

“Not fur de world; do yo’ think I wanter to go home and hear Harv and
Dick Hamilton and dere folks laugh at me? Not much.”

“Suppose they come after you?”

“Dat’s nuffin; I’m my own boss; dey wouldn’t git me by a jugful.”

“I shall see that they don’t while I am present,” said the Professor
with a glint of his fiery eyes; “I’ll attend to that, but I shall have
to leave you alone at times and they may come when I am beyond call.”

“As I obsarbed dat wouldn’t make no diff’rence, ’cause dey doan’ hab
nuffin to do wid me. It mought be anoder thing if Mr. Hartley lit on
me wid a cartwhip, but he’ll neber come way up here fur me, ’cause he
doan’ know I’m here,--likewise Harv and his folks doan’ know nuffin
’bout it neither. No matter where yo’ stow me away Perfesser, I’ll stay
dere till yo’ am ready to come fur me.”

The man looked at Bunk with a prolonged, penetrating stare that chilled
him through. Then in his cavernous voice he slowly said:

“When-you-disobey-me, you-will-die!”

“Yas, sir;” whispered the terrified youth.

The Professor stepped to the bench at his side, reached up and took a
bottle of colorless liquid from a shelf. Withdrawing the glass stopper
he handed it to the lad:

“Smell of that!” he commanded in the same awful tones.

Bunk’s hand trembled so much that he came near dropping it.

“It won’t blow me up?” he asked timidly.

“It won’t hurt you! Do what you are told!”

The lad dared not hesitate. He held the compound to his nostrils and
took several deep inhalations. It was a powerful soporific and in a
minute or so he showed its effects. The Professor watched him, and at
the proper moment took the bottle from his limp grasp.

“Now go back and sleep.”

“Yas, sir,” replied Bunk, who staggered to his couch, tumbled upon it
and almost immediately sank into a heavy, dreamless slumber. It must
have lasted a long time, for when he awoke the morning sun was shining
through the open door. The Professor was not in the room, and after
recalling his confused senses, Bunk rose from his bed. He was slightly
dizzy from the effects of the drug and waited until he could steady
himself before picking his way along the passage to the outside. He
expected to see the aviator, but he was not in sight and a glance at
the hangar showed it was empty. Professor Morgan and his helicopter
were gone. Bunk was alarmed.

“I wonder if he’s started for Afriky and furgot me! If he has he’s
played a low down trick.”

Reflection removed this fear and he decided that his friend or enemy,
as the case might be, had only gone to the village for his morning
meal. Against that theory was the fact that he had taken his machine
with him, or more properly the machine had taken him. With the distance
so short, it was not reasonable that he would bother to make the trip
by aerial sea.

Bunk sat down outdoors and tried to decide upon the best thing to do.
Suddenly the thought came to him that it would not only help to pass
away the dismal minutes of waiting, but would be the proper thing to
write a letter to Mootsport. He entered the building again, stepping
very gingerly, for he had a mortal terror of the wires and contraptions
that were all around him. At the farther end of the room was a small
desk, with paper, envelopes and pencils, but no ink. First peeping out
of the door to make sure the Professor was not near, Bunk sat down on
the bench provided and with pencil wrote a letter to Harvey. He paused
with every labored word and listened. He knew he would detect the
returning aviator in time to play the part of innocence. We remember
the substance of that missive, which was the means of giving Harvey
Hamilton his first tangible clue to the whereabouts of his colored
friend.

The letter being finished, the problem of mailing it remained. It
required a stamp and must be carried to the post office. Now there
were fully a dozen stamps lying on a corner of the desk, but it was
to Bunk’s credit that he did not use one of them. Those little red
rectangles were each worth two cents, while the value of the paper and
envelope was so vague as to amount to nothing. It would be dishonest
to appropriate a postage stamp, but not dishonest to use the other
material. Bunk was always supplied with a moderate amount of funds and
it occurred to him that it would be right to take a stamp provided he
left a nickel in its place, thereby making generous payment for the
accommodation.

“De Perfesser will notice it,” was the belief that stayed his hand; “he
told me not to send any letter home and if he finds out I’ve done it
he’ll blow me all to pieces.”

He thrust the missive into his coat pocket and once more passed outside
of the workshop. The location of the cabin as we know was in a lonely
spot, and not a person was in sight. The village of Dawson lay within
easy reach and he believed he could run thither and back before the
return of the Professor. But he hesitated after passing down the path
to where it met the highway. He felt that if seen by the aviator he
could make the excuse that he was merely stretching his legs and had no
thought of going farther.

While he stood debating whether to make a dash for it, good fortune
favored him. Around a bend in the road, and approaching him, strode a
man dressed as a farmer. He carried a rough staff in one hand and his
trousers were tucked in the tops of his boots. He responded with a nod
to Bunk’s cheery “Good morning.”

“Am yo’ gwine to Dawson?” asked the African, though the course of the
pedestrian made the question superfluous.

“That’s what I’ve started to do, if I don’t run off the track or bust
my b’iler,” was the characteristic reply.

“Will yo’ please mail dis lub letter fur me?”

The man accepted the envelope and squinted at it.

“I don’t see any stamp onto it.”

Bunk handed him a quarter of a dollar.

“If yo’ will put a stamp on it yo’ may keep de change.”

“All right, sonny, I’ll act as mail carrier all day at them rates.”

“And yo’ mustn’t say nuffin ’bout it to nobody.”

The man promised and went on his way.



CHAPTER XX.

A CHANGE OF QUARTERS.


After administering the drug which sent Bunk into dreamland Professor
Morgan, having rested only a short time, resumed his work. He grudged
the time he had already wasted as he viewed it, and toiled with
absorbed earnestness until an exclamation of impatience showed he had
run against a snag. In experimenting with a score of subtle fluids he
discovered that one important ingredient was exhausted. He must obtain
more before he could go on with his work. The chemical was quite common
and he knew it was easy to obtain in Albany, which was not much more
than a hundred miles distant as the crow or aeroplane flies. He could
make the trip well within four hours and decided to do so. Since the
leading drug stores kept open through the night there was no need of
his delaying. He went to the hangar, ran out his helicopter and left
without awaking Bunk, who he thought was likely to sleep all the time
he was gone.

It was beginning to grow light when the strange machine was revealed by
its flitting searchlight to many of the early risers in the capital
of the State. As it gave out no noise, its appearance, absurdly
exaggerated, was heralded throughout the country. Stories of a strange
colossal airship which prowled through the heavens only in the night
time had been published and some of the yellow journals had given
illustrations of its appearance. This one was declared at first to be
the same mysterious visitant of the upper regions, but the fact that
the Dragon of the Skies made its descent in the heart of the city and
that the single occupant stepped out and made a purchase at the most
prominent drug store, robbed the account of its most thrilling feature.

Professor Morgan did not return at once. He snubbed those who gathered
round with their numberless questions. Hiring two trustworthy men to
guard his machine he went to an all-night restaurant and ate an early
breakfast which he meant should serve until night, since it took too
much time to lunch at noon. Then he decided to do still more in the
way of economizing the minutes by buying supplies for Bunk, who had
the faculty of being hungry morning, noon and night. The markets were
open and he had no trouble in securing what he wanted. Biscuits, sugar,
salt, pepper, meat, condensed milk; in fact, all that a rugged and
growing lad could ask for were stowed in a large basket which was
adjusted on the seat near the tank. They added considerable to the
weight of the aeroplane, but much less than it was accustomed to carry
in the person of Bohunkus Johnson.

The crowd that remained staring at the helicopter saw an amazing sight
when a horizontal wheel directly beneath began revolving as the aviator
took his seat, and the machine soared aloft smoothly, gracefully and in
a line as truly vertical as if drawn by a mathematician. Nothing of the
kind had ever been heard of before.

Bunk having despatched his letter through the kindness of the
countryman, hurried back to the workshop and seated himself on the
little bench in front to await the return of the Professor. He thus sat
until the sun was well up in the sky, growing hungrier every minute and
with his patience nearing its limit. Removed from the presence of the
terrible man he felt more free to indulge his meditations.

“I wonder if he thinks I’m gwine to sot here till I starve to death. He
doan’ keer ’bout eating hisself, but I ain’t built dat way. I’ll wait
a little while longer and den if he doesn’t come I’ll go to de willage
and eat eberyting in de old place. Golly! if dat ain’t him now!”

He was right, for in the clear sky to the southward he saw the
well-remembered Dragon of the Skies, with wings outspread, approaching
at its usual swift pace. In less time than would be supposed, the
aeronaut settled to rest and Bunk hurried forward to give the aid he
could.

“Let me help yo’ out, Perfesser,” said he, extending his hand, but the
other gave no heed. Turning, he lifted the big basket from the seat and
placed it on the ground.

“Leave the car where it is,” he commanded; “for we’ll need it again in
a few minutes.”

“Yas, sir;” replied the lad, looking longingly at the willow receptacle.

“I have brought you enough food to last a week,” said the Professor.

“Gee!” muttered Bunk, “it looks as if dere am jest ’nough for
breakfast, but I’ll worry ’long if you say so.”

“Help yourself.”

Bunk needed no second invitation. The man passed into the building,
leaving him outside. He slid off the cover of the basket and his eyes
sparkled at sight of the goodly stock of supplies. He did not pause in
his feasting until one-half the contents had been placed where it would
do the most good. He was drawing the back of his hand across his mouth
when the Professor came out, bringing with him the blanket that had
served Bunk while asleep.

“I’m going to take you to your new quarters,” he explained. “My
gracious!” he added, glancing at the wrecked food, “have you left
anything?”

“I guess dere am ’nough for a bite,” grinned Bunk.

“You’re a wonder that I never saw equalled; let’s be off.”

The blanket and basket were carefully put in place, Bunk took his seat
and the Professor after glancing over the machine to make sure that all
was right assumed his usual position and set the uplifter spinning.
So perfect was the working of the machine that there was no evidence
of the increased weight it carried. Straight up in the air it rose
for a hundred feet and then headed to the northward. As it approached
the wild region to which we have referred several times the aviator
slackened his pace as much as he could while retaining buoyancy, leaned
out and scanned the ground over which he was sailing. It did not take
him long to decide upon a landing place, and he descended at the spot
which was visited by Dick Hamilton some days later.

Bunk had also made good use of his eyes. He noticed the cabin of guide
Akers, the beautiful little lake beyond, the tent on the shore and
the forms near it, to whom he waved his usual salutation, and closely
studied the surroundings when they sank to the earth again.

As soon as the two felt the earth under their feet, they began a search
which was quickly ended by the discovery of the cavern which has also
been described.

“This will do,” was the comment of the Professor after scanning it;
“you couldn’t ask for anything better.”

Bunk surveyed the opening with mingled feelings. It certainly offered
secure shelter against a storm, which was about all that could be said
of it. Wishing to please his master he remarked:

“I allers sleeps wid my winder open at home and it’ll be de same here
and dis soots me. I wouldn’t mind if I had some carpets or rugs and a
peanner, but I can git along very well as it am.”

“Carry in the basket,” commanded the master, leading the way with the
blanket over his arm. He flung it down at the rear of the cavern and
Bunk set the receptacle beside it. Then the two walked outside, where
they stood beside the aeroplane.

“Before I go,” said the Professor in his most awesome tones, “I have a
few things to say to you which you must not forget on your peril.”

“Yas, sir.”

“This is to be your home till I call to take you to Africa.”

“Yas, sir.”

“The time will go slowly to you, but here you must stay!”

“Yas, sir.”

“When you grow tired of sleeping and eating you may walk through the
woods, but take care that you don’t go so far that you can’t find your
way back quickly and surely.”

“Yas, sir.”

“Confound you!” exclaimed the Professor suddenly, “can’t you say
anything but ‘yas, sir’?”

“No, sir,-dat is-yas, sir,” replied the confused Bunk, startled by the
words and manner of the man.

“Well, then, why don’t you say something else?”

“Yas, sir.”

The Professor saw that it was useless to protest and therefore ignored
the provoking response.

“I have important work awaiting me and must now return to my shop,” he
said in a gentler voice.

“When will yo’ come back?”

“I intend to call each morning, unless something unexpected prevents.”

“Yo’ won’t forgit to bring some wittles wid yo’ each time, Perfesser?”

“I shall see that your wants in that respect are met; unless,” he
grimly added, “the supply in Dawson gives out.”

“Yo’ can reach oder towns if dat tooks place,” suggested Bunk, with no
suspicion of the sarcasm of the other remark.

“Bear in mind what I have said: this is to be your home until we are
ready to start across the ocean.”

“Yas, sir.”

“If any strangers come near, you don’t give them a word of explanation.
Avoid having anything to do with them.”

At that time, Professor Morgan had no knowledge that Harvey Hamilton
was or rather soon would be on his track. He therefore made no
reference to him, since he did not think it possible that he would
become a factor in the problem. He stepped into his seat, and without
saying anything further hied away to his workshop. He was impatient to
resume his experimentation now that he had the lacking chemical.

At last Bohunkus Johnson found himself alone in the wilds of the
southern Adirondacks. He did not need to be reminded that if he wished
company he did not have to travel many miles to find it. He was within
reach of settlements, and scattered houses and it was no difficult walk
to that tent on the shore of the placid lake. But the African trip
was an obsession with him. His heart was set on the voyage, of whose
perils he never dreamed. Nothing could quench that longing except its
realization or death itself.

“I’ll do jest as de Perfesser says,” he said to himself; “I’m sorry I
sent dat letter home, for mebbe dere was someting in it which will set
Harv onto my track,--but I can’t think what it am onless--”

He almost dropped to the ground in dismay.

“I didn’t put any name to de top of de page, but de postmaster has
stamped de word ‘Dawson’ on de enwollop. Jee whizz! I neber thought ob
_dat_!”

You will remember that it was this fact which told Harvey the one
thing he needed to know in order to make an intelligent search for his
friend. It was too late now to correct the error, and it was well for
Bunk that he did not recall certain other words in his letter which
gave invaluable aid to his friend. He found great relief in the belief
that the start across the ocean would be made in a day or two at the
furthest.

It must be admitted that Bunk’s situation in more than one respect
was trying. In the first place, he had no firearms, no such thing
being thought necessary when he and Harvey Hamilton first left home
with their biplane. He had not so much as a fishing line with which to
beguile the hours that could not fail to become wearisome. He had been
promised food and could not doubt that the Professor would see that he
did not suffer for nourishment.

The first day spent in and about the cavern was tedious, though a
goodly part of it was passed in eating and sleeping. When darkness at
last began closing in there was nothing left of the supplies that had
been brought in the basket.

“If de Perfesser forgits me and doan’ come in de morning,” reflected
Bunk, “I’ll be in an orful fix, but I can always rampage frough de
country. I’ve got ’nough money to buy a good deal and when dat runs out
I can grab things ‘permiscuous.’”

His idea of the wild animals that haunt the Adirondacks was vague. He
knew that deer, bears, and he believed wolves were met with at times
in different parts. Had he passed through Harvey’s experience he might
have become more disquieted. He suspected that tigers, leopards,
lions, giraffes and possibly elephants were to be met with in the
wilder portions, but the reliance upon which he always fell back was
the conviction that none of these creatures knew how to climb a tree,
while he was master of the art.

“I wish dis cave had a door dat I could shet, but it doan’ hab nuffin
ob de kind and if any ob dem critters walks into de front I’m catched
for dere ain’t any way out ob de back.”

Investigation had told him that the one yawning opening was the only
means of ingress and egress, because of which fact he studied a long
time the problem of the safest thing to do. Suddenly it flashed upon
him.

“I’ll roost ebery night! Why didn’t I thunk ob dat afore?”

Before darkness fully closed in, he left the cavern and began a careful
tour of the immediate neighborhood. It did not require long to find a
refuge that seemed to be specially prepared for him. It was a broad,
branching oak, whose trunk was so huge that, to his disappointment,
he saw no way of climbing it. His predicament was the reverse of the
_ursus_ species, for such a big shaggy stairs would have been easy for
a bear to ascend. Slowly circling the forest monarch and using his
strong eyes well in the obscurity, he soon fixed upon the means of
making his way into the branches. It was, in short, to use a smaller
tree which grew so close to the oak that their branches interlocked.



CHAPTER XXI.

BUNK CAMPS OUT.


Bunk’s expertness in climbing served him well. With no trouble he
rapidly ascended the maple, whose trunk was six inches or more in
diameter and whose branches with their soft, green foliage were
interlocked with the more rugged limbs of the immense oak. The lowest
branch of the latter was ten inches thick, and put out horizontally at
a height of ten feet or more from the ground. It would have made a tree
of itself.

When the youth found himself among the foliage he was able to discern
in the fast increasing darkness the main limb. It was so near that,
carefully balancing himself, he swung out and let go of his own
support. The feat was not difficult and he seized the rugged support,
which dipped considerably, but would have sustained a far greater
weight without breaking. He crept over it to the massive trunk. It was
in the crotch of this that he meant to make his couch for the night. He
was too high to be in danger from any roving beasts, unless of the very
largest kind.

“I ’spose an elephant might git me with his trunk, but I could hear him
tramping the leaves and could scoot to the top of the tree. De worstest
am a gerauf; they hab such long necks dat dey can pick de ball off a
church steeple, but if I disremembers right dey doan’ bite, but butt
wid dere horns; dat lets me out.”

Bunk had secured his perch, but the problem of making it a reposeful
bed was a different matter. At first he tried sitting astride of the
limb with his back against the trunk. This answered for a time, but
soon became as onerous as the seat of Harvey Hamilton did when he was
fleeing from the bear. Then he lay forward on his face along the limb,
which he still bestrode. That was very little improvement and he had to
give it up.

“De only way fur a feller to sleep am to lay down,” he exclaimed
disgustedly, “and dat’s what I’m gwine to do.”

He carefully extended his body along the shaggy support, face downward,
steadying himself by grasping a smaller branch which put out from the
larger. Having done this, Bunk held his place for a few minutes and
then in trying to improve it rolled off the limb and dropped to the
ground.

The distance was so trifling that he suffered no hurt though his
feelings were much disturbed.

“I oughter fetched my blanket or laid some boards on de limbs; dat’s
what I’ll do to-morrer if I can find de boards.”

Nothing having been seen or heard to frighten him, he decided to go
back to the cavern and spend his first night with only the partial
protection he could find there. He had not as yet caught a glimpse of
any wild animals and he did not believe he had cause to fear his own
species. So he lay down and slept without waking until day came again.

At the brook which ran near, he bathed his face and hands, and then
climbed to the most elevated portion of the rocks to await the
Professor, who had promised to bring him breakfast. He was ravenously
hungry, as was to be expected, and to his delight he was not forced to
suffer long. The helicopter was really ahead of time and the aviator
proved that he appreciated the appetite of the colored lad, who gave
thanks for his thoughtfulness.

The man was alert and seemed to be in high spirits over the progress he
had made. His manner was so noticeable that Bunk asked:

“How’s yo’ getting along, Perfesser?”

“Splendidly,” was the reply; “everything is going right. I have
completed my compound by which I can keep the machine going for two
days; all that remains is to tune it up so as to be sure of making a
hundred miles an hour. I shall do that to-day.”

“Den we’ll start for Afriky--”

“To-morrow. I must complete a few experiments first, but they are
trifling and will result all right.”

“Dat’s good news,” remarked the happy Bunk, catching the contagion;
“yo’ll find me ready as soon as yo’ am.”

“Have you seen anybody while I was away?”

“Nobody hain’t been near here, but I can look down ober de lake and see
folks afishing and de tent ober on t’other side.”

“If any of them should wander up this way, don’t let them see you. You
will remember?”

“Yas, sir.”

“I must be off, for every minute now counts.”

“Yas, sir.”

The Professor resumed his seat, set the uplifter spinning, slowly rose
in the air until at the right elevation, when he darted southward
like a swallow on the wing. Left to himself, Bunk began preparing for
the tedious hours before him. He was eager to fit up a sleeping couch
in the oak from which he had fallen the night before. He would have
carried out his plan but for one drawback: he had no boards to serve
him.

A bright idea struck him.

“I’ll make a hammock; all I hab to do am to nail de corners on to de
limbs and sleep jest like I do in my trundle bed at home.”

The fact that not a nail was within reach did not deter him. Bringing
the blanket from the cavern he slung it over one shoulder, climbed the
sapling and readily picked his way among the branches of the oak. These
were not placed as he wished, but after a good deal of work, no end of
pains and considerable ingenuity, he managed to fasten the corners by
twisting and tying them around the limbs until he had a fair imitation
of the ordinary hammock with which we are all familiar. True, the
center dipped lower than he wished, and when he gingerly trusted his
weight to it the blanket sagged still more. In fact Bunk’s position was
much as if he were seated in the top of an open barrel with his head
and feet protruding through the opening.

“Dere’s one big adwantage ob dis,” he reflected; “if de thing gibs way
when I’m asleep I’ll drap squar, so I’ll be setting as if I’m in a
chair when I hit de ground. Ef I gits tired I can flop ober; I’ll try
it.”

With some difficulty he squirmed upon his face, with his heels almost
touching the back of his head. The sensation was pleasant at first, but
any unnatural position of the body is sure to become irksome in sleep,
and it was to be feared that the lad would find his plan a failure when
put to the test. He determined to try it, however, and came down to the
ground satisfied with what he had accomplished.

“What the deuce are you trying to do?”

Bunk leaped off the ground and stared at the point whence the startling
question had come. A middle-aged man, carrying a Winchester rifle,
which rested in the hollow of his left arm, his smooth-shaven face
expanded into a broad grin, had evidently been watching his actions for
some minutes. The colored youth was so flustered that it must be said
he did not do justice to himself in his replies.

“Why--why, I hung dat blanket up dere to dry.”

“I don’t see that it is wet.”

“Wal, it will be when it rains and I wanter hab it ready.”

“From the way you acted it looks as if you’re trying to fix up a
hammock among them limbs.”

“Dats it!--dats it! I done forgot de name.”

“Who are you?” demanded the man, looking sharply at him.

“Bohunkus Johnson, sah.”

“A blamed queer name; what brought you here?”

Bunk was on the point of telling the truth, when he reflected that it
might reveal more than Professor Morgan wished.

“I’m hunting deers,” said he.

“Have you killed any?”

“Sartinly; I’ve killed ’leben.”

“Where are they?”

“Laying round in de woods; haben’t yo’ seed any ob ’em?”

“Where’s your gun?”

The man was firing his questions so fast that the bewildered Bunk
floundered into deep water before he could check himself.

“I frowed it away.”

“Why did you do that?”

“I had a fout wid de last buck and broke de lock ober his head; yo’ see
it warn’t no use, so I frowed it ober de rocks.”

“Sure you killed eleven deer?”

“Mought hab been two or free more, but dere war dat many sartin.”

“Well, I’m a game warden and will take you along with me; I’m looking
for just such scamps as you.”

Bunk’s jaw dropped and his knees shook.

“What--what yo’ gwine to do wid me?”

“It’s a thousand dollars fine for shooting a deer out of the season;
twenty years in prison for killing two, and hanging by the heels till
you’re dead for scalping eleven.”

The terrified Bunk collapsed. What a forceful illustration of the
wisdom of telling the truth at all times! He had long been known at
home as one who hated a falsehood, and now when he strayed momentarily
from the right path the penalty was awful. He broke into a cackling
laugh and in a tremulous voice said:

“I war joking, mister; I hain’t killed no deers.”

“I never thought you had; the next time you try to spin an outlandish
yarn don’t make quite so big a fool of yourself.”

With which Jim Haley, who later met Dick Hamilton, turned on his heel
and walked away.

Bunk scratched his head.

“Blamed if I doan’ begin to think Deacon Buggs am right; he allers said
at prayer meeting dat dere ain’t no sense in sticking to a lie when
yo’re cotched in it. Dat feller talked so fast dat I couldn’t git time
to fix up my story. Next time I’ll straighten out tings better.”

With so many hours at command, the youth did more wandering through the
surrounding solitude than before. He took particular care not to meet
any persons because of a well founded fear that he could not withstand
the fire of questions that would be leveled at him. Professor Morgan
had assured him that the grand start would be made on the morrow, and
Bunk must use every precaution against doing the least thing that would
interfere with the plan. It was this dread which caused him suddenly
to turn off when he found he was approaching the smoke of a camp fire
which some party had kindled among the trees. He stole away until
assured he was beyond danger of being seen by any of the strangers,
whose friendship or lack of enmity toward him he could not doubt.

After a time Bunk turned his steps toward the lake, still resolute of
purpose to keep clear of all persons, but he yielded to his curiosity
regarding a canoe which was anchored near the northern end and not far
from shore. In it were seated three men engaged in fishing. In the
stillness he could hear them when they spoke, though he did not catch
the words uttered. The trees, undergrowth and rocks gave him all the
screen he could need in approaching the little party. When he had gone
as far as was prudent, he stopped, still carefully concealing himself.

Suddenly one of them laughed. Something familiar in the sound startled
the lad, who, shading his eyes with one hand, peered intently at the
group. A moment later he gasped:

“Gee! dat am Dick Hamilton!”

Then he recalled what he had heard before leaving home about Harvey’s
brother being on a vacation in the Adirondacks. Without suspecting it,
Bunk had been brought to the neighborhood of his camp, which must be
at the tent he had several times noticed. With this recollection the
shiver of fear quickly passed. His first thought was that Dick had come
thither to take him home and that one of his companions was Harvey. A
scrutiny, however, showed that the other two were strangers. Then he
was comforted by the reflection that it was impossible for Harvey to
know where he was.

This discovery convinced Bunk that he was running too great risk in
venturing so close to the lake. If Dick Hamilton should see him he
would call him to account and take measures to head off that trip to
Africa. Accordingly, he stealthily withdrew and when beyond all danger
of being observed he hurried to his quarters up the mountainous slope.

The question he asked himself was whether he should tell Professor
Morgan what he had learned. He decided there was no need to do so. From
his elevated station he kept an eye upon the canoe in the lake. He saw
at the end of two or more hours that the party were through fishing for
the time. One of them began swinging the paddle, and the canoe glided
southward and turned into the small inlet at the back of the camp,
where it was drawn up the shingle and the trio walked to the tent.
Although the distance did not prevent Bunk from seeing the figures, and
he was sure he could distinguish Dick Hamilton, he was unable to note
their features, and but for the close view he had obtained he would not
have suspected the identity of his friend.

“Dick am more rambunctious dan Harv,” reflected Bunk, “and it won’t
do fur him to know I’m in dis part ob de world. When I come back from
Afriky I’ll tell him de whole story and he’ll laugh as much as me.”



CHAPTER XXII.

FACE TO FACE AT LAST.


So far as sleeping in a hammock suspended a dozen feet above ground
was concerned, Bunk’s attempt was as much a failure as his effort to
rest among the limbs of the oak on the previous night. In disgust he
gave it up, and yanking the blanket free went back to the cavern and
again slept without disturbance. The weather continued so mild that the
covering gave him all the protection he needed.

When Professor Morgan made his appearance in the morning, not quite as
early as before, Bunk saw he was not in such buoyant spirits as on his
last call. Something had gone wrong. He made no replies to the lad’s
questions, but when about to leave him for the day, explained:

“Things haven’t come out as I anticipated; I shall have to go to Albany
again to get a new chemical; the last was not pure; do you understand?”

“Yas, sir.”

“You don’t understand a word I said to you,” snorted the man; “why do
you pretend you do?”

“Yas, sir.”

With an angry grunt the aviator mounted his seat, started the uplifter
revolving and sailed away without another word.

Several days now passed so similar in all respects that it is not worth
while to dwell upon them. The Professor remained glum and sour and
Bunk held him in too great awe to repeat any questions after his first
curt snubbing. He made his sleeping quarters in the cavern, ate and
wandered through the neighborhood, watching people at a distance and
always keeping out of their sight. Had he possessed a field glass like
Harvey Hamilton, he would have made some discoveries that would have
interested and alarmed him.

We come now to the day of the disastrous search made by the Hamilton
brothers. Bunk was sitting at the mouth of the cavern and beginning to
feel drowsy when his nerves were set tingling by the whistled signal of
the young man, who had almost come upon him. Had Dick refrained from
giving that warning he would have been face to face with Bunk within
the following five minutes.

“Dat’s him!” gasped the negro, scooting behind the cavern and among the
undergrowth, where he crouched low.

He not only heard every signal, but caught a glimpse of the young man.
Had it been Harvey whom he saw he probably would have gone forward in
response to the calls, but he dared not let the elder brother see him.

“I’d doot,” muttered Bunk, whose conscience reproved him, “if I could
be sure he wouldn’t butt in and make trouble.”

One fact lifted the spirits of Bunk to the highest notch. That morning
Professor Morgan exultingly told him that he had attained complete
success at last. The new chemical had done its work perfectly; the last
obstacle had been overcome, and the start for distant Africa would be
made the next day without fail. It was this announcement which caused
the youth to guard against discovery by his friend. Of course he did
not dream that Harvey Hamilton was in the vicinity.

Bunk was in such a fluster over the knowledge that his dismal days in
this mountain retreat were ended that he slept little. This was his
last night in the cave and the wonderful voyage was to begin on the
morrow.

Upon what trivial incidents do the most important events often turn!
Professor Morgan told the truth when he asserted that he had reached
the end of his experimentation. He had solved the magical combination
of chemical agents by which the supply of fuel for his helicopter would
serve for more than two days without renewal. Having done this, all
that remained was to finish his preparations for leaving the continent
and voyaging over the Atlantic. His machine worked so superbly that he
had no fear of any storm he might encounter, though he wisely decided
to study weather probabilities before making his venture. Repeated
tests convinced him that an average speed of eighty miles was easy to
maintain. This would require a trifle less than thirty-three hours to
go from Quebec to Liverpool, his intention from the first being to
start from the former city.

The change he made in his programme was this: instead of leaving
Quebec, he would make his starting point on the New Jersey coast, not
far below Sandy Hook, with his destination the island of St. Vincent,
of the Cape Verde group, off the coast of Africa. This route is three
hundred miles longer than the other, but as he viewed it the fact was
not worth considering because of the new fuel he had invented. It was
not far from St. Vincent to the African coast, and he preferred not to
land in England because of the excitement his feat would cause.

So long as his purpose was to depart from Quebec, he intended to lay
in the necessary stock of provisions in that city, deferring the work
until the last moment. But this was sure to bring unpleasant notoriety,
and he now saw an easy escape from it. No large amount of supplies
would be needed and he could procure them at the Washington Hotel in
Dawson. As for himself, he did not mind fasting for a couple of days,
but he knew how it was with his assistant. He therefore proceeded
to stock up in the little country town, because of which his usual
morning call upon Bohunkus Johnson was delayed, and it was that same
delay which gave the necessary time for the happening of more than one
important event.

Had Bunk not been impatient over the tardiness in the return of
Professor Morgan, he would have paid attention to the two persons in
the canoe at the end of the lake. He would have seen them leave the
craft and disappear among the trees and undergrowth that lined the
sheet of water, but he noted nothing of the kind. It is doubtful which
emotion was the stronger within him,--the desire for satisfying his
craving for food, or his eagerness to start upon the aerial voyage
to the Dark Continent. He took his station in front of the cavern
and scanned the heavens to the south, wondering what could keep the
aviator away so long.

“He oughter hurry up, ’cause it am a long way and we’ve waited so many
days dat dere ain’t no sense ob waiting longer.”

Hark! What was that which fell upon his ear? It sounded like the
whistle which he had heard so many times when he and Harvey or Dick
Hamilton were calling to each other.

“Can’t be Harv,” he whispered, “’cause he am ten thousand miles away;
must be dat Dick is poking round here agin.”

This time there was no mistake. The signal was so clear and sharp that
Bunk turned sharply and stared at the point whence it came. He was
struck speechless when he saw the smiling Harvey walk toward him.

“Hello, Bunk! I’m glad to see you.”

For one moment the lad stood transfixed, and then overwhelmed by the
threatened calamity, as it seemed to him, he wheeled and made a dash
for the other side of the open space, where was the pile of rocks that
had served him as headquarters for a number of days. He had almost
reached them when to his consternation Dick Hamilton stepped forth and
confronted him. Escape was shut off.

“Well, my blooming idiot, what have you to say for yourself? I have a
great mind to kick you all the way from here to Mootsport. This is a
pretty chase you have given us; you aren’t worth half the trouble you
have caused.”

Bunk gaped, but did not attempt reply. Suddenly he turned to run in
the opposite direction, but Harvey had drawn nigh and was within arm’s
reach.

“Try it if you want to,” said Dick, pretending to raise his Winchester;
“I should like to prove how quick I can drop you.”

For the first time the lad found his tongue, though both listeners
noted the quaver in his voice:

“What yo’ want to shoot me fur, Dick? I hain’t done nuffin to yo’.”

Harvey was softer hearted than his brother.

“We are not going to hurt you, Bunk, but you deserve to have the worst
trouncing you ever received in your life. It seems to me you have been
a long time getting started for Africa.”

“I’m expecting de Perfesser, Harv, ebery minute; dis am de morning dat
we am to go.”

“Well,” said Dick, as he came still nearer, “that little trip is
indefinitely postponed.”

This declaration roused Bunk. He knew the brothers would interfere with
him if they gained the chance, and now they were doing so, for of a
surety the two were in accord.

“See yere, Dick, yo’ hain’t got nuffin to do wid dis; you ain’t my
boss.”

“Do you want me to prove that I am; here, Harv, hold my gun for a
minute while I show Bunk that I’m his boss.”

The words of revolt had roused the temper of the younger, who accepted
the weapon from Dick’s hand, quite content that he should chastise the
ungrateful lad.

But the dusky youth had no liking for a struggle of that nature. It
would have been fun for the young athlete, figuratively speaking, to
wipe the ground with him. Dick had demonstrated his ability in that
direction more than once. He doubled his fists and stepped in front of
Bunk.

“Put up your hands and we’ll settle the question in the next three
minutes.”

“I doan’ want nuffin to do wid yo’,” growled the negro, edging to one
side; “but I’d like to know if I hain’t de right to do as I blamed
please.”

“No; for you haven’t the sense of a one-eyed owl with the pip. Why
didn’t you ask permission of Mr. Hartley to go on this tomfool trip?”

“I didn’t hab de chance.”

“When you wrote that letter to Harv and told him you were in this part
of the country, you could have asked Mr. Hartley’s consent.”

“What’s dat?” demanded Bunk; “I didn’t tell yo’ nuffin; what yo’
talkin’ ’bout?”

Harvey interposed just then and showed the thick-witted lad how his
second letter gave the clue they needed, as proof of which the young
man was here on the ground, with his aeroplane but a few miles away.
When the absurd truth penetrated Bunk’s head his self-disgust was
amusing.

“Gee! I neber thunk ob dat; warn’t I a big fool?”

“You have never been anything else,” replied Dick; “when you get back
home I shall advise Mr. Hartley to tie a rope round your leg and fasten
the other end to a fence post; you are not fit to be trusted alone.”

Bunk did not resent these disrespectful allusions, but it galled him
sorely to see his life ambition snatched from him.

“I doan’ see why yo’ try to stop me.”

“We’re not trying, Bohunkus,--we’re _doing_ it,” replied Dick with
a meaning grin; “if you have any doubt remaining I shall be glad to
remove it.”

Bunk was in a torturing dilemma. He saw the one enrapturing dream of
his life, just on the verge of fulfillment, about to be dissipated
like a wreath of vapor. If Professor Morgan had kept his promise and
come to this meeting place at the usual hour, they would now be on
their way to the “land of hope.” And, as we know, he would have arrived
on time but for his change of plan which led him to stock up at the
little hotel in Dawson instead of doing so at another stage of the trip.

On the other hand a lion stood in the path in the person of Dick
Hamilton, who left no doubt of his purpose of checking the mad scheme
before the first real step could be taken. Bunk was well enough
acquainted with the young man to know he was in earnest and would carry
out every threat he had made. The lad began to wheedle. In a whimpering
voice he asked:

“What’s de use ob treating me dis way?”

“What way?” demanded the implacable Dick.

“Stopping my going to Afriky; I neber done nuffin to yo’, so why do yo’
use me so blamed mean?”

Dick was fast losing patience, but Harvey felt sympathy for the
misguided lad.

“Bunk, do you know that Professor Morgan is crazy?” he asked.

The negro started as if stung.

“Yo’ doan’ mean dat, Harv!”

“I surely do; he is as crazy as a June bug and has been for a long
time.”

Plainly Bunk was impressed. He stared at his friend and then
administered a sharp reproof by asking:

“Why didn’t yo’ tell me dat afore?”

“I ought to have done so, and am sorry I didn’t.”

“If you hadn’t been the champion idiot you would have found it out in
five minutes for yourself.”

It was Dick who said this.

“I knowed he acted mighty qu’ar sometimes and said cur’ous tings dat I
didn’t understand, but I neber thought he was out of his head.”

“Sometimes he has as much sense as you--”

“Umph! if he doesn’t have a hundred times as much,” interrupted Dick,
“he’s not only crazy but the biggest fool in Christendom. Now I suppose
you are ready to turn your back on him and go home with us.”

“Dunno ’bout dat.”

“Well, here comes the Professor, Dick, and you must settle with him,”
said Harvey.



CHAPTER XXIII.

MILO MORGAN’S WATERLOO.


The three caught sight of the helicopter in the same instant. The
strange machine was rushing through the air like a colossal eagle.
Professor Morgan had seen the group while some distance away and headed
for it, sailing at a height of less than two hundred feet and rapidly
descending. Instead of approaching in a direct line, he made a sweeping
circle and came down in the ordinary way by volplaning instead of
making use of his uplifter.

While these manœuvres were going on Dick Hamilton stepped across to his
brother and reached out his hand.

“Let me have the rifle, Harv; it looks as if we’re going to have lively
times.”

“Gee!” gasped the terrified Bunk; “yo’ ain’t gwine to shoot him!”

“That depends; if you try any tantrums I may have to plug you first.
Understand, Bunk, that you are to stand back and not open your mouth or
do a thing till I give you permission.”

“Yas, sir.”

Harvey would have made protest, for he was filled with shuddering
dread, but he realized that for the present he stood in the same
situation as Bunk. The big brother had stepped to the front and taken
charge of affairs. Moreover, he never forgot the truth that in dealing
with an insane person you must first impress him with the fact that you
do not hold him in the slightest fear. While as a rule it is not wise
to dispute or argue or try to turn him aside from his purpose by force,
occasions may arise like the present when no other course is possible.

Professor Morgan must have read the meaning of the sight that brought
him to the spot. He recognized Harvey before he stepped out of his
machine and his rage flamed up against him. Ignoring the other two, he
strode toward the young aviator with clenched fists and with murder in
his blazing eyes. In a thunderous bass he demanded:

“What business have you here? I’ll teach you--”

He had said this much and his long legs were still in motion, when
Dick leaped between them and holding his rifle at his hip with muzzle
leveled at the infuriated man, he commanded:

“Stop! if you touch him I’ll let daylight through you!”

The Professor halted and turned upon the other, his frame trembling
with surcharged fury.

“I’ll kill you!”

It is impossible to picture the frightful scene at this moment. Bunk
Johnson was silent and awed. Harvey was a little to one side and
in front of him, while in the other direction stood Dick, one foot
advanced as if ready to bound forward, his right hand inclosing the
lock of his gun, so that the forefinger could be seen crooked around
the trigger. The weapon was so pointed that only a slight pressure was
needed to send a bullet through the long gaunt body hardly a dozen feet
away.

“All right,” calmly replied Dick; “you can begin as soon as you please,
my distinguished friend, but before you reach me you will have to stop
ten spheres of lead and by that time I calculate I shall be able to
handle you without the need of my Winchester.”

Professor Morgan may have been “off his base,” but he could not fail
to read the meaning of those words, backed up by the pose of him who
uttered them. He stopped like a tiger baffled of his prey.

“Why don’t you shoot?” he hissed.

“You haven’t given me the excuse I’m waiting for; in the case of every
one of the seven men I have shot my explanation secured my acquittal
in the courts. I’m taking the same course with you.”

The sight of Harvey seemed to concentrate once more the lunatic’s
resentment against him. But for the presence of that Winchester and the
man behind the gun, he would have rended the youth, provided the latter
did not stand him off with his Colt.

“What business, I demand, have you to come here?”

“Please address your remarks to me,” said Dick; “I’m boss of this job
and that brother of mine over there hasn’t a word to say. He came up
here, I may tell you, to take Bohunkus Johnson home with him, and he’s
going to do it as sure as two and two make four. If you have any views
to express on the situation do so now or forever after hold your peace.”

Checked thus the Professor turned toward the paralyzed Bunk.

“Do you wish to go with me to Africa?”

“Yas, sir.”

“Have these people any right to stop you?”

“Yas, sir.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the Professor, with the first oath that his two
listeners had ever heard him utter, “have done with that damnable ‘Yas,
sir!’ I’m tired of hearing it.”

“Yas, sir,” replied Bunk, who must not be blamed, for really he hardly
knew whether he was standing on his head or feet.

“I have brought food to last our trip and everything is ready. Go to
your seat in the machine and we will start at once.”

“Yas, sir,” responded the negro lad, taking a step in the direction of
the monoplane, only to find that Dick Hamilton was as alert as before.

“Back with you! If you want to save what little brains you have don’t
take another step in that direction.”

Poor Bunk halted and stared in wretched perplexity at the young man.
Could Professor Morgan at that moment have caught his eye, he would
have controlled him absolutely through that mysterious hypnotic power
with which nature had endowed him. But it was Dick who now held him
enchained.

“Bunk, start for the lake and start a-running. When you get there, wait
for us. GO!”

The lad broke into a headlong dash, shouting at the top of his voice:

“Murder! fire! robbers! thieves! sabe me!”

And he kept it up until he crashed out of sight of the three who
remained behind. By a tremendous effort, Dick Hamilton maintained his
sternness of expression. As for Harvey, he did not try to restrain his
silent laughter. It was the most comical incident he had seen in many a
day. Professor Morgan glared and was mute. He seemed utterly at a loss
and unable to grasp the situation.

“My dear Professor,” said Dick addressing him, “don’t you think it is
about time you ended this call? We are growing a little weary of you.”

“Are you my master?” asked the lunatic in his sepulchral voice.

“It looks that way just now; if you have any doubt let’s test it.”

Harvey wished to ask one or two questions, but thought it would be
unwise. It was clear that the Professor hated him unspeakably for the
overthrow of his plans. No doubt, as has been said, he would have
leaped upon the youth but for that other young man who held a deadly
Winchester in his grasp. It should not be thought that Harvey felt any
personal fear. He had his revolver at command and would have used it
if necessary to save his own life, but he dreaded any such an issue
unspeakably.

“Professor,” said Dick in the even tone he had used from the first,
“why don’t you start for Africa? You won’t have Bunk for a companion
and you are gaining nothing by this delay. How long do you think you
will be on the road?”

Harvey could not prevent himself from saying:

“I hope the Professor won’t try it.”

“It’s easy to prevent him, if you wish it.”

“How?”

“Which is the most vulnerable part of his helicopter?”

“I am not sure; why?”

“It strikes me that the tank will answer best for a target; I can put
a bullet through that and let out all that wonderful fluid which is to
furnish his motive power. I rather think the Professor will have to
make a little longer delay, and in the meantime we can see that he is
placed in an asylum, where he belongs.”

“What’s the use of this dilly-dallying?” suddenly broke out Dick
Hamilton, whose patience was ended. “Professor, if you don’t board
that machine and go back to your workshop at Purvis, I’ll bore a hole
through it and then perforate you similarly. Step lively! Get a move on
you!”

“I’m not through with you!” warned the aviator, still quivering with
rage; “I go, but I return and will make you rue this hour!”

“By-by; I shall be ready for you whether you call by day or at night.”

With two bounds the lunatic reached his machine, sprang into his seat,
jerked the lever which controlled the uplifter, and began rising from
the earth. As soon as he was clear of his surroundings, he sailed away
at terrific speed, and it was noticeable that he headed south, which
was in the direction of his Purvis workshop.



CHAPTER XXIV.

A NEW RISK.


“Would I have shot Professor Morgan?” repeated Dick Hamilton in
recalling the incidents just related to his friends in camp. “Not for
the world. I should no more have fired at that poor fellow than I
should have slain--well, say that buck with the big antlers.”

“But you made frightful threats against him.”

“All pure bluff; I didn’t mean a word of it; you know that the first
step to secure mastery of a lunatic is to make him afraid of you.
I found it rather hard work in the Professor’s case, but think I
succeeded.”

“What would you have done if he had attacked me, as he started to do?”
asked Harvey.

“I knew you had your Colt and that each chamber was loaded, but before
you could have drawn and fired, I should have thrown away my rifle and
leaped upon him. His build and looks show he is a lithe, wiry fellow,
but I should have mastered him. It might have been a hard struggle and
some ugly blows would have been struck and they would have been a cause
of keen regret, for you can’t feel enmity against an irresponsible
person. But by keeping up the bluff I headed him off.”

This brief extract from the conversation of the group at the tent
by the lake was closed by the following curious remark of the elder
Hamilton:

“If it hadn’t all turned out as it did, I never should have appreciated
the wit and brightness of this handsome brother of mine. What he did
afterward was as much ahead of my performance as the United States of
America is ahead of every other nation in the world.”

Which remark compels us to return to the scene of the meeting near the
cavern where Bohunkus Johnson was waiting for the Professor to take him
on his aerial voyage to Africa.

Harvey was still laughing over the frenzied flight of the colored youth
when he suddenly sobered at the fear that the inventor would follow
with his machine and pick up Bunk before he could be prevented; but the
crazy aviator did not seem to have such a thought, for, as has been
said, he sailed straight for his workshop.

There was no reason for the brothers remaining and they started after
the lad, who was found by the canoe still bewildered and scared almost
out of his wits.

“Whar’s--whar’s de Perfesser?” he asked in a tremulous voice.

“Didn’t you see him going back to his shop in his monoplane?”

“I seed de machine but I didn’t know he war in it.”

“Suppose he had come here for you?” inquired Dick.

“He wouldn’t hab got me.”

“How would you have escaped him?”

“I’d crawled under de canoe and stuck my nose up on toder side where he
couldn’t see me, and breeved so soft he’d thought I was drownded.”

“That idea is as brilliant as most of the others you have formed.”

“Gee! if I’d knowed he was crazy I’d knocked his head off and den run
like blazes for hum,” said Bunk, anxious to placate his friends whom he
had so grievously offended. They understood his feelings and did not
press him. Dick motioned for the lad to take his place in the boat and
the two followed, the elder picking up the paddle and heading for the
tent where Val Hunter and Fred Wadsworth were awaiting them with much
curiosity.

“We saw the monoplane,” said the Southerner, “and wondered what was
going on. So this is Bunk, is it?” he added, gravely extending his
hand to the abashed youth, who mumbled something unintelligible. He was
made welcome and the brothers withheld all criticism in his presence.
Dick went so far as to remark that if Bunk had had any suspicion of the
lunacy of the man, events would have turned out very differently. This
delighted the fellow, who began to appreciate the invaluable kindness
that had been done him by Dick and Harvey.

He was eager to show his good will toward all by doing the chores
in camp. There was always more or less work of that nature, such as
gathering wood for the oven or furnace or whatever it might be called,
the dressing and cooking of fish, and the preparation of other articles
for dinner. While the lad was busy with these duties, the four young
men gathered in front of the tent, most of them smoking, and held a
conversation that was destined to have important results.

“Why did the Professor resent so fiercely your keeping Bunk from him?”
asked Wadsworth, “he couldn’t have placed much value on so slow-witted
a lad.”

“It was one of the idiosyncrasies of a disordered brain. Had he been
perfectly sane he would have cared little about him,” replied Dick.

“I have been thinking,” remarked Hunter, “that something ought to be
done to prevent that poor genius from committing suicide.”

“I think the same,” added Harvey.

“You feel sure he intends to try to cross the Atlantic?”

“He is certain to make the venture unless prevented.”

“How can you hold a madman in check?” asked Dick; “I almost regret that
I didn’t send a bullet through the tank of his machine.”

“It wouldn’t have taken him long to repair the fracture,” said Hunter.

“It would have delayed him several days, and in the meantime we could
lay the case before the authorities and ask them to interfere.”

“I doubt it,” replied Hunter thoughtfully; “I can’t see on what ground
the law could prevent him from going on with his experiments. Suppose
he proved--what I believe is true--that the chemical combination which
he has made will buoy his aeroplane two days or more and that he can
travel a hundred miles an hour, what right would any one have to
interfere with him? No; there must be other plans tried, or we shall
have to leave him to his fate.”

“What do you mean by other plans?” asked Harvey.

“I’ll be hanged if I know; can’t you think of something?”

Harvey made an evasive answer; for in truth, he was turning over a
scheme in his mind which he was afraid to make known. Dick, taking
advantage of his commanding position as an older brother, would likely
put a veto upon it. Besides, Harvey was not yet certain he would try it
even with their assent.

“Dick,” he said, “you mustn’t forget one thing.”

“What is that?”

“The threat made by the Professor; he warned you that he was not
through with you.”

“Another vaporing of a disordered brain,” replied Dick airily.

“None the less it must not be forgotten,” added Hunter; “I know of the
case of a lunatic in Mississippi who was offended by an old friend, and
who nursed his revenge for more than three years and then assassinated
his unsuspecting comrade of former days.”

“What can the Professor do to hurt us?”

Harvey recalled the incident of the Professor blowing up the
kidnappers’ cabin in eastern Pennsylvania.

“He manufactures and carries at times torpedoes of the most destructive
nature. Suppose he circles above us and drops a half dozen on our heads
or this tent.”

“In that case,” said Dick, “we should be justified in using our rifles
and I calculate we could do it before he got in his work.”

“He may wait till we are all asleep inside.”

“Which makes me regret the more that I didn’t put his machine out of
commission when I had the chance.”

“I don’t see that that would have done much good,” said Harvey, “for he
could steal up to the tent in the dark on foot.”

“Or might wait until the aeroplane was repaired and he had gotten a new
supply of fuel,” suggested Wadsworth.

“The only hope, as it strikes me,” observed Hunter, “is that in his
anxiety to be off on his trip he won’t delay to even up things with you
folks. But, as I told you, my knowledge of lunatics points the other
way.”

“It looks as if we shall have a call from our distinguished friend,”
said Wadsworth, who, however did not seem to be much disturbed over the
prospect.

“What do you advise?” asked Dick.

“There are two or three things we might do. Suppose we hang round here
this afternoon, taking turns in playing chess, and not forgetting to
keep a lookout for squalls. If the gentleman comes booming down this
way, we can draw ourselves up in line and receive him with a proper
military salute. We have Colts and a Winchester repeater, and if we all
let fly together one or two of the bullets ought to find the bull’s
eye, and we can blaze away before he is near enough to drop any of his
pills of dynamite.”

Although none noticed the fact, Harvey Hamilton took no further part in
the conversation. He was pondering over the scheme that came into his
mind some time before.

“He is too cunning to offer such an opening; I gave him so good a scare
with my little gun that he doesn’t want to run against it.”

“What do you think he will do?” asked Wadsworth.

“I haven’t much fear of him; he was so cowed that he is likely to give
me a wide berth.”

“There’s where you make a mistake,” said Hunter; “we are not through
with him yet; if we do not receive a call from him between now and
to-morrow morning, I shall miss my guess.”

At this point in the conversation Harvey Hamilton rose to his feet and
yawned.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you for awhile.”

“Where are you going?” asked his brother.

“I shall walk to the home of Aunt Hep and call upon her and Miss
Harbor.”

“Hadn’t you better tarry till after our dinner?”

“I shall be in time to get a meal there that’s worth eating,” replied
Harvey with a smile; “you needn’t wait for me.”

“I don’t think we shall after _that_,” replied his brother; “if you
aren’t more courteous you won’t get any supper.”

“Aunt Hep will be charmed to have me stay there,” remarked Harvey, who
sauntered off, with never a thought on the part of the three that he
was hiding his real purpose in thus leaving them for an indefinite time.

So afraid was Harvey that his errand would be suspected that he
loitered until well beyond sight of his friends, when he hurried his
pace. He arrived before the women had dinner ready and it need hardly
be said they were glad to see him. In their brief acquaintance, and
especially because of their memorable ride in the biplane, he had won
his way to their regard.

“I’m going home to-morrow,” said Ann Harbor.

“Why not wait a bit longer?” asked Harvey.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to coax her to do,” said her relative,
“but when she takes it into her head to leave there’s no holding her.”

“I told paw I should not be gone long and he’ll be real mad if I don’t
git back pretty soon.”

“How would you like to have me take you in my airship?”

The girl’s eyes sparkled.

“Oh that would be splendid; will you do it?”

“I think I may safely promise that I can give you the ride possibly
to-morrow, and if not then by the next day at the latest.”

“I’ll wait,” she said, aquiver with delight; “I was pretty well scared
when we had our ride, but you managed everything so well that I ain’t
frightened the least bit.”

“Why should you be? Maybe Aunt Hep will go with us.”

“La sakes; I’ve been thanking the Lord ever since that my neck wasn’t
broke and I’ll never tempt Providence that way again. You will spend
the rest of the day with us?”

“No,” replied Dick; “I can’t even wait for dinner, though if I get back
in time I shall be glad to have a meal with you.”



CHAPTER XXV.

“I’LL DO IT!”


Harvey Hamilton walked out to where his aeroplane was waiting, and
under the eyes of Ann Harbor and her aunt set the propeller revolving,
mounted his seat, called a cheery good-bye and sped away in the
direction of Dawson. He had become so familiar with the section that
there was no uncertainty in his course. He was not heading for the
town, but veered slightly to one side, and when he caught sight of the
workshop of Professor Milo Morgan, he aimed as straight for it as an
arrow driven from a bow.

He was yet some distance off when he observed the man in front of his
building, bending over his helicopter as if attending to some repair
of the machinery. When the noise of the approaching biplane fell upon
his ear, he straightened up, turned around and stared in amazement.
He stood as rigid as a statue, never once removing his gaze from the
biplane, which lightly touched the ground, scooted a few rods and came
to a standstill less than fifty feet from where he was scrutinizing it,
and the young aviator.

Harvey knew the critical moment had come. While stepping to the ground,
he drew his revolver from his hip pocket, examined it for a moment and
then shoved it back in place. This was a little by-play meant to warn
the Professor that his visitor owned a deadly weapon and held it at
instant command. It is to be noted that the man carried nothing of the
kind. His skill as a chemist gave him more frightful agents, though
he could not have called them into play, as the circumstances stood,
before the youth would anticipate him.

Harvey faced him with a smile and walked forward.

“Good morning, Professor; may I have a little talk with you?”

“Have you come to shoot me?” asked the man, with a terrible glare. He
could not forget his recent experience at the cavern, when he must have
believed he stood on the very edge of death.

“That depends upon yourself,” was the reply in the same pleasant voice;
“I call upon you as a friend, but if you wish me to be an enemy I am
prepared.”

“What do you want?”

Throughout the remarkable interview which followed, neither sat down,
and Harvey held his place a dozen paces away. This was prudent, for it
was uncertain what the crank might attempt. So long as he was held off
he could do no harm, for Harvey would forestall his slightest movement.
The venomous hatred shown by him toward the youth because of his
interference warned the latter to be on the alert, especially during
the opening moments of their talk.

“I have a few words to say to you, Professor; are you willing to
listen?”

“Say what you please, but if you had a grain of sense you would know
better than to place yourself in my power.”

“I haven’t placed myself in your power and don’t intend to do so; don’t
forget that. I wish to speak about your trip across the Atlantic.”

“Well?”

“It is too bad that Bohunkus was prevented from going with you, but you
will admit that he has no right to leave home without the permission of
Mr. Hartley, with whom he lives.”

“What has _he_ got to do with it?” demanded the Professor, in a voice
that sounded like the growl of a tiger.

“He is the master of Bohunkus; if you will get his consent, the colored
lad will accompany you to Africa; nobody else will object.”

“Then why did you and that fellow with you hold him back?” asked the
Professor with an ominous gleam of his burning eyes.

“I have just told you the reason; we ought to have explained and I am
sorry we forgot to do so. If you will sail down to Mootsport, see Mr.
Hartley and persuade him to say yes, there will be no more trouble.”

“I shan’t do any such thing; I don’t care about the boy, only it made
me mad to have you and the other scoundrel try to prevent my doing as I
pleased.”

“We were rough,--I’ll admit it, and I beg to apologize.”

Harvey was striving his hardest to win the good-will of the lunatic.
Having impressed him with the fact that he did not hold him in fear,
the young aviator was striving to placate and soothe him.

“Now,” continued the caller, “every one must admit that you have made
one or two of the most wonderful inventions of the century. Are you
sure you can sail across the Atlantic with your machine?”

“Humph!” snorted the Professor, “you know I can; why do you ask such a
question?”

“Suppose when you are well out over the ocean you run into a tempest or
hurricane?”

“It will take me less than two days to cross and I can read the weather
for that long; I know better than to run such a risk.”

“Good! but you know the weather probabilities sent out by the
government are not reliable far out at sea.”

“I’m not depending on the government; I shall read the signs myself.”

“Good again! But suppose some part of your machinery breaks down.”

“It won’t break down; it is made too well and has been tested too
often.”

“Or that that new kind of petrol or fluid should run short, owing to
unexpected delays?”

“It won’t run short; I shall take enough to carry me to the other side
and half way back without renewal. You talk like an idiot.”

“It is hard, Professor, to grasp your ideas, which stamp you as the
equal of Edison in some respects. But may I offer a suggestion?”

This was said with so much deference that the inventor would have had
to be a much more pronounced crank not to have been pleased. He growled:

“I’m listening; sometimes a fool can say something that a wise man
should heed.”

“I think you have hit it. What I wish to suggest is that before you
start eastward you give your machine a decisive test.”

“I have done so.”

“But only for short distances; you have traveled two or three hundred
miles and stayed in the air for ten or twelve hours. You know you must
do a good deal better than that in order to reach the other side of the
Atlantic.”

“Don’t you suppose I know all that and am prepared for it?”

“You will pardon me, Professor, but after you left us this morning I
thought a good deal about you and your purpose. I became worried and
could not help feeling that you were running too much risk when you
headed for Europe.”

“That’s because you don’t know anything about it.”

“I want to be certain that you will be safe; you are too valuable a man
to throw away your life as so many aviators have done within the last
year.”

“Haven’t I told you I shall not throw away my life?”

While this seemingly pointless conversation was going on, Harvey
Hamilton studied his man. He noted the tones of his voice and the
expression of his face, so far as the heavy, grizzled beard would
permit. The heart of the youth was filled with a kindling hope at the
evidence that the Professor was mellowing. Harvey had made a favorable
impression and he followed it up with rare skill.

“You say you are absolutely certain that when you start you will reach
the other side of the Atlantic without mishap?”

“There is not the slightest doubt. I understand my machine better than
you do.”

“Not only that but a good many other facts better than I. I am so
interested in you that I am going to ask a great favor.”

“What’s that?”

“That before you start to sail almost three thousand miles eastward,
you travel the same distance westward.”

The piercing eyes opened so wide that it was clear the Professor did
not catch the full meaning of the remark.

“Travel westward,” he repeated, as if to himself; “what are you saying?”

“It is about three thousand miles from where we stand to the Pacific
Ocean; why not sail to that coast and return? If you succeed--as of
course you must--no one can doubt that you will make the ocean voyage
in safety.”

The Professor still stared and Harvey elaborated his scheme.

“All the way from here to San Francisco, or any part of the Pacific
coast, you will travel over land. Of course there will be some rivers,
perhaps lakes and the Rocky Mountains to cross, but if any slip occurs
you can come down without difficulty. On your return you will have the
same thing over again. Don’t you see what an admirable training it will
be?”

The response to this question fairly took away Harvey’s breath.

“Will you go with me?”

The young aviator cleverly parried the stroke. Assuming a coy
expression he laughed:

“This is so sudden, Professor.”

Then he removed his eyes from the face of the man and looked down to
the ground as if considering the question.

“Wouldn’t that be glorious? Will you really let me go with you?”

“I’ll start this minute if you will be my companion.”

“Confound it!” exclaimed Harvey impatiently, as if angered at the
thought; “that brother of mine--the fellow with the Winchester who
treated you so mean--will be sure to put in his oar. He is very fond
of using that rifle of his and he shoots mighty straight.”

“What of that? We can rise far beyond range of his weapon.”

“And then, there are my father and mother; I don’t want the governor to
have an excuse for bringing out that hickory gad in the woodshed.”

“Why will he object?”

“You know how a good many fathers are; they seem to enjoy butting in
and stopping the fun of their boys. I shall have to skip down home and
get father’s consent before I dare start. I’m awfully obliged to you,
Professor, but fear I shall have to wait till you come back from the
Pacific coast. How easy it will be for me then to go to the governor
and remind him that since you have made the six thousand mile journey
safely, he can’t refuse to let me go with you across the Atlantic.
That’s the scheme, Professor; what do you say to it?”

Professor Morgan stood for a moment in deep thought. Suddenly he raised
his head and said with startling earnestness:

“_I’ll do it!_”



CHAPTER XXVI.

THE END OF THE DRAGON.


“Give me your hand on that!” exclaimed Harvey Hamilton, impulsively,
stepping forward. Professor Morgan met him half way, for he had
been completely won over. The change of mood on his part was almost
incredible. The young aviator had gained a remarkable victory.

“I have been so delayed,” said the elder, “that I’m not willing to lose
another minute.”

“Why should you? I shall give myself the pleasure of seeing you start
and wishing you the best of luck.”

The inventor’s delight was childish. He chuckled and boasted of the
sensation he would cause when, at the end of a week, he returned from
the Pacific coast, and picking up Harvey Hamilton skim away for the
other side of the Atlantic.

“And you will go with me sure, young man?” he asked, after seating
himself in his monoplane, looking wistfully down upon him.

“Just as sure as I secure my father’s consent,--you may depend on
that.”

“I shan’t forget it.”

Seated at the front the Professor glanced sharply around. The package
of supplies which he had gathered at the hotel in Dawson was secured on
the seat behind him, and the controls which governed the uplifter, the
searchlight, the rudders and motor were found in perfect trim. Nothing
remained to be done except to call a cheery good-bye to the friend whom
only a little while before he looked upon as his most execrated enemy.
Harvey swung his cap and never were more hearty good wishes shouted to
a voyager than he sent after the inventor, who turned his monoplane
westward, as if the course was as familiar to him as that between
Purvis and the points immediately surrounding it.

The young aviator stood watching the helicopter as it sped away, until
it became only a flickering speck in the distance and then faded from
sight.

“Poor man!” sighed Harvey, “I wonder if I shall ever see him again.”

He never did. Somewhere in those impressive solitudes, Professor Milo
Morgan and his Dragon of the Skies met their fate. On that summer day
in 1910, when he steered the astonishing product of his brain toward
the setting sun, he passed into the great unknown, from which he will
never return. He was only one of the martyrs whose numbers must be
added to before the problem of successful aviation will be solved.

Now that he had taken himself out of the affairs of Harvey Hamilton the
latter stood for a long time, wondering, speculating, hoping, and yet
fearing what the end of it all was to be. The inventor in his haste had
not even paused to close the door of his workshop. Harvey gently shut
it, but observing no lock, he walked to his biplane and a few minutes
later was at the home of Aunt Hep, where he had dinner with her and
Ann. When he had told his story of the departure of Professor Morgan he
made a proposal.

“I want to surprise your brother, of the Washington Hotel at Dawson, by
taking both of you with me. This you know will be only a call, and I
can bring Ann back to finish her visit.”

“I never can think of it,” protested the elder lady.

“There’s no need of thinking of it; come on.”

The good woman shook her head and remained obdurate, but in the end she
yielded; the two passengers took their seats, and if there was ever an
astounded man it was the landlord, when the aeroplane settled to rest
in front of his hotel, and springing lightly to the ground, the young
aviator helped out the ladies.

Not only was the man amazed, but he was indignant. He declared that
the two had taken their lives in their hands and done the most tomfool
thing ever known. Ann’s declaration that she intended to return with
her aunt by the same vehicle that had brought them thither was met by
an emphatic refusal. The daughter was forbidden ever to repeat the
act, and though she pleaded and whimpered, she was ordered into the
house, there to stay until her “paw” allowed her to step outside.
Harvey had made a mistake in counting upon the consent of the parent.
So, perforce, he bade Ann good-bye and returned with her aunt, who was
safely deposited at her own door.

His next proceeding was to sail to the camp on the shore of the lake,
and rejoin brother Dick, Hunter, Wadsworth and Bohunkus Johnson, who as
may be supposed were consumed with curiosity to learn what the flight
of the monoplane and its owner meant. They had seen it heading to the
westward and could not guess the explanation. They soon had the story
from Harvey, who blushed at the compliments he received.

“I’ll admit that you are ten times wiser than your big brother,” said
Dick; “for you did the only thing that could avert the gravest peril.”

“There can be no question as to that,” assented Hunter; “the Professor
was boiling with rage and revenge and he would have done terrible
things with those torpedoes of his.”

“But he is out of the running now,” commented Wadsworth.

“I wonder,” continued Dick, “that he did not attack you the minute you
came within reach.”

“I think he would have done so had he not seen I was armed. I took care
that he should know that. You had already given him a good scare with
your Winchester and he had no liking for my smaller weapon. I fell in
with his views or seemed to, and he was won over. I gave him my promise
that when he returned from the Pacific coast I should go with him
across the Atlantic, provided father and mother consented.”

“A mighty safe promise to make.”

“Am yo’ gwine to take dat trip to Afriky?” asked the grieved Bunk.

“Yes, when I can gain the permission of my parents.”

“How ’bout _me_?”

“It’s the same with you; if Mr. Hartley says yes, you can go with the
Professor.”

“But yo’ told me he’s crazy; how ’bout _dat_?”

“So he is; do you think my people will allow me to do as you did?”

The truth filtered through the brain of the colored youth. He held his
peace and listened to what the others said.

The most natural sequence of the incidents narrated was that since none
of the three had ever ridden in a monoplane, they should decide to
indulge in the experience. Dick Hamilton, without the least hesitation,
climbed into the rear seat and settling into position with his hands
grasping the supports, called upon his brother:

“Let her went!”

Bunk assisted in starting in the usual fashion by setting the propeller
revolving and holding the machine back until the “auspicious” moment,
while the three who stayed behind watched the flight, which proved more
thrilling than even Harvey expected. When only a few hundred yards away
and before much of a height was reached, the biplane dived into an
aerial pocket or maelstrom, which came within a hair of making it turn
turtle. The young aviator had no thought of anything of the kind, and
for the instant was unprepared. The huge wings flapped like those of a
mortally wounded bird, it reared and then dipped on the right, until in
a twinkling it stood almost vertical. The spectators held their breath,
certain that a frightful tragedy was going on before their eyes. Dick
Hamilton believed the same, and held on as he had done many a time
when executing the giant swing in the gymnasium. Instinctively he
swung as far as he could to the left; Harvey did the same, raising the
right ailerons and lowering the left, and drove ahead. It was the only
thing that could save them. As it was, when the machine shot through
the furious swirl into the calmer stratum beyond, it still wavered,
shook and leaned over so far that several minutes passed before it was
brought back to its horizontal position.

Harvey glanced over his shoulder at his brother, who smiled back, but
his face was as white as a sheet and he decisively shook his head. He
did not like it and longed to be back on firm ground. He did not shout,
but had the good sense to know that Harvey understood the situation
better than he and would meet it as best he could.

In its descent the biplane had hardly touched the earth and was still
running when Dick made a flying leap from his seat.

“Thank the Lord!” he exclaimed; “I’m with ye once again. No more for
me!”

His friends laughed and rallied him. But he was insistent.

“Terra firma is good enough for me; you may try to reach heaven before
your time, but I’m through.”

Then Wadsworth suggested that Hunter should take the next turn. The
Southerner couldn’t rob his friend of the honor; he would wait until
his comrade had enjoyed the treat. In the end, though, Harvey and even
Bunk joined in urging them to accept Harvey’s invitation, they sturdily
refused, because of what they had witnessed a few minutes before.

Harvey stayed through the next day in camp, hoping to overcome the
fears of the two, but did not succeed. Even Dick held out and the young
aviator ceased his urgings. He and Bunk went on several tramps and had
some hours of fine fishing. Then they bade their friends good-bye and
headed southward down the Hudson. They replenished their gasoline and
oil at Albany, again at Poughkeepsie, as Glenn Curtiss had done before
them, and by easy stages finally landed at their home near Mootsport.
Harvey had sent a telegram from Albany to his father giving him the
news of the rescue of Bunk, so the arrival of the couple was expected.

Bunk was distrustful as to the reception that awaited him, but Mr.
Hartley was as sensible as his neighbor and did not utter a word
of reproof. They understood the slow-witted lad better than he did
himself.

And here it is well to close our story. Harvey and Bunk made other
excursions, some of which were attended by interesting experiences; but
enough has been told. Throughout the weeks that followed all waited
anxiously for news of Professor Morgan and his helicopter, but as has
been said none ever came and as the months passed all doubt of his
tragic fate was removed.

Dick Hamilton returned to Yale in due course, but secured a short leave
for a visit to the Adirondacks early in October. His heart was set upon
procuring those magnificent antlers which had been within his grasp
more than once. He hunted persistently under the lead of Guide Akers,
but was obliged to go back to the university disappointed. In his
letter making this known to his father he said:

“I have established one astonishing fact in natural history: the deer
and other big game in Maine, the Adirondacks and elsewhere know exactly
when the close season ends and they govern themselves accordingly. That
buck last summer continually got in front of me, was as tantalizing
as he could be even to the extent of grinning at me, knowing all the
time that I daresn’t harm a hair of his hide. Now that it is the open
season, you might run a fine tooth comb from one end of Essex County
to the other without bringing him to light. If I stay here until
November 1, he will walk out of the woods at sunrise, halt twenty paces
away and grin at me again. But let him beware: he may tempt me too
far.”



CHAPTER XXVII.

BRAVE MEN ALOFT.


One cannot help speculating upon the fascinating subject of aviation.
Its progress during the past few years, the advancements of every day
and the certainties near at hand lead us to wonder what kind of airship
will sail down the invisible highways of the sky in the future. Danger
incites rather than deters man from attempts to enter the seemingly
forbidden field. Many years ago a philosopher remarked that if a train
were advertised to make the run from New York to Philadelphia in twenty
minutes, but that it could carry only fifty passengers, of whom one
half were absolutely certain to be killed on every trip, not a seat
would be vacant when the start was made.

On the last day of the year 1910, Arch Hoxsey at Los Angeles, and
John B. Moisant at New Orleans, two of the most daring and successful
aviators, plunged to death while giving an exhibition of their
wonderful skill. This brought the death list for the year up to forty,
and more than likely ere these lines are read the fatalities will be
increased. None the less the development of the aeroplane will go on:
With what result?

Well within the present decade aeroplanes will easily fly from the
Atlantic to the Pacific; express and mail carriers will deliver quickly
their packages to the corners of the earth; a speed of two hundred
miles an hour will be attained, so that a man may take breakfast in New
York and on the following morning do the same in London or Paris. An
automatic stability device will render accidents well nigh impossible;
aeroplanes will become as numerous and cheaper than automobiles;
merchants and day toilers will have their domestic machines in which
they will go to and return from their places of business; very soon the
electric aeroplanes will be operated by wireless transmission of power,
and will become active in war, both as scouts for the army and navy,
and through their appalling power of destruction compel nations to
remain at peace with one another.

No one is so well qualified to guess the near possibilities of aviation
as those who have already been successful in that field.

“The air is the only element conquered by man,” said Glenn Curtiss,
“in which the speed promises to be limitless. The improvements that
are being made daily will bring a marvelous increase in swiftness
of travel. I have no doubt that two hundred miles an hour will be as
common as is one-fourth of that rate on our railways.

“This development will be wonderfully assisted by the army and navy.
The aeroplane will be a decisive factor in warfare. Not only will it
be invaluable for scouting purposes and for carrying messages back
and forth, but it will be an awful engine of destruction. A fleet of
aeroplanes could annihilate New York in a day. Soaring in the sky, safe
beyond rifle or artillery range, it could sound the last trump for the
proudest and most populous city in the world.

“Beyond scout duty I do not think the machines would be of much help to
the navy, but when the battleships attack a fortified city, they could
send aloft a score or more of aeroplanes which could blow all the forts
to fragments with dynamite.”

It is the belief of Hubert Latham that both the monoplane and the
biplane will exist in types of the airship of the future. He says that
each embodies essentials that are lacking in the other and that are
necessary for the proper navigation of the air.

“The aeroplane is perfected even more than people think,” said he. “I
could fly practically to any place that a train can go and to many
places that it cannot go. If a good prize were offered I should agree
to cross from Los Angeles to New York. The airship of the future will
be commercialized. It will practically do all of the express, mail and
parcels post business. It will be the touring car par excellence for
those who wish to see the world. It is being simplified and with an
automatic stability device which I think is coming rapidly, it will be
every man’s machine. They do not cost much and this will be greatly
reduced during the next few years. It will make a better race of men
and women when they fly. They will be healthier and will have a clearer
idea of things as they are. I do not look forward to any great change
in the type of machines and think the engine and the stability device
will absorb the attention of the inventors and manufacturers of the
future.”

As might be supposed, Eugene Ely, the first aviator who ever flew
from a man-of-war, has decided ideas of the coming aeroplane. He does
not believe the airship will be very effective in dropping bombs on
warships, but no one can imagine its terrible power for destructiveness
for armies and cities. Mr. Ely said:

“I can carry about 350 pounds of the highest explosive known to mankind
at present. Imagine that I was successful in dropping this explosive
on a warship of the enemy. What would happen? Nothing. But listen to
this. In Hampton Roads we tried the experiment of placing 350 pounds
of nitro-glycerine against the armored side of the turret of the
_Puritan_. It was set off and it was discovered that not even the
sighting mechanism of the turret had been injured. So you see that even
if we were successful in hitting our mark we could do little damage.
But imagine this great explosive dropped into the midst of a regiment
of soldiers. They would be annihilated in a second. If it was dropped
on the roof of a skyscraper in a city, what would happen? It would be
demolished in a trice. So cities are at the mercy of an army equipped
with aeroplanes, and the development will be along this line.”

“I have seen trials of wireless transmission of electricity and I
firmly believe that the future will see aeroplanes operated by this
wireless transmission of current, and then the greatest problem of
all, the engine, will be solved. With electric motors we could attain
a speed which sounds foolish. We could get a lifting power from the
speed which would carry hundreds of pounds. The machines would be made
smaller and if they had folding wings they would be no longer than
the ordinary business man’s automobile. With these machines he could
annihilate distance and a friend living a hundred miles away would be
his next-door neighbor.

“The perfection of the flying machine will mean a greater rural
population, as has the automobile. It will be possible and comfortable
to live a hundred miles from the city and observe business hours there.”

P. O. Parmalee, who drove the Baby Wright Flyer at Los Angeles, is
certain that the coming aeroplane will do all express, scouting, mail
carrying and will even transport light freight.

“With my Wright machine I can take up 500 pounds beside myself, and go
anywhere that I want to. If I double the engine capacity of my machine
and double the wing space I can carry 2500 pounds, so I think that the
future aeroplane will be a larger affair for commerce and a smaller
one for pleasure and touring. There will probably be some sort of wing
adjustment which will enable the flyer to start from the ground with
a wide wing area, and after he has attained his height and speed to
reduce gradually the wing area and make greater speed, and when he
desires to alight extend his wing area to its limit and land easily.

“I predict that within a year a great deal of the government mail,
parcels post and express matter will be carried to out-of-the-way
places by aeroplane. Motors are being perfected every day, and steering
and stability devices are becoming better, so that the everyday man
can soon fly a machine as easily as he can steer an automobile. Speed
will be a great factor in the aeroplane of the future. The Baby Wright,
which was wrecked at Belmont Park, was the fastest thing that man ever
flew in. It made ninety miles an hour and could do better. The matter
of speed has been solved for the ordinary use of an aeroplane. It is to
the lightning service required by mail contracts that attention is now
directed.”

James Radley, the English aviator, is also optimistic of the future. He
says that no one can foretell the astounding developments in aviation
that are near at hand. He believes they will be along the lines now
laid down, that is, the monoplane and biplane. “I can only guess,”
said he, “the improvements that will come in motors and steering. The
machines are able to accomplish much more than has been asked of them
so far. I do not think folding wings will ever be used, since the trend
is toward simplicity instead of complicated contrivances. Automatic
stability will be attained and it will bring the solution of the
greatest problem that confronts amateurs. Within three years aeroplanes
will become as common as automobiles.”

An unexpected field for their use was brought to light at the aviation
meet at Los Angeles in January, 1911, and was suggested by the great
flight made by Eugene Ely to the United States cruiser _Pennsylvania_.
This proved that hundreds of lives can be saved every year by the use
of aeroplanes at life-saving stations or at government lighthouses.
Multitudes have been lost because ships have been stranded on sandbars
or rocks, where the inhabitants of towns had no way to get a line far
out to them. An aeroplane could run ten or fifteen miles in a few
minutes carrying a reel of cord from shore and the waves would be
easily cheated of their prey.

As proof of this claim the case of the _Czarina_ may be quoted. Early
in 1910, that great ship went on the bar at Coos Bay, and forty-seven
lives were lost. The air was calm and the sun shone out, but the
enormous swell pounded several lighthouse boats to pieces and death won
its appalling victory in the presence of thousands on the shore who
were helpless to raise a hand to save them. A biplane could easily have
gone out to the vessel, carrying cords which would have been the means
of putting a breeches buoy into operation. Nautical men say that if
the use of aeroplanes in lighthouses or life-saving stations is begun
hundreds of lives will be saved every year.

Wilbur Wright, than whom no higher authority in aviation lives, thinks
the world has grown too optimistic about the possibilities of travel by
aeroplane. He said in Washington in January, 1911:

“It will be nearer two thousand years than two when we shall be able
to fly from Washington to New York in an aeroplane in two hours. It
is almost impossible to estimate the speed that can be attained by a
flying machine. I would undertake to build a machine that could fly at
the rate of a hundred miles an hour, but I would not want to operate
it. Many years will elapse before the aeroplane will be used for
transportation. It cannot supply the requirements that are furnished by
railroads. Its greatest use lies in the field of sports and military
operations. Flying through the air is a great sport and no more
dangerous than automobiling.

“The tragic deaths of Hoxsey and Moisant, I presume, may retard the
development of the aeroplane to some extent, but it will go forward.
Public sentiment and laws will minimize the danger of the flying
machine. These influences will check the recklessness of aviation.”

And now let us wait and see to what extent these prophecies will be
fulfilled.


THE END.



TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:


  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or alternate spelling has been retained from the original.





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