"The wind is shifting slightly," was the reply.

Dave felt of the breeze cautiously after that, keeping his cheek well to windward. It required constant watchfulness and maneuvering for the next fifteen miles to keep the control permanent. Dave was glad when a dim glow of radiance told that they had nearly reached the end of their journey.

Dave "ducked," as the phrase goes, as a swoop from a new quarter sent the machine banking.

He managed the dilemma by circling. There was only five more miles to cover. Dave went up searching for a steadier air current, found it, maintained a steady flight for over a quarter of an hour, and slowed down slightly as they came directly over Kewaukee.

"Going to land?" inquired Hiram, attentively attracted by all these skillful maneuvers.

"Yes," replied Dave. "The question is, though, to find just the right place."

Dave tried to figure out the contour of the landscape beneath them.

He pa.s.sed over high buildings, skirted what seemed like a factory district, and began to volplane.

"Going to drop?" queried Hiram.

"I think so," responded Dave. "According to those electric lights there is a park or some other large vacant s.p.a.ce we can strike on this angle."

"The mischief!" exclaimed Hiram abruptly as the Racer struck a lower air current a strong blast of wind made it shake and reel. Then there was a creak, a sway and a snap.

"Something broke!" shouted Hiram in excitement.

"Yes," answered Dave rapidly. "It's one of the right outermost struts between the supporting planes."

"The one that snapped the other day," suggested Hiram.

"Likely. Grimshaw fixed it with glue and bracing, and fitting iron rings about it. The vibration of the motor and the straining have pulled the nail heads through the holes in the rings."

"Can you hold out?"

Dave did not reply. He felt new vibrations, and knew that the strain of warping the wings at the tips had caused more than one of the struts to collapse.

The young aviator realized that it would be a hard drop unless he did something quickly and effectively. There was no time to think.

Counterbalance was everything.

Dave tried to restore the disturbed balance of the machine by bringing the left wing under the control. Then he forced the twisting on the right side.

The young aviator held his breath, while his excited companion stared ahead and down, transfixed. They were going at a rapid rate, and every moment the Baby Racer threatened to turn turtle and spill them out.

Dave succeeded in temporarily checking the tendency to tip. All aerial support was gone. He kept the rudder at counterbalance, threw off the power, and wondered what they were headed into.

The next moment the Baby Racer crashed to the ground.

CHAPTER IV

A BUSINESS BOY

"We've landed!" shouted Hiram in a jolty tone, plunging forward in his seat in the biplane.

"Yes, but where?" Dave asked quickly.

"That's so. Whew! What have we drifted into?"

The Baby Racer had struck a ma.s.s soft and yielding. It drove through some substance rather than ran on its wheels. There was a dive and a joggle. Then the machine came to a halt--submerged.

Whatever had received it now came up about the puzzled young aviators as might a snowdrift or it heap of hay. Dave dashed a filmy, flake-like substance resembling sawdust from eyes, ears and mouth. Hiram tried to disentangle himself from strips and curls of some light, fluffy substance. Then he cried out:

"Dave, it's shavings!"

"You don't say so."

"Yes, it is--a great heap of shavings, a big mountain of them."

"Lucky for us. If we had hit the bare ground I fear we would have had a smash up."

Gradually and cautiously the two young aviators made their way out of the seats of the machine. They got past the wings. A circle of electric street lamps surrounded them on four sides. Their radiance, dim and distant, seemed to indicate that they were in the center of a factory yard covering several acres.

A little way off they could discern the outlines of high piles of lumber and beyond these several buildings. The biplane lay partly on its side, sunk deep in a heap of long, broad shavings. The ma.s.s must have been fully a hundred feet in extent and fifteen to twenty feet high. They reached its side and slid down the slant to the ground.

"Well!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Dave.

"Yes, and what?" inquired Hiram, brushing the loose bits of shavings from his soaked tarpaulin coat.

"Business--strictly and quick," replied Dave promptly.

"And leave the Racer where she is?"

"Can you find a better place, Hiram?"

"Well, no, but--"

A man flashing a dark lantern and armed with a heavy cane came upon them around the corner of the buildings. The boys paused. The man, evidently the watchman of the place, challenged them, moving his lantern from face to face.

"Who are you?" he demanded sternly.

"Aviators," replied Dave.

"What's that?"

"We just arrived in an airship."

"No nonsense. How did you get in here?"

"Mister," spoke out Hiram, "we just landed in the biplane, the Baby Racer. If you don't believe me, come to the shavings pile yonder and we'll show you the machine, and thank you for having it there, for if you hadn't I guess we'd have needed an ambulance."