That afternoon our hero hired a hand cart he saw in a blacksmith's yard labeled "For Sale." He drove it as near to the swamp island as he could, without getting stuck in the mud. Then, he called to Hiram, who put himself in wading trim. The empty gasoline cans were over to the cart by Hiram. Dave trundled them to the town, got them filled and to the island, and, returning the cart, was ready to prepare for a new night journey. "It's less than sixty miles that we have to go, Hiram," he advised his assistant. "Then you've found out something definite?" guessed Hiram. "Yes, I have got a trace of Jerry Dawson." "You don't say so!" "I do, and I'll tell you how," and Dave recited the story of his meeting with the moving picture man. "Why, that's just grand," commented Hiram in his exuberant way. "You've good as run down the Drifter." "Not quite, Hiram." "Oh, you'll find the stolen airship. I feel it in my bones. I've felt it ever since I saw the way you took hold of this affair." "Well, I've had good help and a splendid machine, you must remember." "I don't go much on the help," declared Hiram modestly. "As to the Monarch II, though, I never saw such a well-behaved machine. If she does in the water what she's done in the air, she's a record breaker, sure." The machine was put in the best possible trim. It lacked two hours of nightfall but Dave had plenty to occupy his mind. For over an hour he sat looking over maps and memoranda, and blocking out his course. He had been very explicit and painstaking in questioning the moving picture man. He had made inquiries concerning Anseton and its vicinity down to the smallest detail. From all this Dave had decided on a permanent landing place, a sort of headquarters from which he could branch out in his personal investigations in the day time and sally forth on an air hunt in the dark. The aviators could distinctly hear a bell in some tower tolling the hour of nine as they circled a busy city that lay beyond and below, them, a blur of light. Dave at the levers kept the Monarch II at a fair height, constantly scanning an expanse to the north dotted only here and there with lights. Once past the outskirts of the city he turned due north. "Why, hello!" exclaimed his companion, "we're over water!" "Yes," replied Dave, "it's the lake." "Lake Superior! Dave, are we going to cross it?" "A good many times in the future probably, but not tonight. I am looking for a revolving light west of the city, right along the coast." "I'll keep a lookout, too." The lake was here and there dotted with the signal lights of steamers. Along the shore, which Dave skirted closely, various lights their met view. Both boys strained their gaze. Finally Hiram called out sharply: "I see it, Dave." "See what?" "A revolving light." "Where?" "See, just beyond that little cluster of town lights--quite high up."