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CHAPTER XIV
FLYING FOR A RECORD

On the day set for the flight to the Manhattan, which had anchored two days before in the "Roads," Ned found that he was to be the only competitor. Herc had been anxious to take part, and so had several of the other naval aviators, but Lieutenant De Frees decided that the aeroplane which Ned was to fly was the only one really suited for the work.

This aeroplane, which had been equipped with pontoons, in order to test Ned's invention, presented a peculiar appearance. Under its substructure, long, galvanized metal tanks had been fitted, in much the same way as runners are attached to a sled. The tanks were cylindrical in shape, and provided with valves, by means of which they could be "ballasted." They had been already tested and found to be suited for the work for which they were designed. They were as light as was compatible with safety, and hung far enough above the ground so as not to interfere with the landing-wheels.

A holiday from routine practice had been declared about the aviation testing grounds on the day of the daring flight. The men hung about in little groups, discussing Ned's chances of winning out in the risky feat he meant to perform. It would be the first time such a thing had ever been attempted, and they were not slow to give him full measure of praise for his daring.

The flight was to be more or less of a secret. Few on board the battleship but the naval board invited to witness the attempt, knew of the test. As a consequence, there was nobody about the grounds but the regular quota of pupils and officers when, at 10:30 a. m. the Manhattan wirelessed to the "Field outfit" maintained on the grounds, that all was in readiness for the trial.

A steel landing platform, made collapsible, so that it could be instantly stowed away, had been erected on the after deck of the battleship. Ned knew its approximate position, but the time had been too brief to allow him to visit the vessel and make personal observations. But if Ned realized the risk he ran in thus undertaking a flight into the practically unknown, he did not show it. In fact, he was the coolest person on the field.

At length all was in readiness, and, drawing on a pair of gauntlets, and adjusting a life-preserver, Ned stepped up to the aeroplane and clambered into his seat.

A minute later the roar of the motor, as he set it going, drowned all other sounds. But the lad caught above the uproar of the engine Lieutenant De Frees' shouted farewell:

"Good luck, my boy!"

Ned responded with a wave and a shouted cry:

"Thank you, sir."

The next instant he waved his hand in token that he was ready to start. The men holding the struggling aeroplane released it, and it shot forward, taking the air within a few feet of the starting point. It rocketed skyward in a trail of blue smoke, leaving behind a reek of gasolene and burning lubricating oil.

Ned directed his course as high as possible, for he wished thoroughly to inspect the surroundings before he commenced his attempt. It was a bright, clear day, almost windless. As he rose higher, the glorious panorama of the open roadstead spread before his eyes. On its glistening surface lay a dark object, like a slumbering leviathan. Ned knew it in a flash for the anchored Manhattan– his goal.

Already a wireless had gone vibrating through the air announcing his departure, and a dozen glasses were aimed at the sky from the big fighting machine. Ned was watched for as eagerly as if he had been a real aerial enemy.

The lad circled about for a few minutes, making sure that his motor was working perfectly, and then he turned his prow toward the distant warship.

Straight toward her he flew, holding his course as true as a homing pigeon. The wind sang by his ears, and vibrated in the steel wire rigging of his sky-clipper as he raced along. The motor's drone behind him was as steady as a heart beat.

Ned's eyes shone with the desire of achievement. He was making a flight which might have a material effect upon the future armament of United States war vessels. He realized to the full the importance of his flight, and how much depended on it.

All at once his practiced eye detected, on the mirror-like surface of the stretch of water beneath him, a slight ruffle. It was some distance off. But Ned knew it spelled only one thing:

Wind!

"Bother it all," he thought, "just like the luck. However, it will only be a squall, I imagine."

He braced himself for a battle with the airman's greatest enemy. In a few seconds the squall was upon him. For an instant the aeroplane hesitated and thrilled like a live thing. Ned applied more power. Like a horse under the whip, his aeroplane shot forward. Every bolt and rivet in it strained and creaked under the tension. Ned was doing a daring thing in bucking the wind and fighting with it, instead of jockeying for some advantage.

But then Ned had a fighting nature in the best sense. An obstacle only aroused him to fresh effort. "Obstacles are things made to be conquered," he said, with another famous battler, whose name lives in history.

Zee-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!

The wind screamed and tore about him, while below, the water was lashed into white-caps.

"Gee whiz!" exclaimed Ned to himself. "If anything parts, I'm due to test out the floating abilities of the pontoons sooner than I expected."

But, although sadly racked and strained, the aeroplane, under her operator's skilful handling, weathered the squall. Ned turned his head and watched it go whistling and howling shoreward, with deep satisfaction.

"A fine end to the test it would have been," he muttered, "if I'd been dumped in the sea by a squall at the outset."

A few minutes later he was maneuvering above the big Dreadnought. The vessel looked queer and dwarfed from the height at which he hovered. But Ned could not help thinking what a fine object she would offer for an aerial marksman. As the lad knew, there is a limit to the perpendicular aiming of a gun, and skimming directly above the vessel, as he was, it was doubtful if the most skilful gunner on board could have hit his aeroplane.

At the stern of the big ship, the young aviator now noticed a platform – evidently the one on which he was expected to land. His heart gave a thump, as he gazed down on it.

"It doesn't look much bigger than a checkerboard," he thought, "and if I don't hit it – wow! as Herc would say."

As carefully and coolly as if he were on a practice flight, Ned regulated his levers. Then, with a quick intake of his breath, he darted downward.

Down – down, he shot, the blood singing in his ears with the rapidity of his descent. It was thrilling, desperate – dangerous!

Suddenly, as Ned placed his foot on a pedal and applied a warping appliance, there was a sharp "crack!"

The aeroplane hesitated for an instant.

Then, without the slightest warning, it lurched in sickening fashion, almost unseating him.

The next instant Ned was hurtling downward through space like a plummet. Disaster, swift and certain, rushed up to meet him from the steel fighting machine beneath.

CHAPTER XV
A DROP FROM SPACE

But even in that awful drop through space Ned's nerve did not desert him. His brain worked faster, in the few seconds allowed it to do effective work, than it had ever acted before.

Just as it seemed to those on board the battleship that the lad was doomed – in the event of the pontoons not working – to be drowned in the wreck of the aeroplane, they were astonished to see it recover and rise, from the very wave tips, in a graceful curve.

Straight up it shot – the motor whirring and buzzing deafeningly. Then, without an instant's hesitation, it dropped like a fish hawk toward the stern platform, and a moment later Ned Strong and his aeroplane rested on the solid foundation of the landing stage. The first flight from land to a fighting ship's deck had been successfully performed, with an added thrill thrown in for good measure, as it were.

Before Ned could clamber out of his seat, the officers, assembled to view the test, came crowding up on the platform. The lad was not embarrassed, but he felt a slight sense of shyness, which speedily wore off, as so many dignitaries pressed about him, shaking his hand and congratulating him.

"Jove, lad, but you gave us a fright for a minute!" exclaimed one gray-mustached captain. "I didn't think it possible that a heavier-than-air craft could recover from such a tumble as you took."

"Yes, tell us about it, lad," urged another naval dignitary.

"Well, gentlemen," said Ned, "I guess it was just one of those accidents that will happen in the best-regulated aeroplanes. Something went wrong with the warping appliances, that was all."

"Aren't your nerves shaken?" asked a young officer. "You'd better have a glass of wine."

"Thank you, sir, I never touch alcoholic liquors," rejoined Ned simply. "But I wouldn't mind a glass of water, sir. Flying is rather thirsty work."

An orderly was at once dispatched for a carafe and a glass, and while he was gone Ned obtained leave to locate and repair the break that had come so close to causing him disaster. It was soon found, and a new turnbuckle put on in place of the one that had cracked when a flaw in its construction parted.

By this time every jackie who could find business in the after part of the ship was on the decks below. A sea of faces was upturned to gaze at the flying marvel.

Questions flew thick and fast.

"Would it be possible to carry a sharpshooter, for instance, from the deck of this vessel, circle a hostile craft and return?" asked one of the naval officers standing about.

"I think so, sir," was Ned's response.

"Well, providing you feel there is no danger, why not try such an experiment?" asked Commander Dunham, Ned's old chief officer.

"I should like to, above all things, sir," rejoined Ned, with sparkling eyes; "but who will go?"

"I think you will have no lack of volunteers," smiled Commander Dunham, as half a dozen young ensigns and midshipmen pressed forward. "Mr. Shrike, I think you are as good a subject as any. At any rate, sir, your weight will not seriously embarrass the craft."

Mr. Shrike proved to be an extremely thin young midshipman, whose weight, as Commander Dunham had humorously hinted, was not excessive. In fact, among his intimates he was known as "The Shrimp."

He lost no time in preparing for the ride, providing himself with a light rifle. When all was in readiness, Ned showed him where to sit, and how to hold on, and then, the aeroplane having already been swung about, he started up the engine once more. Several blue-jackets had been detailed to hold the machine back, and at a given signal from Ned they let go. The aeroplane shot from the platform out over the stern of the battleship, and soared out above the sea. As they shot past Old Glory, waving proudly at the stern, Ned saluted with one hand. The young middy at his side followed his example.

The aeroplane took a perilous swoop as she dropped from the platform, but Ned had his craft well in hand. He averted the drop with a quick movement and speedily swung out seaward.

"See, there is a small sloop off there," said Midshipman Shrike presently. "Let's try if we can circle it, just as if it were a hostile vessel."

"Very well, sir," rejoined Ned, and steered straight for a white sail glistening some distance out at sea.

Closer and closer they drew to it, and before long they could see men on its deck pointing upward excitedly.

"They've seen us, anyway," laughed the middy. "Wonder if they think we're some big sort of a gull?"

Suddenly, as they drew closer to the sloop, Ned saw one of the men go in the cabin for a moment and emerge with a gun – or at least something that looked like one.

"Hullo! What's that fellow doing now?" asked Midshipman Shrike, as he saw this. "Is that a gun he has there, Strong?"

"Looks like it, sir," rejoined Ned, "and he's – "

"Aiming at us, by Jove! Hi, there, you rascal, put that gun down!"

A puff of smoke came simultaneously with the words. It was followed by a screaming sound, as a bullet whizzed past the aerial voyagers. It was followed by another and another, the rifle evidently being a repeater.

"I say, I can't stand this any longer," shrilled the middy, as Ned kept the aeroplane swinging in rapid circles. As he spoke, he jerked the rifle to his shoulder, and, with a cry of "Stop that shooting instantly!" fired a shot across the sloop's bow. Ned could see the white water whipped up as the bullet ricochetted.

But, in firing his weapon, the young officer had released his hold with both hands. At the same instant a puff of wind swung the aeroplane sharply on her beam ends. Ned righted her instantly, but, as he did so, he was horrified to observe that he was alone.

The sharp lurch had dislodged his companion, and below Ned saw him whirling downward. The midshipman's body struck the water close by the sloop and instantly vanished.

With the automatic movements of one in a nightmare, Ned dropped downward. As he did so, he was immensely relieved to see the young officer's head bob up to the surface for an instant. Ned shouted and an answering hail came upward.

"Thank heaven, I've got the pontoons on," he thought.

But even while his mind and body were thus busied, Ned had time to observe the sloop. She had taken advantage of the puff of wind, and was now rapidly slipping off toward a not far distant point of land. Ned's eye took in her every detail. She was black and squat, yet with a certain raciness of line, and heavily canvassed. Round her bulwarks ran a bright crimson line. She bore no name that Ned could see.

The aeroplane struck the water with a splash that threw the spray high above her planes. But the pontoons saved her from being submerged. A moment after she had struck the surface of the water she was floating like a sea-bird on its surface.

"Ahoy, there!" came a hail.

Ned glanced in the direction and saw the young middy striking out boldly for the floating aeroplane.

"Hurt, sir?" demanded Ned.

"Not a bit; the water's fine," was the cheery response. "But, confound it all, I've lost my rifle."

Ned swung the aeroplane round, using the regular aerial propellers to drive her over the water. It was not many minutes before a dripping but cheerful middy was seated once more by his side.

"I say, Strong," he remarked, "I guess the less said about this adventure the better. You understand. I had no business to fire at those chaps on the sloop, as a matter of fact, but I couldn't help it. What do you think they fired at us for?"

"I've no idea, sir," was Ned's reply.

"Guess they were crazy, or had been drinking, or something."

"Possibly that was it, Mr. Shrike." But in the Dreadnought Boy's mind he had reached a far different conclusion. The shots that whistled about them had not been aimed by any irresponsible hand, of that he was sure. They had been aimed to do harm. That they had not succeeded was due to good fortune more than anything else. There were only certain men whom Ned could think of who could be guilty of such an outrage. Those men were the implacable enemies of himself and Herc.

"Better cruise about a bit till I get dried out," said the middy presently. "If they ask us why we dropped like that, I'll say we were trying out the pontoons, eh?"

Ned agreed. He did not countenance untruths or an approach to them, as a rule, but in this case he felt that to tell the whole story might get Midshipman Shrike in trouble, as well as involve him in some difficulties. However, he resolved that if questions were asked, he would tell the truth, as he would then have no other recourse. But, to his relief, no interrogations were put to him, and he supposed that the midshipman had explained the case, as was, indeed, the fact.

Soon after their return, Ned winged back to the shore. Here he was the recipient of more congratulations, but his mind was busy elsewhere than with his signal triumph in aerial navigation. As soon as he got a chance, he sought out Herc. The astonishment of the freckle-faced Dreadnought Boy, on hearing the news, may be imagined.

"Then you are sure that it was Muller and that crowd?" he asked.

"Practically certain," rejoined Ned. "Who else would have done such a thing?"

"Do you think they have some rendezvous in the neighborhood?"

"I'm sure of it. Their possession of the sloop indicates that. I'd like to unearth their hiding-place and put the rascals to rout."

"So would I," agreed Herc, "and maybe we will. At any rate, that sloop should be easy to identify."

"Yes. We'll keep a bright lookout, and perhaps before long we may have something tangible to work on."

That time was to come sooner than they expected.

CHAPTER XVI
THE SETTING OF A TRAP

"I've just received a telegram that a freight wreck has tied up our new motors and spare aeroplane parts at Bartonville," said Lieutenant De Frees, one afternoon a few days after Ned's adventures with the pontoon-fitted aeroplane.

"Most annoying," responded the ensign with whom he was talking. "We need them in a hurry, too."

"That's so. I guess I'll have to send a couple of men after them. There is a big auto truck at Bartonville. I remember it, because it brought out some stuff for us before. It can easily carry the delayed parts. Strong and Taylor have been working pretty hard lately. I guess a little trip will do them good. I'll send them. At any rate, I'll know I can depend upon them."

"That's right. They are two of the most promising lads I've ever seen. By the way, has anything further ever been heard of those rascals who tried to discredit them?"

"Not a word. But the secret service reports that this man Muller, as he calls himself, is known in Europe as a most dangerous anarchist. The fellow is, in fact, a maniac on the subject."

"Ha! I suppose we can call ourselves lucky that he didn't blow us all up. Those anarchist chaps are bitterly opposed to all navies and armies, and some of the worst of them have even attempted to destroy transatlantic liners."

"Yes, I read in the paper the other day about an infernal machine having been found among the cargo of a large vessel just as she was about to sail for Europe. By the way, of course you heard about the clever manner in which Strong and Taylor prevented the destruction of the submarine?"

"I did hear something about it, but not the full story, I fancy. Would you mind telling it?"

"Not in the least. But first let me send for Strong and Taylor. I'll despatch them on their errand at once. They will have to get a rig and drive over. Bartonville is ten miles away, and they may experience some delay when they arrive there."

Thus it came about that that afternoon Ned and Herc found themselves in Bartonville, registered as guests at the Bartonville House. As the lieutenant had anticipated, they experienced some delay in getting permission to transship the goods from the delayed freight train. But the magic word "Navy" soon smoothed out all obstacles. It would be necessary for them to wait till the following day, however, before finishing up their business. Ned's first duty was to send a telegram to Lieutenant De Frees to that effect. In return he received orders for both Herc and himself to remain and see the business through.

"Well," grinned Herc, as the two lads sat in the lobby of the hotel in soft leather-upholstered chairs, "this is certainly solid comfort for a pair of petty officers."

"It's a long cry from here to the forecastle of the Manhattan, and that's a fact," admitted Ned. "But somehow I'd rather be on duty than lounging around here."

"Oh, bother duty," blurted out Herc, "when first we entered the navy, it was always duty – although that duty was mostly scrubbing decks, painting and cleaning brasswork. And now it's duty still, and – "

"So it will be to the end, old fellow," said Ned seriously. "Everyone in the navy has his duty to attend to, too. Wasn't it attention to duty that won Manila Bay, and duty that took Farragut – Great Scott!"

The lads had been sitting facing the street near a big plate glass window. The sight that had brought Ned to his feet with such a sharp exclamation was the momentary glimpse of a familiar face passing on the street.

"Wait here for me for a while, Herc," he said. "I'll be back directly."

"What – why?" spluttered Herc, but before he could voice any more interrogations, Ned dashed from the room with the swiftness of a skyrocket, and, jamming his hat on his head, was out of the doors of the hotel in a flash, almost upsetting the porter in his haste. Herc sprang after him, but before he gained the doorway Ned was round the corner and hopelessly lost. Herc retraced his steps to the hotel and resumed his seat.

It was something like an hour later that he heard his name called through the lobby by a bell-boy. He hastened to the desk and the clerk motioned toward an ill-kempt looking man who was standing there.

"Mr. Taylor?" asked this individual.

"That's me," responded the rough-and-ready Herc, with a grin.

"I've a message for you from Mr. Strong," went on the other. "He wishes you to come to him at once."

Herc's suspicions were aroused in an instant. Perhaps this was a trap of some sort. He resolved to be cautious.

"Where is he?" he asked.

The man beckoned him to one side.

"I don't want everybody to hear our business," he said. "Your chum has succeeded in locating that rascally band of Muller's. They are at a place on the outside of the town. You and I will go to him in a hack, that was his message."

The man seemed sincere, but Herc was still inclined to doubt him.

"Where did you meet my shipmate?" he asked.

"Why, I'm a fisherman on the headwaters of the bay that runs up into Bartonville," was the rejoinder, with every appearance of frankness. "Your chum didn't want to leave the place where he had spotted the band, so he sent me after you and told me that you'd give me some money for my trouble."

This request for money lulled Herc's suspicions at once. Had the man not asked for it, the thing might have looked suspicious, but the fact that he expected to be rewarded for coming with the message seemed to indicate that he was honest and above board. But he had one more question to ask.

"Wouldn't it be a good plan to notify the police?" he said.

"He told me to do that," replied the man. "I stopped in at the station on the way up, and a patrol-wagon full of cops has started. We'll have to go fast to catch them."

Herc searched his pockets. But, as luck would have it, he could not find more than a few bits of silver. But the boys on their arrival had deposited in the hotel safe the money entrusted to them to pay their expenses, and also to defray the charges on the freighted goods. Herc recollected this, and thinking that it might be a good plan to have some money along, he withdrew a considerable part of their funds. Had he caught the glitter in the man's eyes, he would have been warned.

"Now, I'm ready," he said, as he thrust the money into his breast pocket.

"All right, guv'ner," was the response, "the carriage is right outside."

Herc, following his conductor, soon found himself inside a closed hack drawn by two horses. The messenger said something to the coachman and then threw himself in beside Herc. The carriage at once moved off at a rapid pace. Bartonville was not a very large place, and the town and its scattering outskirts were speedily left behind. The carriage began to roll and bump along over country roads.

"How far off is the place?" Herc kept asking, and each time he was assured that it was "only a little way further."

At last the carriage stopped on a deserted bit of roadway.

"Here's where we get out," said Herc's conductor, "we'll have to hike it across that field and through that bit of woods before we get to your pal."

Herc paid the coachman and the man at once drove off.

"This way," said the man, climbing over a rail fence and striking off across a field, on the further side of which was a patch of ragged woods. Through the trees Herc could catch the glint of water.

It was a lonely spot. He looked about him, but could not see any trace of a human habitation.

"If this should be a trap I'm nicely in it, all right," he muttered to himself as he followed his guide into the shadows of the wood.

"How much further?" he asked, as they stumbled along over the rough path.

"Right ahead down by the creek," said the man. "We're almost there now."

With a few paces more they emerged on the banks of a slow-flowing and muddy creek, which was evidently tidal and joined the Bartonville Bay lower down. About a hundred yards off stood a rickety looking shack, and anchored in the creek opposite to it was a sloop with a red band painted round its bulwarks. Suddenly and for no reason that he could assign, the recollection flashed across Herc that he had heard Ned speak of such a sloop. At the time though he could not recall in what connection.

"Is this the place?" asked Herc, as his guide slackened his pace.

"This is it," nodded the man, and again a sharp presentiment that all was not right, flashed through Herc. But it was too late to hold back now.

"I'll give him the signal," said the man, placing his fingers to his lips. A shrill whistle followed.

As if by magic, from the tall, spiky grass about them, half a dozen men sprang erect.

"It is a trap!" shouted Herc, flinging himself furiously upon the first man who rushed at him. The lad fought valiantly, but the contest was too uneven to last long. Within five minutes, Herc, raging like a lion, and inwardly abusing his own gullibility that had led him into such an ambush, was bound hand and foot and stretched a prisoner on the floor of the old rookery of a shanty.