It was
afternoon, and by computation they were not more than ninety miles
from their goal.
"See anything of any other craft?" asked Paul of his chum.
"Take a look, Innis," suggested the young millionaire. "We might
get a race at the last minute."
Innis swept the horizon with the glasses.
"There's something coming behind us," he said. "I can't tell
whether it's a big bird, or an airship."
A little later, however, the speck in the blue sky was made out to
be a big biplane, rushing onward.
"They're probably trying for the prize," said Dick. "Of course we
don't know anything about their time and stops, but, just the same,
I'm going to beat her in, if I can. We'll run the motor under
forced speed, Mr. Vardon, and feed her heated gasolene."
"That's the idea!" cried the aviator. "That ought to help some."
The motor was so adjusted as to take heated gasolene, the liquid
vaporizing and exploding better than when cold. The Abaris rushed
on at increased speed.
But so, also, came on behind her the other airship. As Dick had
said, that craft might have no chance, having used up more than her
limit of stops, or having consumed more elapsed time than had he.
But, for all that, he was taking no chances.
The other craft was a swift one. That was easily seen as it slowly
crept up on Dick. The speed of each was terrific. The gages showed
ninety-five miles an hour for the Abaris. At that rate the city of
Oakland, just across the bay from San Francisco, was soon sighted.
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