The fires grew brighter and brighter as the Golden Eagle rushing through the upper air at express speed drew nearer to them. Frank called Harry to the wheel and busied himself with the rope-ladder. It was about thirty feet in length and formed of the best manila hemp rope with tough lignum vitae rounds. The tops of the ladder were roughened so as to afford a better hand and foot grip.
Frank’s first step in making his preparations was to hook the two leather loops at one end of the ladder securely into two hooks screwed into the edge of the trap-door in the floor of the pilot-house for the purpose. He then folded it so that the second he was ready to descend he could throw it out and it would fall in a straight line without snarling. He then opened the trap and, lying flat on his stomach carefully scanned through the night-glasses the character of the country over which they were racing along. Before he did this he gave a sharp order to Harry.
“Put out the light.”
There was a snap of the switch and the Golden Eagle’s bright eye grew black.
“Slow down the engine! Muffle her way down!” was the next command, “we don’t want to have to open her up, with the consequent noise, till we have to.”
As Harry obeyed, the sharp rattle of the exhaust, which had made the whole craft quiver under the strain of the hard-driven engine stopped and became a gentle purr hardly audible.
“That’s better,” commented Frank.
“How does she head for the fires now?” was his next question.
“South-by-a-quarter east,” replied Harry, switching on the binnacle light for a second and squinting at the compass.
“Bear up two points to the east,” ordered Captain Frank.