To the bewildered Westerner it seemed as though they had scarcely started before Dick jammed on the emergency and leaped from the car. He darted up the steep, rocky slope, Brad still keeping close behind him. At last a glimmering of what his friend meant to do flashed into the Texan’s mind and turned his blood cold.
“Say, pard,” he gasped. “You’re—not going—to monkey with—that airship?”
“I’ve got to!” came through Merriwell’s gritted teeth. “It’s the only way.”
There was silence for a brief space as they climbed rapidly.
“But you’ll be killed,” Buckhart panted in an unsteady voice. “You’ve never run one in your life.”
Dick laughed.
“Don’t worry, old fellow,” he said. “It isn’t as bad as that. I may not catch Randolph, but I learned enough about the thing this morning to keep myself from being killed—I hope.”
A moment later they burst through the bushes and Dick gave a sigh of relief as the shadowy bulk of the aëroplane loomed before him.
“I wasn’t quite sure whether Holton had used it or not,” he said, hurrying toward it. “Now, Brad, let’s get busy. Just hold a match to that burner while I turn on the prestolite.”
The next instant the bright light blazed forth, and Dick proceeded methodically to prepare for flight. He passed his hands swiftly over the steering levers to make sure which was which. Then he turned on the gas and plugged into the coil. Setting spark and throttle experimentally, he started the engine. She pounded a little at first, but he quickly pulled down the throttle a trifle and soon had her running smoothly.