“We’re nearing the West Indies,” observed Mr. Wallace jubilantly. “That large island away over there is probably Abaco.”
As they neared the land, Karl dropped to perhaps a thousand feet. From this altitude they could command a good view of the country below them. It was for the most part wild and uninhabited. There was a great deal of fog hovering about, or they could have seen many more islands.
They were nearing the tropics, as evidenced by the mercury rising in the thermometer. As they were traveling evenly, it was safe to open the windows. The resulting gush of wind was at once greatly appreciated.
“We’ll have about three hundred and seventy-five miles of traveling before we reach Cuba,” announced Karl, as they passed over a large cluster of islands. “Maybe we’d better land there, at least for a few minutes. It’ll give the ’plane a chance to cool off, and then, too, we can look it over.”
It was three hours later that Bob caught sight of what appeared to be a long black line stretching out of sight to their left. That line gradually took shape and color, and the explorers found themselves nearing Cuba.
On the side nearest them was a large mountain, with a cone-like top that gave it the appearance of a volcano.
Within sight of this peak, Karl picked out a level stretch of ground and sent the monoplane downward. He found it necessary to make a spiral landing, as there was danger of otherwise striking a line of low, sharp peaks.
Bob and Joe watched closely as the ground came up to meet them. Then they felt the wheels bump, and they knew they were safe.
“All out!” called Karl, appearing at the cabin door. “That is, if you want to rest your legs.”
The others needed no urging. They climbed stiffly out of the ’plane and stretched freely. While they had not been cramped, they had nevertheless not been allowed the freedom of violent exercise.