"Hear him! He's a fine one, isn't he?" observed Hiram to Dave.
"Yes, Jerry can't be true, even to his friends," replied the young aviator.
Dave watched Jerry at the lever. He had to admit that his enemy knew considerable about running an aircraft. The only criticism he could make was that several times Jerry took some big risks in daringly banking, when the least variation of the wind would have made the Drifter turn turtle.
It was six hours later when the airship descended. At times the machine had made fully sixty miles an hour. Long since they had passed the apparent limits of civilization. The course was due northwest. Vast forests spread out under them. It was only for the first time in one hundred miles, as they neared a small settlement on a river, that Jerry let down on the speed, and they descended at a spot about a mile from a settlement in the center of a big field.
Dave and Hiram were left in the chassis, while Jerry and his father left the machine. They conversed for some time, then it was arranged that Jerry should proceed to the settlement and purchase some provisions. His father came up to the machine as Jerry departed.
"See here, you two," he spoke in his usual gruff way, "we'll give you something to eat and, drink when Jerry comes back."
"Where are you taking us to, Mr. Dawson?" asked the young aviator.
"We are taking you so far from home, that you can't tramp back in time to pat any more of your friends on our track," was the blunt reply. "Another couple of hundred miles, and, if you behave yourself, we'll set you loose."
The man spoke as if the proposition was perfectly simple and honest one.
"Another couple of hundred miles?" repeated Dave.