“Well, it isn’t gold and it isn’t diamonds,” replied Hiram, rather contemptuously. “I noticed in shifting it this morning that its canvas jacket was greasy at one place, just as if the keg was full of oil.”
“Never mind,” spoke Dave. “It will do for ballast till we reach home. Then, if Mr. Hull does not appear, we will have to open the keg and see what is in it.”
The Comet made five hundred miles in three laps. Once only, at Caracas, did they have to stop for gasoline. It was early one morning when the Comet came to a stop near Belize.
Dave as usual hurried to the nearest telegraph office, and soon had the wires busy. His anxious assistants greeted his return all in a quiver over expected news.
“What have you found out, Dave?” projected Hiram.
“Yes, we’re all on edge to know if there is a chance to get in first,” added Elmer.
“Number seven is two hundred miles ahead of us—just sighted at Vera Cruz,” said the young airman. “No word has been received about number two since our last report.”
“Oh, Dave,” cried Hiram, in a wild fever of longing and suspense, “we’ve just got to reach goal first!”
“We shall make a very hard try, at all events,” replied our hero, doughtily. “Get out the chart, Elmer. We must save every needless crook and turn from this on.”
The eager boys were soon inspecting the chart. Vera Cruz was two hundred miles away. Number seven had over six hours’ lead, estimating the situation on a full speed basis. The young air pilot did some intense calculating. Then he drew his finger across the chart past New Orleans, across Louisiana, and on a line as the crow flies for Washington.