“Now we can run as an aeroplane again,” said Tom.  “But I’m not going to try such speed again.  It was the vibration that did it I guess.”

They were now over a wild and desolate stretch of country, for the region lying on either side of the imaginary line dividing Canada and New York State, at the point where the St. Lawrence flows north-east, is sparsely settled.

There were stretches of forest that seemed never to have been penetrated, and here and there patches of stunted growth, with little lakes dotted through the wilderness.  There were hills and valleys, small streams and an occasional village.

“Just the place for smuggling,” observed Tom, as he looked at a map, consulted a clock and figured out that they must be near Logansville.  “We can go down here in one of these hollows, surrounded by this tangled forest, and no one would ever know we were here.  The smugglers could do the same.”

“Are you going to try it?” asked Ned.

“I think I will.  We’ll go up to quite a height now, and I’ll see if I can pick out Logansville.  That isn’t much of a place I guess.  When I sight it I’ll select a good place to lay hidden for a day or two, until Mr. Whitford has had a chance to work up his clew.”

The airship machinery was now working well again, and Tom sent his craft up about three miles.  From there, taking observations through a powerful telescope, he was able, after a little while, to pick out a small town.  From its location and general outline he knew it to be Logansville.

“We’ll go down about three miles from it,” he said to his chum.  “They won’t be likely to see us then, and we’ll stay concealed for a while.”

This plan was put into operation, and, a little later the Falcon came to rest in a little grassy clearing, located in among a number of densely wooded hills.  It was an ideal place to camp, though very lonesome.

“Now, Ned, let’s cut a lot of branches, and pile them over the airship,” suggested Tom.

“Cover over the airship?  What for?”

“So that in case anyone flies over our heads they won’t look down and see us.  If the Fogers, or any of the smugglers, should happen to pass over this place, they’d spot us in a minute.  We’ve got to play foxy on this hunt.”

“That’s so,” agreed his chum; and soon the three of them were busy making the airship look like a tangled mass of underbrush.  Koku helped by dragging big branches along under his arm, but he could not use his hands very well.

They remained in the little grassy glade three days, thoroughly enjoying their camp and the rest.  Tom and Ned went fishing in a nearby lake and had some good luck.  They also caught trout in a small stream and broiled the speckled beauties with bacon inside them over live coals at a campfire.

“My!  But that’s good!” mumbled Ned, with his mouth full of hot trout, and bread and butter.

“Yes, I’d rather do this than chase smugglers,” said Tom, stretching out on his back with his face to the sky.  “I wish—­”