Meanwhile, the two mill hands had managed to secure a couple of substantial fence planks, each about ten feet long. While Bud tested each brace in the car—fortunately the front and rear rudders and the two propellers escaped without a scratch—Mr. Camp and his hands beat down the tangle of cattails and flags. By using the fence boards to walk on, a temporary tramway was made and when the busy young aviator was ready to move his car, the planks were laid ready for the first ten-foot lift.
“Now then,” called out Mr. Camp, as the three men and Bud took their places, “right up to yer shoulder and then all together.”
With Mr. Camp and Bud in front and the others just behind them—all standing on the narrow boards—they slowly raised the frame into the air. At the end of the improvised walk, the car was gently eased to the beaten-down weeds and the boards were shoved forward. Again, the aeroplane was lifted and carried another ten feet. The next lift would bring the frame to the water’s edge.
Before this was made, Bud lined up the two boats about fifteen feet apart and anchored them between oars and sticks stuck in the mud. Then, every one removing his shoes and trousers, the airship squad got its shoulders under the machine once more, and, splashing and slipping in the shallow water and mud, carefully laid the aeroplane on the boats.
“This is all new business to me,” said Mr. Camp, slapping at the mosquitoes, thick on his unprotected legs, “but I’m ketchin’ on. An’ I got an idee a’ready,” he added knowingly. “I see what you’re figgerin’ on, Bud. Ef ye git back here to-night, don’t land on the marsh. Ef ye’ll jest make a landin’ over yender on the slope o’ the hill ye can git out o’ all this trouble.”
“But I’d have as much trouble gettin’ the car over to the flume to raise it again,” suggested Bud.
“That’s where you’re mistaken, an’ that’s where my idee comes in. I reckon ye kin start in the flume, but that’s fur frum bein’ the easiest way.”
“What would you do?” asked Bud, with rather a patronizing smile.
“Well, as I figger it out,” said Mr. Camp, parting his flowing beard to expectorate, “all ye want is a run fur yer money. There’s more ways o’ gettin’ a runnin’ start than on a boat. When you git back to-night, I’ll have an old spring wagon I got up thar nigh the top o’ the hill. An’ I’ll have her greased good an’ plenty. Tomorrer we’ll put the flying-machine on the wagon an’ Josh in the shafts. When he gits goin’ down hill ef he don’t beat this ole flat-boat I’m a liar.”