The perilous flight of the boys in the storm had taken place on a Monday night. Mr. Mackworth’s last letters reached the Grahams just a week later. Therefore, Frank and Phil began work on the preparation of the car Tuesday morning.
After a week’s idleness the Loon was out of its hangar early Tuesday morning. It was as efficient as ever. Having shot out over the fields for a few miles the boys headed back to town, crossed the big lumberyards and furniture factories until the Grand River was reached. This was a favorite stunt of the boys; to follow the beautiful, winding stream until a deep looking stretch was reached and then to dart down, hit the water with their hydroplane boat and, like a flying duck, scatter the spray in a cloud.
“That’s sport,” exclaimed Phil, “but wait till we hit the mountains; hot as blazes one minute and scrapin’ the snow off the peaks the next. Listen to me: that’s the real stuff.”
“I reckon, from uncle’s letter,” said Frank a little later when the monoplane was again in the air, “that they are countin’ on us takin’ two passengers up with us—”
“Maybe three,” suggested Phil. “Both of us don’t have to go every time.”
“Well, three—and we’ll draw lots for turns,” answered Frank. “One of these, of course, will be Sam Skinner. I can kind o’ figure out what a mountain looks like, but I can’t get any notion of what a western hunter looks like. I hope he’ll wear buckskin and a bowie-knife. After we sight old Mr. Sheep I suppose we’ll take orders from Sam and I reckon he’ll tell the Englishmen when to shoot.”
“By the way,” added Frank, “what’s your idea about uncle’s guests?”
“Easy,” answered Phil. “Captain Arthur Ludington is a young officer with a little cheese-box cap; a sofa pillow stuffed in his chest; his handkerchief up his sleeve; tight pants and a snappy little cane. That is, at home when he is soldierin’. Out here I reckon he’ll be in huntin’ tweeds with a Scotch cap and orange-yellow puttees—also a bad smellin’ pipe.”
“And Lord Pelton?” asked Frank.