"Look, Sybil," she exclaimed. "It's oil."
"Hair or salad oil, Ris?"
Orissa sniffed at her dipped finger.
"Petroleum. This is the crude article, and seeps up from some store of oil far down in the earth. There would be a fortune in this find, Syb, if it happened to be in America. Out here it is, of course, valueless."
"Don't they make kerosene and gasoline of it?"
"Yes; of course."
"Then make some gasoline and let's fly away."
Orissa laughed.
"If you will furnish the distillery, Syb, I'll make the gasoline," she said; "but I believe it's a long, slow process, and——"
"Look!" cried Sybil, with a start, as she pointed a slim finger toward the east. From a far distant ridge a man came bounding over the rocks, leaping from one to another with little hesitation in picking his way. He was a big man, but as the light was still dim they could see no more than his huge form. Presently he paused to look behind him; then on he dashed again. He had come from the direction of the bay and was at first headed toward the mountain, but in one of his pauses, whether to regain his breath or look behind, he caught sight of the aëroplane and at once turned directly toward it.