At one side stood a monoplane. Its dark color and a peculiar arrangement of the planes enabled our hero to recognize it at once.
“It is Hiram’s pirate tramp machine, sure enough,” reflected Dave, “and the men.”
One of these was walking up and down in something of a rage, it seemed. Propped up against a tree trunk was a second man, clasping a bottle. This latter person was swaying as he sat. His eyes blinked. There was a vacant expression to his face.
“It’s all right,” he was saying, in a maudlin state. “Want to sleep.”
“It’s all wrong, you mean!” raved the other man. “I want to tell you one thing! I shan’t lose a chance of a thousand dollars to humor a worthless, irresponsible reprobate like you. I simply won’t stand it.”
“Then—he! he! sit down,” chuckled the other—“like I do.”
“I’m through with you,” cried his companion, in tones of positive fury, and shaking his fist at the other. “I’ll get the Comet alone. Sleep, you loafer, and when you wake up find your way back to Winnipeg on foot as best you can.”
The speaker seized the half-filled bottle and dashed it to pieces on the nearest rock.
“All right,” mumbled the sitter. “Get some more.”
“Bah, you wretch!” shouted his comrade, and he gave the swaying, helpless man a kick that sent him onto his side with a groan.