“No, only to return to our balloon when we get the quicksilver.”
“Hi!” shouted the man, beckoning to two of his men. “Mount and make a quick run for Forestville. How much quicksilver do you want?”
“It comes in iron tubes,” explained the airman. “One will answer. If they keep it in some other form, about thirty ounces.”
“Get back soon as you can,” the outlaw ordered his messengers. “If the places are shut, shoot up the town and get some action on the case.”
The speaker turned and proceeded to where a tent stood. In a little while he reappeared to say to his guests that they must be hungry and to follow him.
Seated on rude home-made camp stools, the three friends enjoyed a meal of corn pone, sweet potatoes and wild turkey, all cooked to a turn. Then their host threw some blankets on the ground outside. He invited them to be seated, and for over an hour asked question after question regarding their wonderful airship and the great world beyond the wilderness of which he knew so little.
“We’re perfectly safe to sleep here,” remarked Mr. King, as the man left them finally.
“More than safe,” declared Dave. “These people would protect us with their lives, the way they feel about us.”
The wayfarers were pretty well tired out. All three were soon asleep. It must have been two hours later when Dave felt himself roughly shaken. The outlaw leader and two others were standing near, staring up into the sky in an awed, puzzled way.
“What’s that?” asked the outlaw leader of the young aviator. “It’s strange to us, and I thought you’d know.”