It must have been an inspiring sight from below, for Dick's craft was so large that it showed up well, and the white canvas planes of the others, as well as those of the Abaris, stood out in bold contrast to the blue of the sky. "We're doing ninety an hour!" called Dick, after a glance at the speed gage, while his companions were looking down at the craft below. "Pretty nearly the limit," remarked Mr. Vardon. "If you can reach a hundred, Dick, do it. I don't believe those fellows can come near that." "They're falling behind now," observed Paul. "Go to it, Dick, old man!" The young millionaire pulled open the gasolene throttle to the full limit and set the sparker to contact at the best advantage. The result was at once apparent. The aircraft shot ahead in a wonderful fashion. The others evidently put on full speed, for they, also, made a little spurt. Then it was "all over but the shouting," as Larry said. Dick's machine swept on and soon distanced the others. "I've got to get back a story of this!" cried Larry. "It will be good reading for those who buy the Leader." "But how are you going to do it?" asked Paul. "You can't send back a story now, and we'd have to make a descent to use the wireless," Dick's craft being so fitted up. "I'll just write a little note, telling the editor to get the story from the Associated Press correspondent who is covering this meet," Larry answered. "All they need in the Leader office is a 'tip.' They'll do the rest. But I'll just give them a few pointers as to how things went on here." He hastily dashed off a story and enclosed it in one of several leather cylinders he had provided for this purpose. Each one had a sort of miniature parachute connected to it, and a flag to attract attention as it shot down. Enclosing his story in one of these Larry dropped it, as he had done before, trusting that it would be picked up and forwarded. The plan always worked well. The leather messenger fell on the aviation field, and our friends had the satisfaction of seeing several men running to pick it up, so Larry knew his plan would be successful. The Abaris was now speeding along at the top notch, and for a few minutes Dick allowed her to soar through the air in this fashion. And then, having some regard for his engines, he cut down the gasolene, and slowed up. "No use tearing her heart out," he remarked. "There's time enough to rush on the last lap. I wonder if we'll have a race at the end?" "I shouldn't be surprised," Mr. Vardon answered. "A number of celebrated aviators are planning to compete for this prize, and some may already be on the way across the continent ahead of us." "Then there's your Uncle Ezra," put in Paul.