Dave Dashaway, Air Champion: or, Wizard Work in the Clouds

Roy Rockwood

Dave Dashaway, Air Champion; Or, Wizard Work in the Clouds

CHAPTER I

AT THE HANGARS

“Dave, here is something that will surely interest you.”

As he spoke, Hiram Dobbs held up a newspaper to the view of his companion, and Dave Dashaway caught sight of the prominent head line: “Grand International Aviation Contest.”

The two friends were amid an environment strongly suggestive of airships and their doings. They were sitting under a tree near the hangar where Dave’s various aircraft and equipments were stored. This was Dave’s home, for the time being. Here, for over a month he had slept, ate and trained for just such an event as the one which his chum had brought to his attention.

There was nothing about Dave’s present appearance to indicate that he was an expert in aviation except a medal modestly showing beyond the lapel of his coat. It might, however, have been a source of surprise to the average person to read the inscription on the medal, certifying to Dave’s championship in a feat that had startled the aviation world.

Hiram proudly wore a pin bearing the initials: “N. A. A.” (National Aero Association) showing a distinction beyond the ordinary for a boy of his age, and showing, too, that when he spoke of aviation it was not as a novice.

“Dave, you ought to go in for that,” he added.

“Yes, it looks attractive,” agreed the young aviator after a swift glance over the item under discussion.

“Ten thousand dollars – think of it!” exclaimed the interested Hiram.

“It’s a big lot of money,” responded Dave, slowly.

“And a big heap of work to win it, I suppose you would say,” supplemented Hiram. “Well, you never were afraid of work, and as to the chances – say, a fellow who has done what you’ve just done – why, it’ll be mere child’s play!”

Dave Dashaway smiled at the ardor of his companion. He was thinking, though, and impressed by the present situation. All things pertaining to aviation had a great attraction for Dave. His dreams, his practical efforts, all his ambitions lay in the direction of supremacy as an air pilot.

“I have been resting for a spell, as you might call it, Hiram,” he said finally, “and hadn’t of late, thought much of business. After that last dash of ours, you know, Mr. Brackett thought we had better let the season run out and prepare for something out of the ordinary next year.”

“This has come along all right; hasn’t it?” challenged Hiram, pointing at the item. “And the biggest kind of a thing, too. ‘Ten thousand dollars to the aviator scoring most in all events.’ Besides that, prizes for points in plain sailing, altitude and fancy stunts. It’s your class, Dave, it’s near here and you were never in better working trim in your life.”

“Why, Hiram,” spoke Dave, “you seem to have quite set your heart upon it.”

“Indeed I have!” vociferated the impetuous Hiram. “Think I’m going to sit around and keep mum, and hear a lot of would-be-airmen brag? Not much! They boast about a heap of records I know they never made. They were talking about this very prize offer last night. I took a good deal of pride in telling them about some of the things you’ve done. They knew about most of them, though. They looked glum when I hinted that you were going in for a try.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Dave, quickly.

“Shouldn’t – why not?”

“Because in this line the wise man keeps his business to himself. Airmen, generally, are a jealous lot. Some of them, as we have reason to know, are untrustworthy.”

“I never thought of that,” replied Hiram, his face growing serious. “You’re right! It wouldn’t be the first time some schemers got after you, and tried to block you. That’s so! All the same, with that new Ariel, biplane, made specially for you, who can beat you? Why, Dave, your little trailer, the Scout, alone has half a dozen speed points ahead of the average machine on the field here. Those new release gears are just dandy, and there isn’t a craft on the list that has such an engine as the Ariel, let alone the fuselage angle rods and the tubular framework.”

“I declare, Hiram,” laughed Dave, “you’ve been posting up on scientific details lately; haven’t you?”

“I’ve tried to get it pat, yes, I’ll admit,” assented Hiram proudly. “Then again, I’ve had a motive in view. You see, I’ve been thinking up a grand scheme – ”

Hiram came to a sudden stop, looked embarrassed, and there was a faint flush on his face. It was with a somewhat sheepish expression in his eyes that he glanced at his companion.

“I know what you’re hinting at,” observed Dave shrewdly. “I suspected you were up to something when I saw you working over those little canvas bags. What’s the mystery, Hiram? Going to tell, this time?”

“I’m not,” dissented the young airman’s assistant staunchly. “You’d just laugh and say it was another of my grand schemes. All right! Those bags mean something – provided you go into this new contest. Honest, Dave,” went on Hiram with impressive earnestness, “I can put you onto a wrinkle in aeronautics that is new enough, and strong enough, to carry the day any time – oh, bother!”

Whatever scheme the young lad had in his mind, its disclosure was prevented at that moment by the arrival of an intruder. A man of about thirty, wearing a monocle, mincing in his steps and looking the typical English “dandy” to perfection, approached the bench where the two friends sat.

“It’s Lieutenant Montrose Mortimer,” remarked Dave with a faint smile.

“Lieutenant nothing!” declared Hiram forcibly. “He’s no more a British army officer than I am.”

“Ah, Mr. Dashaway,” spoke the newcomer, bowing, “I hope you’ve thought over my proposition.”

“Why, yes, Lieutenant,” replied Dave, “I have done so.”

“And have arrived at a decision?” questioned the other with marked eagerness.

“Well, no, not exactly,” answered Dave promptly. “You see, Lieutenant Mortimer, I am not a free agent in aviation matters. In fact, you might say I am under contract indefinitely to Mr. Brackett, who has financed me in the past. I should have to refer your offer to him, you see.”

“When will he be here?” asked the man, evidently very much disappointed.

“He may be here within a week.”

“I sincerely trust you will prevail on him to accept my offer,” spoke the pretended army man. “I shall feel that my duty to the admiralty and war office has been remiss if I fail to secure your valuable services. I am aware of your opposition to leaving your native country. I also appreciate your wish to remain neutral in regard to any actual warfare. That can be arranged. What we ask of you is to act as an instructor. Please think it over,” and he turned aside.

“Now, then,” broke out Hiram promptly as the lieutenant sauntered away, “what is that fellow really after, Dave?”

“Why, Hiram, according to his own story he is a representative from the aviation department of the British war office. He has made a very creditable showing – and he offers me all expenses paid abroad, where he says a yearly contract of several thousand dollars will be offered.”

“I don’t like him. Why, say, he reminds me of one of the funny cartoons that new tramp friend of yours drew for us last evening.”

“Hello!” exclaimed Dave, glancing hastily at his watch and then at the hangar. “He’s some sleeper; isn’t he, that tramp?”

The young airman referred to a new character who had incidentally come across their path the day previous. He was a tramp, a little above the average, but still frowsy, hungry and penniless. His humor had made an impression on the boys. They had fed him and he had asked for work to repay them. He was sober, and he looked honest, Dave had consented to his sleeping in the hangar.

“I guess it’s the first comfortable bed the poor fellow has had for a long time,” explained Hiram. “Say, Dave, he must have been a good artist once, to draw those faces as cleverly as he did last evening.”

“Yes, he certainly has a sort of genius about him,” began Dave, when there was a sudden and startling interruption.

From Dave’s hangar there came a dull explosion. Both of the young aviators made a rush in its direction, wondering what accident had happened.

CHAPTER II

THE TRAMP ARTIST

“Somebody is trying to blow us up again!” shouted Hiram, in a great state of excitement.

That word “again” meant just what the young airman apprentice intended that it should. As we have already said, the two chums were no novices in the strange line of business activity they had taken up to earn a living. They had not only shared triumphs and gains, but many a peril besides. There had instantly come to Hiram’s mind, and to that of Dave Dashaway as well, on the present occasion a memory of past deeds of jealousy, hatred and cunning on the part of unprincipled rivals, where fire and powder were used in destructive and dangerous work.

There had been no lights in the hangar since the night before, its only occupant that the boys knew of was the tramp-artist they had accommodated. As both noticed a little puff of smoke shoot out through a ventilating pipe in the roof of the structure, they were sure that something had blown up, or had been blown up.

Hiram and Dave were greatly anxious. Inside that hangar were two machines valued as an expert horseman would cherish his pet steeds, or a crack motorist his favorite automobile. Particularly was Dave’s latest acquisition, the Ariel, to which Hiram had referred so proudly, a possession that the young birdman treasured. The active fear that this might have sustained some damage spurred him to hasten on and see what had happened.

It was by no easy or accidental route that Dave Dashaway had reached his present position as an aviator. It had been no path of roses for him. In the first book of this series, entitled “Dave Dashaway, The Young Aviator,” his struggles and initial triumphs have been depicted. He found a good friend in one Robert King, a man of some means, and by hard study and practice Dave won his laurels as a professional.

In the second volume, called “Dave Dashaway And His Hydroplane,” the further progress of the ambitious young airman is recited. His father had been a scientist and balloonist. The cooperation of one of his old associates proved a wonderful aid to Dave, and he went through some stirring experiences both up in the air and on the water.

“Dave Dashaway And His Giant Airship,” was the medium for telling of Dave’s breaking of many aviation records. In that book the flight of the dirigible Albatross, involved a fascinating series of discoveries and adventures. The last preceding book of the series, “Dave Dashaway Around The World,” describes a daring race for a rich prize, which Dave, with the willing aid of his young friends, won, honorably defeating all competitors.

Hiram Dobbs, a young aero enthusiast, Dave had picked up accidentally. It proved to be a lucky “find.” Crude, impetuous though he might be, Hiram was not only a loyal friend, but developed great efficiency as a sort of understudy of the chum and employer whom he looked up to as the ideal champion of the aviation world.

As the young airman had put it, he and his good-natured and well-intentioned assistant were now “taking a rest.” They had come to Midlothian, a practice field of a Mississippi river city, to be near several points where exhibition aviation features were in progress. Mr. Brackett had been the mainstay, financially, of Dave all through his professional career. It was true that the young aviator had essentially won his own way and had helped to make famous the output of the Interstate Aero Company, of which Mr. Brackett was practically the owner. Still, Dave felt that all he had gained had been through the encouragement and assistance of the manufacturer. As a matter of fact, Dave deferred greatly to the opinion and direction of this valuable friend. He had been expecting his arrival daily at the Midlothian grounds, to talk over the situation and prospects for future work.

“Whew!” ejaculated Hiram, as he pulled open the door of the hangar, and rushed in. “Fire!”

“No, only smoke,” corrected Dave – “and not much of that, lucky for us!”

“I say!” cried his companion in an exasperated tone as he went spinning off his feet. Contact with an indistinct, wildly-rushing human form had caused this. There had been a smoky haze inside the hangar that had hid the aroused sleeper from clear view. Now, however, the tramp was plainly visible. He looked startled and scared and he was nursing the fingers of his left hand in the palm of the other.

“What’s happened – are you hurt?” inquired Dave.

“Whew! Well – why, oh, it’s only a little burn, but – catch the rascal!”

As the speaker finished the rapidly shouted sentence he dashed towards the fence. Upon this the rear of the hangar backed. The tramp was quick, and as nimble as a monkey as he ran at the fourteen-foot barrier. One of its slanting supports carried him within reach of the bracing stringer. He lifted himself to this. From the ground the aeroplane boys could see him bobbing his head about among the barbed wire runners, strung along on top of the fence, as if to catch a view of a vacant field beyond.

The tramp yelled out some disjointed words, and shook his fist angrily, as if after a scurrying fugitive. Then he slid down to the ground and faced Dave and Hiram, panting and excited.

“He made off – he got away!” the tramp ejaculated. “Too bad! I’m so big I couldn’t get through that window.”

“What window?” inquired Hiram.

“Cut in the fence that makes the rear of the hangar,” was explained. “Come in. Let me show you.”

Dave cast a hurried glance about the interior of the hangar as he entered it. Except that the little door which protected the rear window opening was out of place, everything seemed in order. Their tramp friend, however, had stooped over near the Ariel.

“Look here,” he said, and the boys, crowding nearer to him, noticed that he held in his hand the crisped, blackened end of what resembled a fuse.

“Where does it lead to?” asked the startled Hiram.

Very gingerly the tramp ran eye and hand along the sinister-looking fuse. He seemed to locate its end as he reached under a corner of the airplane.

“Better get it outside,” he suggested, and the boys saw that he had unearthed a round box-like object resembling a dry electric battery. The fuse ran to its center. The tramp carried it outside, set it down in the grass at a safe distance from the hangar, and observed:

“Better soak it in a pail of water before you handle it much. Those things are dangerous; very much so! If I don’t mistake, you’ll find it’s dynamite.”

“Then some one’s up to a mean trick again!” cried the excitable Hiram, unable to repress himself. “Dave, you’re not going to stand this; are you?”

“Why, Hiram,” responded Dave quietly, “we don’t yet know our bearings. Maybe it’s a joke – ”

“Joke! Joke!” fairly yelled Hiram. “Yes, the same kind of a joke as that fellow Vernon played on us when he stole the Comet at the Washington aero meet. Or like that partner of his, who dropped a steel hook on the biplane purposely to wreck us.”

Hiram had named the enemy the boys, according to past experience, had most to fear. Dave, however, was not wont to jump at hasty conclusions. He did not do so in the present instance. He put aside unproven suspicion for the time being.

“We had better make an investigation, and find out all we can,” Dave suggested. “You said your name was Borden, I believe?” he observed to the tramp.

“That’s it – Roving Borden, they call me. I was Henry, in my respectable days.”

“Very good, Mr. Borden, now please tell us what you know of this affair,” Dave requested.

“I’m a pretty sound sleeper,” narrated the tramp, “especially in such a famous bunk as you kindly gave me. I’d slept so long, though, that I fancy I was more easily awakened than usual. What I saw was done quickly. Some one must have forced in that shutter yonder. He had just put that thing we discovered under the edge of the balloon. The end of the fuse was spluttering as I woke up. I saw the fellow bolt through the window. Then I sprang up and grabbed the fuse. As I snapped it in two, it sort of exploded. See where it burned me?” and the speaker showed his blackened fingers.

“Lucky for us you were on hand!” broke in Hiram.

“I believe this to be the work of an enemy,” spoke Dave, rather solemnly, after a moment’s deliberation. “Did you have a good look at the fellow you saw go through the window, Mr. Borden?”

“I should say, I did!” exclaimed the tramp. “When a fellow gets waked up suddenly and startled, like I was, everything hits his brain as if it were a photograph camera. Say,” and the speaker half closed his eyes, “I can see that rascal just as plain as day now. By the way, too, if I’m not mistaken I saw the very same individual hanging around the outside of the grounds when I sneaked in last night.”

“Dave, I call this serious!” cried Hiram, aroused and indignant. “It’s a queer thing if we can’t have protection from the cowards who steal in on us when we’re not watching, and try to wreck our aircraft! I’ll wager the stuff in that canister would blow a small mountain to pieces!”

“Guess I’d have gone up, too, if it was that bad,” remarked the tramp with a shiver.

Dave went to the window and examined it. The edges of the solid board shutter showed the marks of some chisel, or other tool, used to pry it open. Then the chums went outside. On the way Dave caught up a bundle of waste used in removing oil and grime from the machinery of the air crafts, and a newspaper.

The others watched him in silence as he carefully wound up what was left of the fuse, and placed it and the canister, to which it was attached, in the waste then, wrapping all in the newspaper, he said to Hiram:

“I’m going down to the manager’s office.”

“Going to find out if that’s a real explosive; aren’t you?” inquired Hiram.

“Yes, that’s my purpose. If we find that it is, we can make up our minds that the people we have had trouble with before are still on our trail. I fancied we’d beaten them off so many times they had now gotten sick of such doings.”

“Oh, if it’s Vernon, or any of his crowd, they’re the kind that will keep on pestering us to the last,” declared Hiram. “Be back soon, Dave. I’m all rattled, and anxious.”

The young birdman proceeded on his way. Hiram turned to the tramp, who had manifested a decided interest in all that had taken place.

“We didn’t wake you up when we went down to the restaurant for breakfast,” said Hiram. “You were sleeping so soundly it seemed a pity to disturb you.”

“You’re very good, both of you, to think of an old derelict like me,” was the reply, given with feeling.

“Why, you’ve done us a big turn,” responded Hiram, “so I guess you’ve squared things. I brought some eatables up from the café, and if you’re hungry – ”

“Say, friend,” interrupted Borden in a serio-comic way – “I’m always hungry!”

“Then start with what there is,” directed Hiram, always glad to make others comfortable, as he spread the food out upon the bench near by. He watched their guest devour the viands with a relish that made him almost wish for a second breakfast himself. The tramp bolted the last morsel, and breathed a sigh of genuine content.

“That fills a mighty hollow spot,” he observed. “Say, about the fellow that tried to blow you up here – got a piece of chalk?”

“Why, no,” answered Hiram, noting that the speaker was viewing the smooth side of the hangar as might an artist a blank canvas. “I suppose you want to draw something,” guessed Hiram, recalling the artistic efforts of the evening previous.

“That’s it,” assented Borden. “It might sort of satisfy your curiosity, and maybe give you a hint, if I can furnish you with an idea of how that blowing-up rascal looked.”

“Why, that’s a great idea!” cried Hiram. “Do it!”

“I want to get at it while the picture of the fellow is fresh in my mind,” went on Borden. “Here’s the very thing,” and he picked up the paper that had held the morning lunch. “If I only had a black crayon now, instead of my fine pencil – ”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a carpenter’s pencil in our tool box,” suggested Hiram.

“Good! Get it, and a few brads, or tacks. Just the thing,” he added, as Hiram, after a search in the hangar, brought out the articles named.

Borden proceeded to attach the sheet of manilla paper to the side of the hanger. He smoothed its surface with his hand, rubbed the broad end of the big pencil to a point on a brick he discovered, and rolled up one ragged sleeve with a certain affected, artistic twirl that set Hiram laughing.

“That’s all right,” nodded the tramp indulgently. “I don’t look much like a cartoonist, but all the same I once traveled as a lightning caricaturist. Heads are my specialty, and here goes for the fellow who came so near to blowing out the lights for a budding genius!”

Hiram watched eagerly, from that moment, for the space of a quarter of an hour. The faces Borden had quickly and crudely drawn on some cards, to amuse Dave and himself, and show off his accomplishments, the evening previous, had awakened the interest and admiration of the two lads. Now, however, Borden began to create, line by line, and curve by curve, as perfect a human face as Hiram had even seen done by an expert crayon artist.

“That’s him,” announced the artist, with a last touch of the pencil, and drawing back from the impromptu easel with a satisfied air.

He viewed his clever handiwork with a critical but gratified eye.

“Yes, it’s him,” went on Borden. “Thin, peaked chin, one wall eye. There you are! Just as good as if you’d got his picture from the rogues’ gallery – where he belongs, if I don’t miss my guess.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed his audience of one, in so decidedly a disappointed way, that the amateur artist knit his brows, and looked hurt.

CHAPTER III

“TARGET PRACTICE”

“Why, I say!” exclaimed the tramp with a wondering stare at Hiram, “you don’t seem glad at all.”

“It isn’t him, you see,” responded Hiram dubiously. “Oh, yes,” he hastened to add, noticing the injured way Borden took it, “I’m glad you are here to draw a picture of the man who tried to blow us up, but I was almost sure it was – well, a fellow we know, and have every reason to fear. But it isn’t!”

“I see, I see,” murmured the tramp thoughtfully, and he ran his eye more critically than ever over his handiwork. “Ye-es,” he continued slowly, “it’s a pretty fair picture. He doesn’t seem familiar to you; eh?”

“No, I don’t remember ever having seen a face like that before,” answered Hiram, doubtfully.

“Just as well, I reckon. He’d be no advantage to anybody, that fellow wouldn’t. Well, that’s the fellow you want to go after, provided you intend to.”

“Dave will,” declared Hiram with vim. “There’s some mean hangers-on in our line, and lots of jealousy, and it’s led to danger and loss for us several times before this. The management here will take this matter up, if we make a complaint about it. Dave’s going to. I could see that from the look on his face when he went off just now. Thanks!” he shouted to a young fellow on a motor cycle who flashed by, flipping an envelope to Hiram. He had a gold braided “M” on his cap, indicating that he was a grounds messenger acting as postboy in distributing the mail to the various hangars. “Why,” added Hiram with increased animation of manner, as he scanned the printed words in one corner of the envelope, “it’s from Chicago, and the headquarters of the International Meet Association we were talking about not an hour ago. I wonder – ”

Hiram strolled off by himself, looking out for Dave, and building all kinds of air castles. In about five minutes his chum put in an appearance. Hiram ran towards him, waving the envelope, and placed it in his hands. Dave opened it. His assistant watched his face keenly, and was gratified to note that it assumed a pleased expression.

“It’s from the people offering all those prizes we were talking about; isn’t it, Dave?” questioned his eager assistant.

“Yes,” replied the other, “it’s from the committee of the big International meet. They invite us to participate, Hiram.”

“Us?” repeated Hiram – “Oh, yes! You can be sure they’d ask you, though. What you going to do about it?”