They were sailing over the
eastern slope of the last low ranges of hills, barren of trees or
vegetation. The aeroplanes being given the proper depression, the
Cibola shot earthward and then, the propeller coming to a pause,
floated gently along above the jumble of rocks. Making fast the
anchor in a ragged pile of these the boys soon drew the Cibola to
the ground and lashed her fore and aft to heavy boulders.
The firm ground felt delicious to the tired boys and they refreshed
themselves with a brisk race over the open space between the rock
piles. Then came Alan's camp fire, a hot supper and preparations
for a good night's rest. There were no pine needles of balsam
boughs, but fatigue made a fine mattress, and it was not long before
the tired boys, rolled up in their blankets, were fast asleep on the
soft sand.
"I hope," said Ned drowsily as they were dropping off to sleep,
"that we won't have any Jack Jellups or thieving Utes to-night. My
nerves need rest."
Then the boys got eight good hours of health and strength giving
sleep in the tonic air of the Arizona Mountains.
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