"Gracious, are we in for more trouble?"
Jimsy looked blankly at Roy; but the latter only laughed at his chum's serious face.
Somehow, viewed in the bright light of early day, Lish Kelly's threats did not appear nearly as formidable as they had over night.
"Nonsense; what harm can he do us anyhow? We're going to go into this race, and we're going to win too. Just watch us."
"Going to tell the girls anything about Kelly and his remarks?"
"No; what good would that do? It would only scare them."
"That's so, too; but just the same I didn't like the look of Kelly's face when he came through."
"He looked to me like a bulldog that had swallowed a baby's boot and didn't like the taste of the blacking on it," laughed Roy.
At this juncture the girls came into the room. All were radiant and smiling in anticipation of the day's sport.
"Well, we've been and gone and done it," announced Roy.
"Done what?" demanded Peggy.
"Signed the paperrr-r-r-s," was the rejoinder, rendered with great dramatic effect.
He waved the duplicate entry blanks above his head.
"Let's see them," begged Jess.
"All right. Look what I've let us in for!"
"Why—why—good gracious, Roy, you've got us down for everything," gasped Peggy.
"That's right, all the way across from soup to nuts," struck in the slangy Jimsy.
They all laughed. The color rose in the girls' faces.
"If only we can win some of them," cried Jess.
"Well, the machines are all in fine shape. If we don't win it will be because the other fellows have better machines."
"Where are the aviation grounds?" inquired Bess.
"At the City Park, about a mile out of town to the south. We can get to it by looking down at the trolley tracks," said Roy, who had consulted the mayor on this point.
"Then you are going to fly out there?" asked Miss Prescott, who was also by this time a party to the conference.
"Of course; and, by the way, we ought to be getting out there pretty soon; I want to be looking over the grounds and selecting the best places for landing and so on," said Roy.
"Well, please don't get into any more scrapes," sighed Miss Prescott; "what with gipsies, firebugs and rams, our trip has been quite exciting enough for me."
The boys exchanged glances. If the man Kelly tried to carry out his threats things might be more exciting yet, they thought. But both kept their knowledge to themselves.
It was arranged that Miss Prescott should motor out to the City Park. Soon thereafter the young aviators placed finishing touches on their machines, and while a curious crowd gathered they took to the air.
"Looks just like a flock of pigeons," said a man in the crowd, as they climbed skyward quite closely bunched.
"It sure does," agreed his companion, "but them things is prettier than any flock of pigeons I ever see."
And this opinion was echoed by many of the throng. At any rate everyone who saw the aëroplanes start made up his or her mind to pay a visit to the park and see some more extended flights, so that Mayor Hanks' prediction was verified.
As the young aviators hovered above City Park for a short space of time, and then dropped earthward, a veritable sensation was created. From a row of "hangars" mechanicians and aviators came running. One or two aviators who were aloft practicing "stunts," dropped swiftly to earth. Lish Kelly's troupe was a large one, consisting of five men and one woman flyer, the wife of Carlos Le Roy, a Cuban aviator.
Outside the grounds several of the frugal individuals who desired to see the flights without paying admission also watched as the quintette of strange aëroplanes dropped to earth.
One by one the graceful craft of the air settled to the ground, and the young aviators alighted. Members of the Arrangement Committee hastened to their sides, shaking hands warmly and thanking them for their interest in the coming contests.
The Kelly aviators gazed curiously, some of them resentfully, at the newcomers. They had all the professional's antipathy and jealousy of amateur performers. As the Arrangement Committee bustled off after telling our friends to make themselves perfectly at home, Pepita Le Roy came up to them. She was a handsome woman, in a foreign way, with large, dark eyes and an abundance of raven black hair. She was rather flashily dressed and walked with a sort of swagger that in a vague way reminded Peggy of "Carmen."
"So you are zee girl aviators," she remarked, as she came up.
"Yes; I guess that's what they call us," rejoined Peggy; "we enjoy flying and have done a lot of it."
"So! I have read your names in zee papers."
"Oh, those awful papers!" cried Jess, who hated publicity; "they are always printing things about us."
"What! You do not like it?"
"Oh, no! You see, we only fly for fun. Not as a business and—"
Peggy stopped short. She felt she had committed a grave breach of tactfulness. It was not the thing, she felt, to boast to a professional woman flyer of their standing as amateurs.
Nor was the Cuban woman slow to take umbrage at what she considered an insult. Her eyes flashed indignantly as she regarded the fair-haired, slender girl before her.
"So you fly only for fun," she said vehemently; "very well, you have all zee fun you want before to-day is ovaire."
Without another word she walked off, with the swinging walk of her race.
The girls looked at each other with a sort of amused dismay.
"Goodness, Peggy; you should be more careful," cried Bess; "you've hurt her feelings dreadfully."
"I'm sure I didn't mean to," declared Peggy remorsefully. "I—I had no idea that she would flare up like that."
"Well, after all, it doesn't matter much," soothed Jess, pouring oil on the troubled waters, so to speak. "I'm glad the boys didn't hear it though."
"So am I. See, they're busy on Roy's machine," exclaimed Bess.
"Yes; the lower left wing is rather warped," explained Peggy; "they are fixing it."
"Wonder who that man is who is monkeying with theRed Dragon?" said Peggy, the next instant. "I mean that horrid looking man in the check suit."
"I don't know. See, he has a monkey wrench in his hand, too," exclaimed Bess.
Almost simultaneously the boys looked round from their work on the biplane and saw the man. It was Lish Kelly. He was bending over the engine and doing something to it with his wrench.
"Hey! What are you doing there?" yelled Roy.
"Just looking at your machine. No harm in that, is there?" demanded Kelly, with a red face.
"None at all, except that we don't want our machines touched. How comes it you have that monkey wrench in your hands if you weren't tampering with the machinery?"
Jimsy spoke in a voice that fairly bubbled over with indignation.
"Don't get sore, kid; I wouldn't harm your old mowing machine. There isn't one of mine but could beat it the fastest day it ever flew."
As he spoke Kelly slouched off. They saw him go up to a group of his aviators and begin talking earnestly to them. Once or twice he motioned with his head in their direction.
"So hedoesmean mischief, after all," said Roy; "let's take a good look at theDragon'sengine. He may have injured it, although I don't think he'd have had time to hurt it seriously."
They strolled over to theDragon, with the girls trailing behind.
"Oh!" cried Peggy, as they came up, "look at that spark plug."
"What's the matter with it?" demanded Jimsy,
"Look, it's all bent and twisted out of shape."
"Jove, sis, so it is. Your eyes are as sharp as they are pretty!" cried Roy.
"No compliments, please. Oh, that horrid man!"
"Who is he?" asked Jess. "You appeared to know him."
"Yes, we had some conversation with him this morning," laughed Roy; "but to return to the spark plug; it's a good thing we carry extra ones."
"But we don't!" cried Jimsy, in a dismayed tone.
"What! you had a supply in a locker on your machine."
Jimsy looked confused.
"I've got to make a confession," he said.
"You didn't bring them!" cried Peggy.
"No, the fact is I—I forgot."
Jimsy looked miserably from one to the other. Here was a quandary indeed. It might prove hard to get such a commodity as a spark plug in Millbrook.
It was while they were still discussing the situation that the automobile with Jake at the wheel and Miss Prescott and The Wren in the tonneau, drove into the grounds. What a difference there was in the child since her benefactors had fitted her out! She looked like a dainty, ethereal little princess instead of the ragged little waif that had been rescued from the gipsy camp.
But the minds of our young friends were now intent on different matters. Time pressed. The altitude flight, in which Jimsy had planned to take part, was to be the first thing on the program. If anything was to be done about reequipping theDragonit must be done quickly.
"Tell you what," said Roy suddenly, "we'll get into the car and drive back to town. It won't take long and maybe we can dig up an extra one some place."
"If we don't I'm out of it for keeps," groaned Jimsy; "oh, that Kelly. I'd like to punch his head."
He doubled up his fists aggressively; but, after all, what chance had he to prove that Kelly had actually damaged the plug. If confronted the man would have probably denied all knowledge of it. Nobody had actually seen him do it, so that positive proof was out of the question. No, they must repair the damage as best they could.
But Roy determined to have the machines closely guarded. The situation was explained to Miss Prescott, and while she and her small protégé took seats in the grand stand Jake was detailed to guard the aëroplanes. This done, the boys got into the machine and prepared to start for town. But the girls interfered.
"Aren't you going to take us along, you impolite youths!" cried Bess.
"Oh, certainly, your company is always charming," returned Jimsy, with a low bow.
"Of course it is, but you wouldn't have asked us to come if we had not invited ourselves," declared Peggy vehemently.
"How can you say so? Our lives would be a dry desert without the girl aviators to liven things up," declared Jimsy.
"Jimsy Bancroft, if you are going to get poetical you'll leave this car," cried Jess.
"That's just it," declared Jimsy, "girls can cry their eyes out over romantic heroes, but when a regular fellow starts to get 'mushy' they go up in the air."
Amidst the chorus of protestations aroused by this ungallant speech Roy started the car. Swiftly it sped out of the grounds; but not so swiftly that the keen eyes of Lish Kelly did not see it.
He called Herman Le Roy, the Cuban aviator, to him.
"Le Roy, you are not in the altitude contest," he said, "hop in my car with me and we'll follow those kids. They're up to something."
The Cuban looked at him and smiled, showing two rows of white teeth under his small, dapperly curled mustache.
"I think, Señor Kelly, you have been up to something yourself."
"Well, you know what I told you. We want that five-hundred-dollar prize, Carlos, and by the looks of things if we don't do something those kids are likely to get it."
"They have fine machines," agreed the other.
"Yes; and they are equipped with a balancing device that makes them much more reliable than ours."
"A balancing device!" exclaimed the Cuban, as the two men got into the car, a small yellow runabout of racy appearance.
"That's what I said, and it's a good one, too. I read an account of it in an aviation paper; but the description was too sketchy for me to see how the thing was worked."
"Those boys must be wonders."
"I'm afraid they are. That's why we've got to be careful of them. But I've got a plan to fix them, the whole lot of them."
"What is it?"
"I'll tell you as we go along."
As the car rolled past the group of aëroplanes with Jake faithfully standing guard over them, Kelly hailed him in a suave voice.
"Any idea where the young folks have gone?"
Jake, who had no idea that Kelly had a sinister motive in asking the question, replied readily enough.
"Yes, they've gone into Millbrook to get another spark plug. Something happened to one of the plugs of that red machine yonder."
"All right. Thanks."
Kelly drove on.
"Do you know what happened to that plug, Carlos?" he asked, as they reached the open road and bowled forward at a good speed.
"I've got a pretty good guess. It was not altogether an accident, eh?"
"An accident, well, it was, in a sense. I happened to be near that machine with a monkey wrench and in some way was careless enough to let it put that plug out of business."
Both men laughed heartily, as if Kelly's rascally act had been the most amusing thing in the world.
"You are a genius," declared Le Roy.
"Well, I reckon I know a thing or two," was the modest response; "besides, I need that money."
"But what is your plan?"
"I'll tell you as we go along. Drive fast, but don't keep so close to that other car that they can get sight of us."
"Not much fear of that. They had a long start of us and are out of sight now."
"So much the better. It doesn't interfere with my plans a bit, provided they take the same road back."
"What do you mean to do?"
"Are you good with a shovel?" was the cryptic reply.
"I don't understand you, I must say."
"You will later on. We'll drive up to that farmhouse yonder."
"Yes, and what then?"
"We'll borrow two shovels."
"Two shovels!"
"That's what I said."
"But what on earth have two shovels to do with stopping a bunch of kids from entering in an aëroplane race?"
"Carlos, your brain is dull to-day."
"It would take a wizard to understand what you intend to do."
"Well, you will see later on. Drive in this gate. That's it, and now for the shovels."
For more than half an hour eager inquiries were made in Millbrook for a spark plug such as they wanted. But all their search was to no avail. But suddenly, just as they were about to give up in despair, a man, of whom they had made inquiries, recalled that not far out of town there was a small garage.
"We'll try there," determined Jimsy.
Finding out the road, they speeded to the place. It did not look very promising, a small, badly fitted up auto station, run by an elderly man with red-rimmed, watery eyes, looking out from behind a pair of horn spectacles that somehow gave him the odd look of a frog.
"Got any spark plugs?" asked Jimsy, as the machine came to a halt.
"Yes, all kinds," said the man, in a wheezy, asthmatic voice that sounded like the exhaust of a dying-down engine.
"Good!" cried Jimsy, hopping out of the car.
"That is, we will have all kinds next week," went on the man; "I've ordered 'em."
"Goodness, then you haven't any right now?"
"I've got a few. Possibly you might find what you want among them."
"I'll try, anyway," declared Jimsy.
The man led the way into a dingy sort of shed. On a shelf in a dusty corner was a box.
"You can hunt through that," said the man wearily; "if you find what you want wake me up."
"Wake you up?"
"Yes, I always take a sleep at this time of day. You woke me up when you came in. Now I'm going to doze off again."
So saying he sank into a chair, closed his eyes and presently was snoring.
"Dead to the world!" gasped Jimsy; "well, that's the quickest thing in the sleep line I ever saw!"
As it was no use to waste further time the boy began rummaging in the box. It contained all sorts of odds and ends, among them several plugs.
"I'll bet there isn't one here that will fit my engine!" grumbled Jimsy; "I don't—what! Yes! By Jiminy! Eureka! Hurray, I've found one!"
The man woke up with a start.
"What's the matter?" he demanded drowsily.
"Nothing! That is, everything!" cried Jimsy. "I've found just what I want."
"All right. Leave the money on that shelf there. It's a dollar."
So saying, off he went to sleep again, while Jimsy, overjoyed, hastily peeled a dollar from his "roll" and departed. The last sound he heard was the steady snoring of the garage man.
"Well, there's one fellow that money can't keep awake, even if it does talk," said Jimsy laughingly to himself as, with a cry of triumph, he rejoined the party, waving the plug like a banner or an emblem of victory.
No time was lost in starting the auto up again and they whirled back through Millbrook in a cloud of dust. Passing through the village they retraced their way along the road by which they had come.
"Just half an hour before that altitude flight," remarked Jimsy to Roy, who was driving, as they sped through the town.
"Fine; we'll make it all right," was the rejoinder. Roy turned on more power and the auto shot ahead like some scared wild thing.
"We'll only hit the high spots this trip," declared Roy, as the machine plunged and rolled along at top speed.
All at once, as they turned a corner, they received a sudden check. Right ahead of them a man was driving some cows. Roy jammed down the emergency brake, causing them all to hold on for dear life to avoid being pitched out by the sudden change of speed.
"Wow! what a jolt!" exclaimed Jimsy; "it sure did——"
The sentence was never completed. The auto gave a pitch sideways and then plunged into a pit that had been dug across the road and covered with leaves and dust placed on a framework of branches. Down into this pit crashed the machine with a sickening jolt. The girls screamed aloud in fear. It appeared as if the machine would be a total wreck.
But that was not the worst of it. In the sudden fall into the pit Roy had been pitched out and now lay quite still at the roadside. Jimsy had saved himself from being thrown by clutching tight hold of the seat.
He stopped the engine and then clambering out of the car hastened to Roy's side. To his delight, just as he reached him, Roy sat up, and although his face was drawn with pain he declared that his injuries consisted of nothing more serious than a sprained ankle.
"But look at the machine!" cried Jimsy; "it's smashed, I'm sure of it."
The pit which had been dug across the road was about three feet deep and the front wheels of the auto rested in it. The hind wheels had not entered, as the excavation was not a wide one.
Both boys hastened to examine the car. To their satisfaction they found that not much damage had been done beyond a slight wrenching of the steering gear. This was due to the fact that they had been going at reduced speed.
"Gracious! Suppose we had been coming along at the same pace we'd been hitting up right along," exclaimed Jimsy.
"We wouldn't be here now," declared Roy; "we'd be in the next county or thereabouts."
"Yes, we'd have kept right on going," agreed Jimsy; "talk about flying! But, say, who can have done this?"
"Not much doubt in my mind it's the work of that outfit of Kelly's. He told us to look out for trouble, and he appears to be making it for us."
"The precious rascal; he might have broken all our necks."
"That's true, if we'd been hitting up high speed."
"How are we going to get out of this?"
Peggy asked the question just as the man who had been driving the cattle came running up.
"What's the trouble?" he asked, gazing at the odd scene.
"You can see for yourself," rejoined Roy; "some rascals dug a trench across the road so as to wreck our machine if possible."
"Humph! So I see," was the rejoinder; "how be you goin' ter git out of thar?"
"That's a problem. If we could get a team of horses——" The man interrupted Roy, who was acting as spokesman.
"Tell you what, two of my cattle back thar are plow oxen. I'll go back to ther farm, git their yokes on 'em and yank you out of here. That is pervidin' you pay me, uv course."
"Don't worry about that. We're willing to pay anything in reason."
"All right, then, I'll hook up Jeb and Jewel."
The man walked back toward his cattle, which were contentedly browsing at the side of the road. Clucking in an odd manner, he drove two of them out of the herd and started back toward a farmhouse which was not far distant. In a wonderfully short time he was back with his oxen in harness.
"Gee, Jeb! Haw, Jewel!" he cried, as he came up. The oxen swung round and the heavy chain attached to their yoke was hitched to the front axle of the car.
"Now for it!" cried Roy, when this had been done.
"Git ap!" shouted the man.
The slow but powerful oxen strained their muscular backs. The chain tightened and the next moment the car, from which Peggy and Jess and Bess had alighted, rose from the pit. Then the hind wheels dropped into it with a bump, but the shock absorbers prevented serious damage. With the oxen straining and pulling it was finally hauled into the road and they were ready to resume the trip.
Roy rewarded their helper with a substantial bill, and they were all warm in their thanks.
"'Twasn't nuthin'," declared the man, "an' now I guess I'll go to ther house and have my hired man fill in this road. Things is come to a fine pass when such things kin happen."
As the rescued party sped on toward the aviation field they fully agreed with the rustic's opinion. Had it not been for sheer luck they would have suffered extremely serious consequences as the result of a rascal's device. But as it was Kelly's plot against them appeared to have failed.
"B-o-o-m!"
The sound of a gun crashed out as the auto sped through the gates of the aviation field and rapidly skimmed across to where the aëroplanes had been parked.
"Just in time!" cried Peggy; "that's the five-minute warning gun."
By this time the grandstand was well filled and a band was playing lively airs. At the starting line three of the Kelly aëroplanes were gathered ready for the signal for the start of the altitude flight. The instant the car came to a standstill Jimsy was out and in a jiffy had the new spark plug adjusted. There was no time to test it, but he felt pretty confident that it would work all right.
"All ready!" shouted the official in charge of the starting arrangements.
"Ready!" rejoined Jimsy heartily, as he adjusted his leather helmet and Jake and Roy started the engine.
Kelly, whose back had been turned while he talked to some of his troup, faced round at the sound of the boy's voice.
"What, you here!" he choked out, his face purple.
"Yes; do you know any reason why I shouldn't be?" asked Jimsy, with meaning emphasis.
Under the lad's direct gaze Kelly's eyes fell. He couldn't face the lad, but turned away.
"There, if that isn't proof of his guilt I'd like to know what is," declared Jimsy to Roy.
"But the rascal covered up his tracks so cleverly that we can't prove anything on him," muttered Roy disgustedly.
At the same instant the starting bomb boomed out. The crowd yelled, and the drummer of the band pounded his instrument furiously. Above the uproar sounded the sharp, crackerlike report of the motors. As more power was applied they roared like batteries of Gatling guns.
Into the air shot one of them, a black biplane. It was followed by the others, two monoplanes and a triplane. Jimsy ascended last, but as this was not a race, but a cloud-climbing contest, he was in no hurry. He was anxious to see what the other air craft could do.
Up they climbed, ascending the aërial stairway, while the crowd below stared up, at the risk of stiff necks in the immediate future.
Jimsy chose spiraling as his method of rising. But the others went upward in curious zigzags. This was because their machines were not equipped with the stability device, and they could not attempt the same tactics. Before long Jimsy was high above the others. From below he appeared a mere dot in the blue. But still he flew on.
Once he glanced at his barograph. It showed he had ascended 5,000 feet. It was higher than the boy had ever been before, but he kept perseveringly on.
It was cold up there in the regions of the upper air, and Jimsy found himself wishing he had put on a sweater.
"It's too long a drop to go down and get one," he remarked to himself, with grim humor.
Beneath him he could see the other aëroplanes; but the black one was the only one that appeared to be a serious rival. The rest did not seem to be trying very hard to reach a superlative height. The black machine, however, was steadily rising. After a while Jimsy could see the face of its occupant. It was the Cuban, Le Roy.
"Now, what's he trying to do, I wonder?" thought Jimsy, as the black biplane rose to the same level as himself and appeared to be going through some odd maneuvering.
"That's mighty funny," mused the boy, watching his rival; "I can't make out what he's up to."
Indeed the black biplane was behaving queerly. Now it would swoop toward Jimsy and then would dart, only to return. Suddenly it came driving straight at him.
It was then that Jimsy suddenly realized what his rival was trying to do. To use a slangy but expressive phrase, Le Roy, the veteran aviator, was trying to rattle the boy.
"So that's his game, is it," thought Jimsy; "well, I'll give him a surprise."
Manipulating his spark and gas levers the boy gave his graceful red craft full power. The Dragon shot sharply upward, crossing Le Roy's machine about twenty feet above its upper plane. Jimsy laughed aloud at the astonished expression on the man's face as he skimmed above him.
"I reckon he'll think that I do know something about driving an aëroplane, after all," he chuckled as he rose till his barograph recorded 6,000 feet.
Beneath him he could see Le Roy starting to descend. Something appeared to be wrong with the black biplane's motor. It acted sluggishly.
"Well, as he's going down I guess I will, too," said Jimsy to himself; "6,000 feet is by no means a record, but it's high enough for me."
Suddenly he was plunged into what appeared to be a wet and chilly fog. In reality it was a cloud that had drifted in on him. It grew suddenly cold with an almost frosty chill. The moisture of the cloud drenched him to the skin. The lad shivered and his teeth chattered, but he kept pluckily to his task.
Before long he emerged into the sunlight once more. The crowd which had thrilled when the young aviator vanished into the vapor set up a yell when he reappeared. But at the height he was Jimsy, of course, did not hear it.
But as he dropped lower the shouts and cheers became plainly audible. The lad waved his hand in acknowledgment. Then, as he neared the ground, he put his machine through a series of graceful evolutions that set the crowd wild.
"The altitude flight is won by Number Four," announced the officials after they had examined the barograph; "with a height of 6,000 feet. Number Four is Mr. James Bancroft."
"Gee; that sounds real dignified," laughed Jimsy; "it's a treat to be treated with becoming dignity once in a while."
The next flight was a race six times round the course. This was won by one of the Kelly flyers. Then came an endurance contest which Roy captured handily and some exhibition flying in which Bess did some clever work and was delighted to find herself a winner.
It was soon after this that the gun was fired as a note of warning that the big race was about to begin.
Peggy'sGolden Butterflyand Roy's entry, theRed Dragon, borrowed for this race because the biplane was too heavy and clumsy for such fast work, were wheeled to the starting line. Already three of Kelly's machines were there, among them being that of Señora Le Roy, or, as she was billed, the Cuban Skylark, the Only Woman Flyer in the World. It appeared now that she had small claim to the title. The crowd set up a cheer for her as she took her seat in a neat-looking monoplane of the Bleriot type.
But when Peggy's dapper figure, smartly attired in her aviation costume, appeared a still louder shout went up.
Kelly scowled blackly. He stepped up to his flyers.
"You've got to win this race or get fired," he snarled.
"They're off!"
"Hurrah!"
"There they go!"
These and hundreds of other cries and exclamations followed the report of the starting gun. The Cuban woman flyer was off first, then came two other of the professional flyers, while Roy and Peggy got away last.
The race was to be sixty miles out to a small body of water called Lake Loon and return. A trolley line ran past the aviation grounds and out to the lake. For the guidance of the flyers a car with a huge American flag flying from it blazed a trail below them, as it were.
Roy's craft gained a slight lead on theGolden Butterflyand two of the Kelly flyers were soon passed by both the boy and his sister. But the professional woman flyer still maintained her lead. Second came another of Lish Kelly's aviators in a blue machine. This was Ben Speedwell, who enjoyed quite a reputation as a skillful and daring air driver.
The flyers had all struck a level about 1,500 feet in the air. There was a light head wind, but not enough to deter any of the powerfully engined craft. Glancing back for an instant Roy saw one of the contesting aviators dropping to earth. His companion soon followed.
"Overheated engines probably," thought the boy; "I must be careful the same thing doesn't happen to me going at this pace."
Suddenly another aëroplane loomed up beside him. It was theGolden Butterfly.
"Good for you, sis!" cried Roy, as Peggy, waving her hand, roared past. In another minute she had shot past Speedwell, but the leader, the woman flyer, was still some distance ahead, and appeared to steadily maintain the lead she had.
At last Lake Loon came into view. It was a more or less shallow body of water with a small island in the middle of it. As they neared it Speedwell and Roy were flying almost abreast, with Speedwell just a shade in the lead.
Suddenly Speedwell made a spurt and shot ahead of theDragon. At a distance of half a mile from Roy, who was now last, Speedwell was above the lake.
Peggy and the woman flyer had already turned and were on their way back, with the latter still in the lead. Roy was watching Speedwell intently.
He saw the man bank his machine to take the curve in order to round the lake. An appalling climax followed.
"He's turned too sharp. He'll never make it," exclaimed Roy, holding his breath.
The aëroplane swayed madly. Then began a fierce fight on Speedwell's part to settle it on an even keel. But skillful as he was he could not master the overbalanced machine.
"He is lost!" breathed Roy, every nerve athrill.
And then the next minute:
"Cracky! He's got it. No, he's falling again—ah!"
There was a note of horror in the exclamation. The aëroplane in front of Roy dived wildly, then fairly somersaulted. The strain was too great. A wing parted.
"It's the end of him!" exclaimed Roy, in a whisper.
Down shot the broken aëroplane with the velocity of lightning. It just dodged the trees on the little island and then it plunged into the lake, first spilling Speedwell out. Then down on top of him came the smother of canvas, wood and wires.
"He'll be suffocated if I don't go to his rescue," murmured Roy; "it will put me out of the race, but I must save him."
There was a clear spot on the island, and toward this the boy dived. In the meantime men were putting out from shore in a small boat. But the boy knew that they could not reach the unfortunate Speedwell in time to save his life.
Roy made a clever landing on the island and then lost no time in wading out to the half floating, half submerged wreckage. In the midst of it lay Speedwell. Roy dragged him ashore. The man's face was purple, his limbs limp and lifeless and he choked gaspingly. Another minute in the water would have been his last, as Roy realized.
He did what he could for the man, rolling him on his face to get out the water he had swallowed. By this time the boat from the shore landed on the island. The two men got out.
"Is he alive?" they asked of Roy.
"Yes, and he'll get better, too, I guess. Lucky he fell in the water. No limbs are broken."
"Well, you're a pretty decent sort of fellow to get out of the race to help an injured man," said one of the men.
"Well, I'll leave him to you now," rejoined Roy; "is there a hospital near here?"
"There's one 'bout a mile away. We can phone for an ambulance."
"Good! Well, good-bye."
With a whirr and a buzz the boy was gone, and speedily became a speck in the sky.
In the meantime the aviation field was in an uproar. Dashing toward it had come the two leading aëroplanes. From dots in the sky no bigger than shoe buttons they speedily became manifest as two aëroplanes aquiver with speed. Blue smoke poured from their exhausts. Evidently the two aviators were straining their craft to the utmost.
"It's that Cuban woman and the young girl flyer!" yelled a man who had a pair of field glasses.
The uproar redoubled. The two aëroplanes were almost side by side as they rushed onward. Which would win the $500 race?
It was a struggle that had begun some miles back. After leaving the lake Peggy, who had held some speed in reserve while her opponent had keyed her machine to its top pitch, had gradually gained on her. But still there was a gap between the two aëroplanes.
On the return trip no car blazed the way. The speed was too great for that. For this reason smudges, or smoky fires, had been lighted to guide the flyers. At a place where it was necessary to make a slight turn Peggy made the gain that brought her almost alongside her competitor. In making the turn the monoplane flown by the Cuban aviatrix could not negotiate it at as sharp an angle as Peggy's machine, owing to its not being equipped with an equalizing, or stability device.
Now it was that Peggy tensioned up theGolden Butterflyto its full power. The engine fairly roared as the propeller blurred round. The whole fabric trembled under the strain. It seemed as if nothing made by man could stand the pressure.
But theGolden Butterflyhad been built by one of the foremost young aviators in the country, and it was sound and true in every part. Peggy felt no fear of anything giving out under the strain.
And now the aviation park appeared in the distance. Peggy headed straight for it, hoping devoutly that her motor would not heat up and jam under the terrific speed it was being forced to.
The Cuban woman glanced round anxiously. It was a bad move for her. Like a flash theGolden Butterflyshot by the other machine as the latter wobbled badly.
Peggy's delight was mixed with apprehension. The motor was beginning to smoke. Plainly it was heating up.
"Will it last five minutes longer?"
That was the thought in Peggy's mind. TheGolden Butterflywas hardly an airship any longer. It was a thunderbolt—a flying arrow. Before Peggy's eyes there was nothing now but the tall red and white "pylon" that marked the winning post. Could she make it ahead of her rival? Close behind her she could hear the roar of the other motor, but she did not dare to look round for fear of losing ground.
Swiftly she mentally selected the spot where she would land, and then down shot theGolden Butterflylike a pouncing fish hawk. The speed of the descent fairly took Peggy's breath away. Her cap had come off and her golden hair streamed out in the breeze wildly.
There was a blur of flying trees, then came the grandstand, a mere smudge of color, a sea of dimly seen faces and a roar that was like that of a hundred waterfalls.
Down shot theGolden Butterflyjust inside the "pylon." It ran for about a hundred yards and was then brought to a stop.
Peggy Prescott had won the great race.