The aviators had both tea and water, but they drank only the latter and made no attempt to use the heating apparatus.
At four o’clock the increasing snowfall was beginning to give the machine some trouble, and yet it was plowing its way steadily through the air and neither boy was more than apprehensive. Soon after this the snow ceased suddenly and the wind rose as quickly.
“We’re losing some of our extra cargo anyway,” announced Roy, as the first gusts tore some of the accumulated snow from the weighted planes.
“And we’re losing some considerable gas,” added Norman. “I hope we don’t have to buck this wind very long—it’s coming dead ahead.” It was just then, the gloom merging into dark, that the alert Roy exclaimed:
“Look; a bunch o’ deer!”
The car was crossing the snow-flecked river and flying low. Norman raised himself and made out, in the edge of the timber below them, a group of deer.
“Don’t shoot,” he protested. “What’s the use?”
But his admonition was too late. Roy’s twenty-two had already sounded. However, nothing but a bullet was lost. When the monoplane had passed swiftly on its way, the placid and apparently unmoved animals stood gazing after the airship.