“Then you’re the fellow who is going to take Parks’ place in the race to-morrow?”
“I guess that is right,” affirmed Andy.
“No,” cried Duske, showing his teeth, and looking fierce and malicious, “it’s wrong, dead wrong, as you’re going to find out. Fetch me some rope.”
“Hold on,” objected Andy, “you aren’t going to tie me up?”
He put up a manful struggle and very nearly got away. The two powerful men were more than his equal, however, and in a very few minutes Andy found himself tied hand and foot.
Duske and his companion carried him bodily along through the tent, past the flying machine, and threw him onto a mattress lying on the ground in a small compartment partitioned off with canvas. Duske tested the ropes that bound Andy, gave them another twist, and went out into the main tent.
“This looks like luck,” observed the companion of Duske.
“Yes, if we’ve got the bearings right,” replied the other, “Are you sure he was scheduled to take Parks’ place in the race?”
“Of course I am. Hasn’t Tyrrell told us already about his getting into trouble somewhere, and couldn’t be here to make the race? Hasn’t Parks hired Tyrrell in his place?”
“Then how comes the boy to be here? I don’t like the looks of things at all.”