"We'll chance it in the next field," he called. "Can't stay up any further. Here goes!"
Down, down, they went. Then they were down, bumping along. But the element of luck that, despite all his skill, Greene had to have, favored him. The field was smooth and the monoplane came to rest safely. In an instant both were out, Greene first, since Frank, having to free himself from his straps, was delayed.
"Quick! The small flashlight!" called the flyer. "Here, give it to me! If we're to save any essence we've got to be quick!"
He took the light. But a quick look over the tank failed to show a spurting stream of gasoline.
"By Jove! Wonder if I could have been mistaken? Perhaps it was something else they hit!" cried Greene. But then he groaned. As he unscrewed the cap of the tank and peered in, he saw that it was bone dry.
CHAPTER XIII
A DANGEROUS ERRAND
For a moment Greene was speechless with despair. Fate had tricked him, it seemed, after he had done his best—and a better best than most men could even have attempted. Then he grinned.
"We'll have to hoof it," he said. "A good twelve miles, too! If we were champions at cross-country work it would take us the best part of two hours. And it's so long since I've used my legs that I don't know how long I'll be."