"Don't worry about that," said Paul Ross, who was at the throttle; "we can catch them when we're ready. We'll get a better current of air up here."
Paul's maneuver had been due to the fact that heavy head-winds were blowing, and he was quite sure if he went higher he would get above the worst of these.
As they now shot along on an even keel, it seemed hard to realize that they had at last started out on the important flight for which they had been planning and working so long; and as Paul watched his instruments and the scudding rival machine ahead, he could not help wondering what the issue of it all might be—if the fates would be so kind as to smile enough on the Sky-Bird to bring her in ahead of the Clarion and within schedule time. Many weary miles must be covered before they would see Panama again. And when they would land in that air-drome again—if in truth they ever did!—would it be as victors, or as listeners to the jeers of the rough crew of the other plane?
It was not an ideal day for the start from a weather standpoint. In fact, a consultation of the weather reports at the Panama Bureau before they left had shown a prophecy of strong northeasterly winds and possible showers. The sun was almost shut out by patches of cloud, glinting through only occasionally; but neither crew had felt like postponing the start, so eager were they to be off and so confident were they in the capabilities of their respective machines to meet almost any sort of bad weather.
Straight along the Isthmus both machines proceeded, making a bee-line for Georgetown, which it was hoped to reach at daylight. The coastline was low along here and very uneven, with numerous pretty little islands on the Pacific side, the waters surrounding them sparkling like jewels when the sun's rays would struggle through the clouds and strike the tossing waves.
In the northern part of the Republic of Colombia they passed just to the right of the western terminal range of the great Andes Mountains, and within an hour's time were sailing through Quindiu Pass of the central arm of the same mountains. At this time they were over twelve thousand feet above sea-level. Then came the table-lands of western Venezuela, open in places and covered with thick growths of tropical forests in others.
As they approached the foothills of the eastern chain or arm of the mountains, Paul took the throttle, and they steadily arose in order to clear the high pinnacles facing them, and finally, at a height of fifteen thousand feet—the greatest height they had yet attained—they went over them. The airplane encountered several "air pockets" in this process, which might have been disastrous to them except for the stabilizing effect of the automatic-pilot. As it was, the machine pitched rather roughly in surviving them.
In sweeping past the last crag they had come very near to striking, owing to a cloud which enwrapped it. Just in time Paul's sharp eyes had seen the white bank of snow on the crag ahead, and he elevated his craft enough to pass over. It was so cold up here, even in the cabin, that the boys had to don their heavy coats.
Just as they turned the nose of their machine toward a lower level, running at reduced speed, a huge bird with curving beak, which John said was a condor, dashed from the crags after the airplane. It was followed a moment later by five or six others. The great birds seemed to resent the appearance of so strange a giant in the mountain fastnesses where they had always held the supremacy of the air, all the time darting angrily at it, flapping their long, black and white wings, some of which had the immense span of fourteen feet, and croaking hoarsely.
The boys laughed at first, but when the creatures commenced to come closer, frequently hitting the windows with their sharp beaks, and cracking two of them, they began to get really alarmed. Once the propeller struck the tail of one bold and incautious condor, and feathers flew in all directions; but after a quick circle he was back again, madder than ever.