"The aëroplane?" asked Cameron, fumbling with the sparking apparatus.
"What else do you think I mean?" snapped the cowboy, in his worst humor. "Matt's done for, and all we can do is sit here and let him rush on at the rate of a mile a minute straight into the trap that has been set for him. Sufferin' snakes! Did you ever run into anything like this before?"
[CHAPTER VII.]
NOTHING DOING IN SYKESTOWN.
Cameron, by a happy blunder, finally located the trouble, and repaired it. McGlory had a little knowledge of motors and he might have helped, but his dejection was so profound that all he could do was to sit in the car, muttering to himself.
"Buck up, McGlory," said Cameron, jerking the crank and noting that the motor took up its humming tune as well as ever. "While there's life there's hope, you know. We'll be able to do something yet."
"Oh, yes," gibed McGlory. "With a car going fifty miles we'll be able to overhaul a flying machine doing sixty."
"Of course," went on Cameron, getting into the car and starting, "we can't expect to overtake Matt unless something should go wrong with the aëroplane, but——"
"If anything goes wrong with the aëroplane then Matt breaks his neck. That won't do."