The Lieutenant had to go up to Benicia Arsenal, to inspect some wireless material for Army transports. This, decided Martin Priest, would be a good time for him to drive down to his valley in the San Francisquito mountains, and get some belongings. So Hike and Poodle were left alone. They slept at the aerodrome, to protect the tetrahedral from sight-seers. All the while, Hike was looking for a good excuse to fly her. CHAPTER V THE WRECK OF THE YACHT Hike was seated by the _Hustle_ one windy afternoon, finishing rewinding the fastening of a small interior strut, or prop, when Poodle came rushing up, returning from town. “Hike,” he cried, “there’s a yacht going to pieces down the coast. Belongs to a rich guy that lives at Pacific Grove. She’s sending out an S.O.S. by wireless. The Presidio wireless caught it. Her operator says she ran onto a ledge down near Sur—how far is that? About twenty miles down the coast? There’s big swells after that storm yesterday, and they can’t launch a boat. Besides, the yacht’s stuck on a long slippery ledge that’s hard to land on.” “Where’s the revenue cutter?” asked Hike. “Gone north.” “Well,” said Hike, very calmly, “well, looks to me as if we’d have to save ’em—folks on yacht.” “_Us?_ How?” Poodle looked disturbed. “Haven’t we got the best aeroplane in the world right here? I guess swells won’t bother the _Hustle_ much.” “Us—alone in an aeroplane?” wailed Poodle. “And me never been up in one any time? Jiminy, you ain’t serious, are you, Hike?” Hike looked so quiet that Poodle, much confused at the prospect, knew he _was_ serious. Hike had already started filling the _Hustle’s_ fuel tank with gasoline, after finishing the strut-fastening while he was talking. “Get that long rope that came on the engine,” Hike ordered. “All _right_, Geerawld,” sighed Poodle. “’F I’m going to get killed, I might’s well insult you while I have the chance.” He trotted out and found the rope, singing “Geerawld, brave HEro, brave HEro,” in a most cheerful manner. He was frightened at the prospect of his first aeroplaning, with so young an aviator as Hike, but once he admitted that, he stopped worrying about it, and wanted to get the first part of the ride over. “Coil the rope there—uh—well—amidships,” said Hike. “Come on, now—_shove_!” Perspiring and grunting, with their feet slipping on the turf floor of the aerodrome, they pushed out the big machine, then stood resting. “Scared?” quizzed Hike. “Uh huh.”