Airship Andy Or The Luck of a Brave Boy Part 12

Duske pa.s.sed the last tent on the field, and then struck off beyond some old railroad sheds to the side of an abandoned switchyard. Scattered here and there over this s.p.a.ce were several tents. They were occupied by aero contestants who had not been able to get a favorable location on the big field, or by those who had sought this seclusion because they wished to be isolated with some fancied new invention, the details of which they did not wish their contestants to learn.

Finally Duske seemed to arrive at his destination. It was where stout canvas had been stretched about fifty feet out from the blank side of an old frame shed. These strips of canvas and the shed cut out completely a view of what was beyond. The front of this enclosure was guarded by a roof set up on posts, this leading into the entrance tent of the main enclosure.

A man about as sinister looking as Duske himself was cooking something on a stove, and two others were lounging on a bench near by. Duske carried the gasoline cans out of sight. Andy got around to the side of the enclosure, way back near its shed end.

It was getting well on toward nightfall, and he felt that he was secure in making some bold, prompt investigations. There was no doubt that the large tent enclosed the airs.h.i.+p which Duske and his crowd intended to enter for the race. Andy attempted to lift the canvas at one or two points, but found it securely pegged to the ground.

"Humph!" he soliloquized, "everything nailed down tight. Must make their trial flights at midnight. They must think they have got a treasure in there. I've got to see it."

Finally Andy came to a laced section of the canvas, which he was able to press apart a foot or more by tight tugging. He squeezed through, and stood inside the enclosure.

There was light enough to show outlines, and with a good deal of curiosity Andy walked around and inspected an aeroplane propped up on a platform in the center of the enclosure. He came to a halt at one end of the machine. Two long hollow tubes extended beyond the folding planes.

"Why," breathed Andy, "it's the idea they stole from Mr. Morse. Here's the suction apparatus, and all!"

"Hi, there! who are you?"

The challenge came so sharp and sudden that Andy was taken completely off his guard. Two men had come from the front tent, their footsteps being noiseless on the soft earth floor. One of them was the man Duske.

"Just looking around," replied Andy, edging away and pulling his cap down over his eyes.

"How did you get in here?"

"Slit in the canvas."

"Don't let him go-grab him," ordered Duske's companion quickly, and Andy began to back towards the canvas.

Duske reached out and made a grab at Andy. The latter dodged, but Duske's hand landed on his cap. His glance falling to the inside peak, he could not help reading there the words: "_Eagle_-Andy Nelson."

Nearly everything worn by Parks and Andy, as all the parts of the _Eagle_, were marked, so that in case of an accident identification would be easy.

"_'Eagle'!_" cried Duske, bristling up. "Do you belong to the _Eagle_ crowd?"

"He's a spy-head him off!" shouted the other man.

"_'Eagle'_-'Andy Nelson'," continued Duske. "That's your name, is it?

Now then, what are you snooping around here for?"

"What's that, what's that?" challenged the other man quickly. "'Andy Nelson?' Say, Duske, that sounds familiar. I just read that name somewhere-I have it-in a newspaper--"

"Thunder! he's slipped us," exclaimed Duske.

Both men had started for Andy. The latter let them come on, ducked down, dove straight between them, ran to the slitted canvas, squeezed through, and sprinted away from the spot on feet of fleetness.

"I don't know how much I have mixed up affairs," he reflected, as he made for the home camp. "Those fellows know my name and that I am with Mr. Parks. What bothers me most, is what the man said about seeing my name in a newspaper. Some one here-in an automobile."

As Andy reached home he observed an automobile in front of the living quarters. A man came out as Andy stood wondering who the visitor could be. Andy noticed that he carried a small black case.

"A doctor," he decided hastily. "Can any one be sick? What has happened?" he asked, as Scipio came out.

"Hahd luck, chile, hahd luck!" replied the cook very seriously. "Yo bettah see Mistah Parks right away."

Andy hurried to the sitting room. Lying covered up on a couch, his right arm in splints, and looking pale and distressed, was the aeronaut.

"Oh, Mr. Parks! what is the matter?" asked Andy in alarm.

"Everything off, lad," replied his employer, with a wince and a groan.

"I've had a bad fall, arm broken in two places, and we can't make the airs.h.i.+p race."

CHAPTER XII-TRACED DOWN

"Be careful, Mr. Parks!"

"Foh goodness sake, sah! Yo want to break dat arm ober again?"

Mr. Morse, the inventor, and Scipio, the cook, made a frantic rush for the aeronaut. They were grouped together in the center of the s.p.a.ce occupied by their camp. The eyes of each had been fixed on an object floating about in the air over-head. All had been pleased and excited, but particularly Parks. Now as the object aloft made a skim that seemed to beat a mile a minute dash, John Parks lost all control of himself.

He forgot the fractured arm he had carried in a sling for three days, and actually tried to wave it, as he burst forth:

"Morse, you're a genius, and that boy, Andy Nelson, is the birdman of the century!"

Andy deserved the praise fully that was being bestowed upon him. That morning Mr. Morse had completed the _Racing Star_, his new airs.h.i.+p. At the present moment it was making its initial flight.

The relieved, contented face of Morse showed his satisfaction over the fact that his work was done and done well. Scipio stared goggle-eyed. As to John Parks, expert sky sailor that he was, his practiced eye in one moment had discerned the fact that the _Racing Star_ was the latest and best thing out in aviation, and he went fairly wild over the masterly way in which Andy handled the machine.

Andy aloft, had eye, nerve and breath strained to test the splendid device to its complete capacity. He was himself amazed at the beauty the utility of the dainty creation just turned out from the workshop. What the Airs.h.i.+p King had taught him Andy had not forgotten. After five minutes spent in exploiting every angle of skill he possessed, Andy brought the superb aeroplane down to the ground, graceful as a swan.

John Parks ran up to him, chuckling with delight.

"You wonder! you daisy!" he roared, shaking Andy's hand with his well arm.

Andy was flushed with triumph and excitement.

"If there's any wonder to talk about," he said, "it's that glorious piece of work, the _Racing Star_, and the splendid man who made it."

Morse smiled, a rare thing for him. Then he said modestly:

"It will do the work, handled as you manage it, Andy."

"I feel like a caged lion, or an eagle with its wings clipped!" stormed Parks, with a glance at his bandaged arm. "Why did I go trying to show a bungling amateur how to run an old wreck of a monoplane, and get my arm broken for my pains, and lose that five-thousand-dollar prize!"

"There is time to enter a subst.i.tute, Mr. Parks," suggested the inventor.

"Who?" demanded the aeronaut scornfully. "Some amateur who will sell me out or bungle the race, and maybe smash up my last thousand dollars?"