“Why, I just hope it,” answered Norman, somewhat perplexed.
Colonel Howell hesitated a moment and then said abruptly: “You two boys are the best guarantee I could have against another accident. I want you to help me make a success of this thing. I’ve an idea and I got it the moment I saw your aeroplane to-day. Come with me into the wilderness.”
“Us?” exclaimed both boys together.
“Why not?” hastily went on the oil man. “Don’t you see what I’ve been driving at? Don’t you recall the two long trails I made back to civilization—a month each time? Think of this: When I leave Athabasca Landing, the only way by which I can communicate with the world behind me is by courier, on foot; from Fort McMurray this means a tramp of four weeks for me, and even to a skilled Indian it means three hundred miles through the poplar forest.”
“And what could we do?” asked the breathless Roy.
“If what you tell me about your airship is true, you can make almost daily trips for mail. At least, it would be as easy for me to keep in touch with civilization as if I had a railroad train at my disposal,” declared Colonel Howell springing to his feet.
“But we couldn’t do that,” began Norman. “Our fathers—”
“I’ve an idea and I got it the minute I saw your aeroplane to-day.”