“That’s so,” remarked the farmer, thoughtfully. “All right, go ahead. You’ll find it no easy job, though. I can tell you another thing—if I see that airship rising, I’ll plug it.”
“We will report to you before we go away,” promised the young aviator. “Come on, Hiram.”
The farmer had not misstated the ascent of Pike Hill. Country bred as he was, Hiram grumbled heartily at the brambles, and Dave got tangled several times in a network of hampering vines.
“Whew! the last climb,” announced Hiram, finally, as they gained a topmost ridge of rocks.
“No one here,” cried the young airman. “See, Hiram, they have let the Comet sink down into this natural basin here, thinking it was a safe hiding place.”
“It would have been a famous one if that old farmer hadn’t caught sight of the machine,” said Hiram. “No one would ever think of looking for an airship in this out of the way place.”
The Comet lay slightly tipped to one side, unharmed. Dave examined the machine casually.
“Everything is all right,” he reported to his companion. “I was correct about the gasoline. There isn’t enough juice left to run the machine a mile.”
“But where are the people who stole it?” asked Hiram.
“Went down the other side of the hill, I suppose. They had accomplished what they were hired to do. Now then, Hiram, this is a great piece of good luck.”