THE FIGHT.
Harris had looked at his watch when he called out to Whipple that five minutes would be allowed him and Pete to give themselves up.
"While we're waiting to see what they do, inside there," the officer said to Matt, "you go around and tell Sanders the fellows are showing fight, and warn him to be on his guard."
Matt made his way to the corner of the house under the protection of the veranda. Burton, at the first shot from inside, had got behind a tree from which he could command the front entrance and the side of the building he had been instructed to watch.
The young motorist, without being fired at, gained the rear door and told Sanders what had happened around in front. Sanders had heaped up a little pile of stove wood in the form of a breastwork, and was crouching behind it.
"I heard that shot," said he, "and made up my mind we was goin' to have brisk work. There ain't no trees handy, around here, so I did the next best thing an' fortified my position with stove wood. You bet I'll be on the lookout, King! If any man tries to come through that door, I'll drop him in his tracks. I don't know what them skunks think they can do, actin' in this way. We could keep 'em boxed up in there fer a week, if we wanted to, and they're bound to lose out in the end."
Leaving Sanders to watch and wait for developments, Matt started back toward the front of the house. Seeing a garage that Caspar had built for his car, the idea struck him to move over in that direction and look for the stolen automobile. He found the door of the garage locked. As he turned away from it, he saw a square framework of oak planks leaning against the barn. Probably the framework was four feet square. What it had been used for Matt could not guess, but his quick brain instantly devised an idea.
Dragging the framework along with him, he reached the front of the house and found Harris just snapping his watch and returning it to his pocket. The South Chicago man was standing near the tree with Burton.
"The five minutes are up," he remarked, "and here's where we've got to do something. What are you bringing there, Matt?" he asked.
"A portable fort," replied Matt. "You've got to get to the front door, Harris, and you don't want Pete and Whipple making a target of you while you're doing it. After you get close up to the door they won't be able to reach you with their bullets."
"Egol, that's a bright idea! But how's one man going to manage the thing?"
"I'll go along with you. Between the two of us I guess we can handle it."
Holding the framework on edge, Matt and Harris crouched behind it; then, keeping it upright and hauling it along with them, they started across the front of the house toward the steps.
Weapons cracked from the boarded-up windows, and leaden missileschuggedinto the stout oak planks. The bullets could not penetrate the heavy oak, and consequently they did no damage. Reaching the steps, Matt and Harris lifted the framework upward a step at a time and finally gained the recess containing the front door. Here they stepped from behind the barricade, and the officer laid hands on the knob and shook the door violently.
"Open!" he cried; "open in the name of the law!"
A taunting laugh from within was his only answer.
"I hate to do any damage to this fine building," said Harris, "but we've got to get in if the scoundrels won't come out. I'll try to smash the lock."
Placing the muzzle of his revolver against the key-hole, he pulled the trigger. The bullet tore its way through the lock, and once again the officer essayed to open the door. But it defied his efforts.
"There must be a bolt in addition to the lock," said he, disappointed. "If we smash in here we'll have to use a battering-ram, and I don't want to do that except as a last resort. We'll look for a ladder and make an attack on one of the windows."
When he and Matt started down the steps with their movable framework, they came nearly getting caught by a drop fire. The shooting was done from the second-story windows, and the bullets came over the top of the oak shield. Fortunately no harm was done, and Matt and Harris tilted the screen so as to cover the tops of their heads.
Just as they reached the bottom of the steps, a fierce yell came from the rear of the house, followed by sounds of firing.
"Sanders is in trouble!" cried Burton, starting to run around the side of the building. "While some of those inside were holding our attention at the front door, an attempt was made to get out at the back."
"You stay here, Burton!" shouted Harris. "They may be trying to draw all of us around behind while they get through the front entrance. Watch the door like a hawk, and I'll go around and help Sanders."
Matt trailed after Harris as he hotfooted it for the back yard. They found Sanders leaning over the top of his woodpile, covering the rear door with his revolver.
"What's the matter?" demanded Harris.
"Nothin' now," Sanders answered grimly. "It's all over. One of 'em pulled the kitchen door open an' was plannin' to make a break. I discouraged the attempt an' the man jumped back and slammed the door."
Harris leaped to the door, put a bullet into the lock and then tried to push into the house. But this door, like the one in front, had other fastenings than the lock, and the attempt was fruitless. Harris beat a retreat as soon as he found out the effort could not succeed. Several bullets followed his retreat, coming from the windows, and one of them pierced his helmet and flung the head-piece to the ground.
"They're getting real savage," remarked Sanders grimly. "If they don't look out they'll hurt somebody."
"It will make it all the worse for them, if they do," snapped Harris, his temper rising with each succeeding failure to get into the house. "We'll get a stick of cordwood and smash in this back door."
There was a pile of cordwood near the garage, and Harris ran and got a heavy, four-foot section of elm. Matt jumped to help him.
"You'd better take Sanders' gun and stay behind the woodpile, Matt," said Harris, "and let Sanders and me do this. There'll be more shooting and——"
"Sanders will watch the door better than I can," broke in Matt, laying hold of one end of the heavy stick.
"All right," acquiesced Harris, and they ran at the door.
The shooting continued, but it was plain that the men in the house were not in good range, for their ammunition was wasted.
The end of the stick of wood crashed into the door and set it to shaking. A second blow still further loosened it, and a third sent it smashing inward.
The giving 'way of the door under the impact threw both Harris and Matt from their feet, and the two of them, with the stick, tumbled into the kitchen.
Matt, quick as a cat to regain his feet, saw Whipple and Pete bearing down on Harris with clubs. The officer lay on the floor, half stunned. Grabbing him by the feet, Matt jerked him back to safety, followed by a torrent of oaths from the two fugitives.
The door slammed. While Harris was getting to his feet, Pete and Whipple could be heard piling things against the door on the inside.
"Wow, this head!" exclaimed Harris, lifting one hand to his temples. "It hasn't got over that first jolt, yet, and here it gets another. And we didn't gain much, at that."
"We haven't got a strong enough force to rush into the house," said Sanders. "If it hadn't been for King, Harris, you'd have been captured by those fellows, and then Burton and I would have had to send for help before we could do anything more. You've got to be more careful, or the gang will escape in spite of us."
"I'm beginning to see that, myself. But we can't lay around here with our hands in our pockets. If——"
"Hist!" interrupted Matt, in an excited whisper.
"Don't look up, Harris. Miss Brady is on the roof and just looked over and waved her hand."
"Great Scott!" muttered Harris. "What do you think that means?"
"It means that she has been able to free herself, in some way, and get to the top of the house. Now's our chance to rescue her and get her out of this fighting."
"How's it to be done? There ain't ladders enough to reach to the roof, and Pete and Whipple wouldn't give us a chance to use them even if there were."
"We can't use ladders, and we can't let any of those in the house know by our actions that there's anyone on the roof. The instant they think Miss Brady is up there, they'll make a rush for the top of the house and drag her back inside. Don't look up, whatever you do."
"But we've got to get the girl off the roof, in some way."
"I'll use the air ship——"
"That's a scheme for your life!" exclaimed Harris.
"But while I'm using the Hawk," went on Matt, speaking quickly, "you and Sanders and Burton must contrive to keep everyone in the house occupied on the lower floor."
"We can do that. We'll blaze away at the boards at the windows. That will keep their attention below."
"You'd better go and tell Burton what our plan is. If he should see Miss Brady he'd be liable to yell to us, and that would let Pete and Whipple know what's up."
"They'll probably suspect something when they see the air ship coming."
"I don't think so. Besides, if you keep them busy enough, the chances are that the Hawk won't be seen."
"If youareseen, Matt, you'll surely be shot at—and the Hawk's a pretty big target. If a bullet is put into the gas bag, or if one smashes into the motor, you and the girl may be killed."
"I think I can make it," said Matt resolutely. "Anyhow, I'm going to try."
"Good luck to you!" returned Harris warmly. "I'll go at once and put Burton next."
While the officer moved toward the front of the house, Matt started for the rear of the yard on his way back to the air ship.
DARING WORK.
When Matt had got outside the iron fence and just within the screen of timber, he turned. Helen Brady, bareheaded and plainly just from the interior of the house, stood at the edge of the roof, following Matt with her eyes.
Matt waved his cap to her, and this was the first intimation the girl had had that she was seen. She fluttered her hand in response and then stretched out both arms appealingly.
Matt nodded his head vigorously, to signify that her appeal was understood, and that it would be answered; then he pointed through the woods in the direction of the air ship. Helen turned her head to look in the direction indicated.
From her elevated position she must have been able to see the gas bag of the Hawk over or through the tops of the trees. Looking back to Matt, she waved one hand and nodded.
Matt placed a finger on his lips and waved toward the house in an endeavor to make the girl understand that she must be very careful, so as not to let her captors know where she was.
Again Helen nodded her head, and accompanied the movement with a gesture that plainly requested him to hurry. He replied in pantomime that he would be as quick as possible, then whirled and dashed through the timber.
Carl and Ferral were walking about and talking impatiently. At sight of Matt they both started toward him.
"What happened, matey?" cried Ferral. "Carl and I have been all ahoo, over here, listening to the shooting and trying to guess what was going on. Have you captured the——"
"No time to talk, pards," cried Matt, running to the air ship and beginning to make her ready. "Dick, you jump in here with me. Carl, I can't take you along. There's brisk work ahead and the Hawk must not carry any more passengers than will be necessary. Cast off one of the ropes. You cast off the other, Dick."
It was easy to tell, from Matt's manner and words, that something of vital importance was in prospect.
"I von't be in der vay, Matt," pleaded Carl, hustling with one of the mooring ropes. "I vill make meinseluf so shmall as bossiple und——"
"Two are all that can go," broke in Matt decidedly.
The engine was popping and sputtering as Carl and Ferral threw in the ropes.
"Vat's der madder, anyvay?" asked Carl, swallowing his disappointment with a wry face.
"Helen Brady is on the roof of the house. The scoundrels are below, fighting with the officers, and don't know she is on the roof. If we hurry, we can get there and rescue her."
While Matt was talking, Ferral had got into the car. Matt switched the power into the propeller shaft and the Hawk glided upward. When the car cleared the tops of the trees, Matt brought the air ship to a level.
"Look sharp, Dick," called Matt, his face set and determined."We've got to win out, this time. If we don't, there's no telling what will happen to the girl. Whipple has already threatened her, in case the officers don't leave the house. Can you see Miss Brady?"
Matt's position, in the rear of the car, rendered it impossible for him to see much of what lay ahead.
"There she is, matey!" cried Ferral. "She sees us coming. There's an open skylight in the roof which shows how she got to the top of the house."
"Any of the men on the roof?"
"No."
"Good! How are we headed?"
"Just right. Hold to the course as you are."
"Are we high enough?"
"Plenty."
"It won't do to hit the edge of the roof, you know, and if we're too high, we may skim clear over the house before we can drop down."
"Just as you are now, Matt, you'll come over the building three or four feet in the clear. There's a chimney, and if you can drop beside that, I'll stand ready to take a twist of the mooring rope about it. The wind's freshening, and if there isn't something to hold to we're liable to be blown off the roof before we can get the girl aboard."
"You take care of that part of it. Steer me so as to come onto the roof close to the chimney."
It was necessary for Matt to hurry, yet he could not drive the Hawk ahead swiftly because of the necessity of making a quick halt on the comparatively small space of the roof top.
Harris, Burton, and Sanders had been keeping up a brisk fire ever since Matt had left to go for the air ship. None of them seemed to be looking up or paying any attention to what Matt and Ferral were doing. This, of course, was for the purpose of keeping the presence of the air ship a secret from those in the house.
But, in some way, the secret got out. Abruptly the fire from the house slackened, and then ceased altogether. As Matt shut off the power and glided over the edge of the roof, he caught a glimpse of Whipple's astounded face in a second-story window which had not been boarded up. When the air ship vanished over the edge of the house top, Whipple disappeared from the window.
"They're onto you, Matt!" roared Harris, from below. "You'll have to hurry, if you win. From the sounds we hear, everybody is climbing for the roof."
Matt and Ferral remained perfectly cool. The situation was a ticklish one, and if their labors were crowned with success they would have to keep their heads and not make any misplays.
Ferral stood at the edge of the car, holding a loop of one of the mooring ropes in his hands.
"Turn her, mate!" he cried.
The power having already been shut off, the Hawk was proceeding only under the headway given by the now dormant motor.
This was sufficient not only to turn her, but also to carry her downward so that the bottom of the car swept the roof.
As they passed one of the chimneys, Ferral dropped the loop of the rope over its top, and laid back. His pull halted the air ship.
In a twinkling, Matt was over the rail and standing beside the car. He held out his hand to the girl, and she ran toward him, with a cry of joy and thankfulness.
At that precise moment, Matt, out of the tails of his eyes, saw a head appearing through the open skylight. Grasping Helen's arm, he hurried her toward the air ship.
"Step lively, mate!" cried Dick, as Matt assisted the girl into the car.
No matter how swiftly Matt hurried, it was certain that the man coming through the skylight would reach the roof in time to interfere with the two boys before they could get away.
Matt realized that, and so did Ferral. The man, who was now head-and-shoulders above the roof top, was Whipple, the most desperate member of the gang.
Whipple, who was undoubtedly amazed to see Helen all but rescued when, quite likely, he supposed her safe in some room below, gave a bellow of rage and fury.
"That'll do you, King!" he roared. "Ye're not goin' ter hike off with the girl in any such way as this!"
Leaning against the side of the opening, Whipple rested his elbows on the roof and took careful aim at Motor Matt with his revolver. Others were flocking toward the roof on the stairway below Whipple, but he blocked the way.
Matt and Helen were in the car, and it seemed certain that Whipple's shot was to be effective, he was taking so much care to get a good aim.
But the shot was not fired, principally because Ferral became suddenly active.
Seizing a loosened brick from the top of the chimney, the young sailor hurled it with all his force. Whipple was struck in the shoulder, and the impact of the missile hurled him from his foothold and down upon those under him. As he vanished from the skylight, a clamor of startled voices came back through the opening, accompanied by a clatter of men falling down the stairs.
"That's something I owe you, Dick," remarked Matt, settling into his chair among the levers.
"You don't owe me anything, old ship," answered Ferral. "I'll have to do something like that several times before you and I come on anything like an easy bow-line. But take care of the ship, or she'll founder."
In order to grab the brick from the chimney, andthrow it, Ferral, had to let go of the rope by means of which he was holding the Hawk against the wind. With the rope loosened, the uncontrolled air ship drifted off the roof and was bobbing around, some fifty feet above ground, the sport of the breeze. There was imminent danger of her coming to grief, either against the cupola of the stable, or in the tops of the trees.
Swiftly Matt got the motor to going, and as the Hawk took the push of the propeller, she once more became manageable. This was in the nick of time, too, for as the craft glided upward the bottom of the car rustled through the branches of one of the trees.
"Hurrah!" cheered Harris, from below. "Well done, Motor Matt!"
"Bully boy!" applauded Sanders.
"Never saw anything neater!" whooped Burton.
"Go back to where you were before," called Harris, his voice faint in the distance, "and wait till we finish this job. It won't be long, now, till we get the scoundrels."
"Sink me," muttered Ferral, breathing hard, "those officers don't know how well we did. They couldn't see the top of the house from the ground, and they didn't know Whipple was looking at us over the end of a gun."
"Matt," said Helen, in a quivering voice, "I don't know how I ever can repay you for what you've done, or——"
"Repay us!" cried Ferral. "Why, Miss Brady, I guess you're forgetting what you've done for Matt and me."
"It's a big relief, Helen," said Matt, "to get you out of the clutches of that gang. It's the best stroke of work the Hawk ever did."
"Right-o," agreed Ferral enthusiastically, "and it was right and proper that the craft, manned by us, should save Miss Brady. If it hadn't been for her, we wouldn't have had the Hawk. Oh, this is a pretty square old world, after all. Don't you think so, old ship?"
HELEN'S ORDEAL.
Inside of half an hour after Matt and Ferral had left Carl with the Hawk, they had the air ship back in her old moorings.
Carl had hurried through the woods and watched proceedings from the ground as well as he could. When he saw the Hawk returning to her old berth, he followed her back, bursting into sight from the timber just as Matt and Ferral had finished securing the mooring ropes.
"Shake hants mit me!" bellowed Carl, rushing to grip Matt's hand, then passing to Ferral, and then to Helen Brady. "Dot vas der pootiest t'ing vat I efer saw done, yah, so helup me! Air ships can do t'ings vat nodding else vas aple, und der strangeness oof it fills me mit vonder and surbrises. Miss Prady, you vas a lucky girl! Und Matt vas lucky, und so vas Verral. I'm der only unlucky feller in der punch, pecause I don'd vas along to helup in der rescue. Matt cut me oudt oof der game. Anyvay, I'm glad dot everyt'ing come oudt like vat it dit. Dell us aboudt vat habbened mit you, Miss Prady."
Helen, seated in Matt's chair in the car, was leaning back, her eyes on the faces of the three lads. Ferral climbed up on the fence and sat down on the top board, and Matt leaned against the telephone pole. Carl sat down on the ground near the car.
"That's a good notion our Dutch raggie has just overhauled, Miss Brady," seconded Ferral. "We'd all like to hear that yarn. There's nothing better we can do, just now, as we haven't any guns and can't help Harris and the officers."
"Go on, Helen," said Matt. "We know something about what happened to you, but not all."
"Where did you find out anything?" queried the girl. "I was never more surprised in my life than when I saw you with the officers near the house."
"We'll tell you that later," answered Matt. "Your experiences first."
"Well," began the girl, "after I went to visit my friends in Archer Avenue, a letter came for my brother. I have been worried about my brother for a long time, for he would be honest if it was not for my father's evil influence." The girl's lip quivered, but she fought down her rising emotion and went on. "I opened the letter. It was from my father and asked Hector to go to the house at Lake Station, where I lived for a while, and get a paper which he would find under a loosened brick in the basement wall. The brick was marked with a cross.
"Hector, as I knew, had left the city, so I concluded to go to Lake Station and get the paper myself. I was wondering what it was all about. I found the paper, and it gave the location of a spot in Willoughby's swamp where some of the goods stolen by my father had been concealed. Father wanted the plunder turned into cash so that the best lawyers could be hired to keep him out of the penitentiary. I decided at once that I would turn the paper over the chief of police in South Chicago, and I had left my friends' house to start for there when a man stopped me on the street.
"The man's name was Hooligan, and he told me that my brother had not gone to New York at all, but had given it out that he was going merely as a 'blind' for the police. My brother, Hooligan told me, was lying very ill in a house in River Forest, and wanted to see me. I concluded to put off going to South Chicago until next day, and to go and see Hector.
"Hooligan took me to that house, from which you just rescued me, and there I was made a captive by Pete and Whipple, and turned over to the care of Mrs. Hooligan.I surmised, at once, why I had been spirited away. Pete and Whipple had found out about the paper I had secured, and they wanted to get the stolen property for themselves. And there I was with the paper! You see, I had started for South Chicago with it, and had it in my pocket. I remembered the instructions, and I tore the paper into little bits, when Mrs. Hooligan wasn't looking, and threw the pieces down a register into one of the furnace pipes.
"When Whipple and Pete came and demanded the paper, I told them truthfully that I didn't have it. They said that, even if I didn't have the paper, they knew I could remember the instructions for finding the buried spoil, and ordered me to repeat them. I refused, and for two days they gave me nothing to eat, and only a little water to drink. Whipple said he would starve me to death if I didn't tell."
"The scoundrel!" muttered Matt darkly.
"Vorse as dot!" wheezed Carl wrathfully, "ach, mooch vorse!"
"The whole lot ought to be lashed to a grating and flogged with the cat," growled Ferral.
"I was at Mrs. Hooligan's house in La Grange at that time," continued Helen. "Pete and Whipple had taken Mrs. Hooligan and me to La Grange on the night of the day I was captured. We went in a closed carriage.
"Mrs. Hooligan was with me all the time, and there never was a moment when she wasn't watching. Sometimes she treated me kindly, and sometimes she was cross and violent. She drank a good deal, and whenever she was under the influence of liquor she was always quarrelsome and hard to get along with.
"I got so weak and sick without food that Pete and Whipple must have become afraid I would die without telling them what they wanted to know. Anyhow, they began to give me something to eat, but kept me tied to a chair nearly all the time, coming to see me two or three times a day and threatening what they would do if I continued obstinate. But I made up my mind that I would let them kill me before I would say anything about where that plunder had been buried. That, I had decided, should go back to its rightful owners."
"You were a brave girl to hang out for your principles like that," put in Matt.
"It does take a little courage, sometimes, to do what is right," returned the girl, "but when your conscience approves, that makes it easy. I lost track of the time, while I was at Mrs. Hooligan's house, in La Grange, and it seemed as though months must have passed; then, suddenly, I heard an automobile stop in front of the place, last night, and Mrs. Hooligan and I were bundled into it and taken away.
"I was brought back here, and early this morning Whipple told me that they were tired of bothering with me, and that if I didn't tell them what they wanted to know before night I should never leave the house alive.
"Mrs. Hooligan had been keeping me in a room on the top floor. She had been drinking more or less all night, and she acted so savage toward me that I began to believe Pete and Whipple had told her to put me out of the way. Mrs. Hooligan, I imagined, was drinking to get up her courage. If that was the reason, though, she went too far, for she drank so much that she became stupefied and fell asleep with her head on a table.
"I was bound to a chair, but I succeeded in freeing myself of the cords. At about that time I heard a commotion downstairs, and a sound of shooting. Hope arose in me, and I made my way to the roof of the building, with the intention of letting those below know where I was. I can't tell you how surprised I was when I saw Motor Matt and Mr. Harris. I did not dare call out, for fear my voice would be heard by Whipple and Pete, but it was not long before I knew that Matt had seen me and had made his plans for a rescue. The rest, you know. I have had a terrible experience, but it is a satisfaction to think that the plans of Pete and Whipple failed, and that they did not find out what they wanted to know. Now, Matt," and Helen fixed her gaze on the young motorist, "you can tell me how you were able to discover where I was."
All the chums had a hand in the telling. Helen was amazed when she learned how her father had been instrumental in bringing Matt and his friends to her aid—amazed as well as overjoyed. To her, it indicated a change of heart in her father, as pleasant to her as it was unexpected.
Barely had the three boys finished their part of the explanation, when the pounding of a motor came to them from the direction of the road that followed the railway track.
"Vat's dot?" cried Carl, as all became suddenly attentive.
"Only an automobile," replied Matt, smiling. "You've heard them before, Carl."
"Vell, I bed you," answered Carl, "aber my nerfs vas on edge, schust now, und I peen imachining all sorts oof t'ings. Meppy dot vas—-"
At that point, Carl was interrupted by Harris and Burton, bursting into sight from the edge of the timber.
"That air ship, Matt!" cried Harris, "we want to use her in a hurry."
"Eferyt'ing goes mit a rush, seems like," said Carl curiously. "Vat's oop, now, Harris?"
"Pete and Whipple have got away in the automobile, and we must follow them."
"The Hawk is fast for an air ship," said Matt, "but she's not fast enough to catch an automobile."
"She's the only thing we have to give chase with," spoke up Burton, "and we've got to do our best with her, or let Whipple and Pete get away."
"And we've got to get the automobile back," stormed Harris. "Hustle up, Matt! The automobile may break down, or something else may happen to give us a chance to overhaul her. We'll try, anyway. Miss Brady had better stay here—one of the boys can remain to look after her."
"That's your job, Dick," said Matt, busily unmooring. "We'll come back here for you after we see how the chase comes out."
"Hoop-a-la!" tuned up Carl, fluttering around the car. "Here's ver I ged a shance ad some oxcidement."
Helen got out of the car as soon as the ropes were cast off, and Matt, Carl, Harris, and Burton jumped in.
A twist of the right hand got the machinery to going, and a jerk of the left gave the steering rudder the proper angle.
Rising swiftly, the Hawk turned her nose toward the wagon road. From their high elevation, Harris, Burton, and Carl were able to see the automobile, far in the distance and making along the La Grange road.
"Turn her to the right, Matt!" cried Harris, "and we'll bear away in the direction of La Grange. It may be a hopeless chase, but we've got to do what we can."
"Tough luck if those scoundrels get away, after all the trouble they've caused," muttered Burton.
"And it will be tough on me," said Harris, "if I can't get back that automobile!"
THE CAPTURE OF PETE AND WHIPPLE.
There was one big advantage the Hawk had over the automobile, and it was presently to make itself manifest to all in the air ship. The road which the fleeing robbers had taken was a very rough one, and a few moments after they had been sighted by those in the Hawk, Whipple and Pete turned into another road, which ran at right angles with the one along which they had first started.
"They're not headed for La Grange, that's a cinch," commented Burton.
"They're looking for better going," said Harris, "but that road they've taken is rougher than the one they just left."
"When they get to the end of the second road," went on Burton, "they'll be on a turnpike, with a bed like asphalt. Then, if something about the automobile doesn't break, it will be good-by to our hopes of——"
"What are you doing, Matt?" asked Harris suddenly.
Matt had shifted the course of the Hawk.
"I've just realized what an advantage we have over the automobile," laughed the young motorist. "Roads don't bother us any, and fences, hills, and swamps don't exist for us. I'm cutting off a corner, Harris. If the going on that cross road is as rough as I think it is, we'll overhaul the automobile."
"Fine!" cried Harris, clapping his hands.
"Nodding can shtop a air ship ven it vants to go some blace," grinned Carl.
"Nothing but the wind," said Matt. "We've got a good, smart breeze right behind us, and we're making every bit of thirty miles an hour. Hear the motor! It runs as sweet as any machine I ever heard. But how did those fellows come to give you the slip like they did, Harris? They must have had to leave the house and get to the garage before they could make a run with the automobile."
"Well," grunted Harris, "they did all of that. We made a bobble, that's all. After you got away with the girl, Burton and I concluded to rush things to a finish. With that end in view, we carried that stick of cordwood around in front and smashed in the front door. Then we rushed into the house. We heard some one running up the stairs, so we chased after, and finally found ourselves in the top story. There was no one there, except a hag of a woman, stupefied with drink, in one of the rooms.
"The skylight was open, and Burton and I bounded up, thinking our men had taken to the roof. But there was only one man on the roof, and that was Hooligan. He had made all that noise just to get us to follow him. He surrendered, and while he was doing it, Burton and I looked down and saw Pete and Whipple hopping around and getting that automobile out of the garage. They were out of pistol range, and it didn't take Burton and me more than a minute to understand that we had been lured to the roof in order to give Whipple and Pete a chance to save their bacon.
"We ran down and out at the kitchen door. There we stumbled over Sanders, tied hand and foot and lying on his woodpile. The two scoundrels had paid him their respects to that extent. Leaving Sanders, we rushed around the house, and saw the automobile spinning through the gate. Then we went after the Hawk, on the run. We're coming close to that other road, Matt," Harris added excitedly, "and Pete and Whipple haven't seen us, yet. They're pounding the life out of that car! I hope to thunder they don't wreck it. The road is awful."
The crossroad was rifled with ruts and "thank-ye-ma'ms." Over these the automobile was lurching and swaying, and not making more than fifteen or twenty miles an hour.
The Hawk came over the road almost directly above the motor car.
"Halt!" roared Harris, leaning from the rail and aiming his revolver downward. "You're at the end of yourrope, Whipple, you and Pete, and you might as well surrender. If you don't, we'll shoot."
Both scoundrels looked upward, and both, as might be expected, began to swear. Pete continued looking up, but Whipple recklessly threw on more speed.
The automobile jumped forward like a horse suddenly lashed. At the same moment the wheels on one side went down into a deep rut, and Pete, whose eyes were still aloft, was hurled over the side as though from a catapult. He landed on head and shoulders close to the roadside fence, and, instead of getting up, he straightened out and lay quiet.
"He's killed!" cried Burton.
"Don't you believe it," answered Harris. "He's too tough to be killed by a fall like that. Drop lower, Matt," the officer added to the young motorist, "and let Burton get out and take care of Pete. After that, we'll go on in pursuit of Whipple."
It took about two minutes to land Burton. Pete was still lying prone and silent as the La Grange man rushed toward him. While the Hawk was rising and forging onward after the automobile, those aboard her saw Burton raise himself upon completing a swift examination of Pete. Burton waved a hand reassuringly, then dropped the hand into his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.
"I was sure Pete was all right," said Harris, turning his eyes ahead. "That was an easy capture for Burton—an easier one than I think we'll have."
"Vell," observed Carl, "I don'd know aboudt dot. Der pubble is acting oop mit itseluf. It has shtopped, und Vipple iss like some crazy mans, drying to make it go."
What Carl had said was the truth. Directly ahead, the automobile was at a complete standstill, with Whipple pulling and hauling frantically at the levers.
"Now we'll land him!" exulted Harris. "Straight ahead, Matt."
Whipple, despairing of getting the car into usable condition, suddenly sprang into the road and started for the fence. He was climbing the fence, when Matt shut off the power and halted about twenty feet over his head. Harris' revolver was trained full on the fugitive.
"Now, then," yelled the officer, "either give up or take the consequences."
"It's your play," answered Whipple, turning around and sitting on the top board.
"Throw your six-shooter into the road!" ordered Harris.
Whipple jerked the gun from his pocket and cast it from him, with a hoarse laugh.
"It ain't any good," said he. "There ain't a loaded shell in the cylinder, an' no more ter put in. If it hadn't been fer that, Harris, I wouldn't have come so easy. I could have slammed a bullet inter the machinery o' that air ship an' put it out o' the runnin'."
"I thought it was queer," remarked Harris, "that Pete or Whipple didn't use their revolvers. Get down closer to the ground, Matt. Better tie up to the fence, for I'd like to have you take a look at the automobile and see what's the matter with it."
Carl helped in the landing so that Harris could give his entire attention to Whipple. All of them breathed easier when they heard a pair of handcuffs snap around Whipple's wrists.
The air ship was moored so the wind could not drive the gas bag against anything in the road, and Matt went forward to the automobile. After a few moments' examination, he turned away with a laugh.
"She's badly shaken up, isn't she?" inquired Harris anxiously.
"Doesn't seem to be, Harris," replied Matt. "She has stood the rough handling she has had remarkably well."
"I don't know much about drivin' a car," admitted Whipple, "an' ye can bet I was puttin' her through fer all she was worth. I was certain nothin' had busted, an' I couldn't understand what made her stop."
"The gasoline tank was empty," said Matt. "You can't run a motor without fuel."
"Hang it all!" snorted Whipple, "an' there was a bar'l o' the stuff right there in Caspar's garage!"
"You were in too big a hurry to get away to make any use of the gasoline supply," said Harris.
"It wasn't that. I jest didn't know enough, that's all, an' this is how I'm payin' fer my ignorance."
"We'd have captured you, anyway, Whipple," declared Harris.
"Well, ye wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been fer King an' the Hawk. He's busted up Brady an' all his gang, an' it's a good thing fer him the darbies are on my hands this minute."
"I'll take Whipple back to where we left Burton and Pete, Matt," said Harris, "and if we can get a supply of gasoline from some farmhouse, we'll hike for South Chicago in the automobile."
"I can help you out, Harris," answered Matt. "I've an extra supply of gasoline in the air ship. Wait a minute and I'll get you ready for the trip home."
In a few moments Matt had strained enough gasoline into the motor car's tank to carry her a hundred miles. After that, he and Carl waited for Harris to get into the car with his prisoner and start back toward the place where Burton and Pete had been left. The automobile moved off with everything working perfectly.
"I'll see you in South Chicago, Matt," Harris called over his shoulder. "We mustn't forget poor Sanders, either."
"We haven't any balloon house to go to now," Matt answered, "so we can't stay in South Chicago very long."
"Dot vinds oop der whole game, bard," remarked Carl. "Vipple und Pete vas der vorst oof der olt gang, nexdtto Prady, und dey vas now down und oudt. Miss Prady has likevise peen rescued, und eferyt'ing iss lofely und ve can now go on mit ourselufs py New York."
"We'll have to go somewhere," said Matt. "An air ship is something of a white elephant when you haven't a proper place in which to keep it. This wind is increasing, and the sky is clouding up. Looks like a storm, to me, and we'd better hurry and pick up Carl and Miss Brady and make a run for South Chicago."
The sky certainly looked threatening, and the boys made haste to get the Hawk in the air and to head her back toward the Caspar mansion. They had a hard struggle, for the wind was dead against them, and they could make scarcely more than five miles an hour. Getting Ferral and Helen aboard the car was ticklish business, because of the increasing wind, but it was finally accomplished and the Hawk scooted away toward South Chicago.
CONCLUSION.
"Scoot" is the only word that would fittingly describe the Hawk's return to her home port. A thirty-mile wind was directly behind her, and the propeller—which it was necessary to keep going in order to make the air ship fairly manageable—still further helped her along. Part of the time, as the three chums figured it, they were dashing through space at the rate of a mile a minute.
Overhead the skies had become black and threatening, and an occasional flash of lightning and roll of distant thunder told the boys what they were presently to expect.
That was the first time they had ever been in such a wind with the Hawk, and the first time a storm had ever threatened them while aloft. Even Matt, stout hearted as he was, felt a qualm of dread as he saw how the air craft flung onward by sheer force of the wind.
It was not more than twenty minutes from the time they left River Forest until they sighted the grimy chimneys of South Chicago.
"What're we going to do with the Hawk, mate?" shouted Ferral.
"If the balloon house hasn't been too badly dismantled," Matt answered, "we'll put the Hawk in there until the storm blows over."
By the time Matt had finished speaking, they were hard upon the big shed. But Hagenmyer's men were even then at work. The roof of the structure was gone, and its usefulness as a shelter, of course, went with roof.
"Py shinks," bellowed Carl, "I don'd like der looks oof t'ings! Ve got to do somet'ing mit der air ship, but vat it iss? Dell me, somepody!"
"We'll try Jerrold!" said Matt. "He keeps the Eagle in that big back yard of us, and perhaps he can help us out with the Hawk."
"Drop down in the yard, anyhow," suggested Ferral, "and take chances."
Dropping down in such a gale was hazardous business.
How Matt ever executed the manœuvre as safely as he did he could not have told, for a good many things had to be done, and done quickly.
He flung the Hawk downward full fifty feet before he reached the confines of Jerrold's big back yard. The air ship had to slide sixty feet down the void, and in sliding those sixty feet the wind carried her over more than the fifty feet necessary to clear Jerrold's high board fence.
The bottom of the car struck the ground with a jolt that tipped Carl out heels over head. Carl had been standing ready with one of the mooring ropes, and he still clung to it. Ferral went out on the other side with another rope.
Meanwhile, the Hawk was lurching sideways and bounding up and down in a most terrific manner, lifting the car at each leap and pounding it on the surface of the ground.
Fortunately for Matt and his friends, Jerrold and his assistant, Payne, were close by, making the fastenings of their own air ship secure. They rushed to the assistance of Carl and Ferral, and succeeded, between all four of them, in getting the mooring ropes in place.
Jerrold thereupon brought four more ropes from his workshop, and the Hawk was likewise lashed with these. Matt's canvas shelter was then brought out, unfolded and put in place over the gas bag.
This task had no sooner been completed than the rain began to come down in torrents. Thankful that they had reached a safe haven in the very nick of time, Helen, Brady and Matt and his friends went into Jerrold's house and watched the rain pouring from the windows.
It was not until the day after their difficult landing in Jerrold's yard that Matt and his friends, accompanied by Helen Brady, paid a visit to the office of the chief of police.
Brady had already been taken back to Joliet, and Pete and Whipple were penned up in cells, awaiting trial.
"They'll go up, all right," said the chief, "and Brady will have the pleasure of seeing the two members of his old gang in the same institution where he is at hard labor."
"What about the Hooligans, chief?" queried Matt.
"Harris, Burton, and Sanders had their hands full with Pete and Whipple," replied the chief, "and they were not able to look after the caretaker and his wife. They telephoned the River Forest authorities, though, and some officers went there. They found the place deserted. Hooligan and his wife, fearing to be calledto account for their rascality, had fled, and left the mansion to take care of itself. The River Forest police put some one else in charge of the place, and have cabled to the Caspars, in Paris. The La Grange officers are watching the Hooligan house in that town, and when the caretaker shows up there he will be captured."
Justice seemed to have failed in the matter of the Hooligans, but possibly it was only deferred. Their home was still in La Grange, and, sooner or later, one or both of them would return there.
"I just received a telegram from the detail I sent to Willoughby's swamp," went on the chief.
"To look for the loot?" asked Matt, turning his eyes on Helen.
"Yes."
"I didn't know Helen had told you where the stuff was hidden."
"She wrote out the instructions on the back of an old letter I had in my pocket, matey," spoke up Ferral, "while she and I were waiting for you and Carl to come back with the Hawk. She gave the instructions to Sanders, and he turned them over to Harris when he and Burton, with their prisoners, came after him in the automobile."
"That was the way of it," continued the chief. "The detail went out last night, in the rain, because we did not think it well to have any delay in such an important matter. Here's what the telegram says."
Opening a yellow slip, which had been lying on his desk, the chief read aloud the following:
"'Plunder found. There's a raft of it. Will bring it in by train, under guard.'"
"'Plunder found. There's a raft of it. Will bring it in by train, under guard.'"
"Dot's fine!" cried Carl. "Und der peoble vat geds der shtuff pack vill haf to t'ank Miss Prady for dot."
"They have already had to thank my father for losing the property, in the first place," said Helen sadly, "so they won't feel very grateful to me. And it's not right they should," she added.
"Yes, it is," said the chief kindly. "You've played a noble part all through these troubles which the law has had with your father, Miss Brady, and your faithfulness in standing firmly for what you thought was right, has won universal recognition and gained you many friends. What will you do now?"
"I think I shall go to my mother's sister, who lives in New York," replied Helen. "She has always wanted me to come and live with her. She is alone in the world and needs somebody for a companion."
"You couldn't do better," said the chief approvingly. "By the way," and here he whirled to his desk and drew a yellow envelope from one of the pigeonholes, "here's another message, and it's for you, Matt. It came yesterday, and, as you know, this is the first chance I have had since then to deliver it."
Wondering who the telegram could be from, Matt opened it, read it over to himself, laughed, and then read it aloud.
"'Will guarantee you one thousand dollars a week to come here and give exhibitions with your air ship. Deflate it and forward by express, and come by train. Wire me if you accept.'"
"'Will guarantee you one thousand dollars a week to come here and give exhibitions with your air ship. Deflate it and forward by express, and come by train. Wire me if you accept.'"
"Well, what do you think of that!" exclaimed the chief.
"Vone t'ousant tollars a veek!" jubilated Carl. "Py shinks, ve vill haf Morgan und Rockyfeller backed off der map! Vone t'ousant a veek! Binch me, somepody."
"Where's it from, matey?" asked Ferral, with suppressed excitement.
"From Atlantic City, New Jersey," answered Matt.
"Big summer resort," observed the chief. "The people who go there can afford to have what they want, and pay well for it. What name's signed to the message, Matt?"
"Kitson Steel Pier Company."
"Well, it must be all right," said the chief. "Anyhow, the Kitson Steel Pier Company show a whole lot of sense in advising you to deflate the gas bag and ship the air ship by express. That's a whole lot better than trying to fly there, and butting into such storms as we had last night. What message are you going to send to Atlantic City, Matt?"
"'Terms accepted; start at once.'"
Ferral tossed up his hat delightedly, and Carl floundered to his feet and began shaking hands all around.
"We'll go to Atlantic City by way of New York," Matt went on, with a glance toward the girl, "and see Miss Brady safely in the hands of her aunt."
"Good idea!" approved the chief heartily.
Helen lifted her eyes to Matt's, and then reached out impulsively and caught his hand.
THE END.
THE NEXT NUMBER (12) WILL CONTAIN
MOTOR MATT'S PERIL;
OR,
Cast Away in the Bahamas.
Carl as Buttinsky—The Moving-picture Man Makes a Queer Move—Warm Work at the "Inlet"—Prisoners On a Submarine—Through the Torpedo Tube—The Cape Town Mystery—Off for the Bahamas—An Accident—Matt and His Chums Go it Alone—The Air Ship Springs a Leak—Wrecked—Luck, or Ill-luck—A Move and a Countermove—Motor Matt's Success—A Few Surprises—Matt Takes Townsend's Advice.
Carl as Buttinsky—The Moving-picture Man Makes a Queer Move—Warm Work at the "Inlet"—Prisoners On a Submarine—Through the Torpedo Tube—The Cape Town Mystery—Off for the Bahamas—An Accident—Matt and His Chums Go it Alone—The Air Ship Springs a Leak—Wrecked—Luck, or Ill-luck—A Move and a Countermove—Motor Matt's Success—A Few Surprises—Matt Takes Townsend's Advice.
NEW YORK, May 8, 1909.
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"I say, mother, Mr. Carey's going to take me to the balloon ascent. Isn't it good of him?"
Mrs. Keen turned to the kindly faced, bearded man who had followed her son into the cottage kitchen. "It is most kind of you, Mr. Carey. Clifford has been longing to go ever since he heard about Professor Starley. But"—sadly—"I couldn't even find the necessary quarter for admission."
"Won't you come, too, Mrs. Keen?" said Carey cheerily. "Do you no end of good."
She shook her head. "No, I won't come," she said gently. "But perhaps you will come back to tea with us afterward."
Carey said he would gladly do so, and he and Clifford started for the fair ground, from which the famous aëronaut, Professor Starley, was going to make an ascent by balloon and a drop by parachute.
"Wish your mother had come, Cliff," said Mr. Carey, as they walked up the street.
"Wish she had, too," echoed the boy. "But she never goes anywhere now. Tell you the truth," he went on, lowering his voice, "I believe she's afraid of any of our old friends recognizing her. You're the only one we keep up with."
"Oh, but that's foolishness!"
"I've told her so lots of times," declared Clifford. "But you know it's pretty hard to come down from a nice house to a cottage like that. Not that I care," he hastened to add. "But it's tough for mother. Fancy her having to do all the cooking! And she's got no nice clothes like she used to have before dad was drowned."
Mr. Carey shook his head gravely. "She's always fretting about him," he said. "I don't wonder. It was a terrible business altogether. And what made it worse was leaving her almost penniless."
He paused. "Cliff, do you know I've always suspected that that fellow Moise didn't treat your mother squarely?"
"Have you, Mr. Carey?" cried the boy eagerly. "D'you know, I've often thought the same thing myself. Seems a bit queer, after dad had always had lots of money, that old Moise should swear there was nothing left except about five hundred dollars. Don't you think there's something awfully queer about Moise's face? He never looks at you straight."
"I've noticed that myself," said the other dryly. "But here we are. We'll talk about this again some other time."
The crowd was tremendous. All Dunthorne seemed to have turned out. As they worked their way through the masses of people Clifford Keen could see over their heads the great varnished globe swaying in the breeze.
Clifford was not the sort to be content with a back seat. He wormed his way through the packed throng till he reached the very front row, where a number of volunteers were holding the mooring ropes. The breeze was brisking, and the balloon tugged and leaped like a live thing.
"Here, sonny, catch a hold!" came a quick voice as a powerfully built man in tights and spangles caught sight of the boy's eager face. "Don't let go till I tell you. Mind!"
Clifford seized the rope delightedly.
Starley sprang back into the open space underneath the balloon. The balloon had no car, only a trapeze. On this Starley seated himself, holding the side ropes tight with both hands. The parachute, Clifford noticed, was fastened up against the side of the balloon.
"Now, gentlemen, when I give the word I want you all to release the cords at the same instant. The wind makes——"
At that very moment came such a gust that Starley's speech was cut short. The balloon came whirling over almost on top of Clifford, and two men who had hold of the same rope let go and sprang out of the way with shouts of alarm.
"Cowards!" muttered Clifford, holding on tighter than ever.
He knew nothing whatever of the lifting power of a balloon. Next instant as the gust passed the balloon came back with a jerk to the perpendicular, and Clifford was swung completely off his feet.
Before he could realize what had happened or make up his mind to let go he was far above the heads of the crowd.
From the whole fair ground rose an extraordinary sound—a deep groan. It was this that first made the boy realize the extreme peril of his position.
Nineteen boys out of twenty finding themselves dangling at the end of a rope in mid-air would have let go at once, and, of course, been smashed to atoms. Clifford happened to be the twentieth. The first thing he did was to crook his right leg in the rope, the second to shut his eyes in order to arrest the horrible dizziness which made his head swim like seasickness.
The next thing he was conscious of was a quiet voice from above.
"Say, sonny, can you climb up here?"
Clifford looked up. The aëronaut, seated on the crossbar about ten feet above him, was looking down with a cool expression, which helped to restore Clifford's confidence.
"I'll try," he answered.
"Come right along, then. Don't get flustered. It's just as easy as climbing a tree. And say, you keep looking at me. Don't look down."
"All right," replied Clifford briefly, and started to swarm up the rope. He was rather indignant at Starley's suggestion as to his getting flustered. Up to the time of his father's death he had always meant to be a sailor. He prided himself he could climb and stand heights as well as most chaps.
All the same, he wished the rope wouldn't swing so. To climb a cord that is describing great arcs in mid-air is rather different from swarming one in a school playground.
"That's first class," said Starley encouragingly. "Keep a good grip with your legs. Come on."
He held out an encouraging hand. Clifford found time to marvel at the airy ease with which the aëronaut balanced on the thin bar of the trapeze, holding by one hand only.
Another yard, and strong fingers clutched his collar. Next moment he was seated beside Starley on the trapeze.
At first this was almost worse than the rope. For the life of him the boy couldn't help looking down, and it gave him a curious shock to see men like black insects crawling among toy buildings, and little carriages moving down streets no wider than a window sill.
For a moment his head reeled, and he felt that horrible impulse to let go and fling himself down.
Starley's strong arm was round him. "All right, sonny, you'll get over that in a jiffy. When you feel fit again we must hold a council of war."
"I'm all right," declared Clifford, half angrily. He was savage with himself for giving way. "What are we going to do now?"
"That's just the trouble," replied the American with a dry smile. "It beats me to know how we're going to get back to the solid."
"Can't we both go down in your parachute?"
Starley shook his head. "She'll take my weight, and not ten pounds more. If we both hung on to her we'd rip the stuffing out of her, and there'd just be a splash to show where we hit the floor."
Clifford glanced at his companion with startled eyes.
"There's worse than that, sonny," went on the other. "You see, this isn't like a balloon that'll come down just when you like by pulling a valve cord. She's just an old thing I use for these descents, and trust to pick up wherever she happens to fall."
"Then you and I can't go down together?" said Clifford sharply.
Starley shook his head.
"What'll happen, then?"
"We'll go on up till we freeze and can't hold on any longer and drop off, or else the balloon'll bust, and we'll both come down a bit too quick for the good of our health."
"Is there nothing else we can do?" cried the boy.
"There's just one other chance," replied the aëronaut. "If you've got the pluck to take the parachute, I'll climb up in the netting and put my knife through the cover of the balloon. If I rip her enough she'll come down all right."
"That wouldn't be fair," returned Clifford sharply. "You take the parachute. I'll stick to the balloon."
Starley hesitated a moment. "Have you got the nerve to climb up there"—pointing aloft—"and cut the cover?"
"Yes," said Clifford firmly.
"Reckon he'd be safer that way," muttered the man to himself. Then, aloud: "If you can do it you'll be safe enough, sonny. Safer by chalks than if you take the parachute. It's an ugly job, anyway you look at it, but the parachute's the worst for a beginner. The jerk when she opens pretty near takes the arms out of you, and we're up all of three thousand already."
He pulled out a big clasp knife, and handed it to Clifford. "Let's see you up on the ring before I let loose," he said. "You'll feel a bit safer so long as you haven't got to climb it alone. But look sharp. We're still rising, and the wind's carrying us pretty sharp."
Clifford took the knife, slipped it into his coat pocket, and, clutching the side rope of the trapeze, set his teeth and began to climb.
For a horrid moment the ghastly dizziness clutched him again. But he set his teeth, and swore he would not give way to it.
Starley's weight kept the rope taut, and it was easier to climb than the other had been.
At last he was clinging to the iron ring of the parachute, with the great globe of varnished silk immediately above him.
"Are you right, sonny?" cried the aëronaut, looking up.
"Yes," called back Clifford with a cheeriness he was far from feeling.
Then as he swung a leg over the ring and pulled himself up sitting, both hands clutching the netting, he saw Starley lean over and grasp the rope of the parachute.
"Rip her well, and as high up as you can. And hang on till she reaches the ground," were Starley's last words of advice.
Then he gave the parachute rope a sharp jerk, there was a slight ripping sound, and the man dropped like a plummet toward the distant earth.
The balloon, relieved of his weight, made an enormous bound upward.
For a full thirty seconds the boy clung there, unable to do anything but watch Starley shooting down into the awful depths below. He gave a gasp of relief as the parachute at last opened like an umbrella, and went sailing away earthward as gently as a feather.
Then he got out his knife. "Now for it," he muttered bravely.
By this time the balloon was nearly a mile above the earth, and the breeze had long ago carried it clear of the town. It was sailing over what looked to Clifford like a patchwork quilt of little fields and woods and farmsteads, with here and there the silver ribbon of a river.
The whole position was so amazing that Clifford found it sheerly impossible to believe that one brief half hour before he had been one of those ants that he now saw crawling at such an enormous depth beneath him.
Clinging here close to the side of the balloon envelope the boy felt safer. He had something more or less solid to hold on to. He was so interested and excited that for the moment he almost forgot about the knife.
It was the cold that brought him to himself again. Down below it had been a warm if breezy September afternoon. Up here Clifford, in thin summer clothes, was rapidly chilling to the bone. His fingers were already blue.
He looked at them blankly. "If I don't hurry up they'll be too stiff to use the knife," he said half aloud. He opened the knife with his teeth, and, taking a long breath, stabbed boldly at the silk.
The blade flashed through with a ripping sound, and gas gushed out in such volumes that Clifford, half suffocated, was forced to hastily abandon his position and clamber a little way round out of reach of the rush.
Learning by experience, he reached as high as he could stretch, and made a long, sideways gash, then dropped hastily back to the ring.
"That's done it!" he cried delightedly. For the cut was followed by a long, hissing tear. The envelope had split for several feet, and the lower part was rapidly crumpling like a burst bladder.
He glanced down. It looked exactly as if fields and houses were rushing up to meet him. The balloon was dropping at tremendous speed.
At the same time Clifford noticed that the shadow of the balloon was swishing across the fields at almost the pace of an express train. He had dropped into a swift air current, and the rapidly deflating balloon was actually traveling at more than thirty miles an hour.
A small town loomed below, with a tall factory chimney sticking spike-like from its centre.
"If I hit that I'm a gone coon," muttered the boy, but the balloon passed far above its smoking summit, and swirled away over villas and gardens toward a wood.
Clifford saw people looking up, heard shouts of surprise and alarm, but he was past it all in a minute and swinging down toward the wood.
A fresh spasm of fright seized him as he saw the tall trees bending in the gale.
But the balloon scudded just above their leafy tops, and swooped toward a large square building, which lay in its own grounds surrounded by a high brick wall.
Even in the one flashing glance he caught of the place there was something sombre and forbidding about it. The tall gray walls, the barred windows, the dark elms, and the heavy shrubbery.
Now the balloon was flying straight for the outer wall.
With a shout of alarm Clifford scrambled wildly into the netting. Just in time. With a loud clang the iron ring struck the top of the wall. It caught a second, the whole envelope heeled over, the branches of a thick yew tore Cliffordfrom his hold, and the last thing he remembered was the thump with which he reached the ground.
A face was the first thing Clifford caught sight of when he opened his eyes again.
Such a face! Huge, dull, heavy, with deep, sunken eyes, which shone out with a lurid light from under cavernous eyebrows.