The Sky-Bird fairly cut the air like a knife, and the roar of propeller, wind, and engine was so great that our friends found conversation out of the question except by shouting in one another's ears. Poor Grandpa cowered in the farthest corner of the cabin, peeping out from behind one of the hammocks, as meek as a kitten, his tail crooking uneasily. But finding that the strange noises did him no harm, he presently came out and took up a position where he could look through the glass-floor window at the fleeting country below.
It seemed only a few minutes before, rising higher, they shot over the ragged chain of the Kong Mountains in western Senegambia, passing within sight of Mount Loma's bare peak. Then, dropping again until they were not more than a thousand feet high, they flew along over the tablelands to the eastward, recognized the Joliba River as it lay a yellow, twisting band below them, and a little later crossed the southern end of the district of Bambarra.
Great forests and jungles and canebrakes swept past them. In those tangles of gnarled trees, matted vines, interlacing rank grasses, and clusters of towering plants, so dank with the odor of wet and decay that the air even up where the flyers were seemed charged with it, lurked many a monster reptile and ferocious beast. Often the four boys saw the majestic form of a lion or the lumbering shape of an elephant as these animals were quenching their thirst at some open spot along a stream. And once they caught a brief glimpse of a terrific combat between what seemed to be two enormous rhinos, which had met in a little glen in the midst of a cluster of mahogany trees. How they would have liked to see the finish of this battle royal! Indeed, they would have enjoyed nothing better than to land in some favored spot and do a little big-game hunting with their rifles!
If they had been ahead of their adversaries instead of behind, they might have indulged in such sport, they thought. But now it would be unwise to waste a moment. They must make every endeavor to reach their next airport, Kuka, by nightfall. This small town was on the western bank of the salty Lake Chad, in the very heart of Africa, and on the southern border of the great Sahara Desert. It possessed no railroads or telegraph service, being linked with the outside world only by caravan route, and its inhabitants were practically all half-civilized negroes of the Fulbee tribe, who retained all of their forefathers' superstitions and wore no garb over their frescoed black bodies except a short gikki or skirt.
Mr. Giddings and Mr. Wrenn had had great difficulty in getting an English-speaking man to set up a field at this point for their flyers, and it was only after considerable telegraphing that a Scotch trader named MacInnis, situated at Lagos, the nearest coast-port of any size, had agreed to get a supply of gasoline and oil to Kuka and meet the airplanes when they arrived.
It was five o'clock when the boys passed over the low banks of the Niger River. By seven they were in the heart of the wild, level territory of Sokoto, skimming over vast expanses of plume-like grasses and extensive marshes and swamps. Strange birds of enormous size flew up out of the morasses, startled at the sight and sound of the airplane. Some tried to follow it, evidently to give it battle, but the swiftest of them were hopelessly outdistanced before they were well started.
When the sun disappeared behind the forest back of them, the flyers were still making speed for their destination, with Bob at the throttle. Pretty soon the lengthening shadows and obscuring of detail below convinced the crew that night was just about upon them, and that if they did not reach Kuka within the next thirty minutes they were very likely to be in such darkness that they would overrun it and never know the difference.
Some of them began to wonder if they had not missed their course, when a cry came from Bob, and they all ran forward and looked out of the front windows at the object he was pointing out.