Below the air-ship was a great splotch of black shadow, stretching away on all sides as far as the eye could reach. Evidently this was the swamp. The Hawk was sailing across the swamp toward a big fire that glowed in the distance.
With Brady steering and Pete directing, the Hawk approached closer and closer to the fire.
"Drop 'er, Brady!" Pete presently called; "we're close on the island."
The nose of the air-ship ducked downward and, for perhaps twenty seconds, she raced earthward; then Brady diminished the speed of their descent by slow degrees.
Matt, braced on the sloping floor of the car, watched the fire apparently come up toward them. A little later he was able to make out three human figures against the firelit background below, and a bare little plateau took vague form under his eyes.
He watched the landing keenly, and noted how Brady suddenly shifted the steering rudder so as to bring the Hawk on an even keel, the lower supports of the car just grazing the ground.
The three figures by the fire ran close.
"How's everything, Brady?" cried a voice.
"Finer than silk," called back Brady. "Stand by to catch the ropes, you fellows."