Johnny’s watch ticked away another minute. The second plane loomed larger and larger in the distance.
Suddenly from out the log cabin sprang two large, black-bearded men. One carried a curious package on his head. It seemed a dark leather case, a perfect cube some eighteen inches in diameter.
Having hurriedly placed this in the cabin of the plane, they leaped for the cockpit to set the motor in motion.
“Stop them!” Johnny sprang to his feet. “They are off!”
He was too late. The plane began to glide across the ice. Moving slowly at first, it gained in momentum.
At the same time the other plane was speeding toward them. Johnny was sure now that he made out the blue and yellow of Curlie Carson’s plane.
“So near!” he groaned. “And we lost them!”
He came out into the open. His companions followed him. Sandy MacDonald came up. Together they watched the gray plane rise from the ice and soar northward.
The other plane changed its course. It was to pass some distance from them.
“If that’s Curlie’s plane,” said Johnny, “he is not alone. His tank is well loaded with gas. He will chase them until they are ready to cry for quarter.”