Dave Dashaway the Young Aviator: or, In the Clouds for Fame and Fortune

CHAPTER IX
MAKING HIS WAY

Dave felt as if he was in some unreal, topsy-turvy dream. Everything was like a Wild West picture, and he closed his eyes wondering if his fall and roll down the side of the ravine had not sent his wits astray.

The fling of the tomahawk he saw was real, so was the sharp report of the gun. Above all, the heavy foot pressing down on his body and holding him motionless was tangible.

Dave opened his eyes as the foot was suddenly removed, to view an amazing spectacle. The “Indian” had taken out a pipe and was leisurely filling it. The “hunter” had picked up the “tomahawk”, which had struck a piece of rock and split open, showing that it was made of papier mache. Across the ravine the young man had risen to his feet and was yawning and stretching, and the young lady walked away putting up her parasol.

“Mind yourself, now,” spoke the owner of the foot that held Dave a prisoner, and he reached down, grasped the boy by the arm and set him on his feet.

“I say!” gasped Dave vaguely – “what is this?”

“Moving picture,” replied the man briefly.

“Yes, it moved quick enough,” said Dave slowly. “Oh, I see now,” he added, as, a step advanced, he came in view of several persons near two automobiles down the valley, and in their midst a camera.

It was all plain to Dave in a moment. The persons he saw were acting out a motion picture. He had heard of these groups before. In the present instance they had selected a pretty natural spot as a framework for their acting. Dave had stumbled upon them at a moment when a particularly thrilling drama was in progress.

“Come on with us,” spoke the man who had played the Indian, looking Dave over curiously. “We’re going to have lunch, and if you’ll carry my traps down to the camp you shall have a snack.”

“Thank you,” replied Dave, greatly interested in the group, and nothing loth to accepting the invitation.

The man had motioned to a spot under a near tree where a satchel lay. It was open and he closed it, but not before Dave saw that it was filled with his acting wardrobe.

Dave followed after the two men. They soon reached the first automobile. Here a man, apparently the chauffeur and general utility man, was placing food on a piece of canvas spread on the ground as a tablecloth.

Nobody paid any attention to Dave, who set down the satchel as directed. The chauffeur had a large, well-filled hamper beside a tree stump which served for a table. Dave went up to him.

“Can’t I help you, mister?” he asked pleasantly.

“Why, yes, you can,” was the prompt response. “It’s pretty rushing around here when the people get hungry.”

Dave under direction set seven wooden plates and as many paper napkins on the impromptu table. He sliced up two long loaves of bread, carried the cold meat and fruit to the table, and went to a spring nearby to fill a big tin pail with cool, sparkling water.

A young man wearing glasses, and smart looking and brisk, seemed to be the manager. He beckoned Dave and the chauffeur to join the family party. Dave enjoyed the liberal meal immensely. He was interested and entertained with the continuous chatter of the group about him.

“What’s the programme, Mr. Alden?” asked the big fellow who had acted the Indian.

The man addressed took a roll of manuscript out of his pocket. He separated the sheets and passed one around to each of the party.

“There’s your parts,” he said. “Scenario: ‘The Ruined Mill’.”

“I don’t see any mill,” observed the man who had played the hunter, looking up and down the ravine.

“Two miles farther on, according to my directions,” explained the leader of the party, consulting his note book.

Dave was so interested that he planned that he would linger with the group till he had seen how they made a moving picture film. When one of the crowd whom they called Davis moved away from the table and went to the intricate outfit near the wagon, Dave unobtrusively followed him. He was engrossed in watching the process of “loading up” the film reels, when the manager came up.

“See here, Davis,” he said in his jerky, energetic way, “we’ll have to get busy if we expect to cover the programme in daylight.”

“I told you that myself,” was the retort.

“I’ve waited two hours for Banks now.”

“He’s got delayed somehow.”

“The only bother is the rescue of the heroine in the mill race.”

“Cut that act out, then.”

“Why, it’s the thriller of the scene. No, I can’t do that. None of the fellows can swim, though, and I don’t see what we are going to do.”

Dave fancied he understood the situation. In an eager way he pressed forward.

“Mr. Alden,” he said, “can’t I be of some help to you?”

“Hey, what?” exclaimed the man, looking Dave over. “A boy? But then – look here, can you swim?”

“Like a fish.”

“Then you’ll do. Why, this is big luck. Hi, Dollinger, start up the machines. It’s wasting time waiting for Banks any longer.”

Dave got into the smaller automobile after the traps lying about had been packed into it. The others boarded the larger and more elegant machine. They went a roundabout way to strike a traversed road, and in about an hour came to the stream again.

It was where an old abandoned mill stood. Mr. Alden gave Dave one of the acts of the “Scenario”, as he called it. He explained to Dave what he was to do.

“Put on this suit,” directed the manager, selecting some clothing from a big box. “Better wear a wig and whiskers, so you’ll look more like a man. These moccasins will fit your feet. Now, you understand, when the villain pushes the heroine into the mill stream, you are to act your part. Just follow the cues in your typewritten screed there.”

“All right,” reported Dave promptly, “I think I know what you wish me to do.”

It was like watching a play, the various scenes that were enacted inside and outside of the old mill, all forming part of a very interesting story. As it neared its end, Dave took a fishing rod, as directed, and seated himself on the bank of the stream a few yards from the mill.

At the sound of a whistle he glanced at the mill, arose, dropped his fishing pole, tore off his coat, and took a plunge into the water, throwing his arms up in the air and floating down the swiftly rolling stream. The heroine came floating into view.

She splashed around and seemed about to sink as Dave reached her. He caught her, swam for the shore, and both went off to change their dripping attire.

“You did that very well,” said Mr. Alden in a kindly tone, coming up to Dave some minutes later. “You can keep those moccasins if you like,” he went on. “And here’s your pay for helping us.”

The speaker handed Dave a dollar bill. There had been considerable of a fascination to the little business part Dave had played. He would not have been sorry if Mr. Alden had offered him continued employment. The latter forgot him in a moment, however, bustling about and directing the others, who piled into the big automobile.

“You had better wait here about an hour, Dollinger,” he spoke to the man who attended to the rough work of the party.

“All right, sir.”

“Banks may come along. If he does, fetch him on to Fairfield.”

“What’s that!” said Dave with sharp interest to Dollinger. “Is the party going to Fairfield?”

“Yes, that’s next on the route, I understand,” answered Dollinger.

“Say,” broke in Dave eagerly, “I don’t suppose you could crowd me into your machine and take me that far?”

“Why not?” quizzed Dollinger, good naturedly.

“I’ll help you double work, if you could,” persisted Dave.

“That’s where you’re headed for, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re welcome to a seat in the machine. I like your company,” observed Dollinger cheeringly.

Both of them bustled about getting the traps of the party stowed into the most convenient compass. After that Dollinger waited an additional hour for the man Mr. Alden expected.

“I reckon we’ve filled orders,” said Dollinger finally. “It looks like rain, and if we expect to reach Fairfield before dark we had better make a move.”

A storm overtook them ten miles on their way. They were, however, then on a good road, and found shelter in a wayside shed. There was still further delay when the auto broke down in a deep rut. Dollinger had to send Dave on to the near village to bring a repair man to the scene.

It was about dusk when they started again. While the man was making repairs Dollinger and Dave ate their supper.

“There are the lights of Fairfield, I guess,” spoke Dollinger, as they drove down a well ballasted road. “Mr. Alden and his people have gone to a hotel, and I will have to call on him for directions as to where I am to put up. I generally rough it this fine weather.”

The rain had ceased, but a fierce wind was blowing, the sky was overcast, and altogether it was a disagreeable evening. Dollinger located the hotel where Mr. Alden was stopping. He went in and shortly came out with a card in his hand.

“All right,” he reported, “I know where to go to.”

Dave’s plans were half formed in his mind. He was delighted to realize that he had reached Fairfield so readily – that, too, he congratulated himself, with comfortable footwear and over a dollar in his pocket. Of course his first thought was of Mr. King, the airman. Dave reflected, though, that a dark night in a strange town was not a condition favoring a search for a stranger. He was pretty well tired out, and he kept with Dollinger, hoping something might turn up that would give him a free bed for the night.

Dollinger ran the automobile quite out of the city. Finally he lined the fence of some kind of an enclosure. Dave noticed that it was of considerable extent, but in the dark, he could not make out exactly what it was.

They at length reached a wide gateway. Outside of it was a small building resembling a switchman’s shanty. There was a light inside of it and an old man moving about.

Dollinger stopped the automobile, leaped out and knocked at the door of the building. He showed the card to the man inside who read it, seemed to give some directions to Dollinger, and then came out and unlocked the gate.

He locked it shut again when the automobile had entered the enclosure. Dollinger drove across an open space, reversed, and backed into one of a series of low sheds with the front open and exposed to wind and weather.

“Now then,” he said to Dave, “we’re housed for the night. Want to stay with me?”

“It will save me the price of a lodging somewhere else,” explained Dave.

“You’ve earned a sure one here,” declared Dollinger. “Nothing like the pure open air for health. I’ll rig you up a shakedown that will please you, I’ll guarantee.”

Dollinger was as good as his word. He spread blankets over the roomy seats of the automobile, and Dave voted he had never welcomed a more pleasant resting place.

Dave slept like a top. It was broad daylight when he awoke. For a moment he forgot where he was. Just as he arose Dave gave a jump, a gasp and a cry.

Gazing out through the open front of the shed Dave saw a dazzling object cavorting swiftly above the ground.

“An airship!” shouted Dave Dashaway in a transport of delight.

CHAPTER X
AT THE HANGARS

“Hello there, what’s struck you?” cried Dollinger.

The chauffeur and general utility man of the moving picture combination dropped a big spoon with which he was stirring something in a pan outside of the shed. Near by was a tripod with an oil lamp burning under it. Dave understood that Dollinger was preparing breakfast.

Dave did not reply. He could not, at just that moment. It seemed to him as though at the touch of a magician’s wand his whole life had been changed – as if the most ardent desires of his heart had been granted.

The day previous, if some genii had promised to gratify one special wish, Dave would have asked to be put among just such airships and in the company of just such airmen. Now all that he had desired was before him.

Circling majestically aloft was a big biplane. Way over at the end of the enclosure was an elevated apparatus, from which an airship of another type was evidently making a trial ascent. The machine rose only a few yards, described a half circle, and had to be hoisted up again and again.

Between it and the sheds were several small buildings, and at least two of these held some kind of air craft. The one in flight finally enchained the entire attention of Dave. He watched it till it had made a score of dizzying manoeuvres, and returned to the ground at the far end of the enclosure as graceful as a bird and as easily as if landing on springs.

“Sets you dreaming, does it?” demanded Dollinger with a grin, slapping Dave on the shoulder to wake him up.

“Oh, it’s just glorious!” cried Dave, with sparkling eyes. “Mr. Dollinger, what place is this?”

“Why, the aero park, of course.”

“You don’t mean where they have had the big meet?” inquired Dave breathlessly.

“That’s it.”

“Oh, my – and I’ve got in, too!” cried Dave in a dazzled sort of way.

“Why, yes,” replied Dollinger, “though that don’t count for much just now. You see, nothing’s going on.”

“Nothing going on!” cried Dave, gazing at the airship aloft and then across the broad field beyond him.

“I mean as a show. The meet closed yesterday.”

“But all those airships?”

“Most of them will move over to Dayton, where they have another meet next week.”

“I hope Mr. King has not got away yet,” Dave said to himself.

“Come on, get a hot cup of coffee and some warmed-up pork and beans into you, and you can go back to your wonder staring, if you like,” said Dollinger.

He had arranged a fine breakfast from his stores. Dave felt a sense of gratitude and satisfaction as he realized his novel and pleasant situation.

“Everything is turning out just as I hoped it would,” he reflected. “If only I hadn’t lost that pocket book, and if Mr. Warner doesn’t get track of me.”

Dave insisted on helping Dollinger clean up and pack away the things used for breakfast.

“Are you going to stay here for awhile, Mr. Dollinger?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, all day, I understand,” replied Dollinger. “I don’t know the exact orders until Mr. Alden comes along. He told me, though, yesterday that we wouldn’t make any further move till to-morrow. Why do you ask, lad?”

“I wanted to look about a bit.”

“Go straight ahead,” directed Dollinger heartily. “Say,” he added, with a droll grin, “thinking of sticking to us?”

“Who wouldn’t!” cried Dave – “the way you treat folks.”

“Well, you’re mighty welcome company,” declared Dollinger in a friendly way. “Willing and useful, too. I shouldn’t wonder if Mr. Alden could find a place for you with the party.”

Dave did not commit himself by making a direct reply. His heart was set on airships, and he ardently hoped there would be some chance for him in that field.

“If I fail, I can fall back on the moving picture crowd,” he mused. “I really like the business.”

Dave left the automobile with the zest and eagerness of a boy starting out to see a big show for the first time. He headed for the far corner of the grounds where animated scenes were in progress. Just then, however, a broad low-wheeled wagon to which two horses were attached came along. It was seemingly conveying a large-sized monoplane out of the grounds for repairs. Dave noticed that the machine was somewhat battered up.

He had never been so near to an airship before, and he followed the wagon in a sort of fascinated way. Once he reached out his hand and touched one wing of the machine. It positively made his finger tips thrill. When it reached the big gates of the enclosure, the same old man who had admitted the automobile the evening previous opened them for wagon and airship to pass out.

There were several people bustling around the little building near the gate which was the office of the grounds. One brisk individual seemed to be the manager. Dave, standing around full of everything that was going on, noticed that this man was arranging affairs for departing airmen. A lank poorly-dressed boy stopped the man as he was called to the office.

“Say, Mister, can you tell me where I’ll find this man?”

The boy held out a crumpled soiled card, at which the manager glanced quickly and then brushed by, saying:

“Mr. King? You’ll find him down at the hangars.”

“What’s them, now?” stared the boy. “Do you know?” he inquired turning quickly upon Dave, who stood at his elbow.

“I declare I don’t,” replied Dave with a laugh. “I’ve seen the word in print, and I know it refers to some part of the grounds here, but I don’t exactly understand it.”

“Well, I’ve got to find out. I’ve got to see this Mr. King.”

“Is he the airship man?” asked Dave.

“That’s him. Say, where are the hangars?” persisted the lad, addressing the old gate keeper.

“Why, down there, of course,” was the reply, and the speaker pointed to the buildings at the other end of the field, where the airships were housed.

“I’ll go with you down that way,” said Dave, “if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” replied his companion.

Dave wondered what the awkward countrified youth was doing on the aviation field, and what business he could have with Mr. King. He decided that this was his chance to meet the man whom he had traveled so far to see.

Dave’s companion did not explain his mission. He acted and walked like a fagged out person who had not had much sleep or a great deal to eat for some time. He was dusty and travel worn, and made Dave think of a raw country bumpkin starting out in life to find some work other than that of the farm. He had an innocent, credulous face, but showed a certain doughty spirit, as if he was very much in earnest as to what he was about and intended to stick to it.

There was a good deal stirring around the hangars. Everything was airships and airmen. Over beyond the hangars some of the machines were in action. Dave’s companion kept on asking about Mr. King, and at length his search was rewarded.

He came finally to a portable tarred canvas house. One end of it held a monoplane, which both boys regarded with interest through the half open door. Near an open door at the other end of the building an old man was pottering around with a pail and a brush. Dave’s companion ran up to him.

“Say, Mister,” he bolted out in his usual unceremonious way, “I want to see Mr. King.”

“Oh, you do, eh?” retorted the crabbed old fellow. “Well, you sit down on that bench yonder and wait your turn, will you?”

Dave and his companion did as the man directed. The boy looked sharply at Dave.

“Say,” he observed, “you going to stay here and wait, too?”

Dave nodded an assent. The boy looked anxious.

“Got business with Mr. King?” he inquired.

“Why, yes,” replied Dave. “He lost something, and I want to tell him about it.”

“Oh, that’s it,” spoke the boy with a great sigh of relief. “I was afraid you was after a job. If you was, I got here first.”

“Oh, you can see Mr. King first,” said Dave. “Some one is with him now.”

The walls of the frail canvas structure were thin. Sounds readily penetrated to the outside air. Two persons seemed to be in the room beyond the open door. One of them was speaking now. These words fell upon the hearing of the two listeners.

“You’d better give Jerry another chance, Mr. King.”

“Another chance?” shouted a deep angry voice. “If your boy ever comes around here again I’ll horsewhip him within an inch of his life, Mr. Dawson, and I want you to make yourself scarce, too!”

CHAPTER XI
THE AIR KING

“You’ll be awful sorry for this,” Dave and his companion heard next.

“That’s enough, Dawson.”

“My boy, Jerry, knows this business, and you won’t find a lot who do.”

“I tell you that will do,” was the forcible response, “and it ends it. Your son gave away a lot of information to a competitor. There are things missing, too.”

“Don’t you call Jerry a thief!”

“If he isn’t that, at least he neglected to watch my property and my interests as he was paid to do.”

“You’ll suffer for sending my son away with a bad character!”

“Don’t let me see him again, that’s all.”

“Huh!”

The last speaker, a big fierce-looking man came out through the doorway with the word. From the way he was dressed Dave decided that he was employed somewhere about the grounds. His face was red and his fists clenched. He gritted his teeth viciously as he went on his way.

“It’s my turn now,” spoke up Dave’s companion eagerly.

He made a quick bolt through the doorway. Dave was left alone. His eyes followed the man whom he had heard called Dawson. The latter had gone about a hundred feet down the hangar row, when a boy about the age and size of Dave came suddenly into view from behind a shed, where evidently he had been waiting.

Dave decided that this must be the son of Dawson concerning whom there had been such an animated discussion. He could surmise from their looks and gestures that the father was reporting the result of the interview to his son. The latter scowled forcibly. Then he shook his fist in the direction of the hangar.

“Why,” said Dave thoughtfully, “there must be a vacancy here. Maybe I have arrived just in the nick of time.”

It was easy to figure out that the boy, Jerry Dawson, had been discharged from the employ of Mr. King. His father had interceded for him, but it had been of no avail. Suddenly Dave’s interest was distracted from the incident of the moment. He heard his late companion speaking beyond the doorway: —

“Yes, sir, a man gave me that card and said he had heard that you was in need of a boy.”

“H’m, yes,” Dave heard Mr. King reply. “That is true, but – what’s your name.”

“Hiram Dobbs.”

“Where do you come from, Hiram?”

“I did live twenty miles west of here, but I got tired of farming and my brother said I could try something else if I wanted to. I worked for a fellow in the merry-go-round business in the city till night before last. He sloped without paying me.”

“And you want to break into the aero business, eh?”

“Well, I heard there might be a chance with you, so I came here. You see, I’ve had some experience.”

“In the airship line?”

“Well, no – balloons.”

“How? Where?” asked Mr. King.

“Down at Talcott, the town near our farm. There was a circus and a balloon ascension. I got caught in a rope and was dragged thirty feet up into the air.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Here, there’s a slip from the Talcott Herald, telling all about ‘the daring feat of our young townsman.’ If I hadn’t caught in a tree I’d have gone further.”

There was a sound of rustling paper. Then Dave heard Mr. King laugh. It was a kindly, good natured laugh, though. Dave voted he would like the man in whom he was so interested yet whom he had never seen.

“Well, well,” spoke Mr. King, “you were quite a hero. Being pulled up into the clouds on a balloon anchor is not the kind of experience that counts for much in the airship line, though, my lad. If I had something just suited to you, I would give you a chance on your honest face. Frankly, though, I do not think you would be of much use to me until you have had some practical experience.”

“Sorry,” replied Hiram Dobbs in a subdued tone, “for I like you, mister. Now, where can I get that experience?”

“By working around the hangars and doing odd jobs till you know a monoplane from a biplane, and a pylon from an aileron. See here, you go down to the office of the grounds – know where it is?”

“Yes, sir, near the big gateway, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. You ask for Mr. Linden, and tell him I want him to give you a job. Tell him I will be down to see him about it in an hour or so.”

“Will he put me at something?”

“I think he will. He has the concessions at all the meets for food supplies and the like. That will bring you in touch with every angle of the aeroplane business, and you look like a boy who would learn.”

“Just try me and see!” chuckled Hiram. “Thank you, sir, I’ll get directly about this business.”

“Wait a minute – got any money?”

“No, sir, I haven’t.”

“There’s a dollar.”

“But I’m not begging, sir,” dissented Hiram. “If I get work – ”

“You can hand it back pay day.”

Hiram came out with dancing eyes. He jumped up in the air, cracking his heels together. Then, out of sheer jubilation, he slapped Dave on the shoulder.

“I’ve got a job!” he cried.

“I’m very glad you have,” responded Dave heartily.

Hiram did not wait for any further talk. He started on a mad dash for the other end of the grounds. A man was coming around the corner of the little building, and Hiram very nearly ran into him. Dave had got up from the bench to venture upon seeing Mr. King, when the newcomer preceded him through the doorway. Dave considered that he was entitled to the next interview with the airman. The latest arrival, however, was so forcible and precipitate that Dave patiently resigned his chance.

The newcomer was very much excited. He was an old man, smart looking, but very fat and fussy. Dave heard him break out in a stirring tone with the words:

“It’s come, Mr. King.”

“Oh, you mean – ah, yes,” replied the airman, “your parachute suit?”

“Yes, a perfect full-sized one. See here, you know what I want. You said you were very much interested in my patent.”

“That’s the truth, Mr. Dixon.”

“And that you would give it a trial.”

“I will, later. See here, my friend, I am engaged all day to-day.”

“Why, the meet is over?”

“Yes, but I have a contract for a private exhibition. There’s good money in it, and I can’t disappoint my people.”

“How’s the next day?”

“I’ve got to go to the Dayton grounds to get ready for the opening day at that meet. Tell you, Mr. Dixon, bring your device up to Dayton, and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I am anxious to make a practical test right away.”

“There’s lots of the fellows here who will help you out.”

“Yes, and make a blunder, and queer my whole business. No, sir! The man who won the endurance prize is the man for me, and your recommendation would be worth more to me than that of any ten men in the aviation line.”

“Why don’t you make the trial yourself, Mr. Dixon?” inquired the airman.

“Oh, yes!” laughed the old inventor, “I’d be a fine performer with my clumsy bungling in an airship and my two hundred pounds, wouldn’t I!”

“That’s so. You had better pick out a lightweight for the first trial.”

“Where will I find one?” spoke Mr. Dixon in a musing tone. “You see, I don’t expect a long drop on the first test. You know Boisan never ran his biplane without wearing his padded helmet. All that can do, though, is to break the shock of a fall. My parachute isn’t on the pad order at all, nor to prevent a fall.”

“What does it do, then?” asked Mr. King.

“It reduces the rate of the drop and lands the wearer safe and sound. The suit is a loose flowing garment fitted to a framework carried on the back. The lower ends are secured to the ankles. When the aviator throws out his arms, the garment spreads out like an umbrella. I am satisfied if you once see my parachute dress work, you will give a good word for it that will make it a success.”

“Well, Mr. Dixon,” replied the airman, “if you are anxious to have a trial on the field here, I’ll find some one to give it a show, under my direction. I hardly know where I will get my man, but I can probably pick him up somewhere about the field. It’s a risky experiment, though.”

Dave Dashaway arose from the bench. Afterwards he wondered at his audacity, but just at that moment he could not resist the quick impulse that seized him.

He stepped through the doorway and turning past a half partition, faced the two men whose overheard conversation had so interested him.

“Mr. King,” he said taking off his cap, and his heart beating rapidly at his own temerity, “I would like to try that experiment.”