The Boy Aviators Treasure Quest | Page 8

small seats with slender steel arm rests. Harry's seat
was by the engine and Frank sat at the steering wheel, which
manipulated the dipping and diving rudders as well as the rearward
steering surface. One of his feet was on the brake--an automatic
contrivance that cut off the spark. The other reposed on the foot pump
which was used in case anything went wrong with the force-feed
lubrication.
"All right," said Frank, twisting the valve that sent the gasolene flowing
to the carburetor and adjusting the switch.
Billy could stand it no longer. He had been watching with anxious eyes
the preparations and apparently the boys were going to fly without him.
"Say, Frank," he began hesitatingly, "I don't suppose you could--"
Frank turned and saw the wistful look in the young reporter's eyes.
"Take you up?" he said, with a laugh at Billy's downcast appearance.
Billy nodded.
"Well, there's not much room for passengers the way she is fixed at
present," laughed Harry catching Frank's mirth, "but if you want to
squeeze in by me here, you can. Here, Le Blanc, bring out that spare
seat."
A few seconds later the delighted reporter was sitting on a small
aluminum seat fitted with clamps to screw to the framework, and
handles to grasp hold of tightly when the craft was in mid-air.
"Let her go," cried Frank, as soon as the delighted Billy had taken his
place.

Sanford and Le Blanc, one at each of the propellers, gave them a few
twists, and after about the third silent revolution there came the
startling roar of the exhaust that told the boys that all the cylinders were
getting down to work. Blue flames and smoke belched out of the vents
and the mechanics sprang back, as the propellers whirled round at a
pace that made them seem blurred shadows.
"Hang on till I get up speed," shouted Frank to the two mechanics, who,
with several volunteer helpers, seized hold of the rear framework and
held the struggling aeroplane back with all their might. Her frame
shook as if it was being swept by some mighty convulsion. The racket
was terrific, ear-splitting. The wind from the propellers blew hats in
every direction and streamed out the hair of the men holding the
aeroplane back, as if they had been poking their faces into an electric
fan.
Faster and faster the propellers revolved, as Frank increased the power
of his mixture and advanced the spark. At last, when the men holding
the craft were shouting that they couldn't hang on much longer, Frank
dropped his hand, the signal that the craft was to be released.
Like a scared jack-rabbit, the big-winged craft shot forward over the
uneven ground at race-horse speed. Several boys on bicycles, who
started after the air-ship, were speedily distanced.
After a short run, Frank jerked forward his control wheel, and the
Golden Eagle, amid a cheer that was of course inaudible to the boys
above the uproar of the engine, shot upward into the blue.
A few seconds later there was another roar of applause as the black
Buzzard darted forward, and was soon soaring upward in pursuit of the
speedy Golden Eagle. Old Schmidt in his monoplane was the next
off--the crowd howling with mirth as the queer green contrivance
scuttled over the ground in a series of spasmodic hops, just like its
grasshopper namesake. Then came Gladwin, the novice, and a half
dozen others. Presently the air above the plains was full of ambitious
air craft, but with the exception of old Schmidt, who rose to a height of
about a hundred feet and contented himself with circling about the

grounds, none of them made any but the shortest of flights.
The attention of the crowd, therefore, naturally centered on the two
rivals--as they were universally conceded to be--the Golden Eagle and
the Buzzard. There was no difficulty in telling the craft apart, as they
circled about high above the now crowded grounds. The spirit of
emulation seemed to have seized on Malvoise. He followed the boys
closely, and every feat they performed he attempted to imitate.
Frank at first contented himself with practicing swoops and glides, but
after a while, tiring of this, he headed his craft due east and the Golden
Eagle was soon a diminishing speck against the sky. The crowd
watched till the big 'plane became a pin point and then vanished
altogether. The Buzzard was off after them in a flash and the crowd
cheered her just as impartially as they had the boys, as the graceful,
black flyer stopped her soaring and headed off in the direction in which
the Golden Eagle had rapidly vanished.
Before she had gone a mile, though, it was apparent to the watchers that
something was wrong. A