The Boy Aviators in Record Flight; Or, The Rival Aeroplane

by John Henry Goldfrap

Sure enough there was hardly more than a few spoonfuls of the fuel left.

“There’s some alcohol in the locker. We had it for the stove. Let’s try that,” suggested Harry.

The alcohol was dumped into the tank and gave them a little more fuel, but the shore still looked far away.

Lower and lower sagged the aeroplane under her decreased speed, till as they reached the shore it seemed that she was hardly skimming the waves, but she bravely struggled on, and as the engine gave a final gasp and came to an abrupt stop, the Golden Eagle settled down on a sandy beach.

“Well, here we are,” said Frank, “and none too soon.”

“Now, let’s go and see what sort of folks they are in that village,” said Harry. “I’m famished, and my mouth is as parched as a bit of dried orange peel.”

“Same here,” said Frank, as the boys set out for the interior which was hidden from them by sand dunes, topped with a sort of sharp bladed grass that cut like a knife.

The village they found to be a mere collection of shacks, with pigs roaming about its streets, and skinny cattle poking their noses into the house doors. They were received hospitably enough, however, and although they could not talk Spanish, managed to make their wants understood, more especially when they showed some gold.

The wonder of the villagers knew no bounds when, after they had refreshed themselves, the boys showed them the aeroplane and pointed to the sky. The Mexicans were too polite to say so, but it was clear that they thought the boys were fabricators, though how they imagined they had landed in their village was a matter of speculation.

That night they managed to secure a cart and, having packed the Golden Eagle, set out for the railroad, which the Mexicans assured them was “far, far away,” as a matter of fact, it was not more than sixty miles, and the next day, late in the evening, two very dusty, very ragged, very tired boys got out of the plodding ox cart at Torres, a small town on the Sonora Railroad, and almost frightened the native operator to death by their vehement demands to file messages.