<h2 id='chap20'>CHAPTER XX</h2>
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<div>BEATEN</div>
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<p class='c011'>Hiram Dobbs was whistling like a nightingale,
Bruce Beresford was polishing up the brass work
of the new <i>Ariel</i> for the fifth or sixth time, when
suddenly Hiram made a derisive sweep with his
handful of cotton waste towards two passers-by—Valdec
and one of his crowd.</p>
<p>“Hah!” uttered Dave Dashaway’s assistant—“you’ve
had your claws cut short this time!”</p>
<p>Safe and sound, more than hopeful, and very
happy felt the young pilot of the <i>Scout</i>. Hiram
could defy all his foes now. Day and night, half
a dozen men from the aero plant formed a perfect
cordon around the hangar which housed the almost
sure winner of the International, as Hiram insisted
on putting it.</p>
<p>There had been a sort of jollification conference
the evening before in a room at the grounds clubhouse,
where the manufacturer and his three
friends felt free to discuss affairs in general without
the fear of intruders or listeners. It was there
<span class="pagenum" title='150' id='Page_150'></span>that Dave explained his recent adventure at the sand
dunes. His capture and the destruction of the old
<i>Ariel</i> had been the result of a well laid plot on the
part of the Syndicate crowd and their allies.</p>
<p>It was Borden who had saved the day. Hiram’s
heart warmed anew towards the tramp artist as he
realized how loyally the latter had repaid the slight
kindness they had shown a homeless wanderer at
the Midlothian grounds.</p>
<p>“Mr. Borden warned you too late, Hiram,” explained
Dave, “but he found a way, a little later,
to be doubly useful in our interests. The men who
made me a prisoner at the sand dunes and burned
up the old <i>Ariel</i> I had never seen before. I was
taken perhaps thirty miles in a closed wagon, tied
hand and foot, and guarded by a balking fellow, so
I kept pretty still.”</p>
<p>“Where did they take you, Mr. Dashaway?”
the interested Bruce had asked.</p>
<p>“To an old building in a big town over the state
line. It must have been a factory, at some time or
other. It had all gone to ruin, and they kept me in
a room in the boiler house, with a heavy iron door
to it. The Syndicate crowd sent Mr. Borden down
to help their man guard me. I don’t know how he
managed it, but he got entire charge of me, and
let his supposed fellow watchman lay around the
town. The first night he got a wire to Mr. Brackett
<span class="pagenum" title='151' id='Page_151'></span>who came down for me. Since then I have been
practicing near the Aero Company’s plant, and
watching our new beauty of a biplane grow into the
finest craft of its class in the world.”</p>
<p>“And Mr. Borden?” pressed Hiram curiously.</p>
<p>“I don’t think the Syndicate crowd had the least
idea that I was free until I showed up on the
grounds here,” declared Dave.</p>
<p>“What’ll they do when they find out he’s hocussed
them?” asked Bruce.</p>
<p>“I have supplied our good friend, Mr. Borden,
with the means of going about where he pleases,”
observed Mr. Brackett with a smile. “They won’t
find him unless he wants to be found, you may rest
assured of that fact.”</p>
<p>“And are those fellows to be allowed to go scot
free after all they’ve done!” cried the indignant
Hiram.</p>
<p>“I hardly think we will disturb them if they leave
us alone—at least for the present,” replied the
manufacturer. “You see, Hiram, we might not be
able to fasten the plot directly upon them. It is still
my opinion that Vernon, our old time enemy, is the
main actor in all these outrages, although he has
pretty cleverly covered up his tracks.”</p>
<p>“Well, so far—everything is fine!” declared the
volatile Hiram. “Oh, Dave, if you only win the
altitude contest to-morrow!”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='152' id='Page_152'></span>“The new <i>Ariel</i> can do its share,” insisted Mr.
Brackett.</p>
<p>“I shall try to do mine,” added the young aviator
modestly.</p>
<p>“Fifty points!” murmured Hiram. “Score that
and you are sure of the big prize,” and Hiram had
a vision of that official blackboard marker giving to
his chum the second award in the International contest.</p>
<p>Four machines besides their own were listed for
the altitude contest and the <i>Whirlwind</i> was among
them. The first thing the observant Hiram noticed
as they reached the center field was that Valdec
wore his ordinary sailing jacket. Dave was fully
prepared for any cold he might run into. Besides
that, at his side, was a light, round tank with a coil
of rubber hose running from it.</p>
<p>“We’re testing an emergency oxygen supply, if
the air gets too rarefied,” Dave explained to Hiram.
“It may work in quite well when we get up above
ten thousand feet.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Dave, you can’t hope to do that!” exclaimed
his young assistant.</p>
<p>The manager and a helper visited the five machines
while the rules of the contest were being
read by his secretary. The barograph of each
biplane was examined, sealed up and put in place.
Three hours was the time limit allowed, the pilots
to select their own course.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='153' id='Page_153'></span>There was some cloudiness, but no wind, and the
five machines made a splendid initial rise. The
<i>Whirlwind</i> was all for speed. Dave took it more
slowly. Within fifteen minutes the five crafts were
scattered to all points of the compass. They became
mere specks as a lower strata of cloud haze obscured
them. Then they vanished from view as a denser
upper cumulus enveloped them.</p>
<p>At eleven o’clock one of the contestants came
back to the grounds because of a break in the control.
A comrade competitor gave up the contest a
quarter of an hour later. Number three reported
itself out of the race at noon.</p>
<p>“It’s the <i>Ariel</i> and the <i>Whirlwind</i>,” went the
rounds of the stand. Everybody was wrought up
to a great pitch of doubt and suspense. The clouds
still obscured all sight of the clear sky.</p>
<p>“There’s one of them!” burst out a voice and
there was great excitement as an air craft came sailing
swiftly into view.</p>
<p>“The <i>Whirlwind</i>,” spoke a man with a pair of
field glasses.</p>
<p>The Syndicate machine came to anchor as Worthington
and his allies rushed toward it. Valdec
stepped out of the biplane smiling and profuse in his
bows. He joked and laughed as the expert removed
the barograph, hastened to the judges’ stand and
then placed it in a strong tin box and locked it in.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum" title='154' id='Page_154'></span>“Here’s the other!” The shout announced the
<i>Ariel</i>. In about twenty minutes the boys and Mr.
Brackett were crowding about it. The machine was
dripping with moisture, and as it touched the ground
its pilot removed his head gear, and fell over to one
side, gasping for breath.</p>
<p>“He’s collapsed!” exclaimed an attendant and
ran for water. They lifted Dave out of the machine.
Mr. Brackett and Hiram supported him.
The expert had removed the barograph. They made
Dave swallow some water, rubbed his hands, and
finally he opened his eyes. He smiled vaguely.</p>
<p>“I made it,” he spoke with difficulty. “Nearly
went under, but I had set my mark—over eleven
thousand feet.”</p>
<p>“You couldn’t! It’s ahead of any record! He’s
dreaming!” blurted out Hiram.</p>
<p>“The barograph says so—I’ve won. I knew I
should,” murmured Dave. “Get me somewhere to
lie down. I’m weak and dizzy.”</p>
<p>“What’s that!” suddenly spoke Hiram, turning
sharply as they were leading Dave over to the club
house.</p>
<p>They were at a point where they could not see
the blackboard. Hiram noticed a great crowd about
it. Cheers rent the air. A man bolted from the
<span class="pagenum" title='155' id='Page_155'></span>mass, bareheaded, excited, rushing down the road
wildly. Hiram recognized him as one of the Syndicate
hangers-on.</p>
<p>“What is it?” was demanded of him by an inquisitive
pedestrian.</p>
<p>“Record smashed!” came the breathless but
triumphant reply. “Valdec has won—12,350
feet!”</p>
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