The Girl Aviators' Motor Butterfly Part 17

"Well, so-long, folks, I'm going to start back in the auto," declared Roy.

"We'll beat you into town," challenged Jimsy.

"More than likely, if the _Golden b.u.t.terfly_ is doing her best," was the rejoinder.

Ten minutes later the two machines were racing back to Meadville at almost top speed. Of course the speedy _Golden b.u.t.terfly_ won, but then a vehicle of the air does not have to contend with the obstacles that a land conveyance does.

They found Miss Prescott almost on the verge of hysterics. A garbled version of the events of the night had been brought to her and this, coupled with the long absence of the three young folks, had made her extremely nervous.

"I declare, it seems as if you just can't keep out of trouble," she said.

"Well, it actually does seem so, I admit," confessed Peggy; "but we promise to be very good for the rest of the trip."

"And never trouble trouble till trouble troubles us," chanted Jimsy airily.

"That's all very well, but you keep me continually in suspense as to what you'll do next," almost wailed Miss Prescott. "We set out for a quiet trip and encounter nothing but troubles--"

"Adventures, Aunt Sally," laughingly corrected Roy; "what is life without adventures?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know what young people are coming to," sighed Miss Prescott with resignation. "There's another thing, what are we to do with this little Wren?"

"We can't leave her here, that's certain," declared Peggy with vehemence.

"No, indeed," echoed Jess and Bess, who were of the council.

"Then what are we to do with her?"

"Just tote her along, I suppose," rejoined Peggy; "poor little thing, she doesn't take up much room; besides, Jess thinks she's an heiress."

They all laughed.

"You must have had an overdose of Laura Jean Libby," declared Roy.

"Roy Prescott, you behave yourself," cried Jess, flus.h.i.+ng up; "besides, she has a strawberry mark on her left arm."

"My gracious, then she surely is a missing heiress," exclaimed Jimsy teasingly; "all well-regulated missing heiresses have strawberry marks and almost always on their left arm."

It was at this juncture that a knock came at the door. A bell boy stood outside.

"A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, handing Roy a card.

On it was printed: "Mr. James Kennedy, Detective, Meadville Police Station."

"Goodness, a real detective!" exclaimed Jess excitedly; "let's see him."

"You won't be much impressed I'm afraid," rejoined Roy with a smile at his recollection of the Meadville sleuths.

"Why, doesn't he wear gla.s.ses, have a hawk-like nose and smoke a pipe?"

inquired Bess.

"And hunt up missing heiresses?" teasingly struck in Jimsy.

"No, he's a very different sort of person. But hus.h.!.+ he's coming now."

A heavy tread sounded in the hall and Mr. James Kennedy, Detective of the Meadville Police Force, stood before them. As Jimsy had said, he was not impressive as to outward appearance, although his fat, heavy face, and rather vacant eyes, might have concealed a giant intellect.

"I've investigated the case of the attempted burning of the stable last night," he began.

"Yes," exclaimed Roy eagerly. "Have you any suspicions as to who did it?"

The man shook his head.

"As yet we have no clews," he declared, "and I don't think we'll get any."

"That's too bad," replied Roy, "but let me tell you something that may help you."

The lad launched into a description of their adventures of the morning.

"That hut belongs to Luke Higgins, a respectable man who is out West at present," said the detective when Roy had finished. "He uses it as a sort of hunting box in the rabbit shooting season. He couldn't have had anything to do with it."

"I'd like to know his address so that I could write and thank him for leaving that gun there," declared Peggy warmly.

The detective shook his head solemnly.

"I reckon you young folks had better stop skee-daddling round the country this way," he said with heavy conviction; "you'll only get into more trouble. Flying ain't natural no more than crowing hens is."

With this he picked up his hat, and, after a.s.suring them that he would find a clew within a short time, he departed, leaving behind him a company in which amus.e.m.e.nt mingled with indignation. In fact, so angry was Roy over the stupidity or ignorance of the Meadville police, that he himself set out on a hunt to detect the authors of the outrages upon the young aviators.

The sole result of his inquiry however was to establish the fact that both Ca.s.sells had left town, closing their house and announcing that they would be gone for some time.

As there was nothing further to be gained by remaining in Meadville, the entire party, after lunch, set out once more, a big crowd witnessing the departure of the aerial tourists.

They flew fast, and as the roads were excellent the auto had no difficulty in keeping up with them. On through the afternoon they soared along, sometimes swooping low above an alluring bit of scenery and again heading their machines skyward in pure exuberance of spirits. Their troubles at Meadville forgotten, they flew their machines like sportive birds; never had any of them experienced more fully the joy of flight, the sense of freedom that comes from traveling untrammeled into the ether.

They had pa.s.sed above a small village and were flying low, those in the auto waving to them, when Peggy, in the _Golden b.u.t.terfly_, gave a sudden exclamation.

"Oh, look," she shouted, "a flock of sheep, and right in the path of the auto."

At that moment all of them saw the sheep, a large flock, headed by a belligerent looking ram with immense horns. Jake, who was driving the car, slowed up as he approached the flock. The woolly herd, huddled together helplessly, made no effort to get out of the road. Behind them a man and a boy shouted and yelled vigorously, but with no more effect than to bunch the animals more squarely in the path of the advancing car.

All at once, just as the car was slowed down to almost a walking pace, a big ram separated himself from the flock and actually rushed for the front seat of the car.

Jake uttered a yell as the woolly creature gave him a hard b.u.t.t, knocking him out of his seat. But this wasn't all.

By some strange freak the animal had landed in the car in a sitting posture. Now the young aviators roared with laughter to behold the creature seated in Jake's forcibly vacated place. Its hoofs rested on the driving wheel.

Forward plunged the car, its queer driver with his feet wedged in the spokes of the steering wheel. Aloft the flock of young aviators roared with laughter at the sight. It was the oddest experience they had yet had--this spectacle of a grave-looking, long-horned ram driving an auto, while Jake prudently kept out of reach of those horns. As for Miss Prescott and The Wren, they cowered back in the tonneau in keen alarm.