The cowboy let out a yell from pure exhilaration. Not a thought regarding possible accident ran through his head. The engine was working as sweetly as any motor had ever worked, the propeller was whirling at a speed that made it look like a solid disk, and the great wings were plunging through the air with the steady, swooping motion of a hawk in full flight.
A huddle of houses rushed toward the Comet, far below, and vanished behind.
"What was that, pard?" cried the cowboy.
"Minnewaukon," answered Matt.
At that moment the young motorist shifted the rudder behind, which was the one giving the craft her right and left course, and they made a half turn. As the Comet came around and pointed her nose toward the southwest, she careened, throwing the right-hand wings sharply upward.
McGlory gave vent to a hair-raising yell. He was hurled against Ping, and Ping, in turn, was thrown against Matt.
"Right yourselves, pards," called Matt. "That was nothing. When we swing around a turn we're bound to roll a little. You can't expect more of an air ship, you know, than you can of a boat in the water. You keep track of the time, Ping. Joe, follow our course on the map. You can hang on with one hand and hold the map open with the other. We can't sail without a chart."
Matt had secured his open-face watch to a bracket directly above Ping's head. The boy could see the time-piece without shifting his position.
The map McGlory had in his pocket. Removing the map from his coat with one hand, the cowboy opened it upon his knee.
With a ruler, Matt had drawn a line from Minnewaukon straight to the point where Burnt Creek emptied into the Missouri. This line ran directly southwest, crossing four lines of railroad, and as many towns.