And scud they did, their speed being increased by the power of the wind. They were not flying high, and Jerry dared not send the craft up any farther for fear of getting into a still breezier stratum of air.
“I hope we don’t hit anything!” he murmured, as he watched the speed and pressure gauges in the pilot house. Ned stood beside him, ready to help, and Jim Nestor had been pressed into service in the motor room. The professor was, as usual, busy over his books, and Harvey Brill was moving restlessly about, half fearing the danger he knew surrounded them.
It was about noon when Ned, who was looking from the forward port of the pilot house, exclaimed:
“Jerry, I think we’ll have to go up whether we want to or not. There’s a big cliff just ahead of us, and we’re heading right for it.”
Jerry sprang to his chum’s side, and quickly made some calculations.
“I think we can just about clear it,” he said. “If we can, so much the better, for I have a notion that it’s blowing great guns higher up. I think we can clear it.”
He and Ned watched anxiously, their hands on the levers ready to send the Comet up if necessary. But, as they approached the cliff, they saw that they could clear it by a small margin.
“And a good thing, too,” declared Jerry, with a glance aloft at the scudding clouds.
They crossed the pinnacle of the small mountain, and on the other side, saw, stretched before them, a level plain. On the far edge could be made out a small village or settlement.
“There’s Bolton!” exclaimed Jim Nestor. “We’re near the Border now!”