“Stalking,” said Parks. “Let’s try that thing, will you?”
“Too late to-night, Bricky, old boy, but you can take a picture of it.”
“Sun’s too low,” said Parks.
They anchored the machine with ropes and stakes about twenty-five feet from the cliff, meaning to resume their operations after supper.
The excitement of the trials over, Harry was miserable. He knew that Gordon, in his heart, would have liked to try the glider, and that it was just boyish pique that kept him away. He drew a mental picture of Gordon trudging alone in the woods, his trusty little camera under his arm, in hopeless quest of a beaver. He was sorry he hadn’t made other overtures and told him that there was next to no chance of finding a beaver short of many miles to the west. He told himself that he should have been more in earnest when he spoke to Gordon, less independent, though it is hard to see how he could have said or done more. The more he thought, the more he blamed himself. He thought of something he would say to Gordon when he saw him. He would go up to him and say, “Can’t we find a way, Kid?” and that would surely catch him.
But he did not see Gordon, for Gordon did not appear at supper. Such things often happened, and Red Deer was not anxious, only annoyed. Brick Parks said that he and Gordon had separated down the stream, Gordon wishing to follow the water.
He thought his quest of the elusive beaver might have taken him through that dank place below the hill.
“I bet he gets one,” said Vinton. Harry shook his head.
But Gordon’s absence did not interrupt the air talk, though Harry had little to say.
“You see, boys,” said Red Deer, as they ate, “the great thing is to glide into the wind. If you do the other thing, you take your life into your hands.”