It was exactly one o'clock. Both airplanes taxied down the runway side by side. They also arose together, amid a great cheering, some ninety feet apart, shooting grandly up into the air above the heads of the people in the lower end of the field. At a height of a thousand feet, the gray _Clarion_ bent eastward. At fifteen hundred feet, the Sky-Bird did likewise. From the open windows of each of the cabins fluttered white handkerchiefs in a final farewell, and many a broad-brimmed hat in the hands of the excited populace below was waved in answer. Flying low, the _Clarion_ started away in the lead, while her rival had been mounting to her own preferred higher level. By the time the Sky-Bird had straightened out, her contemporary was well in advance. "We're losing ground," said Bob Giddings anxiously. "Don't worry about that," said Paul Ross, who was at the throttle; "we can catch them when we're ready. We'll get a better current of air up here." Paul's maneuver had been due to the fact that heavy head-winds were blowing, and he was quite sure if he went higher he would get above the worst of these. As they now shot along on an even keel, it seemed hard to realize that they had at last started out on the important flight for which they had been planning and working so long; and as Paul watched his instruments and the scudding rival machine ahead, he could not help wondering what the issue of it all might be--if the fates would be so kind as to smile enough on the Sky-Bird to bring her in ahead of the _Clarion_ and within schedule time. Many weary miles must be covered before they would see Panama again. And when they would land in that air-drome again--if in truth they ever did!--would it be as victors, or as listeners to the jeers of the rough crew of the other plane? It was not an ideal day for the start from a weather standpoint. In fact, a consultation of the weather reports at the Panama Bureau before they left had shown a prophecy of strong northeasterly winds and possible showers. The sun was almost shut out by patches of cloud, glinting through only occasionally; but neither crew had felt like postponing the start, so eager were they to be off and so confident were they in the capabilities of their respective machines to meet almost any sort of bad weather. Straight along the Isthmus both machines proceeded, making a bee-line for Georgetown, which it was hoped to reach at daylight. The coastline was low along here and very uneven, with numerous pretty little islands on the Pacific side, the waters surrounding them sparkling like jewels when the sun's rays would struggle through the clouds and strike the tossing waves.