CHAPTER XI
THE CHARM SEEMS TO WORK
When Don and Garry, leaving the pilot to mend his bones and recuperatein the farmhouse, brought the mail down, they found Chick fairlybursting with his adventures.
His story had other interested listeners besides the youthful pilot andGarry. Doc Morgan sat beside Don, Toby Tew occupied a chair by thedesigning room table, and the airport owner, Bruce McLeod, shared awall bench with the control room operator, a close-mouthed, black-eyedman who was none too well-liked by the personnel of the new venture.
Everyone gave close attention while Chick related his adventures.
"In the name of all-possessed!" exclaimed Toby, "if that was put in amovie, I'd be able to pack the Palace when I showed it. I didn't hearall that, last night, Chick-o!"
"I was too excited to remember all the details," Chick responded. Heturned to Garry.
"You and Don got lost, didn't you?"
Don nodded, smiling.
"Garry had all the adventures," he said.
Pressed for his story, Garry told about the Indian, his strange insightinto the youth's mind, what he did, and what he gave.
"I claim you ought to put that in your movie, I do," Doc told Toby. "Iknow old Ti well. He learned me, he did, all I know about herbdoctoring."
"I went up there, not long since," Toby stated. "Wanted to hire him tomake a 'personal appearance' on the stage of the Palace with a filmthat was made up Catskill way, with him in it. Couldn't make any dealwith him, though. But--Gosh-a-mighty! Think of him mesmerizing Garry!In the name of all-thunderation! That's queer!"
"It isn't any more queer than the chart--the tracing you say is adrawing of an old-time brigantine," declared Don. "Let's see that, now."
Chick went to the filing cabinets devoted to storage of accepted designtracings, hunted through a folder, kept under lock and key, and put thetracing on the table.
An exclamation caused them all to turn.
The control room operator was staring, astonished and pleased: heleaped to his feet.
"So that's what you found!" he exclaimed, moving quickly forward."Brigantine-nothing! That's a sketch I--er--mislaid. I guess it gotmixed up with the regular stuff and was brought in here--but how did itget to the swamps?" Chick watched him with narrowed eyes.
"A sketch," Chick thought. "Oh, yes! Part of it in faded ink and partof it in India waterproof ink, the sort they use here!"
He did not voice his suspicion. It came to his mind that the controlroom man would bear watching. Through him, Chick decided, they mightget some clue to the mysteries they had encountered.
"Before I touch it," the man continued, "Mr. McLeod, just take a lookat the lower, left-hand corner and see if my initials are put in theangle of what is meant to be the bow of a new-shaped fuselage."
"Yes," admitted the airport manager, with a glance at the sketch. "J.V.--John Vance. Take it, and let's get out of here so the boys can goto work. They'll be paid by the aircraft company, and it's a goodthing. They'll be paid! If any more trouble comes to our airport, Iguess Doc, and Scott, won't draw any pay checks."
Scott, coming in from the adjoining office, laughed.
"I'll 'haunt you' if I don't!" he chuckled.
"I wish we could solve the mysteries!" Garry spoke earnestly: he feltsorry for the harassed man who had put all his available capital intothe new airport, who had enlisted his friends' savings in the swampdraining and expansion project. The engineers, Garry knew, had been"called off" and their activity in the marsh had been stopped. It wasof no use to add further expense, increase available runways or hangars.
"Solve the mystery of how I am going to meet unpaid bills," growledBruce McLeod. "You'll please me enough if you do that!"
"Uncle," Don jumped from his seat on the table edge, "it was partly myfault that the mail was held back all night---"
"Oh--no!" The older man shook his head.
"It was, in a way!" Don insisted. "I should have flown straight hereand tried to beat the storm, but I prevented the mail from coming in bygoing above the storm and getting lost. Won't the steamship companygive us another trial?"
"I don't know. Haven't bothered them."
"Why not try again?" Garry suggested. "All pioneer work has to failbefore it succeeds. They ought to let you have another chance."
"I suppose they would."
"See!" urged Don, "Scott could meet the ship. He'd never dive for anyghost," with a grin. "He likes spooks!"
"I'd like to bring in the ocean mail, too," Scott agreed.
"Well----"
"You're elected!" Chick exulted. "It's as good as done. And with, thechart tracing identified and claimed, it doesn't make any differencehow it got into the old boathouse. Maybe I ought to apologize to Docfor accusing him. I do! I jumped to the notion he had taken it but heis proved innocent because he wasn't anywhere near the controlroom--and we don't know but what the paper blew out a window and waspicked up by some visitor to the airport who went on a crabbing tripand put the paper down there by chance."
Chick felt that his explanation was rather lame, but he made it in anattempt to show Doc Morgan that he was no longer suspected of being atraitor to his employers.
For some strange reason it began to seem as though the Indian'smysterious pouch had some virtue.
At any rate, everything became quiet around the airport.
The seventh day arrived, and on its night the chums watched the darkskies without reward.
No apparition of an airplane appeared: no pair of phantom shipsmaterialized to enact their collision and disappear.
With the spectre of the skies inactive, the rest of the mysteries alsodropped into the background of attention. Don was busy with his work onthe tracings for the all-metal airplane which he was helping Scott tocreate.
Garry studied airplane design while he prepared and photographed themultitudes of blue-prints that had to be made for each new model theaircraft corporation planned to try out.
Chick was kept fully occupied: tabulating, filing and procuring for thebuilders such blue-prints as they required, engaged his whole time.
His amateurish effort to watch the control room man had brought nofruit: after a day or two Chick had given up that activity.
"Well," remarked Don, as the trio stood on the control tower balcony,about to leave after a futile vigil, with no developments to report,"the seventh night has come, Friday, the thirteenth is almost past--andwe can----"
"Your uncle wants to see you--right away!" Doc Morgan interrupted.
"What's the matter?"
"Scott was to fly out to meet the _Caledonia_--to pick up the mail andfly it in! Scott's been hurt by a prop that flew off its hub----"
Three excited faces turned to the stairway.
"He might want you to fly the mail!" cried Chick.
"I hope he does!" Garry told Don. "What a chance!" Don kept his hopeunvoiced. But he did hope!
Unaware that their excitement made them join Don to answer a summonsnot meant for them, Chick and Garry were at Don's heels when he enteredhis uncle's private office.
"What a break!" the harassed airport executive grumbled. "I took yoursuggestion, as you know, Don. The _Caledonia_ is bringing special mailpouches from Liverpool. Scott was warming up the Dart. Just when weneed the ship and the pilot most--the propeller hub loosened, thecasting broke or it wanted oil and burned out. Whatever happened,Scott's out of the running, and so is the Dart. I sent for you----"
"Mr. McLeod!" Chick broke in, forgetting manners in his excitement, "wewent over the Dragonfly today! She's in apple pie order. Can't Don takeher aloft? Can't he fly the mail?"
"Can you?" The man turned to his nephew.
"I can--but how does Scott pick up the mail?" The maneuver wasexplained to him.
"Can't Garry and Chick go along?" begged Don, generously including hiscomrades. "They could help a lot, and maybe make up by helping me forthe slower speed of the Dragonfly.
"
It was arranged.
Eager, excited, with a possible contract for mail flying at stake,three earnest airlane enthusiasts got their flying togs and necessaryarticles from the disabled Dart, signal lights to identity the newship, warmed up the Dragonfly, and were ready to take off.
"I'll radio the _Caledonia_ about the change," Mr. McLeod said."Now--boys--do your best--and be--careful!"
"Oh, we will!" Chick waved a hand from the cockpit. "Anyhow--we've gotto come through. We carry a charm to clip ghost wings, you know!"
Chick always boasted a trifle too early!