“Where is Scatiute?” asked Jack.

“About twenty miles south of here,” responded the captain. Then turning to the operator he asked, “Have you tried to get in communication with the Sky Eagle again?”

“Yes, sir, but with no success. Looks as if her wireless had gone out of business. That message came in more than an hour ago. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Great guns, boys, this is serious!” exclaimed the captain in an agitated voice. “Who knows what may have happened to those poor fellows! I must try to get hold of them, somehow. But just how I don’t know.”

“There’s Alvin’s dirigible on the grounds,” suggested the operator. “Maybe he’d go.”

“I’ll try him,” declared the captain. “It’s in the cause of common humanity. I should think he’d go.”

But Lester Alvin, the owner of the Cloud Scooter, declared he had not enough gasolene to make the trip. Two other dirigible operators were appealed to, but both of them had excuses of one sort or another to offer. The captain hastened back to the wireless hut where he had left the boys.

“Any news yet?” he asked anxiously of Hutchings the operator.

Hutchings shook his head.

“I can’t get in touch with them at all,” he said. “I can’t even raise a station that’s seen them passing over.”

The captain passed a bewildered hand across his forehead.

“What under the heavens are we to do?” he said. “I’ve appealed to those dirigible fellows in vain. They’ve all got one excuse or another to offer. I guess, though, the main trouble with them is ‘cold feet’ to put it into plain English.”

“And in the meantime those poor fellows on the Sky Eagle may be drifting helplessly over the ocean,” said Jack.

“Yes, and the worst of it is that their wireless appears to be out of order. If that was working they could summon help from some ship. But as it is——”

The captain broke off despairingly. He gazed up at the sky as if seeking inspiration there and then down at the ground. But he remained as perplexed as before.

In the meantime Jack and his companions had been holding an eager consultation. As the captain turned to Hutchings for the twentieth time with a demand to know if he had heard anything yet, Jack stepped forward.

“Captain,” he said, “I guess that we can help you out.”

“What do you mean, boy?”

“That we will go out on a hunt for the Sky Eagle.”

The captain looked dumfounded. Then he gave a vigorous shake of the head.

“No, my boy, I couldn’t allow that.”

“Why not? We have——”

“I wouldn’t be responsible for sending you boys on such a voyage.”

“There would be no real danger. We have a capable ship. We know how to handle her. She is as good on the water as on land.”

“I know all that, Jack, but what would your father say?”

“That it is our duty to go to the aid of those poor fellows on the Sky Eagle.”

The captain scratched his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t know what to say,” he said hesitatingly, at length.

Just then Hutchings interrupted.

“Hold on, here’s a message coming now,” he said.

“Ah! That’s the Sky Eagle,” said the captain. “We worried ourselves unnecessarily, after all.”

But it was not the Sky Eagle that was wirelessing. The captain’s rejoicing had been premature. Hutchings held up his hand to enjoin silence.

Then as the dots and dashes came out of space into the watch-case receivers at his ears he read off the message as it came.

“Scatiute Wireless Station.—Big dirigible seen drifting east. Making signals of distress. Do you know anything about her?”

“Great guns!” puffed the captain. “Just as I thought, she’s drifting out to sea sure enough. Raise ’em at Scatiute, Hutchings. Ask ’em what appears to be the matter with her.”

Hutchings applied himself to his key and in a few minutes he had this answer.

“Impossible to tell what is trouble. Appears to be in gas bag but not sure. Should send help, if possible.”

“That settles it!” cried Jack, “we’ll go after her.”

“I ought to say no, but somehow, all I can say is ‘Go ahead, my boys, and good luck’!” cried the captain, clasping the boy’s hand.

No time was to be lost and the boys hastened from the wireless office to where the Electric Monarch stood surrounded by an admiring crowd. There was great excitement as the boys were seen climbing on board. People came running from all parts of the grounds for, early as the hour was, there was still quite a small crowd scattered about inspecting the various air craft.

“What is it?” “Are they going to make a flight?”

These and a hundred other questions were bandied about from mouth to mouth. The boys worked like beavers and it was evident even to the dullest-witted onlooker that there was something unusual in the wind.

In ten minutes everything was ready. At the last moment Jack had requested a coil of good strong rope, which was loaned to him by one of the dirigible men. When this had been taken on board all was ready for the start. The boy took his place in the pilot house and the others assumed their stations. Ned oiled up the motor and Tom saw that the stern propeller bearings were in good working order.

“Good-bye and good luck!” hailed the captain as Jack’s hand sought the starting switch.

At that moment, and just as the first impulses of the motor throbbed through the frame of the Electric Monarch, there was a sudden motion in the crowd.

“Lemme through!” bawled a voice, which Ned Nevins recognized with a start. It was Hank Nevins, his ne’er-do-well cousin. Close at Hank’s heels came Miles Sharkey. The two elbowed their way through the crowd, followed by a thickset man who bore the unmistakable stamp of an officer of the law. Miles Sharkey was waving a paper above his head.

“Hold on!” he bawled at the top of his voice, “don’t let that craft go up!”

“Why not?” yelled Captain Sprowl, his face purple.

“This officer will explain,” cried Hank, “we got a conjunction.”

“Injunction,” he means, explained Miles, the law sharp, with a grin. “We’ve got an injunction prohibiting those boys from handling the Electric Monarch.”

The captain stood aghast. The boys on the Electric Monarch could not catch just what was going on but they knew that the controversy concerned them.

“On what grounds did you obtain this injunction?” demanded the captain, controlling himself with difficulty.

“On the grounds that this craft belongs to Hank Nevins here. It was built from plans left to him by his father,” cried Miles.

“How do you know they were left to him?”

“We have found a will. It was only discovered a few days ago after that young thief on board the Monarch there had appropriated the plans himself.”

“Is this right, officer?” demanded the confused captain in a bewildered way. “I ain’t much of a hand at the law myself.”

“It’s right, all right,” said the officer stolidly. “They’ve got an injunction restraining this craft from flying,—that’s the law.”

“He! he! he!” chuckled Hank. “This is the time I’ve fixed my smart young cousin. There was a will, after all.”

Jack was becoming impatient. From the pilot house he shouted down to the captain:

“Shall we go ahead?”

The captain was about to reply in the negative, explaining that the law must be complied with, when Hank shoved rudely against the old seaman, almost pushing him over.

“Lemme by,” he snarled. “I’ll attend to this!”

It was then that the vials of the captain’s wrath boiled over.

“You young limb!” he bellowed. “D’ye think I’ll sacrifice human life for a thousand injunctions? Go ahead, boys!”

There was a roar and shout, and the Electric Monarch jumped forward. The crowd scattered right and left. Hank and Miles leaped after the craft. The wind from the propellers caught the former and hurled him to the ground.

“Stop ’em!” bellowed Miles, and then he turned furiously on the officer. “Why don’t you stop ’em, you—you muttonhead?”

“Keep a civil tongue in you, young feller,” warned the officer. “There’s no power on earth’ll stop ’em now. That injunction will have to wait.”

A mighty cheer from the crowd drowned Miles’s furious reply.

The Electric Monarch had taken the air in a graceful, sweeping slant. The powerful craft was off on an errand of life or death.