The Girl Aviators' Motor Butterfly
by
Margaret Burnham
Part 3 out of 3
"Yes, we'd have kept right on going," agreed Jimsy; "talk about flying!
But, say, who can have done this?"
"Not much doubt in my mind it's the work of that outfit of Kelly's. He
told us to look out for trouble, and he appears to be making it for us."
"The precious rascal; he might have broken all our necks."
"That's true, if we'd been hitting up high speed."
"How are we going to get out of this?"
Peggy asked the question just as the man who had been driving the cattle
came running up.
"What's the trouble?" he asked, gazing at the odd scene.
"You can see for yourself," rejoined Roy; "some rascals dug a trench
across the road so as to wreck our machine if possible."
"Humph! So I see," was the rejoinder; "how be you goin' ter git out of
thar?"
"That's a problem. If we could get a team of horses----" The man
interrupted Roy, who was acting as spokesman.
"Tell you what, two of my cattle back thar are plow oxen. I'll go back
to ther farm, git their yokes on 'em and yank you out of here. That is
pervidin' you pay me, uv course."
"Don't worry about that. We're willing to pay anything in reason."
"All right, then, I'll hook up Jeb and Jewel."
The man walked back toward his cattle, which were contentedly browsing
at the side of the road. Clucking in an odd manner, he drove two of them
out of the herd and started back toward a farmhouse which was not far
distant. In a wonderfully short time he was back with his oxen in
harness.
"Gee, Jeb! Haw, Jewel!" he cried, as he came up. The oxen swung round
and the heavy chain attached to their yoke was hitched to the front axle
of the car.
"Now for it!" cried Roy, when this had been done.
"Git ap!" shouted the man.
The slow but powerful oxen strained their muscular backs. The chain
tightened and the next moment the car, from which Peggy and Jess and
Bess had alighted, rose from the pit. Then the hind wheels dropped into
it with a bump, but the shock absorbers prevented serious damage. With
the oxen straining and pulling it was finally hauled into the road and
they were ready to resume the trip.
Roy rewarded their helper with a substantial bill, and they were all
warm in their thanks.
"'Twasn't nuthin'," declared the man, "an' now I guess I'll go to ther
house and have my hired man fill in this road. Things is come to a fine
pass when such things kin happen."
As the rescued party sped on toward the aviation field they fully agreed
with the rustic's opinion. Had it not been for sheer luck they would
have suffered extremely serious consequences as the result of a rascal's
device. But as it was Kelly's plot against them appeared to have failed.
CHAPTER XX.
AN ATTACK IN THE AIR.
"B-o-o-m!"
The sound of a gun crashed out as the auto sped through the gates of the
aviation field and rapidly skimmed across to where the aeroplanes had
been parked.
"Just in time!" cried Peggy; "that's the five-minute warning gun."
By this time the grandstand was well filled and a band was playing
lively airs. At the starting line three of the Kelly aeroplanes were
gathered ready for the signal for the start of the altitude flight. The
instant the car came to a standstill Jimsy was out and in a jiffy had
the new spark plug adjusted. There was no time to test it, but he felt
pretty confident that it would work all right.
"All ready!" shouted the official in charge of the starting
arrangements.
"Ready!" rejoined Jimsy heartily, as he adjusted his leather helmet and
Jake and Roy started the engine.
Kelly, whose back had been turned while he talked to some of his troup,
faced round at the sound of the boy's voice.
"What, you here!" he choked out, his face purple.
"Yes; do you know any reason why I shouldn't be?" asked Jimsy, with
meaning emphasis.
Under the lad's direct gaze Kelly's eyes fell. He couldn't face the lad,
but turned away.
"There, if that isn't proof of his guilt I'd like to know what is,"
declared Jimsy to Roy.
"But the rascal covered up his tracks so cleverly that we can't prove
anything on him," muttered Roy disgustedly.
At the same instant the starting bomb boomed out. The crowd yelled, and
the drummer of the band pounded his instrument furiously. Above the
uproar sounded the sharp, crackerlike report of the motors. As more
power was applied they roared like batteries of Gatling guns.
Into the air shot one of them, a black biplane. It was followed by the
others, two monoplanes and a triplane. Jimsy ascended last, but as this
was not a race, but a cloud-climbing contest, he was in no hurry. He was
anxious to see what the other air craft could do.
Up they climbed, ascending the aerial stairway, while the crowd below
stared up, at the risk of stiff necks in the immediate future.
Jimsy chose spiraling as his method of rising. But the others went
upward in curious zigzags. This was because their machines were not
equipped with the stability device, and they could not attempt the same
tactics. Before long Jimsy was high above the others. From below he
appeared a mere dot in the blue. But still he flew on.
Once he glanced at his barograph. It showed he had ascended 5,000
feet. It was higher than the boy had ever been before, but he kept
perseveringly on.
It was cold up there in the regions of the upper air, and Jimsy found
himself wishing he had put on a sweater.
"It's too long a drop to go down and get one," he remarked to himself,
with grim humor.
Beneath him he could see the other aeroplanes; but the black one was the
only one that appeared to be a serious rival. The rest did not seem to
be trying very hard to reach a superlative height. The black machine,
however, was steadily rising. After a while Jimsy could see the face of
its occupant. It was the Cuban, Le Roy.
"Now, what's he trying to do, I wonder?" thought Jimsy, as the black
biplane rose to the same level as himself and appeared to be going
through some odd maneuvering.
"That's mighty funny," mused the boy, watching his rival; "I can't make
out what he's up to."
Indeed the black biplane was behaving queerly. Now it would swoop toward
Jimsy and then would dart, only to return. Suddenly it came driving
straight at him.
It was then that Jimsy suddenly realized what his rival was trying to
do. To use a slangy but expressive phrase, Le Roy, the veteran aviator,
was trying to rattle the boy.
"So that's his game, is it," thought Jimsy; "well, I'll give him a
surprise."
Manipulating his spark and gas levers the boy gave his graceful red
craft full power. The Dragon shot sharply upward, crossing Le Roy's
machine about twenty feet above its upper plane. Jimsy laughed aloud at
the astonished expression on the man's face as he skimmed above him.
"I reckon he'll think that I do know something about driving an
aeroplane, after all," he chuckled as he rose till his barograph
recorded 6,000 feet.
Beneath him he could see Le Roy starting to descend. Something appeared
to be wrong with the black biplane's motor. It acted sluggishly.
"Well, as he's going down I guess I will, too," said Jimsy to himself;
"6,000 feet is by no means a record, but it's high enough for me."
Suddenly he was plunged into what appeared to be a wet and chilly fog.
In reality it was a cloud that had drifted in on him. It grew suddenly
cold with an almost frosty chill. The moisture of the cloud drenched him
to the skin. The lad shivered and his teeth chattered, but he kept
pluckily to his task.
Before long he emerged into the sunlight once more. The crowd which had
thrilled when the young aviator vanished into the vapor set up a yell
when he reappeared. But at the height he was Jimsy, of course, did not
hear it.
But as he dropped lower the shouts and cheers became plainly audible.
The lad waved his hand in acknowledgment. Then, as he neared the ground,
he put his machine through a series of graceful evolutions that set the
crowd wild.
"The altitude flight is won by Number Four," announced the officials
after they had examined the barograph; "with a height of 6,000 feet.
Number Four is Mr. James Bancroft."
"Gee; that sounds real dignified," laughed Jimsy; "it's a treat to be
treated with becoming dignity once in a while."
The next flight was a race six times round the course. This was won
by one of the Kelly flyers. Then came an endurance contest which Roy
captured handily and some exhibition flying in which Bess did some
clever work and was delighted to find herself a winner.
It was soon after this that the gun was fired as a note of warning that
the big race was about to begin.
Peggy's _Golden Butterfly_ and Roy's entry, the _Red Dragon_, borrowed
for this race because the biplane was too heavy and clumsy for such
fast work, were wheeled to the starting line. Already three of Kelly's
machines were there, among them being that of Senora Le Roy, or, as she
was billed, the Cuban Skylark, the Only Woman Flyer in the World. It
appeared now that she had small claim to the title. The crowd set up
a cheer for her as she took her seat in a neat-looking monoplane of
the Bleriot type.
But when Peggy's dapper figure, smartly attired in her aviation costume,
appeared a still louder shout went up.
Kelly scowled blackly. He stepped up to his flyers.
"You've got to win this race or get fired," he snarled.
CHAPTER XXI.
PEGGY'S SPLENDID RACE.
"They're off!"
"Hurrah!"
"There they go!"
These and hundreds of other cries and exclamations followed the report
of the starting gun. The Cuban woman flyer was off first, then came two
other of the professional flyers, while Roy and Peggy got away last.
The race was to be sixty miles out to a small body of water called Lake
Loon and return. A trolley line ran past the aviation grounds and out to
the lake. For the guidance of the flyers a car with a huge American flag
flying from it blazed a trail below them, as it were.
Roy's craft gained a slight lead on the _Golden Butterfly_ and two of
the Kelly flyers were soon passed by both the boy and his sister. But
the professional woman flyer still maintained her lead. Second came
another of Lish Kelly's aviators in a blue machine. This was Ben
Speedwell, who enjoyed quite a reputation as a skillful and daring air
driver.
The flyers had all struck a level about 1,500 feet in the air. There was
a light head wind, but not enough to deter any of the powerfully engined
craft. Glancing back for an instant Roy saw one of the contesting
aviators dropping to earth. His companion soon followed.
"Overheated engines probably," thought the boy; "I must be careful the
same thing doesn't happen to me going at this pace."
Suddenly another aeroplane loomed up beside him. It was the _Golden
Butterfly_.
"Good for you, sis!" cried Roy, as Peggy, waving her hand, roared past.
In another minute she had shot past Speedwell, but the leader, the woman
flyer, was still some distance ahead, and appeared to steadily maintain
the lead she had.
At last Lake Loon came into view. It was a more or less shallow body
of water with a small island in the middle of it. As they neared it
Speedwell and Roy were flying almost abreast, with Speedwell just a
shade in the lead.
Suddenly Speedwell made a spurt and shot ahead of the _Dragon_. At a
distance of half a mile from Roy, who was now last, Speedwell was above
the lake.
Peggy and the woman flyer had already turned and were on their way back,
with the latter still in the lead. Roy was watching Speedwell intently.
He saw the man bank his machine to take the curve in order to round the
lake. An appalling climax followed.
"He's turned too sharp. He'll never make it," exclaimed Roy, holding
his breath.
The aeroplane swayed madly. Then began a fierce fight on Speedwell's
part to settle it on an even keel. But skillful as he was he could not
master the overbalanced machine.
"He is lost!" breathed Roy, every nerve athrill.
And then the next minute:
"Cracky! He's got it. No, he's falling again--ah!"
There was a note of horror in the exclamation. The aeroplane in front
of Roy dived wildly, then fairly somersaulted. The strain was too great.
A wing parted.
"It's the end of him!" exclaimed Roy, in a whisper.
Down shot the broken aeroplane with the velocity of lightning. It just
dodged the trees on the little island and then it plunged into the lake,
first spilling Speedwell out. Then down on top of him came the smother
of canvas, wood and wires.
"He'll be suffocated if I don't go to his rescue," murmured Roy; "it
will put me out of the race, but I must save him."
There was a clear spot on the island, and toward this the boy dived. In
the meantime men were putting out from shore in a small boat. But the
boy knew that they could not reach the unfortunate Speedwell in time to
save his life.
Roy made a clever landing on the island and then lost no time in wading
out to the half floating, half submerged wreckage. In the midst of it
lay Speedwell. Roy dragged him ashore. The man's face was purple, his
limbs limp and lifeless and he choked gaspingly. Another minute in the
water would have been his last, as Roy realized.
He did what he could for the man, rolling him on his face to get out the
water he had swallowed. By this time the boat from the shore landed on
the island. The two men got out.
"Is he alive?" they asked of Roy.
"Yes, and he'll get better, too, I guess. Lucky he fell in the water. No
limbs are broken."
"Well, you're a pretty decent sort of fellow to get out of the race to
help an injured man," said one of the men.
"Well, I'll leave him to you now," rejoined Roy; "is there a hospital
near here?"
"There's one 'bout a mile away. We can phone for an ambulance."
"Good! Well, good-bye."
With a whirr and a buzz the boy was gone, and speedily became a speck in
the sky.
In the meantime the aviation field was in an uproar. Dashing toward it
had come the two leading aeroplanes. From dots in the sky no bigger than
shoe buttons they speedily became manifest as two aeroplanes aquiver
with speed. Blue smoke poured from their exhausts. Evidently the two
aviators were straining their craft to the utmost.
"It's that Cuban woman and the young girl flyer!" yelled a man who had a
pair of field glasses.
The uproar redoubled. The two aeroplanes were almost side by side as
they rushed onward. Which would win the $500 race?
It was a struggle that had begun some miles back. After leaving the lake
Peggy, who had held some speed in reserve while her opponent had keyed
her machine to its top pitch, had gradually gained on her. But still
there was a gap between the two aeroplanes.
On the return trip no car blazed the way. The speed was too great for
that. For this reason smudges, or smoky fires, had been lighted to guide
the flyers. At a place where it was necessary to make a slight turn
Peggy made the gain that brought her almost alongside her competitor. In
making the turn the monoplane flown by the Cuban aviatrix could not
negotiate it at as sharp an angle as Peggy's machine, owing to its not
being equipped with an equalizing, or stability device.
Now it was that Peggy tensioned up the _Golden Butterfly_ to its full
power. The engine fairly roared as the propeller blurred round. The
whole fabric trembled under the strain. It seemed as if nothing made by
man could stand the pressure.
But the _Golden Butterfly_ had been built by one of the foremost young
aviators in the country, and it was sound and true in every part. Peggy
felt no fear of anything giving out under the strain.
And now the aviation park appeared in the distance. Peggy headed
straight for it, hoping devoutly that her motor would not heat up
and jam under the terrific speed it was being forced to.
The Cuban woman glanced round anxiously. It was a bad move for her. Like
a flash the _Golden Butterfly_ shot by the other machine as the latter
wobbled badly.
Peggy's delight was mixed with apprehension. The motor was beginning to
smoke. Plainly it was heating up.
"Will it last five minutes longer?"
That was the thought in Peggy's mind. The _Golden Butterfly_ was hardly
an airship any longer. It was a thunderbolt--a flying arrow. Before
Peggy's eyes there was nothing now but the tall red and white "pylon"
that marked the winning post. Could she make it ahead of her rival?
Close behind her she could hear the roar of the other motor, but she
did not dare to look round for fear of losing ground.
Swiftly she mentally selected the spot where she would land, and then
down shot the _Golden Butterfly_ like a pouncing fish hawk. The speed of
the descent fairly took Peggy's breath away. Her cap had come off and
her golden hair streamed out in the breeze wildly.
There was a blur of flying trees, then came the grandstand, a mere
smudge of color, a sea of dimly seen faces and a roar that was like that
of a hundred waterfalls.
Down shot the _Golden Butterfly_ just inside the "pylon." It ran for
about a hundred yards and was then brought to a stop.
Peggy Prescott had won the great race.
CHAPTER XXII.
PEGGY'S GENEROSITY.
"Oh, Peggy, it's the proudest moment of my life!" cried Jimsy, as a
shouting, excited crowd surrounded the aeroplane in which Peggy still
sat, feeling dazed and a little dizzy.
"Oh, you wonderful girl!" cried out Bess, half laughing and half crying;
"gracious, what an exciting finish. I thought I'd go wild when it looked
as if you weren't going to win."
They helped her from the aeroplane while policemen pushed the crowd
back. Somebody brought a tray with steaming hot tea and crackers on it.
But Peggy could not eat. She felt faint and dreamy.
"Brace up!" urged Jimsy.
"I'll be all right in a minute. It's the strain of those last few
minutes. I never thought I'd win."
"And I never doubted it," declared Jess stoutly.
"I wonder where Roy is?" asked Peggy anxiously, as they entered a box in
the grandstand where they could be secluded from the shoving, curious,
staring crowd.
"Don't know; but he's all right, depend upon it," said Jimsy cheerfully;
"hello, what's that coming now?"
"It's a homing aeroplane."
Then, a minute later:
"It's Roy. Look at him come. I didn't think the _Red Dragon_ could go
as fast."
Roy it was, sure enough. He was coming at a pace that might have landed
him as winner of the race if he had not been delayed by his errand of
mercy.
Ten minutes later he had joined them. First he explained what had
happened to the judges of the course. Kelly, crest-fallen and
wretched-looking, thanked him half heartedly for what he had done and
said that he would care for Speedwell till he got better, which, by
the way, was a promise that he did not perform.
A sudden stir in the crowd caused the little party in the box to
look up.
A man was hastily chalking up some legend on the big black bulletin
board. It ran thus:
Long-distance Race for $500 prize.
Start of Flight--11:01:2.
Finish of Flight--12:02:0.
Maximum Height--1,500 feet.
Wind Velocity--10 miles from southeast.
Winner--_Golden Butterfly_.
Winning Aviator--Miss Margaret Prescott.
What a cheer went up then. It seemed as if the roof would be raised off
the grandstand by it.
"It's like a dream!" sighed Peggy, "just like a dream."
"Now, don't get fainty, Peggy, or Miss Margaret Prescott," admonished
Jess; "as Jimsy says, 'brace up,' the best is yet to come."
A man came up to where they were sitting. In his hand he had a slip of
pink paper.
Roy reached out for it, but the man said that he had instructions to
hand it only to Peggy.
"It's the check for the prize-winning money," he explained.
Peggy took it and sat gazing at it for a minute.
"Oh, Peggy, what are you going to do with it?" asked Bess. "Buy some
dresses or hats or----"
"None of those things," said Peggy; "I made up my mind before I went
into the race as to what I would do with the money if I won."
"And what's that?" asked Miss Prescott.
"Why, it must go toward The Wren's education," rejoined the girl.
"Oh, Peggy, you darling!" cried Jess, flinging her arms round her chum,
in full view of the grandstand and the crowd below.
As for The Wren, she gazed up at the girl with wide-open brown eyes.
"You are too good to me--too good," she said simply; but there was a
plaintive quiver in her voice.
Mr. James Parker sat on the porch of his home, in the foothills of the
Big Smokies, gazing out over the landscape. Seemingly he was watching
for something.
"He done watch de sky lak he 'spected de bottom drap clean out uv it
pretty soon," said Uncle Jupe, his factotum, to his wife Mandy.
"'Gwan, you fool nigger, don' you know dat dem flying boys an' gals is
to be hayr ter-day?"
"Oh, dat's jes a joke, dat is," rejoined Uncle Jupe; "how's they all
goin' ter fly ah'd lak to know."
"I don' know, but dat's what Marse Parker says."
"Den he's been grocersly imposed upon by somebody. Ain't likely dat ef
de Lawd had meant us ter fly he'd have give us wings, wouldn't he?"
"Go 'long, now, Don' flossyfying roun' hyar. You git out an' hoe dat
cohn. Look libely, now. You git it done fo' dinner or dere'll be
trouble."
Uncle Jupe shuffled out of the kitchen, but in a minute he came rushing
back.
"Wha' de matter?" demanded his wife, noticing his wildly staring eyes
and open mouth; "you gone fool crazy?"
"M-m-m-m-mandy, it's true! It's true!" gasped Uncle Jupe.
"Wha's true,--dat you all's crazy?"
"Yes--no, it's 'bout dem flyin' things. Dey's comin'. Come and look wid
your own eyes."
Mandy shuffled out. There, sure enough, coming toward them, was a flock
of what at first sight appeared to be immense birds. But it was the
young sky cruisers nearing their destination.
On the porch Mr. Parker stood up and waved his newspaper. Ten minutes
later the aeroplanes came to earth in the smooth front lawn, while Uncle
Jupe restrained a strong inclination to run away.
"Dey ain't canny, dem things," he declared; "ef de Lord had wanted us to
fly he'd have given us wings, I guess.
"Yes, sir, he'd sure have given us wings des de same as angels hev," he
repeated musingly.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE MOONSHINERS AND THE AEROPLANE.
"This is a beautiful country, sis."
"Yes, indeed," agreed Peggy warmly.
The two were flying high above the romantic scenery of the Big Smoke
Mountains of North Carolina in the _Golden Butterfly_. Beneath them lay
a wild-looking expanse of country,--peaks, deep canons and cliffs
heavily wooded and here and there bare patches cropping out.
"Let's drop down on one of those patches and do some exploring,"
suggested Peggy.
"All right," agreed Roy, nothing loath. The _Golden Butterfly_ was
headed downward.
In a few minutes they landed on a smooth spot surrounded by trees.
Leaving the aeroplane, they struck off on a path through the woods.
"Wonder if we can't find some huckleberries hereabouts," suggested Roy.
"Oh, yes, lots. Wouldn't it be dandy to take home a bucketful by
aeroplane!"
"There's a little hut off yonder, maybe we could get a bucket or
something there."
"Let's see if there are any berries first," said the practical Peggy.
From out of the hut shuffled an old woman. She was a wrinkled and
hideous old hag, brown as a seasoned meerschaum pipe and in her mouth
was a reeking corn cob.
Her feet were bare, and altogether she was a most repulsive old crone.
She saw Roy and Peggy almost as soon as they saw her. For an instant she
stood looking at them and then raised her voice in a sort of shrill
shriek.
Instantly from the woods around several men appeared--wild-looking,
bearded fellows, each of whom carried a rifle.
"What you alls want hyar?" demanded one who seemed to be the leader.
"We were just taking a walk," explained Roy.
"Wa'al, we all don't like strangers particlar."
"So it would seem," rejoined Roy, with a bold voice, although his heart
was beating rather fast.
"How'd you alls get hyar?" was the next question from the inquisitor.
"We flew here," rejoined Roy truthfully.
But the man's face grew black with wrath.
"Don' you alls lie to me; it ain't healthy," he said.
"I'm not in the habit of doing so."
"But you said you flew hyar."
"Well, we did."
"See hyar, young stranger, you jes' tell me the truth 'bout how you came
or by the eternal I'll make it hot fer you."
"I can only show you that I'm speaking nothing but the truth," rejoined
the boy; "if you'll come with me I'll show you what we flew here in."
The man glanced at him suspiciously. It was plain that he feared a trap
of some sort. His eyes were wild and shifty as a wolf's.
"Ain't you frum the guv-ment?" he asked.
"I don't know just what you mean."
"I reckin that's jus' more dum' lyin'."
"Thank you."
"Don' get sassy, young feller, it won't do you no good. But I'll come
with you. Come on, boys, we'll take a look at this flyin' thing. I
reckon that even if it is a trap there's enough of us to take care of a
pack of them."
"That's right, Jeb," agreed the men.
Some of them, who had been hanging back in the bushes, now came forward.
They were all as wild-looking as their leader, Jeb. The old woman
mumbled and talked to herself as they strode off behind Roy and Peggy.
It was one of the strangest adventures of their lives and neither one of
them could hit on any explanation of the hillmen's conduct.
It did not take long to reach the aeroplane, and Roy turned triumphantly
to Jeb.
"Well," he said, "what do you think now?"
"Wa'al, it ain't flyin', is it?"
"Of course not, but I can make it."
"You kin?"
"Certainly."
"Flap its wings and all that like a burd?"
"No, it doesn't flap its wings."
"Then how kin it fly?" propounded Jeb.
A murmur of approval ran through the throng. Jeb's logic appealed to
their primitive intellects.
"Nothing can't fly that don't flap its wings," said one of them.
"But if it didn't fly, how in tarnation did it git here?" asked an old
man with a grizzled beard and blackened stumps of teeth projecting from
shrunken gums.
This appeared to be a poser for even Jeb. He had nothing to say.
"If you like I'll give you a ride in it," proffered Roy to Jeb.
"All right; only no monkey tricks now."
"What do you mean?"
"Wa'al, in course I know it won't fly, but if it does you'll hev to let
me out."
With this sage remark Jeb stepped gingerly into the chassis of the
aeroplane. He sat down where he was told and Roy took the wheel. Jeb's
companions gazed on in awed silence.
"Look out, Jeb," cried one.
"Don't hit the sky," yelled another.
"Bring me back a star," howled the facetious old man.
"Me a bit of the moon," called another.
Jeb said nothing to this raillery. Instead, he looked uneasily about him
and held his rifle, which he had insisted on bringing with him, between
his knees.
"All right?" asked Roy, looking back at him.
"As right as I ever will be," rejoined Jeb, with a rather sickly grin.
"You must hold tight," warned Peggy.
"I'm doing that," said Jeb.
And then with the same sickly grin:
"Say, miss, does it really fly?"
"Of course it does. As that old man said, how could it have got here if
it didn't."
"I guess I'd better go home and git my coat," said Jeb, trying to climb
out.
His demeanor had completely changed since he had climbed into the
chassis. Something in its well-cushioned seats and the sight of the
powerful engine and propeller seemed to have changed his mind about
the capabilities of the _Golden Butterfly_.
But it was too late. With a roar the engine started. Instantly the
little plateau was deserted. The mountaineers were all behind trees.
Jeb rushed for the side of the car.
"Sit down!" screeched Peggy, really fearing he would fall over.
But if Jeb's intention had been to climb out it was foiled.
[Illustration: "Take me back to earth er I'll shoot," said a voice in
his ear.]
"Wow!" he yelled, and again, "Wow-ow-ow! Lemme out."
"Too late now," shouted Roy.
The aeroplane shot upward, carrying as a passenger a man temporarily
crazy from fright.
Suddenly Roy felt the muzzle of a rifle press against the back of his
neck.
"Take me back to earth er I'll shoot," said a voice in his ear.
Roy obeyed, and so ended Jeb's first aeroplane ride. It may be added
that it was also his last.
CHAPTER XXIV.
MR. PARKER'S STORY.
"It was a gang of moonshiners that you stumbled across," said Mr.
Parker, when they told him of their adventure; "you were fortunate to
escape as you did."
"I guess we have that aeroplane ride we gave to Jeb to thank for that,"
laughed Roy.
"It wasn't so laughable, though, when he pressed that rifle to your
neck," declared Peggy.
"No, indeed. That was a mighty uncomfortable feeling, I can tell you."
"It reminds me of an experience I had with moonshiners once," said Mr.
Parker. "Would you care to hear about it?"
Of course they would. They were sitting on the porch in the twilight
after dinner. It was a happy group and they had been exploding with
laughter over Roy's account of Jeb's ride.
"It was a good many years ago, when I was in the employ of the
government," said Mr. Parker, "that what I am going to tell you about
happened. I was a young fellow then, and a good bit of a dare-devil, so
I was sent at the head of a body of men to rout out moonshiners.
"As you may know from your experience this morning, it is mighty
dangerous to be suspected of being in the employ of the government, and
so we posed as drummers and peddlers, scattering through the mountains.
"Each of us worked alone so as not to attract attention. Our job was
merely to locate the illicit stills and then militia would be sent to
raid and destroy them, and the vile stuff they concoct.
"I had been on the job about a week when I came one night to a
desolate-looking little shack on a high mountainside. It did not look
inviting, but I had to have shelter for the night, so I stepped to the
door and knocked. A rather comely looking woman replied to my summons.
"'I'm a peddler,' I explained, 'could I get something to eat and a room
here for the night?'
"She looked at me twice before answering.
"'What you tradin' in?' she asked, with a trace of suspicion.
"I judged from her manner that there was an illicit still in the
neighborhood and that was what made her so suspicious.
"'Oh, laces, ribbons and so forth,' I replied.
"I showed her some samples.
"I'll give you breakfast, supper and a bed fer that bit of red ribbon,'
she said.
"'I'll throw in this bit of blue,' said I gallantly.
"And so the bargain was struck. It was a small place, but neat and tidy.
Two children were playing about and in a corner sat a man trying to read
a month-old newspaper.
"Pop, this feller traded in these bits of ribbon fer bed and two meals,'
she said, proudly exhibiting her goods and evidently thinking she had
made an excellent bargain. I could see the gleam of triumph in her eye.
"'Humph!' grunted the man, 'much good those are.'
"Then he turned to me.
"'Peddler?' he asked.
"'Yes,' said I.
"'What you tradin' in?'
"'Oh, silks, laces and so forth,' rejoined I, repeating my formula.
"'Humph!'
"He looked at me, narrowing his eyes.
"'You don't look much like a peddler," said he.
"'No, I've seen better days,' I said, with a sigh.
"But I could see that he was still suspicious.
"'Where'd you come from?' was his next question.
"'South,' said I.
"'Where you going?'
"'North.'
"'Ain't much on conversation, be yer?' he asked.
"'No, I'm not considered a very talkative fellow,' I rejoined.
"We lapsed into silence. The man smoked. I just sat and thought the
situation over. At last supper was announced. It was eaten almost in
silence. The man discouraged all his wife's efforts at conversation. He
was sullen and nervous.
"More than ever did I begin to suspect that there was a still in the
immediate neighborhood. Soon after supper I pleaded fatigue and was
shown up a flight of stairs, or rather a ladder, to a sort of attic.
There was a husk mattress there, and a pile of rather dirty-looking
blankets. But in those hills you learn to put up with what you can get.
I was glad to have found shelter at all.
"But tired as I was for some reason I couldn't sleep. I felt a sort of
vague uneasiness. I heard the man get up and go out and then later on
I heard several voices downstairs.
"There were broad chinks in the floor, and through these I could look
down. The men--there were four of them--were talking in low voices, but
now and then I could catch a word. All of a sudden I heard one say
something about government spy.
"That gave me a shock, I can tell you. I knew then they were talking
about me. My predicament was a bad one if they suspected me. I began
to look about me for a way to get out. While doing this I occasionally
looked down below.
"The last time I looked I got a shock that made my hair stand. The
fellows were moving about the room. From one corner one of them got
a formidable-looking knife.
"Scared to death, I redoubled my efforts to find a way out. At last at
one end of the room I found a chimney, one of those big stone affairs
as big as all outdoors. I decided to try this.
"I found that it was rough inside, and I had not much difficulty in
clambering up it. I was near the top when I heard a voice from the
room below say:
"'Then we uns 'ull kill him right now.'
"'Yep, he's lived long enough. He's no good.'
"My heart jumped into my mouth. I redoubled my efforts and emerged from
the top of the chimney. Reaching it, I lowered myself to the roof as
gently as possible.
"The eaves came down low to the ground and I had not much difficulty in
making my escape noiselessly."
CHAPTER XXV.
THE WREN DISAPPEARS.
"But as I reached the ground a startling thing happened. I missed my
footing and found myself rolling down a steepish bank. At the bottom
I fetched up against an odd-looking little hut almost overgrown with
bushes. It was bright moonlight and the door was open.
"Inside was a fire, and by its light I could see that the place was
empty of human life, but that a collection of objects already familiar
to me almost filled it.
"It was an illicit still!
"Clearly enough, also, it was operated by my hosts up above.
"I listened for sounds of pursuit, but heard none. Possibly they had not
yet crept into my room to perform their horrible resolve.
"Suddenly the silence was broken by appalling yells and screams. My hair
bristled for an instant and then I burst into a laugh.
"It was a pig that I heard. At the same instant it dawned on me that it
was the pig that they had been discussing dispatching and not me at all.
You can imagine the revulsion of my feelings. But I felt sore at the
scare they had given me, so I decided to do some work for the government
and even up scores at the same time.
"Entering the shack, I scattered the coals of the fire right and left.
Then I came away. No, I did _not_ go back to the cabin. It would, as
your friend Jeb said, not have been healthy for me.
"Instead I set off running at top speed through the woods. Before long I
saw a glow on the sky behind me, and knew that flames were devouring the
vile stuff that moonshiners make.
"I left my pack behind me, however, and I hope that compensated them for
the loss of their still. I'm sure the woman, at any rate, would value
its contents more highly."
They all burst into a laugh at the conclusion of Mr. Parker's odd story.
They were still laughing when Mandy rushed out on the porch.
"Miss Wren done be gone!" she shouted.
"Gone!" they all echoed, in dismayed tones.
"Yes. I done go to her room to see de poo' lamb is com'foble, and she
not there. I done find dis writin', too."
"Let me look at it," demanded Mr. Parker.
"It mighty hard to read. It sure is a scan-lous bit of writin'."
With this comment the colored woman handed over to her master a bit of
dirty wrapping paper.
On it was scrawled in almost illegible characters:
"U wont git hur agin.--The Romanys."
"The Romanys!" exclaimed Peggy.
"Yes; that's the gipsy word for themselves," said Mr. Parker. "I'm
afraid that the same band that had her before has stolen her again."
"What are we to do?" wailed Bess.
"Hush!" said Jess; "let Mr. Parker decide what is best."
They stood about with dismayed faces.
Miss Prescott was weeping softly. Peggy could hardly keep back her
tears. The little brown Wren had become very dear to all of them. It was
a hard blow indeed to lose her like this.
"But how could they know that she was here?" objected Jimsy.
"Why, that silly newspaper report that went out when you arrived here
about your adventures on the way and the romantic rescue of Wren. If
they had come across that it would have given them a clew."
"They were traveling south then, Wren said, and that was two weeks ago.
They would have had ample time to reach this vicinity."
"That is so," rejoined Mr. Parker solemnly; "I'll make telephonic
inquiries at once. They may have been seen in the vicinity."
"While you are doing that we'll examine the room. They may have left
a clew there," said Roy.
Roy and Jimsy darted upstairs on this errand. On looking round the place
it was clear enough how the abductors had gotten in. Outside the window
was an extension roof. It would have been very easy for an active man
such as gipsies usually are to have clambered in and out again without
detection.
Taking a lantern they examined the ground outside. On a flower bed below
the roof was the imprint of a man's feet.
"Notice anything peculiar about it?" asked Jimsy, for Roy was bending
earnestly over the prints.
"Yes, I'd know that foot print again anywhere," he said; "see, one side
of the man's boot was broken, the one of the right foot. His toes show
here on the ground."
"That might be a good clew if it was daylight; but right now--"
Jimsy sighed. It was manifestly impossible to do any tracking of the man
with the broken boot in the darkness.
"We'll have to wait till daylight."
"Yes, bother it all. They may be miles away by that time."
"I doubt it. I wouldn't wonder if they hide right around here. There are
lots of good places, and they know that the hue and cry will be so hot
that they would be caught if they traveled."
"That's so. Maybe we can find them, after all."
"Let's hope so. Well, we can do no more good here. Let's go in."
Peggy met them at the door. She seemed wildly excited over something.
"The mail rider's just been here," she exclaimed, "and listen to this
letter. It's from a woman living near New York. She just got back from
Europe and in an old newspaper she read an account of our sky cruise.
"She is certain that The Wren is her daughter and gives a description of
her that tallies in every particular. She said that Wren was caught out
in a heavy thunderstorm and sought refuge in a gipsy camp, as she
learned afterward from a farmer who had seen her. She hunted high and
low but has never since had word of the child. Her right name is Sylvia
Harvey. Mrs. James Harvey is her mother, and she's rushing here as fast
as a train will carry her."
"If it is really Sylvia Harvey then her mother has found her only to
lose her again," sighed Jess.
"Don't say that," said Mr. Parker, coming into the room at that moment,
"we'll leave no stone unturned to find her."
"Did you have any success with the telephone?"
"No; nobody has seen a band of people answering to the descriptions you
gave of The Wren's abductors."
"Then we can do nothing more?"
The question came from Roy.
"Not to-night. It would be useless. I have notified all the police
around and a general alarm will be sent out at once. And now I order
every one to bed. We've hard work in front of us tomorrow."
CHAPTER XXVI.
CAPTURED BY GIPSIES.
About noon the next day Roy and Jimsy found themselves at the edge of a
wild-looking section of country. They were standing at the entrance to a
glen densely wooded with dark, forbidding-looking trees, and walled by
precipitous and rugged rocks.
"Looks as if the trail ends here," said Jimsy disconsolately.
"It sure does. We can't----Gee, Whillikens!"
"What on earth is up now?"
"It's the broken-toed boot. Look here on the muddy bank of this little
stream."
"By hooky, it is! We've struck the trail instead of ending it."
"What will we do; go back for reenforcements?"
"Not just yet. We'll reconnoiter a bit. See, the fellow went up this
bank and--look there, Jimsy--there's a little footprint beside. He was
dragging the child along."
With beating hearts the two boys entered the forbidding-looking glen. It
was almost dark under the trees, which made the aspect of the place even
more gloomy and desolate looking.
"This is a nice, cheerful sort of place," said Jimsy, in a low tone, as
they walked along, following the bank of the stream, for the brush was
too thick to admit of their walking anywhere else, which is what had
driven the broken-booted man to leave a tell-tale trail behind him.
"I rather wish I had a gun," said Jimsy.
"We won't get close enough to them to need it," rejoined Roy; "we'll
just spy out their hiding place and then go back for reenforcements."
"That's the best idea. I don't much fancy a hand-to-hand encounter with
a band of such desperate ruffians as those gipsies have shown themselves
to be."
"Don't be scared. We won't have any trouble if we're careful."
"I'm not scared; but if we did get in a tussle with them they could
easily overpower us and then we'd have done more harm than good for
they'd take fright and move right off."
"That's my idea. We'll be as cautious as mousing cats."
"Better stop talking, then. I never heard a mousing cat mi-ouw."
Cautiously they crept on. The trail still held good. At last they
reached the head of the glen where a spring showed the source of the
brook.
"What next?" whispered Jimsy.
"Let's see if we can find which way that fellow went. The ground is
spongy all around here and--ah! this way! See it?"
Jimsy nodded. They struck off to the right, clambering over rocks till
they reached the summit of a small hill. A tall dead tree stood there
and Jimsy volunteered to climb it in order to spy out the surrounding
country for traces of the gipsys. But on his return to the ground he was
compelled to admit that they had gained nothing.
"I thought I might see some smoke that would give me a clew to their
whereabouts," he explained.
"Not much chance of their being as foolish as that. I guess they know
searching parties are out all over by this time, and they are too foxy
to light fires."
"I might have thought of that," admitted Jimsy; "it would be about the
last thing they would do. What will we do now?"
"I hardly know. Hello! there's an odd-looking place. Right over there.
See that deep canon? That one with the fallen tree across it?"
"Yes, I do now. Let's look over there."
"All right. You're on."
The two boys struck off in the direction of Roy's discovery. It was
indeed an odd freak of nature. Some convulsion of the earth had detached
quite a section of land from the surrounding country. It was, in fact,
an island in the midst of the woods with only the fallen tree for a
bridge.
"Let's cross it and examine the place," suggested Roy, with all a boy's
curiosity.
Together they crossed the old tree, which had evidently fallen there by
accident, although, in reality, it formed a perfect bridge. The "island"
was thickly wooded and they pushed forward across it, not without some
difficulty.
Suddenly they came upon a sight that made them halt dead in their
tracks.
A man holding a rifle was sitting on a fallen log. The instant he saw
them he raised his weapon.
"Don't come no further," he said.
"Why not?" demanded Roy indignantly.
"See that sign?" said the man.
He pointed to a rudely painted sign on a tree at his back.
"Dangir. No Trespasin."
That was what it said in bold letters that sprawled across its surface
in an untidy fashion. The execution of the thing was as bad as its
spelling.
"I guess a pretty sick man painted that sign," grinned Jimsy.
"What do you mean?" was the surly reply.
"Why, I should judge he was having an awful bad spell at the time," was
the boy's rejoinder.
The man scowled at him fiercely.
"No joking round here," he growled; "now, then, if you know what's good
for you you two kids will vamoose."
"What's the danger if we keep on?" asked Roy.
"Why, they're trying a new kind of explosive back there. It might go off
the wrong way, your way, for instance, and hurt you," was the reply.
"Seems a funny sort of place to try out explosives," said Roy.
"Seems a queer sort of place for you two kids to come. Who are you,
anyhow?"
"Oh, we are camping down below and we just came out for a stroll."
"Well, stroll some other place, then. Git away from round here."
"We certainly will," flashed back Roy; "come on, Jimsy."
As there seemed nothing else to do Jimsy agreed. They turned away and
began retracing their steps, no wiser as to the whereabouts of the man
with the broken boot than they had been when they set out.
Just as they turned to go, however, another man came out of the woods
behind the man with the rifle. When he saw the boys he gave an abrupt
start.
"Where did those boys come from?" he demanded.
"I don't know. Said they was two kids out campin' and takin' a stroll."
"Taking a stroll, eh?" said the other ferociously; "they were taking a
stroll looking for that Wren."
"How do you know?"
"Because they are the same two kids who stole her from us just as we
were going to demand a ransom for her."
"That was before I joined the band. No wonder I didn't know them; if
I had----"
He scowled vindictively.
"Well, we can't let 'em get away. Here, give me that rifle," demanded
the newcomer.
The other handed it to him. The next instant a report rang out and a
bullet whizzed over the boys' heads.
"Come back here," shouted the man who had fired the shot; "I want to
see you."
The boys hesitated for a minute.
"The next shot 'ull come lower if you don't," warned the man; "come on,
no nonsense."
As there seemed to be nothing else to do the boys obeyed. As they drew
closer they recognized the fellow.
"Oh, you know me, eh?" he snarled; "well, you'll know me better before
we get through. Follow me, now. Pedro, you take the rifle and fall in
behind. If they try to escape shoot them down."
Here was a fine situation. They had found the gipsies' camp with a
vengeance, but for all the good it was going to do The Wren, unless
they could get her away, they might as well not have come. These gloomy
reflections sifted through their minds as they paced along, the man with
the rifle occasionally prodding them with it just to make them "step
lively," as he phrased it.
At length they came to a sort of large open place shaped like a basin,
and placed in the middle of this natural island. In this basin were set
up several squalid tents, about which the gipsies were squatting.
They set up a yell of surprise as the two boys were brought in.
"Where under the sun did you find them, Beppo?" exclaimed the same woman
who had so cruelly ill-treated The Wren the time the boys rescued her.
"Oh, they were just taking a stroll, and happened to stroll in here,"
said Beppo viciously.
"I guess they won't have a chance to bother us again. They're going to
make quite a stay here."
The gipsies set up a taunting laugh. Suddenly, from one of the tents,
a tiny figure darted.
"Oh, I knew you'd come! I knew you'd come," it cried.
It was the poor little Wren. She had been stripped of her nice clothes
and put into some filthy rags, her face was stained with crying and
there was a bruise on her forehead.
With a curse Beppo seized the child by one arm, swung her round and
dealt her a savage box on the ear.
"Get back where you belong!" he roared.
The next instant Beppo had measured his length on the ground and beneath
one of his eyes a beautiful plum-colored swelling was developing. As has
been said, Roy could hit a powerful blow.
CHAPTER XXVII.
DELIVERANCE.
The next minute all was wild confusion. The boys found themselves on the
ground, being scratched and bitten and kicked by men and women alike.
They did not have a chance against this horde of half savage wanderers.
At length beaten and bruised they were tied with ropes and thrown into
one of the tents and a man set to guard it.
All day they lay there without anything to eat or drink and no one to
come near them except that occasionally a tangled head would be thrust
in to hurl some taunt at them.
Darkness fell and they still lay there, suffering terrible pain from
their wounds and bonds.
"This is the uttermost limit," declared Roy, in a low tone; "we're in
the worst fix we ever got into this time."
"We certainly are. What a bit of bad luck that the rascal Beppo came up
when he did! That other gipsy had no idea who we were."
"Well, I had the satisfaction of giving Master Beppo a good black eye,"
muttered Roy.
"Yes; that was a peach. It did me good to see it land."
"It landed all right. Ouch, my back feels as if it was broken."
"My wrists and ankles are awfully sore. I wonder if they mean to let us
loose or give us anything to eat."
"Well, we won't last long at this rate. I guess they mean to be as cruel
as they can to us in return for that punch I gave Beppo."
"I wouldn't have spoken to you again if you hadn't."
"I don't blame you."
It grew dark. Outside they heard the murmur of voices for a time and
then all became quiet. Just before silence fell and snores became
audible they heard the man on duty as their guard call for some coffee
to keep by his side during the night.
"I'll send that brat of a Wren to you with it directly," they heard
Beppo's wife reply; "the little beast, it'll do her good to work."
Then came the sound of a slap and a sob.
The boys' blood boiled.
"Oh, what wouldn't I give to have Master Beppo in a twenty-four-foot
ring," breathed Roy.
"I think he'd look well decorating a tree," grated out Jimsy viciously.
The night wore on, but the boys did not sleep. Their tight bonds and
worry over their situation prevented this.
All at once Roy's attention was attracted by somebody raising the flap
at the back of the tent. Next something crawled in. At first he thought
it was a large dog.
But then came a whisper:
"It's me, Wren."
"What are you doing here?"
"Hush, I've come to get you free. You'll take me with you, won't you?"
"Of course; what a question to ask! But how can you free us?"
"I've got a knife here. I'll cut those ropes in a minute."
"But the guard outside?"
"I've fixed him. Was it very wrong of me? While Mother Beppo wasn't
looking I put some of the stuff in that coffee I brought him."
[Illustration: "I'd do anything for you." said the child, as she rapidly
cut the ropes.]
"Well, upon my word, Wren! What sort of stuff?" gasped Jimsy.
"Oh, some sort of brown stuff. I've seen Mother Beppo smoke it. It makes
her oh so sleepy. So I gave some to him and he's sound asleep now."
"Must have been opium," declared Roy. "Wren, do you know that you are
a very bad young lady?"
"I'd do anything for you. You're so good and kind to me," said the
child, as she rapidly cut the ropes.
For a time the boys, after being freed, just lay there, unable to move.
But after a while circulation set in and they began to move their limbs.
In half an hour the trio crept out of the tent and, crossing the
"island," traversed the trunk bridge.
"Wait a minute," said Roy, when they reached the other side.
"What are you going to do?"
"Make that whole outfit prisoners till the officers of the law can get
up here."
He took a broken branch as a lever and with Jimsy's assistance toppled
the log down into the canon.
"Now I guess they'll stay put for a while," he said.
And they did. That was why, when a posse came up to capture the band,
they carried materials for building a bridge across the canon. It may
as well be said here that the band received heavy sentences, it being
proved at their trial that they had made a practice of kidnapping
children and then trying to collect ransoms for them.
There was a happy scene next day at the Parker home when Mrs. Harvey,
a sweet-faced woman of middle age, arrived. After one look at Wren she
swayed and then, recovering herself, called out in the voice that only
a mother knows:
"Sylvia!"
"Mother!" screamed the child, and rushed into her open arms.
The tide of memory, driven to low ebb by ill-treatment and hardship,
had rushed back with full force. The Wren, the gipsy waif, was once
more Sylvia Harvey. A doctor said later that such cases were frequent
following a severe shock. It was then that they recalled how the child
had almost recollected some of her past life during the thunderstorm.
The happiness of little Wren and her mother in their reunion was shared
by all of the party who had been instrumental in effecting it, for every
one of them, including Jake, had become attached to the quiet little
girl and rejoiced in her good fortune.
When Mrs. Harvey and Sylvia departed for the railway station the
following day behind a pair of Mr. Parker's steady horses they were
accompanied by the four aeroplanes, which hovered over them like so
many sturdy guardian angels.
And when the train bore them away they watched the returning aerial
escort until there was nothing visible but four tiny dots against the
blue heaven.
"Oh, mother," exclaimed Wren, "they look no bigger than butterflies
now!"
And the Girl Aviators, flying every moment higher and farther on the
powerful wings of the _Golden Butterfly_ and the delicate plane of the
dainty _Dart_, looked back at the train crawling like a humble insect
in the valley below and gloried in their untrammeled flight. As they
followed Roy and Jimsy in an irregular procession through the air,
their thoughts flew ahead, outdistancing the biplane and the _Red
Dragon_ and speeding confidently toward the happy realizations of
the future.
Miss Prescott, watching from the home of Mr. Parker for their return,
also dreamed dreams and saw visions, and in them her "dear children"
were fulfilling the bright prophecies of the present. She saw them
stronger because of adversity, braver because of success, and ennobled
by all their experiences; and she deemed herself happy in her capacity
of chaperon to the Girl Aviators.
The End.
* * * * *
THE VICTORY BOY SCOUTS
BY CAPTAIN ALAN DOUGLAS
SCOUTMASTER
Stories from the pen of a writer who possesses a thorough knowledge of
his subject. In addition to the stories there is an addenda in which
useful boy scout nature lore is given, all illustrated. There are the
following twelve titles in the series:
1. _The Campfires of the Wolf Patrol_.
2. _Woodcraft; or, How a Patrol Leader Made Good_.
3. _Pathfinder; or, the Missing Tenderfoot_.
4. _Great Hike; or, the Pride of Khaki Troop_.
5. _Endurance Test; or, How Clear Grit Won the Day_.
6. _Under Canvas; or, the Search for the Carteret Ghost_.
7. _Storm-bound; or, a Vacation Among the Snow-Drifts_.
8. _Afloat; or, Adventures on Watery Trails_.
9. _Tenderfoot Squad; or, Camping at Raccoon Lodge_.
10. _Boy Scout Electricans; or, the Hidden Dynamo-.
11. _Boy Scouts in Open Plains; or, the Round-up not Ordered-.
12. _Boy Scouts in an Airplane; or, the Warning from the Sky_.
* * * * *
Radio Boys Series
1. Radio Boys in the Secret Service; or, Cast Away on an Iceberg--FRANK
HONEYWELL
2. Radio Boys on the Thousand Islands; or, The Yankee Canadian Wireless
Trail--FRANK HONEYWELL
3. Radio Boys in the Flying Service; or, Held for Ransom by Mexican
Bandits--J.W. DUFFIELD
4. Radio Boys Under the Sea; or, The Hunt for the Sunken Treasure--J.W.
DUFFIELD
5. Radio Boys Cronies; or, Bill Brown's Radio--WAYNE WHIPPLE
6. Radio Boys Loyalty; or, Bill Brown Listens In--WAYNE WHIPPLE
* * * * *
Peggy Parson's Series
By ANNABEL SHARP
A popular and charming series of Girl's books dealing in an interesting
and fascinating manner with the life and adventures of Girlhood so dear
to all Girls from eight to fourteen years of age. Printed from large
clear type on superior quality paper, multicolor jacket. Bound in cloth.
1. Peggy Parson Hampton Freshman
2. Peggy Parson at Prep School
* * * * *
The Aeroplane Series
By JOHN LUTHER LANGWORTHY
1. The Aeroplane Boys; or, The Young Pilots First Air Voyage
2. The Aeroplane Boys on the Wing; or, Aeroplane Chums in the Tropics
3. The Aeroplane Boys Among the Clouds; or, Young Aviators in a Wreck
4. The Aeroplane Boys' Flights; or, A Hydroplane Round-up
5. The Aeroplane Boys on a Cattle Ranch
* * * * *
The Girl Aviator Series
By MARGARET BURNHAM
Just the type of books that delight and fascinate the wide awake Girls
of the present day who are between the ages of eight and fourteen years.
The great author of these books regards them as the best products of
her pen. Printed from large clear type on a superior quality of paper;
attractive multi-color jacket wrapper around each book. Bound in cloth.
1. The Girl Aviators and the Phantom Airship
2. The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings
3. The Girl Aviators' Sky Cruise
4. The Girl Aviators' Motor Butterfly.
* * * * *
Phil Bradley Mountain Boy's Series
By SILAS R. BOONE
These books describe with interesting detail the experience of a party
of boys among the mountain pines. They teach the young reader how to
protect themselves against the elements, what to do and what to avoid,
and above all to become self-reliant and manly. There are five titles:
1. Phil Bradley's Mountain Boys; or, The Birch Bark Lodge.
2. Phil Bradley at the Wheel; or, The Mountain Boys' Mad Auto Dash.
3. Phil Bradley's Shooting Box; or, The Mountain Boys on Currituck
Sound.
4. Phil Bradley's Snow-shoe Trail; or, The Mountain Boys in the Canadian
Wilds.
5. Phil Bradley's Winning Way.
* * * * *
The American Boy's Sports Series
BY MARK OVERTON
These stories touch upon nearly every sport in which the active boy is
interested. Baseball, rowing, football, hockey, skating, ice-boating,
sailing, camping and fishing all serve to lend interest to an unusual
series of books. There are the following four titles:
1. Jack Winters' Baseball Team; or, The Mystery of the Diamond.
2. Jack Winters' Campmates; or, Vacation Days in the Woods.
3. Jack Winters' Gridiron Chums; or, When the Half-back Saved the Day.
4. Jack Winters' Iceboat Wonder; or, Leading the Hockey Team to Victory.
* * * * *
Motor Boat Boys Series
By LOUIS ARUNDEL
1. The Motor Club's Cruise Down the Mississippi; or The Dash for Dixie.
2. The Motor Club on the St. Lawrence River; or Adventures Among the
Thousand Islands.
3. The Motor Club on the Great Lakes; or Exploring the Mystic Isle of
Mackinac.
4. Motor Boat Boys Among the Florida Keys; or The Struggle for the
Leadership.
5. Motor Boat Boys Down the Coast; or Through Storm and Stress.
6. Motor Boat Boys River Chase; or Six Chums Afloat or Ashore.
7. Motor Boat Boys Down the Danube; or Four Chums Abroad
* * * * *
Motor Maid Series
By KATHERINE STOKES
1. Motor Maids' School Days
2. Motor Maids by Palm and Pine
3. Motor Maids Across the Continent
4. Motor Maids by Rose, Shamrock and Thistle.
5. Motor Maids in Fair Japan 6. Motor Maids at Sunrise Camp
* * * * *
THE "HOW-TO-DO-IT" BOOKS By J.S. ZERBE
Carpentry for Boys
A book which treats, in a most practical and fascinating manner all
subjects pertaining to the "King of Trades"; showing the care and use of
tools; drawing; designing, and the laying out of work; the principles
involved in the building of various kinds of structures, and the
rudiments of architecture. It contains over two hundred and fifty
illustrations made especially for this work, and includes also a
complete glossary of the technical terms used in the art. The most
comprehensive volume on this subject ever published for boys.
Electricity for Boys
The author has adopted the unique plan of setting forth the fundamental
principles in each phase of the science, and practically applying the
work in the successive stages. It shows how the knowledge has been
developed, and the reasons for the various phenomena, without using
technical words so as to bring it within the compass of every boy. It
has a complete glossary of terms, and is illustrated with two hundred
original drawings.
Practical Mechanics for Boys
This book takes the beginner through a comprehensive series of practical
shop work, in which the uses of tools, and the structure and handling of
shop machinery are set forth; how they are utilized to perform the work,
and the manner in which all dimensional work is carried out. Every
subject is illustrated, and model building explained. It contains a
glossary which comprises a new system of cross references, a feature
that will prove a welcome departure in explaining subjects. Fully
illustrated.
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