The coverings of the car had been rolled up in places, exposing to view a part of the interior. A network of wire ropes and steel tubing glimmered dully, while the planes fore and aft and the great rudder at the rear showed ghostly white.
Bob Somers steered the “Ogden II” still closer to the runaway, shutting off as much power as he dared. Strong cross-currents of wind began to make themselves felt, blustering between the planes, sometimes tipping them slightly, or causing peculiar, ominous vibrations to send chills down their backs.
“Hello the ‘Ogden II’!” came a hail, which the boys were scarcely able to hear above the roar of the engine.
Major Warfield Carroll was calling through a megaphone.
“Hello, hello!” yelled the boys, in unison.
“Our engine can’t be made to work. Many thanks for your kindness and bravery, boys; but I insist upon your making a landing at once.”
His words were barely distinguishable.
Bob shook his head.
“But I insist again that you do nothing of the sort!” shouted the Major, with all his force. “We’ll be able to rise high enough to clear the mountains, and are in no danger. Don’t you know that in a short time you will find yourselves in the midst of most dangerous air currents?”
“Couldn’t think of giving up the chase!” cried Cranny.