"I can't see him," Dick answered. "Can he be out on deck?" A moment later there was a flash as of lightning, within the cabin, and Grit mingled his howls and barks as though in great pain. "Something's wrong!" cried the aviator. "Look about, Dick, I can't leave the wheel. We seem to be going down!" The young millionaire sprang up and leaped toward the place where he had heard Grit howling. The next moment Dick laughed in a relieved fashion. "Where are those rubber gloves?" he asked. "Rubber gloves?" repeated Mr. Vardon. "Yes. Grit has gotten tangled up in the little dynamo that runs the headlight, and he's short-circuited. He can stand more of a shock than I can. I want to get him off the contacts. Where are the gloves?" The aviator directed Dick to where the insulating gauntlets were kept, and in another moment Grit was pulled away from the contact. He had been unable to move himself, just as when one grasps the handles of a galvanic battery the muscles become so bound as to be incapable of motion. Fortunately the current, while it made Grit practically helpless, for the time, was not strong enough to burn, or otherwise injure him. He gave a howl of protest at the accident, as Dick released him, and shuffled off to his kennel, after fawning on his master. "One of the wires has some of the insulation off--that's what caused the trouble," Dick explained. "I'll wind some tape on it until we have time to put in a new conductor." "Grit seems to be getting the worst end of it this trip," said Paul, who had been awakened by the commotion. "Yes, he isn't much used to airships," agreed Dick. "But you'd better turn in, Paul. You've got an hour yet before it's your turn at the wheel." "Oh, better let me have it now. I'm awake, and I can't get to sleep again. Turn in yourself." Which Dick was glad enough to do, as he was quite tired. The remainder of the night passed without incident, and when morning came the airship was put at her former speed, fifty miles an hour. That may not sound very fast, but it must be remembered that this rate had to be kept up for sixty hours straight, perhaps. After breakfast the wire that had shocked Grit was renewed, and then some observations were taken to determine their position. It was calculated they were about halfway across Indiana by noon. The afternoon was slowly waning, and they were preparing for their second night of the prize trip, congratulating themselves that they had not yet been forced to descend. Suddenly Larry, who was at the wheel, uttered a cry of alarm. "Something's wrong!" he shouted. "I can't steer her on the course any longer. She's heading North instead of West." Dick and Mr. Vardon rushed to the pilot-house. A glance at the compass confirmed Larry's statement. The aviator himself took the wheel, but it was impossible to head the craft West. She pointed due North. "The horizontal rudder is out of gear!" cried Dick.