"You can walk if you want to," said Mark, crossly; "but I want to get away from this part of the country just as soon as ever I can. If the flying machine was ready I'd only wait long enough to get the professor and then we'd start."
"Guess we're with you there, Mark," agreed his chum, emphatically.
Meanwhile they were all scrambling about for the parts of the machine that had escaped them when the awful blast had knocked them into the hole and deprived them of consciousness. Fortunately none of the missing parts was very small and in twenty minutes of close scrutiny every piece was assembled. They did not find the second hand lamp, however.
"Now we must hurry back to the professor," Jack urged. "I know he will be dreadfully worried."
"Do you notice that it's getting lighter, boys?" remarked Andy Sudds.
"I believe you!" cried Mark. "The ash has stopped falling, too."
"I know that the air is a whole lot clearer," rejoined his chum. "And it's colder—or is it rare? Doesn't it seem like mountain air, Mark?"
"We've been half-stifled for so long I reckon the change to purer air is what makes it seem so peculiar," returned his friend.
Yet Mark was puzzled—indeed they all were more or less disturbed by the strange feeling that possessed them. Unless Washington White was an exception. The darkey went along blithely despite his expressed distaste for their surroundings, and as they came to the lower end of the grove of big trees, he began to run.
It had grown lighter all the time as they advanced. The cloud that had hidden the sun seemed to be rolled away like a scroll. The party could see all about them. The ashes lay from two to eight inches deep on the ground. Plants and shrubs were covered with the volcanic dust, and it was shaken from the trees as they passed.