A RESCUE BY AEROPLANE.

"Men, I have an announcement to make," said Lieutenant De Frees, when they had all assembled with their various types of machines. Ned noticed that the officer held in his hand a sheet of blue paper of official appearance. It was closely covered with typewritten matter.

"Py golly, vot now comes?" whispered Hans to Mulligan.

"Whist, can't ye, and listen to the officer!" warned Mulligan.

Like the rest, the two whisperers fell into attitudes of deep attention.

"As you all are aware," began the officer, "it is the purpose of the navy to determine the advisability of equipping every vessel in the fleet with an aeroplane suitable for bomb dropping or scout duty. Naturally one of the most essential features of such a craft would be its ability to fly both to and from the parent ship. In other words, not only must it be able to fly from the ship to the shore, a comparatively simple matter, but it must be able to land back on the deck of the ship from whence it came—a far more hazardous feat."

"Vos is idt, dot 'haz-az-abluss'?" whispered Hans.

"You all follow my meaning?" asked the officer.

A chorus of "Aye, aye, sir," came from the throats of the "Aviation Class."

"Py Chimmy Hill, I follow you all righd, budt I'm a long, long vay behindt, as der terrapin remarked to der rappit," commented Hans in a low undertone which was lost in the hearty roar of the concerted response.

"Very good," resumed the officer. "Now, then, I have here," he referred to the sheet of typewritten paper, "an announcement from the department that one week hence a landing platform will be erected on the after-deck of the Manhattan. She will anchor in the Roads, and those desiring to attempt the feat of landing on her deck may notify me at the earliest opportunity. I may add, that to the successful aviator, will accrue an award of $100, beside certain promotion for efficiency."

"Nodt for vun million billion bundtles of dollars vould I preak my neck," commented Hans to Mulligan.

"By gorry, Dutchy, I don't blame ye. 'Twould be a day's wu-urk fer a burrd to do the thrick," was the response.

"We will now take up morning practice," came the next announcement. "I think that some of you are far enough advanced to try passenger carrying across country. Strong, I assign you to take up Taylor. Merritt, you will carry Chance as your companion."

A sort of buzz of excitement ran through the squad, as the chosen ones hurried off to make ready.

"The remainder of the squad," came the next order, "will resume ordinary practice."

"Dot's all ve do, is resuming," muttered Hans. "I hope I don't resume my sneezing, py crickety."

It did not take Ned and Herc long to get ready. With a buzz and whirr, they were up and into the air before Merritt and Chance got their engines tuned up. No directions as to the course they should take had been given them, so Ned headed the flying machine off inland, where fields and hedges showed in a pretty patchwork beneath them, with a rim of blue mountains in the distance.

"Say, this is great," exclaimed Herc, as they sped on,—

"You're improving as a poet every minute," laughed Ned, his alert eyes peering straight ahead and his hands firmly grasping the controlling wheel. "Let's hope you're not a prophet as well as a poet. By the way, just take a look round and see if you can catch a glimpse of those other two fellows."

"I see them, about ten miles behind," announced Herc presently. "They're coming right ahead, too. Traveling at a faster clip than we are, I judge."

"Let them risk their necks if they want to. We'll jog along easily," replied Ned.

For some time they sped on, above pastures and grain fields, and patches of woodland and meadow, threaded here and there by narrow streams which glittered in the bright sunlight like silver ribbons. It was, as Herc had said, "great." The blood ran faster, and every nerve tingled invigoratingly under the stimulus of the rapid advance through the air. All about them the shining stay-wires hummed and buzzed, giving out a shrill accompaniment to the steady drone of the motor.

"I'll slow down a bit now," said Ned presently. "I'm anxious to see how she'll behave at reduced speed with extra weight on board."

As he shut down the power, the aeroplane descended perceptibly. The added weight of another passenger made her far less buoyant, as was to have been expected.

They were quite low, hovering like a big hawk above a small farm-house, when a sudden scream from below was borne to their ears quite distinctly.

"Hullo! What's that?" exclaimed Ned.

"It was a woman screaming," was the rejoinder. "We'd better drop down and see what's the trouble."

"Just what I think. It came from that farm-house."

"I know. Hold on tight, now; I'm going to drop fast."

Like a stone the aeroplane fell. The rapidity of the drop made both the aviators gasp. Just as it seemed inevitable that they must be dashed to bits on the ground beneath, Ned, by a skilful bit of airmanship, brought his craft to a level keel, and alighted without a jolt.

They came to earth in an open meadow at the rear of the farm-house, a white-painted, green-shuttered place of comfortable appearance. As the machine stopped its motion, both lads leaped out and began running toward the house. As they neared it, a voice struck on their ears:

"Come on, now; no nonsense. Give me the money your husband has hidden here, or I'll hurt you."

Had the two Dreadnought Boys been able to see through the walls of the house, they would have beheld a terrified woman, in a gingham gown and white apron, cowering before a heavy-set man, who was brandishing a stout club. The fellow's look was desperate. His deep little eyes glittered menacingly under heavy, black brows. His bluish, bristly chin thrust forward truculently.

"Take these silver spoons," the woman begged, "and leave me alone. They are all I have."

"Don't try lying to me," growled the man, stepping forward a pace. "It won't go. I've heard around here that your husband is a miser, and I want the money he has hidden. Come, now, are you going to give it to me, or——"

He raised the club threateningly.

The woman paled, but stood her ground bravely.

"I have given you all the valuables we have in the house," she said. "If anyone told you my husband was a miser, they must have done it out of malice. We are poor farmers, and——"

"That'll do! That'll do! I'm tired of argying with yer. I'll look for myself. Stand aside, and look jumpy now, or——"

A scream burst from the woman's lips, as her brutal annoyer came toward her, his upper lip curled in a snarl.

But he had not advanced more than a couple of paces before an unexpected interruption occurred. A third voice struck into the scene.

"Stop right where you are, Bill Kennell, or there'll be trouble."

Kennell, for it was the disgraced and desperate bully formerly of the Manhattan, whipped round in a flash. His recognition of the Dreadnought Boys, who stood in the opened kitchen door, was swift as theirs had been of him.

"Ned Strong!" he exclaimed in a husky voice.

"Not forgetting Herc Taylor, Bill," grinned the freckle-faced youth. "You don't seem exactly glad to see us."

"Oh, whoever you are, thank heaven you have come!" cried the woman. She reeled backward, overcome by the reaction of her feelings, and would have fallen if Herc had not jumped forward and seized her in his arms.

At the same instant, Kennell, who had lost none of his former agility, crouched and sprung like a wildcat at Ned. But if he had thought to catch the Dreadnought Boy off his guard, he was dreadfully mistaken. Ned jumped nimbly to one side, as Kennell rushed at him, and the bully carried by the impetus of his onrush, crashed against the wall. He recovered himself in an instant and came back at Ned with formidable force. But once more Ned was ready for him. The Dreadnought Boy dived suddenly, as Kennell raised his knotted club, and, coming up under the man's arm, caught him a blow on the chin that caused the former bully of the Manhattan to reel and stagger.

But, as if he had been prepared for some such result of his onslaught, Kennell, without an instant's loss of time, produced a pistol from somewhere amid his tattered garments.

Before Ned could make another move, a hot flame fanned his face; a loud report rang in his ears, and he felt a sharp, stinging pain in his head. Then he lost consciousness.

As he fell with a crash against a chair, bringing it a splintered wreck to the floor with him, Herc deposited the fainting woman on an old-fashioned settee, and sprang with a roar of anger at Kennell. But as he did so, two other figures suddenly appeared in the open doorway of the farm-house kitchen.

"It's Bill Kennell!" cried one of them, who was no other than Merritt. He and Chance had seen Ned's descent, and had dropped, too, to see if, perchance, some bad luck had not overtaken their rivals. Hearing the uproar in the kitchen, they had hastened to it.

As Herc fairly leaped on Kennell, before the ruffian had a chance to fire another shot, Merritt took in the whole situation with the quick intuition of a man of his intellect.

Kennell, with Herc on the top of him, was tottering backward, and on the verge of falling helplessly before his powerful young antagonist, when Merritt, with a quick movement, picked up a heavy chair. Raising it, he brought it down with all his might on the unconscious Herc's head. The next instant the two Dreadnought Boys lay senseless on the floor of the kitchen, one of them seemingly badly wounded.