“All a pack of lies,” declared old Warner. “Don’t trust him or listen to him, Sheriff. He’s trying to get his friends to rescue him, trying to put on time to delay us, and slip.”
“Oh, indeed, no,” answered Dave desperately.
“Shut up. Sheriff, we’ll make our plans, and bundle this boy back to Brookville quick as we can get him there.”
Over Dave the sheriff kept close watch and ward while Warner went away to make arrangements of which Dave learned later. It was long after midnight when these plans were perfected. By that time, from the conversation of the two men, Dave found out a great deal that was new to him, and astonished him not a little.
It seemed that by the sheerest accident the two men had come across Dave at a time when they were on their way to Dayton to arrest him. They were on their way to that city, because Jerry Dawson had written Warner that there he would find his runaway ward.
This was the reason why Jerry had boasted to Dave that he would not make any more air flights. His crony, Brooks, had overheard Dave tell Hiram all about his guardian and the circumstances of his leaving home, and the mean-spirited Jerry had been quick to take advantage of the chance to get his rival into trouble.
It seemed that Warner, with his usual miserly penuriousness had hired the sheriff to “work cheap.” They had got as far as Genoa through “lifts” in various farm wagons. They had taken the cheapest lodgings that evening they could find. The sheriff and Warner happened to be at the police station, because the former had a slight acquaintance with the lieutenant, and was waiting to see him when Dave arrived.
Silas Warner had managed to hire a sorry nag and a miserable wreck of an old milk wagon to convey them back to Brookville. Dave’s feelings may be imagined when he found himself in the clutches of the enemy. He had been in torment to think that Hiram and the chauffeur would wait for him vainly. He wondered what Mr. King would think of this second unusual absence. Most of all, poor Dave nearly wept when a thought of the great air race of the morrow came into his mind. He would miss the grand event in which he had hoped to take so proud a part.
“It’s awful, just awful,” reflected Dave, feeling well-nigh crushed, “and no hope of my getting any word of explanation to my friends.”
It must have been two o’clock in the morning when the wagon come to a halt. Dave had caught sight of lights ahead on the road as they jogged along. Then strains of music grew plainer. The shouts of merry makers filled the air.