THE MAN IN THE BIPLANE

“Speed her up, Joe; we can’t afford to waste any time on this auto trip!”

   “We’re making thirty-five miles an hour now, Fred,” returned Joe Westmore, who was at the wheel of the big six-cylinder touring car that contained five of the liveliest lads of Lakeport.

“Oh, shove her up to forty!” cried Harry Westmore, Joe’s younger brother. “The road is clear and as straight as a string.”

 “What a pity that you’ve got to give up this fine car after this week!” sighed Link Darrow, as he sank back on the soft cushions of the tonneau.

“Never mind, we’ve had some dandy times in it this summer,” returned Fred Rush.

“Couldn’t be beat,” put in big Bart Mason, who had been lolling back with his eyes closed. “Say, [2]a car like this rides as easy as a Pullman, doesn’t it?”

“Better, I think,” answered Harry. “Anyway, I think you can see the scenery better from an auto than you can from a railroad car.”

   “Well, we needn’t complain,” observed Joe, as he increased the speed a little. “It was awfully kind of Mr. Corsen to let us use the car at all. Now he’s coming back I don’t blame him for wanting it.”

  “Say, but we certainly did have some adventures on the road,” observed Harry, as Joe reached a turn of the highway and slowed down. “Remember how we were caught in that storm on the mountain?”

“Yes, and how we were caught by the constable of Coville,” added Fred, with a grin.

“The color-blind constable!” put in Joe, and then the boys began to laugh at the recollection of the countryman who had taken a green car for a red one.

“Oh, say!” burst out Bart, rousing up suddenly. “Did I tell you fellows the news?”

“What news?” demanded the four others quickly.

“Early this morning a flying machine passed over our house!”

“A flying machine!”

“Over your house?”

“Why didn’t you mention it before, Bart?”

“What kind of a flying machine was it?”

“Why—I—er—I didn’t see it—I only heard it,” stammered the big youth. “I was going to speak of it as soon as I met you, but, somehow, it slipped my mind.”

“It slipped his mind!” declared Link, sarcastically. “Well, if I saw an airship—or even heard one—I’d not forget it so quickly.”

“What did it sound like?” demanded Joe, slowing down to listen to what his big chum might have to say.

“Why, it sounded like a—er—a—well, like this auto when you’ve got the muffler cut out,” drawled big Bart. “Only, of course, it was up in the air, not on the ground. I was in bed, and I thought at first it was a cyclone or something like that, and so did dad. I jumped up and ran to the window and looked out. But it was only half-past four and rather dark and all I could see was a cloud in the distance. But it made some noise, I can tell you that!”

“I wonder if that’s the same noise Paul Shale said he heard a couple of nights ago?” mused Harry. “He heard it just about midnight and said [4]it sounded like a train of cars in the air. He looked out, but it was too dark to see anything.”

“Must have been the same flying machine,” answered Bart.

“I’d like to see it,” cried Fred.

“So would I,” added Link. “Wonder what it looks like, and why doesn’t the fellow who is running it fly in the daytime?”

“Maybe he is a bit bashful,” suggested Joe, with a smile. “Or maybe he hasn’t got his license to run.”

“Or he wants to wait until he can get a new pair of pink socks,” burst out Harry. “No, if he runs only at night, he must have some real reason for it. If he didn’t have some reason, he’d run in the daytime—anybody would.”

“All of which doesn’t settle the question of which road we are to take!” sang out Joe. “The forks are just ahead. Which shall it be, Cresco way, or towards Blockville?”

“Let’s go Cresco way,” came simultaneously from Fred and Harry.

“Whoop! I know why they want to go there!” cried Link, with a broad wink.

“Why?” demanded the pair, boldly.

“Because Joel Runnell lives there, and because Cora Runnell is so pretty, and——”

“Cut it out!”

“Throw him out of the car!”

“Well, we might go Cresco way,” came from Joe. “But I was thinking——”

“Here comes another auto!” interrupted Bart. “My! what a racket it’s making!”

Joe had by this time reached the forks of the road, and had brought the big touring car to a stop, not being sure of which road they wanted to take. At the cry from Bart he turned around to look back. Then he uttered an exclamation.

“Look! look!” He pointed upwards. “It isn’t an auto—it’s the flying machine!”

All gazed in the direction indicated, and there, high up in the air, they saw a flying machine moving along swiftly. The explosions of the motor could be heard plainly, and these had made Bart imagine an automobile was coming.

“It’s a biplane!” exclaimed Harry, as the machine came closer.

“One man is running her,” added Fred.

“Look out, he’s coming this way!” yelled Link, as the flying machine made a sudden dip in their direction.

“He’s making a circle,” added Joe, a few seconds later, as the biplane veered to the westward and then came around on a big curve. “Say, but [6]this is a sight worth seeing!” he added, earnestly.

“I’d not miss it for ten dollars!” affirmed his brother.

All the lads had leaped to their feet and touring in the car was for the time being forgotten. They saw the big biplane, with its snowy canvas stretches, cover a big circle and then cut an equally large figure eight. Only one man was aboard, an elderly individual, with gray hair and a gray beard.

“Say, that’s great!” murmured Harry, enthusiastically.

“Would you like to run one?” queried Fred.

“Indeed I would, Fred! Look at him skim along like a bird!”

“He’s giving us a private exhibition,” observed Link.

“Wonder who he is and where he is from?” said Bart. “I haven’t heard of any aviators around Lakeport.”

“Oh, they can sail miles in those machines,” answered Joe. “He may be from some large city—out on a trial trip, to see how the biplane acts. Maybe he is tuning up for some race.”

“I wish he’d come down—I’d like to get a near view of the machine,” cried Fred. “Say, this sort of thing beats a balloon all hollow, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed, even a dirigible,” replied Link.

The biplane had swept off, over some open fields and a patch of woodland. Now it came curving back, the explosions of the motor becoming louder and louder. They could see the gray-haired old aviator bending over to one side, as if watching some of the machinery. Then the motor stopped for a few seconds, to start up again with a louder banging than ever.

“The engine is missing,” cried Fred. “Must be something the matter with his spark.”

“Look! look!” yelled Harry.

He had no need to utter the words, for all in the touring car were straining their eyes to the utmost. They saw the biplane tilt and veer and make a dash towards the ground. Then the old aviator changed the angle of his elevation rudder, and up shot the flying machine towards the clouds.

“Wow! what a narrow escape!”

“I thought he was coming down sure!”

“So did I! Say, flying isn’t so easy after all, is it?”

“If he had come down he would have been killed, sure!”

By this time the five lads were worked up to the top notch of excitement. Who was this daring aviator, and why was he performing in such a [8]fashion in this lonely section of the country? There were some farmed fields at hand, but the nearest farmhouse was all but out of sight.

“Maybe he is trying to perfect a new kind of a plane, or new kind of a motor, and doesn’t want any outsider to know about it,” suggested Joe.

“Here he comes back!” cried Fred. “And look how queerly the machine is acting!”

   Once more the biplane was approaching, this time at a height of about a hundred and fifty feet. It was swaying from side to side, and the boys could plainly see that something had gone wrong. The aged aviator was bending to one side, working over the engine control. The machine made a dip and a dart, and for one brief second the boys thought the affair was coming down on their heads. Link ducked down in the tonneau of the car and big Bart sprawled on top of him. The biplane swept within fifty feet of them and the din from the motor was terrific.

“That engine is running wild, that’s what’s the matter!” yelled Joe, when the danger was past.

“Say, let us get out of here!” stammered Bart, as he got to his feet again, followed by Link. “It’s not safe.”

   None of the others replied, for all were again watching the erratic movements of the big biplane. First it would turn to one side of the road and then the other, and then it made another circle and a dip. After that it appeared to shoot straight for the clouds.

“Either something is wrong or that aviator is crazy!” declared Joe. “I don’t know much about flying machines, but I know they shouldn’t act that way.”

   The motor was still exploding loudly, occasionally missing fire. The biplane made another circle, and this time the boys saw the aviator full in the face. He looked pale and alarmed. He seemed to shout out something, but what it was they could not hear because of the noise from the engine and the propellers. The latter were flashing around in the sunlight like twin buzz-saws.

“That fellow will end up by wrecking that machine and killing himself,” was Joe’s comment.

    With a final swoop the biplane left the vicinity of the road, heading in the direction of what was known locally as Owl Lake, a small sheet of water deep in the Cresco woods. As it shot away something fell from the machine, an oblong metallic box. It came crashing down in a tree, bounced off [10]from a limb, dropped to some brushwood, and disappeared from view.

“Did you see that?” cried Harry.

“Yes,” answered his brother.

“What was it?” questioned Fred.

“It was a box of some sort, a black box,” answered Link. “It fell in yonder bushes.”

“Let’s go see what it is!” cried Bart, and leaped from the automobile. The others were equally eager to learn what it was that had come down from out of the clouds, and all hastened forward to the spot where the object had landed.