“No,” answered Kantisepa, “they sailed on through the heavens and became lost in the mists of a distant country.”
It was strange, thought Dick. Queer the others had not seen their fall. But surely by this time they had discovered the absence of the third plane and would come back to investigate.
“How long has it been since we fell to the ground?” Dick inquired of Kantisepa.
“Late yesterday afternoon. This is another day.”
Dick’s heart sank at the information. He had supposed that only a few hours had passed since the accident.
“And you saw no sign of the ships returning?” he persisted. “Are you sure?”
Kantisepa shook his head.
“I am sure, my brother. Even if I had not seen them, had they returned, my ears would have caught the sound of their coming. Perhaps they have gone back to the land of your people, the place beyond the stars.”
For the next ten or fifteen minutes the young adventurer attempted to make his two companions, credulous and highly imaginative Indians, understand that there was nothing in any way magical or mysterious about those ships of the air; and that neither he nor his friends were gods from some vague land beyond the rim of the world, but flesh and blood men like themselves, men who had come from Edmonton to bring help and relief to hundreds of their kinsmen suffering from the plague.
Both Kantisepa and the chief had heard of the existence of the big city to the south, and the name “Edmonton” was not unfamiliar to them. But neither had ever heard, or if they had heard would have believed that ordinary mortals, even the smartest of the white race, could fashion boats from wood and iron that could float through thin air. Finally, however, when Dick had nearly exhausted his patience and his vocabulary, he saw that in a measure, at least, they had begun to credit his story.