"We have our own ways of doing them things, miss," rejoined the policeman with dignity.

Then there being nothing for it but to obey instructions of the authorities, they all set out for the police station. They were half way there when Jimsy recollected that they had left the aeroplanes unguarded.

"'Twill make no difference at all at all," declared the policeman; "shure it's too late for anyone to be about."

"It wasn't too late for them to set that fire though," rejoined Roy in a low voice.

At police headquarters they were received by two sleepy-looking officials who questioned them at length and said they would be at the stable in the morning to hunt for clews.

"Why not go after them now, while the trail is hot?" inquired Jimsy.

"We have our own ways of doing these things, young man," was the reply, delivered with ponderous dignity.

"Well, we might as well go to bed and get a few hours' sleep anyhow," suggested Roy; "I can hardly keep my eyes open. How about you, Jimsy?"

"I—I—I've had some sleep already you know," rejoined Jimsy, reddening.

Thoroughly tired out from their long day and excitement, the party slept till late the next day. The first thing after breakfast plans for the continuance of the trip were discussed, and the day's program mapped out. This done, the girls and boys set out for the stable to look over the machines.

They found a pompous-looking policeman on guard in front of the place, ostentatiously pacing up and down. On identifying themselves they were at once admitted however. The man explained that he had only been on guard for an hour or two, and that during that time nothing worthy of mention had occurred.

While Jimsy was talking to him Roy and the others entered the stable. An instant later Roy, too excited to talk, came rushing out of the dis-used livery barn.

"What's up now, Roy?" demanded Jimsy, gazing at his chum, who for his part appeared to be too excited to get his words out.

"There's only three!" gasped Roy.

"Three what?" cried Jimsy.

"Three aeroplanes," returned Roy.

"Rubbish, you haven't got your eyes open yet."

"I'm right, I tell you; come in and count them if you don't believe me."

"Roy is right," cried Peggy, running up to the group; "the Golden Butterfly has been stolen!"

"Stolen!" interjected Jimsy.

"That's right!" cried Jess; "those stupid police people left the barn unguarded. Whoever tried to set it on fire must have returned and stolen the Butterfly."

They regarded each other blankly. Was this Sky Cruise that they had looked forward to with such eager anticipation to be nothing but a series of mishaps?

"It's awful!" gasped Peggy; "nothing but trouble since we started out."

"D'ye think it was stolen?" asked the policeman with startling intelligence.

"Well, it didn't fly of its own accord," was Peggy's rejoinder, delivered with blighting sarcasm.

The patrolman subsided.

"Maybe we can find it yet," suggested Jess.

"I'd like to know how," put in Jimsy disgustedly.

"Perhaps we can trace it. It must have been wheeled away."

"Ginger! That's so," cried Roy, snapping his fingers; "it would leave an odd track too, wouldn't it?"

"Well there's no harm in trying to trace it," admitted Jimsy, who appeared rather skeptical.

"Come on, then; get busy," urged Roy eagerly.

The next instant there came a cry from Peggy.

"I've struck the trail!" she cried.

"Where?"

The word came in chorus.

"Here! Look; you know the Butterfly had peculiar kind of tires. See, it was wheeled up the street in that direction."

She pointed to where the village main thoroughfare ended in a country road.

"I'm not after takin' much stock in that," remarked the policeman.

"We won't bother you," rejoined Roy rather heatedly; "I guess we won't wait till your local Sherlock Holmes gets on the trail, we'll follow it ourselves."

"But who'll go?"

The question came from Jimsy.

"We can't all go, that's certain," exclaimed Bess.

"Tell you what we'll do, we'll count out," declared Jess, her eyes dancing.

"A good idea," hailed the others.

"Roy, you start it; but remember, not more than three can go."

"Why?" inquired Peggy point blank.

"Because we'll have to take the car, and someone must be left to look after Aunt Sally and the aeroplanes," spoke Roy, falling in with Jimsy's plans.

"Well, come on and count out," urged Jess.

"Yes, that's it. Let's see who will be it," cried the others.

"Very well, if I can remember the rhyme," responded Roy. "How does it go anyway?"

"Inte, minte," suggested Jimsy.

"Oh, yes! That's it," responded Roy. "I've got it now. Inte, minte, cute corn, apple seeds and briar thorn, briar thorn and limber lock, three geese in a flock, one flew east and one flew west, one flew into a cuckoo's nest, O-U-T out, with a ragged dish clout, out!" ending with Bess.

"Sorry for you, Bess!" cried the lad, "but you're the first victim to be offered up."

"Oh, well, it's too hot to go chasing all over dusty country roads," declared Bess bravely, although she would dearly have loved to go on the adventurous search for the missing aeroplane.

One after another they were counted out till only Roy, Peggy and Jimsy remained.

"Hurry up and let's get off," urged Jimsy as the "elimination trials," as they might be termed, were concluded.

"Very well. We'll get the car—it's in the garage at the hotel—and incidentally, we might get a lunch put up also. It may be a long chase."

The officer regarded them with frank amazement.

"My! but you city folks rush things," he exclaimed.

"I suppose they'll get busy on this case day after to-morrow," exclaimed Roy disgustedly, as they hastened away.

It was half an hour later that the big touring car, with Roy at the wheel, rolled out of the hotel yard. Jake had been told off to guard the livery stable and the aeroplanes while the rest remained with Miss Prescott, who was seriously agitated at the accumulation of troubles her party had met with since setting out.

"I declare," she said, "I wish I was back at home where I could get a decent cup of tea and be free of worries."

The trail of the aeroplane was not difficult to follow. It led down the village main street and thence along a country road till it came to a sort of cross roads. Here it branched off and followed a by-road for a mile or so. At a gate in a hedge all signs failed however, although it was plain that the machine had been wheeled through the gap and taken across a field.

Beyond this field lay what appeared to be a wilderness of woods and bushes.

"Stumped!" exclaimed Roy, as he brought the auto to a stop.



CHAPTER XII.

THE FINDING OF THE "BUTTERFLY."

"Well, what next?" asked Jimsy.

"Make a search of those woods, I suppose," replied Roy; "there's nothing else to do."

"No, the trail has brought us here," replied Peggy energetically; "we must make a determined effort to find the Butterfly."

"Maybe they've damaged it so that we won't be able to do anything with it when we do get it," spoke Jimsy presently.

"Whom do you mean by they?" asked Roy.

"As if you didn't know. Is there any doubt in your mind that that fellow Cassell is at the bottom of all this?"

"Not very much, I'll admit," replied Roy; "I wonder if that accounts for the inactivity of the police."

"In just what way?"

"Well, the fellow's a local politician and has a lot of 'pull'."

"He must have, to get away with anything like this," was Jimsy's indignant outburst.

"Well, don't let us waste time speculating," put in Peggy, in her brisk manner; "the thing to do now is to get back the Golden Butterfly."

"You're right, Peg," came from both boys.

By this time they were out of the car, which they left standing at the roadside while they examined the vicinity for tracks. But the grass in the field was fairly long and no traces remained. Yet, inasmuch as the tracks of the Butterfly ended at the gap in the hedge, it was manifest that that was the point at which it had been wheeled off the road.

"What next?" asked Jimsy, as it became certain that there was little use in searching for a trail in the meadow.

"It's like looking for a needle in that proverbial haystack," struck in Peggy.

"In my opinion we need the patience of Job and the years of old Methuselah," opined Jimsy.

Roy alone was not discouraged.

"It can't be so very far off," he urged; "it stands to reason that they can't have come much further than this since midnight, supposing the machine to have been stolen about that hour."

The others agreed with him.

"We'll search all around here, including those woods," declared Peggy.

"Well, they can't have taken it very far into the woods," declared Jimsy; "the spread of its wings would prevent that."

"That's so," agreed Roy; "I think we are getting pretty 'warm' right now."

"All I am afraid of is that they may have damaged it," breathed Peggy anxiously.

"It would be in line with their other tactics," agreed Roy; "men who would try to burn down a stable with two boys in it, just to obtain revenge for a fancied insult or injury, are capable of anything."

Without further waste of time they crossed the meadow and came to the edge of the wood. At the outskirts of the woods the trees grew thinly and it was plain that it would have been possible to wheel an aeroplane into their shadow, despite the breadth of its wing-spread.

They passed under the outlying trees and presently emerged into a small, open space, in the midst of which was a hut. Just beyond this hut was a sight that caused them to shout aloud with joy. There, apparently unharmed, stood the missing aeroplane.

"Hurray!" shouted Roy, dashing forward.

The others were close on his heels. In their excitement they paid little or no attention to the surroundings. It might have been better for them had they done so. As they dashed across the clearing two male figures slipped off among the thicker trees that lay beyond the open space and the hut.

A brief examination showed them that the aeroplane was undamaged. There were a few scratches on it, but beyond that it appeared in perfect condition.

"We'll fly back," declared Jimsy to Peggy; "Roy can run the auto home."

"That's agreeable to me," responded Roy; "but suppose we examine the vicinity first. We might get a clew as to the rascals who are responsible for this."

"That's true," agreed Jimsy.

"Then suppose we start with the hut first."

They accepted this proposition eagerly. The hut was a substantial looking building with a padlock on the door. But the portal stood wide open, the padlock hanging in a hasp.

"What if anyone pounces on us?" asked Peggy in rather a scared tone.

"No fear of that," replied Roy, "the place is plainly unoccupied."

They entered the hut and found it to be as primitive inside as its exterior would indicate. A table and two rude chairs stood within. These, with the exception of a rusty cook stove in one corner, formed the sole furnishings. There was not even a window in the place.

"Nothing much to be found here," declared Roy after a cursory examination; "I guess this shack was put up by lumbermen or hunters. It doesn't seem to have been occupied for a long time."

"I guess the men who took the aeroplane must have been pretty familiar with the place though," opined Jimsy.

"No doubt of that," replied Roy, "but that doesn't give us any clew to their identity beyond bare suspicions."

"Yes, and suspicions aren't much good in law," chimed in Peggy, "they—Good gracious!"

The door closed suddenly with a bang. Before Jimsy could spring across the room to open it there came a sharp click.

"Somebody's padlocked it on the outside!" he cried.

"And we're prisoners!" gasped Peggy.

"Yes, and without any chance of getting out, either," declared Jimsy; "there's not even a window in the place."

"Well this is worse and more of it," cried Roy. "Who can have done that?"

"The same people that stole the Golden Butterfly," declared Peggy. "Hark!"

Outside they heard rapidly retreating footsteps, followed by a harsh laugh.

"Let us out!" shouted Roy.

"You can stay there till judgment day, for all I care," came back a hoarse, rasping voice; "you kids were too fresh, and now you're getting what's coming to you."



CHAPTER XIII.

PRISONERS IN THE HUT.

It was almost pitch dark within the hut. Only from a crack under the door could any light enter. For an instant after the taunting of the voices of the men who had locked them in reached their ears, the trio of youthful prisoners remained silent.

Peggy it was who spoke first.

"Well, what's to be done now?" she demanded.

"We've got to get out of here," responded Jimsy, with embarrassing candor.

"That's plain enough," struck in Roy; "but how do you propose to do it?"

"I don't know; let's look about. Maybe there's a chimney or something."

"There's no opening larger than that one where the stove pipe goes through. I've noticed that already," responded Roy.

"Phew! This is a fix for fair."

"I should say so; but kicking about it won't help us at all. Let's make a thorough investigation."

In the darkness they groped about, but could discover nothing that appeared to hold out a promise of escape. The two boys shook the door violently; but it was firm on its hinges.

Next Roy proposed to cut a way through it with his pocket knife.

"We'd be starved to death by the time you cut through that stuff," declared Jimsy.

In proof of this he kicked the door, and the resulting sound showed that it was built of solid wood without any thin panels which might be cut through.

"What next?"

Peggy asked the question as the two perspiring lads stood perplexed without speaking or moving.

"Jiggered if I know," spoke Jimsy; "can't you or Roy think of anything?"

"We might try to batter the door down with that table," suggested Roy.

"It's worth trying. We've got to get out of here somehow."

The two boys picked up the heavy, roughly made table and commenced a violent assault on the door. But although they dented it heavily, and sent some splinters flying, the portal held its own. At length they desisted from pure weariness. The situation looked hopeless.

"It looks pretty bad," spoke Jimsy.

"It does indeed," agreed Roy. "Peggy, I wish we hadn't brought you along."

"And why, pray, Roy Prescott?"

"Oh, because—because, well, this isn't the sort of thing for a girl."

"Well, I guess if my brother can stand it I can," rejoined the girl, pluckily and in a firm voice.

"Well, there's no use minimizing the fix we're in," declared Roy. "This is a lonesome bit of country. It may be a week before anyone will come around. We've just got to get out, that's all there is to it."

"I wish you'd solve the problem then," sighed Jimsy; "it's too much for me."

"I'll make another search of the premises, maybe we can stumble across something that may aid us. At any rate, it will give us something to do and keep our minds off the predicament we are in."

Roy struck a match, of which he had a plentiful supply in his pockets. As the yellow flame sputtered up in the semi-gloom it showed every corner of the small hut. But it did not reveal anything that promised a chance to gain their liberty.

All at once, just as the light was sputtering out, Peggy gave a cry. Her eye had been caught by a glistening metal object in one corner of the hut.

"What is it?" asked Roy.

"A gun—a shot-gun standing in that corner over there."

"Huh!" sniffed Jimsy, "a lot of good that does us."

"On the contrary," declared Peggy stoutly, "if it's loaded it may serve to get us free."

"I'm from Missouri," declared Jimsy enigmatically.

"What's your idea, sis?" asked Roy, who knew that Peggy's ideas were usually worth following up.

"I remember reading only a short time ago of a man trapped much as we are who escaped by blowing off the lock of his prison with a gun he carried," replied Peggy; "maybe it would work in our case."

"Maybe it would if—" rejoined Roy.

"If what?"

"If the gun was loaded, which is most unlikely."

"Well, try it and see," urged Peggy.

"Yes, do," echoed Jimsy; "Peggy's plan sounds like a good idea. Maybe some hunter left it here and the shells are still in it."

"No harm in finding out anyway," declared Roy.

He struck another match and picked up the gun. It was an antique looking weapon badly-rusted. But on opening the breech he uttered a cry of joy.

"Good luck!" he exclaimed, "two shells,—one in each barrel."

"Well, put it to the test," urged Jimsy.

"All right. If this fails, though, I don't know what we'll do."

"Don't worry about that now. Try it."

"I'm going to. Don't get peevish."

Roy crossed the room to the door. Raising the gun to his shoulder he placed the muzzle about opposite to where he thought the padlock must be located.

"Look out for a big noise, sis," he warned.

Peggy gave a little scream and raised her hands to her ears. She disliked firearms.

"Ready?" sang out Jimsy.

"All ready," came the reply.

"Then fire!"

Simultaneously with Jimsy's order came a deafening report. In that confined space it sounded as if a huge cannon had been fired. Roy staggered back under the "kick" of the heavy charge.

"Once more," he announced.

Again a sonorous report sounded, but this time a section of the door was blown right out of the framework. The daylight streamed in through it.

"Now then for the test," cried Roy. "Come on, Jimsy."

The two boys placed their shoulders to the door. With a suddenness that was startling, it burst open, and they faced freedom. The lock had been fairly driven from its hold by the twice repeated charge of shot.

The young aviators were free once more. But it remained to be seen if the men who wished them harm had wrought their vengeance on the Golden Butterfly.



CHAPTER XIV.

WHAT'S TO BE DONE WITH THE WREN?

The Golden Butterfly, as an examination proved, had not been damaged during their imprisonment in the hut. Evidently, the men who had slammed the door and padlocked it had made off at top speed as soon as they had completed what they hoped would be a source of sore trouble to the young aviators.

"And now we'll fly back as agreed," declared Peggy merrily.

Her spirits, almost down to zero in the hut, had recovered themselves marvellously in the fresh open air. She was radiant.

"I declare that the stay in the hut has done you good," declared Jimsy, looking at her admiringly.

"Maybe it has—by contrast," returned Peggy.

"Like a sea trip," put in Roy. "I've heard that people who suffer from sea sickness are so much relieved when they get ashore that they imagine their good spirits are due to a change in their condition."

"Well, that applies to me," returned Peggy; "I didn't think we'd get out of that hut so easily. How do you suppose that gun came to be there?"

"The hunters who use the hut must have left it there," rejoined Roy; "I wonder if they'll ever know how useful it was to us."

"More likely they'll be mad when they find that the lock is blown off the door," laughed Jimsy.

"Well, so-long, folks, I'm going to start back in the auto," declared Roy.

"We'll beat you into town," challenged Jimsy.

"More than likely, if the Golden Butterfly is doing her best," was the rejoinder.

Ten minutes later the two machines were racing back to Meadville at almost top speed. Of course the speedy Golden Butterfly won, but then a vehicle of the air does not have to contend with the obstacles that a land conveyance does.

They found Miss Prescott almost on the verge of hysterics. A garbled version of the events of the night had been brought to her and this, coupled with the long absence of the three young folks, had made her extremely nervous.

"I declare, it seems as if you just can't keep out of trouble," she said.

"Well, it actually does seem so, I admit," confessed Peggy; "but we promise to be very good for the rest of the trip."

"And never trouble trouble till trouble troubles us," chanted Jimsy airily.

"That's all very well, but you keep me continually in suspense as to what you'll do next," almost wailed Miss Prescott. "We set out for a quiet trip and encounter nothing but troubles—"

"Adventures, Aunt Sally," laughingly corrected Roy; "what is life without adventures?"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know what young people are coming to," sighed Miss Prescott with resignation. "There's another thing, what are we to do with this little Wren?"

"We can't leave her here, that's certain," declared Peggy with vehemence.

"No, indeed," echoed Jess and Bess, who were of the council.

"Then what are we to do with her?"

"Just tote her along, I suppose," rejoined Peggy; "poor little thing, she doesn't take up much room; besides, Jess thinks she's an heiress."

They all laughed.

"You must have had an overdose of Laura Jean Libby," declared Roy.

"Roy Prescott, you behave yourself," cried Jess, flushing up; "besides, she has a strawberry mark on her left arm."

"My gracious, then she surely is a missing heiress," exclaimed Jimsy teasingly; "all well-regulated missing heiresses have strawberry marks and almost always on their left arm."

It was at this juncture that a knock came at the door. A bell boy stood outside.

"A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, handing Roy a card.

On it was printed: "Mr. James Kennedy, Detective, Meadville Police Station."

"Goodness, a real detective!" exclaimed Jess excitedly; "let's see him."

"You won't be much impressed I'm afraid," rejoined Roy with a smile at his recollection of the Meadville sleuths.

"Why, doesn't he wear glasses, have a hawk-like nose and smoke a pipe?" inquired Bess.

"And hunt up missing heiresses?" teasingly struck in Jimsy.

"No, he's a very different sort of person. But hush! he's coming now."

A heavy tread sounded in the hall and Mr. James Kennedy, Detective of the Meadville Police Force, stood before them. As Jimsy had said, he was not impressive as to outward appearance, although his fat, heavy face, and rather vacant eyes, might have concealed a giant intellect.

"I've investigated the case of the attempted burning of the stable last night," he began.

"Yes," exclaimed Roy eagerly. "Have you any suspicions as to who did it?"

The man shook his head.

"As yet we have no clews," he declared, "and I don't think we'll get any."

"That's too bad," replied Roy, "but let me tell you something that may help you."

The lad launched into a description of their adventures of the morning.

"That hut belongs to Luke Higgins, a respectable man who is out West at present," said the detective when Roy had finished. "He uses it as a sort of hunting box in the rabbit shooting season. He couldn't have had anything to do with it."

"I'd like to know his address so that I could write and thank him for leaving that gun there," declared Peggy warmly.

The detective shook his head solemnly.

"I reckon you young folks had better stop skee-daddling round the country this way," he said with heavy conviction; "you'll only get into more trouble. Flying ain't natural no more than crowing hens is."

With this he picked up his hat, and, after assuring them that he would find a clew within a short time, he departed, leaving behind him a company in which amusement mingled with indignation. In fact, so angry was Roy over the stupidity or ignorance of the Meadville police, that he himself set out on a hunt to detect the authors of the outrages upon the young aviators.

The sole result of his inquiry however was to establish the fact that both Cassells had left town, closing their house and announcing that they would be gone for some time.

As there was nothing further to be gained by remaining in Meadville, the entire party, after lunch, set out once more, a big crowd witnessing the departure of the aerial tourists.

They flew fast, and as the roads were excellent the auto had no difficulty in keeping up with them. On through the afternoon they soared along, sometimes swooping low above an alluring bit of scenery and again heading their machines skyward in pure exuberance of spirits. Their troubles at Meadville forgotten, they flew their machines like sportive birds; never had any of them experienced more fully the joy of flight, the sense of freedom that comes from traveling untrammeled into the ether.

They had passed above a small village and were flying low, those in the auto waving to them, when Peggy, in the Golden Butterfly, gave a sudden exclamation.

"Oh, look," she shouted, "a flock of sheep, and right in the path of the auto."

At that moment all of them saw the sheep, a large flock, headed by a belligerent looking ram with immense horns. Jake, who was driving the car, slowed up as he approached the flock. The woolly herd, huddled together helplessly, made no effort to get out of the road. Behind them a man and a boy shouted and yelled vigorously, but with no more effect than to bunch the animals more squarely in the path of the advancing car.

All at once, just as the car was slowed down to almost a walking pace, a big ram separated himself from the flock and actually rushed for the front seat of the car.

Jake uttered a yell as the woolly creature gave him a hard butt, knocking him out of his seat. But this wasn't all.

By some strange freak the animal had landed in the car in a sitting posture. Now the young aviators roared with laughter to behold the creature seated in Jake's forcibly vacated place. Its hoofs rested on the driving wheel.

Forward plunged the car, its queer driver with his feet wedged in the spokes of the steering wheel. Aloft the flock of young aviators roared with laughter at the sight. It was the oddest experience they had yet had—this spectacle of a grave-looking, long-horned ram driving an auto, while Jake prudently kept out of reach of those horns. As for Miss Prescott and The Wren, they cowered back in the tonneau in keen alarm.

"Oh!" cried Peggy suddenly, "there comes a runabout; that ram will surely collide with it!"

A runabout coming in the opposite direction dashed round a corner of the country road at this juncture. The driver was a young girl, but she was veiled and her features could not be seen under the thick face covering.

Apparently the ram saw the other car coming, for the animal actually appeared to make a halfway intelligent effort to steer the car out of the road.

For her part the girl in the runabout swerved her car from side to side in a struggle to avoid a collision, which appeared inevitable.

"Stop it!" shrieked Bess; "she'll be killed."



CHAPTER XV.

A RAMBUNCTIOUS RAM.

The ram evidently saw the other car coming; it tried to leap out but its hoofs were jammed in the spokes of the steering wheel. Before Jake could pick himself up from the floor of the front part of the car there came a loud shriek from the runabout. It was echoed by Miss Prescott and The Wren.

Crash!

The two cars came together with a fearful jolt.

The eyes of the young aviators aloft were fixed on the scene. They saw the large car strike the runabout and crumple its engine hood. Peggy gave a scream.

The ram, jolted out of its seat by the force of the collision, fell out to one side, allowing Jake to resume control of the wheel. But the runabout! It was ditched, its unfortunate occupant being pitched headlong into a ditch at the side of the road.

Down swept the aeroplanes, and there was a wild rush to the rescue. Peggy, Jess and Bess ran to the side of the injured occupant of the strange runabout. The boys divided themselves, attending to everything.

"Roy! Roy! hurry, she's unconscious!"

The cry came from Peggy as she rushed to the side of the young motorist.

Roy was not far off, and, at his sister's cry, he hastened to her side. Peggy had the girl's head in her lap.

"Get water!" she cried.

But Jimsy was already on hand with a collapsible aluminum cup full of water from a near by spring.

"Oh, the poor dear," sighed Peggy, "to think that our fun should have—"

The strange girl opened her eyes.

"Who are you?" she exclaimed. "Where is my machine?"

"Never mind for a minute," spoke Peggy, seeing that Jimsy and Jake were trying to drag the machine out of the ditch, "we'll fix it, never fear."

"Oh, my head!" groaned the girl.

"That pesky ram," exploded Roy angrily; "let me help you up into the road, you'll be more comfortable."

"Oh, thank you, I can stand," came faintly from the injured girl. "I—am—much better now. What happened?"

"Why a sort of volunteer driver was experimenting with our car, and I guess he made a mistake in driving," smilingly explained Roy.

"Oh, that ram!" cried the girl half hysterically. "I thought I had a nightmare at first."

"I don't blame you," smiled Peggy, "seeing a ram driving a motor car is apt to give one such ideas."

"Are you really better?" asked Jess sympathetically as she came up.

"Peggy, get my smelling salts out of the traveling bag!" cried Miss Prescott anxiously.

The accident had disturbed her sadly. The only unperturbed one in the party was Jake. He took things with philosophical calm.

"Knew more trouble was comin'," said he, and contented himself by dismissing the situation with that.

"I've got good news for you," said Jimsy, coming up; "your car isn't hurt a bit."

"Oh, good!" cried the girl, clasping her hands and flushing. Her veil was raised now and they saw that she was very blonde, very pretty and just now very pale.

"My, what a rambunctious ram!" punned Roy; "he ramified all over, didn't he?"

"Gracious, for a time I thought I was seeing things!" gasped the girl, who was seated on a tufted hummock of grass at the side of the road.

"And then you felt them," laughed Jimsy. "That's the way such things run."

They all laughed. Soon after, Roy, Jimsy and Jake dragged the small runabout out of the ditch. In the meantime Peggy had introduced herself and Jess to the young girl. The latter's name was Lavinia Nesbitt. She lived not far from the scene of the accident, and had been taking a jaunt in her machine.

The runabout had been rescued, and the whole party introduced and talking merrily when Jess set up a cry.

"Goodness! here comes that ram again!"

Down the road, with the two sheep drivers at its heels, the beast was indeed coming. It advanced at a hard gallop, with head lowered and formidable horns ready for a charge, into the midst of the group.

"Look out for him!" yelled the sheep herders.

They needed no second injunction. All skipped adroitly out of the path of the oncoming beast, which was rushing on like a whirlwind. Jimsy proved equal to the emergency. From his aeroplane he took the rope which had already done good service in rescuing the Golden Butterfly from the pond. He formed it into a loop—the lariat of the Western plains.

"Now we've got him!" he exclaimed; "that is, if we are careful. But watch out!"

"No danger of that," responded Peggy, from the vantage of the tonneau of the car; "but how are you going to rope him?"

"Watch!"

Jimsy began swinging his loop in ever widening circles. The ram was now within a few feet of him.

"Oh, the Dart!" shrieked Bess; "he'll go right through it!"

Indeed it did appear as if the maddened animal would. But just as there are many slips between cup and lip so there are many slips between the ram and the aeroplane.

Just as it appeared that he would plow his way right through the delicate fabric, Jimsy hurled his loop. It settled round the animal's horns. Planting his heels in the ground Jimsy held tight to the rope. The next minute he "snubbed" it tight and the ram lost its feet and rolled over and over in the dust.

Jake and Roy rushed in and completed the job of tying the creature.

"Goodness, Jimsy, you're a regular broncho buster!" cried Peggy admiringly.

"Oh, I learned to do some tricks with a rope with the horse hunters out in Nevada," was the response.

But careless as his manner was, Jimsy's eyes glowed with triumph. It was plainly to be seen that he was delighted with his success. Just then the two sheep drivers came running up.

The girls looked rather alarmed. Suppose they should blame them for trying to kidnap the ram.

"I'll do the talking," declared Roy; "if you said anything, Jimsy, there might be a row."

"All right," laughed Jimsy, regarding his "roped and tied captive." "I suppose you are an expert on dealing with ram owners."

"Well, I'm on to their mental ramifications," laughed Roy.

The sheep driver, an elderly man, accompanied by a youth, came up to them now. He touched his hat civilly as he approached.

"Good afternoon. No one hurt, I hope," he said.

The girls looked greatly relieved. After all, the man was not rude or angry as they had feared.

"Oh, no, thank you," cried Jess, before Roy or Jimsy could open their mouths. "I hope he isn't though."

"Hurt!" exclaimed the ram's owner, "why you couldn't hurt him with a steam hammer. Why, day 'afore yesterday the blame thing went for my wife. Hoofs and horns—yes, sir! Most knocked her down, he did. I'll fix him."

"What's his name?" asked Bess.

"Hannibal," said the man, without the flicker of a facial muscle.

"I should think Cannonball would be a better name for him," struck in Jimsy, with that funny, serious face he always assumed when 'joshing'.

"Yes, sir, I guess it would be more appropriate at that," assented the man.

He looked at the disabled machine.

"Busted?" he asked with apparent concern.

"To some extent," rejoined Roy, "only, except for that engine hood being dented there doesn't appear to be much the matter with it."

"Glad to pay if there be," said the sheep driver. "I'm going ter git rid of ther pesky critter. He's cost me a lot in damage suits already."

"Why don't you put him on the stage as the boxing ram, or something like that?" inquired Jimsy.

"Might be a good scheme," said the man, as if considering the proposal seriously.

"Mary had a little ram—" laughed Jimsy; who was thereupon told not to be "horrid."

"Why don't you box the nasty thing's ears for riding in our car?" asked Roy of Peggy.

"I'd like to do something, the saucy thing," declared Peggy with vehemence.

"Tell you what! Let's buy him."

The suggestion came from Jimsy.

"Yes, and have his skin made up into an auto robe," suggested Roy.

"If you boys aren't ridiculous," cried Peggy; "I want to forget the incident, and so I'm sure does Lavinia," the name of the girl who had been spilled out of her machine.

"You may be sure I do," she declared with emphasis. "I was never so scared in my life."

"Want to buy him?" asked the man, grasping at a chance of selling an animal that had already placed him in some embarrassing positions.

"How much do you want?" asked Roy, more as a joke than anything else.

"Three dollars," said the man.

"There you are, girls! Who'll bid? Who'll bid? This fine young ram going at a sacrifice."

Jimsy imitated an auctioneer, raising his voice to a sharp pitch.



CHAPTER XVI.

AN INVITATION TO RACE.

It is almost needless to say that the purchase was not consummated. The girls raised a chorus of protest. The "nasty thing" was the mildest of the epithets they applied to the beast.

"Well, I don't know. I thought we might have his skin done into a robe. We could give it as a prize to the girl that makes the best record on this motor flight," suggested Jimsy.

"I wish you'd take him up a thousand feet and drop him," declared the unfortunate ram's owner.

"Poor thing! he only acted according to his nature," defended Peggy; "let him loose and he'll go back to the flock."

"Not him," declared his owner; "he'd only raise more Cain. Better let him be."

But the girls raised a chorus of protest. It was a shame to leave the poor thing tied up, and they insisted that he be let loose.

"All right, if you kin stand it I kin," grinned the man.

He and the boy bent over the captive ram and cast him loose. The beast struggled to his feet, and for an instant stood glaring about him out of his yellowish eyes that gleamed like agates. But it was only for an instant that he remained thus.

Suddenly he lowered his head and without more preliminaries dashed right at the Golden Butterfly.

"Gracious, he's a game old sport!" yelled Jimsy; "Hasn't had enough of it yet, eh?"

Right at the Butterfly the ram rushed. Reaching it, with one bound he was in the chassis.

"Now we'll get him," whispered the owner of the ram. "I told you if he was let go he'd start cutting up rough."

"Well, you surely proved a good prophet," laughed Jimsy.

"Now we've got to catch him," said the man.

"How?" whispered Jimsy.

"Someone must lasso him as you did before. Easy now. Don't scare him or he might do damage."

The ram was seated in the aeroplane for all the world as if he was a scientific investigator of some sort. He paid no attention whatever to those who were creeping up on him, Jimsy with his rope in his hand, the loop trailing behind him all ready for action.

"This is more fun than a deer hunt!" declared Roy.

"Than a bull fight, you mean," retorted Jimsy; "this creature gives the best imitation of a wild bull I ever saw."

They all laughed. The ram certainly had given a realistic interpretation of a savage Andalusian fighter.

"Now then," whispered the sheep driver as they drew near. Jimsy's rope swirled and settled about the ram's horns. But the startled beast was due to give them another surprise. Hardly had Jimsy's rope fallen about it when with a snort it leaped clean in the air and out of the aeroplane. It tore like an express train straight at Jimsy.

Before the boy could get out of its path "Biff!" the impact had come. Jimsy arose into the atmosphere and described a distinct parabola. He landed with a bump in a clump of bushes, while Mr. Ram rushed off down the road to join his flock.

"Haw! haw! haw!" roared the sheep man; "ain't hurt, be you?"

"No; but I've a good mind to sue you for damages," rejoined Jimsy, picking himself out of the clump of brush; "you've no right to drive an animal like that around the country without labeling him 'Dynamite. Dangerous'."

"Guess I will, too," said the man, who appeared to think well of the suggestion; "he sure will get me in a pile of trouble one of these days."

He raised his hat and strode off, followed by the boy. In the distance the ram was capering about among the other sheep. Jimsy brushed the dust off himself and then looked about him.

"Anybody laughing?" he demanded suspiciously.

They all shook their heads, the girls biting their lips to avoid smiling.

"All right then, I suggest that we get out of here right away; a tiger's liable to come striding out of those woods next."

"Yes; we'd better be getting along; Millbrook, our next stop, is several miles off," said Peggy, consulting the map.

No further time was lost in resuming their rapid flight. In the distance, as the flock of aeroplanes arose, the sheep man waved his hat and shouted his adieus.

Millbrook was reached that evening just at dusk. It proved to be a fair-sized town, and the aeroplanes excited as much curiosity there as they had in Meadville—more so, in fact, for, from some flaring posters, it appeared that an aeroplane exhibition and race had been arranged for the next day by a traveling company of aviators. That evening, at the hotel, a deputation of citizens waited on the boys and asked them if they would not prolong their stay and take part in the air sports. The mayor, whose name was Jasper Hanks, mentioned a prize of five hundred dollars for an endurance flight as a special inducement.

The lads said they would think things over and report in the morning. Their real object in delaying their decision was, of course, to consult the girls about appearing. Peggy, Jess and Bess went into raptures over the idea, and Miss Prescott's consent was readily obtained.

"I'll be glad to rest for a day after all our exciting times," she declared, "and I mean to add to Wren's outfit too."

"Oh, how good you are to me," sighed the odd little figure, nestling close to her benefactress.

"Tush! tush, my dear! I'm going to make a wonderful girl out of you," beamed the kindly lady.

Descending to the office to buy some postcards, the boys found, lounging about the desk, a stoutish man with a rather dissipated face, puffy under the eyes and heavy about the jaws. A bright red necktie and patent-leather boots with cloth tops accentuated the decidedly "noisy" impression he conveyed.

As the boys came down he eyed them sharply. Then he addressed them.

"My name's Lish Kelly," he said. "I'm manager of the United Aviators' Exhibition Company. We're showing out at the City Park tomorrow. I understand that you kids have been asked to butt in."

"We've been asked to participate, if that's what you mean," rejoined Roy rather sharply. The fellow's manner was offensive and overbearing.

"Well, see here, you stay out," rejoined the man, shaking a fat forefinger on which glistened a diamond ring of such proportions as to make it dubious if it boasted a genuine stone.

"You stay out of it," he repeated.

Roy and Jimsy were almost dumfounded. The man's tone was one of actual command.

"Why? Why should we stay out of it?" demanded Roy.

"The mayor of the town has asked us to take part," came from Jimsy; "what have you got to do with it?"

"It's this way," said the man in rather a less overbearing way than he had hitherto adopted; "we're going about the country giving flights. The city gives us the park in this town and we get so much of the receipts. But we rely on winning the prizes, see. Now if you kids butt in, why you might win some of them and that knocks my profit out. Get me?"

"I understand you, if that's what you mean," rejoined Roy; "but I still fail to see why we should not compete if we want to."

The man placed his hand on the boy's shoulder impressively.

"'Cos if you do it'll make trouble for you, sonny."

"Who'll make it?" flashed back Roy indignantly.

"I will, son, and I'm some trouble maker when I start anything along them lines, take it from me."

He turned on his heel, stuck his cigar at a more acute angle in the side of his mouth, and strode off, leaving the two boys dumfounded.

"Well, what do you make of that?" demanded Roy, as soon as his astonishment had subsided a trifle.

"Just this, that Mr. Lish Kelly thinks he can run this thing to suit himself."

"What will we do about it?"

"For my part I wanted to compete before. I desire to more than ever now."

"Same here."

"Maybe he was only bluffing after all."

"Maybe; but just the same I wouldn't trust him not to try to do us some harm. As he says, his main profits come from winning the prizes offered by the different communities."

"Humph! well, so far as that goes, I don't see why that need keep us out of it."

"Nor I; but we've had troubles enough, and I don't want willingly to run into any more."

"Nor I. Well, let's sleep on it. We'll decide in the morning."

"That's a good idea."

The two lads went up to bed and slept as only healthy lads can. The next morning dawned bright and clear. There was hardly any wind. It was real "flying" weather. The aeroplanes had been sheltered in a big shed belonging to the hotel. Before breakfast the boys went out and looked them over. All were in good shape.

As they were coming out of the shed they were hailed by no less a personage than Mayor Hanks.

"Well," said he, "are you going to fly?"

"We think of doing so," said Roy, hesitating a little. He wanted to speak of the conduct of Lish Kelly, but on second thought he decided not to; the man might merely have had a fit of bad temper on him. His threats might have been only empty ones.

"If you're going to fly I have got some entry blanks with me," said the mayor. "I wish you'd sign 'em."

He drew out a bunch of blue papers with blanks for describing the name of the machine, its power, driver and other details.

This decided the boys.

"All right, we'll enter all our machines," said Roy; "let us go into the writing room and we'll sign the entry blanks."

"Good for you," cried the mayor delightedly; "you'll be a big drawing card, especially the young ladies. I never heard of gals flyin', although, come to think of it, why shouldn't they?"

In the writing room they concluded the business. When it was done all the machines had been entered in every contest, including an altitude one.

"We start at ten sharp, so be there," admonished the mayor as he departed, highly pleased at having secured quite a flock of young aviators at no cost at all.

It was as his figure vanished, that Lish Kelly crossed the writing room. He had been sitting in a telephone booth, and leaving the door a crack open had heard every word that had passed.

He greeted the boys with an angry scowl.

"So you ain't going to stay out?" he said gruffly, as he passed. "All right; look out for squalls!"



CHAPTER XVII.

THE TWISTED SPARK PLUG.

"Gracious, are we in for more trouble?"

Jimsy looked blankly at Roy; but the latter only laughed at his chum's serious face.

Somehow, viewed in the bright light of early day, Lish Kelly's threats did not appear nearly as formidable as they had over night.

"Nonsense; what harm can he do us anyhow? We're going to go into this race, and we're going to win too. Just watch us."

"Going to tell the girls anything about Kelly and his remarks?"

"No; what good would that do? It would only scare them."

"That's so, too; but just the same I didn't like the look of Kelly's face when he came through."

"He looked to me like a bulldog that had swallowed a baby's boot and didn't like the taste of the blacking on it," laughed Roy.

At this juncture the girls came into the room. All were radiant and smiling in anticipation of the day's sport.

"Well, we've been and gone and done it," announced Roy.

"Done what?" demanded Peggy.

"Signed the paperrr-r-r-s," was the rejoinder, rendered with great dramatic effect.

He waved the duplicate entry blanks above his head.

"Let's see them," begged Jess.

"All right. Look what I've let us in for!"

"Why—why—good gracious, Roy, you've got us down for everything," gasped Peggy.

"That's right, all the way across from soup to nuts," struck in the slangy Jimsy.

They all laughed. The color rose in the girls' faces.

"If only we can win some of them," cried Jess.

"Well, the machines are all in fine shape. If we don't win it will be because the other fellows have better machines."

"Where are the aviation grounds?" inquired Bess.

"At the City Park, about a mile out of town to the south. We can get to it by looking down at the trolley tracks," said Roy, who had consulted the mayor on this point.

"Then you are going to fly out there?" asked Miss Prescott, who was also by this time a party to the conference.

"Of course; and, by the way, we ought to be getting out there pretty soon; I want to be looking over the grounds and selecting the best places for landing and so on," said Roy.

"Well, please don't get into any more scrapes," sighed Miss Prescott; "what with gipsies, firebugs and rams, our trip has been quite exciting enough for me."

The boys exchanged glances. If the man Kelly tried to carry out his threats things might be more exciting yet, they thought. But both kept their knowledge to themselves.

It was arranged that Miss Prescott should motor out to the City Park. Soon thereafter the young aviators placed finishing touches on their machines, and while a curious crowd gathered they took to the air.

"Looks just like a flock of pigeons," said a man in the crowd, as they climbed skyward quite closely bunched.

"It sure does," agreed his companion, "but them things is prettier than any flock of pigeons I ever see."

And this opinion was echoed by many of the throng. At any rate everyone who saw the aeroplanes start made up his or her mind to pay a visit to the park and see some more extended flights, so that Mayor Hanks' prediction was verified.

As the young aviators hovered above City Park for a short space of time, and then dropped earthward, a veritable sensation was created. From a row of "hangars" mechanicians and aviators came running. One or two aviators who were aloft practicing "stunts," dropped swiftly to earth. Lish Kelly's troupe was a large one, consisting of five men and one woman flyer, the wife of Carlos Le Roy, a Cuban aviator.

Outside the grounds several of the frugal individuals who desired to see the flights without paying admission also watched as the quintette of strange aeroplanes dropped to earth.

One by one the graceful craft of the air settled to the ground, and the young aviators alighted. Members of the Arrangement Committee hastened to their sides, shaking hands warmly and thanking them for their interest in the coming contests.

The Kelly aviators gazed curiously, some of them resentfully, at the newcomers. They had all the professional's antipathy and jealousy of amateur performers. As the Arrangement Committee bustled off after telling our friends to make themselves perfectly at home, Pepita Le Roy came up to them. She was a handsome woman, in a foreign way, with large, dark eyes and an abundance of raven black hair. She was rather flashily dressed and walked with a sort of swagger that in a vague way reminded Peggy of "Carmen."

"So you are zee girl aviators," she remarked, as she came up.

"Yes; I guess that's what they call us," rejoined Peggy; "we enjoy flying and have done a lot of it."

"So! I have read your names in zee papers."

"Oh, those awful papers!" cried Jess, who hated publicity; "they are always printing things about us."

"What! You do not like it?"

"Oh, no! You see, we only fly for fun. Not as a business and—"

Peggy stopped short. She felt she had committed a grave breach of tactfulness. It was not the thing, she felt, to boast to a professional woman flyer of their standing as amateurs.

Nor was the Cuban woman slow to take umbrage at what she considered an insult. Her eyes flashed indignantly as she regarded the fair-haired, slender girl before her.

"So you fly only for fun," she said vehemently; "very well, you have all zee fun you want before to-day is ovaire."

Without another word she walked off, with the swinging walk of her race.

The girls looked at each other with a sort of amused dismay.

"Goodness, Peggy; you should be more careful," cried Bess; "you've hurt her feelings dreadfully."

"I'm sure I didn't mean to," declared Peggy remorsefully. "I—I had no idea that she would flare up like that."

"Well, after all, it doesn't matter much," soothed Jess, pouring oil on the troubled waters, so to speak. "I'm glad the boys didn't hear it though."

"So am I. See, they're busy on Roy's machine," exclaimed Bess.

"Yes; the lower left wing is rather warped," explained Peggy; "they are fixing it."

"Wonder who that man is who is monkeying with the Red Dragon?" said Peggy, the next instant. "I mean that horrid looking man in the check suit."

"I don't know. See, he has a monkey wrench in his hand, too," exclaimed Bess.

Almost simultaneously the boys looked round from their work on the biplane and saw the man. It was Lish Kelly. He was bending over the engine and doing something to it with his wrench.

"Hey! What are you doing there?" yelled Roy.

"Just looking at your machine. No harm in that, is there?" demanded Kelly, with a red face.

"None at all, except that we don't want our machines touched. How comes it you have that monkey wrench in your hands if you weren't tampering with the machinery?"

Jimsy spoke in a voice that fairly bubbled over with indignation.

"Don't get sore, kid; I wouldn't harm your old mowing machine. There isn't one of mine but could beat it the fastest day it ever flew."

As he spoke Kelly slouched off. They saw him go up to a group of his aviators and begin talking earnestly to them. Once or twice he motioned with his head in their direction.

"So he does mean mischief, after all," said Roy; "let's take a good look at the Dragon's engine. He may have injured it, although I don't think he'd have had time to hurt it seriously."

They strolled over to the Dragon, with the girls trailing behind.

"Oh!" cried Peggy, as they came up, "look at that spark plug."

"What's the matter with it?" demanded Jimsy,

"Look, it's all bent and twisted out of shape."

"Jove, sis, so it is. Your eyes are as sharp as they are pretty!" cried Roy.

"No compliments, please. Oh, that horrid man!"

"Who is he?" asked Jess. "You appeared to know him."

"Yes, we had some conversation with him this morning," laughed Roy; "but to return to the spark plug; it's a good thing we carry extra ones."

"But we don't!" cried Jimsy, in a dismayed tone.

"What! you had a supply in a locker on your machine."

Jimsy looked confused.

"I've got to make a confession," he said.

"You didn't bring them!" cried Peggy.

"No, the fact is I—I forgot."

Jimsy looked miserably from one to the other. Here was a quandary indeed. It might prove hard to get such a commodity as a spark plug in Millbrook.



CHAPTER XVIII.

IN SEARCH OF A NEW PLUG.

It was while they were still discussing the situation that the automobile with Jake at the wheel and Miss Prescott and The Wren in the tonneau, drove into the grounds. What a difference there was in the child since her benefactors had fitted her out! She looked like a dainty, ethereal little princess instead of the ragged little waif that had been rescued from the gipsy camp.

But the minds of our young friends were now intent on different matters. Time pressed. The altitude flight, in which Jimsy had planned to take part, was to be the first thing on the program. If anything was to be done about reequipping the Dragon it must be done quickly.

"Tell you what," said Roy suddenly, "we'll get into the car and drive back to town. It won't take long and maybe we can dig up an extra one some place."

"If we don't I'm out of it for keeps," groaned Jimsy; "oh, that Kelly. I'd like to punch his head."

He doubled up his fists aggressively; but, after all, what chance had he to prove that Kelly had actually damaged the plug. If confronted the man would have probably denied all knowledge of it. Nobody had actually seen him do it, so that positive proof was out of the question. No, they must repair the damage as best they could.

But Roy determined to have the machines closely guarded. The situation was explained to Miss Prescott, and while she and her small protege took seats in the grand stand Jake was detailed to guard the aeroplanes. This done, the boys got into the machine and prepared to start for town. But the girls interfered.

"Aren't you going to take us along, you impolite youths!" cried Bess.

"Oh, certainly, your company is always charming," returned Jimsy, with a low bow.

"Of course it is, but you wouldn't have asked us to come if we had not invited ourselves," declared Peggy vehemently.

"How can you say so? Our lives would be a dry desert without the girl aviators to liven things up," declared Jimsy.

"Jimsy Bancroft, if you are going to get poetical you'll leave this car," cried Jess.

"That's just it," declared Jimsy, "girls can cry their eyes out over romantic heroes, but when a regular fellow starts to get 'mushy' they go up in the air."

Amidst the chorus of protestations aroused by this ungallant speech Roy started the car. Swiftly it sped out of the grounds; but not so swiftly that the keen eyes of Lish Kelly did not see it.

He called Herman Le Roy, the Cuban aviator, to him.

"Le Roy, you are not in the altitude contest," he said, "hop in my car with me and we'll follow those kids. They're up to something."

The Cuban looked at him and smiled, showing two rows of white teeth under his small, dapperly curled mustache.

"I think, Senor Kelly, you have been up to something yourself."

"Well, you know what I told you. We want that five-hundred-dollar prize, Carlos, and by the looks of things if we don't do something those kids are likely to get it."

"They have fine machines," agreed the other.

"Yes; and they are equipped with a balancing device that makes them much more reliable than ours."

"A balancing device!" exclaimed the Cuban, as the two men got into the car, a small yellow runabout of racy appearance.

"That's what I said, and it's a good one, too. I read an account of it in an aviation paper; but the description was too sketchy for me to see how the thing was worked."

"Those boys must be wonders."

"I'm afraid they are. That's why we've got to be careful of them. But I've got a plan to fix them, the whole lot of them."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you as we go along."

As the car rolled past the group of aeroplanes with Jake faithfully standing guard over them, Kelly hailed him in a suave voice.

"Any idea where the young folks have gone?"

Jake, who had no idea that Kelly had a sinister motive in asking the question, replied readily enough.

"Yes, they've gone into Millbrook to get another spark plug. Something happened to one of the plugs of that red machine yonder."

"All right. Thanks."

Kelly drove on.

"Do you know what happened to that plug, Carlos?" he asked, as they reached the open road and bowled forward at a good speed.

"I've got a pretty good guess. It was not altogether an accident, eh?"

"An accident, well, it was, in a sense. I happened to be near that machine with a monkey wrench and in some way was careless enough to let it put that plug out of business."

Both men laughed heartily, as if Kelly's rascally act had been the most amusing thing in the world.

"You are a genius," declared Le Roy.

"Well, I reckon I know a thing or two," was the modest response; "besides, I need that money."

"But what is your plan?"

"I'll tell you as we go along. Drive fast, but don't keep so close to that other car that they can get sight of us."

"Not much fear of that. They had a long start of us and are out of sight now."

"So much the better. It doesn't interfere with my plans a bit, provided they take the same road back."

"What do you mean to do?"

"Are you good with a shovel?" was the cryptic reply.

"I don't understand you, I must say."

"You will later on. We'll drive up to that farmhouse yonder."

"Yes, and what then?"

"We'll borrow two shovels."

"Two shovels!"

"That's what I said."

"But what on earth have two shovels to do with stopping a bunch of kids from entering in an aeroplane race?"

"Carlos, your brain is dull to-day."

"It would take a wizard to understand what you intend to do."

"Well, you will see later on. Drive in this gate. That's it, and now for the shovels."



CHAPTER XIX.

THE TRAP.

For more than half an hour eager inquiries were made in Millbrook for a spark plug such as they wanted. But all their search was to no avail. But suddenly, just as they were about to give up in despair, a man, of whom they had made inquiries, recalled that not far out of town there was a small garage.

"We'll try there," determined Jimsy.

Finding out the road, they speeded to the place. It did not look very promising, a small, badly fitted up auto station, run by an elderly man with red-rimmed, watery eyes, looking out from behind a pair of horn spectacles that somehow gave him the odd look of a frog.

"Got any spark plugs?" asked Jimsy, as the machine came to a halt.

"Yes, all kinds," said the man, in a wheezy, asthmatic voice that sounded like the exhaust of a dying-down engine.

"Good!" cried Jimsy, hopping out of the car.

"That is, we will have all kinds next week," went on the man; "I've ordered 'em."

"Goodness, then you haven't any right now?"

"I've got a few. Possibly you might find what you want among them."

"I'll try, anyway," declared Jimsy.

The man led the way into a dingy sort of shed. On a shelf in a dusty corner was a box.

"You can hunt through that," said the man wearily; "if you find what you want wake me up."

"Wake you up?"

"Yes, I always take a sleep at this time of day. You woke me up when you came in. Now I'm going to doze off again."

So saying he sank into a chair, closed his eyes and presently was snoring.

"Dead to the world!" gasped Jimsy; "well, that's the quickest thing in the sleep line I ever saw!"

As it was no use to waste further time the boy began rummaging in the box. It contained all sorts of odds and ends, among them several plugs.

"I'll bet there isn't one here that will fit my engine!" grumbled Jimsy; "I don't—what! Yes! By Jiminy! Eureka! Hurray, I've found one!"

The man woke up with a start.

"What's the matter?" he demanded drowsily.

"Nothing! That is, everything!" cried Jimsy. "I've found just what I want."

"All right. Leave the money on that shelf there. It's a dollar."

So saying, off he went to sleep again, while Jimsy, overjoyed, hastily peeled a dollar from his "roll" and departed. The last sound he heard was the steady snoring of the garage man.

"Well, there's one fellow that money can't keep awake, even if it does talk," said Jimsy laughingly to himself as, with a cry of triumph, he rejoined the party, waving the plug like a banner or an emblem of victory.

No time was lost in starting the auto up again and they whirled back through Millbrook in a cloud of dust. Passing through the village they retraced their way along the road by which they had come.

"Just half an hour before that altitude flight," remarked Jimsy to Roy, who was driving, as they sped through the town.

"Fine; we'll make it all right," was the rejoinder. Roy turned on more power and the auto shot ahead like some scared wild thing.

"We'll only hit the high spots this trip," declared Roy, as the machine plunged and rolled along at top speed.

All at once, as they turned a corner, they received a sudden check. Right ahead of them a man was driving some cows. Roy jammed down the emergency brake, causing them all to hold on for dear life to avoid being pitched out by the sudden change of speed.

"Wow! what a jolt!" exclaimed Jimsy; "it sure did——"

The sentence was never completed. The auto gave a pitch sideways and then plunged into a pit that had been dug across the road and covered with leaves and dust placed on a framework of branches. Down into this pit crashed the machine with a sickening jolt. The girls screamed aloud in fear. It appeared as if the machine would be a total wreck.

But that was not the worst of it. In the sudden fall into the pit Roy had been pitched out and now lay quite still at the roadside. Jimsy had saved himself from being thrown by clutching tight hold of the seat.

He stopped the engine and then clambering out of the car hastened to Roy's side. To his delight, just as he reached him, Roy sat up, and although his face was drawn with pain he declared that his injuries consisted of nothing more serious than a sprained ankle.

"But look at the machine!" cried Jimsy; "it's smashed, I'm sure of it."

The pit which had been dug across the road was about three feet deep and the front wheels of the auto rested in it. The hind wheels had not entered, as the excavation was not a wide one.

Both boys hastened to examine the car. To their satisfaction they found that not much damage had been done beyond a slight wrenching of the steering gear. This was due to the fact that they had been going at reduced speed.

"Gracious! Suppose we had been coming along at the same pace we'd been hitting up right along," exclaimed Jimsy.

"We wouldn't be here now," declared Roy; "we'd be in the next county or thereabouts."

"Yes, we'd have kept right on going," agreed Jimsy; "talk about flying! But, say, who can have done this?"

"Not much doubt in my mind it's the work of that outfit of Kelly's. He told us to look out for trouble, and he appears to be making it for us."

"The precious rascal; he might have broken all our necks."

"That's true, if we'd been hitting up high speed."

"How are we going to get out of this?"

Peggy asked the question just as the man who had been driving the cattle came running up.

"What's the trouble?" he asked, gazing at the odd scene.

"You can see for yourself," rejoined Roy; "some rascals dug a trench across the road so as to wreck our machine if possible."

"Humph! So I see," was the rejoinder; "how be you goin' ter git out of thar?"

"That's a problem. If we could get a team of horses——" The man interrupted Roy, who was acting as spokesman.

"Tell you what, two of my cattle back thar are plow oxen. I'll go back to ther farm, git their yokes on 'em and yank you out of here. That is pervidin' you pay me, uv course."

"Don't worry about that. We're willing to pay anything in reason."

"All right, then, I'll hook up Jeb and Jewel."

The man walked back toward his cattle, which were contentedly browsing at the side of the road. Clucking in an odd manner, he drove two of them out of the herd and started back toward a farmhouse which was not far distant. In a wonderfully short time he was back with his oxen in harness.

"Gee, Jeb! Haw, Jewel!" he cried, as he came up. The oxen swung round and the heavy chain attached to their yoke was hitched to the front axle of the car.

"Now for it!" cried Roy, when this had been done.

"Git ap!" shouted the man.

The slow but powerful oxen strained their muscular backs. The chain tightened and the next moment the car, from which Peggy and Jess and Bess had alighted, rose from the pit. Then the hind wheels dropped into it with a bump, but the shock absorbers prevented serious damage. With the oxen straining and pulling it was finally hauled into the road and they were ready to resume the trip.

Roy rewarded their helper with a substantial bill, and they were all warm in their thanks.

"'Twasn't nuthin'," declared the man, "an' now I guess I'll go to ther house and have my hired man fill in this road. Things is come to a fine pass when such things kin happen."

As the rescued party sped on toward the aviation field they fully agreed with the rustic's opinion. Had it not been for sheer luck they would have suffered extremely serious consequences as the result of a rascal's device. But as it was Kelly's plot against them appeared to have failed.



CHAPTER XX.

AN ATTACK IN THE AIR.

"B-o-o-m!"

The sound of a gun crashed out as the auto sped through the gates of the aviation field and rapidly skimmed across to where the aeroplanes had been parked.

"Just in time!" cried Peggy; "that's the five-minute warning gun."

By this time the grandstand was well filled and a band was playing lively airs. At the starting line three of the Kelly aeroplanes were gathered ready for the signal for the start of the altitude flight. The instant the car came to a standstill Jimsy was out and in a jiffy had the new spark plug adjusted. There was no time to test it, but he felt pretty confident that it would work all right.

"All ready!" shouted the official in charge of the starting arrangements.

"Ready!" rejoined Jimsy heartily, as he adjusted his leather helmet and Jake and Roy started the engine.

Kelly, whose back had been turned while he talked to some of his troup, faced round at the sound of the boy's voice.

"What, you here!" he choked out, his face purple.

"Yes; do you know any reason why I shouldn't be?" asked Jimsy, with meaning emphasis.

Under the lad's direct gaze Kelly's eyes fell. He couldn't face the lad, but turned away.

"There, if that isn't proof of his guilt I'd like to know what is," declared Jimsy to Roy.

"But the rascal covered up his tracks so cleverly that we can't prove anything on him," muttered Roy disgustedly.

At the same instant the starting bomb boomed out. The crowd yelled, and the drummer of the band pounded his instrument furiously. Above the uproar sounded the sharp, crackerlike report of the motors. As more power was applied they roared like batteries of Gatling guns.

Into the air shot one of them, a black biplane. It was followed by the others, two monoplanes and a triplane. Jimsy ascended last, but as this was not a race, but a cloud-climbing contest, he was in no hurry. He was anxious to see what the other air craft could do.

Up they climbed, ascending the aerial stairway, while the crowd below stared up, at the risk of stiff necks in the immediate future.

Jimsy chose spiraling as his method of rising. But the others went upward in curious zigzags. This was because their machines were not equipped with the stability device, and they could not attempt the same tactics. Before long Jimsy was high above the others. From below he appeared a mere dot in the blue. But still he flew on.

Once he glanced at his barograph. It showed he had ascended 5,000 feet. It was higher than the boy had ever been before, but he kept perseveringly on.

It was cold up there in the regions of the upper air, and Jimsy found himself wishing he had put on a sweater.

"It's too long a drop to go down and get one," he remarked to himself, with grim humor.

Beneath him he could see the other aeroplanes; but the black one was the only one that appeared to be a serious rival. The rest did not seem to be trying very hard to reach a superlative height. The black machine, however, was steadily rising. After a while Jimsy could see the face of its occupant. It was the Cuban, Le Roy.

"Now, what's he trying to do, I wonder?" thought Jimsy, as the black biplane rose to the same level as himself and appeared to be going through some odd maneuvering.

"That's mighty funny," mused the boy, watching his rival; "I can't make out what he's up to."

Indeed the black biplane was behaving queerly. Now it would swoop toward Jimsy and then would dart, only to return. Suddenly it came driving straight at him.

It was then that Jimsy suddenly realized what his rival was trying to do. To use a slangy but expressive phrase, Le Roy, the veteran aviator, was trying to rattle the boy.

"So that's his game, is it," thought Jimsy; "well, I'll give him a surprise."

Manipulating his spark and gas levers the boy gave his graceful red craft full power. The Dragon shot sharply upward, crossing Le Roy's machine about twenty feet above its upper plane. Jimsy laughed aloud at the astonished expression on the man's face as he skimmed above him.

"I reckon he'll think that I do know something about driving an aeroplane, after all," he chuckled as he rose till his barograph recorded 6,000 feet.

Beneath him he could see Le Roy starting to descend. Something appeared to be wrong with the black biplane's motor. It acted sluggishly.

"Well, as he's going down I guess I will, too," said Jimsy to himself; "6,000 feet is by no means a record, but it's high enough for me."

Suddenly he was plunged into what appeared to be a wet and chilly fog. In reality it was a cloud that had drifted in on him. It grew suddenly cold with an almost frosty chill. The moisture of the cloud drenched him to the skin. The lad shivered and his teeth chattered, but he kept pluckily to his task.

Before long he emerged into the sunlight once more. The crowd which had thrilled when the young aviator vanished into the vapor set up a yell when he reappeared. But at the height he was Jimsy, of course, did not hear it.

But as he dropped lower the shouts and cheers became plainly audible. The lad waved his hand in acknowledgment. Then, as he neared the ground, he put his machine through a series of graceful evolutions that set the crowd wild.

"The altitude flight is won by Number Four," announced the officials after they had examined the barograph; "with a height of 6,000 feet. Number Four is Mr. James Bancroft."

"Gee; that sounds real dignified," laughed Jimsy; "it's a treat to be treated with becoming dignity once in a while."

The next flight was a race six times round the course. This was won by one of the Kelly flyers. Then came an endurance contest which Roy captured handily and some exhibition flying in which Bess did some clever work and was delighted to find herself a winner.

It was soon after this that the gun was fired as a note of warning that the big race was about to begin.

Peggy's Golden Butterfly and Roy's entry, the Red Dragon, borrowed for this race because the biplane was too heavy and clumsy for such fast work, were wheeled to the starting line. Already three of Kelly's machines were there, among them being that of Senora Le Roy, or, as she was billed, the Cuban Skylark, the Only Woman Flyer in the World. It appeared now that she had small claim to the title. The crowd set up a cheer for her as she took her seat in a neat-looking monoplane of the Bleriot type.

But when Peggy's dapper figure, smartly attired in her aviation costume, appeared a still louder shout went up.

Kelly scowled blackly. He stepped up to his flyers.

"You've got to win this race or get fired," he snarled.



CHAPTER XXI.

PEGGY'S SPLENDID RACE.

"They're off!"

"Hurrah!"

"There they go!"

These and hundreds of other cries and exclamations followed the report of the starting gun. The Cuban woman flyer was off first, then came two other of the professional flyers, while Roy and Peggy got away last.

The race was to be sixty miles out to a small body of water called Lake Loon and return. A trolley line ran past the aviation grounds and out to the lake. For the guidance of the flyers a car with a huge American flag flying from it blazed a trail below them, as it were.

Roy's craft gained a slight lead on the Golden Butterfly and two of the Kelly flyers were soon passed by both the boy and his sister. But the professional woman flyer still maintained her lead. Second came another of Lish Kelly's aviators in a blue machine. This was Ben Speedwell, who enjoyed quite a reputation as a skillful and daring air driver.

The flyers had all struck a level about 1,500 feet in the air. There was a light head wind, but not enough to deter any of the powerfully engined craft. Glancing back for an instant Roy saw one of the contesting aviators dropping to earth. His companion soon followed.

"Overheated engines probably," thought the boy; "I must be careful the same thing doesn't happen to me going at this pace."

Suddenly another aeroplane loomed up beside him. It was the Golden Butterfly.

"Good for you, sis!" cried Roy, as Peggy, waving her hand, roared past. In another minute she had shot past Speedwell, but the leader, the woman flyer, was still some distance ahead, and appeared to steadily maintain the lead she had.

At last Lake Loon came into view. It was a more or less shallow body of water with a small island in the middle of it. As they neared it Speedwell and Roy were flying almost abreast, with Speedwell just a shade in the lead.

Suddenly Speedwell made a spurt and shot ahead of the Dragon. At a distance of half a mile from Roy, who was now last, Speedwell was above the lake.

Peggy and the woman flyer had already turned and were on their way back, with the latter still in the lead. Roy was watching Speedwell intently.

He saw the man bank his machine to take the curve in order to round the lake. An appalling climax followed.

"He's turned too sharp. He'll never make it," exclaimed Roy, holding his breath.

The aeroplane swayed madly. Then began a fierce fight on Speedwell's part to settle it on an even keel. But skillful as he was he could not master the overbalanced machine.

"He is lost!" breathed Roy, every nerve athrill.

And then the next minute:

"Cracky! He's got it. No, he's falling again—ah!"

There was a note of horror in the exclamation. The aeroplane in front of Roy dived wildly, then fairly somersaulted. The strain was too great. A wing parted.

"It's the end of him!" exclaimed Roy, in a whisper.

Down shot the broken aeroplane with the velocity of lightning. It just dodged the trees on the little island and then it plunged into the lake, first spilling Speedwell out. Then down on top of him came the smother of canvas, wood and wires.

"He'll be suffocated if I don't go to his rescue," murmured Roy; "it will put me out of the race, but I must save him."

There was a clear spot on the island, and toward this the boy dived. In the meantime men were putting out from shore in a small boat. But the boy knew that they could not reach the unfortunate Speedwell in time to save his life.

Roy made a clever landing on the island and then lost no time in wading out to the half floating, half submerged wreckage. In the midst of it lay Speedwell. Roy dragged him ashore. The man's face was purple, his limbs limp and lifeless and he choked gaspingly. Another minute in the water would have been his last, as Roy realized.

He did what he could for the man, rolling him on his face to get out the water he had swallowed. By this time the boat from the shore landed on the island. The two men got out.

"Is he alive?" they asked of Roy.

"Yes, and he'll get better, too, I guess. Lucky he fell in the water. No limbs are broken."

"Well, you're a pretty decent sort of fellow to get out of the race to help an injured man," said one of the men.

"Well, I'll leave him to you now," rejoined Roy; "is there a hospital near here?"

"There's one 'bout a mile away. We can phone for an ambulance."

"Good! Well, good-bye."

With a whirr and a buzz the boy was gone, and speedily became a speck in the sky.

In the meantime the aviation field was in an uproar. Dashing toward it had come the two leading aeroplanes. From dots in the sky no bigger than shoe buttons they speedily became manifest as two aeroplanes aquiver with speed. Blue smoke poured from their exhausts. Evidently the two aviators were straining their craft to the utmost.

"It's that Cuban woman and the young girl flyer!" yelled a man who had a pair of field glasses.

The uproar redoubled. The two aeroplanes were almost side by side as they rushed onward. Which would win the $500 race?

It was a struggle that had begun some miles back. After leaving the lake Peggy, who had held some speed in reserve while her opponent had keyed her machine to its top pitch, had gradually gained on her. But still there was a gap between the two aeroplanes.

On the return trip no car blazed the way. The speed was too great for that. For this reason smudges, or smoky fires, had been lighted to guide the flyers. At a place where it was necessary to make a slight turn Peggy made the gain that brought her almost alongside her competitor. In making the turn the monoplane flown by the Cuban aviatrix could not negotiate it at as sharp an angle as Peggy's machine, owing to its not being equipped with an equalizing, or stability device.

Now it was that Peggy tensioned up the Golden Butterfly to its full power. The engine fairly roared as the propeller blurred round. The whole fabric trembled under the strain. It seemed as if nothing made by man could stand the pressure.

But the Golden Butterfly had been built by one of the foremost young aviators in the country, and it was sound and true in every part. Peggy felt no fear of anything giving out under the strain.

And now the aviation park appeared in the distance. Peggy headed straight for it, hoping devoutly that her motor would not heat up and jam under the terrific speed it was being forced to.

The Cuban woman glanced round anxiously. It was a bad move for her. Like a flash the Golden Butterfly shot by the other machine as the latter wobbled badly.

Peggy's delight was mixed with apprehension. The motor was beginning to smoke. Plainly it was heating up.

"Will it last five minutes longer?"

That was the thought in Peggy's mind. The Golden Butterfly was hardly an airship any longer. It was a thunderbolt—a flying arrow. Before Peggy's eyes there was nothing now but the tall red and white "pylon" that marked the winning post. Could she make it ahead of her rival? Close behind her she could hear the roar of the other motor, but she did not dare to look round for fear of losing ground.

Swiftly she mentally selected the spot where she would land, and then down shot the Golden Butterfly like a pouncing fish hawk. The speed of the descent fairly took Peggy's breath away. Her cap had come off and her golden hair streamed out in the breeze wildly.

There was a blur of flying trees, then came the grandstand, a mere smudge of color, a sea of dimly seen faces and a roar that was like that of a hundred waterfalls.

Down shot the Golden Butterfly just inside the "pylon." It ran for about a hundred yards and was then brought to a stop.

Peggy Prescott had won the great race.



CHAPTER XXII.

PEGGY'S GENEROSITY.

"Oh, Peggy, it's the proudest moment of my life!" cried Jimsy, as a shouting, excited crowd surrounded the aeroplane in which Peggy still sat, feeling dazed and a little dizzy.

"Oh, you wonderful girl!" cried out Bess, half laughing and half crying; "gracious, what an exciting finish. I thought I'd go wild when it looked as if you weren't going to win."

They helped her from the aeroplane while policemen pushed the crowd back. Somebody brought a tray with steaming hot tea and crackers on it. But Peggy could not eat. She felt faint and dreamy.

"Brace up!" urged Jimsy.

"I'll be all right in a minute. It's the strain of those last few minutes. I never thought I'd win."

"And I never doubted it," declared Jess stoutly.

"I wonder where Roy is?" asked Peggy anxiously, as they entered a box in the grandstand where they could be secluded from the shoving, curious, staring crowd.

"Don't know; but he's all right, depend upon it," said Jimsy cheerfully; "hello, what's that coming now?"

"It's a homing aeroplane."

Then, a minute later:

"It's Roy. Look at him come. I didn't think the Red Dragon could go as fast."

Roy it was, sure enough. He was coming at a pace that might have landed him as winner of the race if he had not been delayed by his errand of mercy.

Ten minutes later he had joined them. First he explained what had happened to the judges of the course. Kelly, crest-fallen and wretched-looking, thanked him half heartedly for what he had done and said that he would care for Speedwell till he got better, which, by the way, was a promise that he did not perform.

A sudden stir in the crowd caused the little party in the box to look up.

A man was hastily chalking up some legend on the big black bulletin board. It ran thus:

Long-distance Race for $500 prize. Start of Flight—11:01:2. Finish of Flight—12:02:0. Maximum Height—1,500 feet. Wind Velocity—10 miles from southeast. Winner—Golden Butterfly. Winning Aviator—Miss Margaret Prescott.

What a cheer went up then. It seemed as if the roof would be raised off the grandstand by it.

"It's like a dream!" sighed Peggy, "just like a dream."

"Now, don't get fainty, Peggy, or Miss Margaret Prescott," admonished Jess; "as Jimsy says, 'brace up,' the best is yet to come."

A man came up to where they were sitting. In his hand he had a slip of pink paper.

Roy reached out for it, but the man said that he had instructions to hand it only to Peggy.

"It's the check for the prize-winning money," he explained.

Peggy took it and sat gazing at it for a minute.

"Oh, Peggy, what are you going to do with it?" asked Bess. "Buy some dresses or hats or——"

"None of those things," said Peggy; "I made up my mind before I went into the race as to what I would do with the money if I won."

"And what's that?" asked Miss Prescott.

"Why, it must go toward The Wren's education," rejoined the girl.

"Oh, Peggy, you darling!" cried Jess, flinging her arms round her chum, in full view of the grandstand and the crowd below.

As for The Wren, she gazed up at the girl with wide-open brown eyes.

"You are too good to me—too good," she said simply; but there was a plaintive quiver in her voice.

Mr. James Parker sat on the porch of his home, in the foothills of the Big Smokies, gazing out over the landscape. Seemingly he was watching for something.

"He done watch de sky lak he 'spected de bottom drap clean out uv it pretty soon," said Uncle Jupe, his factotum, to his wife Mandy.

"'Gwan, you fool nigger, don' you know dat dem flying boys an' gals is to be hayr ter-day?"

"Oh, dat's jes a joke, dat is," rejoined Uncle Jupe; "how's they all goin' ter fly ah'd lak to know."

"I don' know, but dat's what Marse Parker says."

"Den he's been grocersly imposed upon by somebody. Ain't likely dat ef de Lawd had meant us ter fly he'd have give us wings, wouldn't he?"

"Go 'long, now, Don' flossyfying roun' hyar. You git out an' hoe dat cohn. Look libely, now. You git it done fo' dinner or dere'll be trouble."

Uncle Jupe shuffled out of the kitchen, but in a minute he came rushing back.

"Wha' de matter?" demanded his wife, noticing his wildly staring eyes and open mouth; "you gone fool crazy?"

"M-m-m-m-mandy, it's true! It's true!" gasped Uncle Jupe.

"Wha's true,—dat you all's crazy?"

"Yes—no, it's 'bout dem flyin' things. Dey's comin'. Come and look wid your own eyes."

Mandy shuffled out. There, sure enough, coming toward them, was a flock of what at first sight appeared to be immense birds. But it was the young sky cruisers nearing their destination.

On the porch Mr. Parker stood up and waved his newspaper. Ten minutes later the aeroplanes came to earth in the smooth front lawn, while Uncle Jupe restrained a strong inclination to run away.

"Dey ain't canny, dem things," he declared; "ef de Lord had wanted us to fly he'd have given us wings, I guess.

"Yes, sir, he'd sure have given us wings des de same as angels hev," he repeated musingly.



CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MOONSHINERS AND THE AEROPLANE.

"This is a beautiful country, sis."

"Yes, indeed," agreed Peggy warmly.

The two were flying high above the romantic scenery of the Big Smoke Mountains of North Carolina in the Golden Butterfly. Beneath them lay a wild-looking expanse of country,—peaks, deep canons and cliffs heavily wooded and here and there bare patches cropping out.