Shortly before ten o'clock the following morning all hands were up to take a look at their next stopping-off place--Nukahiva, the main island of the Marquesas group, the place where they hoped to find a supply of helium-gas awaiting them. A fine island this--as fine a volcanic upheaval as one will find anywhere. Sheer walls of cloud-capped rock 6,000 feet high, some literally overhanging the crystal-clear water, and all embossed and engraved with strangely patterned basalt. There are pillars, battlements, and turrets; so that, with half-closed eyes, it seems you are approaching a temple, a medieval castle, or a mosque of the East. And the valleys--deep, choked with the most rampant growths of luxuriant vegetation, in the heart of which silvery streams gurgle their way tortuously along--fade away into mysterious purple mists. Small wonder that this gorgeously beautiful island should have been the home for a century of one of the finest races of primitive people the world has ever known! Sad indeed is it that to-day the Marquesans are rapidly dying off from consumption and fever introduced into their fair domain by civilization itself. Nestling in a good-sized valley near the harbor our flyers saw scores of native houses, as they drew nearer. These were constructed of yellow bamboo, tastefully twisted together in a kind of wickerwork, and thatched with the long tapering leaves of the palmetto. Here, too, was the big white T of their hopes. In a short time they had safely landed, one hour behind schedule. Their rivals had left an hour and ten minutes before. But joy of joys! here were four tanks of helium, and with a filling of this they would show those fellows how to fly! As fast as they could work, our friends overhauled their machine and put it in shape for the long trip to San Christobal. They would have given almost anything to have joined the many natives they saw swimming in the cool waters of the harbor, but felt that they could not afford to waste a single minute. At twelve-thirty, with the sun at its zenith, they once more took to the air. This was Thursday. By Friday evening they should be at the Gallapagos Islands--their last stop before Panama. What a cheering thought it was! Heading just a trifle north of east, they ran almost full-out. It was easy to note the difference in the behavior of the Sky-Bird since her helium tanks had been fully charged. She sped along as she had in the very beginning of their journey--like a long bullet fired from some gigantic cannon. How the engine did sing! The wind rushed by them like a hurricane, and they had to shout in order to be heard when they had anything to say to each other. Satisfied that all was going right, Tom and John soon turned in, for they were very sleepy. When the operating crew awoke them it was dark. Bob then got into wireless communication with Panama, and delivered a message for Mr. Giddings. Following this, he and Paul also took to the hammocks.