“We seem to have passed civilization,” remarked Ben.
“We are clear out of the United States, anyway,” declared Bob.
“My plan is to get to a good altitude and put the motors to the limit,” was Ben’s suggestion.
“All right, if we can stand the cold.”
The experiments of the half dozen ensuing hours neither of the young aviators ever forgot. It was a real endurance test. There was cold, darkness, uncertainty, discomfort and peril to combat. Only that the splendid little Dart behaved grandly, were they able to keep up an uninterrupted forward progress. Then there were many bad tips and tilts, but skill and attention evaded any real mishap.
“We have driven our craft to the last limit of speed,” announced Ben at last. “The fuel gauge is at danger line.”
“That settles it, then,” said Bob. “It’s all over but the barograph readings, now.”
Ben set the Dart on a downward slant. It was high time to descend. As they pierced a broad ribbon of dense cloud and made out outlines of hills and trees below, the chug—chug of the motor grew fainter and less distinct. The sound diminished finally to a choking gasp, and the Dart rested on a broad even surface in the midst of great trees, almost of its own volition.
“We made it just in time,” said Bob, climbing from the machine with an immense sigh of relief. “What time is it, Ben?”
Ben lighted a match and consulted the dial of the treasured timepiece presented to him by the employees of the Saxton Automobile Works.