“What’s that, Dave?”
“We are lost.”
“I reckon you’re right,” assented Hiram ruefully, dropping to the ground and reclining on the grass.
His companion followed his example. It was six o’clock in the afternoon, the sun was descending, and at the end of ten hours spent in persistent search of a town or settlement, this had been the result of their hard travel and laborious investigations.
The trio who had left the Albatross had kept together until about noon. Not a wagon track or even a footpath had they come across, much less a human habitation. The landscape seemed as wild and untenanted as if it were a primeval wilderness.
“I hardly know what to do,” said the old aviator, about the middle of the afternoon, as they concluded a rest and a lunch.
“Yes, we may go on for miles and miles and not run across a human being,” returned Hiram, who was tired out.
“I have half a mind to return to the Albatross while we are pretty sure to find our way,” remarked Mr. King; “and advise that we make an air flight for civilized territory.”
“We might try as far as the other side of that big hill,” suggested Dave, pointing to a lofty eminence in the distance.
“That may not be a bad idea,” replied Mr. King. “See here, we’ll make a circuit. It can’t be over a few miles. I’ll trail the valley this way; you boys take the other direction, and we’ll meet on the other side of the hill.”