Soon his speed had abated sufficiently to allow the use of the brakes, and he brought his machine to a standstill. Lifting it onto its stand, he pushed his goggles up on his forehead, and looked around for his late rival.
He made out the aeroplane at no great distance, and could see that it was making preparations to land. When the aviator reached a point almost over Bert’s head, he shut off his engine entirely, and, describing a great spiral, landed gently on the ground not a hundred yards from where Bert and the “Blue Streak” were standing.
Bert immediately ran toward him, and the aviator stepped stiffly from his seat and held out his hand.
“You’ve got a mighty fast machine there, comrade,” he said, with a grin, as Bert shook hands with him. “I thought my ’plane was pretty good, but I guess your motor bike is better.”
“Well, it isn’t so bad, perhaps,” replied Bert, unable no matter how hard he tried, to keep a little note of pride out of his voice. “I manage to get a little action out of it once in a while.”
“I should say you did,” agreed his late rival, “but what are you doing way out here a thousand miles from nowhere, more or less?”
“I might ask the same question of you,” replied Bert, with a smile, “but as you beat me to it, I’ll answer yours first.”
Bert then proceeded to outline briefly the contest in which he was engaged, but, before he had gone far, his companion interrupted him.
“Oh, I know all about that!” he exclaimed. “And so you’re one of the chaps in the transcontinental race, are you? Well, you haven’t got so much further to go, considering the distance you’ve covered already.”
“No, I guess the worst of it is over,” agreed Bert, “although I’ve been told that there are some very bad roads ahead of me.”