"Put them away somewhere," said Matt. "If we need them—which I hope we won't—we'll know where they are."
Dick dropped the weapons into one of the boxes of supplies.
The heaving blue horizon now surrounded the boys on every hand. The reflection that there was only a few hundred cubic feet of gas between them and disaster was not pleasant, and they tried to keep their minds away from it. It was easy to sidetrack Carl when his thoughts disturbed him too much, for Dick and Matt had only to speak of the iron chest and he immediately forgot everything else. Matt had no faith in the chest, and Dick did not seem to have much, but nevertheless it was a good thing to conjure with in Carl's case.
"Half-past eight," announced Matt, "and we're two hours out and ought to be halfway to where we're going."
The next hour dragged a little, but Carl beguiled the time by keeping a sharp lookout ahead through a pair of binoculars. Matt and Dick had bought four pairs of binoculars for the use of passengers whom they carried aloft from Atlantic City, but only one pair had been brought along on this southern cruise.
By half-past nine Carl had seen nothing of the island, but Matt had seen something which had caused his blood to run cold and had brought gray anxiety to his face.
The gas bag was losing its buoyancy!
Matt was first sensible of this when he tried to force the Hawk to a higher altitude. The craft rose sluggishly in answer to the push of the whirling propeller, and when the ship was brought to an even keel, again, she showed a tendency to settle.
Casting his eyes upward, Matt saw that the bag had lost its distended appearance and was getting flabby. Here and there a wrinkle appeared in the varnished silk.
The bag had been coated with a preparation which was almost proof against leakage; and yet here was undeniable evidence that gas was escaping from the bag, slowly but steadily. It was like the life blood dripping from the veins of all in the car.