Mr. Ogden frequently glanced at his passenger, and judged from his expression that he felt no fear or nervousness.
The biplane gradually turned in a wide circle—the planes tipped slightly, just enough, it seemed, to add a spice of danger—and they were headed back in the direction of Lone Pine.
To the aviator the flight was one of the lowest he had ever taken, yet to Bob the altitude appeared unpleasantly high, causing him more than once to clutch the stout leather strap which held him securely to his seat.
Speed such as an aeroplane makes seems to simply annihilate distance. It seemed only a moment before the flying machine had reached Lone Pine again and was shooting by with a steady sweep. Bob could see that the boys had mounted their bronchos and were galloping about, waving their hands in greeting.
“Guess I’ll be quite satisfied if Mr. Ogden doesn’t ascend any higher,” thought Bob, with a grim smile. He tried to accustom himself to studying the swift-moving objects below. Then, as the roar from the engine at his back lessened, a feeling of relief shot through him. His head had begun to feel a trifle queer.
Again Mr. Ogden skilfully piloted the machine, sending it still lower. As it took the curves, the planes, assailed by the breeze which struck full against them, wobbled and shivered.
The boys were almost straight ahead, widely separated over the plain and keeping a safe distance from the ranch-house, in order to give the navigator of the air a chance to land.
“He’s going to volplane now,” mused Bob, presently.
Mr. Ogden had stopped his engine.
A delightful, easy gliding motion downward through space immediately followed. Bob Somers, lying back in his seat, saw, with a thrill of pleasure, the buildings and stockade apparently swinging swiftly toward them.