The Motor Boys on the Wing: or, Seeking the Airship Treasure. Young Clarence
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The Motor Boys on the Wing; Or, Seeking the Airship Treasure
CHAPTER I
TWO QUEER MEN
“Don’t try it Jerry, you can’t make it.”
“Yes, I can Bob. There’s more room than you think. Besides, the hay is soft.”
“No, don’t, Jerry. We’re in no hurry,” put in the third member of a trio of boys in a big touring car that was skimming along a pleasant country road behind a load of hay. “Don’t do it!”
“Say, I’m tired of taking in all that fellow’s dust,” returned Jerry Hopkins. “Hold fast fellows, here we go!”
He pressed down the accelerator pedal of the machine and headed the car for a narrow space that showed between the load of hay and the side rails of a bridge that the farm wagon was just crossing.
It was a rather small opening to get through but Jerry was a skillful steersman, and, as he had said, he had traveled behind the load of hay so long, breathing the dust kicked up by the plodding horses, that he was tired of it. The driver had been obstinate and would not pull over, and this was the first chance Jerry had had to pass.
“You’ll have a smash!” predicted Bob Baker.
“Not on your life, Chunky!” called back Jerry.
“Hug the hay – not the bridge – those side rails may be rotten,” advised Ned Slade, as he took a firm grip on the lap-robe rail in front of him.
“Right you are,” admitted Jerry. “Here’s where we hit the red top and timothy. All ready now!”
The big car shot ahead. The farm wagon was rumbling over the bridge, which was none too strong, and when the auto also reached the clattering planks it sounded as if a thunder storm had broken loose.
With quick eyes and ready hands Jerry guided the car. Close up against the sides of the billowy hay he sent the machine to avoid hitting the bridge rail, yet so narrow was the space that the hub caps raked a furrow in a retaining plank, while the hay whipped the faces of the autoists.
“Look out!” yelled Bob.
“Farther over – farther!” cried Ned.
“Oh, all right. Don’t get excited,” advised Jerry calmly. “We’re safe now.”
They would have been, in another instant, for with a quick turn of the steering wheel the tall lad on the front seat was about to send the car cutting in ahead of the horses, having nearly passed the wagon. But whether the steeds were frightened by the shouts of Ned and Bob, or whether the driver unconsciously or intentionally turned toward the auto was not known. At any rate only by a rapid shifting of his course was Jerry able to avoid a collision. He screwed the wheel around to the left, and then, as he saw that he was running the front tires into the bridge rails he twisted his “helm” once more to the right. By this time the end of the bridge was reached, and Jerry saw an open road ahead of him, having emerged from behind the hay wagon.
He cut sharply into it, so sharply in fact that the mud guard on the right rear wheel scraped the nigh horse, causing the animal to swerve against its mate in fright.
“Whoa there! Hold on! I’ll have th’ law on you fellers!” cried the driver of the hay load.
“Say, you did hit his horse,” remarked Bob in a low voice.
“Better pull up and see if he’s going to make trouble. Otherwise he may take our number and report us,” advised Ned.
There was a grinding and shrieking of brakes and the auto came to a stop just ahead of the farm wagon, the driver of which had now quieted his horses.
“What do you mean?” he roared, as he dismounted, whip in hand. “What right you got to smash into me that way?”
Jerry stood up in the machine, and looked at the steeds before replying. A quick glance told him that beyond a mere scratch that had not even drawn blood, the horse he had struck was not injured. Then the tall lad replied.
“Look here, Mister Man. I don’t want any of your talk!”
“Oh you don’t; hey? Wa’al, I’m goin’ to give you some, an’ then I’m going to make a complaint agin ye!”
“No, you’re not,” declared Jerry with easy assurance. “In the first place you’re a road-hog of the worst type. We kept behind you for nearly a mile, swallowing your dust, and, though there were several places where you could have turned out, and let us pass, you wouldn’t do it. I got tired of tooting my horn, and when I saw a chance to slip by I took it. I wouldn’t have barked your horse, if you’d kept to your own side of the bridge, and you know it.
“As it is, your animal isn’t hurt a bit, but you were nearly the cause of something serious happening to us. Now go ahead and make a complaint if you dare. We’ll come right back at you with a worse one for obstructing the road. That’s all I’ve got to say to you, and you can put it in your pipe and smoke it! Hold fast, fellows, here we go!” And with that Jerry threw in his gear, let the clutch slip into place and they were off down the road before the angry and chagrinned farmer could think of anything to say.
When he did get his brain to working all he could ejaculate was:
“Wa’al, I’ll be gum-swizzled! Them auto fellers is gittin’ wuss an’ wuss every day. I wish I’d upsot ’em!”
Jerry and his chums were too far off, however, to hear this uncharitable wish, and it would probably have given them little concern had it come to their ears.
“Whew! That was hot while it lasted,” remarked Bob, breathing easily for the first time since the beginning of the little scene.
“You certainly had his number all right, Jerry,” said Ned.
“Yes, there are too many farmers like him,” retorted the tall steersman. “We autoists don’t want any more than our rights on the road.”
“Yes, and that’s one disadvantage of traveling in an auto,” went on Ned, when they were once more skimming peacefully along the highway. “Now if we’d been out in our motorship Comet we shouldn’t have had any trouble at all. There’s no blockading of the roads up there,” and he motioned to the blue sky above them.
“No, it’ll be some time before we have to take anybody’s dust up in the air,” was Bob’s opinion.
“Still the upper regions are more crowded than when we first took to ‘sky-larking,’” spoke Jerry. “Especially at an aviation meet. Which reminds me that I saw something in a paper I bought back there in Hammondport about a big gathering of birdmen that’s to take place soon.”
“Where is it?” asked Bob.
“Didn’t have time to look,” replied Jerry. “Here, you and Ned have a peep at it. If the meet is anywhere around here we might take it in.” Jerry reached in his pocket, and pulled out a folded newspaper. He passed it back to Ned, who exclaimed a moment later:
“Say, fellows, we ought to take this in. It’s going to be great, and maybe we can pull down one of the prizes.”
“Where’s it to be?” asked Jerry.
“At Colton.”
“And where’s Colton?” demanded Bob.
“Not far from the city of Harmolet. We stopped there once to fix up after a blowout.”
“Oh, I remember that place!” exclaimed Bob. “It was there we had such a jolly chicken pot-pie dinner.”
“Hum! Yes! Trust Bob to remember anything that had ‘eats’ in it,” came from Jerry, with a chuckle. “But Colton isn’t so far away. We could take it in. What do you say?”
“I’m for it,” declared Ned.
“Same here,” added Bob. “But, speaking of chicken pot-pie makes me hungry. There’s a good hotel just ahead and what’s the matter with stopping there for dinner?”
“Nothing, I guess,” conceded Jerry. “We’re out for a good time, and we might as well have it. We’ll stop for grub, fellows, and then we can talk about this meet.”
A run of five minutes more brought them to a small country town