There was no need of saying this, as Andy ought to have known. No one could possibly be more careful than Frank Bird. And yet this was one of those times when daring had to go hand in hand with caution. The space in which they meant to try for a landing was so very small that it seemed necessary for the aeroplane to come down almost as lightly as a feather.
Fortunately the youthful pilot possessed a good pair of eyes. And the gloom had not as yet entirely blotted out all features of the landscape, now that they were so close to the earth.
Andy was holding himself in readiness. He knew that there would perhaps be an opportunity for him to drop to the ground and by pulling back, help to bring the little airship to a full stop before they banged up against a tree at the further side of the little glade.
Never before had Andy found himself compelled to do such a queer "stunt," as he afterwards termed it; but he was braced to exert himself now to the best of his ability.
"Jump!" shouted Frank, as they came roughly in contact with the ground.
And Andy went. He never knew whether he jumped purposely or lost his grip of that upright after the shock of the collision; but the next thing he realized he was straining himself with might and main to hold back the monoplane, already gliding along with sundry violent bumps, on the three bicycle wheels.
"Hurrah! What did I say?" cried Frank, as the aeroplane came to a complete standstill close to the other border of trees.
There was a frightened series of grunts close by and some big unwieldy animal went rushing away through the dense undergrowth, crashing along as though badly frightened at this queer thing that had dropped down from the sky.
"Wow! whatever was that, do you know, Frank?" cried the one on the ground.
"I don't know for sure, because I only had the least peep of something that looked like a small elephant making off," replied the other, also alighting.