CHAPTER XXI
“FIFTY POINTS”
“You’ve got something on your mind, Bruce! What is it?” challengedHiram Dobbs.
“Oh, just thinking,” answered Bruce in a way meant to be off-handed,but palpably evasive and embarrassed.
“You can’t fool me!” insisted Hiram in his persistent fashion. “Eversince you took those diamonds back to the police you’ve been mooning.You don’t mean to tell me you’ve caught the detective-fever?”
“Me!” laughed Bruce. “No more chance of that than of running anairship. I’d better correct one false impression you’ve got, though,Hiram.”
“And what is that?”
“I didn’t take those diamonds to the police at all.”
“Didn’t? Well, that’s news!” declared Hiram wonderingly.
“You see, you were all so busy here I didn’t want to bother you about alittle thing like that. I took the diamonds back to the people who lostthem. I’ve had an idea about those diamonds for some time.”
“You have some good ideas, Bruce—what’s this one?”
“Why, I have felt satisfied all along that the thief had those diamondswhen he was escaping in the _Scout_.”
“We all believe that. What of it?” inquired the young pilot of thecraft in question.
“So, I’ve dreamed—only dreamed, mind you—of maybe some time going andlooking for them.”
“Ho! ho!” laughed Hiram. “I guess you have no idea of what huntingaround the place where the thief landed might mean. If he really hadthem and lost them, or hid them, or threw them away, there’s half amile of thicket, gully and creek to go over, with about one chance in athousand of hitting the right spot. You never ran across such a mixedup place.”
“It’s because I was once right in it all for a week or more that I gotinterested,” explained Bruce.
“Well, there may be something in your idea, Bruce,” admitted Hiram.“Just now, though, we’ve got more important business on hand. We mustadd twenty points to our thirty before sundown, you know.”
“Oh, I hope you make it!” said Bruce ardently. “I’ve been worried eversince the Syndicate crowd beat in the altitude work.”
“Beat! who’s—beat! what?” almost shouted Hiram, becoming vociferous,and looking wrathful. “Mr. Brackett and Dave are saying little andthinking a good deal. They may talk out when the governing committeepasses on the prizes. I’m doing some guessing myself, and I’d give allI’m worth to see one man for just one minute, and that’s Mr. Borden.”
“Aha!” cried Bruce—“got a secret yourself, have you?”
“Never mind if I have. It isn’t the time to talk about it just yet,”retorted Hiram mysteriously. “I’ve got some common sense, though, andlots of confidence in the word of Dave Dashaway. You heard what he toldus about that altitude climate. It nearly finished him, even with thatnew oxygen device aboard. He was soaked, frozen, exhausted when helanded, wasn’t he? And Valdec wasn’t even damp! Again, Dave says henever caught sight of the _Whirlwind_ over the 7,000 foot level.There’s another county to hear from!” concluded Hiram, “and I’ve gotsomething under my hat.”
“What, Hiram?” asked Bruce, but his comrade only laughed, and walkedoff to greet Mr. Brackett and Dave, who, at that moment, approached thehangar.
The mail bag delivery contest was one of several set for that day.There were only five entries, the _Scout_ being among the number.Neither Dave nor Valdec were listed as principals, but one of theSyndicate machines had been entered.
It was in the _Scout_ that its pilot had done his practicing and the_Ariel_ was not called into service. A crew of two was apportioned toeach machine competing and Dave of course was to take charge of thewheel.
“Looks like a game of basket ball,” remarked Hiram as they drove the_Scout_ over to center field.
The grounds had a two mile circular track, being used on otheroccasions for motor contests. Around this, and at each corner of thegrounds, poles twenty feet high had been set up. At the top of thepoles were woven baskets about two feet deep and double that width attheir flanging tops.
Poles and baskets were painted white and were conspicuous to the eyefor a long distance. There were some twenty-five of these improvisedpostal stations. That number of bags was put in the cockpit of eachmachine. Each set was marked with a numeral, those on the _Scout_bearing the Brackett entrant number, which was five.
The bags had been furnished by the city post office people, were abouttwo by four feet and filled each with twenty pounds of newspapers andold envelopes. The time limit on the stunt was one hour.
“It’s going to be interesting,” Mr. Brackett remarked to BruceBeresford, who with him occupied an advantageous stall near the centralstand.
“The crowd seems to think so,” replied Bruce. “It’s something new, andnearly everybody has a score card.”
Bruce himself was prepared to keep “tab” on the mail deliveries. One,three, five, nine and eleven were in commission, and the machines weresufficiently varied in construction and appearance to enable even anovice to identify them separately when in operation. There was valorand confidence in Hiram’s last hand wave.
“I hope the lad makes his points,” spoke Mr. Brackett.
“It will break his heart if he doesn’t,” declared Bruce. “Why shouldn’the, though? He’s ahead of the rest of them on practicing, and he’s gotan expert pilot in his machine.”
“There’s a hit!” cried a voice near them, and necks were craned andeyes strained to watch a leather bag go tumbling over the edge ofaeroplane number three. It landed directly on the basket aimed at—andthe crowds yelled at this first sample of a new feature in aviatics.
“What’s wrong?” inquired a curious voice.
The guard stationed under the basket where the mail bag had fallen hadstepped slightly away from his post. He had unfurled and was waving ablue flag.
“It doesn’t count,” guessed Bruce readily. “The machine must have beenunder the low level.”
A great laugh next swept the mob of onlookers. The Syndicate biplanehad sent down a bag aimed at another basket. It went so far wide of itsmark that it landed on the shoulders of a “White Wings” man thirty feetaway, knocking off his hat and sending him scampering as though a bombhad struck him.
“Hiram—good—one!” suddenly yelled Bruce.
“You mean two,” remarked Mr. Brackett quietly a minute later, but witha slight chuckle of satisfaction.
The _Scout_ had made two deliveries into different baskets true as adie. Unlike any of the others, the little machine sailed high, and asit approached a delivery point described a swift swoop. So true werethe calculations of Dave Dashaway, that, directly at the turn of thevolplane Hiram let loose the mail bag, counting on a forward sway ofseveral feet in the descent.
“Ah—missed! but it hit the edge of the basket,” reported Bruce. Thenthe fourth one landed directly within its intended receptacle.
There were generally cheers for the _Scout_, even when Hiram missed onthree deliveries. These, however, never dropped more than five feetaway from the base of the pole, while some of the other contestants sawtheir mail bags go half a hundred feet from the goal.
“Seventy mail bags delivered, only thirteen not gone foul, and the_Scout_ scores seven of them,” cried Bruce, half an hour later.“There’s a dive for you—oh, grand!”
Three of the contestants with a decidedly poor showing retired from thefield, among them the Syndicate entrant. Nine kept aloft, with threedeliveries to its score.
It seemed as though Dave and Hiram were husbanding their strength for afinal brilliant exploit. The _Scout_ took a backward swing of nearly amile. Then at full speed its pilot headed it down the last side of thelong track.
“Eight, nine and ten—oh, they’ve made it!” shouted the delighted BruceBeresford. “Thirty and twenty are fifty. Mr. Brackett, we’re even nowwith the _Whirlwind_ people!”
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