Frank in secret did begin to feel more than anxious. The afternoon was almost over and the sun perilously near the western horizon. Too well did he know how rapidly darkness came after the disappearance of the king of day.
He bade Andy pay more attention to the lay of the country ahead of them.
"We're keeping well ahead of the biplane," he observed, "and there's little danger of their overtaking us. But in case they drop out of the race we must try and know something of the chances for a landing ourselves."
"Gee! it looks pretty punk down there!" admitted Andy, after he had carefully turned the glasses forward and down.
"That's what is bothering me," Frank said. "We've sure got to drop, sooner or later, because it would be utterly impossible for us to keep afloat all night. And if there happens to be no opening in that dense forest, how can we land?"
"Listen! as sure as you live they're trying to wing us with a shot!" cried Andy.
"Well, I wouldn't bother about that. The fellow only has a revolver, if I know the sound of one, and he could never reach us at this distance. It tells me that he's got to about the limit and that something is going to change pretty soon, mark my words, Andy."
Of course one of Frank's objects in saying this was to encourage his chum, for he knew that in all probability Andy was getting pretty close to what he himself would call a "blue funk."
Sure enough the reports continued until just six had reached their ears faintly.
"That ends it," observed Frank, complacently.