“All right, come on then,” and the man with the scar and his confederate leaped on their horses and galloped off, taking as nearly as they could the course of the airship above them. A little later they were joined by a third person.
Bob, in the kitchen of the aircraft, with nothing to do until it came time to get dinner, took up a pair of field glasses and focussed them on the earth below. They were well away from the crowd now, and Bob caught sight of three figures on horses, seemingly racing below them.
“That’s queer,” he murmured. “It looks as if they were trying to follow us. And—and—why, if that isn’t Noddy Nixon!”
He looked eagerly through the glasses and then called to Jerry, who, setting the automatic steering gear, came back to the galley on a run.
“Isn’t that Noddy?” demanded Bob, in great excitement.
“It sure is,” agreed the tall lad, after a look. “And one of the men is that same chap we saw in the depot—the one I suspected of being a grub-staker! Fellows, we’re being followed! But I don’t believe they can keep it up long!”