.
said they could watch the airships yesterday for miles and miles.”
A turn in the highway brought the boys to the Towner place. Ned ran into the house and soon returned all satisfaction and excitement, his pockets filled with cookies and apples.
“Mother says I can go with you, Dave,” he said. “I can help you unload, and we can drive over to the town common and join the crowds.”
Dave’s head was full of airships, and the incident of the hour made him forget his troubles. He and Ned chatted and lunched animatedly all the way to Brookville.
The business part of the little town was located on a hill, as Ned had said, but they did not go there at once. The warehouse where Dave was to deliver his load of potatoes was near the railroad, and there they drove.
They found no one in charge of the office, and had to wait till the proprietor arrived, which was nearly an hour later. It was quite six o’clock before they got the potatoes unloaded. Then Dave drove up the hill.
Quite a crowd was gathered in the public square. The boys hitched old Dobbin near the post office and joined the throng.
Everybody was talking airships. It seemed that half-a-dozen had passed in full sight. Three of them had sailed directly over the town. One of them had dropped about a hundred printed dodgers, telling about the aero meet at Fairfield, and Dave was glad to get hold of one of these.
The excited throng was in great expectation of the appearance of another airship. It was getting on towards meal time, and quite a number had left the common, when a chorus of sound echoed out:
“A – ah!”
“There’s another one.”
“Hurrah – look! look!”
“A – a – ah!”
The last utterance expressed disappointment. A swift sailing aeroplane had come into view, circled, and was lost to sight over the crest of a distant hill.
There was a great attraction for the chums in the crowd and bustle about the common. It was quite dusk before they started away. Dave realized that he would have to account for every minute of his time, and expected a scene when he got back home. He had seen so much, however, and heard so much talk on his favorite theme, airships, that a glimmering idea came to him that he was soon to know more of them.
Dave kept up his spirits bravely, and he and Ned chatted over dreams and plans to find a chance to get over to Fairfield some day soon, and view all the glories of the great aero meet close at hand.
It had become quite dark by the time they neared the turn in the road leading to the Towner place. Old Dobbin was plodding along the dusty road at his usual leisurely gait, when suddenly Ned stretched out his hand and caught the arm of his comrade in a great state of excitement.
“Whoa!” he cried. “Do you hear that, Dave?”
“Sure enough,” responded Dave, checking the horse, and both of them sat rigid on the wagon seat and stared up into the sky.
“It’s another one of them,” said Ned. “Listen.”
There was a quick snappy sound, like the sharp popping of an exhaust.
There was a flashing streamer of light, outlining a dark object that both the entranced lads knew to be a belated airship making its way homeward.
At that moment something swished through the air. Dave did not see it, he rather felt it. Before his senses had fairly taken it in, however, old Dobbin made a jump.
Ten feet ahead the slow going animal plunged, as Dave had never seen him do before. Then he made an affrighted veer. Over into the ditch went the crazy old vehicle with a crash. Dave, clinging to the seat, was simply flung sideways, but his companion was lifted bodily. Head over heels out of the wagon went Ned, landing sprawling in the mud.
CHAPTER II
FROM THE CLOUDS
“What’s happened?” shouted out Ned Towner, in dismay and confusion.
“Dobbin ran away, that’s all,” replied Dave quickly.
“Why?” asked Ned, righting himself and looking around him in a puzzled way.
“Something struck him.”
Dave made the declaration as he dismounted cautiously from the wagon. Dobbin lay on his side as if perfectly satisfied with a rest in the soft dirt. One wheel of the wagon was splintered to pieces and the wagon box had caved in on one side.
“Hold his head till I slip the traces,” ordered Dave.
They got Dobbin to his feet and managed to pull the wagon up the slight slant.
“Whew!” whistled Ned, “here’s a pretty bad wreck.”
“Yes,” assented Dave soberly. “I don’t know what Mr. Warner will say about it.”
“Let him say!” flared out Ned. “The old thing was ready for the junk pile, long ago.”
“That won’t help much,” said Dave.
As he spoke Dave went over to a stretch of broken fence and dragged a long rail up to the wagon. This he strapped to the hub of the broken wheel.
“I guess the wagon will drag home,” he observed, as he hitched up Dobbin anew, “but we will have to walk.”
“Say,” broke in Ned suddenly, “you think something hit the horse and started him up?”
“I am sure of that,” declared Dave.
“Then I’ll bet it’s one of those Bolgers. See, we’re right at the end of their lot. You know they pelted you once before?”
“I know that,” admitted Dave, “but I don’t see or hear anything of them just now.”
“Oh, they’d lay in ambush in that brush yonder all night to play a trick on either of us,” insisted Ned.
The Bolgers were a family crowd very numerous and troublesome. They had often pestered Dave in the past, and, aroused by the suggestion of his comrade, Dave walked back the road a dozen feet or so, peering sharply into the straggly brush lining it.
“What is it, Dave?” inquired Ned, as his friend uttered a quick cry. He noticed that Dave had come to a short stop and was stooping over in the road.
“My foot kicked something,” explained Dave, groping about. “Why, I wonder what this is?”
“What?” put in Ned curiously.
“It’s a bundle of some kind.”
“Why, yes,” added Ned, peering sharply at the object in Dave’s hand. “It looks like a rolled-up sweater.”
“Some one must have dropped it from a wagon,” said Dave. “There’s something else here than a sweater, though.”
“Let’s have a look at it,” suggested Ned eagerly.
“Hold on,” said Dave, as his comrade reached out to unroll the wadded-up bundle. “It’s too dark to make out anything plain.”
The moon had not yet come up, and on that tree-lined road it was pretty dark. Dave moved up to the wagon. Under the front seat was an oil lantern, and he secured this and lighted it.
“Why, I should say there was something else besides a sweater!” exclaimed Ned excitedly, as Dave unrolled the garment on the seat cushion.
“Yes, there’s a pocket book,” said Dave.
“Open it – let’s see what’s in it,” suggested Ned.
“A watch,” spoke Dave.
“And some money. Why, this is a big find, Dave! Wonder who lost it? And look, there’s a medal – a gold medal.”
Dave took this up and inspected it closely. His fingers trembled with excitement as he did so, for the pretty bauble suggested the theme nearest and dearest to his heart.
The main plate of the medal