Ellis Edward Sylvester
The Flying Boys in the Sky

CHAPTER XI
FIRED ON

Bohunkus Johnson was never so angry in his life and the resentment of Harvey Hamilton was equally intense. That a man should deliberately shoot at their machine without provocation more than a bit of harmless mischief, was beyond bearing. The colored youth stood up and shouted to his friend:

“I’m gwine to jump! I’ll teach him sumfin!”

“Wait one moment,” replied Harvey, as he shut off power and hastily dropped to earth. His momentum carried him several rods beyond the young man, who was still busy reloading his gun. Fortunately for our friends it was of the old-fashioned muzzle pattern, and required more time than the modern weapon. He roared with an oath:

“I’ll larn you better than to go skyugling over the country and trying to scare folks to death. Jes’ wait till I git my gun loaded agin!”

But neither Harvey nor Bohunkus had any intention of waiting. Before the machine came to a rest, the colored youth leaped to the ground and broke into a run for the man, who held his position.

“Yo’s gwine to larn me something, am yo’? Wal, dis am de time to begin!”

“Sail into him, Bunk!” shouted Harvey, “and if you need any help, I’ll give it!”

“All yo’ got to do am to keep out ob dis bus’ness; I’m running dis funeral,” replied the African, without shifting his gaze from the young farmer, who could not have been much older than Bohunkus. Not once did the latter check his pace, but dashed at full speed at the man. The instant he was within reach, he landed a blow that sent the other spinning backward, with his feet pointing upward and the weapon hurled from his grasp.

It was not a knockout, however, and the fellow was game. He bounded up again as if made of rubber, and charged in turn upon his assailant. Bohunkus had little “science,” but he had been in many bouts, and was as strong as a bull. He braced himself to receive the attack, which came the next instant. A clenched fist landed on his jaw with a force that nearly carried him off his feet, and then the two went at it hammer and tongs, with no apparent advantage at first on either side.

Harvey, seeing that his machine was unharmed, watched the fight. Nothing would have suited him better than to take Bunk’s place, for he had been taught boxing by a professional and he knew, though he might not have been so big or strong as his comrade, that he could readily vanquish the awkward but powerful fighter. Coolness, straight hitting and skilful parrying would do the business. He did not mean to stand idly by and see Bunk maltreated, but it would not be sportsmanlike to break in unless to stop the struggle.

The countryman was tough and wiry, and it is doubtful how the fight would have ended had it depended upon fists alone, but in one respect Bunk was much the other’s superior. He was known as the best wrestler in the neighborhood of his home. When nearly a score of blows had been exchanged, the negro rushed in, grasped his antagonist about the waist, lifted him clear of the ground, and flung him on his back with a violence that it seemed must have jarred his teeth. Before he could spring to his feet again, Bunk was across his chest and evening up things in the most impressive style that can be imagined.

Suddenly the victim shouted at the top of his voice:

“Bill! Sam! Dick! Tom! Hurry up and part us afore we kill each other!”

This was a strange appeal and puzzled Harvey, who was disposed to think it was simply a bluff. The victim was too proud to beg for mercy, and tried to scare off his assailant. Harvey stepped forward, picked up the partially loaded gun from the ground, and with several quick stamps of his shoe so broke the two hammers that the weapon became useless for the time.

“That will prevent his using it against us,” was the thought of our young friend, who again turned his attention to the combatants on the ground.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Bunk; I guess he’s had enough.”

“Why doan’ he holler ‘’nough!’ den? dat’s what I’m waitin’ fur.”

The victim had ceased his outcries, and was desperately trying to writhe free and roll off the burden, but his master couldn’t be shaken from his perch.

“Why doan’ yo’ holler like a gemman oughter do when he’s had ’nough? Holloa!”

When Harvey Hamilton thought the fellow was merely bluffing by his calls for help, he made a mistake. From out of the wood came running a man larger and older than any one of the three, and he was followed by a second, third and fourth, – all full grown, massive, muscular and each with fire in his eye. They had heard the cry of their comrade in extremity and made haste to come to his help.

Their arrival caused a change of program. Much as I like Bohunkus Johnson (and I trust that you, too, share the feeling), I am obliged to confess that like many of his race he had a tinge of yellow in his composition. So long as he held the upper hand, or so long as the fight was in doubt, he displayed courage, but the arrival of reinforcements threw him into a panic. He whisked off the prostrate figure, leaped to his feet and dashed at his highest speed into the woods. He ran like a person whose life was in danger, and the young man who had suffered at his hands sped after him, breathing threatenings and slaughter.

The new arrivals, who had been referred to as Bill, Sam, Dick and Tom, were evidently young farmers, none more than twenty-five years old. They had sturdy frames and could have given a good account of themselves in a physical struggle. They must have been mystified by what they saw, for the one who had dashed off in pursuit of Bohunkus had not paused to make explanation.

One fact was a vast relief to Harvey Hamilton: none of them carried a weapon, though it may be thought the quartet did not need anything of the kind in order to work their will with the slim active youth. The latter, with a quickness of resource which would have done credit to one older than himself, picked up the discarded shotgun at his feet, covering the lock as he did so with one hand in order to hide the harm it had suffered. So long as the others believed it sound and loaded, he could command the situation.

“Say, you,” said the tallest of the quartette in a loud voice, “what’s the meaning of this row? We don’t exactly git the hang of things.”

Facing the group and with his back toward the biplane, Harvey answered:

“Your friend had a misunderstanding with my friend, and it doesn’t seem to be settled yet, though it looks as if yours had the advantage.”

“What was the quarrel about?”

“Your friend – ”

“That’s Herb,” interrupted the other speaker.

“Herb fired his gun at us without any cause.”

“Yes; we heerd it; if he didn’t have any cause, what was the reason he took a shot at you?”

“Pure cussedness is all I can think of.”

“Didn’t he hit either of you?”

“He grazed my face; we came down to ask an explanation, and my colored companion was giving him a good pummeling, when you came up and scared him away.”

“I take it, stranger, that that contraption over there is one of them infarnal flying machines.”

“It is a flying machine, but there’s nothing infernal about it.”

“Folks hain’t no bus’ness to cavort round the country in them.”

“I don’t see why they haven’t; we are not injuring you or any one else.”

“Boys,” said the speaker, turning to his companions who were standing near and listening to the conversation; “the best thing we can do is to rip the blamed thing to slathers. What do you say?”

“Them’s our sentiments,” replied one while the three nodded.

“Come on then; it won’t take us long to make kindling wood of it.”

He took a step forward, and then stopped. Harvey had leveled the gun.

“The first one that lays a hand on my aeroplane must be prepared to have daylight let through him.”

It was a staggering threat, but in the trying moment, Harvey Hamilton could not help reflecting that the weapon was not only injured, but unloaded. He would be in a sorry situation should they learn the truth.

The strained situation could not last, and he slowly backed toward the machine, holding the weapon in front, ready to be raised again to a level should it become necessary.

“Four of you are rather too much for me,” he said with a grim smile.

“Hooh! One of us could lay you out as easy as rolling off a log.”

“I am willing to take you one at a time, but I know that as soon as I get the best of him the rest of you will pitch in and do me up.”

It was “Bill” who was talking for the four. He grinned and with a snort replied:

“I’d ax nothing better than one crack at you, but there ain’t no show with that loaded gun in your hands; nobody but a coward would use that.”

“Then you may consider me a coward, for I am on to your tricks.”

By this time Harvey had reached his machine, but the problem remained as to how he could seat himself and start the motor without inviting an attack that must overwhelm him and wreck his property. He stood for a minute undecided, while his enemies, less than a dozen paces away, were on the alert for a chance to seize any advantage that offered.

Suddenly the young aviator stepped into his seat, but, standing upright, faced about and confronted them still with gun in hand. They showed an ugly disposition at the prospect of his eluding them, but seemingly there was no way to prevent it.

“If you would like a closer view,” Harvey said, “I have no objection, but you must come one at a time. You may do so first.”

He indicated Bill, who hesitated:

“No shenanigan!”

“Nothing of the kind, I promise you.”

After a moment’s pause, he gingerly approached, but showed he was not wholly free from misgiving.

“What do you think of that big wheel?” asked Harvey.

“Hooh! seems to be made of black walnut,” replied the other, laying a hand on one of the propeller blades.

“So it is; have you enough muscle to turn it round?”

“That’s dead easy,” replied Bill, grasping one of the arms and whirling it about with double the force that was necessary.

CHAPTER XII
PEACEFUL OVERTURES FAIL

The revolution of the propeller of course started the engine, with such a terrific outburst of noise that Bill instinctively drew back a pace or two. In an instant the blades were spinning round with tremendous velocity, and the aeroplane began moving over the ground with fast increasing speed.

The sight roused Bill, who dashed forward to intercept it. He had almost reached the machine when it bounded upward and glided beyond his grasp. The delighted Harvey tossed the gun toward him, and in a rage at his slip Bill snatched the weapon from the ground and shouted:

“Stop or I’ll shoot!”

His action and movement of the lips told the young aviator the substance of the threat, and with a tantalizing gesture he called back:

“Shoot and be hanged!”

Bill was in a savage mood and brought the gun to his shoulder. He aimed carefully, and with the brief distance between the two could hardly have missed had the weapon been in order; but we recall that the hammers were broken, to say nothing of the lack of a full charge in the barrels. Either would have been sufficient to save the fleeing aviator, who having set the machine going, looked round to watch his enemy.

He saw him suddenly lower the gun and then fling it angrily to the ground. No doubt his chagrin was intensified by the remembrance of the chance he had let pass when the youth was really at his mercy. He shook his fist at Harvey, who was now a hundred feet above the ground and going at moderate speed.

In that hurried scrutiny, however, the aviator made a disquieting discovery. Two of the remaining young men were invisible. Doubtless they had dived into the wood in pursuit of the panic-stricken Bohunkus, who of necessity was left in a most dangerous situation. Harvey had been compelled to desert him for the time, though he was the last person in the world to abandon a friend in trouble. How to save him from the vengeance of the baffled party was a serious question.

“If there were only one chasing him,” thought Harvey, “I shouldn’t care a fig, for Bunk has already proved himself his master, but he will be helpless against four or even two, and it looks as if he will have three at least to fight.”

The problem was a puzzling one. The flight of the colored lad was so sudden that he and Harvey had not been able to exchange a word. A few sentences would have effected an understanding. His friend would have told him to make his way to the nearest town and there wait until he could hunt him out and take him aboard again. Moreover, among Bunk’s accomplishments was a remarkable fleetness of foot. He could have continued his flight through the wood into the open country and gained enough advantage to offer Harvey the opportunity of picking him up before his enemies interfered.

But it was useless to speculate, since all this was out of the question. Having ascended some three hundred feet, Harvey began slowly circling around, with just enough speed to hold the elevation. He returned so as to hover directly over the head of Bill, who still stood alone on the edge of the wood closely watching him. Thus the situation remained for several minutes, during which Harvey Hamilton met with one of the narrowest escapes of his life.

Feeling that in one respect the countrymen were the masters, he decided to express to Bill, who was evidently the leader of the quartet his willingness to apologize, pay for the injured gun, and leave a liberal tip for Herb, the only one who had suffered during the singular meeting; and then descend, take Bunk aboard and bid good-bye to the inhospitable country.

The objection to the plan was the probability of treachery on the part of Bill and his companions. All had shown an ugly disposition and so much resentment that it was more than likely they would break the agreement, and at least destroy the aeroplane so utterly as to place it beyond repair.

It was this misgiving that caused Harvey to hesitate. He circled several times – always to the left – gradually descending, and kept watch of the solitary figure below him. Finally, having made his decision, he leaned over the side of the aeroplane and shouted as he slowed down the motor:

“Say, Bill, what’s the use of our quarreling?”

Bill did not attempt to answer the conundrum.

“If I do the fair thing, will you call it off?”

“What do you mean by the fair thing?” demanded the surly young man.

“I broke that gun and will pay you for it; I’ll give you ten dollars to hand to Herb, though I don’t see why he should get anything.”

Bill was silent a minute, as if turning the proposition over in his mind. Finally he glared upward and uttered the one query:

“Wal?”

“When I have done that, I shall take my colored friend aboard and have the honor of bidding you good day until we meet again.”

This was a clear proposal and could not fail to impress Bill favorably, no matter whether he meant to “tote fair” or not. Bill didn’t seem able to think of any objection or to suggest an amendment.

“All right,” he shouted back; “I’ll do it.”

Harvey meant there should be no room for a misunderstanding.

“I am to come down to the ground, hand you ten dollars as a salve – ”

“I guess Herb will need some salve for that face of his,” grimly interjected Bill.

“And another ten dollars to pay for the damages to the gun. That will make everything right between us and none of you will interfere further.”

“I’m agreeable; hurry down.”

It was at this juncture that Harvey Hamilton received warning of a frightful peril that in another moment would have caught him inextricably. He had started to volplane to the ground, when an impulse caused him to turn his head sufficiently to glance at the man with whom he had just made his agreement. In that passing glimpse, Harvey saw a hand reach from behind the trunk of a large oak at the back of Bill and exchange guns with him.

It was done in a twinkling, only the arm holding the weapon and the corner of the fellow’s face showing for an instant, during which he placed in the grasp of Bill a loaded piece and relieved him of the useless one.

There could be no mistake as to the meaning of the sinister action: Bill intended to play false. He would secure the money promised, and quite likely rob Harvey of all that remained, would wreck the aeroplane and shamefully maltreat both youths. But for this discovery, Harvey would have walked into the lion’s den the next moment, but with that coolness which was one of his most striking traits, he began edging away and upward, as if it were a part of his plan of manipulating the descent. If Bill chose to use his gun, he was near enough to make only a single shot necessary, and Harvey’s object was to get beyond range, before revealing his purpose.

“What are you doing?” called Bill, handling his weapon threateningly.

“I want to make sure the machinery is working right; it will take only a minute.”

Bill was partly satisfied, but had no excuse for objecting.

The circling grew wider, until the right height was attained, when Harvey headed toward the dim range of mountains in the distance, with a speed of at least fifty miles an hour. Only a few seconds were needed to place him far beyond range. Checking his motor for an instant so as to permit his voice to be heard, he called to Bill:

“I don’t like the looks of that new gun in your hand; don’t expect me before to-morrow or some day next week.”

In his impotent rage, Bill brought his weapon to his shoulder, took quick aim and discharged both barrels. It was a foolish thing to do, for not one of the shots carried to the aeroplane, all being dissipated long before they could reach it.

Clever as had been the strategy of Harvey, the grave problem remained as to how he was to extricate Bohunkus Johnson from his dangerous situation. Disappointed in capturing the aviator and his machine, the party were quite sure to turn their rage against the colored youth, unless by his superior fleetness he could elude the whole party.

Harvey’s altitude gave him a clear view of the patch of woods, which was perhaps a third of a mile in width and double that length. It was the season of the year when the foliage was at its full, and if Bunk gained a fair start he ought to have no trouble in hiding himself from his enemies; but how were he and his friend to come together again?

“It is as hard to decide as it is to figure out why that man behind the oak with his loaded gun did not keep hidden till I came within reach, and then open on me without giving away his scheme as he did; that would have cooked my goose, though they may have felt doubt of getting hands on the machine if they fired before it touched ground.”

Without climbing higher, Harvey circled about the woods, scanning the green depths below for some signal from his comrade. Bill and his companion had passed from sight, so that the five were somewhere in the depths of the forest. The aviator glided along the sky over the tree tops without catching a glimpse of anything to give hope. Then he passed a little way beyond the western end and circled about again. He saw a farm house a mile distant, and unless hope presented itself in some form very soon, he determined to go thither in quest of help against the lawless young men.

What was that which suddenly caught his roving eye? On the margin of the wood something flitted for a moment like a bird hopping from one branch to another. He would have believed it was such, had it not been so near the ground. Whisking his binoculars from his shoulder, he scanned the object. His heart thrilled when he recognized a cap swung by a person standing behind the trunk of a large tree.

“It’s Bunk!” exclaimed the delighted youth; “his foes are so near that he daresn’t show himself.”

Harvey was quick to make up his mind. Shutting off power for a moment he called in his clear, ringing voice:

“Wait where you are, Bunk! I’ll be back in a minute or two; don’t leave till I give the word and then come a-running.”

The cap was waved again and Harvey fancied he saw the corner of the negro’s countenance as he peered round the trunk.

The fear of the aviator was that the five men who were sure to be watching his movements, knowing he was trying to save his colored companion, would have their attention drawn to the spot over which the aeroplane was hovering. There was the danger that they had heard his call and would act on the hint, but the risk had to be taken.

Harvey next shifted to the opposite side of the wood, where he dallied back and forth for half an hour, as if trying to fix upon a good landing place. He knew he was under the eyes of the angered countrymen, but was certain he had drawn them to that side of the forest, where they were so far from Bohunkus that it would take considerable time for them to return to his neighborhood.

Suddenly the aeroplane darted off like a swallow, skimming over the trees, at the spot selected.

“Quick, Bunk! Don’t lose a second! Jump aboard!”

Out of the wood dashed a young man and ran straight for the machine at headlong speed, but he was not Bohunkus Johnson!