[CHAPTER IX]
THE CIRCUS LOSES ITS AVIATOR
By this time scores of circus employees had reached the edge of the woods. The principal owner had also arrived. He seemed to take charge of everything. With orders to those holding the rope binding the helpless tiger he hurried to the wrecked aeroplane. While Mr. Trevor and the boys followed on a run, a dozen men lifted the twisted sections. Face down, with the lower plane section on his back and his face buried in the marshy ground, lay the unconscious young aviator.
While some lifted the wrecked machine, others drew the boy from the wreckage and laid him on the grass. Then the crowd closed about. Mr. Trevor forced his way into the curious group and assisted in the examination. There was no blood. But apparently the lad was severely injured.
“I have a machine here,” Mr. Trevor exclaimed to the circus owner. “Where do you want him taken?”
“I don’t know,” answered the man. “Better take him to the train I suppose. There’s a colored man there. I’ll send a doctor right away.”
There was no lack of volunteers to bear the limp body to Mr. Trevor’s machine. Selecting Art and Alex, Mr. Trevor laid the pale-faced aviator on the rear seat with the two boys to look after him.
“Want to go with us?” he called to the circus owner. “It’ll be faster.”