“We left early this morning,” was the reply, “and I was well up in the sky before many of the people saw me.”
“I never knew you could run one,” Frank said.
“Oh, I had some instructions from the Wrights,” was the modest reply, “and, besides, there was an expert at Missoula who helped me get the machine together and contributed a few parting instructions.”
“Then you’ve been in the air all day?” asked Pat.
“No, we stopped several times, of course, once on the right of way of the Great Northern railroad and filled our gasoline tanks,” was the reply, “and rested there a few hours. Jimmie had to eat there, of course!”
“Eat!” came the boy’s voice from the fire. “If I ever get a bite at food again it will drop down into the toes of me shoes! Here!” he shouted, as Pat produced a can of pork and beans and started to open it. “You needn’t mind opening that! I’ll just swallow it as it is.”
“Bright boy!” laughed Pat, handing him a liberal supply of beans and fried bacon. “Now fill up on that and then loosen up on your impressions of the sky.”
“I thought I’d make an impression on the earth before I got through,” Jimmie mumbled, his mouth full of beans. “We went up so far that the mountains looked like ant hills, didn’t we, Ned?”
“About 7,000 feet,” was the reply. “You see,” he added, turning to Frank, “I wanted to size up the situation before I landed. If there is anybody in this upturned country at all, our presence here is known. The aeroplane’s chatter took good care of that. And, besides, our landing in the night, with the lights going, gave unmistakable evidence of something stirring.”
“I should say so,” Frank agreed.