Rankin pulled back the throttle lever. With a roar the propeller took up its speed; the tachometer dial jumped to fifteen thousand revolutions; and the beautiful great bird glided out from the shore, trusting to fate to attain its purpose.
Rankin pulled tentatively on the elevator control. The machine answered beautifully; lifted at once to its planing angle and skimmed the surface. Rankin hauled back, on the control.
“How does she climb?” he asked into the telephone mouthpiece which rose from his chest.
“’Bout six hundred,” came the muffled reply from the observer’s seat in front. “Let her go.”
V.
The great adventure had commenced. Half an hour had sped since one impetuous fanatic had charged into the tent and persuaded the other to race out with him and offer up possibly their lives and certainly the machine in their wild quest of service to their so much berated Uncle Sam. Only half an hour! But in view of the ship that was rushing inexorably on into it knew not what, a priceless thirty minutes.
The machine hurtled ahead into the dark cloud bank, dipping and swaying and yawing like an instruction flight. Rankin was “feeling out ” the little individual peculiarities of the machine which was new to him.
Presently he settled down to a long steady climb up to his traveling level which he proposed, to make about five thousand feet in order to hold as wide a range of vision from the height as the heavy atmosphere would permit of. His face was very grim and stern; he was making no mistakes about the percentage of chances which were out against him.
“What d’you need for setting your course?” he spoke shortly into the mouthpiece.
“Where’s your ship?”