“There’s nothing to do but keep doggedly on,” rejoined Frank, “but we ought to reach Pittsburg to-night. It looks as if we are in for a rain-storm, too.”
“It certainly does,” rejoined Harry. “Well, there’s one consolation, Slade can’t do any better in the rain than we can.”
“No, that’s so,” rejoined Frank, but there was little elation in his tone.
For a time the boys sat in silence. It was broken by a sharp shout from Harry.
“Frank! Frank! look there!”
They were flying above a farm-house, from the chimney of which a cheerful column of smoke was ascending. Hungry and tired as the boys were, they could in imagination smell the breakfast coffee, the aroma of the frizzling bacon and the hiss of the frying eggs. But what had caused Harry’s shout was clear enough. Outside the farm-house stood two automobiles, which they recognized as those of Barr and Fred Reade, and a short distance from the two cars stood the Despatch’s aeroplane.
“They’ve stopped for breakfast,” exultingly cried Frank; “here’s where we get ahead of them.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE FIRST LEG.
The country now began to be more thickly settled. In fact, the boys passed a constant series of surprised villages and frightened farms. While they were passing above one hillside farm, in fact, they were received with a demonstration of more than surprise. A man in blue jeans came running out into his barnyard with a shot-gun, and fired the contents of both barrels upward at the young navigators. At the height they were flying, however, a shot-gun could not harm them.
A short time later Harry lay down for a nap, after both boys had eaten some of the cold lunch they had packed at Remson. He slept under protest, but Frank insisted that after their harrying night trip they both needed sleep. He agreed to take his turn later. In the meantime, in the auto, Billy Barnes and Witherbee dozed off and shared watches with Lathrop and old Mr. Joyce. Neither the miner nor the inventor could drive an auto, so it was necessary to divide up the hours of sleep in this way.