"Presently."
"But you're driving out further over the lake."
"Just for a short distance, Hiram," advised Dave. "There's an island down shore where they run a smelter—ah, I think I locate it."
Dave was not mistaken. He came within range of some tall, stacks sending out sparks and flames. Now he changed his course. He kept his glance fixed below him and to the right as steadily as his duties at the lever would permit.
The Monarch II passed over two small islands. Half a mile beyond them arose a third larger one. It was quite prominent, for the reason, that it presented a range of great cliffs. Dave navigated the air in narrowing circles. Then, timing and calculating a volplane glide, he let the machine down easily to the ground.
"Well!" ejaculated Hiram, "you've hit on a pretty dark spot for a camp, Dave."
"And a safe one," replied the young aviator. "Mr. Alden described this place to me. It is called Desert Island, and has no inhabitants on it. It seems dark because we are so shut in, but your eyes will soon become used to that."
It was a singular place into which the Monarch II had descended.
High declivitous, masses of rock formed a sort of immense cairn.
They seemed shut in on every side, fully one hundred feet below the
level of the cliffs.
The farther north they had run the cooler air currents had become.
Both boys felt somewhat chilly.
"See here," spoke Hiram, after they had seen that the machine was all right and a rubber sheet thrown over the machinery to protect it from the heavy night dews, "a warm cup coffee wouldn't hurt us."