“Quick, then!” directed the young aviator. “Now then,” as he guided the unusual passenger to the seat behind the pilot post, “buckle on the straps, keep cool and quiet, and I’ll see what can be done.”
He liked the obedient composure of his passenger. If the latter felt that he was taking a risk, and experienced a little natural dread, he masked it by shouting to his comrade:
“Tell the sergeant I’m off on special duty—joined the airship corps—ha! ha!”
His laugh ended, however, and Dave could catch a series of quivers and sharp short gasps as the watchman gave the ground gear an impetus and the Ariel rose up majestically. The machine pierced the blanket of haze and came up above the lower strata of obscuring ground air. Dave described a slow broad circle. His eye swept in all directions the level they were on.
“If the moon were only up,” he murmured. “Well, the only course is west. Hiram is shrewd and intelligent. If he guesses for a moment that I am after him, soon as he gets his thinking cap on he will find some way to signal, or get the best of his passenger.”
“Don’t see anything,” observed the officer, and, big, brave fellow that he was, there was the tremor of the novice in air evident in his voice.
“They’ve got a start, you must remember,” explained Dave, “and a big field. We can only go on, keeping a sharp lookout. If you should happen to get sight of a black speck against the stars, tell me.”
There was a spell of silence for some minutes after that, Dave paying strict attention to directing the machine, his passenger keeping as keen a lookout as was possible for him under the unfamiliar conditions. Suddenly the officer shouted out:
“There! See, a little way ahead? No, it’s gone. Now, again! Pshaw!—fireflies.”
“Too high for that,” spoke Dave, “I see what you mean. Thanks my friend, this is important!”