Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator; Or, In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune Read online

  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 puzzledway.

  “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 softdirt. One wheel of the wagon was splintered to pieces and the wagon boxhad 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 slightslant.

  “Whew!” whistled Ned, “here’s a pretty bad wreck.”

  “Yes,” assented Dave soberly. “I don’t know what Mr. Warner will sayabout it.”

  “Let him say!” flared out Ned. “The old thing was ready for the junkpile, long ago.”

  “That won’t help much,” said Dave.

  As he spoke Dave went over to a stretch of broken fence and dragged along rail up to the wagon. This he strapped to the hub of the brokenwheel.

  “I guess the wagon will drag home,” he observed, as he hitched up Dobbinanew, “but we will have to walk.”

  “Say,” broke in Ned suddenly, “you think something hit the horse andstarted 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 oftheir lot. You know they pelted you once before?”

  “I know that,” admitted Dave, “but I don’t see or hear anything of themjust now.”

  “Oh, they’d lay in ambush in that brush yonder all night to play a trickon either of us,” insisted Ned.

  The Bolgers were a family crowd very numerous and troublesome. They hadoften pestered Dave in the past, and, aroused by the suggestion of hiscomrade, Dave walked back the road a dozen feet or so, peering sharplyinto the straggly brush lining it.

  “What is it, Dave?” inquired Ned, as his friend uttered a quick cry. Henoticed that Dave had come to a short stop and was stooping over in theroad.

  “My foot kicked something,” explained Dave, groping about. “Why, Iwonder 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. “Itlooks like a rolled-up sweater.”

  “Some one must have dropped it from a wagon,” said Dave. “There’ssomething 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-upbundle. “It’s too dark to make out anything plain.”

  The moon had not yet come up, and on that tree-lined road it was prettydark. Dave moved up to the wagon. Under the front seat was an oillantern, 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 seatcushion.

  “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? Andlook, there’s a medal—a gold medal.”

  Dave took this up and inspected it closely. His fingers trembled withexcitement as he did so, for the pretty bauble suggested the themenearest and dearest to his heart.

  The main plate of the medal was chased with the outline of an airship.Pendant from this by two tiny gold chains was a little strip of metal,and on this was inscribed the words: “Presented to Robert A. King by theC. A. A. First Endurance Prize.”

  “Why, I know where this came from!” cried Dave suddenly.

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “It fell out of that airship that just went over us. It was this bundlethat hit the horse and made him run away.”

  “Why—why—” stammered Ned in great excitement. “Do you think so?”

  “I am sure of it. That name there, too—‘King’. I read about him beingdown at the meet at Fairfield in a paper yesterday, and ‘C. A. A.’ meansCentral Aero Association.”

  “Is there much money, Dave?” questioned Ned.

  “About fifty dollars.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Return it to the owner.”

  “Of course, but how are you going to get it to him?”

  “I’ll find a way,” replied Dave thoughtfully. “He will be pretty glad toget back that medal.”

  “I should think so, too.”

  Dave carefully replaced the pocket book in the sweater, rolled it up,and stowed it in the corner of the seat space. Then he took up the linesand started up Dobbin, both he and Ned walking along beside the wagon.

  Ned had been dazzled with the sight of the valuable contents of thesweater bundle, and could talk of nothing else. Dave let him talk, anddid not say much. He had the broken wagon and a thought of the way thatmishap would stir up his guardian on his mind, and it was not a verypleasant thing to think about. At the same time, Dave had a vagueglimmering idea that events were framing up that brought him in closertouch all the time with aeronautics.

  “Say, Dave, I’ll go home with you if you like,” suggested Ned, as theyneared the Towner place.

  “Thank you, Ned, but I don’t think you had better.”

  “I could help you put up the horse and all that, you know.”

  “No,” responded Dave definitely. “There’s a storm to face, and I mightjust as well face it alone and have it over with.”

  “Tell me what you decide to do about getting that stuff back to theairship man, won’t you?”

  “I certainly shall.”

  “I wish you could arrange to take it to this Mr. King yourself, Dave,”went on Ned. “He would be sure to appreciate it, and help you get aninsight into the doings down at the aero meet in which you are sointerested. Well, see you to-morrow! Good night!”

  “Good night, Ned,” responded Dave, and started on his lonely way. Hewondered how his guardian would take his late coming and the brokenwagon. As the rail supporting the broken wheel clattered over the ruttyroad leading into the yard, Dave drew Dobbin to a halt and stared upwonderingly at the one side window of the barn loft.

  There Dave saw a light, or rather the receding radiance of a light, asif some person was just descending the stairs with a lantern. It was avery unusual circumstance for anybody to visit the loft except himself.He had always used it as a work room, the grain and hay being stored ina shed built onto the stable. The next moment Mr. Warner came out fromthe barn.

  He carried a lantern in one hand. In the other was a big sledge hammer.The old man looked ugly, excited and was out of breath. The moment hecaught sight of Dave he hurried forward, dropping the hammer.

  “Aha! so you’ve got home at last, have you?” he snarled.

  “Yes, sir. I’m afraid I am a little late,” said Dave.

  “A little late—a little late!” snarled the old man. “You’re two hoursbehind time. Now then, I want to know what this means?”

  “I was delayed in finding Mr. Swain at the warehouse,” explained Dave,“but I don’t make that an excuse. There were some airships going overthe town. Everybody was looking at them, and I couldn’t help doing itmyself.”

  “Airships!” shouted Warner. “Well, there’s one airship, as you call ’em,that won’t fill your head with nonsense any more.”

  “What do you mean?” inquired Dave anxiously.

  “I mean that I won’t stand you loitering and wasting my time any more,”declared Dave’s guardian. “I mean that I’ve settled one end of yournonsense. I’ve smashed that crazy model of yours,
and if I hear any moreof this airship rot, I’ll give you the trouncing of your life.”

  “You’ve—smashed—my—model!” gasped Dave, in unspeakable amazement anddismay.

  “Yes, I have. What about it?” challenged the irate old tyrant.

  “You dared to—” began Dave, his face on fire, and he felt as if he couldno longer control himself. Then fortunately at just that moment therewas a diversion. His guardian’s eye chanced to fall upon the dismantledwagon with one wheel gone and the box supported by the dragging fencerail.

  With a shriek of rage that was almost a bellow he grabbed Dave by thearm and dragged him up to the wrecked vehicle.

  “Who did that?” he raged. “Don’t tell me—it’s a piece of spite work! Whodid that, I say?”

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