Talking in an aimless way, the youths a minute later ran along the hall, skittered down stairs and dashed out to the sheds at the rear of the hotel. The landlord, who was alone in the bar-room, stared wonderingly at them as they shot through the door, but asked no questions.
Bohunkus had scarcely exaggerated in his story. No aeroplane that gave out in the upper regions and slanted downward to rocky earth was ever more utterly wrecked. One or more persons had evidently used a heavy axe to work the destruction. Both wings had been smashed, fully two-thirds of the ribs being splintered; the lever handles were broken and even the two blades of the propeller had been shattered. The machine had been hacked in other places. The engine, carbureter and magneto were about all that remained intact, and even they showed dents and bruises as if attempts had been made to destroy them.
Harvey walked sadly around the ruin and viewed it from every angle. His face was pale, for his indignation was stirred to the profoundest depths. He said nothing until his companion asked:
“Who’d you think done it?”
“I have no more idea than the man in the moon. There may have been only one person, or there may have been half a dozen. Ah, if I knew!”
Several men straggled into the open yard and to the shed where they gathered about the two youths. Harvey looked around and saw there were six, with others coming into sight. Somehow or other the news of such outrages seems to travel by a system of wireless telegraphy of their own. In a short time a score of spectators were gathered, all asking questions and making remarks.
The thought struck Harvey that among this group were probably the criminals. He looked into their faces and compressing his lips said:
“I’ll give a hundred dollars to learn what scoundrel did this.”
“I’ll gib fourteen million,” added Bohunkus enthusiastically.
A tall, stoop-shouldered young man shook his head.