There were some people still left in Minnewaukon—not all the town's inhabitants had gone to the bluffs or to Camp Traquair. Those that remained in the place assembled on the streets or on the roof tops, and cheered wildly as the aëroplane veered in a circle and rushed back toward Totten.
The official recorder was here, as in Devil's Lake City, noting the time, and jotting it down on a pad of paper.
Once turned toward Camp Traquair, Matt sent the aëroplane resolutely upward. Up and still up the craft glided, forced by the whirling propeller and supported by the air under the planes.
"How high do you think we are now, Cameron?" asked Matt.
"Three hundred feet, I should say," replied Cameron.
"I guess that will do. It's easier sailing up here. The air close to the earth's surface is in a constant state of agitation, but at this height it's quieter. Don't you notice how much smoother we're gliding?"
"I've been noticing that," said Cameron. "It's like a boat on a mill pond, only we're traveling like an express train."
Again they were over Camp Traquair, and again the wild cheering of the crowds reached their ears. They crossed the lake, turned, once more hovered over Camp Traquair, then glided downward to a height of a hundred feet, and rushed over the air line to Minnewaukon.
Three times they made the round trip. As they were coming back from Minnewaukon the third time, Cameron looked at his watch.
"The two hours are up, Matt," he announced, "and I am almost sorry for it. We'd better go down. You have won the test on every point, and the sale of the aëroplane to the government is assured. If you had a hand free, I'd give you a hearty grip along with my congratulations."