The night that greeted them was magnificent. The moon was not yet
up, but the stars were scintillating in the inky sky and the deep
silence of the clouds and desert was about them. Bob gazed as if
spellbound. The charm of the night appealed to him as it did to Ned
and Alan; but with it his brain formed phrases--"cloudland by
night," "a dash to the stars." The reporter in him was thinking
"copy."
"Hey, there, wake up!" cried practical Ned.
Bob flew to his task; with a turn he had the veal loaf can open and
had dumped its contents in the wooden plate held by Alan.
In another moment he would have thrown the empty can overboard but
the watchful Ned, ready for another lesson in aeronautics, caught
his hand.
"Don't you like the route we are taking?" laughed Ned.
Bob's face showed he did not understand.
"The loss of the weight of that can might send us sparing upward a
thousand feet," explained Ned dryly, "so don't cast over ballast
until you get orders."
Bob shook his head. "Well doesn't that beat all," he exclaimed.
As night fell and the air grew heavier, the barometer showed that
the Cibola had a tendency to rise.
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