"Well, I'm glad we are out of that," was Tom's comment, as they reached a trail on the other bank.
"We'll have to endure it again, to get back," said Sam. "And what about the biplane?"
"Just wait till we find the machine first," answered Dick, with a faint smile. "You know the old saying, 'Don't count your chickens——'"
"Before they are fried," finished Tom, with a grin. "You see, somebody might lift them from the henroost before you had a chance to cook them," he went on soberly.
"By gum! thet ain't no joke nuther!" burst in Peter Marley. "Many a chicken I've lost through tramps an' wuthless niggers."
They had to go around several walls of rocks and through a tangle of brushwood, and then came to a small clearing where was located the remains of a wood-cutter's hut. Not far beyond was the locality where they had seen the object that looked like one of the biplane's wings.
It must be confessed that the hearts of the three boys beat a bit faster as they drew closer. Would they find the flying machine, and if so, would it be in serviceable condition or so smashed up as to be worthless?
"There she is!" burst from Tom's lips, and he pointed out into the water.
"Right down between half a dozen big rocks," added Sam. "Is she smashed much? How about the engine, Dick?"