“If this cross wind doesn’t interfere, I calculate about three hours and thirty minutes.”
“Why, that would beat the Western record,” suggested Hiram, wonderingly.
“That’s what I am setting out to do,” answered the young airman quietly. “We are tanked up forty-six gallons, and enough oil to last us for a five hour run.”
The Ariel made three trips around the Midlothian grounds, and then struck her going level. The main plates of the machine were so arranged above the fuselage or framework, that pilot and observer had an almost unlimited range of vision. Dave experienced a sense of relief at leaving a spot where trouble seemed to menace them. Hiram comfortably belted in, had eyes open for everything. This was his second trip in the Ariel, and the novelty of the machine had not yet worn off for him.
There was a minor trial course outside the Midlothian grounds, given over to amateurs and non-eligibles. There both Dave and his chum noticed a good many ambitious airmen trying out their machines. Several of them set the Ariel a pace, but all but two of them soon fell behind. One of these, a full type Curtiss, held a fair follow-up at a distance.
“Looks as if it was headed for Chicago, too; that particular machine,” observed Hiram. “Do we follow the railroad, Dave?”
“It’s the clearest and best course, I think,” responded the pilot of the Ariel. “Did you leave word for our tramp friend, Borden?”
“Yes, with that accommodating fellow at the next hangar to ours. I left a little note telling him to wire us if he made any important discoveries. Say, Dave, do you suppose that fraud lieutenant will show up again?”
“I think we must be careful all along the line,” was the reply, delivered gravely. “That telegram showed that our old-time enemy, Vernon, is after us. The lieutenant, and undoubtedly the man whose picture Borden drew, are certainly working in the interest of Vernon.”
“But what can he be after?” persisted Hiram, in a nettled way because he could not probe the mystery.