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

“Oh, dear! over two hours’ blind waiting,” sighed Bruce, as the aerial fleet spread out, and grew less distinct, so that, even with a field glass, it was difficult to distinguish one machine from another.

“There’s a breakdown!” Hiram announced, just as they passed the first observation station on the lake shore.

It was number six, a rather poor craft, and Dave could tell from its maneuvers that some of its gearing had gone wrong.

At the end of fifty miles, Hiram, watching out in every direction, gave a quick cry of satisfaction.

“I’ve counted them,” he told his chum. “The ragtag and bobtail fell out before we got forty miles. There’re two men even with us below, Dave. That one pegging away on the lower level is the Whirlwind.”

“Yes, and doing very finely,” commented Dave. “There’re the smokestacks of Grand Bay ahead.”

“Speed up, Dave,” urged Hiram, his usual excitable nature getting the best of him.

The young aviator did not reply, but all his expert senses were on the alert. So far as he could judge, he had now but three rivals to fear. The Whirlwind was in the lead, but not for any great distance and would have to change its level when a turn was due.

Dave had a point in view in first ascertaining the number of his real rivals, and then their possible capabilities in the return flight. The wind had steadily grown stronger with the hours. The lake was rough and muddy, and a cloud film had overspread the sky.

To fly to the best advantage when the turn was made at Grand Bay, Dave saw that a system of tacking and circling would be necessary. The Ariel had been built purposely to meet these exigencies. He doubted if any of the three other machines could go through on any great rate of speed.

“I am sure of one thing,” he reckoned quite confidently; “the Ariel can outdo the Whirlwind two to one in drifting with the wind at its stern.”

“Dave! I say, Dave!” cried Hiram Dobbs breathlessly. “Here comes the Whirlwind!”

“I see,” answered Dave calmly.

“She’s turning, she’s first in rounding for the home run. Can’t you speed up?”

Dave kept his eye on the machine he regarded as his principal rival. He watched its maneuvering narrowly. The Whirlwind had indeed turned, but now it was evident it had to contend with new and more difficult conditions.

“It’s one thing to face the wind, and quite another to run away from it. Watch the control, Hiram,” directed Dave.

“I’ve got both eyes in use,” reported his assistant.

“Now then,” said Dave simply. “Careful!”

He circled the point where a group of men were gathered, one with a white flag in his hand. This individual stood near a score board, and tallied off the machines as they passed.

The Ariel made a sort of leap, as her pilot brought the machine broadside to the fierce breeze. In two minutes the young aviator comprehended, and analyzed, the conditions as would an expert running a yacht.

“A fog is coming up, and it’s misting,” announced Hiram. “We’re not cutting due west, are we?”

“Not on this occasion,” responded Dave coolly. “Hiram, we’ll make time and distance drifting south of the grounds. When we strike the land breeze it will be easier to fight our way back north.”

“You know best, Dave,” said Hiram, and then for a full quarter of an hour nothing further was said. Dave did some fine maneuvering. Hiram followed the signals given him as to the rear control apparatus, a mission that relieved the pilot from a sort of double duty under the present stress.

The muggy air prevented the young airman from making out what had become of the Whirlwind or their trailers. Dave had steadied quite successfully on a lateral course when Hiram leaned over towards him.

“Dave,” he spoke quickly – “to the left, and a little ahead.”

“I see – a craft of some kind on the lake.”

“And a flag of distress – why, look! Dave, they’ve put off a raft, and it’s swamped.”

The young pilot lessened the speed of the Ariel. He eased its progress through a sliding drift. This brought them nearer to the craft tossing on the waters below.

“Water-logged and sinking!” exclaimed Hiram excitedly. “Dave, it’s a real peril! See, the ship has no wireless, and their lifeboat is gone. She can’t last long, Dave!”

Dave had turned the head of the Ariel straight back landwards. In a flash his assistant understood.

“Top speed for a rescue steamer, or the life-saving service,” announced Dave. His voice was slightly unsteady, for he realized the sacrifice he was about to make. “There’re women and children aboard that boat.”

“Yes, we’ve got to lose the race!” cried Hiram in disappointed tones.

“Better that than forget our humane duty,” responded the young pilot of the Ariel, but he said it with a sinking heart.

The wind was now coming by fits and starts, and the sky looked anything but encouraging to the young airmen.

“We’re in for a nasty blow, Dave,” came from Hiram, anxiously.

“Looks that way.”

“It’s bad for that schooner.”

“So it is.”

“Do you think we can get help in time?”

“We’ve got to do it, Hiram. Think of those on board – maybe women and children as well as men!” and our hero shook his head sadly.

“It’s quite a run.”

“I know that as well as you do.”

“And to miss winning that prize – ”

“Do you want to win and let those people drown?”

“No, no, never!”

“Then don’t say anything more about that prize.”

“I won’t, Dave. Yes, run for shore, and get help as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do it – and we’ll save those poor people. Hiram, there may be – ”

Dave did not have time to finish what he was going to say. A sudden gust of wind had struck the air craft, sending it whirling off its course.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HIDDEN DIAMONDS

“Look out, Dave!” shouted his young assistant and, as a snap sounded he shot a quick hand towards the lever operating the rear control mechanism.

“Blade cracked, nothing serious,” instantly announced the pilot of the Ariel.

The machine had been hit in turning shorewards with a big wind blast that boomed like a cannon, and bore down upon it heavily. They felt the machine shiver and swerve, and there was some lateral flapping. Dave, however, kept steadily on back over the course he had so recently won.

It took twenty minutes to overlap the shore line. They made out a harbor and upon the pier at its end the flag of the life-saving service.

“You won’t lose time landing, Dave?” spoke Hiram anxiously. “We might catch up yet.”

“Got to land,” reported Dave. “We can’t risk the blade snapping.”

The Ariel was directed across a flat sandy reach near the end of the pier. Dave sprang out instantly and ran towards two men who had watched the descent.

“Schooner in distress,” he announced briskly to the men. “I think she is sinking.”

“Where away?” was inquired.

Dave described the position of the imperiled vessel as best he could. The men ran down the pier. Almost immediately a signal bell tolled, and a steam yacht, and two lifeboats, set out on their mission of rescue.

Dave had hurried back to the Ariel. He had the machine overhauled in a trice. One blade was seriously damaged. Those on the Ariel were of hard spruce wood, with a filling of mahogany. The lower veneer had stripped off and was dangling.

“It’s a wonder it didn’t strike the tail and cripple us,” observed Dave, as he got out some tools and catgut, and had the defect remedied quickly. “I think that will last.”

A report officer of the service had strolled to the spot, and asked some questions which Dave answered.

“He’s writing down our names,” whispered Hiram to his comrade.

“All ready,” ordered Dave.

“Good luck!” shouted the officer after the ascending machine.

“I suppose it’s hopeless to think that we’re going to even make a showing in this race,” spoke Hiram disconsolately.

“I fancy you are right,” replied Dave as steadily as he could.

Hiram was in suspense and misery. About twenty miles further along they made out one of the laggard airships fighting its way against the wind. From its maneuvers it was easy to surmise that all its pilot was aiming at was to keep out of trouble.

“Out of the race and knows it,” commented Hiram. “I suppose it’s forty points more for the Whirlwind.”

Dave said nothing. He was thinking of the possible disappointment of Mr. Brackett. He speeded the Ariel to its best pace, but had no hope now of reaching the International grounds first.

Hiram was in great suspense as they came up to the grounds from the south. His eager eyes scanned the center field. Then he fell back in his seat with a groan.

“One in – we’re beaten, Dave,” he almost sobbed. “It’s the Whirlwind.”

They could see the Valdec machine plainly as they descended. There was a crowd around it. Dave landed near the judges’ stand, turned the Ariel over to two attendants in the employ of their hangar, and went to headquarters to report. Bruce came running up to Hiram with a decidedly long face.

“The blackboard gives the race to Valdec,” he spoke in a subdued tone.

“I guess they’ve won it,” snapped Hiram. “Lording it over all creation, I suppose?”

“They feel pretty flighty,” pronounced Bruce. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

“Where is Mr. Brackett?” asked Hiram, looking about for their friend and backer.

“Why, he was called to Chicago on business, and had to go. Said he’d be back by evening, though.”

It was with a laggard, disheartened way that Hiram proceeded to the hangar. Dave joined the boys soon after. He tried to act cheerily, but secretly he was quite depressed.

He had done his best. Better than that, he had done just right. Business was business, however. Dave realized how greatly Mr. Brackett counted on the Ariel coming out victor and winner of the big prize. It was not so much the amount involved that the manufacturer cared for as a final recognition of the superior qualities of his machine.

“There’s the fancy stunt event left yet,” intimated Hiram after a somewhat gloomy spell of silence.

“Of course we will make a try at that,” declared Dave, briskly. “I can’t think of letting our practicing go for nothing.”

“But fifty and forty make ninety,” grumbled the disconsolate Hiram. “There are only thirty points in the stunt event.”

“Perhaps we can pick up a few points in the last day minor events,” suggested Dave, hopefully.

Hiram would not be comforted. He spent a miserable afternoon. It added to his wretchedness as he wondered what Mr. Brackett would say. Hiram did not regret their action in the instance of the sinking vessel. All the same, their backer had a right to suppose they would have thought of his business interests first.

They came across the manufacturer just as they were going to supper. Hiram looked pretty serious as Mr. Brackett advanced towards them. He was all smiles and animation. He grasped first the hand of Dave, and then that of Hiram.

“Boys,” he said, with a thrill of heartiness in his voice, “I’m proud of you!”

“Why – you see – don’t you know that we lost out on the long distance race?” stammered Hiram.

“The long distance race is entirely secondary to what you two have done,” declared the manufacturer. “I fancy you haven’t seen the city evening paper? Well, there it is.”

Mr. Brackett drew a late edition from his pocket. He shook it open and held it in front of his young friends.

“I’d rather be Dashaway and Dobbs, the way that article tells about them,” said Mr. Brackett, “than win twenty races, and all the prizes going.”

There, sure enough, was glory and honor for the young aviators. A telegram with full details told of “the sure winner of the long distance race” putting back to give warning to save a vessel fast sinking in mid-lake with all on board.

“That’s the kind of advertising that counts!” cried Mr. Brackett, with vim and satisfaction.

“But we’ve lost first place!” mourned Hiram.

“Not in the estimation of the world at large. That will not soon forget the Ariel and its crew.”

Dave was relieved at the way his backer took the incident. It enhanced his regard and respect for a true friend and a true man a thousand fold.

The following day was to be given over to amateurs, and the exhibition of machines and their utilities. There was no thought in the mind of Dave of giving up the fancy stunt event, even if the grand prize had escaped him.

“I say, Hiram,” suggested Bruce the next morning, “can’t you take me on a little trip this morning? We’ve got nothing much to do to-day except wait for to-morrow.”

“Where do you want to go?” inquired the pilot of the Scout.

“Oh, west – in fact, well, Hiram, I’d like to go to Wayville.”

“Hum! same old idea about those diamonds still in your mind; eh?” asked Hiram.

“See here,” replied Bruce eagerly, “I’ve got good reason to believe that the trip is worth making. You’ll see when we get to Wayville. I’d like to have you land right where that diamond robber left the Scout and show me as near as you can the route he took.”

“All right,” assented Hiram. “You won’t rest until you get there, I suppose.”

The Scout made a fast trip to Wayville. It was at the same hilly spot where Hiram had parted with his uncomfortable passenger that eventful night that he brought the machine to anchor.

“Here we are,” he announced and he proceeded to describe as best he could the movements of the fugitive after he had left the Scout. “That nearest thicket over yonder is the one he dove into first.”

“Come with me, Hiram,” invited his comrade eagerly. “You are sure he went through that thicket? We’ll go, too. Do you see that?” he inquired, as half-way through the densely wooded space they came to an old hut.

“What about it?” asked Hiram.

“Well, that was a favorite hiding place for that man Wertz I’ve told you about, when he wanted to keep out of the way of people hunting for him to call him to account for some of his misdeeds,” explained Bruce. “How well I remember it! Ever since you described the spot, I have wondered if the diamond thief, who was just such a character as Wertz was, didn’t know about it, maybe visited it in trying to escape.”

“Why,” observed Hiram as they came to the front of the rude structure, “that padlock on the door looks rusty enough to have been untouched for ages.”

Bruce tried the door, but nothing less than a crowbar would budge it.

“Aha!” he ejaculated suddenly, “look – the cellar window.”

“Smashed in – I see,” spoke Hiram.

“One pane of glass, yes,” proceeded Bruce excitedly. “And look, too, stains of blood on the fragments of glass and the window frame. Oh, say, I know! There’s a cistern right under that window. I remember it perfectly and – Hiram, help knock out the rest of the window. I’m going to get into the house that way.”

“And drop into a cistern!” railed Hiram.

“It’s an old leaky one and was dry as a bone, I remember, when I was here with Wertz.”

They smashed out the window frame with a piece of plank they found near by. Bruce let himself cautiously backwards through the aperture. Hanging by both hands, he let go.

“It’s all right,” his voice sounded, hollowly. “Throw me down some matches.”

Hiram awaited the next developments with some impatience, and considerable curiosity. Then he saw a hand grasp the inside window frame, then another, and he tugged at the shoulders of his struggling comrade and pulled him up into daylight.

“For gracious sake, where have you been? In some dirty hole, I do declare!” cried Hiram.

“It was dirty, but I don’t care about that,” panted the other youth. “Ouch!” and he proceeded to rub some dirt out of his left eye.

“Shall I help you?” questioned Hiram, anxiously.

“No, it’s out now,” was the answer.

“Good.”

Bruce was covered with dust and cobwebs. He scrambled to his feet breathless, but his eyes were fairly snapping from some intense excitement.

“Where’s your cap?” asked Hiram, noticing that his friend was bareheaded.

“Oh, that’s all safe, – and everything else!” cried Bruce, and he unbuttoned his coat and revealed his cap all wadded up. “Just look at that!” he shouted and he opened the cap. Within it rested a great heap of jewelry, blazing with crystal sparks of radiance.

“The diamonds!” gasped the astounded Hiram.

“I guess so!” answered Bruce. “The bargain with the jeweler was five thousand dollars’ reward. As my partner, Hiram Dobbs, I shall have the pleasure of handing you over just half of it, – two thousand five hundred dollars!”

CHAPTER XXV

THE FALSE BAROGRAPH

“He’s a wizard, but – ”

The speaker, one of many gathered near the grand stand of the International grounds, paused in the middle of the sentence, and looked significantly at his companion.

“I understand,” agreed the latter. “You want to say that the fellow Valdec is an aviatic contortionist. Whew! there’s a risky turn. And he’s bobbed up all right. There’s not much practicability or science in the stunt, though.”

The Whirlwind had gone up third in the last big event of the meet. Valdec had completely overshadowed his previous contestants. There was no doubt as to his agility, daring and complete mastery of his machine at critical junctures. He suggested reckless bravado, and acted like a man not caring one whit for life or limb.

“He’s hair-raising and blood-curdling, and that is all,” declared Hiram. “But – ”

“There’s his big stunt – looping the loop!” cried the thrilled and really interested Bruce.

There could not help but be vociferous applause as a result of the marvellous gyrations of Valdec. He was showing off his strongest points. To the lover of sensations they were fascinating. To the real, progressive airman, however, they showed little in the way of grace or real utility.

For all that, the ever observant Hiram looked sober and anxious as Valdec brought the Whirlwind to center field, and was greeted with a real ovation. Dave next received the signal to begin, and the Ariel arose in the air.

“I’m tingling all over!” declared Hiram.

“Keep your nerves steady,” advised Mr. Brackett, at his side. “Dave will, I am sure.”

“Pretty work, that,” pronounced a bystander, and the staring, gaping Hiram echoed the sentiment enthusiastically.

The Whirlwind had been a mad, erratic, dashing creature full of strange turns and jerky movements. Valdec had looped the loop twice, but it was with a dive, rather than a swoop. The Ariel proceeded on its course with a gliding movement until about eight hundred feet up in the air. Then the pilot began a spiral. The crowd watched the maneuver breathlessly. There was not a break in the swift, perfect circles, narrowing to a space not three times the length of the biplane.

“Pretty neat, that!” sang out an admiring voice.

“One – two – three” added a strident echo – “he’s discounted the record!”

Three times in succession, far up aloft, the Ariel had turned a complete loop-the-loop somersault. So graceful, so easy it seemed to the expert young aviator, that the maneuver was a pleasant contrast to the rapid rush work of the venturesome Valdec.

A roar of commendation arose from the spectators. Not yet, however, had Dave Dashaway won his full laurels. The Ariel sailed away from its recent field of action straightaway west. Then, five hundred feet up in the air, within the full view of every person on the ground, distinctly the Ariel began “writing.”

“A-R-I-E-L” – in small letter script; every curve and letter formation could be traced.

The watching crowd went wild with delight. As the Ariel descended gracefully to the ground, even the Syndicate crowd themselves knew that the day had gone against them. The judges were of one voice. The official blackboard gave to number five thirty additional points.

“Ten points shy – oh, dear!” lamented Hiram.

“Mr. Dashaway has shown his mettle all the same,” proclaimed Bruce proudly.

“There’s nothing open for the Ariel class to-morrow, the last day,” observed Hiram. “I suppose the committee will give out the official award of the big prize this evening.”

“Oh, Hiram! Hiram!” shouted Bruce three hours later, bursting into the hangar where his comrade was writing a letter to some home friends. “You’re to come down to headquarters right away.”

“That so? Who says it?” challenged Hiram in his usual offhand way.

“Mr. Brackett. And Dave. Something’s up. A row, I think.”

“A row? Why? what about?” questioned Hiram, fully interested now.

“About the awards. I don’t know – I just guess. I know this much, for Dave Dashaway told me that. The committee of awards wants all our people, and the Syndicate folks.”

“I’m such a small potato I can’t see why they include me,” observed Hiram. “Unless – thunder! if it’s about – ”

“That barograph” he was about to add, but he suppressed the utterance. All the way to the club building, however, there was an excited flush on his cheeks, and he was thinking hard and hopefully.

“Ariel? You’re to go in,” spoke the guard at the door of the committee room – and the boys entered. Hiram was last. He paused for a moment as he passed a man seated somewhat back in the shadow. In an instant he recognized the disguised man of the restaurant.

“Mr. Borden!” he spoke in a whisper. Then he passed on. The tramp artist had placed a warning finger to his lips.

Mr. Brackett and Dave sat slightly back of a table around which were gathered the five official committeemen. Opposite to them were Worthington, Valdec and two others of their crowd. The chairman of the committee took up a bundle of papers and arose to his feet.

“All those interested in the matter under consideration are here, I believe,” he observed. “Mr. Worthington,” he continued, “we have to announce a revision of the unofficial announcement of prizes won.”

“How is that? What do you mean?” flared up the fiery Valdec.

“Just this,” replied the chairman steadily, almost sternly. “The committee has awarded the altitude test to number five.”

“Why! see here!” shouted the choleric Valdec, springing to his feet. “The barograph test” – but the chairman silenced him with a dignified wave of his hand and went on:

“You are barred from the grounds hereafter and the Association will be notified. You can take your choice with your entrant, Mr. Worthington: a public exposure, or a quiet withdrawal from membership in and privileges of the National Aero Association.”

“I cannot understand,” stammered Worthington, uneasily.

“This gentleman will explain,” observed the chairman and Borden advanced from the shadows, minus his disguise.

It was a brief but conclusive story – that which the artist tramp recited. He charged the Syndicate people with conspiring to defeat the high aims of aviatics. He claimed that Valdec had never made the altitude flight and had substituted a “doctored” barograph for the one the officers supplied to him at the start of the contest.

“The man you employed to provide the fraudulent instrument has been brought to us by Mr. Borden,” proceeded the chairman. “His private mark was on the barograph and the one removed is in our possession, secured secretly by Mr. Borden at your hangar.”

Dismay, exposure, defeat! – like some snarling animal Valdec left the room. Humiliated and degraded Worthington sneaked after him.

“You are credited with forty new points, Mr. Dashaway,” announced the chairman of the committee, “giving you a winning lead. The committee has decided to award you the ten thousand dollar prize.”

The grand event was over, the victor crowned, and Dave Dashaway stood champion in his line, eager for new laurels.

It all came to him pleasantly as he started the Ariel homeward for the International grounds after a brief pleasure flight.

The incidents of the past two days had been most enjoyable. The Interstate Aero Company had won approved recognition of their output, and their machine had been driven by the top-notch artist in the aviation field.

The result of the discovery of the diamonds had made Bruce Beresford supremely happy. He could now provide permanently for his little sister, Lois, and he could afford to wait till the next season to rejoin his young friends in their airship experiences. His ears healed so that only a scar showed.