It was almost pitch dark within the hut. Only from a crack under the door could any light enter. For an instant after the taunting of the voices of the men who had locked them in reached their ears, the trio of youthful prisoners remained silent.
Peggy it was who spoke first.
"Well, what's to be done now?" she demanded.
"We've got to get out of here," responded Jimsy, with embarrassing candor.
"That's plain enough," struck in Roy; "but how do you propose to do it?"
"I don't know; let's look about. Maybe there's a chimney or something."
"There's no opening larger than that one where the stove pipe goes through. I've noticed that already," responded Roy.
"Phew! Thisisa fix for fair."
"I should say so; but kicking about it won't help us at all. Let's make a thorough investigation."
In the darkness they groped about, but could discover nothing that appeared to hold out a promise of escape. The two boys shook the door violently; but it was firm on its hinges.
Next Roy proposed to cut a way through it with his pocket knife.
"We'd be starved to death by the time you cut through that stuff," declared Jimsy.
In proof of this he kicked the door, and the resulting sound showed that it was built of solid wood without any thin panels which might be cut through.
"What next?"
Peggy asked the question as the two perspiring lads stood perplexed without speaking or moving.
"Jiggered if I know," spoke Jimsy; "can't you or Roy think of anything?"
"We might try to batter the door down with that table," suggested Roy.
"It's worth trying. We've got to get out of here somehow."
The two boys picked up the heavy, roughly made table and commenced a violent assault on the door. But although they dented it heavily, and sent some splinters flying, the portal held its own. At length they desisted from pure weariness. The situation looked hopeless.
"It looks pretty bad," spoke Jimsy.
"It does indeed," agreed Roy. "Peggy, I wish we hadn't brought you along."
"And why, pray, Roy Prescott?"
"Oh, because—because, well, this isn't the sort of thing for a girl."
"Well, I guess if my brother can stand it I can," rejoined the girl, pluckily and in a firm voice.
"Well, there's no use minimizing the fix we're in," declared Roy. "This is a lonesome bit of country. It may be a week before anyone will come around. We've just got to get out, that's all there is to it."
"I wish you'd solve the problem then," sighed Jimsy; "it's too much for me."
"I'll make another search of the premises, maybe we can stumble across something that may aid us. At any rate, it will give us something to do and keep our minds off the predicament we are in."
Roy struck a match, of which he had a plentiful supply in his pockets. As the yellow flame sputtered up in the semi-gloom it showed every corner of the small hut. But it did not reveal anything that promised a chance to gain their liberty.
All at once, just as the light was sputtering out, Peggy gave a cry. Her eye had been caught by a glistening metal object in one corner of the hut.
"What is it?" asked Roy.
"A gun—a shot-gun standing in that corner over there."
"Huh!" sniffed Jimsy, "a lot of good that does us."
"On the contrary," declared Peggy stoutly, "if it's loaded it may serve to get us free."
"I'm from Missouri," declared Jimsy enigmatically.
"What's your idea, sis?" asked Roy, who knew that Peggy's ideas were usually worth following up.
"I remember reading only a short time ago of a man trapped much as we are who escaped by blowing off the lock of his prison with a gun he carried," replied Peggy; "maybe it would work in our case."
"Maybe it would if—" rejoined Roy.
"If what?"
"If the gun was loaded, which is most unlikely."
"Well, try it and see," urged Peggy.
"Yes, do," echoed Jimsy; "Peggy's plan sounds like a good idea. Maybe some hunter left it here and the shells are still in it."
"No harm in finding out anyway," declared Roy.
He struck another match and picked up the gun. It was an antique looking weapon badly-rusted. But on opening the breech he uttered a cry of joy.
"Good luck!" he exclaimed, "two shells,—one in each barrel."
"Well, put it to the test," urged Jimsy.
"All right. If this fails, though, I don't know what we'll do."
"Don't worry about that now. Try it."
"I'm going to. Don't get peevish."
Roy crossed the room to the door. Raising the gun to his shoulder he placed the muzzle about opposite to where he thought the padlock must be located.
"Look out for a big noise, sis," he warned.
Peggy gave a little scream and raised her hands to her ears. She disliked firearms.
"Ready?" sang out Jimsy.
"All ready," came the reply.
"Then fire!"
Simultaneously with Jimsy's order came a deafening report. In that confined space it sounded as if a huge cannon had been fired. Roy staggered back under the "kick" of the heavy charge.
"Once more," he announced.
Again a sonorous report sounded, but this time a section of the door was blown right out of the framework. The daylight streamed in through it.
"Now then for the test," cried Roy. "Come on, Jimsy."
The two boys placed their shoulders to the door. With a suddenness that was startling, it burst open, and they faced freedom. The lock had been fairly driven from its hold by the twice repeated charge of shot.
The young aviators were free once more. But it remained to be seen if the men who wished them harm had wrought their vengeance on theGolden Butterfly.
TheGolden Butterfly, as an examination proved, had not been damaged during their imprisonment in the hut. Evidently, the men who had slammed the door and padlocked it had made off at top speed as soon as they had completed what they hoped would be a source of sore trouble to the young aviators.
"And now we'll fly back as agreed," declared Peggy merrily.
Her spirits, almost down to zero in the hut, had recovered themselves marvellously in the fresh open air. She was radiant.
"I declare that the stay in the hut has done you good," declared Jimsy, looking at her admiringly.
"Maybe it has—by contrast," returned Peggy.
"Like a sea trip," put in Roy. "I've heard that people who suffer from sea sickness are so much relieved when they get ashore that they imagine their good spirits are due to a change in their condition."
"Well, that applies to me," returned Peggy; "I didn't think we'd get out of that hut so easily. How do you suppose that gun came to be there?"
"The hunters who use the hut must have left it there," rejoined Roy; "I wonder if they'll ever know how useful it was to us."
"More likely they'll be mad when they find that the lock is blown off the door," laughed Jimsy.
"Well, so-long, folks, I'm going to start back in the auto," declared Roy.
"We'll beat you into town," challenged Jimsy.
"More than likely, if theGolden Butterflyis doing her best," was the rejoinder.
Ten minutes later the two machines were racing back to Meadville at almost top speed. Of course the speedyGolden Butterflywon, but then a vehicle of the air does not have to contend with the obstacles that a land conveyance does.
They found Miss Prescott almost on the verge of hysterics. A garbled version of the events of the night had been brought to her and this, coupled with the long absence of the three young folks, had made her extremely nervous.
"I declare, it seems as if you just can't keep out of trouble," she said.
"Well, it actually does seem so, I admit," confessed Peggy; "but we promise to be very good for the rest of the trip."
"And never trouble trouble till trouble troubles us," chanted Jimsy airily.
"That's all very well, but you keep me continually in suspense as to what you'll do next," almost wailed Miss Prescott. "We set out for a quiet trip and encounter nothing but troubles—"
"Adventures, Aunt Sally," laughingly corrected Roy; "what is life without adventures?"
"Well, I'm sure I don't know what young people are coming to," sighed Miss Prescott with resignation. "There's another thing, what are we to do with this little Wren?"
"We can't leave her here, that's certain," declared Peggy with vehemence.
"No, indeed," echoed Jess and Bess, who were of the council.
"Then what are we to do with her?"
"Just tote her along, I suppose," rejoined Peggy; "poor little thing, she doesn't take up much room; besides, Jess thinks she's an heiress."
They all laughed.
"You must have had an overdose of Laura Jean Libby," declared Roy.
"Roy Prescott, you behave yourself," cried Jess, flushing up; "besides, she has a strawberry mark on her left arm."
"My gracious, then she surely is a missing heiress," exclaimed Jimsy teasingly; "all well-regulated missing heiresses have strawberry marks and almost always on their left arm."
It was at this juncture that a knock came at the door. A bell boy stood outside.
"A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, handing Roy a card.
On it was printed: "Mr. James Kennedy, Detective, Meadville Police Station."
"Goodness, a real detective!" exclaimed Jess excitedly; "let's see him."
"You won't be much impressed I'm afraid," rejoined Roy with a smile at his recollection of the Meadville sleuths.
"Why, doesn't he wear glasses, have a hawk-like nose and smoke a pipe?" inquired Bess.
"And hunt up missing heiresses?" teasingly struck in Jimsy.
"No, he's a very different sort of person. But hush! he's coming now."
A heavy tread sounded in the hall and Mr. James Kennedy, Detective of the Meadville Police Force, stood before them. As Jimsy had said, he was not impressive as to outward appearance, although his fat, heavy face, and rather vacant eyes, might have concealed a giant intellect.
"I've investigated the case of the attempted burning of the stable last night," he began.
"Yes," exclaimed Roy eagerly. "Have you any suspicions as to who did it?"
The man shook his head.
"As yet we have no clews," he declared, "and I don't think we'll get any."
"That's too bad," replied Roy, "but let me tell you something that may help you."
The lad launched into a description of their adventures of the morning.
"That hut belongs to Luke Higgins, a respectable man who is out West at present," said the detective when Roy had finished. "He uses it as a sort of hunting box in the rabbit shooting season. He couldn't have had anything to do with it."
"I'd like to know his address so that I could write and thank him for leaving that gun there," declared Peggy warmly.
The detective shook his head solemnly.
"I reckon you young folks had better stop skee-daddling round the country this way," he said with heavy conviction; "you'll only get into more trouble. Flying ain't natural no more than crowing hens is."
With this he picked up his hat, and, after assuring them that he would find a clew within a short time, he departed, leaving behind him a company in which amusement mingled with indignation. In fact, so angry was Roy over the stupidity or ignorance of the Meadville police, that he himself set out on a hunt to detect the authors of the outrages upon the young aviators.
The sole result of his inquiry however was to establish the fact that both Cassells had left town, closing their house and announcing that they would be gone for some time.
As there was nothing further to be gained by remaining in Meadville, the entire party, after lunch, set out once more, a big crowd witnessing the departure of the aërial tourists.
They flew fast, and as the roads were excellent the auto had no difficulty in keeping up with them. On through the afternoon they soared along, sometimes swooping low above an alluring bit of scenery and again heading their machines skyward in pure exuberance of spirits. Their troubles at Meadville forgotten, they flew their machines like sportive birds; never had any of them experienced more fully the joy of flight, the sense of freedom that comes from traveling untrammeled into the ether.
They had passed above a small village and were flying low, those in the auto waving to them, when Peggy, in theGolden Butterfly, gave a sudden exclamation.
"Oh, look," she shouted, "a flock of sheep, and right in the path of the auto."
At that moment all of them saw the sheep, a large flock, headed by a belligerent looking ram with immense horns. Jake, who was driving the car, slowed up as he approached the flock. The woolly herd, huddled together helplessly, made no effort to get out of the road. Behind them a man and a boy shouted and yelled vigorously, but with no more effect than to bunch the animals more squarely in the path of the advancing car.
All at once, just as the car was slowed down to almost a walking pace, a big ram separated himself from the flock and actually rushed for the front seat of the car.
Jake uttered a yell as the woolly creature gave him a hard butt, knocking him out of his seat. But this wasn't all.
By some strange freak the animal had landed in the car in a sitting posture. Now the young aviators roared with laughter to behold the creature seated in Jake's forcibly vacated place. Its hoofs rested on the driving wheel.
Forward plunged the car, its queer driver with his feet wedged in the spokes of the steering wheel. Aloft the flock of young aviators roared with laughter at the sight. It was the oddest experience they had yet had—this spectacle of a grave-looking, long-horned ram driving an auto, while Jake prudently kept out of reach of those horns. As for Miss Prescott and The Wren, they cowered back in the tonneau in keen alarm.
"Oh!" cried Peggy suddenly, "there comes a runabout; that ram will surely collide with it!"
A runabout coming in the opposite direction dashed round a corner of the country road at this juncture. The driver was a young girl, but she was veiled and her features could not be seen under the thick face covering.
Apparently the ram saw the other car coming, for the animal actually appeared to make a halfway intelligent effort to steer the car out of the road.
For her part the girl in the runabout swerved her car from side to side in a struggle to avoid a collision, which appeared inevitable.
"Stop it!" shrieked Bess; "she'll be killed."
The ram evidently saw the other car coming; it tried to leap out but its hoofs were jammed in the spokes of the steering wheel. Before Jake could pick himself up from the floor of the front part of the car there came a loud shriek from the runabout. It was echoed by Miss Prescott and The Wren.
Crash!
The two cars came together with a fearful jolt.
The eyes of the young aviators aloft were fixed on the scene. They saw the large car strike the runabout and crumple its engine hood. Peggy gave a scream.
The ram, jolted out of its seat by the force of the collision, fell out to one side, allowing Jake to resume control of the wheel. But the runabout! It was ditched, its unfortunate occupant being pitched headlong into a ditch at the side of the road.
Down swept the aëroplanes, and there was a wild rush to the rescue. Peggy, Jess and Bess ran to the side of the injured occupant of the strange runabout. The boys divided themselves, attending to everything.
"Roy! Roy! hurry, she's unconscious!"
The cry came from Peggy as she rushed to the side of the young motorist.
Roy was not far off, and, at his sister's cry, he hastened to her side. Peggy had the girl's head in her lap.
"Get water!" she cried.
But Jimsy was already on hand with a collapsible aluminum cup full of water from a near by spring.
"Oh, the poor dear," sighed Peggy, "to think that our fun should have—"
The strange girl opened her eyes.
"Who are you?" she exclaimed. "Where is my machine?"
"Never mind for a minute," spoke Peggy, seeing that Jimsy and Jake were trying to drag the machine out of the ditch, "we'll fix it, never fear."
"Oh, my head!" groaned the girl.
"That pesky ram," exploded Roy angrily; "let me help you up into the road, you'll be more comfortable."
"Oh, thank you, I can stand," came faintly from the injured girl. "I—am—much better now. What happened?"
"Why a sort of volunteer driver was experimenting with our car, and I guess he made a mistake in driving," smilingly explained Roy.
"Oh, that ram!" cried the girl half hysterically. "I thought I had a nightmare at first."
"I don't blame you," smiled Peggy, "seeing a ram driving a motor car is apt to give one such ideas."
"Are you really better?" asked Jess sympathetically as she came up.
"Peggy, get my smelling salts out of the traveling bag!" cried Miss Prescott anxiously.
The accident had disturbed her sadly. The only unperturbed one in the party was Jake. He took things with philosophical calm.
"Knew more trouble was comin'," said he, and contented himself by dismissing the situation with that.
"I've got good news for you," said Jimsy, coming up; "your car isn't hurt a bit."
"Oh, good!" cried the girl, clasping her hands and flushing. Her veil was raised now and they saw that she was very blonde, very pretty and just now very pale.
"My, what a rambunctious ram!" punned Roy; "he ramified all over, didn't he?"
"Gracious, for a time I thought I was seeing things!" gasped the girl, who was seated on a tufted hummock of grass at the side of the road.
"And then you felt them," laughed Jimsy. "That's the way such things run."
They all laughed. Soon after, Roy, Jimsy and Jake dragged the small runabout out of the ditch. In the meantime Peggy had introduced herself and Jess to the young girl. The latter's name was Lavinia Nesbitt. She lived not far from the scene of the accident, and had been taking a jaunt in her machine.
The runabout had been rescued, and the whole party introduced and talking merrily when Jess set up a cry.
"Goodness! here comes that ram again!"
Down the road, with the two sheep drivers at its heels, the beast was indeed coming. It advanced at a hard gallop, with head lowered and formidable horns ready for a charge, into the midst of the group.
"Look out for him!" yelled the sheep herders.
They needed no second injunction. All skipped adroitly out of the path of the oncoming beast, which was rushing on like a whirlwind. Jimsy proved equal to the emergency. From his aëroplane he took the rope which had already done good service in rescuing theGolden Butterflyfrom the pond. He formed it into a loop—the lariat of the Western plains.
"Now we've got him!" he exclaimed; "that is, if we are careful. But watch out!"
"No danger of that," responded Peggy, from the vantage of the tonneau of the car; "but how are you going to rope him?"
"Watch!"
Jimsy began swinging his loop in ever widening circles. The ram was now within a few feet of him.
"Oh, theDart!" shrieked Bess; "he'll go right through it!"
Indeed it did appear as if the maddened animal would. But just as there are many slips between cup and lip so there are many slips between the ram and the aëroplane.
Just as it appeared that he would plow his way right through the delicate fabric, Jimsy hurled his loop. It settled round the animal's horns. Planting his heels in the ground Jimsy held tight to the rope. The next minute he "snubbed" it tight and the ram lost its feet and rolled over and over in the dust.
Jake and Roy rushed in and completed the job of tying the creature.
"Goodness, Jimsy, you're a regular broncho buster!" cried Peggy admiringly.
"Oh, I learned to do some tricks with a rope with the horse hunters out in Nevada," was the response.
But careless as his manner was, Jimsy's eyes glowed with triumph. It was plainly to be seen that he was delighted with his success. Just then the two sheep drivers came running up.
The girls looked rather alarmed. Suppose they should blame them for trying to kidnap the ram.
"I'll do the talking," declared Roy; "if you said anything, Jimsy, there might be a row."
"All right," laughed Jimsy, regarding his "roped and tied captive." "I suppose you are an expert on dealing with ram owners."
"Well, I'm on to their mental ramifications," laughed Roy.
The sheep driver, an elderly man, accompanied by a youth, came up to them now. He touched his hat civilly as he approached.
"Good afternoon. No one hurt, I hope," he said.
The girls looked greatly relieved. After all, the man was not rude or angry as they had feared.
"Oh, no, thank you," cried Jess, before Roy or Jimsy could open their mouths. "I hope he isn't though."
"Hurt!" exclaimed the ram's owner, "why you couldn't hurt him with a steam hammer. Why, day 'afore yesterday the blame thing went for my wife. Hoofs and horns—yes, sir! Most knocked her down, he did. I'll fix him."
"What's his name?" asked Bess.
"Hannibal," said the man, without the flicker of a facial muscle.
"I should think Cannonball would be a better name for him," struck in Jimsy, with that funny, serious face he always assumed when 'joshing'.
"Yes, sir, I guess itwouldbe more appropriate at that," assented the man.
He looked at the disabled machine.
"Busted?" he asked with apparent concern.
"To some extent," rejoined Roy, "only, except for that engine hood being dented there doesn't appear to be much the matter with it."
"Glad to pay if there be," said the sheep driver. "I'm going ter git rid of ther pesky critter. He's cost me a lot in damage suits already."
"Why don't you put him on the stage as the boxing ram, or something like that?" inquired Jimsy.
"Might be a good scheme," said the man, as if considering the proposal seriously.
"Mary had a little ram—" laughed Jimsy; who was thereupon told not to be "horrid."
"Why don't you box the nasty thing's ears for riding in our car?" asked Roy of Peggy.
"I'd like to do something, the saucy thing," declared Peggy with vehemence.
"Tell you what! Let's buy him."
The suggestion came from Jimsy.
"Yes, and have his skin made up into an auto robe," suggested Roy.
"If you boys aren't ridiculous," cried Peggy; "I want to forget the incident, and so I'm sure does Lavinia," the name of the girl who had been spilled out of her machine.
"You may be sure I do," she declared with emphasis. "I was never so scared in my life."
"Want to buy him?" asked the man, grasping at a chance of selling an animal that had already placed him in some embarrassing positions.
"How much do you want?" asked Roy, more as a joke than anything else.
"Three dollars," said the man.
"There you are, girls! Who'll bid? Who'll bid? This fine young ram going at a sacrifice."
Jimsy imitated an auctioneer, raising his voice to a sharp pitch.
It is almost needless to say that the purchase was not consummated. The girls raised a chorus of protest. The "nasty thing" was the mildest of the epithets they applied to the beast.
"Well, I don't know. I thought we might have his skin done into a robe. We could give it as a prize to the girl that makes the best record on this motor flight," suggested Jimsy.
"I wish you'd take him up a thousand feet and drop him," declared the unfortunate ram's owner.
"Poor thing! he only acted according to his nature," defended Peggy; "let him loose and he'll go back to the flock."
"Not him," declared his owner; "he'd only raise more Cain. Better let him be."
But the girls raised a chorus of protest. It was a shame to leave the poor thing tied up, and they insisted that he be let loose.
"All right, if you kin stand it I kin," grinned the man.
He and the boy bent over the captive ram and cast him loose. The beast struggled to his feet, and for an instant stood glaring about him out of his yellowish eyes that gleamed like agates. But it was only for an instant that he remained thus.
Suddenly he lowered his head and without more preliminaries dashed right at theGolden Butterfly.
"Gracious, he's a game old sport!" yelled Jimsy; "Hasn't had enough of it yet, eh?"
Right at theButterflythe ram rushed. Reaching it, with one bound he was in the chassis.
"Now we'll get him," whispered the owner of the ram. "I told you if he was let go he'd start cutting up rough."
"Well, you surely proved a good prophet," laughed Jimsy.
"Now we've got to catch him," said the man.
"How?" whispered Jimsy.
"Someone must lasso him as you did before. Easy now. Don't scare him or he might do damage."
The ram was seated in the aëroplane for all the world as if he was a scientific investigator of some sort. He paid no attention whatever to those who were creeping up on him, Jimsy with his rope in his hand, the loop trailing behind him all ready for action.
"This is more fun than a deer hunt!" declared Roy.
"Than a bull fight, you mean," retorted Jimsy; "this creature gives the best imitation of a wild bull I ever saw."
They all laughed. The ram certainly had given a realistic interpretation of a savage Andalusian fighter.
"Now then," whispered the sheep driver as they drew near. Jimsy's rope swirled and settled about the ram's horns. But the startled beast was due to give them another surprise. Hardly had Jimsy's rope fallen about it when with a snort it leaped clean in the air and out of the aëroplane. It tore like an express train straight at Jimsy.
Before the boy could get out of its path "Biff!" the impact had come. Jimsy arose into the atmosphere and described a distinct parabola. He landed with a bump in a clump of bushes, while Mr. Ram rushed off down the road to join his flock.
"Haw! haw! haw!" roared the sheep man; "ain't hurt, be you?"
"No; but I've a good mind to sue you for damages," rejoined Jimsy, picking himself out of the clump of brush; "you've no right to drive an animal like that around the country without labeling him 'Dynamite. Dangerous'."
"Guess I will, too," said the man, who appeared to think well of the suggestion; "he sure will get me in a pile of trouble one of these days."
He raised his hat and strode off, followed by the boy. In the distance the ram was capering about among the other sheep. Jimsy brushed the dust off himself and then looked about him.
"Anybody laughing?" he demanded suspiciously.
They all shook their heads, the girls biting their lips to avoid smiling.
"All right then, I suggest that we get out of here right away; a tiger's liable to come striding out of those woods next."
"Yes; we'd better be getting along; Millbrook, our next stop, is several miles off," said Peggy, consulting the map.
No further time was lost in resuming their rapid flight. In the distance, as the flock of aëroplanes arose, the sheep man waved his hat and shouted his adieus.
Millbrook was reached that evening just at dusk. It proved to be a fair-sized town, and the aëroplanes excited as much curiosity there as they had in Meadville—more so, in fact, for, from some flaring posters, it appeared that an aëroplane exhibition and race had been arranged for the next day by a traveling company of aviators. That evening, at the hotel, a deputation of citizens waited on the boys and asked them if they would not prolong their stay and take part in the air sports. The mayor, whose name was Jasper Hanks, mentioned a prize of five hundred dollars for an endurance flight as a special inducement.
The lads said they would think things over and report in the morning. Their real object in delaying their decision was, of course, to consult the girls about appearing. Peggy, Jess and Bess went into raptures over the idea, and Miss Prescott's consent was readily obtained.
"I'll be glad to rest for a day after all our exciting times," she declared, "and I mean to add to Wren's outfit too."
"Oh, how good you are to me," sighed the odd little figure, nestling close to her benefactress.
"Tush! tush, my dear! I'm going to make a wonderful girl out of you," beamed the kindly lady.
Descending to the office to buy some postcards, the boys found, lounging about the desk, a stoutish man with a rather dissipated face, puffy under the eyes and heavy about the jaws. A bright red necktie and patent-leather boots with cloth tops accentuated the decidedly "noisy" impression he conveyed.
As the boys came down he eyed them sharply. Then he addressed them.
"My name's Lish Kelly," he said. "I'm manager of the United Aviators' Exhibition Company. We're showing out at the City Park tomorrow. I understand that you kids have been asked to butt in."
"We've been asked to participate, if that's what you mean," rejoined Roy rather sharply. The fellow's manner was offensive and overbearing.
"Well, see here, you stay out," rejoined the man, shaking a fat forefinger on which glistened a diamond ring of such proportions as to make it dubious if it boasted a genuine stone.
"You stay out of it," he repeated.
Roy and Jimsy were almost dumfounded. The man's tone was one of actual command.
"Why? Why should we stay out of it?" demanded Roy.
"The mayor of the town has asked us to take part," came from Jimsy; "what have you got to do with it?"
"It's this way," said the man in rather a less overbearing way than he had hitherto adopted; "we're going about the country giving flights. The city gives us the park in this town and we get so much of the receipts. But we rely on winning the prizes, see. Now if you kids butt in, why you might win some of them and that knocks my profit out. Get me?"
"I understand you, if that's what you mean," rejoined Roy; "but I still fail to see why we should not compete if we want to."
The man placed his hand on the boy's shoulder impressively.
"'Cos if you do it'll make trouble for you, sonny."
"Who'll make it?" flashed back Roy indignantly.
"I will, son, and I'm some trouble maker when I start anything along them lines, take it from me."
He turned on his heel, stuck his cigar at a more acute angle in the side of his mouth, and strode off, leaving the two boys dumfounded.
"Well, what do you make of that?" demanded Roy, as soon as his astonishment had subsided a trifle.
"Just this, that Mr. Lish Kelly thinks he can run this thing to suit himself."
"What will we do about it?"
"For my part I wanted to compete before. I desire to more than ever now."
"Same here."
"Maybe he was only bluffing after all."
"Maybe; but just the same I wouldn't trust him not to try to do us some harm. As he says, his main profits come from winning the prizes offered by the different communities."
"Humph! well, so far as that goes, I don't see why that need keep us out of it."
"Nor I; but we've had troubles enough, and I don't want willingly to run into any more."
"Nor I. Well, let's sleep on it. We'll decide in the morning."
"That's a good idea."
The two lads went up to bed and slept as only healthy lads can. The next morning dawned bright and clear. There was hardly any wind. It was real "flying" weather. The aëroplanes had been sheltered in a big shed belonging to the hotel. Before breakfast the boys went out and looked them over. All were in good shape.
As they were coming out of the shed they were hailed by no less a personage than Mayor Hanks.
"Well," said he, "are you going to fly?"
"We think of doing so," said Roy, hesitating a little. He wanted to speak of the conduct of Lish Kelly, but on second thought he decided not to; the man might merely have had a fit of bad temper on him. His threats might have been only empty ones.
"If you're going to fly I have got some entry blanks with me," said the mayor. "I wish you'd sign 'em."
He drew out a bunch of blue papers with blanks for describing the name of the machine, its power, driver and other details.
This decided the boys.
"All right, we'll enter all our machines," said Roy; "let us go into the writing room and we'll sign the entry blanks."
"Good for you," cried the mayor delightedly; "you'll be a big drawing card, especially the young ladies. I never heard of gals flyin', although, come to think of it, why shouldn't they?"
In the writing room they concluded the business. When it was done all the machines had been entered in every contest, including an altitude one.
"We start at ten sharp, so be there," admonished the mayor as he departed, highly pleased at having secured quite a flock of young aviators at no cost at all.
It was as his figure vanished, that Lish Kelly crossed the writing room. He had been sitting in a telephone booth, and leaving the door a crack open had heard every word that had passed.
He greeted the boys with an angry scowl.
"So you ain't going to stay out?" he said gruffly, as he passed. "All right; look out for squalls!"