Our friends continued on their upward flight until they lost sight of the horsemen, and they knew they, themselves, must be but a mere speck in the sky.
“Now let ’em follow—if they can!” exclaimed Jerry, as he set the automatic steering gear. “How about that grub you spoke of, Bob?”
“It’ll be ready soon. What did I tell you?” demanded the vindicated stout lad, with a laugh. “I said you’d be hungry as soon as I was.”
“Well, this high altitude—ahem!” laughed the tall lad. “Serve it up, Bob!” he added, with assumed dignity.
During the meal they talked over their plans, and it was decided, first of all, to stick to the original scheme of pretending to be attached to the professor’s scientific party.
“We’ll go to Bolton,” said Jim Nestor. “That’s the nearest settlement of any account this side of the Border, and near the valley you spoke of, Harvey.”
“Yes, I guess Bolton would be the best place,” assented the prospector. “I was there just before I made my strike, and from there I can lay out the course to the valley. There’s only one thing bothering me, though.”
“What is that?” asked Jim.
“Well, you see the only way I can locate that valley is by the landmarks on the surface. There are two or three things by which I could tell when I got to the head of it. But, being up in the air this way, I don’t see how I’m going to recognize ’em.”
“Oh, that will be easy,” asserted Jerry. “We can make a descent whenever we want to, and look about. If you see any signs that would tell us we were near the valley, then we can rise above the hills again, and move along until we are hovering over the big gash. Then we can drop down into it.”