Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1921-08-11
The Flyers
Trophy
BY HAROLD SINCLAIR


ed trophy" said Elwyn Moore. air
man.
shes got to. / promised her. l
wrote her all about it, and you. So
brace up, old man. Take your pick.
The long stick-south. The short
stick-east. Choose
1t was an impressive scene and an
unusual one. Upon broad plateau
In the heart of the North Carolina
mountains rested the monoplane Vic
tor. The two expert birdmen had
just carried off the honors in an aero
meet lat Savannah. They designed a
trip to the home of Nelson Barton,
in Delaware, where his father and his
sister awaited them. Now, in flight
over desolate, well nigh uninhabited
country, the ''juice" had given out and
the Victor was STALLED" Gasoline
must be found or the machine aban-
dOned.
Barton hid all but the ends of two
twigs in his hand. Moore drew the
long one-south. Barton started east
with the laughing boast that he would
be back first with the needful fuel for
the engine.
1t was nightfall when Barton toiled
slowly down a winding valley-lost.
''This is getting pretty desperate,
decided Barton. "Ah, at last-a light"
Suddenly loud shouts and then shots
in the distance attracted his attention.
Following the same great lurid glow
sprang up across the eastern horizon.
"a firep' exclaimed Barton, and he
started toward it, A terrific hubbub
increased as he advanced.
A womaH- clasping little babe close
to her breast, and holding her by the
hand dragged little girl sobbing pitt
fully with fright and WEAKNESS.
"My good woman" spoke Barton,
"what is the trouble?"
ooh. sir, we are lost! The DOllivars
are making a raid. They have burned
our houses"
Barton got the three refugees into
q cOpse and saw party of a dozen
rough men armed and carrying torch
es pass them by. Then there were
more shots and shouts and a new
lurid glare crossed the sky.
"It is our home" mourned the wom-
an. "Oh, sir, help us.
"My husband and his band are in a
refuge camp twenty miles south of
here" explained the woman.
The woman, carrying the babe and
| leading the way, Barton with the little
! girl in his arms, they started on a
| fOrlorn tramp.
1--WE are almost there" announced
/ the woman nearly four hours later as
| they started down a tortuous gap In
| the mountains. "There is the glow OF
their camp fire. Oh, l am SO glad, so
| thankful to YOU" And then with the
words she sank to the grass and
swooned dead away.
Twenty steps brought the aviator In
| full view of the outlaw camp. A vivid
| picture halted, appalled, him. A group
| of men were gathered near camp
| fire, and over branch of a great tree
close at hand ran rope. One END
encircled the neck of man with
l
"Why! Why! Why!" shouted out
Nelson Barton in three tones of rising
horror, sit Is my friend, my partner
Elwyn Moore! Stop! Stop!" he
screamed, rushing forward and wav
ing his arms wildly.
Half dozen rifles covered him.
"What's this?" fiercely challenged
the outlaw chief.
"This is my friend" proceeded Bar
ton, pointing to Moore.
"Oh, maybe you're another detec
tive, eh?" demanded the outlaw.
detective? Why, we are airmen.'
Suddenly the outlaw turned. Th'
little girl had followed Barton.
"Mary, little Mary" gasped thu
outlaw. "How did you come herei
81 brought her." said Barton quick
ly; .'your wife and baby, too. The!
are back near the spring. The DOLL
vars have raided your homes. and
A cry Of rage went up from thu
rough crowd. The strangers were TO
a moment forgotten.
The outlaw chieftain came back T.
the camp fire with tears in his eyes
and gentle as lamb. Instantly
Moore was released. He overwhelmed
, Barton with thanks. He learned tn
real mission of the aviators In tina
forbidden district.
-Four Of you." he shouted to hi
men, "get to Shelbyville as fast as yo'
can. and bring back fifty gallons
gasoline"
ASK him to give me my trophy.
whispered Moore to his friend.
"Your trophy
: "Yes, it's been target fastened t
that tree yonder."
, The trophy. plus one deep bulle
: dent. was returned to Its owner wit
} apologies.
: The airship made a brilliant nor
? stop flight, almost beating the record
? A yuasf, st the Barton home, Elwyl