On either hand, they could make out, as the light grew stronger, a thin, faint line of coast, and therefore Frank’s surmise was proven correct. The boys decided to make for the land on their left, as Frank had heard that the natives of the peninsula itself were little better than savages, and not overpleased to see strangers. The land to the left on the contrary must be Mexico, where they could probably find a railroad or at least the means of transportation to one.
It was afternoon when they drew near to the coast. Not far inland they could see among the barren hills, dotted here and there with cattle, a small village. It was a mere huddle of roofs, but at least it meant food and shelter, and the boys relied on being able to find a telegraph station from which they could send out a message to relieve the anxiety of the friends they knew must be extremely concerned for their safety by this time.
Suddenly as the outlines of the melancholy-looking hills grew plainer and plainer the engine, which had been working badly, gave symptoms of stopping altogether.
The boys exchanged worried looks. Beneath them was an expanse of water without a boat on its surface, and though both of them were strong swimmers, they could not dream of reaching the shore should their aeroplane plunge downward.
It was a serious situation.
Harry tinkered with the engine, and it began to run a little better for a short time, but soon began to gasp and cough, as if in mortal distress.
“What can be the matter with it?” puzzled Harry. “Everything, ignition, lubrication and all seems to be all right.”
“I have it,” suddenly cried Frank.
“What is it?”
“The gasolene is running out!”