They were not beaten yet! The wind whistled, shrieked, and roared as it swept aft along the smooth body of the Sky-Bird. The propeller whirred, and the engines purred like two huge twin cats. So great were the noises combined that the voice was completely overwhelmed, and no effort was made by the flyers to talk with one another.

With their pulses beating wildly and hearts thumping in accord, they watched the hazy streak on the horizon line ahead rapidly develop into the unmistakable rugged form of land. As they drew closer, they could even see the glint of water on the other side, and knew without the shadow of doubt that what they were looking at was the long belt of earth connecting the two Americas—the Isthmus of Panama itself. And down their backs ran a new thrill at the recognition.

Larger and larger loomed the brown and green strip in advance. Presently, amid the checker-board of nature's colorations, they could make out a bay and on a tongue of land a considerable collection of buildings. It was Panama City! Five minutes later they could even distinguish the American flag—how glorious the sight!—fluttering at the staffhead of the courthouse, and could see the streets and ships in the harbor thronged with people who were evidently waiting to welcome them.

The excitement of the throngs increased as the airplane drew closer. People jumped up and down, yelled, and waved their hats. It had been only a few minutes before that Bob had received the radio admonition from the Panama station; "Town gone wild; but hurry in. You only have six minutes left!"

Now they were circling high over the heads of the populace, with one engine shut off and the speed of the other much reduced. In graceful, pretty circles the Sky-Bird began to spiral her way downward, John's eyes fastened upon the big white T of the familiar airdrome. As they came down, people in the outlying districts rushed madly toward the field, and the streets everywhere were choked with the concourse pouring toward the center of attraction.

Scores of others had previously posted themselves in the airdrome; but all were kept back by a cordon of ropes and a guard of Zone policemen. Inside of the barrier were a favored few Government officials and distinguished personages, newspaper men, photographers, and Mr. Giddings and Mr. Wrenn themselves. Colonel Hess, the judge of the contest, was also present, ready to receive the flyers' affidavits of stops.

As the flyers stepped out of their machine many a camera clicked, and the air was filled with the cheers of the multitude.

Colonel Hess stepped quickly up. In one hand was a watch; the other was extended.

"My heartiest congratulations, boys!" he exclaimed, as he received their paper. "You have arrived just in the nick of time. Panama time, it is now exactly fifty-nine minutes after twelve!"

They had won by one minute! The flyers were so tickled that they also felt like cheering. But they were sobered instantly when Mr. Wrenn came forward and they saw how sorrowful he looked in spite of the brave smile with which he greeted them.

"Young men," said the publisher of the Clarion, "as the loser in this contest I also wish to congratulate you. We have suffered a heavy blow ourselves, but you deserve full credit for the good work you have done, and I am not the kind of a contemporary to withhold compliments so fairly earned. I trust my men conducted themselves as true sportsmen, poor fellows."

Noticing that Oliver Torrey was on the point of making reply, John gave him a warning look, and a moment later pulled him aside and said in a low voice: "Mr. Wrenn should not know that you fellows did not conduct yourselves otherwise than fair in this race. That would make him feel all the worse. Keep mum to everybody about this, and we'll do the same."

Oliver Torrey nodded—tears in his eyes as he saw how desirous the Sky-Bird's crew were of protecting his own interests as well as the good name of his former associates. What fine fellows they were! How he wished he could have been allied with them on this cruise, instead of with Pete Deveaux and his bunch!

The hardships and perils of the past ten days were forgotten in the excitement of the present. Our flyers hardly knew what they were doing, so great was their joy. They shook hands with scores, hearts swelling with those emotions invoked by achievement and the glamor of the moment. It was—and always will be, perhaps,—the supreme hour of their lives.

Almost reverently they looked over the Sky-Bird. Through every possible climatic rigor the airplane had passed, and practically without any attention. Not once, from the time they had left this very airdrome until they had reached it again, after traversing close to 25,000 miles, had she been under shelter or sulked on them through deficient construction. Given a few days to overhaul her engines, they felt they would be quite capable of repeating their world record-breaking achievement, if it were necessary.

These reflections were of brief duration, however; for the crowd, having forced its way past the barriers, and having satisfied its curiosity over the machine, directed their attention to the flyers. Brimming with enthusiasm, they lifted every one of them shoulder high, laughing and cheering, and conveyed them to an extemporized platform made from a large box. From this elevation, each flyer in his turn was called upon for a speech. The boys made these quite brief, but were vociferously applauded; and then the two famous publishers were asked to contribute. Following came the governor of the Zone, who very eloquently expressed the pride the little Republic felt in starting off and witnessing the finish of this memorable event, and he said the keys of Panama were at the disposal of the young aviators until they should feel it incumbent upon them to leave for the States.

For three days our friends remained, and during that time they were the almost constant recipients of honors from civic clubs and associations of the city, as well as from the English-speaking citizenry in general. They were entertained at dinners, at the theater, and at sporting events out-of-doors—and not a penny were they allowed to spend themselves.

To the aviators it all seemed like a festival snatched from the covers of "Arabian Nights." Had genii and fairies, elfs and goblins, appeared before them bearing gifts of gold and jewels they would hardly have been surprised, so unreal did everything appear to their tired minds; and tired bodies only grew more tired under the stress of the social demands.

Strange indeed were their feelings when, upon looking at back files of newspapers, they read the history of their exploits, recorded with a degree of detail which must have taxed the imaginative resources of editorial staffs to gray hairs; and saw picture after picture taken with their own camera and sent across many a continent in the form of undeveloped film, now to bring before their eyes once more the realism of the moment when they were taken. There were photographs of themselves collectively and individually in many a place now far distant; views of the machine at rest, and of parts of it among the clouds and above them; two views of the fight with the condors; several of Grandpa in various amusing positions; many pictures of foreign places and of natives; illustrations showing the battle with the devil-fish; storms as seen from below, and storms as seen below when flying above them. Even pictures of the wreck of the Clarion, and of Oliver Torrey climbing up the rope ladder, were not missing.

Before the flyers left Panama, Paul received many offers to sell Grandpa to various admirers, but no amount of money could have induced him to part with this faithful little mascot. Oliver Torrey particularly felt that he owed a great debt of gratitude to the monkey.

When the party finally reached New York City, after a non-incidental flight of one night and the major portion of a day, they were given another ovation—one which far outrivaled in volume the one they had received at Panama. The mayor and city officials wished to fÊte them, but the boys were too exhausted to stand more of such doings; they wished to get home as soon as possible, hide from everybody but those in their immediate families, and just rest—rest—rest. They didn't think they would even care to see their dear old Sky-Bird again for several months.

It would be hard indeed to comprehend the feelings that surged through the flyers as they landed the airplane in the fair-grounds of their own native town—Yonkers—and were greeted by hundreds of familiar faces and voices, to say nothing of the hand-clasps of many old-time friends.

But, after all, the reunion with their own relatives was the cause for the greatest thanksgiving, as we may assume. Both Paul's and Bob's mothers had prepared the choicest of dinners for their famous sons, and that evening the Ross and Giddings families were the happiest and merriest ones in town.

Mr. Giddings and Mr. Wrenn both realized more out of the advertising than the contest had cost them. The former met his agreement by giving each of his flyers five thousand dollars, and his business rival did likewise by Oliver Torrey. Later on, Bob and the Ross boys sold their patents on the Sky-Bird to a large airplane manufacturing company for a sum which promised to make them independent for the rest of their lives.

*******

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