Dave Dashaway, Air Champion: or, Wizard Work in the Clouds. Roy Rockwood
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?”
“Oh, we’ll think it over. They write that they are sending the details, such as rules and restrictions, in a later mail. We’ll study them when they come.”
Of course Hiram, in his impetuous way, was ready to take up any proposition in the aviation line, no matter how important. To him Dave was the one champion in the field able to compete with all rivals. He had been with Dave long enough, however, to get used to his methodical business-like ways. Hiram was eager to plunge at once into the merits of the new proposition, but he knew that Dave had put the matter aside until he was ready to take it up for real action.
“Oh, say, Dave,” Hiram changed the subject, “come along till I show you the picture our tramp friend has drawn. That’s the man who tried to blow us up,” he announced, as they reached the side of the hangar where the sheet of manilla paper was tacked.
Dave surveyed the sketch critically. He saw at a glance that the artist had caught some strong facial characteristics of the person whose likeness he had attempted to draw. The young birdman shook his head slowly.
“Don’t know him?” broke in Hiram questioningly – “neither do I. Anybody would again, though, if that sketch looks like him. See here, Dave,” and Hiram was very serious and impressive, “it’s just such mean tricks as this one that have been the start of all kinds of trouble for us. We want to nip it in the bud this time. What do they say up at the office?”
“They promise a thorough investigation. There has been quite a lot of vandal work at the different meets, and they say they will spare no pains, or expense, to run down the fellows who are discrediting our exhibitions. Want to speak to me?” asked Dave in a kindly tone, noticing the tramp hovering about near them as if he had something on his mind.
“Why, yes,” answered Borden. “You fellows have been mighty good to me, and I feel as if I owed you something. I’m no detective, or anything of that sort, but if it’s a point to you to find out something about the original of that picture – ”
“I should say it was!” interrupted Hiram, strenuously.
“Then, as I’m the one who saw him closest, and who know him best, maybe I’d be luckiest in recognizing him on sight. I’ll take a little scurry around, if you say so, and try to run him down, or head him off, and find out what’s back all this.”
“Vernon, our old-time enemy is back of it, or else some envious chaps who think you may go to this new meet, and who want to keep you out of it because they know you’ll win,” whispered Hiram to Dave.
“That is a very good idea,” said the latter to Borden. “You think you saw this same man hanging around the grounds last evening? You might come across him again by keeping your eyes open. Suppose you do that now? Here’s a little change you may need,” and the young aviator slipped some silver coins into the man’s hand. “Hiram, the management here are talking about a bonus-flight the end of this week. I’m interested and have promised to meet with the directors in an hour. I suppose you want to take your regular fly with the Scout?”
“I’ve counted on it,” replied Hiram promptly, “but some one ought to keep a close watch around the hangar, I suppose.”
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll be troubled in the day time,” answered Dave. “You can arrange with the grounds watchman to look in on our property from time to time. You won’t be gone very long, I suppose?”
“Oh, just a scurry across country, and back,” replied Hiram, with a nonchalance manifestly affected, and Dave smiled to himself, suspecting that his young assistant was up to something as he recalled to his mind the mysterious bags that Hiram had been making.
Surely enough, those same bags played a part in the later proceedings of the ardent young amateur airman. The tramp had started off on his mission, promising to report his possible discoveries that same evening. Dave followed him in the direction of the office of the grounds. Hiram, left alone, bustled about in the most active enjoyment of one of those occasions when he was given a chance to test out the knowledge of air-sailing he had acquired under the tuition of his gifted chum. He threw open the doors of the hangar, and, as the bright sunlight streamed in, stood in a sort of rapt dream surveying the two machines exposed to his view.
“The beauties!” he cried, his sparkling eyes resting first upon the Ariel and then upon the Scout.
The Ariel was the very latest model in the aeroplane line. It succeeded the famous Comet. That was the fine machine in which Dave and his friends had made their trip around the world. The Comet had been built more for rough usage and staying power, than for fancy sprints or stunts. It was now an honored relic in the show rooms of the Interstate Aero Company. Only a few weeks before the present introduction of the reader to our young hero, Mr. Brackett had delighted his young protégé by shipping to him, at the Midlothian grounds, the latest model in air craft.
The Ariel flew as a parasol-type biplane. It gratified Dave to note that the manufacturer had followed out many incidental suggestions he, himself, had made from time to time, when visiting the plant which Mr. Brackett practically owned. The main planes of the new machine enabled easy entrance to, and exit from, the cockpit. The pilot had an unhampered view in all directions. The craft had a maximum span of thirty-five feet and a chord of seven feet.
The area of the main planes was two hundred and twenty-five square feet. The over-all length of the machine was twenty-five feet, while the weight empty, was nine hundred pounds. The motor was of radial construction and of the six-cylinder type, having a bore and stroke of five by six inches respectively. A speed of about eighty miles per hour was easily attained by the machine loaded with fifty gallons of gasoline and ten of lubricant, as an average for a three-hour flight.
“Want some help?” inquired a man from a neighboring hangar, strolling up to the spot.
“Just a mere lift,” replied Hiram briskly. “The little Scout acts just as anxious to get up cloud-chasing as I am.”
“Ready,” announced the helper, getting into position.
“Let her go,” ordered the enthusiastic young airman in a tone like a hurrah, his quivering fingers clutching wheel and control, and thrilling to the tips with animation and delight.
It was a superb day. Air, sky and wind currents were propitious for an easy flight. To Hiram there was nothing in the world equal to that delightful sensation of skimming through the air like a bird. It was almost rapture to realize that the turn of a wrist, or the pressure of his foot sent the airy, graceful fabric of steel and wood far aloft, like a pinion-poised eagle, ascending safely through space as would a speeding swallow arrow-aimed for a long, deep dive.
Hiram struck a course due west, once aloft at a convenient level. Eyes and mind were fixed upon a direct point in view. At the end of an hour he was out of sight of the camp and the air craft practicing in the vicinity of the exhibition grounds.
Between two settlements, some fifteen miles apart, Hiram began to descend. It was where a two mile reach of level pasture land intervened, dotted here and there with underbrush and stunted trees. The Scout landed and its young pilot alighted. Under one arm he carried some sheets of white paper. He halted to place one of these on the ground, holding it flat by stones weighing down its corners. He then proceeded fully half a mile farther, again placed a sheet on the ground, gradually, in like manner, making a circle of fully a mile and a half. Finally he came back to the Scout, and got up into the air again.
“Target practice!” chuckled Hiram, as he circled away from the spot, made a sharp turn and volplaned full speed, as though aiming to land, nose first, directly upon the first white sheet in his course. Hiram made a magnificent dive. He swung over the control so that fifty feet from the ground the machine turned the reverse arc of a circle of nearly two hundred feet. His hand shot down beside him and grasped one of the bags, lifted it, aimed it and practically fired it at the “target” in view.
“Missed,”