Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator: or, In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune

CHAPTER XVIII
AN ALL-NIGHT CAPTIVITY

Dave sank down in his soft bed of bags and straw, unable to move hand or foot.

The men who had made him a helpless prisoner had done their work well. Dave could not use a muscle. As to dislodging the gag or shouting, that seemed entirely out of the question.

The youth had lots of time to think. He blinked up at the stars, kept his ears on the alert, and waited for further developments.

“There’s something to Hiram’s warning, sure enough,” he reflected. “If this is the work of Jerry Dawson, he must be a pretty desperate fellow.”

Then Dave began to worry. The last overheard words of his captors were enlightening. They had spoken as if it was fully intended to get him away from his present pleasant employment and keep him away from it. What affected Dave most seriously, however, was the hint of the two men that they had some evil designs against the Aegis.

“I think I guess it out,” mused Dave, very much wrought up mentally. “Jerry Dawson and his father are bent on getting me out of the way, and at the same time getting even with Mr. King, as they call it. I don’t see what they hope to gain. Mr. King wouldn’t take Jerry back in his employ in a thousand years, and they wouldn’t dare to do me any real harm. It would cost them money to have me shut up anywhere for any length of time, and the Dawsons haven’t got any too much of that. Besides, they won’t hold me long,” declared Dave doughtily, “if I get a chance to slip them.”

Dave counted the minutes, quite curious as well as anxious to find out what the next step in the programme would be. Then he heard voices approaching.

“They’re coming back,” decided Dave, “no,” he corrected himself, “those are not their voices.”

“Unhitch him, Jared,” spoke unfamiliar tones.

“All right,” responded a boyish voice. “Straight for home, father?”

“Yes, we’ll be late as it is, and mother will be uneasy. Give me the lines. I’ll drive.”

Two persons, apparently father and son, lifted themselves up into the front seat of the wagon, and the horse started up.

“That’s queer,” ruminated Dave, “mighty queer. Why, they don’t act as if they cared if I was smothering or already smothered. Why don’t they wait for the two men who put me in this awful fix?”

The wagon crossed a patch of open ground. Then a smooth country road was reached and the horse jogged along his way.

“Pretty good price for the stuff you got, wasn’t it, father?” asked the boy.

“Yes, these shows pay us well,” was the response.

“Oh, I’m nobody and nothing, it seems,” thought Dave. “Wish I had the use of my tongue for about two minutes. I’d ask these people what they intend to do with me. They don’t appear like very bloodthirsty fellows. Maybe, though, they’re hired to dump me into the first river they come to, and don’t mind it so long as they get the money.”

Not a word was spoken by either father or son that showed the least interest on their part in their helpless passenger. Finally the boy said:

“It’s going to rain, father. I felt a sprinkle just then.”

“Well, we’ll be home in ten minutes.”

Dave had noticed that the sky had clouded up. A few drops of rain spattered his face. Then the horse took a turn, entered a farm yard, and was halted.

“You go into the house, father,” said the boy. “I’ll put up the horse.”

“All right, give him his feed, and say, Jared, you needn’t bother pulling the wagon in.”

“Just as you say, father.”

“Throw a hay tarpaulin over the box, so the bags won’t get soaked, that’s all.”

“The mischief!” reflected Dave. “Are they thinking of leaving me out in a rainstorm all night?”

Apparently this was just what the farmer boy was going to do. He unhitched the horse and led him into the stable. Then he came out carrying a great cover, whistling carelessly. He gave the tarpaulin a whirl, and it flopped over the box of the wagon, shutting Dave in snugly. Then, as there came a dash of rain, the boy ran for the house, and Dave could hear him run up a pair of steps and slam a door after him.

“Well!”

Dave nearly exploded with wonder, dismay and disgust. He wrenched at his bonds, and gave it up. He tried to bite the gag in his mouth free, and abandoned that futile attempt also.

“I’m certainly booked for a spell right where I am,” decided Dave. “Maybe those two fellows who captured me are to come here to get me or perhaps when the farmer and his son get their supper they’ll come out and move me somewhere else.”

Nothing of the kind, however, happened. All Dave could do was to rest snugly in one position and listen to the rain patter down on the protecting tarpaulin. An hour went by very slowly. Once in a while Dave could catch the echo of a voice singing inside the farm house. Finally he heard some windows shut down. Then everything became still. He knew now that the people in the house had gone to bed.

Dave got tired of listening to the ceaseless piping of the crickets in the grass and the croaking of the frogs in a pond near by.

“I might just as well try to go to sleep myself, too,” he told himself. “If I don’t, I’ll be in no shape for the big day to-morrow.”

There Dave faltered, with a pang that sent his heart way down into his shoes. To-morrow! It would an anxious day for him, if he was kept in captivity. And Mr. King! Dave writhed as he feared the worst.

He quieted himself finally by thinking out a new theory, and this made him feel somewhat hopeful as to himself.

“There’s been a miss in the plans of those scoundrels,” flashed into his mind. “It’s probable, it’s possible, yes, that’s it, I’ll bet!” decided Dave.

He felt more patient and satisfied now. The boy concluded that the two men who had captured him had picked out the wrong white horse. There had been more of that color among those hitched near the freight gate at the aviation grounds.

“They put me in the wrong wagon,” thought Dave, “and here I am. What will they do when they learn of their terrific blunder?”

Dave chuckled over this. If it had not been for his active fears as to some designs against Mr. King and the Aegis, Dave would have felt quite jubilant.

“It will be all right in the morning,” he tried to believe, and finally went to sleep.

The loud barking of a dog aroused our hero. The tarpaulin was shaking, and as its edges flapped about Dave could tell that it was broad daylight.

“Here, Tige, what are you up to?” shouted a familiar voice.

It was that of the farmer boy who had covered Dave up in the wagon box the evening previous.

Dave could trace the movements of the dog, probably just released from his kennel by his early rising young master doing his chores about the barn yard. The animal barked unceasingly, circled the wagon and tore at the dangling ends of the tarpaulin. Dave could hear the paws of the dog as in his excitement he tried to clamber up into the vehicle.

“What is it, Tige – a cat under there?” spoke the farm boy, his voice apparently nearer.

Just then, under the dog’s pulling, the tarpaulin slid clear off to the ground. Dave was dazzled by a blinding glare of sunlight.

The farmer boy sprang upon a wheel hub and looked down into the wagon box, the dog clawing and panting at his heels. The eyes of the amazed lad fell upon Dave.

“For goodness sake!” shouted the farmer boy. “Where did you come from?”

CHAPTER XIX
ANOTHER MISTAKE

Dave Dashaway’s limbs were stiff and his lips were sore. He could not move nor speak. He tried to smile to reassure the farmer boy, who looked startled and scared.

The latter swept aside the loose litter of straw and bags. The minute he got a view of Dave’s condition he turned pale, jumped down from the wheel hub and shouted out wildly:

“Father, father – come here quick!”

The dog kept running around the wagon making a great ado. Finally some one seemed to come from the house in response to the call of the farmer boy, for a voice inquired:

“What’s the row here?”

“A boy in that wagon box.”

“Some tramp, I suppose.”

“But he’s all tied up with ropes. There’s even something tied in his mouth, so he can’t talk – only stare and grin.”

“You don’t say!”

“Yes, I do. Look for yourself.”

“Well! well! well!”

As the farmer lifted himself up on the wagon box and took a look at Dave, his eyes grew big as saucers. He felt along the cord coming tightly across Dave’s cheeks and of the rope binding his body.

“Jared, run into the house, quick, and get your mother’s scissors,” he ordered.

The old man hoisted himself to the edge of the wagon box, and simply gaped at Dave, as if too puzzled to figure out how his strange situation had come about.

“Here’s the scissors, father,” finally reported the boy, who had hurried into the house and out of it again.

The old man went to work on Dave as tenderly as if he had been a kitten. He carefully snipped the gag cords.

“Bless me!” he said, as he noticed the big red welts across Dave’s face. “This is mighty cruel I tell you. Now then,” as he cut the ropes at hands and feet, “get up and tell us what this means.”

Dave tried to and failed. His tongue was so dry and swollen that he could not articulate. His whole body was numb and spiritless. The farmer saw his helplessness, ordered his son to let down the high tailboard of the wagon, and they gradually slid Dave to the ground and held him up.

Gentle mannered people these, Dave decided, and he was ashamed of himself for ever thinking that they were parties to the kidnapping plot of the two men who had captured him the night previous.

“Walk him a bit, Jared, softly now, softly,” the farmer said. “He’s in a mortal bad fix, circulation nigh stopped and weak as a cat. I reckon we’d better get him into the house.”

The farmer’s wife looked surprised as her husband carried Dave to a couch in the family sitting room and placed him upon it.

“Why, what’s this?” she exclaimed.

“It’s either a measly trick or attempted killing,” replied the old man indignantly. “Speak up, lad, how did you come in that plight?”

“Water!” was all that Dave could choke out, and the good housewife soon had a glass at his lips.

“Don’t stand gawking at the poor fellow and pestering him with questions,” cried the farmer’s wife. “He needs some good hot coffee and some strengthening food to brace him up,” and the speaker hurried to the kitchen, where Dave could hear the sizzling of bacon.

“I can talk to you now, sir,” he said, but weakly, taking another gulp of the reviving water. “I was kidnapped.”

“Hey!” ejaculated the farmer, with a start.

“Yes, sir.”

“In my wagon?”

“That was a mistake, I believe. Two rough men were hired to tie me up and gag me and put me in a wagon in waiting outside of the aero grounds. They mistook yours for the one they should have put me in.”

“Gracious!”

“They went back into the grounds, and you came along and drove me off with you before they returned.”

“You don’t mean to say you’ve been lying in that wagon ever since last evening?”

“I do,” replied Dave.

“Why didn’t you kick and holler?”

“How could I?”

“That’s so. Well, you just get a bit of breakfast and mended up, and I’ll drive you back to town. I hope you intend to get those critters arrested.”

“I certainly shall try and find them,” said Dave.

In a very few minutes our hero was as good as ever, as the saying goes. He was young, healthy, active, and as soon as his blood got to circulating, the stiffness and soreness began to go away.

He was better than ever, he told himself, after a breakfast so elegant, home-like, and plentiful, that he made the farmer’s wife flush with pleasure over his compliments.

The farmer’s boy took particular interest in Dave, when he learned that he was employed among “the balloon men.” Dave did not go into details or mention names, for he did not want anything to get out about his kidnapping until he had consulted Mr. King.

He was anxious and glad, when two hours later, the farmer drew up his horse at the main entrance to the aero grounds. Dave made the man accept a dollar for all his trouble, which the farmer took reluctantly, saying he would invest it in kitchen aprons for his wife. Dave also told him how to send word to him, if he wished to visit the meet any day during the week.

“You can count on free passes,” said Dave.

“Thank you, that will be fine,” nodded the delighted farmer as he drove off.

Dave dashed breathlessly through the big gateway. He had simply to lift his hand to the gatekeeper, who passed him in with a nod, knowing him and not requiring him to show his entrance ticket. Then Dave ran down the course, heading in the direction of the hangars. All his former anxieties came back to him. He was safe and free himself, but what had happened after his two captors had disposed of him?

“They had tools, they talked of the Aegis,” soliloquized Dave. “They were up to some harm for Mr. King, just the same as myself. Oh, dear, I hope nothing has happened to the monoplane!”

Dave passed the building where Hiram made his headquarters. That friend would of course know of his strange spell of absence. Hiram could probably relieve his present worry or heighten it, but Dave felt that his first duty was to his employer.

“Hold on, there. Hi, stop, Dave – Dave Dashaway!”

This call was bawled out from a window in the building Dave had just passed. At once he recognized the voice of his friend. Turning and half halting, Dave made out Hiram waving his hand frantically.

“Can’t stop – see you later,” shouted Dave.

“Must stop.”

Hiram never waited to make for a door. He jumped recklessly from the window, ran down the road, and overtook his friend.

“Say,” he cried, all excitement and curiosity, “where have you been?”

“Long story. Want to see Mr. King first. Have you seen him?”

“Have I seen him?” repeated Hiram volubly. “He woke me up at midnight, worried to death about you. Made me get up and join him in a search. He said it wasn’t like you to be off skylarking, with all there was to think about, arrange and do for today’s flight.”

“He was right there.”

“I knew it, and told him so,” said Hiram. “Then he got thinking there was foul play somewhere.”

“There was,” assented Dave.

“That Jerry Dawson?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not positively. Keep along with me, and I’ll tell you all about it. I’m on pins and needles till I reach Mr. King. Say, Hiram, answer me one question.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Has anything happened to the Aegis?”

“Why, what could happen?” inquired Hiram in a puzzled way.

“It’s all right?”

“It was an hour ago, when I was up at the camp. Mr. King was oiling things up himself, and in a great stew about you, but the Aegis was the same old beauty.”

Dave heaved an immense sigh of relief. They were just then passing the shed into which he had run to escape his pursuers the evening previous. Dave was about to point it out to his companion and relate his adventures, when he noticed a big placard on the side of the shed.

“What’s that, Hiram?” he asked.

“Oh, that?” repeated Hiram. “It’s the talk of the meet. That’s Marvin’s monoplane, you know.”

“Yes,” nodded Dave.

“Well, some one sneaked into the hangar last night, when all hands were away, and wrecked the machine.”

“Why!” exclaimed Dave suddenly – and then added to himself: “I understand!”

“That placard,” continued Hiram, “is an offer of a reward of one hundred dollars for the detection of the vandals who did the dastardly work.”

CHAPTER XX
IN TRAINING

Dave did not speak nor linger. His quick mind was thinking very actively, though. He fancied he understood what the wrecking of the Marvin monoplane meant now.

As they passed the open doorway of the shed Dave could see a crowd inside inspecting the monoplane it contained. A man he recognized as Mr. Marvin, the wealthy amateur airman, was moving about restlessly and talking in an exciting tone.

“It’s a blazing shame!” broke out Hiram. “Mr. Marvin intended trying a flight himself to-day. Everybody was encouraging him, and pleased about it. He’s been awful kind to the air folks, you know.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about him,” said Dave.

“He donated several of the medals last meet, and made up losses for the crowd where things didn’t pay.”

“Do they suspect anybody?” asked Dave.

“No,” replied Hiram, shaking his head slowly.

Then he flashed a shrewd look at Dave, full in the face, and bolted out the quick challenge:

“Do you?”

Dave changed color. He walked on a little faster.

“Why, yes, I do, Hiram, to tell you the truth,” he replied.

“Who is it?”

“I don’t like to say, Hiram, till I am sure.”

“Say, Dave Dashaway,” declared Hiram. “I can bet who it is, first shot. It’s Jerry Dawson, and you’ve been through a big tussle, for your face is all marked up and you look peaked and worried. Isn’t it that Dawson fellow, now?”

Dave was silent.

“Say,” stormed Hiram, “if you don’t answer, I’ll start right out and find young Dawson, and knock the truth out of him, along with all the rest of his meanness.”

“You must do nothing of the sort, Hiram,” remonstrated Dave. “You mustn’t guess anything, or mix up things, until I have seen Mr. King.”

“You make a fellow mighty curious.”

“You will know all about it soon,” promised Dave. “There is Mr. King now.”

Our hero hurried forward as he saw just outside the Aegis hangar his employer and old Grimshaw. Mr. King uttered a glad cry as his eye fell on Dave. The old trainer nodded as pleasantly as his grim face would allow.

“Why, Dashaway, where have you been?” asked Mr. King quickly, looking Dave over as he would a runaway aeroplane returned.

“Oh, I’ve had a little adventure that isn’t worth the telling, with all there is to do here this morning,” declared Dave evasively, pulling off his coat and making a great ado of seeking some immediate work.

Dave had made up his mind to defer any explanation until later in the day. He realized that it would disturb his employer to relate his adventures and suspicions. Mr. King, too, was a hasty man. Dave knew that it would be just like him to rush off to Mr. Marvin, charge the Dawsons with the wrecking of his monoplane, and become generally unnerved for his critical duties of the day.

Later Dave learned that the men who had kidnapped him had displaced three important parts of the Marvin monoplane. This had rendered it impossible to use the machine for the day. They had probably thrown the stolen parts into some pit or creek. It was evident that the two vandals had blundered all along the line. They had supposed that the shed where they had cornered Dave was the Aegis hangar, and had dismantled the wrong machine.

Dave became so active, and there was so much to do, that he soon drifted his employer’s thoughts from himself. Mr. King insisted on some explanation, however, and Dave evaded direct information by saying he had got into a farm wagon by mistake, was carted away, and slept in the vehicle all night.

Within an hour Dave and his own little personal affairs were obscured and forgotten for the time being, amid trials of skill and the general environment of an aero meet. As soon as the programme for the day was started, it was one engrossing novelty and thrill after another.

The Aegis was in for the altitude race. Dave was doubly glad that he had not bothered his employer with the real explanation of his absence the night before. The airman was a superb picture of courage, confidence and expertness as the Aegis bounded from earth and rose in the lead over the fleet of airships entered for the contest.

Dave helped in skidding the machine at the start, and was promptly on hand when the Aegis sailed gracefully down to its starting point with a score of six hundred extra feet to the Fairfield record.

Mr. King was busy after that consulting with and aiding other aviators in their scheduled feats. Dave was just finishing a cold lunch at the hangar, when old Grimshaw poked his head into view past an open doorway.

“Off duty, lad?” he inquired, his twinkling eyes telling Dave that he had something on his mind.

“Why, Mr. King has finished his part in the programme,” replied Dave. “I’ve cleaned up the Aegis, and just waiting for orders.”

“Well, I’ve just seen him, and it’s all right. Like to make some extra money, Dashaway?”

“Always ready for that,” replied Dave.

“Then you come with me,” directed Grimshaw. “We’ve got a quiet corner over against the hangars, and I want you to put in all your spare time for the next two days on biplane practice.”

“Anything special?” asked Dave, with a hopeful smile.

“I’ll answer that when I see you do some grass cutting on the double whirl – which you’ll do,” replied Grimshaw with a chuckle.

All that afternoon Dave was put through a series of trial flights by Grimshaw. The attention of the crowd was centered upon the main features of the course, and they were unhindered and practically unnoticed in their efforts. Dave made several rapid flights.

“You’re going to do,” commended Grimshaw with great satisfaction, as Dave brought the biplane back to earth for the sixth time without jar or injury.

“Do for what?” inquired Dave.

“You come down here to-morrow at the same time. Next day, too. Then I’ll tell you something that will make your eyes snap.”

“But why all this mystery, Mr. Grimshaw?” inquired Dave with a smile.

“You do as I say, if you want to earn a record and some money as the aptest pupil I ever had,” was all that Grimshaw would explain.

Dave was helping the man cook get supper ready at the hangar when Mr. King put in an appearance. The aviator was in high spirits, for the day had been a successful one for him.

Dave told him about his experience with Grimshaw. The airman nodded pleasantly, as if he understood what was going on.

Hiram came strolling along just as they finished their meal. Mr. King adjourned to a pile of benches not in use at a little distance from the hangar. He settled down into a comfortable attitude.

“Now then, Dashaway,” he observed. “I’ve been too busy to bother with the mystery of your being away all last night. Not too busy, though, not to see that you didn’t tell enough about your being carted away in the wagon.”

“Yes, Mr. King,” chimed in Hiram. “He’s got a big story to tell, and I’ve been dying with curiosity all day long to know what it is.”

“Give us the story, Dashaway,” directed the airman.

Dave recited his adventures of the evening previous. Mr. King expressed the profoundest wonderment as Dave gave the simple details of his mysterious kidnapping. His fine face broke out into indignation and anger as Hiram cried out eagerly:

“Now then, Dave, tell him who was back of all this.”

“Why, are you sure I know?” asked Dave hesitatingly.

“It’s the Dawsons, Mr. King,” declared Hiram. “Listen,” and Hiram told about the two men whom he had seen conversing with Jerry Dawson.

Mr. King sprang to his feet, deeply aroused.

“So that is the secret of the wrecking of the Marvin machine,” he observed. “There is not the less doubt in my mind that the Dawsons are at the bottom of all this mischief. Now then, lads, I don’t want you to even lisp your suspicions to an outsider.”

Both Dave and Hiram promised that they would obey the injunction.

“I’m going to rid these meets of all this class of rascals, or know the reason,” declared the stirred-up airman with vehemence. “I shall have this affair run down to the limit, and if I fasten the business on the Dawsons, it will be a satisfaction to see them barred from all future aero meets.”

Mr. King walked excitedly away in the direction of the Marvin hangar. The two friends remained on the bench pile discussing the case in its various bearings.

Then Dave gave Hiram an inkling that Grimshaw had him in active training for some reason soon to develop.

“I hope I’m going to get a chance to do something worth while in the aero line, Hiram,” he said. “How I used to dream about all this when I was back at Brookville.”

“Was that where you lived, Dave?”

“Yes.” And one confidence led to another, and Dave found an interested listener to the details of his past life.

“Well, you’ve had quite an experience, haven’t you, Dave?” said Hiram. “That old guardian of yours is a mean one, and no mistake.”

“I’m glad to be away from him,” said Dave.

“Hello!” interrupted Hiram.

He jumped down from the bench pile, as he noticed a slouching figure moving stealthily away from the other side of it.

“Dave,” exclaimed Hiram, “do you know I believe that fellow has been listening to every word we said.”

“Why, what of it?” asked Dave.

“Don’t you know who he is?”

“No.”

“It’s a fellow named Brooks. He works around the hangars at odd jobs, and is a regular crony of Jerry Dawson. Hey, you,” shouted Hiram after the receding figure, “what you snooping around here, playing the eavesdropper, for?”

“Huh!” retorted the other, “what you coming along for and waking up a fellow when he’s taking a nap in the cool of the evening?”

Then the fellow walked on. There was a sneer and a menace in his vicious tones.

“I don’t like it,” said Hiram, half to himself, “I don’t like anything or anybody that mixes up with Jerry Dawson.”