by Roy Rockwood
CHAPTER XXIV
SOMETHING WRONG
Dave was a good deal disheartened. It was several hours after hismeeting with the two persons he wished most to avoid. And now Dave was aprisoner.
He sat crowded up on the back seat of a rickety old wagon, covered withcanvas top and sides, and boarded up at the back. Beside him was hisfoxy-eyed, ferret-faced guardian, old Silas Warner. On the front seat,acting as driver, was the Brookville sheriff. Around Dave’s wrist waswhat is called a “come-along,” or rope handcuff, its two crossed staypieces of wood being held tightly by the watchful, sleepless Warner.
The way this had all come about seemed like a dream to Dave. The instantthat his guardian and the sheriff had recognized the runaway they wereseeking, they had pounced down upon poor Dave like hungry wolves.
Silas Warner held our hero while the sheriff hurried out into the mainroom of the station. He spoke a few words to the police clerk, and thenDave was led out of the place, both men holding tightly to him, and soonfound himself in a room in a cheap boarding house.
Dave had tried to expostulate, to explain. His jubilant captors hadrefused to listen to him. He had frantically begged of them to allow himto send word to some friends, to take a simple message to the policelieutenant.
“Don’t trust him for a minute, Daniel Jackson,” his guardian shouted tothe sheriff. “You know what a slippery one he is.”
“But it’s important,” pleaded Dave. “A fellow robbed me. He must becaught.”
“All a pack of lies,” declared old Warner. “Don’t trust him or listen tohim, Sheriff. He’s trying to get his friends to rescue him, trying toput on time to delay us, and slip.”
“Oh, indeed, no,” answered Dave desperately.
“Shut up. Sheriff, we’ll make our plans, and bundle this boy back toBrookville quick as we can get him there.”
Over Dave the sheriff kept close watch and ward while Warner went awayto make arrangements of which Dave learned later. It was long aftermidnight when these plans were perfected. By that time, from theconversation of the two men, Dave found out a great deal that was new tohim, and astonished him not a little.
It seemed that by the sheerest accident the two men had come across Daveat a time when they were on their way to Dayton to arrest him. They wereon their way to that city, because Jerry Dawson had written Warner thatthere he would find his runaway ward.
This was the reason why Jerry had boasted to Dave that he would not makeany more air flights. His crony, Brooks, had overheard Dave tell Hiramall about his guardian and the circumstances of his leaving home, andthe mean-spirited Jerry had been quick to take advantage of the chanceto get his rival into trouble.
It seemed that Warner, with his usual miserly penuriousness had hiredthe sheriff to “work cheap.” They had got as far as Genoa through“lifts” in various farm wagons. They had taken the cheapest lodgingsthat evening they could find. The sheriff and Warner happened to be atthe police station, because the former had a slight acquaintance withthe lieutenant, and was waiting to see him when Dave arrived.
Silas Warner had managed to hire a sorry nag and a miserable wreck of anold milk wagon to convey them back to Brookville. Dave’s feelings may beimagined when he found himself in the clutches of the enemy. He had beenin torment to think that Hiram and the chauffeur would wait for himvainly. He wondered what Mr. King would think of this second unusualabsence. Most of all, poor Dave nearly wept when a thought of the greatair race of the morrow came into his mind. He would miss the grand eventin which he had hoped to take so proud a part.
“It’s awful, just awful,” reflected Dave, feeling well-nigh crushed,“and no hope of my getting any word of explanation to my friends.”
It must have been two o’clock in the morning when the wagon come to ahalt. Dave had caught sight of lights ahead on the road as they joggedalong. Then strains of music grew plainer. The shouts of merry makersfilled the air.
It appeared that they had reached a roadhouse with a dancing pavilionand park attached to it, much in favor with excursion parties from thecountry around. Outside of the place stood a hayrack with four horsesattached.
“Horse needs a rest, Warner,” the sheriff declared, “and somerefreshment wouldn’t hurt you and me, hey?”
“Nothing for me, Sheriff, nothing for me,” the miserly old fellow wasquick to retort. “Of course you can buy what you want—with your ownmoney.”
“Just so. Well, I’ll stretch my limbs a little and sort of see what thatjolly crowd is up to.”
The old man kept his tight hold on Dave. He would silence the youthevery time the latter tried to talk or reason with him or question him.With low mutterings and chuckles he hinted that the law would see to itthat Dave did not again “desert his comfortable home.”
It was fully four o’clock when the sheriff came back to the wagon. Hepulled himself up into the seat like an overfed porpoise.
“Just going to break up, that crowd,” he observed, “and having a greattime. I wish I was young again. Get up, there,” he added to the horse.
Dave made up his mind that he would be given no chance to escape, atleast during the trip to Brookville.
There came a rumbling behind them as the horse was plodding along anarrow country road with a deep ditch on either side of it. Then singingvoices broke the silence. The party from the roadhouse was homewardbound.
The road twisted and turned. At its narrowest part, before thesleepy-headed driver could realize it, the great loaded hayrack wagonlumbered by. Its side grazed the inside wheels of the wagon the sheriffwas driving.
“Hey, look out!” yelled the officer.
Derisive shouts answered him. There was a crash, a tip over, and downthe embankment went horse, wagon and passengers. The hayrack crowdindulged in mocking cat calls as if it was a great joke, and went onwithout anybody trying to find out what damage had been done.
The horse broke loose from the rotten old shafts of the wagon before itrolled over twice. The frame of the box cover was crushed in and thewooden end was reduced to kindling wood.
Dave was jerked free from his guardian, rope handcuff and all. He landedin a great clump of bushes, was slightly jarred, and lay there for aminute or two.
“The scoundrels!” roared the sheriff, extricating himself from a nest ofbrambles. “What you whining about, Warner?”
“I’ve torn my best coat all down the back, and I’ve got a lump on myhead big as a goose egg.”
“How’s the prisoner?”
“Hi, whoop! That’s so, Sheriff, he’s sloped.”
“What! after all our trouble?”
That was enough to rouse up Dave. Now was his chance. Day was justbreaking, but it was dark and dim down in the ditch. On hands and knees,bending down low, the boy crept along its windings. Where the roadturned and the ditch followed it, he felt safe in rising to his feet andstarting on a keen run.
Dave did not venture to climb up to the road as yet. His late captorswould certainly make some kind of a search for him. He kept on runningalong in the dry ditch, out of view from the road. Its bottom was rockstrewn, and several times his feet became tangled up in trailing vines.Finally, all unaware of what he was heading into, Dave plunged into amaze of bushes to take a direct tumble where the ditch dropped suddenlynearly a dozen feet.
It was a gravel pit Dave had fallen into, and a heavy tree stump lay atits bottom. Dave’s head struck this as he landed, and he was stunned.
He was conscious of partially rousing a little later. In a dreamy, dazedway the main idea in his mind was that he was very sleepy. Dave passedinto another spell of insensibility. He awoke with a start finally, tofind the sun shining brightly on his face.
“Oh, the mischief!” exclaimed Dave, as he realized that the day wasseveral hours old.
The boy felt of his head. He found a lump there, but he was as bright asa dollar otherwise. He was immensely satisfied to find himself free. Ifhis late captors ha
d searched for him, they had looked in the wrongdirection.
Dave got up on the roadway and looked up and down it. No one was insight. He crossed it, plunged through the timber, and reaching a northand south road faced the sun on a pretty good sprint.
Dave wondered what had become of his guardian, and the sheriff, and thewrecked milk wagon. It seemed certain that sooner or later his enemieswould look for him at Dayton. The lad did not mind that so much justnow. He had great faith in Mr. King, and he believed that the airmanwould find some way to circumvent his enemies.
“It’s missing the race that makes me feel bad,” ruminated Dave. “Ofcourse they’ll find a substitute to take my place.”
A mile down the road Dave came to a farmhouse. The men folks were out inthe field and the mistress was just washing up her breakfast dishes. Sheprepared a hasty meal for Dave, which refreshed him considerably. Shedirected him to the nearest town, gave him a clear idea of his bearings,and told him it was nine o’clock.
“They are just starting at the meet,” said Dave rather mournfully, as heproceeded on his way. “That lady said Clyde is two miles ahead. Why, Iremember now, Clyde is one of the towns on the route of the one hundredmile dash. Some of the contestants ought to be passing over the placeinside of the next fifteen minutes.”
A farmer came along in a light wagon and gave Dave a lift. Just as theydrove into Clyde, the man made the sudden remark:
“There’s one of them airships.”
Over towards the southeast a whizzing monoplane was speeding on its way.
“The race is on,” decided Dave.
“There’s another!” cried his companion, and stopped his wagon and gotout. Dave followed his example, thanked him for the lift, and, lookingupwards, walked on to a rise where he could get a better view of the airmovements.
In turn four machines came into view. One or two of them were nearenough for Dave to recognize. A queer qualm came over him as a fifthmachine drove a course directly over the town.
“The racing monoplane I was to have run,” he said breathlessly. “Iwonder who has taken my place? Hello—something wrong!”
Like a soaring eagle suddenly wounded, the monoplane dropped one wing.It curvetted under a manipulation of the rudder. Then with no reasonapparent for the strange movement, the monoplane tilted at a sharpangle.
“He’s gone—it’s a smash up!” shouted Dave in a transport of the wildestanxiety and alarm.
To a casual observance the daring airman aloft was simply givingspectators a stock thrill. Dave realized instantly that something waswrong.
To him it was apparent that the operator of the racing monoplane hadunaccountably lost entire control of his machine, and was headed forsure destruction.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
