They stared in astonishment at such a question, but ran in and helped carry out several reels of wire. Without saying a word, Hike and the Lieutenant began twisting this into a long, thin, strong rope, and binding one end to the gate-posts. The other end was hitched by a dozen small, twisted wires to the freight-platform of the _Hustle_, and immediately the machine plunged up into the air, with its steel “knife-string” glistening like silver as it uncoiled below them. The fence-wire rope was three hundred feet long, but they shut off the motor at two hundred feet up. Instantly the _Hustle_ floated along on the breeze, and came to a quiet halt when the anchor-rope drew tight. Hike and Adeler held their breaths. Would the machine come tumbling down? Or would she become a kite? She did become a kite. She floated up there, tugging at the rope, and swinging a little with each breath of wind, but safe and contented, shining in the sunlight. “Bully, Hike, old man!” cried the Lieutenant. “You’ve given us our watch-tower.” From even two hundred feet up, they could see miles across the desert, and they watched for the rebel bands, through field glasses. Three times they saw dust-clouds in the distance, but each time the riders veered way off to the west as they made out the threatening tetrahedral poised in air. When night came on, they camped—but not on the ground; no, indeed, not when they had a comfortable _Hustle_ to sleep in! Coffee and flapjacks were made on the electrical stove, after running the engine for a few minutes to set the electric motor going, and then Hike crawled under a blanket, while the Lieutenant took the first turn watching. So they hung at anchor till toward noon of the next day—two hundred feet up in the air. Then they left for the Lieutenant’s rancho, got their things, and within an hour were whirling northward, bound for Santa Benicia. * * * * * They were nearing Los Angeles, running easily and steadily at a hundred miles an hour, at dusk. The Lieutenant was driving. Hike felt uneasy. The engine did not sound quite right. He could not make out quite what the trouble was, however. Suddenly came a quick crash, from the engine. Hike knew that something had broken. Then the sound of back-fire, from a cylinder. He dived from his seat, and slammed off the emergency-cock. Instantly, the flow of gasoline stopped, and the motor was dead. He expected to have Jack Adeler ask “What did you shut off the cock for?” He didn’t know just what he would answer. But the Lieutenant merely planed down, circling till he could land in a patch of sand surrounding an orange-ranch. As they stopped, the Lieutenant wiped his forehead, feverishly. Hike was astonished to see his face pale as a ghost’s, in the twilight. “Whew!” puffed Adeler. “Close call. Do you know what might have happened to us, if you hadn’t shut off that emergency-cock just in time, Hike?”