a distance," and he pointed it out on the
map.

"Oh, I'll do it," promised the young inventor, as he sent his
powerful craft aloft in the darkness. Then, with her nose pointed in
the right direction, the Falcon beat her way forward through the
night, flying silently, with the great searchlight ready for instant
use.

In comparatively short time, though it was rather late at night,
they reached the St. Lawrence, and then it was an easy matter to
drop down into the midst of the reservation grounds. Though the
redmen, whom the state thus quartered by themselves, had all
retired, they swarmed out of their cabins as the powerful light
flashed back and forth.

"We want to question some of the head men of the tribe," said Mr.
Whitford. "I know some of them, for on several occasions I've had to
come here to look into rumors that tobacco and liquor and other
contraband goods dear to the Indian heart were smuggled into the
reservation against the law. I never caught any of them at it
though."

With guttural exclamations, and many grunts of surprise, the
redmen gathered around the big airship. It was too much even for
their usual reserve, and they jabbered among themselves.

"How Big Foot!" greeted the custom officer, to one Indian who had an
extremely large left foot. "How!"

"How!" responded the Indian, with a grunt.

"Plenty much fine air-bird; eh?" and the agent waved his hand toward
the Falcon.

"Yep. Plenty much big."

"Big Foot never see bird like this; eh?"

"Oh sure. Big Foot see before many times. Huh!"

"What! Has he seen this before?" asked Tom.

"No. Wait a minute," cautioned Mr. Whitford. "I'm on the track of
something. Big Foot see air-bird like this?" he questioned.

"Sure. Fly over Indians' land many times. Not same as him," and he
nodded toward Tom's ship, "but plenty much like. Make heap noise.
Come down once--break wheel mebby. Indians help fix. Indians get
firewater. You got firewater in your air-bird?"

"No firewater, but maybe we've got some tobacco, if you tell us what
we want to know, Big Foot. And so you've seen air-birds flying
around here before?"

"Sure, Heap times. We all see," and he waved his hand to indicate
the redmen gathered around him.

There came grunts of confirmation.

"We're getting there!" exclaimed Mr. Whitford to Tom. "We're on the
right track now. Which way air-birds come, Big Foot?"

"Over there," and he pointed toward Canada.

"Which way go?"

"Over there