Directly, Schneider reported to his pilot that the farm enclosure was just ahead, with its yellow ribbon border, which the river wound around it.
The observers on the four biplanes gave the premises a thorough looking over with their glasses, but had no announcement to make of any human movement below.
Separating the machines, each distant from the other several hundred yards, the pilots guided northward, at reduced speed, and within a few hundred feet from the ground.
Some twenty miles forward, the little fleet encountered a snowstorm, and the earth was already covered with a dazzling white carpet.
A range of hills forced a higher flying altitude, and in an atmosphere growing decidedly chilly. The aviators were quickly compelled to close their coats at the throat, and to huddle down in the protecting folds of their service blankets.
On a high level, Roque instructed Billy to make a stop, so that the long sitting airmen might work the cramp out of their joints by a brisk runabout. The snow had little depth on the wind-swept plateau, and landing could be made with smooth certainty.
A spot of blackened surface showed bare through the powdery snow covering, indicating a recent campfire there.
"Trot out the coffee pot," Henri called to Schneider, "here are the makings of a blaze."
The recent heavy rains had filled with water the rocky basins near at hand, and the thin skim of ice now forming thereover was easily broken.
The Austrians elected tea as their special inspiration on the occasion, and the rival fumes soon ascended from the spouts of coffee and teapots.