Canby, in the other war-plane, had just been asking Henri if he had any idea where he was going. The pilot strained his voice in telling the soldier that he “didn’t know,” and at the moment “didn’t care much.”
It was strictly the truth, this assertion as to lack of knowledge of any fixed route to follow, and equally hazy any idea as to where the war-planes were going to stop.
With the balmy air blowing full in their faces, and clear sailing under a sun-lit sky, the young aviators were living in the present—a present wherein for the first time in many a day the alarms of war were not resounding. Trouble was behind them, and very likely in front of them, but sufficient this little respite.
The compass showed that they were traveling in direction southwest, and far to the left could be seen a line of railway, on which, reduced by distance, a toy-sized locomotive was speeding in front of a miniature train of cars.
To the right was unrolled afar a real surface picture of the ancient land of the nomads—the land from which come dates, galls, gum, mohair and carpets, where the camel cushion-foots the deserts and lies down to rest in the generous shade of the oasis.
It was a vast and fertile area over which the warplanes were sailing, and as their rapid transit carried the machines further south, the silver threading of rivers of names unknown to the air travelers crossed and recrossed the green expanse of the glorious panorama.
Fleas and flies and locusts and plagues do not rise to aeroplane strata—so it all looked wholly good then to the aviators.
Thirsty and hungry, Billy concluded to chance a descent, and nearing the ground, saw several muffled figures hastening away from the stone-bordered brink of a well, followed by a number of smaller shapes not muffled at all. Goatskin water pouches were abandoned and gourd drinking vessels scattered when the scared water-bearers made their bolt. They had, perhaps, learned not to shy at a locomotive, but a buzzing aeroplane suddenly flapping down from above was a different proposition.
“It looks like taking candy from the children,” said Henri, picking up one of the gourds dropped by a little bronze cupid, now kiting across a grassy slope not far from the well.
“Better drink your fill before some of the tribesmen come and poke you with a scimitar,” advised Macauley, who was already setting example.