Up went the elevators enough to lift the tail as the propeller stream swept against them.
Along the turf the ship began to move. The men, aware of the sinister menace of the whirling blades, fell aside. Bob, sensing the near approach of the end of his runway, lifted the elevators again, felt the ship going light, gave her the gun, holding her just long enough on the level after the take-off to get his speed—then up he roared.
And a boulder beside the turf remained, while Curt, with the books under his arm, among the trees, went to Al’s bicycle—and delivered the books to his uncle’s study.
But he didn’t stay at home. Mr. Wright was not there. Bob and Al would fly to the plant. Thence, on tired feet, Curt pedaled.
CHAPTER XXVII
DRIVEN DOWN
Almost as soon as he lifted the airplane above the grove beyond that cornfield, Bob recovered his wind and his confidence.
Al, of a more nervous type, was still trembling in his after-cockpit seat, but his excitement was changing from that of the recent adventures to the thrill of sky-riding at night with his brother. There was not only the elation of the climb to keep his nerves quivering; also there was the uncertainty of what might happen because of Bob’s lack of skill and experience.
Climbing steadily until he was over five hundred feet above the earth, Bob felt none of his brother’s uneasiness or excitement. He was confident that he could control the airplane as far as straight flying was concerned; his only difficulty would be the landing, not the easiest thing for a skilful pilot unless a signal could be given that would make the plant watchman illuminate the small field.
Bob, making a long swing, banked gently, to head back for the plant, calmly considered the elements of the situation and tried to plan, as well as he could, how to meet whatever came up.
Al, giving more attention to sky and earth, as they straightened their course, correctly pointed for the field at the plant, saw a tiny set of glinting lights far away in the sky.