Lang spiraled down to pass as close as the trees would allow.
They saw nothing more, however, and after Lang had refused Al’s impulsive request to “set down” in the small field, the party flew on to the landing field of the Aircraft Corporation where Lang had some alterations to report in the adjustment of the ship’s balance before it could be delivered to its purchaser.
“Let’s get our bicycles and ride out to the field,” urged Al, as the trio of comrades alighted beyond the aircraft plant.
They pedaled the three miles in record time.
“I was right,” commented Bob, as they left the wheels beside the highway and climbed over the high rail fence enclosing the stubble where corn had recently been cut down. “You can’t see the airplane from any place along the highway——”
“Unless it’s gone,” interrupted Al.
“No!” Curt was a little ahead. He waved his arm. “There she is!”
They crossed the rough field, toward the mysterious, silent object of interest.
“I can see from here it hasn’t cracked up,” Curt declared. “Not a scratch on it and the landing gear is perfect.”
“Whoever flew it must be clever,” declared Bob. “Look at the narrow strip of open, smooth ground he had to ‘set down’ on. If he hadn’t been able to shoot the field so as to get in on that long, smooth side, with only a few feet clearance, he’d have come down in rough stubble.”