“I don’t blame you,” panted Paul, “and I bet you’ve been sweating blood. I don’t deserve anything else, but you’re going to save a lot of time if you’ll just forget what I used to be. I ain’t going to make any promises, but I’ll show all of you that I’m not what you all thought I was.”
Norman only smiled, but he gave his young friend a look of sympathy. Then he announced a little variation in the general plan.
“We’re so late now that it’s goin’ to be dark before we get back and a little further delay won’t do any harm. Just back of the new H. B. Company store I remember there’s quite an open space on the other side of the town. We’re flying pretty light and I think we’ll cross the river, make a landing there, and get a couple of tins of gasoline. We want an extra supply on hand.”
This flight was easily accomplished but it involved an experience that Norman had not anticipated. Having made a safe landing, while he visited the trading post and arranged to have oil delivered at once, nearly everyone in Athabasca Landing seemed to learn of the arrival of the airship. When he came riding back to the monoplane, in the delivery wagon, the Gitchie Manitou was the center of a mob of curious people. The sergeant of police was there, as well as the people from the hotel. It was impossible to leave at once. Politeness demanded decent replies to many inquiries but Norman almost felt repaid when he noted that this was the first meeting during the day between Paul and his old friend, the Mounted Policeman.
Yet, in the midst of the general greeting, the boys finally took their leave. As they swung over the city and the river, the mist was beginning to rise from the latter. For a part of the return trip at least, Norman knew that he would have to resort to his compass or to the guidance of the varying air currents that marked the river course at night.
For several days in the latter part of August there had been nightly frosts. Then there had been a short spell of warm weather and this night the boys could see that cool weather was rapidly approaching. As the monoplane winged its way into the gathering gloom and the crisp evening passed into dusk, the body of the Gitchie Manitou grew wet with cold dew. After dark, this began to turn into frost. Paul was able to wrap a light blanket about himself, but Norman, with no relief present, stuck to his post, protected only by his gloves and sweater.
As it was impossible to make out the course of the river from any distance, he had to defy the air currents in the rather hazardous light between the high river banks. It was far from the even flight made during the day in the sunlight, and again Norman could see his companion gripping the edge of the cockpit. There was little conversation, and in order to divert his companion, Norman manufactured a job for Paul by assigning to him the duty of watching the engine revolution gauge and the chronometer.
As Paul flashed the bulbs, throwing their little shaded lights on these instruments, and sang out the reading every few moments, Norman could not resist a smile. He read both instruments each time as quickly as his assistant.
About eleven thirty, the sun having now wholly disappeared, Norman’s long-waiting ear caught the unmistakable roar of the head of the Grand Rapids. From this place, he had a compass bearing to Fort McMurray, and he could have predicted their arrival at the camp almost within minutes.
“You can take it easy now,” he suggested to Paul. “We’re practically home.”