“An’ stick to the river!” urged Frank.
“You’re off,” laughed Phil sticking the electric flash light in his pocket. “But say,” he added, “let me take your automatic—I may meet a grizzly on the hill.”
Handing Phil his new revolver Frank hesitatingly took his place in the cabin. In another moment the Loon made another spurt and Phil, sprinting behind, successfully gave it the last push that cleared the gluelike grass.
“Good-bye,” yelled Phil. There was a wave of Frank’s hand and the silver planes of the airship tilted as the monoplane veered to the west. Long before the birdlike craft had disappeared over the Hog Back range, Phil was trudging stoutly toward the Fording.
Reaching the summit of the big hill, Frank expected to see a valley and some sign of the camp. Instead, he saw only an expanse of lodge-pole pine trees and a second and lower range about four miles distant. He immediately turned north until he was over the river and then followed its course until the stream made its way through a rift in the second range. For a better view he had gone up to one thousand feet. From the summit of the second range he easily made out the Elk River and then, still following the Fording, was soon relieved to catch sight of their junction.
Ten minutes after he started and having covered seven miles, as he estimated, the Loon shot southward to a landing much like the deceitful one in Grass Meadow. There was much revolver firing and yelling as the Loon made a spiral drop. But Frank’s face and the absence of Phil stopped the jollification. The four camp tents had been pitched, the wagons parked and Mr. Mackworth and his guests were seated in comfortable camp chairs watching Jake’s supper preparations when Frank reached the camp. But the lone aviator gave these things little attention.
It had seemed a simple enough thing for Phil to follow the river to camp. But as Frank traced its winding course and saw its rocky brier-lined shore up to the very edge of which the thick pine trees crowded, he realized that his chum had no easy task before him. Certainly it would be dark long before Phil could cover the seven miles, and that meant feeling his way through a tangled forest without even a trail.
Frank told his story in a frightened, excited manner.
“He can’t make two mile an hour follerin’ the river,” volunteered “Grizzly” Hosmer.
“Why didn’t he come over the Hog Back?” asked Skinner. “He’d saved a lot.”