Thereupon John threw on the gas by degrees until the indicator showed them to be whizzing along at 150 miles. He easily could have gone fifty more on the one engine had he chosen, but was afraid such a speed would carry them beyond their destination and out into the Atlantic before daylight could show them their position. Had they not previously been running somewhat behind scheduled time, he would not have accelerated even now.

Shortly after midnight Tom relieved him at the throttle, and running slightly slower, to make sure they would not pa.s.s over Georgetown in the darkness, Tom began to hum softly to himself as he kept a sharp lookout upon his instruments. John settled back in the seat behind, as alert for any sudden peril as his mate had been before.

But no mishap marred the night's run, which was as smooth up there above the clouds as any veteran flyer could have wished. And when at last the bright sun of another day chased the moon and its haze into obscurity, it lighted up the flying craft some time before its...o...b..had peeped high enough over the Atlantic's horizon to shed its rays upon the affairs of earth itself.

Gradually, as the sun arose in the heavens, Tom brought the Sky-Bird lower, until presently he and John could see the ground, bathed in glistening color from its recent wetting, far below them.

At this time Paul and Bob awoke, and washing their hands and faces, came to the windows to look out. The first thing they all did was to sweep the sky-line for some vision of the rival airplane, but without success. Then they put their attention on the country below and around.

Just beneath was a pretty little blue lake, walled in with great forest trees some of which must have been over a hundred feet high. A short way beyond was an immense field covered with what they were sure must be sugar-cane, and in which they could see dark-skinned men at work with queer carts and clumsy oxen. At the right, a mere thread of silver, was a river, hedged with tropical vegetation. This swept around toward their front, enlarging as it came, and at what seemed no farther than five miles away, poured its waters out into a great sea of apparently limitless expanse.

The boys concluded at once that this great body of water must be the Atlantic Ocean, and when they saw a fair-sized town nestling among the trees at the point where the river joined the sea, their chart told them that the stream was the Essequibo River, and the collection of low-roofed buildings was none less than Georgetown!

A few minutes later, they were circling the town to locate their landing-field which was to be marked with a large white letter T.

Seeing it on the second turn, they swept down amongst a curious and half-frightened throng, and taxied to a stop.

To their relief and gratification, they found that their rivals had not yet appeared.

CHAPTER XVI

TRICKED BY RIVALS

Correcting their watches with Georgetown time, as given to them by Mr.

Whitesh.o.r.e, the Englishman in charge of the field, the boys found to their joy that they had arrived five minutes ahead of schedule. This would give them, if they wished to take it, a trifle more than three hours to spend in Georgetown.

But first must come business; they must go over the machine very carefully and see if the long, hard run from Panama had done any damage; and they must replenish their fuel, oil, and water supply.

They were happy to find both engines in fine shape, thanks to the possibility of alternating them in transit, and beyond a number of scratches and the cracked gla.s.s made by the condors in their attack in crossing the Andes the airplane was in perfect shape. Paul climbed up and examined the helium-gas valves, of which there were three in each wing, one for each of three compartments, and announced that the pressure showed only an insignificant decrease. At the rate of escapage indicated, they would have plenty to last them for the whole trip. This was rea.s.suring knowledge, for no envelope can be made so impervious that light gases will not escape at all. The body compartment also showed good pressure.

It took them an hour and fifteen minutes to replenish the fuel tanks and water radiator and put everything in shape. Just as they were finishing up, a cry from the curious crowd around them called their attention to the western sky, and they saw an airplane approaching.

This developed rapidly into the unmistakable outlines of the _Clarion_, and in a few minutes the rival crew landed in the field.

Pete Deveaux sauntered over to the crew of the Sky-Bird II.

"Well, fellows," he said, with the sneer which seemed to be on his leathery countenance most of the time, "I notice you got in a little ahead of us. Congratulations! I suppose you're tickled to death."

"We're not quite that far gone; just a little bit alive," grinned Tom Meeks. "What made your crew so slow, Deveaux? Did you get wet in that rain last night and have to stop off and dry out your clothes?"

"Aw, cut it out; talk sense!" snarled the French flyer. He turned on his heel, fearing more of Tom's sharp thrusts if he lingered longer, and shot back: "You guys will have another laugh coming one of these days, mark my words!" With that he rejoined his companions.

Not at all worried at such a prophecy, our friends secured a native boy to guide them into the town, a quarter of a mile distant, leaving their airplane under guard of two Chinese out in the open, the field boasting no such thing as a hangar. At the little telegraph office of the town, John dispatched their report to the _Daily Independent_, also mailed at the local postoffice the promised films of the encounter with the condors.

They then purchased some breakfast and began to look about them. While it was still early, the narrow streets were quite well crowded with people, so much so that it looked to the visitors as if the inhabitants never slept. What they saw almost made them rub their eyes to make sure they were not in Asia instead of South America. There were dozens of almond-eyed Chinese within sight, dozens of black Hindoos in turbans and flowing garments, dozens of Pa.r.s.ees wearing long black coats and hats like inverted coal-scuttles; to say nothing of numerous Portuguese and English, the latter mostly merchants and plantation owners.

The roofs of the buildings were slanting, with wooden or galvanized iron walls. Some of the more important of them, such as stores, warehouses, government buildings, etc., were quite large, and stood upon piles to keep them out of the way of floods which often sweep the lowlands in the rainy season. In many of the streets ran ca.n.a.ls, which their small guide told them, in pidgeon-English, were drains for the floods. And he also said that the long embankments which the boys saw stretching along the sea front were d.y.k.es built at great expense by the sugar planters to keep these same floods from washing the rich soil of their fields out into the ocean.

After purchasing some fresh fruit and groceries for their aerial larder, the little party betook themselves back to the landing-field, on the way pa.s.sing numbers of pretty little houses which stood in the midst of beautiful gardens filled with tropical plants.

As they neared the field, they saw that quite a crowd had collected since their departure. Pushing their way through the concourse about their own airplane, they were surprised to find Pete Deveaux and Chuck Crossman just jumping down from the wings. These flyers hurried away through a gap in the circle of onlookers toward their own machine before our friends could accost them.

The Sky-Bird crew were considerably put out at noting this situation, for they had particularly told the Chinese guards to let no one meddle with the Sky-Bird. The Celestials were squatting unconcernedly upon the ground, one on either side of the airplane, as John rushed up and said to one of them; "Didn't I tell you not to let any strangers around this machine?"

"No lettum stranger lound," protested the fellow. "Him both flylers alla samee you. Like-um see, you see; like-um see, he see."

"Oh, ginger!" exclaimed John, turning to his comrades, in clear disgust, "the stupid dunce thinks those fellows belong to us and we to them, just because we all wear the same sort of flying clothes! Did you ever see the like?"

Paul now took up the questioning. "What were those fellows doing up there?" he asked of the Chinaman.

"No tellee me; no tellee Lee," was the response, as the fellow jerked his head in the direction of his comrade. "Just lookee over alla samee you do li'l bit ago."

"Were they in the cabin?" demanded Paul.

"No go in klabin."

They walked around the machine giving it a cursory looking over, but could find nothing out of the way, and every one of them felt considerable relief.

"I guess they were only taking a look to see if our construction was the same as theirs," suggested Bob. This seemed a plausible explanation, and they accepted it, although with some misgivings.

About ten minutes later they saw the crowd over in the other side of the field scattering, and then the _Clarion_ shot up into the air. In a few minutes it was pointed down the coast and making good headway.

Our friends were not quite ready, but when the other machine was a mere speck against the southwestern sky, they hopped off themselves, with Paul at the throttle. Not one of the party had any doubt but that they could catch their rivals before the latter should arrive at Para, where they were due at six o'clock that evening. It needed only that first stage of the journey from Panama to Georgetown to show them that they had either the speediest craft or the most skillful crew.

Paul mounted to a height of about two thousand feet, then let the Sky-Bird straighten out in the direction of their next stop. He opened up the throttle little by little, and the machine rapidly gained momentum. But somehow the young pilot was dissatisfied. Finally he hitched the stick over to the notch which should have brought the craft into a speed of 150 miles, and watched the speedometer closely.

"Humph!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, after fifteen or twenty minutes.

"Say, Paul," cried Bob just then, "we're losing on the _Clarion_.

She's clear out of sight now."

"Why don't you tell me something I don't know?" growled Paul in a tone very queer for him.

"What's the matter with you, Buddy?" demanded John, stepping up. "You seem to have an awful grouch on, some way!"

"Got a good reason for it," snapped Paul. "This is enough to make a preacher almost swear."

"Don't talk, but speed her up a bit if you don't want them to get away," advised John.

"She doesn't act right, somehow," said Paul. "The Sky-Bird ought to be hitting it up to a hundred and fifty right now, but she's only making a hundred and fifteen. She acts groggy; don't you notice it?"

"I thought myself she was riding a little rocky--sort of out of balance," admitted John.

"Take the stick and try her yourself," said his brother.

John did so. For fifteen minutes he said nothing, but worked the throttle and watched the speedometer. Then he called Paul again to the seat.

"You might as well take her, Buddy," declared John with a puzzled shake of his head; "I can't do any better with her than you. She wallows along like a man with a load of buckshot in his pockets--heavy--and seems out of equilibrium, too!"