Paul and Bob now relieved Tom and John, and the latter young men took a nap. It was their custom to work in pairs, the observer preparing food for himself and the pilot during the course of flight. Sometimes the observer took the throttle long enough to give his friend a chance to eat, and sometimes the pilot retained his seat, allowing the automatic arrangement to do the guiding for him while he munched his food. Just before seven o'clock Paul and Bob saw two large bodies of water ahead of them, one stretching to the right and the other to the left. The chart told them that the northern body was the Red Sea and the southern one the Gulf of Aden, which opens into the Indian Ocean. Between these bodies lay a narrow belt of water, flanked on the western or African side by rocky, wooded hills, and on the eastern side by low, sandy shores dotted with palms. This was the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, and the country beyond was Persia. Aden could not be more than fifteen minutes' run east now, and so Bob awakened his sleeping comrades while Paul guided the airplane across the strait. They flew a little higher, later, following the general contour of the terraced slopes of the mountains along the Arabian coast. As the Sky-Bird came leisurely over the hills surrounding this British seaport of Aden, they could see that the town nestled in the crater of an extinct volcano, as they had read. All around the low, white buildings spread the rugged hillsides, and in declivities they passed over numbers of the great brick tanks or reservoirs which catch and store the scanty rainfall of the region and thus furnish Aden with its only water supply. The flyers saw many gowned figures, some on camels, pause to look upward at them, as they began to circle the town in quest of their landing field. Bob was the first to discern it--a fairly level stretch in the southern end of the valley or basin, marked in the way agreed upon, and containing two small buildings, neither of which was large enough to admit the machine. But they cared nothing for shelter for the Sky-Bird, as they did not purpose staying any longer than necessary for fuel replenishment and news dissemination by telegraph and letter. So they quickly settled down in the midst of a wondering ring of Arabs. Mr. Griggs, the American consul here, now came forward with a couple of British military officers, and the flyers met with a hearty reception. It seemed good to run upon one of their own countrymen again, after seeing so many strange faces since leaving Panama. Mr. Griggs insisted upon their going to his home with him for breakfast, and to this they consented as soon as they found he had made full arrangements for having some British workmen at the garrison refill the Sky-Bird's tanks.