This busy stir and bustle, combined with the novel architecture and so many varying points of interest, would have been a mental and visual feast for the trio of air-voyagers, only for that one doubt: were white captives actually in yonder temple? And, if white, were they the long-lost relatives of the aeronaut, Cooper Edgecombe? Quite naturally the interest displayed by the Indians centred in the quarter of the heavens where that air-demon had been sighted, hence our friends saw very little cause for apprehension on their own parts. Thus they were given a better opportunity for thinking of and then discussing the new marvel. Again did Waldo vow that his eyes had not befooled him. Again he positively asserted that he had seen two white women, wearing blonde hair in loose waves far adown their backs. And once again Bruno, in half-awed tones, wondered whether or no they were the mother and child borne away upon the wings of a mighty storm, fifteen long years gone by. “It is possible, though scarcely credible,” admitted uncle Phaeton, in grave tones, as he wrinkled his brows after his peculiar fashion when ill at ease in his mind. “Edgecombe lived through just such another experience; though, to be sure, he was a man of iron constitution, while they were far more delicate, as a matter of course.” “Still, it may have happened so?” persisted Bruno, taking a strong interest in the matter. “You would not call it too far-fetched, uncle?” “No. It may have happened. I would rather call it marvellous, yet still possible. And if so--” “There is but a single answer to that supposition, uncle; they must be rescued from captivity!” forcibly declared Bruno. “That's right,” confirmed Waldo. “Of course all women and girls--I mean other people's kin--are a tremendous sight of bother and worry, and all that; but we're white, and so are they.” “We must rescue them; there's nothing else to do,” again emphasised the elder Gillespie. “That is no doubt the proper caper, speaking from your boyish point of view, my generous-hearted nephews; but--just how?” dryly queried the professor. “Have you arranged all that, as well, Bruno?” “You surely would not abandon them, uncle Phaeton?” asked the young man, something abashed by that veiled reproof. “To such a horrible fate, too?” “A fate which they must have endured for fifteen years, provided your theory is correct, Bruno,” with a fleeting smile. “Don't mistake me, lads. I am ready and willing to do all that a man of my powers may, provided I see just and sufficient cause for taking decisive action. That is yet lacking. We are not certain that there are white women yonder. Or, if white women, that they are captives. Or, if captives, that they would thank us for aiding them to escape.” “Why, uncle Phaeton! Think of Mr. Edgecombe, and how--”