The Flying Boys to the Rescue

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

It will be noted that the youth had to guard the front and rear, for there was no saying from which direction danger would appear. He remembered the character of the path, and stepped as softly as a burglar stealing over a carpeted floor. When he had gone a few paces, he paused, listened, and peered into the inclosing gloom. He had little fear of meeting strangers, for the Professor had impressed all with the peril they ran in yielding to their curiosity. It was the fanatical inventor whom he held in dread.

But his tense senses told nothing, and Harvey finally turned the corner of the rocky avenue, where there was a small open space, and the cabin loomed before him. He stood staring, wondering and speculating as to what it all could mean. The building was utterly dark and silent. Its shadowy outlines showed against the starlit sky, but it was as if he were looking upon some huge tomb. The gloom would not permit him to see whether the Dragon of the Skies was resting in the hangar provided for it, but he believed the strange air craft was there, awaiting the whim of its owner.

While making his guarded survey, Harvey did not forget the delicate situation in which he stood. He was partially veiled in shadow and though he heard not the slightest sound he turned his head and looked back over the trail which he had followed to the spot. A few rods distant it showed a slight rise, so that he came down a moderate slope to where he had halted. This low elevation threw the summit of the incline against the starlit sky behind it and at the moment of looking, Harvey saw Professor Morgan’s gaunt form in silhouette striding over the rise and coming toward him, with the well-known linen duster flapping about his heels.

The watcher slipped a little farther to one side, where he was effectively screened, and silently awaited the man whose soft footfalls could now be heard. A minute later he passed so near to where the eavesdropper stood that a step toward him would have enabled Harvey to touch him with outstretched hand. But the last thing of which the Professor was thinking was of intruders into his domain. The tall form stalked across the brief open space, halted an instant in front of the door, at which the inventor fumbled a moment and then passed inside.

Almost immediately the interior was flooded with dazzling light, brighter and more vivid than that of the noonday sun. Through the plate glass window could be seen the endless paraphernalia of the workshop of an inventive genius—the lathe, bottles of chemicals, boxes, tools, coils of wire, retorts, queer-shaped utensils, some suspended on the wall, others resting on shelves, and many as partially revealed lying on the solid planking of the floor. The Professor himself took a few steps toward the rear of his shop and thus came into full view. He did not doff his headgear nor remove the linen duster which hung almost to his ankles. Harvey saw him reach up to one of the hooks on the wall, lift off a coil of copper wire, and then bending over the lathe, set a small wheel revolving rapidly by means of the treadle which one of his feet pressed. No one could guess the nature of what he was doing, except that it was a part of his experimentation for the perfecting of the monoplane which was already a wonder of its kind.

What Harvey Hamilton looked upon was of absorbing interest, but he could not forget the painful fact that Bohunkus Johnson was nowhere in sight, and the painful question which he had asked himself so many times still remained unanswered. It was certain the colored youth was not here.

For a half hour the spectator stood as motionless as a graven image, staring, listening, wondering what was coming next. The inventor now and then moved about the brilliantly lighted room, but he was busy as a bee and as absorbed in his work as if only a few minutes remained at his command in which to complete the most important task of his life. By and by he lighted a briarwood pipe, and never once removed it from his mouth. The clearness of Harvey’s view was proved by the sight of each little puff of smoke which at intervals shot along the stem from his lips.

Being assured that Bunk was nowhere near the place, Harvey saw nothing to be gained by acting further as eavesdropper. He was withdrawing, when, as suddenly as it had been lighted, the workshop was shrouded in darkness. He waited awhile thinking some slight accident had occurred, but the impenetrable gloom continued. Professor Morgan evidently was through his work for the night, though it would be supposed that like most monomaniacs he would have been unconscious of the passage of time.

“It may mean he has solved the problem over which he has studied so long,” thought Harvey, softly groping his way back to the trail, along which he threaded his course to the highroad and then as nearly as he could judge to the point where he entered it when coming from the small lake. He was in a more confused state of mind than ever, and could not decide what step he should next take.

He had settled upon one thing: while so near Dawson he must so far as possible keep out of sight of everybody. He dared not go to the hotel for lodging and it was imprudent to apply at any private house. His plan was to return to where he had left the aeroplane, wrap himself in his outer coat and cuddle up in the seat for the remainder of the night. The weather was so comparatively mild that the exposure would not harm him nor need he be uncomfortable. There is something attractive to a robust, rugged youth in the idea of camping out or roughing it, besides which he was uneasy over leaving his machine without guard. He was in a section quite well settled and the finding of the canoe showed that people were liable to pass that way at any time.