That day was one of the greatest stress for the airship boys. There was no thought of sleep, and they cared little for food. Hiram chattered the greater part of the time. Elmer was so anxious that he was restless and worried. Dave kept at the wheel, grim, determined and persevering.
They ran steadily all the next night. At a little town over the border of Georgia they had to stop for gasoline. The storekeeper from whom they obtained it gave them some information that spurred them up afresh.
“You’re the second in the last three hours,” he informed them.
“You mean the second airship?” inquired Hiram, eagerly.
“Just that. One flew over about daylight.”
“How headed? What did it look like? Where did it go?” In his hurry and eagerness Elmer stumbled over his words recklessly.
The man could not describe the airship, but enough was gathered from him in a general way to give the boys some idea of the course taken by their predecessor.
“It’s number seven, I have every reason to believe,” said Dave, when they started up again.
“Then it will be a close finish,” declared Hiram. “We’ve gained on her a good deal, you see.”
It was superb running for several hours after that. The landscape beneath them, now wild and desolate, seemed to spin along like a rapid panorama. They were traversing an uphill and down dale course, when Hiram suddenly uttered a positive yell.