The incidents of the next hour or so would be hard to picture from the standpoint of Jerry's emotions. As they half ran over to where the Skyrocket stood ready, snorting like an impatient racehorse, his heart was filled with a kind of frightened determination. Once he was strapped into his seat, his pulses stopped galloping so fast, but as Tod began an endless fumbling with levers, plainly as nervous as his chum, Jerry's nerve oozed out at his fingertips; he might have climbed out had it not been for the straps—and the two men, who now came forward and insisted that the boys give up their hair-brained plan. Jerry would have been killed by inches rather than give in to them.
A sudden terrifying lurch, a dizzy parting company with solid earth that almost made Jerry part company with his stomach. He yelled, but it might easily have been through excitement rather than fear. He hoped the two and Tod would think so. He dared not look down—all he could do was grip the rod before him with a death-defying clutch. Faster and faster, higher and higher they mounted, the air whistling by them like mad.
"Can't you slow her down a little?" he yelled in Tod's ear, but Tod gave no answer. He could hardly have heard above the roar of the motor and the sickening whine of the propellers—not to intention a steady drumming of taut wires and tightly stretched silk. "Can't you tune her down?" Jerry yelled, louder this time, "and get her level?"
"Can't!" shouted Tod. "I've forgotten which handle to pull, even if I knew which way to pull it!"
He tried first one and then another, but although they lurched dangerously, first this way and then that, they kept mounting into the sky. Finally there was but one chance left—Tod cautiously drew the lever toward him, then with an "Ah!" heard above all the noise, brought it all the way. The Skyrocket quivered, dropped to an even keel, and then turned her nose earthward. But Tod was ready for that. Halfway back he shoved, the lever and once more the Skyrocket rode level.
They had left Lost Island far behind, but in which direction they could not be sure. A long streak of flame to the left told them that a railroad lay there, and it could be none other than the Belt Line that ran into Watertown. Through a rift in the clouds a cluster of stars showed briefly—the Big Dipper. "See!" shouted Tod. "We're headed north, all right."
They were going much slower now, and the noise was not so deafening; they could talk without splitting their throats. Dimly they made out Plum Run directly beneath them, while a haze of lights indicated Watertown, the goal. Even as they watched it seemed to be drawing nearer.
"Were you scared?" asked Tod.
"Stiff," confessed Jerry. "You?"
"Should say. Bet my hair's turned white. Where'll we land?"