And when morning came they calculated they were but a few hundred miles from San Francisco.
Paul, who had gone to the pilot-house to relieve Innis, gave a startled cry.
"Look! Look!" he shouted. "There's the other airship!"
And as the others looked they saw, ahead of them, emerging from the midst of a cloud, Uncle Ezra's speedy craft. And, as they looked, they saw something else—something that filled them with horror.
For, as they gazed at the craft which had so nearly, either by accident or design, wrecked them, they saw one of the big side planes crumple up, as does a bird's broken wing. Either the supports had given way, or a sudden gust of air strained it too much.
"They're falling!" cried Dick, hoarsely.
The other airship was. The broken plane gave no support on that side, and as the motor still raced on, whirling the big propellers, the Larabee, unevenly balanced, in spite of the mercury stabilizers, tilted to one side.
Then, a hopeless wreck, she turned over and plunged downward toward the earth. Her race was over.