“Yes,” assented Hiram, “I can guess it will be pretty lively if we cross the Atlantic. Say, we’re getting near to the Albatross.”
This was apparent from the clearer radiance from the searchlight glow. They rode on about two miles further.
“We can do the rest on foot, I fancy,” said Mr. King.
The party dismounted, arranged the bridles so they would not trail, turned the heads of the horses homewards for them, and, giving each a slap on the flanks, watched them dart away, rapidly.
The searchlight faded out before they had proceeded a mile. In fact, day was breaking. The sun came up as they reached the bottom of a high hill.
“I remember this spot,” said the young aviator.
“Yes, we left the camp this way,” agreed Mr. King, casting a look about and recognizing some landmarks.
“I suppose Professor Leblance has been mighty anxious about us,” said Hiram. “I’ll have a great story to tell Mr. Grimshaw.”
Despite the arduous rigors of their all-day tramp and all-night adventures, Dave and Hiram felt fresh and ambitious.
“We’re pretty near the top,” spoke the young aviator. “I’ll race you to see who arrives first.”