It was rather hard work to take the Flyer apart, but it was finally done, and, in about a week from the time of arriving in Paris, they left that beautiful city.  The pictures already taken were forwarded to Mr. Period, with a letter of explanation of Tom’s adventures thus far, and an account of how his rivals had acted.

Just before sailing, Tom received another message from his strange employer.  The cablegram read: 

“Understand our rivals are also going to try for volcano pictures.  Can’t find out who will represent Turbot and Eckert, but watch out.  Be suspicious of strangers.”

“That’s what I will!” cried Tom.  “If they get my camera away from me again, it will be my own fault.”

The voyage to Colon was not specially interesting.  They ran into a terrific storm, about half way over, and Tom took some pictures from the steamer’s bridge, the captain allowing him to do so, but warning him to be careful.

“I’ll take Koku up there with me,” said the young inventor, “and if a wave tries to wash me overboard he’ll grab me.”

And it was a good thing that he took this precaution, for, while a wave did not get as high as the bridge, one big, green roller smashed over the bow of the vessel, staggering her so that Tom was tossed against the rail.  He would have been seriously hurt, and his camera might have been broken, but for the quickness of the giant.

Koku caught his master, camera and all, in a mighty arm, and with the other clung to a stanchion, holding Tom in safety until the ship was on a level keel once more.

“Thanks, Koku!” gasped Tom.  “You always seem to be around when I need you.”  The giant grinned happily.

The storm blew out in a few days, and, from then on, there was pleasant sailing.  When Tom’s airship had been reassembled at Colon, it created quite a sensation among the small army of canal workers, and, for their benefit, our hero gave several flying exhibitions.

He then took some of the engineers on a little trip, and in turn, they did him the favor of letting him get moving pictures of parts of the work not usually seen.

“And now for the volcano!” cried Tom one morning, when having shipped to Mr. Period the canal pictures, the Flyer was sent aloft, and her nose pointed toward Arequipa.  “We’ve got quite a run before us.”

“How long?” asked Ned.

“About two thousand miles.  But I’m going to speed her up to the limit.”  Tom was as good as his word, and soon the Flyer was shooting along at her best rate, reeling off mile after mile, just below the clouds.

It was a wild and desolate region over which the travelers found themselves most of the time, though the scenery was magnificent.  They sailed over Quito, that city on the equator, and, a little later, they passed above the Cotopaxi and Chimbarazo volcanoes.  But neither of them was in action.  The Andes Mountains, as you all know, has many volcanoes scattered along the range.  Lima was the next large city, and there Tom made a descent to inquire about the burning mountain he was shortly to photograph.