A little experimenting showed him the danger of dropping too suddenly, and he soon discovered how to reach a lower level by a series of short gradual glides, instead of too abrupt a descent.
After a little he tried the wonderfully powerful searchlight again and was relieved when he found that the earth was clearly visible. He must have been at an elevation of little more than a thousand feet, and as he swept along at the speed of an express train, the plains and isolated farms flitted by under him with the silent, uncanny unreality of a dream.
Then he flashed the light ahead, but could see nothing of Randolph’s aëroplane. He increased the speed a little, and presently he foolishly raised his head above the wind shield. It cut his skin like alcohol from an atomizer on a raw surface and made him draw quickly back into shelter again.
“Not for mine!” he muttered. “A little more of that would flay a fellow alive.”
He shot the searchlight before him and this time the powerful rays fell on something in the air far ahead of him—a black, indefinite shape, barely within the range of the reflector. His heart leaped joyfully.
“Randolph!” he muttered. “I’m gaining!”
Almost before he could realize it the black air craft leaped into vivid relief, he could distinguish clearly every rod, almost every tiny wire, even the white face of Randolph shown clear in the bright light. Then the black monoplane flashed by him with throbbing engine and was gone.
“Great Cæsar!” he gasped in amazement. “He’s going back! What does that mean?”
His first natural impulse was to turn swiftly as he might have done in a motor car, but he caught himself in time and remembered the need of extreme caution.
First pulling down the speed of the engine, he moved the vertical lever slowly, and executed a wide, graceful curve. Once headed southward, he increased the speed and started on the return journey at a rate that made the air hum.