Bob went over to where the pile of silk representing the abandoned balloon, lay. When he came back he was carrying quite a piece of the material, which he said he expected to keep, as a souvenir of the affair.
“Perhaps, now, you’re thinking of some day taking up the life of a balloonist?” suggested Frank, with a laugh.
“None of that for me,” Bob answered. “After seeing how Mr. Scott fared, I’d hate to think of an experience of that sort. And just imagine him being carried over the tops of those mountains at a tremendous whirl. He said he even banged into a rock that stuck up above the rest. And Frank, do you see, he came out of just the same quarter we are heading into!”
The two boys looked at each other. It was as if some thought had flashed into both of their minds, to the effect that, perhaps, the circumstances might prove to be more than just a mere coincidence. But farther than this they were not able to go; so nothing was said.
In a few minutes more both sprang into the saddle. Then the eager horses were off on the jump across the plains, heading toward the very mountains which the wounded aeronaut declared he had crossed while cruising in his runaway balloon.
“Oh! we forgot to ask Mr. Scott how he happened to get in trouble!” Bob suddenly cried, after he had been turning around to take a last look at the pile of silk which had once been a balloon.
“He told me while I was fixing his broken limb,” Frank mentioned. “That is, he said that in his hurry to get away, he was unlucky enough to break something about the balloon that controlled the valve. So he was really at the mercy of the wind. He said he had been knocking around for many hours—in fact that he had been high up in the air part of the day; until the gas began to escape, and then the balloon dropped until he just scraped over the mountains, as he mentioned. Later on he came close to the ground; but was going so fast he hated to jump.”
“Huh! I don’t blame him, what with that broken leg,” commented Bob, who was keeping alongside his galloping chum. “But if he was up all day, he must have come hundreds of miles. Wonder if he started at Los Angeles, in California?”
“No, I don’t believe that,” Frank went on, thoughtfully; “because I remember his saying that he seemed to go in circles, and that after being up all those hours, when he sank down again, he was within twenty miles of where he started.”
“Oh! well, perhaps some day we’ll know more about it,” Bob remarked, carelessly. “He must have come from some city where they had gas. Perhaps he was doing it on a wager. They do all sorts of queer things nowadays, with the idea of taking up a dare.”