CHAPTER VI.
RECONNOITERING.
THE all-important question still confronted the young aviator: where was his colored friend, Bohunkus Johnson?
There might be several answers to the query, but none was satisfactory. Possibly he was at the workshop of Professor Morgan, or had been set down at the end of the experimental tours the inventor was making, or the fate which Harvey dreaded may have already overtaken him.
“The one thing for me to do is to have another look at the Professor’s place at close range, when he has no thought of my being near. I shall surely be able to learn something worth while.”
Our friend kept the Dragon of the Skies under scrutiny so long as it remained in his field of vision. It was heading toward the cabin and in a brief while dipped from sight. The inventor had descended to resume work.
The day was drawing to a close. The sun had set, and twilight was creeping over the dismal wilderness. It was a hard walk through the broken, rocky solitude where he could not find any trail but simply knew the right course to follow. He had brought a goodly package of sandwiches with him and he now ate of the lunch. Fully a dozen remained in the paper bag that was placed on the seat before the tank, reserved to serve him on the morrow. He was loath to leave the aeroplane unwatched, but, as has been shown, there was no help for it, and he now trusted to the good fortune that had clung so markedly to him from the time he first left home.
With a final inspection of the machine, he skirted the edge of the wood to the farther corner and then went toward the inventor’s headquarters. It was hard work from the first. He was forced to go around huge boulders and masses of rock, push through the intricate undergrowth, now and then checked and driven to make long detours, but he kept the right course and knew he had only to persevere to reach the spot in the end. The moon did not rise until late, but the sky was clear, and studded with brilliant stars, while the partial lighting up of the obscurity enabled him to avoid going astray.
As nearly as he could judge he had traversed half the distance when, without thought of any such thing, he came abruptly to the margin of a large pond or lake. He could not recall having noticed a sheet of water in studying his map of the region and was in a dilemma. In the obscurity the gleaming surface stretched beyond his vision on the right and left, nor could he see anything but darkness in front.
“I must cross in some way,” he reflected, “but how shall I do it? I shouldn’t mind taking a long swim, but it would be awkward in my clothes and I shouldn’t like to call upon the Professor in the costume of Adam and Eve.”
He had not left any of his garments with the aeroplane, for there was no saying when he was likely to need his outer coat. While the temperature was mild, a certain crispness natural to the season brooded in the air, and when he thrust his hand into the water he found it thrillingly cold. He inclined to the plan of fastening enough dry limbs together to float his garments, while he swam and pushed the little raft in front. He would not have hesitated to do this despite the chilliness of the water, could he have been certain that the swim would not prove a long one. True, he was within a half mile of the cabin, as he figured it, and it would seem that slight risk was involved.