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Dave Dashaway and His Hydroplane

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<h1 id="id01634" style="margin-top: 5em">CHAPTER XXIII</h1> <h5 id="id01635">HIRAM'S ADVENTURES</h5> The young aviator at once recognized the voice in the adjoining room which spoke the excited, words: "We've got the other one, too!" It was Jerry Dawson who had spoken. Dave knew that the statement could refer to no other than his missing chum. Dave was in something of a flutter of suspense. Then his eye brightened and a cheery smile overspread his face, as he caught the words in a dearly familiar tone: "Say, do you want to kill a fellow?" It was Hiram who spoke, in a resentful and disgusted voice. Its accents were as pert and ringing as ever, and Dave was overjoyed to know that his loyal comrade was alive and apparently unhurt. "Say, Dawson," here broke in Ridgely, "I want to speak to you." "Put this fellow in with Dashaway," ordered Jerry, and then the door of Dave's prison place was pulled open. A familiar form came limping and stumbling across the threshold, and the door was slammed to and locked after him. "Hiram!" cried Dave in genuine delight. He drew back as his friend faced him. He had noticed that Hiram limped. Now he saw that one arm was in a sling. Besides that, Hiram's face was one mass of cuts and scratches. One eye was nearly closed. "Oh, Hiram!" cried Dave aghast. "Look is if I'd been through a threshing machine, do I?" grinned the plucky lad. "What happened?" asked Dave seriously. "Dave," declared Hiram almost solemnly, "I honestly don't know. The machine drove upwards so quickly I wondered if some jar or the broken wire that was switching about didn't start the lever. By the time I got to the pilot's seat the machine was on a terrific whiz." "What did you do?" asked Dave. "Not much of anything, except to get rattled," confessed Hiram. "I tried to circle, and she went banking. Then the Machine took the prettiest drift you ever saw. All of a sudden one of the planes dropped and then we landed." "Where?" "On top of some trees. Right beyond was a deep basin, chuck full of undergrowth. The machine just took a slide off the tops of the trees, and slipped down to the bottom of the basin. Then she turned, I was thrown out." "What then, Hiram?" pressed Dave in a concerned way. "Well, Dave, we had briers and brambles on the farm, but nothing to compare with those Canadian thistles, or whatever they were. Look at my face." "And your arm?" Hiram shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "The half breed who looked at it said it was broken. He seemed to be some kind of an Indian doctor. He rubbed my scratches and bruises with some leaves and set my arm in splints." "Why, where did the half breed come in?" inquired Dave. "Well, as soon as I got my wits from the tumble, I thought of you. I tried to get up out of the basin, but the sides were so steep I couldn't make it. So I—well, Dave," added Hiram with a queer laugh, "I sort of busied myself about the airship. It wasn't much battered up. I feared the Dawson crowd might come hunting for the machine, so—well, I sort of busied myself about the airship," repeated Hiram, with a strange chuckle. "I was resting when that half breed and another fellow came along. The Indian is a great trailer, I guess, for he was sharp enough to notice the tree tops and the bushes the machine had rolled over. Anyhow, down he came on a rope into the basin and found me." "And the Monarch II," said Dave. "No, he didn't find the machine," declared Hiram. "But—" "Let me tell my story, Dave," interrupted Hiram. "He got me up aloft. Then he said I was badly hurt, and started in to mend me up. Then they brought me here. They kept talking about the airship, and tried to make me tell where it was. I wouldn't, and didn't." "Wasn't it in the basin you spoke of?" inquired Dave wonderingly. "Yes." "Then why—?" "Hush! We're going to have visitors." This was true. There was a sound at the door of their prison room, and the padlock was displaced. Jerry Dawson stepped into view, his father behind him. "Well," he said, with a leer meant to be clever, "I suppose you fellows know me?" "We know you, Jerry," retorted Hiram, "only too well." "I'm boss here," boasted Jerry. "That's fine, isn't it?" said Hiram. "And I've got you. We'll have your airship soon, too. You'll do some walking getting back home, I'm thinking." "What do you want of us, Jerry?" inquired Dave, coolly. "I want to know where that airship of yours is in the first place." "Put it in the last place, Jerry," suggested Hiram, "for you won't find out from me." "I'll bet I will," vaunted Jerry. "I have a good mind to punch you for making all the mischief you have." "You're safe, Jerry, seeing I'm disabled," said Hiram. "Bah! Say, Dashaway, who's working against us here or across the lake besides yourself?" "You will have to, guess that, Jerry," replied Dave. "You won't tell?" "No. I'll say this, though: You had better try to even up things in some way. The Interstate people and the government know all about you, and you are likely to have some explaining to do." Jerry looked worried, but he feigned indifference. "I'll keep you two safe and quiet till I get ready to quit, all the same," he snapped out, and slammed the door shut and locked it. Dave and Hiram listened in silence for some minutes to sounds in the next room. They could only catch the echo of voices. Jerry and his father seemed to be engaged in conversation. Suddenly there was an interruption. There was the sound of an excited voice, drawing nearer each moment. A door slammed. Then heavy running footsteps echoed out, ending only as some one appeared to burst unceremoniously into the next room. "What's the row?" the boys heard in the gruff tones of Jerry's father. "Say!" shouted the intruder, evidently a member of their group, "they've done it!" "Who have?" shouted out Jerry quickly. "The revenuers." "What do you mean?" "They got Ridgely." A cry of dismay and excitement ran through the next room. "How do you know?" demanded the elder Dawson. "I saw them myself—right near Brantford. What's more, they're coming this way to get the rest of us." At this announcement came another cry. "You are sure of that?" "When was this?" "How soon will they be here?" "Who is responsible for this?" So the cries and questions ran on. There was an excited discussion all around. "Maybe Ridgely is a turncoat!" cried somebody. "Well, we can't talk about that now—we must look out for ourselves," said another. "Right you are. Let us get out of here as soon as we possibly can!" "That's the talk!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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