Swinging through space, hung from the zenith as by invisible cords, the Comet glided steadily and surely onward.
"Oberon," announced Newt, as they swept across a gleaming mat of yellow.
"Great spark plugs!" exclaimed the king of the motor boys. "I don't know, Newt, but I've a notion we're making a record flight."
"It's wonderful," mused young Prebbles; "but there's something which, to my mind, is even more wonderful than this work of the flying machine."
"What's that?"
"Why, that you're doing this for me—for a man who nearly drowned himself trying to get away from you, and who tried his best to cripple you, or the Comet, with a bullet."
"We all of us make mistakes, now and then," answered Matt. "It's a mighty foolish man who won't rectify a mistake when he finds he has made one."
From Oberon the course led north and east.
"There's the post trader's store," reported Prebbles.