"Did you see it?" asked Hiram, in a great state of excitement.
"Yes," responded Dave. "A rocket."
"See! See!" continued Hiram-"there's it second one!"
"Sure enough."
"Dave, this means something."
"For us, you think?"
"Yes, I do. Keep near the place where these rockets were fired,Dave. Now then, what do you think?"
Dave slowed down. There was certainly something to his companion's surmises or suspicions, whatever they were. Directly at the spot whence the rockets had been fired there now suddenly flared up a great reach of flames.
Watching these, the interested aviators saw them change to a reddish hue. Three times, at brief intervals, they did this.
"Don't you see?" persisted Hiram.
"See what?" asked Dave.
"A signal."
"You think so?"
"I surely do. Now, then, look sharp. There are figures about the fire. The fire is pitch or oil, or something that could be made to flame up quickly. One of the men threw something into it from a box. It was red fire."
"Why, yes," observed Dave slowly. "I'll admit that was some kind of a signal."
"For the airship," interrupted Hiram quickly. "Look, look again, Dave! One of the men is shading his eyes from the glare of the fire, and is looking straight up into the sky. Why, it's plain as day. They saw our airship when that searchlight caught us. They were waiting for an airship to come along."
"Another airship than ours, you mean?"
"That's it, and I'll bet the Drifter! They took ours for the Drifter. They want us to land. Why, see there, one of the fellows is looking through a field glass—as if he could make us out in the dark away up here!"
It did not take Dave long to drift to Hiram's way of thinking. The spot where the fire showed seemed to be a large yard of some kind, attached to a factory.
"Of course this is all guess work, Hiram," said Dave, after a moment's thought. "Just the same, it fits in to your theory."
"Say," spoke Hiram suddenly, "I've an idea."
"What is it, Hiram?"
"Make a stop just as soon as you can."
"What's that for?"
"Let me out, and give me a chance to find out who that signal was intended for."
"I declare, it's not a bad plan," said Dave at once.
"Can't you find some safe place where we can land?"
"There won't be much trouble about that."
"Do it, Dave," urged Hiram, "and right away, so I won't lose track of the place yonder."
Dave inspected the country below as closely as he could at a distance. He circled to a lower level, and selected a patch of high grass between two corn fields.
"Now then," announced Hiram. "I'm off."
"I shall wait anxiously for your return, Hiram."
"Don't worry, I shan't get into any trouble."
Dave did not leave the flying machine. He kept himself in readiness for a flight, should anyone approach the spot. There was not much fear of that, though, he reasoned, as the place was away from the traversed roads and paths.
The young aviator had quite a spell of waiting. He began to fear that Hiram had lost his way or that something had happened to him, as an hour passed by. Suddenly, however, his active young assistant bounded into view, chipper and lively as usual.
"What news, Hiram?" inquired Dave.
"The best in the world."
"You have found out something?"
"You'll think so when I tell you," declared Hiram. "I found the place where they sent up the rockets without much trouble."
"What was it, Hiram?"
"An old factory yard. Part of the buildings have been burned down, and three or four loaferish looking fellows seem to live in an old shake down there. They belong to the crowd of that fellow, Ridgely, the smuggler, right enough."
"How did you know that, Hiram?" asked Dave.
"Because I overheard them. They had let their signal fire burn down low, and were sitting around it talking. I crept up behind an old shed and listened. It was as near as I dared to get, and I could catch only a word now and then. They spoke the name Drifter," asserted Hiram positively.
"You didn't see anything of Jerry Dawson?" asked Dave.
"No, but—say, yes, they mentioned his name, too. They were all excited about seeing our airship. It seems they were trying to warn the Drifter."
"To warn the Drifter?" repeated Dave somewhat puzzled.
"Yes."
"Why, what for?"
"To keep away from the American shore. Somehow, they had found out that the revenue officers were at Anseton. They knew, too, that the Interstate people had an airship out after them. It seems that when we didn't reply to their signal, they guessed that they had hailed the wrong airship. They have sent a man to the city to telegraph to the men on the Canadian side to look out for an airship on their track."
"You don't know where they are going to telegraph to, Hiram?"
"But I do," cried Hiram triumphantly. "That's my big discovery. They talked over the whole thing. The message is to be sent to a friend at Brantford. He is to ride post haste horseback ten miles west of that place to where the Drifter people have a camp in what they call Big Moose Woods."
"Hiram," applauded the young aviator, "you're a jewel. Why, you have simplified the whole business."
"And you're going right after the Drifter?" propounded Hiram eagerly.
"'We're going to try to," replied Dave, "but first we must get word of all this to Mr. Price."
The Monarch II had mounted aloft while they were conversing. Dave started the machine in a direction opposite to that in which they had been going. Hiram noted this.
"Are you going back to Desert Island?" he asked.
"First, yes. Then I shall skiff over to Anseton and report to Mr.Price direct or through any of his agents I may find."
The machine was brought safely to her old moorings within an hour. Dave, after landing on Desert Island, at once rowed over to the mainland. Hiram was full of curiosity when he returned.
"It's all right," Dave explained. "I was lucky enough to meet Mr. Price himself. He and his men had already acted on the clew that picture of Jerry and the Chinaman gave us. The old factory yard where the rockets were sent up will be under watch before the night is over, and Mr. Price is going to Brantford on a special boat."
"Then the crowd who stole the Drifter are as good as caught!" exclaimed Hiram hopefully.
"Hardly," replied Dave. "Mr. Price has advised me to get theMonarch II over to the Canadian side of the lake to night!"
"Which you are going to do, Dave?"
"Right away."
Dave, while in Anseton, had made some necessary inquiries as to the location of Brantford. He had also got a very good idea of Big Moose Woods. His arrangements with the revenue officer had been precise. He was aware that their only chance of getting near to the missing airship was to make new headquarters somewhere in the vicinity of Brantford, just as they had on Desert Island.
The darkness was fading in the east when Dave selected a plateau on the top of a high hill as a landing place. Once landed, trees and bushes at its crest hid them from view except from overhead. Dave had used diligence and haste in getting out of possible sight, for day was breaking.
They had reach Brantford, sailed over it, and Dave calculated had skirted the vicinity of Big Moose Woods. Nowhere, however, had lights, a campfire or any other token indicated the camp or rendezvous of the Drifter party.
"We are within twenty miles of Brantford," Dave announced.
"And what's the programme?" inquired Hiram.
"Sleep, for we need it. We seem to be safely shut in here. Later we'll plan just what we will do."
"If the Dawson crowd are warned all around about us and the revenue officers, they may run for some other territory," suggested Hiram.
"We want to be on the lookout for that," replied the young aviator.
They made themselves a comfortable bed, and both were soon asleep. Hiram woke up first; and found the sun shining in his eyes, and was about to shift his position, intent on a longer nap, when he checked himself not moving a muscle.
Through his half closed eyelids, still feigning sleep, Hiram kept his glance fixed on one spot. He almost held his breath. Thus for nearly five minutes he lay inert, but every nerve on the keenest edge.
His glance widened and seemed to be following some disappearing object. Then he sat straight upright, stared fixedly down the hill, and leaning over pulled his companion by the sleeve.
"Dave! Dave!" whispered the excited boy-"wake up! We've been discovered!"
Dave roused up, wide awake in an instant. He was about to spring to his feet, when Hiram pulled him back with the words:
"Don't get up."
"Why not?" inquired the somewhat puzzled young aviator.
"You'll be seen."
"Who by?"
"A man who was just here."
"Do you mean that, Hiram?" exclaimed Dave in a startled tone.
"I certainly do. Look," said Hiram, pointing, and then he added: "No, the trees shut him out now. As I just said, though, we have been discovered."
Now Hiram arose to his feet, the danger of being seen appearing to have passed. Dave followed his example.
"Some one was here, you say?" began Dave.
"Yes."
"Who was it?"
"A fellow who looked like some of the half breed Indians we saw fishing over near Anseton. I woke up, and he came in range clear as a picture. It was over by that thicket of pine trees. There he stood, staring at our machine, then at us. He seemed to take it in with a good deal of surprise. Finally he threw up his hands as if he was making up his mind to something, and started on a run down the hill."
"In that direction?" asked Dave, pointing due east.
"Yes, in the direction of Brantford. I tell you, Dave, he's a spy. If he ran across us accidentally then he's gone to tell his friends about discovering the airship."
"That doesn't follow," remarked Dave thoughtfully, "but I'm glad you saw him."
"Yes, I think we need to keep a pretty close lookout. Say, Dave," questioned Hiram, "if he is some friend of the Dawson crowd, and has gone to tell them about us, what do you suppose they'll do?"
"I have no idea," replied the young aviator. "But they won't catch us napping."
Dave kept a close watch out in all directions while Hiram hurried up a quick breakfast. They got through with the meal rapidly. Then Dave went over the machine, seeing that the gasoline tanks were full and the gearing and oiling apparatus in good order.
Two hours went by, and there were no developments that indicated that the visitor to their camp had been other than a straggler, with no purpose in view in his rapid disappearance. Hiram became more matter-of-fact, and guessed he had "got scared for nothing." All the same he kept a close lookout all of the time, particularly in the direction of Brantford.
Dave was planning a visit on foot to that town. He decided, however, that he would wait till afternoon so as to be sure that there was no occasion for worry. Both lads discovered the fallacy of their theories at the same moment.
"Look!" suddenly shouted Hiram, pointing.
"I see," said Dave calmly, but under the surface greatly stirred up.
"It's the Drifter!"
"Yes."
"What are you going to do?"
"Come," spoke Dave simply, and sprang into his seat in the Machine.
Hiram hastily collected their few belongings scattered about the spot. He bundled them into the accommodation basket, and was in his place almost as soon as Dave.
The eyes of both of the young aviators were fixed on a rapidly approaching object—an airship. Dave did not have to glance at its construction more than once to know definitely that it was the stolen Drifter.
Whoever was at the levers, Jerry or his father, thoroughly understood his business, Dave saw that. The aero-hydroplane came rather abruptly into view over a wooded hill top, and was rapidly approaching them.
"You see, I was right," said Hiram hastily. "That half breed was a spy, at least to that crowd. He has directed them here."
"All ready," ordered Dave, in a set, sturdy tone, and the self starter began to work.
"What is it—a chase?" fluttered Hiram.
"We'll have to wait and see. You know what kind of fellows the Dawsons are. I'm not going to sit like a bird in a nest and have them swoop down upon us, though."
"There are three—you can count them in their airship," said Hiram, shading his eyes and craning his neck.
"Four," corrected Dave. "The Drifter has a capacity of five ordinary people, Mr. Randolph told me."
The Monarch II made a magnificent slanting rise up into the air. Dave knew the splendid qualities of the machine under his control. They included an ability for a quick light ascent. He had no idea of the purpose of the Drifter crowd, but of course their main object was to capture their rival. The question was, failing in this, how, far would they go in the way of crippling or even destroying the Monarch II.
The Drifter was headed on a course directly towards the eminence which the boys had just left behind them. There had come up an eight hour wind about noon, and Dave knew that would be child's play maneuvering to avoid the enemy intent on annoying or injuring them. He drove ahead at a six hundred feet level and waited for the Drifter crowd to indicate what their purpose was.
"They are changing their course!" said Hiram quickly, as the Drifter wheeled suddenly.
"They are going to try a new ascent," explained Dave.
"Why?"
"To get to a higher level than ourselves."
"Then they mean mischief?"
"I am afraid that they do," replied the young aviator.
"Maybe they are trying to scare us," suggested Hiram.
Dave was now certain that the purpose of the Dawsons was to pursue, capture or intimidate them, or drive them away. They had a superb machine, and as they made a far lateral shoot it brought them considerably higher up than the Monarch II.
In fact, after one or two circles, like a huge bird swooping after prey, the Drifter came almost directly over them.
Dave's tactics were now purely defensive and evasive. There were five people aboard the aero-hydroplane, and they were desperate persons. He was not surprised when an object same shooting downwards from the Drifter. It struck one of the plane wires and then dropped earthwards.
"Something's whipped loose," spoke Hiram quickly.
"It's one of the elevator wires," said Dave, darting a quick glance at the spot. "This won't do."
Now it was an over-water flight with no measured course to pursue. The Drifter tried to repeat its recent tactics. Dave noticed that the Monarch II had become somewhat faulty in its running. He was anxious to get away from the enemy. His main efforts were directed towards preserving a sure balance, for once or twice there was a wobble, as if the machine was hurt in some vital part.
The young aviator made out a buoy a few miles to the west. Beyond it was a little settlement. He set his course for reaching it, and directed his full attention to the levers and the angle indicated.
The indicator was directly in front of the pilot seat. It showed positively how the machine was flying, on the top or down bank. It comprised a cup with lines set about ten degrees, and gave a sure safety limit. Only the pendulum was movable. This was mounted on an arm always perpendicular, a small mirror reflecting the variations of the pendulum.
Climbing and banking, Dave got quite a lead on the Drifter, but the aero-hydroplane kept up a steady pursuit.
"There's something the matter besides the broken wire," spoke Dave to his anxious companion. "The oil intake is dogged or one of the planes loose. We can't take any risks."
Dave sent the Monarch II on a downward shoot. There was a single pontoon in the center of the craft, with small tanks beneath the planes to prevent tipping over in the water. Dave aimed to hit the bay near to the shore.
Suddenly the aircraft acted queer. It had evidently struck a hole in the air. The machine seemed fairly to drop from under its occupants, and thirty feet from the water, Dave was lifted from his seat and took a sudden plunge over-board.
He went under the surface and came up dazed and nearly stunned. As he floated, dashing the water from his eyes, he saw the Drifter, now a flying boat, cut around a point of rocks, bearing straight down upon him.
Dave looked quickly about him for the Monarch II. To his surprise, as it scudded across the waves for perhaps a hundred feet on its momentum, it lifted again free of the surface of the bay.
He made out Hiram clambering from his seat like a sailor among the riggings of a ship. He saw the machine go up on a sharp slant, clear the shore of the bay, and disappear beyond the high cliffs lining it.
Then something struck him. It was some light part of the rotary engined aero-hydroplane, the Drifter, cutting the water like a knife. His head dizzied, and the young aviator went under the surface of the lake with a shock.
It took Dave an hour to find out just what had happened to him. He roused up to find two men carrying him, one at his feet, one at his shoulders. All that he could guess was that they were on land. How he had been fished out of the water, and what had become of the Drifter, the young aviator had no means of knowing.
The two men were rough looking fellows and reminded Dave of dock laborers or loiterers. They were big and sturdy, and as Dave stretched out and showed signs of life, one of them remarked gruffly.
"None of that—no squirming, now."
Dave's clothes were soggy and dripping. He felt somewhat sore on one side of his head, but so far as he could figure it out he was not crippled; or seriously hurt.
The young aviator cast his eyes about him to, learn that they were going through a patch of timber. Then came a meadow-like stretch, and then a thicket. They had not gone far into that before the men dropped him on the ground and stood over him.
"Can you walk?" asked one of the two.
"I think I can," replied Dave, arising quite nimbly to his feet.
The instant he did this both of the men reached, out and seized an arm. Dave was thus pinioned tightly as the men forced him along.
"Most there," growled one of them gruffly.
"Good thing," retorted the other.
Finally they came to a dense thicket that covered a rise. About half way up this, almost hidden by saplings and vines, Dave made out a grim looking patched-up building.
It was an old hut to which various additions had been made. One of Dave's companions uttered a peculiar whistle. The door of the place was opened, and a disreputable looking fellow like themselves admitted them.
"Hello, who's this?" he spoke in a tone of curiosity.
"Oh, some one to take care of," was the short reply.
"He don't look like a revenue."
"Worse than that. Ridgely will tell you when he comes," was the indifferent retort. "Have you a place to keep him tight and safe?"
"I guess so," laughed the other, "a dozen of them."
"One will do."
Dave was led through several rooms. Then they came to a partition formed of heavy timbers. In its center was a stout door with an immense padlock.
"Get in there," spoke the most ferocious of his captors, giving Dave a push.
Then the door was closed with a crash that showed how heavy it was.Dave could hear those outside securing the padlock.
"A prisoner, eh?" mused Dave, looking about him. "Yes, it is, indeed, tight and safe."
Dave's prison place was gruesome in the extreme. On three sides was solid rock, forming a semicircular back to the room. The partition, closed the entire front. Near its top in several places were cut out apertures, admitting air and a little light.
There were some broken boxes in the place and a heap of burlap. Dave decided that it had been used at some time or other as a place of storage. He did not yet feel normal, so he sat down on one of the boxes and felt about his head.
"Just a bruise," he reported. "I suppose they, dragged me aboard of the Drifter from the water, but what about Hiram and the Monarch II?"
Dave started up, all weakness and dizziness disappearing as if by magic, as he thrilled over the possible peril of his comrade. With a recollection only of his last sight of Hiram grid the Monarch II, he feared what might have happened to either or both.
It worried Dave a good deal and made him restless and unhappy, but finally he figured out a theory. In some unaccountable way the Monarch II had no sooner glided along on its pontoon, than it had run straightway up into the air, as though the self starter was in perfect action. Dave recalled Hiram struggling to reach the pilot's seat. Then he had witnessed the disappearance of the Monarch II.
"I doubt if Hiram could manage the machine—I even doubt with something wrong with it, as there surely was, if he could keep it adrift," decided Dave. "What then?"
The young aviator pictured Hiram and the machine in a tangle among the trees, or dropping upset among the rocks. He had not seen anything of the Dawsons or the Drifter since he had fallen into the water of the bay. Perhaps, he reasoned, they had resumed an air chase of the fugitive.
Dave had several hours to himself. He detected no sound or movement outside of the strange room he was in. It was dreadfully dull and lonesome, and he wondered what the outcome of his present adventure would be.
It was well along in the day, when Dave from sheer weariness and worry had lain down among the heaps of burlap, that a diversion came to monotony. He started up as he heard voice outside of the door. Then the padlock rattled, the door opened, and some one stepped across the threshold. The visitor stared about to locate Dave, and spoke the words:
"That you, Dashaway?"
The room was lighter now, with the door half open. Dave rubbed his eyes and strained his gaze, and took a good look at the speaker.
"Don't you know me?" challenged the latter.
"Oh, yes," replied Dave, "I see now. You are the gentleman we rescued from the lake at Columbus."
"I don't suppose you think me much of a gentleman just now,Dashaway," spoke Ridgely, for, he was, in fact Dave's visitor.
His tone was somewhat regretful, and not at all unfriendly. Dave was shrewd enough to discover this, and politic enough to take quick advantage of it.
"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Of course you are with the crowd who had me locked in here."
"I'm sorry to say that's true," responded Ridgely.
"It's not pleasant here, I can tell you," said Dave, "and the whole thing is pretty high handed, don't you think so, Mr. Ridgely?"
"I don't think it, Dashaway, I know, it. See here, I've got nothing against you. On the contrary, I owe you a good deal. I'm not forgetting that you saved my life when my launch struck the rocks near Columbus."
Dave was silent, resolved to let the man have his say out.
"I was in a fix then, I was in a fix before I got there, and I'm afraid I'm in a fix now," continued Ridgely. "I've come to see you in the right spirit, Dashaway."
"How is that?" inquired Dave.
"Sick of the whole combination. I thought I was smart, but you and your people are smarter. Young Dawson convinced me that we could run things so our airship could make trips for a long time, and here you are on our trail within seventy-two hours."
"Yes, Mr. Ridgely," acknowledged the young aviator. "They found a clew and started pursuit right after you stole the Drifter."
"You mean you did. Don't be modest, Dashaway. I've learned a good deal about you, and if I hadn't about decided to quit business I'd offer you a job."
"What!" smiled Dave—"smuggling?"
"Well, it pays pretty big, you know."
"Does it?" replied Dave. "I fail to see it. I wouldn't like to be in a position where I was being chased half over the country."
"H'm, we won't discuss it," retorted Ridgely in a moody tone. "I came to tell you that you won't be hurt any."
"But I want to get away from here," insisted Dave.
"That will be all, too," Ridgely assured him. "You see, we know now that things are going to break up. I don't suppose you would tell me how closely the revenue officers are on our track."
"So close," replied Dave gravely, "that you won't dare to cross the border any more."
"Are they on the Canadian side yet?" questioned Ridgely anxiously.
"I don't know that, and I shouldn't feel right in telling you if I did," replied Dave. "You had better let me go, Mr. Ridgely. It won't sound well, when things get righted, that you kept me a prisoner here."
"I haven't all the say about that, Dashaway," confessed Ridgely in a rueful way. "I don't think the Dawsons will let you go until they are sure of making themselves safe."
"Do you know what became of our airship, Mr. Ridgely?" Dave asked pointedly.
"No, I don't—none of us do. Young Dawson is pretty good in the air, but he didn't seem to know how to get off the water quickly. After we got you aboard, we lost a lot of time getting you ashore, and, up in the air again, when we started in the direction we had seen your airship go, we could find no trace of it."
"I hope nothing his happened to Hiram," thought Dave, very anxiously.
"If I get away," resumed Ridgely, "I want you to tell the people after me, if you can, that I'm all through with the smuggling business. I've had my fill of it."
The speaker turned to leave the room, but Dave halted him with the question:
"What are you going to do about me, Mr. Ridgely?"
"I am going to order the people here to treat you the best they know how," was the prompt response.
"That's all very well enough," said Dave, "but I have business to attend to."
"What business, Dashaway?"
"Our airship and my friend."
Ridgely looked troubled. He was thoughtfully, silent for a moment or two. Then he said:
"Look here, Dashaway, our men are looking for your airship, and that means your friend, too, of course. I've got to go to Brantford, but I shall leave word that they must look after your friend, and let you go the minute I send back word that the coast is clear for them to scatter."
"But what about the Drifter, Mr. Ridgley?" persisted Dave. "It is the property of my employers. I came after it, and I want it."
A faint smile of mingled amusement and admiration crossed the face of Ridgely. Reckless fellow that he was, he could not fail to recognize the fact that Dave, indeed, had business to attend to.
"You take it pretty cool, Dashaway," he observed.
"Because I am in the right," asserted Dave, "as you well know. The Dawsons are malicious people. I want you to warn them that if they do, any unnecessary injury to the Drifter, it will make it the worse for them in the final reckoning that is bound to come."
"I don't think they will do the airship any injury."
"You don't know them as I do. Desperate fellows like the Dawsons will do anything at times."
"Dashaway, don't you think you are rather hard on them—and on me?"
"I know the Dawsons—I don't know much about you."
"I am not so bad as you think I am."
"Then why don't you set me free?"
"We won't discuss that, now. You had better think it over."
"I have thought it over. I am grateful to you for saving me, but—well at present I can't do anything."
"You mean, you won't."
"Well, have it that way if you wish."
"You'll be sorry some day," said Dave, bluntly.
Ridgely left the room. He closed the door after him with an assurance to Dave that things would be "all right." Just then there was the sound of some one hurrying into the next room, and an excited voice shouted out in an exultant tone:
"Say, father, we've got the other one, too!"
The young aviator at once recognized the voice in the adjoining room which spoke the excited, words:
"We've got the other one, too!"
It was Jerry Dawson who had spoken. Dave knew that the statement could refer to no other than his missing chum. Dave was in something of a flutter of suspense. Then his eye brightened and a cheery smile overspread his face, as he caught the words in a dearly familiar tone:
"Say, do you want to kill a fellow?"
It was Hiram who spoke, in a resentful and disgusted voice. Its accents were as pert and ringing as ever, and Dave was overjoyed to know that his loyal comrade was alive and apparently unhurt.
"Say, Dawson," here broke in Ridgely, "I want to speak to you."
"Put this fellow in with Dashaway," ordered Jerry, and then the door of Dave's prison place was pulled open. A familiar form came limping and stumbling across the threshold, and the door was slammed to and locked after him.
"Hiram!" cried Dave in genuine delight.
He drew back as his friend faced him. He had noticed that Hiram limped. Now he saw that one arm was in a sling. Besides that, Hiram's face was one mass of cuts and scratches. One eye was nearly closed.
"Oh, Hiram!" cried Dave aghast.
"Look is if I'd been through a threshing machine, do I?" grinned the plucky lad.
"What happened?" asked Dave seriously.
"Dave," declared Hiram almost solemnly, "I honestly don't know. The machine drove upwards so quickly I wondered if some jar or the broken wire that was switching about didn't start the lever. By the time I got to the pilot's seat the machine was on a terrific whiz."
"What did you do?" asked Dave.
"Not much of anything, except to get rattled," confessed Hiram. "I tried to circle, and she went banking. Then the Machine took the prettiest drift you ever saw. All of a sudden one of the planes dropped and then we landed."
"Where?"
"On top of some trees. Right beyond was a deep basin, chuck full of undergrowth. The machine just took a slide off the tops of the trees, and slipped down to the bottom of the basin. Then she turned, I was thrown out."
"What then, Hiram?" pressed Dave in a concerned way.
"Well, Dave, we had briers and brambles on the farm, but nothing to compare with those Canadian thistles, or whatever they were. Look at my face."
"And your arm?"
Hiram shrugged his shoulders resignedly.
"The half breed who looked at it said it was broken. He seemed to be some kind of an Indian doctor. He rubbed my scratches and bruises with some leaves and set my arm in splints."
"Why, where did the half breed come in?" inquired Dave.
"Well, as soon as I got my wits from the tumble, I thought of you. I tried to get up out of the basin, but the sides were so steep I couldn't make it. So I—well, Dave," added Hiram with a queer laugh, "I sort of busied myself about the airship. It wasn't much battered up. I feared the Dawson crowd might come hunting for the machine, so—well, I sort of busied myself about the airship," repeated Hiram, with a strange chuckle. "I was resting when that half breed and another fellow came along. The Indian is a great trailer, I guess, for he was sharp enough to notice the tree tops and the bushes the machine had rolled over. Anyhow, down he came on a rope into the basin and found me."
"And the Monarch II," said Dave.
"No, he didn't find the machine," declared Hiram.
"But—"
"Let me tell my story, Dave," interrupted Hiram. "He got me up aloft. Then he said I was badly hurt, and started in to mend me up. Then they brought me here. They kept talking about the airship, and tried to make me tell where it was. I wouldn't, and didn't."
"Wasn't it in the basin you spoke of?" inquired Dave wonderingly.
"Yes."
"Then why—?"
"Hush! We're going to have visitors."
This was true. There was a sound at the door of their prison room, and the padlock was displaced. Jerry Dawson stepped into view, his father behind him.
"Well," he said, with a leer meant to be clever, "I suppose you fellows know me?"
"We know you, Jerry," retorted Hiram, "only too well."
"I'm boss here," boasted Jerry.
"That's fine, isn't it?" said Hiram.
"And I've got you. We'll have your airship soon, too. You'll do some walking getting back home, I'm thinking."
"What do you want of us, Jerry?" inquired Dave, coolly.
"I want to know where that airship of yours is in the first place."
"Put it in the last place, Jerry," suggested Hiram, "for you won't find out from me."
"I'll bet I will," vaunted Jerry. "I have a good mind to punch you for making all the mischief you have."
"You're safe, Jerry, seeing I'm disabled," said Hiram.
"Bah! Say, Dashaway, who's working against us here or across the lake besides yourself?"
"You will have to, guess that, Jerry," replied Dave.
"You won't tell?"
"No. I'll say this, though: You had better try to even up things in some way. The Interstate people and the government know all about you, and you are likely to have some explaining to do."
Jerry looked worried, but he feigned indifference.
"I'll keep you two safe and quiet till I get ready to quit, all the same," he snapped out, and slammed the door shut and locked it.
Dave and Hiram listened in silence for some minutes to sounds in the next room.
They could only catch the echo of voices. Jerry and his father seemed to be engaged in conversation.
Suddenly there was an interruption. There was the sound of an excited voice, drawing nearer each moment.
A door slammed. Then heavy running footsteps echoed out, ending only as some one appeared to burst unceremoniously into the next room.
"What's the row?" the boys heard in the gruff tones of Jerry's father.
"Say!" shouted the intruder, evidently a member of their group, "they've done it!"
"Who have?" shouted out Jerry quickly.
"The revenuers."
"What do you mean?"
"They got Ridgely."
A cry of dismay and excitement ran through the next room.
"How do you know?" demanded the elder Dawson.
"I saw them myself—right near Brantford. What's more, they're coming this way to get the rest of us."
At this announcement came another cry.
"You are sure of that?"
"When was this?"
"How soon will they be here?"
"Who is responsible for this?"
So the cries and questions ran on. There was an excited discussion all around.
"Maybe Ridgely is a turncoat!" cried somebody.
"Well, we can't talk about that now—we must look out for ourselves," said another.
"Right you are. Let us get out of here as soon as we possibly can!"
"That's the talk!"