"We're miles off it just now," the navigator responded. "Too far to the north."
"Suppose we changed our course?"
"Well, if you'd point her west by south for half an hour or so I think we'd at least come within radio distance of something," Don said, after a moment of thought.
"That's what we'll do then," the chief pilot announced, and immediately fitted the action to the word.
In this altered course they continued for more than a quarter of an hour, with Fred still sounding out the distress call of the International code.
"Hear anything?" Jack finally queried, eyeing the petrol indicator.
"Nary a sound."
Don consulted his charts and reckonings again and advised two points further south. Jack immediately brought the plane around to that suggested course, and in ten more minutes the mathematics and judgment of Don Harlan were vindicated.
Fred's face suddenly beamed, and unconsciously he slapped his knee.
"Got anybody?" Andy asked.