A few moments later they shot above it, catching glimpses of figures moving about with apparently sloth-like speed. Again Mr. Ogden manipulated the rudder, and his biplane swept around in a curve, while the breeze, striking against it at an angle, sent the planes tipping slightly.
Some distance ahead a series of partly-wooded hills hemmed in the plain. Beyond these, in the midst of a dark, loam-covered prairie, lay Border City.
Bob eagerly watched for its appearance. He raised his field-glass again, bringing within the circle of light rugged, barren slopes or rich growths of spruce, aspen and pine.
“Ah ha!”
Beyond their crests the glass had picked out a collection of buildings extended for some distance in a crooked line. When the hills were beneath, Bob gazed upon the tops of high trees, into ridges, bluish in shadow, or at bald reddish rocks shining brightly as the shafts of sunlight passed across.
Border City was looming up more clearly; the cluster of light-colored houses seemed rushing toward them. The changing perspective brought first one building into prominence, then another; but the hangar of Major Carroll’s dirigible balloon and the big gas tank easily dominated the scene.
Bob Somers, gazing earnestly through the field-glass, saw the outlying buildings beginning to detach themselves from the general mass. Finally the crooked street of Border City, far below, flashed suddenly past, giving the two a momentary glimpse of excited people rushing to and fro.
Then the town began to fall rapidly behind. Mr. Ogden was piloting his machine directly over the railroad tracks.
“Wonder where in the dickens he’s going?” mused Bob.
The aviator changed his course, showing perfect control, although the biplane tipped to an apparently dangerous angle. When it had righted itself, Bob found that they were speeding swiftly back toward the city.