“Better bring a little more beef this time,” suggested the colonel with a laugh, “and anything else that looks tasty and you’ve got room for.”
“I guess I’ve had all that’s coming to me,” suggested Paul. “Don’t think I’m afraid. Whenever you want a helper,” he went on, addressing Norman, “don’t fail to call on me.”
“I guess we won’t make many more trips this season!” put in Roy, but in that he was mistaken. The trip made the next day was memorable, but two more that were to be made later were more than that, and the last one was certainly ample justification for Colonel Howell’s daring introduction of the monoplane into these silent places of the North.
Shortly before five o’clock the next morning, in spite of an ominous gray sky and a new sound of the wind in the trees, Norman and Roy were off on their three hundred mile flight. They planned a short stay at the Landing and upon reaching camp again before the shortening day was at an end. They carried in the cockpit their Mackinaw jackets and their winter caps. Philip also prepared a cold luncheon to be eaten on the return trip, thus saving time at the Athabasca stop.
Early on their outward flight, for a time the red sun made an effort to get through the clouds, but after nine o’clock had wholly disappeared and the temperature began to fall. An almost imperceptible fine dry snow appeared, but it was not enough to interfere with the conduct of the machine. When a landing was finally made at the old place in the bend of the river, although the day was dreary enough, only the chill atmosphere and a few traces of snow gave premonition of possible storm.
This time Norman made the visit across the river and he was not gone much over an hour and a half. To facilitate the delivery of his stores, which were considerable, he pressed a horse and wagon into service and a little after twelve o’clock Roy was glad to see his companion reappear in the delivery wagon. The spitting snow had begun again. No time was lost in luncheon this day, but the fresh meat, eggs and butter and a few fresh vegetables were quickly stored in the rear of the cockpit.
There were no telegrams this time, but a larger quantity of mail with considerable for the boys, some of which Norman had examined. At twelve thirty o’clock everything was in readiness. On the wind-swept heights it was now cold. Before mounting into the cockpit the boys put on their winter caps, Mackinaw jackets and gauntlets.
Then, elevating the front protecting frame, they started the Gitchie Manitou on its return flight, the wind and snow already smiting its resonant sides in a threatening manner.
The young aviators had little to say concerning the situation. They were not alarmed and could not afford to be, as their surroundings were mild compared with the conditions that the unique monoplane had been made to overcome. And yet they were now beyond theorizing, and it looked as if before the day was done they were to prove the merits or weaknesses of their much-lauded craft.
“I’m glad of one thing,” suggested Roy, a little later; “we’re going to have daylight all the way back.”