“She wouldn’t,” remarked Dot, bitterly.
“What direction did she take?” asked Linda.
“Straight across the Gulf. Due west.”
“Due west for us, then,” announced Linda. “Fill up my tanks, for we want to leave with all possible speed.”
Inside of ten minutes they were off again, more encouraged than they had been since the beginning of their pursuit. It looked now as if they really might catch those criminals.
In their eagerness to follow hot on the trail, not one of the three fliers even thought of lunch. Later in the day they were to regret this omission sorely.
An hour of flying brought them to the coast, but Linda did not stop. Out over the water she flew, her heart beating rapidly with the expectation of victory ahead.
But in her excitement, she had not realized how wide the Gulf of California was at this southern part. Two hundred miles, at least, if she kept her course straight. She had covered only a little more than half of this, when she saw to her horror that her main tank was exhausted. Twelve gallons of gas in the emergency supply, and almost a hundred miles to go!
What a fool she had been, not to put an extra tank into the cockpit! To think that after all her experience, she should be endangering three lives by her carelessness! To be forced down in the water! To meet death in a way she had not thought of, since her flight across the Atlantic Ocean!
She slowed down her speed and gazed all about her at the limitless expanse of water beneath them. No land in sight—not even a boat to which she could signal. Parachute jumping would be of no use, and she did not carry life-preservers.