“What a wreck!” exclaimed Mr. Jesson, gazing the flabby wrinkles of the gas envelope and at the wound in its side. The Flying Road Racer did, indeed, look different from the trim craft that had arisen from the deck of the _Vagrant_ not so very long before. But how much had transpired in those few hours! If time might be reckoned by events the boys could record that they had passed through years of experience since Jack and Captain Andrews struck out on the forest path leading to the plantation houses. “What a mess!” breathed Abner Jennings, echoing in part Mr. Jesson’s remark. “It’s my opinion that we ought to thank Providence for getting off with our lives,” said Captain Andrews stoutly. And to this sentiment they all heartily agreed. “Can you ever repair her. Jack, do you think?” asked his father anxiously. Jack, who had been surveying the wreck carefully, was not yet ready to give an opinion, however. “If we could fix that rip in the gas bag it might be possible to patch her up,” he said dubiously. “There is,—or ought to be,—a spare propeller on board, and if the engine is working, it might be feasible to put the craft in order once more.” “Well, we’d better run her up out of the reach of the waves anyhow,” said Tom. The air craft had grounded at the margin of the beach, and the spray of the thunderous waves showered her as each broke. The two sailors and the others came forward to lay hands on the Flying Road Racer, and shove her up the beach. But Jack had a better plan in mind. “If the motor is working. I’ll run her up under her own power,” he said. He followed up these words by getting into the driver’s seat, and after Tom had removed the wreck of the propeller, his cousin started up the engine and threw in the clutch connecting it with the driving machinery. The rear wheels flew round in the sand for a minute, but as the boy applied more power they gripped the surface and the Flying Road Racer—an automobile now—moved rapidly up the beach. Jack ran her in under a grove of trees and then shut off the engine. “If only we weren’t on an island,” he said, “we could run right through to the city of Mexico!” “Gee, I wish we could,” said Ned Bangs, “it’s a question of how long the grub will hold out on this island, and we don’t know if any ships come this way.” “Easy enough to find out,” said Tom rather carelessly. “Easy enough?” echoed Ned. “Well, Tom Jesson, you’ll have to show me. Here we are, cut off from all communication——” Tom smiled and shook his head. “Not while we’ve got the wireless,” he said. “What do you mean, Tom?” asked Mr. Jesson. “That when I left the _Vagrant_ I brought her wireless apparatus with me,” said Tom in a quiet tone. “That’s what those bundles were.” “Good,” exclaimed Mr. Jesson. “We’ll have something to eat and some hot coffee, and then we’ll try to get into communication with the shore, or some vessel, and get them to take us off this desolate place.”