“Now we’re off!” said Mr. Ogden to his passenger.
Bob Somers felt a thrill run through him. Grasping the supports, he awaited the momentous instant and found himself studying the face of the aviator, and vaguely wondering at his apparent unconcern.
“Ready, Bob?”
“Ready, sir!”
Mr. Ogden waved his hand, and his assistants gave the propellers a quick twirl.
A pulsating roar immediately sounded. The great plane, responding almost instantly to the rapid revolutions, began to glide over the smooth ground, slowly at first, then gathering speed, until, light as a bird, it rose into the air.
Bob Somers held his breath as the ground fell behind them. The wide break in the stockade appeared to open out to the right and left. Just a few seconds more, and the biplane, almost as gently as a sheet of paper taken up and wafted away on the breeze, lifted itself gently upward.
Swifter and swifter it moved; higher, still higher it rose, until broad reaches of prairie were disclosed to view.
Bob Somers began to experience a series of strange sensations. He seemed almost suspended without support in space. Below him he saw the ranch-house and outbuildings of Lone Pine, seemingly flattened against the prairie floor, while the boys and bronchos had already been left far to the rear. Everywhere great herds or scattered groups of cattle were coming into sight.
Bob’s greatest surprise was the strength of the wind that blew against his face, forcing him at times to shield his eyes.