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Dave Dashaway and His Hydroplane

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<h1 id="id01277" style="margin-top: 5em">CHAPTER XVIII</h1> <h5 id="id01278">ON DESERT ISLAND</h5> The young aviator might well ask the question he put to the moving picture man, for the negative in Dave's hand showed plainly the face and figure of Jerry Dawson. There could be no mistake. The boy who had run away with the Drifter had features strongly marked and not readily forgotten. The picture had been taken in the open street. Jerry was standing there talking to a Chinaman. "Some scene you know, Dashaway?" asked Mr. Alden. "No, somebody I know—and am very anxious to find," replied Dave. "So? Let me have a look at it." Dave handed the plate to the moving picture man, who slanted it against the light and nodded intelligently. "Oh, that?" he said. "Yes, I remember all about it." "Where did you take it, Mr. Alden?" pressed Dave. "At Anseton. There's a sort of foreign quarter there, and I was catching up some street scenes. It was the Chinaman I shot. Wanted the costume, you know." "When was that?" asked Dave. "Yesterday morning." Dave asked a score of questions. The moving picture man saw that Dave had some important motive in his inquiries. He did not ask what it was, and was patient and careful in his replies. Dave left Mr. Alden feeling that he had learned a good deal. The presence of Jerry Dawson in Anseton, and that, too, with a Chinaman, verified many of the theories of the young aviator. Dave lost no time in getting to a telegraph office, to send a dispatch that would reach Mr. Price. It told briefly of the progress of the Monarch II and of the definite clew Dave had just discovered. That afternoon our hero hired a hand cart he saw in a blacksmith's yard labeled "For Sale." He drove it as near to the swamp island as he could, without getting stuck in the mud. Then, he called to Hiram, who put himself in wading trim. The empty gasoline cans were over to the cart by Hiram. Dave trundled them to the town, got them filled and to the island, and, returning the cart, was ready to prepare for a new night journey. "It's less than sixty miles that we have to go, Hiram," he advised his assistant. "Then you've found out something definite?" guessed Hiram. "Yes, I have got a trace of Jerry Dawson." "You don't say so!" "I do, and I'll tell you how," and Dave recited the story of his meeting with the moving picture man. "Why, that's just grand," commented Hiram in his exuberant way. "You've good as run down the Drifter." "Not quite, Hiram." "Oh, you'll find the stolen airship. I feel it in my bones. I've felt it ever since I saw the way you took hold of this affair." "Well, I've had good help and a splendid machine, you must remember." "I don't go much on the help," declared Hiram modestly. "As to the Monarch II, though, I never saw such a well-behaved machine. If she does in the water what she's done in the air, she's a record breaker, sure." The machine was put in the best possible trim. It lacked two hours of nightfall but Dave had plenty to occupy his mind. For over an hour he sat looking over maps and memoranda, and blocking out his course. He had been very explicit and painstaking in questioning the moving picture man. He had made inquiries concerning Anseton and its vicinity down to the smallest detail. From all this Dave had decided on a permanent landing place, a sort of headquarters from which he could branch out in his personal investigations in the day time and sally forth on an air hunt in the dark. The aviators could distinctly hear a bell in some tower tolling the hour of nine as they circled a busy city that lay beyond and below, them, a blur of light. Dave at the levers kept the Monarch II at a fair height, constantly scanning an expanse to the north dotted only here and there with lights. Once past the outskirts of the city he turned due north. "Why, hello!" exclaimed his companion, "we're over water!" "Yes," replied Dave, "it's the lake." "Lake Superior! Dave, are we going to cross it?" "A good many times in the future probably, but not tonight. I am looking for a revolving light west of the city, right along the coast." "I'll keep a lookout, too." The lake was here and there dotted with the signal lights of steamers. Along the shore, which Dave skirted closely, various lights their met view. Both boys strained their gaze. Finally Hiram called out sharply: "I see it, Dave." "See what?" "A revolving light." "Where?" "See, just beyond that little cluster of town lights—quite high up." "Yes," answered Dave in a tone of satisfaction. "That is Rocky Point lighthouse. I know my bearings, now." "Are you going to land, Dave?" "Presently." "But you're driving out further over the lake." "Just for a short distance, Hiram," advised Dave. "There's an island down shore where they run a smelter—ah, I think I locate it." Dave was not mistaken. He came within range of some tall, stacks sending out sparks and flames. Now he changed his course. He kept his glance fixed below him and to the right as steadily as his duties at the lever would permit. The Monarch II passed over two small islands. Half a mile beyond them arose a third larger one. It was quite prominent, for the reason, that it presented a range of great cliffs. Dave navigated the air in narrowing circles. Then, timing and calculating a volplane glide, he let the machine down easily to the ground. "Well!" ejaculated Hiram, "you've hit on a pretty dark spot for a camp, Dave." "And a safe one," replied the young aviator. "Mr. Alden described this place to me. It is called Desert Island, and has no inhabitants on it. It seems dark because we are so shut in, but your eyes will soon become used to that." It was a singular place into which the Monarch II had descended. High declivitous, masses of rock formed a sort of immense cairn. They seemed shut in on every side, fully one hundred feet below the level of the cliffs. The farther north they had run the cooler air currents had become. Both boys felt somewhat chilly. "See here," spoke Hiram, after they had seen that the machine was all right and a rubber sheet thrown over the machinery to protect it from the heavy night dews, "a warm cup coffee wouldn't hurt us." "That's right, Hiram," agreed Dave. "We are all shut in here, and even a big fire wouldn't show from the land or the deck of a passenger steamer. You can try your hand at coffee making, if you like." "The coffee is all made, but cold, in these bottles," explained Hiram, fishing out two from the accommodation basket. There were both trees and bushes near by. Hiram gathered some dry branches and roots and soon had a comfortable little campfire going. He poured out the coffee from the bottles into a tin water pail, and soon had it steaming hot. Sandwiches and some bakery stuff Dave had bought at Ironton made a very satisfactory meal. Then they spread some wraps over a heap of dried grass, which they gathered up without much trouble. They rested in luxurious ease, watching the bright, snapping fire glow and feeling its genial warmth. "Well, this is just like Robinson Crusoe, isn't it, Dave?" asked Hiram, with an air of great comfort. "If you are a man Friday, then," rejoined the young aviator with a smile, "you scout around in the morning and see if there are any breaks in these great walls of rock shutting us in." "Oh, then you're not counting an leaving here again by the air route?" inquired Hiram in some surprise. "Not in daylight. I want to find some other way out for that. You see," explained Dave, "this is just an ideal spot as a rendezvous. I want to get over to the city tomorrow, though, to attend to some important business." "How are you going to get there?" "Why, I'll have to trust to my swimming skill, I guess," replied Dave. "Um-m," observed Hiram thoughtfully, and, if the young aviator had been more watchful, he would have noticed that for the rest of the evening his willing assistant seemed to have something on his mind. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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