The afternoon was getting well along by this time, and already the first dim shadows of approaching night were to be seen slipping out from certain patches of pine trees ahead. But the higher they climbed, now that a start had been accomplished, the lighter it would become, what with a lower horizon, and the sun still hanging in plain sight.
Once free from any possibility of any contact with the wheeling and ducking planes—some of which were doing the barrel roll, and others making successive somersaults, with the daring pilots proceeding while in an inverted position—Jack could start spiraling, and climbing.
Rapidly was Candler Field fading from view behind them since Jack had swung toward the south, as if to lay his course directly for New Orleans. Perk seemed to find a subtle attraction back where they had just come from, since he was again turning his head with nothing else to do save gratify his innocent curiosity.
“Huh! ’pears like they might be meaning to strike for the Louisiana canebrake country, and black bear diggings, just like I said,” he was telling himself, with a chuckle of amusement over his shrewd guess. “And say, that little Ryan crate’s no slouch ’bout making speed, I’d mention. Come along you sportin’ crowd—plenty of room in the ceiling overhead, an’ nixey a chance to bring about a collision. Take your choice, and cut out for all you’re worth, boys. If you get there before we do, just tell ’em we’re acomin’ too.”
So Perk continued to amuse himself in watching the antics of the rival ship, and indulging in all kinds of wild speculations as to what the real object of those two sporty looking occupants might prove to be.
Evidently thus far not the slightest suspicion had entered his mind that the taking to the air of the shining Ryan boat had the first thing to do with their own skipping out, and heading toward the Crescent City.
“Like as not when it gets real dark after a bit,” Perk continued to say, being addicted to talking to himself more or less, “we’ll soon lose her, and have the field all to ourselves. Only moving thing I c’n sight back there, ’cept them circlin’ buzzards huntin’ for a carrion supper. Guess everything’s going along first class and we’re in for a comfortable night run down over the corn and sugarcane country. This is the life for little Perk, you hear me saying, everybody—it’s got the boxin’ game, and even that outdoor life up with the Mounties in Canada, beat to a frazzle.”
So Perk busied himself with his duties for some time, and presently became aware of the fact that evening was actually at hand; for the sun had dropped out of sight over in the far west, and looking down he found it absolutely impossible to distinguish what lay beneath them some two thousand feet more or less earthward—there might be forests, farms, hills or swales following each other in rapid succession; but all masked by the sable curtains of night. When the moon rose later on, its light would not afford them any opportunity for marking any peculiarities of the ground down there, since it must simply present the appearance of a swiftly moving panorama.
Perk, moved once more by his old curiosity concerning the ship that had started off immediately after their own jump, again twisted his head so as to take another backward look.
“Hanged if she ain’t keeping on our tail right along,” he told himself, as if a bit surprised, though not in the least troubled, since there could be no possible connection between this Ryan monoplane and their own old bus, bent on reeling off so many miles per hour, and aiming to make the airport at New Orleans by early dawn or before, according to how the weather treated them, and the speed Jack could coax from his aerial steed.