CHAPTER IV
THE OLD AVIATOR’S REQUEST
“Now, what do you think of that!” gasped Harry.
“Maybe he’s crazy,” whispered Fred. “He certainly ran the biplane like a crazy man.”
“I don’t think he is crazy,” said Joe. “But he hates doctors--probably because his wife died through an operation, or something like that. Well, if he doesn’t want one, I don’t know what we are to do.”
“It looks to me like we ought to git a doctor anyway,” was the old hunter’s comment. “We can’t let him die on our hands.”
“Let us take him to the lodge first,” answered Joe.
With care they lifted the unconscious man and carried him down to the cabin. Joel Runnell knew where the key to the door was hidden and soon they were inside the place. A cot was handy, with blankets, and on this they placed the aged aviator. A moment later he opened his eyes and tried to sit up, staring around wildly as he did so.
“You--you didn’t get that doctor, did you?” he gasped. “I don’t want him to come near me!” He gazed at the others, who had arrived.
“No, we haven’t any doctor,” replied Joe, soothingly. “Now just keep quiet and we’ll try to find out how badly you are hurt.”
“I will--but don’t get a doctor,” murmured the sufferer, and sank back and closed his eyes.
The boys and the old hunter made an examination and concluded that no bones were broken. One leg had been wrenched both at the knee and the ankle, and this was bathed in hot water and then bound up in witch-hazel. Joel Runnell carried a can of cold coffee in his fishing basket, and this was heated up and the sufferer drank it eagerly.
“He’s a pretty old man to be an aviator,” was Bart’s comment.
“He can be thankful he wasn’t killed, if he fell from the machine,” returned Link.
“And to think he doesn’t want a doctor!” mused Fred. “I’d want a couple of ’em if I was in his condition!”
“Well, I guess we’ve got to humor him,” answered Joe.
“Who is going to take care of him, if he won’t have a doctor?” asked Bart.
“We might take turns at it,” suggested Harry. “But we’d have to let the folks know.”
The old aviator had dozed off, and while he was thus resting the boys got their lunch from the automobile and brought it to the lodge. Some of the food they put aside for the hurt man and then they fell to eating, along with the old hunter, and all discussed the situation.
“Here is his name and address, anyway,” said Joe, looking over an empty envelope that had dropped from the man’s pocket. “‘Andrew A. Akers, Bralham.’”
“Bralham!” cried Fred. “That is where we used to play football! I didn’t know any aviators lived there.”
“Maybe this man simply got his letters there,” suggested Link.
“Oh, he may have his hangar there, as they call ’em,” said Joe. “You must remember that aviators are springing up all over the country, just like autoists did a few years ago. I dare say in a few years more flying machines will be as numerous as autos.”
“But not as safe,” returned Bart, with a grin.
“Perhaps. Of course it will take time to get them just right, just as it took time to get the bicycles right. Don’t you remember the first ones, about six feet high, with a little bit of wheel behind? A fellow could easily break his neck riding one of that kind.”
For over an hour the aged aviator seemed to doze. Then of a sudden he opened his eyes once more and stared around wildly.
“The box--my box!” he gasped. “Where is my precious box?”
“Do you mean a black tin box?” asked Joe, bending over him.
“Yes! yes! It dropped from the biplane! Oh, I must find that box! It contains all---- But never mind that! I must find it! Oh, go and hunt for it, please!”
“We’ve got the box for you, Mr. Akers.”
“Ah! you know me?” The old aviator stared at the youth. “I don’t remember you.”
“You are Mr. Andrew Akers, are you not?”
“I am.”
“And you lost a black tin box, marked A. A. A.?”
“Yes! yes!”
“We found the box. We saw it drop and went after it.”
“And--and it--it is all right?--not broken open--the papers scattered----”
“The box is a bit dented, that’s all. It was locked, so we didn’t open it.”
“Yes! yes! Good! Where is it?”
“I have it right here. But please don’t excite yourself----”
“Give me the box, boy, give me the box!”
The box had been brought from the automobile when the lads went for the lunch. Joe handed it over to the aged man, who clutched it eagerly. His eyes lit up with pleasure when he saw that it was intact.
“Oh, I am so thankful!” he murmured. “You see, I have enemies, and so when I went on my trips I always carried the box with me, for I was afraid to leave it behind. I had it tied fast, but the cord broke and the box dropped. Then I had trouble with the engine, and with the steering gear, and then everything seemed to go wrong. I tried to fix the steering gear, and just as I was doing that the biplane gave a sudden tilt and I was thrown out. I landed in a tree and then fell in the water, and had all I could do to keep from drowning. At last I crawled out and then I got to where you found me.”
“And your machine sailed on?”
“Yes, the motor was running, and I don’t know where it went to--and I don’t care!” added Andrew Akers, emphatically.
“You don’t care?” cried Harry.
“Not a rap! I am done with aviation! Being a machinist and something of an inventor, I thought I could improve on the biplanes in use, but now I am done with them. I prefer to remain on the ground and die a natural death.”
“But that biplane is worth money!” cried Joe.
“I know it, but I don’t care. Whoever finds the machine can have it. I never want to set eyes on it again.”
“We found it!” cried Harry. “It’s stuck in the tops of some trees.”
“All right, let it stick there until the crack of doom--for all I care!” murmured the aged aviator, and then he sank back once more, his precious black box clasped tightly in his arms.
“Now, what do you think of that!” cried Harry. “He doesn’t want the flying machine any more! He says we can have it!”
“Oh, he didn’t mean it,” returned Joe, calmly. “He’s excited now. After he gets over this dose he’ll be as eager as ever to go up. I know how I’d feel myself.”
“But if he doesn’t want the biplane, Joe----”
“Would you want it, Harry?”
“Maybe. It would be great to learn how to fly!”
“And break your neck,” broke in Bart. “No flying for yours truly!” And he shook his head decidedly.
“That machine must be worth money,” said Fred. “Why, I read about some of ’em costing thousands of dollars.”
“Oh, they cost enough, you can be sure of that,” said Link. “Look at the fine motor--like that of an automobile--and look at the propellers, and the bamboo frame and airtight cloth,--and the bicycle wheels on the bottom.”
“Even if you had the machine, you couldn’t fly it,” went on Bart.
“A fellow could learn--I know Joe could learn. See how easily he learned to run the auto,” said Fred.
“Would you go up, Fred?”
“Sure--after I got the hang of it. But I’d want to be sure of what I was doing--or trying to do.”
“I don’t believe there is anything sure about aviation,” said the doubting Bart. “If you stay up, all right; if you drop, it’s all wrong; and there you are.”
“You couldn’t hire me to go up--not even in a balloon,” put in Joel Runnell. “When I fly I’ll do it on the ground--or on the water.”
The boys and the old hunter sat around outside the cabin, talking about the accident and about old times when the lads had gone hunting and fishing with Joel Runnell. They asked him about his daughter and learned that she was away, on a visit to some relatives.
“I am all alone at home,” said the old hunter. “So, if I am needed here, I can stay as well as not.”
About four o’clock in the afternoon the old aviator roused up again. He now seemed much better and spoke quite rationally. He said that he was sure he needed nothing but rest and food, and that if somebody would remain at the lodge to wait on him he would pay for the services.
“But don’t you want us to notify your family, or friends?” asked Joe.
“I have no family,” replied Andrew Akers. “I am practically alone in the world. I have a few relatives, but they are too far off to be reached for several days. I have some enemies, and I prefer not to let them know of my mishap, or where I am located.” And he smiled somewhat bitterly.
“Do you want me to nurse you?” asked Joel Runnell. “I am an old hunter and have took care o’ sick men in camp more’n onct.”
“Then I guess you will be just the man!” cried the aged aviator, eagerly. “Take care of me and I will pay you well.”
“I won’t ask for no pay--only you can pay the store bills,--and fer usin’ the cabin, if Tom Mason wants pay.”
“Tom Mason--did you say Tom Mason!” gasped the hurt man.
“Yes.”
“What has he to do with this place--with my being here?”
“Why, this is Tom’s cabin--he built it for use when he takes an outing.”
“His place! That man!” murmured Andrew Akers. “It must be fate! But, no, I won’t stay here--I can’t!” He looked at the boys and the old hunter. “Take me away from here! Take me away at once!” he pleaded.
“Away from here?” several of them asked in surprise.
“Yes! yes! if this is Tom Mason’s place! I want nothing to do with that man! He is my---- But never mind that. But I want to go away, I must go away.”
In his eagerness the aged aviator tried to get up. But he was too weak, and he fell back with a groan.
“This is certainly strange,” remarked Joe. “He seems to have a great grudge against Mr. Mason. I wonder why?”
“He said he had enemies,” suggested Harry. “Maybe Mr. Mason is one of them.”
“Mason is a close-fisted man--I’ve heard my father say that,” said Link. “He did some carpenter work for him and had hard work getting his money.”
“If we could get him to the auto we might take him to my home,” said Joel Runnell. “That is, provided he was willin’ to go.”
“Yes, I’ll go to your house!” cried the hurt man, rousing again. “Anywhere but in a place belonging to Tom Mason!”
“We have an automobile not far away,” explained Joe. “We could carry you to that, and then take you to Mr. Runnell’s home, where he could give you every care. Maybe he could get you a trained nurse----”
“I don’t want any trained nurse--no women folks and no doctors,” grumbled the aged aviator. “He’ll be good enough. If you can carry me to that auto I guess I can stand it.”
“Let us take him on the cot,” suggested Joe. “We can bring the cot back afterwards;” and so it was arranged.
Half an hour later saw the auto, with the boys, the old hunter, and Andrew Akers, on the way to Cresco. They took a side road, so as not to attract attention, and presently reached the modest home that belonged to Joel Runnell. Here the aged aviator was put to bed, and then the boys prepared to leave, for it was growing late.
“We’ll come again to-morrow,” said Joe.
“Yes! yes!” replied Andrew Akers, eagerly. “I want to see you. And please remember, not a word of this mishap to Tom Mason, not a word!”
“We’ll have to tell our folks,” said Joe.
“You may do that. But please ask them to keep the affair quiet--very quiet,” said Andrew Akers; and then he sank back on the bed, once more exhausted.