His wife and daughter waved their hands to the motor boys.
A moment later the stanch little machine rose into the air, and soared away over the treetops on the quest after the unprincipled bully who had taken away the Comet.
“Now we’re on his trail!” cried Bob, as he looked to see that the lunch basket was securely fastened.
“I hope we catch him soon,” murmured Jerry, as he grasped the steering-wheel with a firmer grip, and peered ahead for a glimpse of their own beloved craft.
[CHAPTER XIX]
A DESPERATE RACE
From Denver to that part of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado in Arizona where Snake Island might be located, the distance is about five hundred miles. Jerry had calculated this before starting, and he had told his chums that there was a chance of catching Noddy before the latter could reach the great gash in the earth that represented the canyon.
“For I don’t believe Noddy is going to be very expert in managing our Comet,” commented the tall lad. “He may know how to run an ordinary aeroplane, but when he gets mixed up with our dirigible balloon he’ll come a cropper, sooner or later.”
“Make it later,” advised Bob. “We don’t want him smashing our airship with any croppers.”