As the machine resumed her regular course again, the man made several attempts to regain his nerve, but each time he moved Hike made as though to kick the timer, and the frightened leader subsided. They had been sailing for half an hour, when Hike yelled forward to Poodle, “Take her down.” The _Hustle_ landed in a hill-pasture, and, with a very courtly gesture, Hike motioned the mountaineer to step out. With his revolver covering him all the time, Hike bade him good-by. The man crawled out and ran, never looking back. Watching him, Hike said, “Well, I’m ashamed of myself, now it’s over—taking that poor duffer fifty miles away from home just to get even. And making you take the levers, Poodle. Regular kid way, ain’t it—” He turned toward the machine, and then cried out with sorrow and amazement. For Poodle did not hear him. As soon as they had landed, Poodle had fainted, and the blood from his wound was turning all his left shoulder red. CHAPTER IX TWO BOYS AND A GENERAL Tearing off Poodle’s coat, ripping up his shirt sleeve. Hike found that the wound was not very deep, but that some blood had been lost. With quick, careful fingers, he bathed the wound with water from a spring, never ceasing to keep an eye on the mountaineer—who was not stopping, however, but still on the run. Poodle opened his eyes, and, as Hike started to heap all sorts of blame on himself, grinned: “That’s the time I fooled you, all right, heh?” “Gee, Poodle—I want to kill myself. I didn’t know you were hurt. It was a crime, my keeping the game up. I wanted to get our warlike friend good and frightened before we dropped him, so he wouldn’t fight afterwards. But lots of it was just fool fun—I could have used the Paralyzing Wave again. But I thought it would do him good to learn a lesson about butting in on aeroplanes. Gee, I’m awf’ly sorry, Poodski, I’d—” “I got you going now, all right!” chuckled Poodle. “I’ll keep you nice—and—humble, now, Cap’n.... Cut it out, Hike, I know you didn’t know I was shot. And I wasn’t—much. I’ll be all right, now you got the thing tied up. Beat it for Washington.” “Think you can stand—” “Say, you going to treat me like a little kid?” shrieked Poodle, pretending to be much hurt and insulted. “Think I can’t stand a little scratch?” Hike apologized, helped Poodle in, and started the _Hustle_, while Poodle, in his seat, grinned all over at thinking of how easily he had made Hike “cut out the weeps and lemme ’lone and tend to flyin’-machining.” Though they passed over some thousands of people, who stared up at their strange machine, the boys had no more unfortunate accidents. Just before dawn, that night, they stopped, in a field just outside of Washington, D. C., their journey practically over—and their fuel mostly gone.