CHAPTER VI
THE MOUNTAIN SHELTER
For a few moments they stared at the wreck and said nothing.
“Maybe it was Kinney,” suggested Doc, at last. “Do you remember about Kinney?”
“Come on,” urged Tom.
Half reluctantly the others followed him, glancing back now and again till the tattered mass became a shadowy speck and faded away in the darkness.
“He started from somewhere above Albany,” said Doc, “and he was never heard of again. I often heard my father speak about it and I read about it in that aviation book that Roy loaned me.”
“He’s going to loan it to me when he gets it back from you,” said Connie; “he says you’re a good bookkeeper.”
“Put away your little hammer,” laughed Garry.
“Some people in Poughkeepsie thought they heard the humming of the engine at night,” said Doc, “and that’s what made people think he had got past that point—but that’s all they ever knew. Some thought he must have gone down in the river.”
“How long ago was it?” Garry asked.