SAVING UNCLE EZRA
For a moment those aboard Dick's airship uttered not a sound. Then, as they saw the rival craft sifting slowly downward, gliding from side to side like a sheet of paper, they looked at one another with horror in their eyes. It seemed such a terrible end.
Dick was the first to speak.
"We'll have to go down and help them," he said simply. "Some of them may be—alive!"
It meant stopping the race, it meant making the last of the two landings allowed them. And it was a landing in a wild and desolate place, seemingly, for there was no sign of city or town below them. And just now, after her repairs, when everything was running smoothly, it behooved Dick and his associates to take advantage of every mile and minute they could gain. Otherwise some other craft might get in ahead of them.
Yet Dick had said they must go down. There was no other course left them, in the name of humanity. As the young millionaire had observed, some of those in the wrecked airship might be alive. They might survive the fall, great as it was.
"Send her down, Mr. Vardon," said Dick quietly. "We may be able to save some of them."
If he thought that possibly he was losing his last chance to win the trans-continental race, he said nothing about it.
The motor was shut off, and there was silence aboard the Abaris. No one felt like talking. As they volplaned downward they saw the wreck of the Larabee strike the outer branches of a big tree, and then turn over again before crashing to the ground.
"She may catch fire from the gasolene," said Dick, in a tense voice. "We ought to hurry all we can."