It was now growing dark. Not knowing whether this was caused by the closing in of the clouds or the natural declension of the sun, Bob looked at his watch. To his surprise he found it was seven o'clock Panama time, which would make it probably close to nine in their present locality. Night should now be upon them.
As it had been decided to let John and Tom operate the night shift, at least for the first few days, John now took his trick at the throttle, changed to the fresh engine, and Bob and Paul turned into their hammocks for the first sleep aboard the airplane. They were both pretty tired, as each had spent several hours at the helm that afternoon, and it was only a few minutes before the gentle rocking of the plane on the billows of air had sent them into a sound oblivion. Just before retiring, Bob had wirelessed Panama of their safe passage through the mountains and fight with the condors, stating that several snapshots of the birds had been secured and that these would be mailed to the Daily Independent upon reaching Georgetown.
Not long after the change of pilots a fine rain began to fall, covering the windows of the cabin with a film of moisture; but as it was now too dark to see anyhow, John did not care whether he could look outside or not. However, for the good of the machine, as well as the betterment of their speed, he decided to get out of the storm. So, switching on the little dashboard electric lights to illuminate his instruments, he turned the Sky-Bird upward again. Through the very clouds which were expelling the rain, gathered from the warm Atlantic trade-winds, he guided the machine. At nine thousand feet he was above them, in clear dry air, with a blue, star-studded sky above his head and in the mellow glow of a full moon.
"Well, John, this is more like night-flying," remarked Tom Meeks, who sat just behind the pilot, ready to assist him at a moment's notice if the need should appear.
"As long as I know there are no mountains ahead to smash into I'm not worrying a bit," replied John, "and I guess we're all right on that score. I'm going to let the old girl out now, Tom."
"Might as well," was the response.
Thereupon John threw on the gas by degrees until the indicator showed them to be whizzing along at 150 miles. He easily could have gone fifty more on the one engine had he chosen, but was afraid such a speed would carry them beyond their destination and out into the Atlantic before daylight could show them their position. Had they not previously been running somewhat behind scheduled time, he would not have accelerated even now.
Shortly after midnight Tom relieved him at the throttle, and running slightly slower, to make sure they would not pass over Georgetown in the darkness, Tom began to hum softly to himself as he kept a sharp lookout upon his instruments. John settled back in the seat behind, as alert for any sudden peril as his mate had been before.
But no mishap marred the night's run, which was as smooth up there above the clouds as any veteran flyer could have wished. And when at last the bright sun of another day chased the moon and its haze into obscurity, it lighted up the flying craft some time before its orb had peeped high enough over the Atlantic's horizon to shed its rays upon the affairs of earth itself.
Gradually, as the sun arose in the heavens, Tom brought the Sky-Bird lower, until presently he and John could see the ground, bathed in glistening color from its recent wetting, far below them.