Shortly the buzzard “banked” for a sharper turn; and the engineer saw, by the perspective of its apparent speed, that the aircraft whose use he was enjoying was likewise on the move.  Apparently it was flying in a straight line, keeping the sun—­an object vastly too brilliant to examine—­on the right.

The buzzard went out of sight.  Once more the clear sky was all that could be seen; that, and the continual roar of the engine, were all that Smith actually knew.  He became impatient for his agent to look elsewhere; it might be that the craft contained other specimens of the unknown creatures.  But there was no change in the vigilant watch which was being kept upon the sky.

Suddenly the engineer became exceedingly alert.  He had noticed something new—­something so highly different from anything he had expected to learn that it was some minutes before he could believe it true.

His borrowed eyes had no eyelids!  At least, if they did, they were never used.  Not once did they flicker in the slightest; not once did they blink or wink, much less close themselves for a momentary rest from the sun’s glare.  They remained as stonily staring as the eyes of a marble statue.

Then something startling happened.  With the most sickening suddenness the aircraft came to an abrupt halt.  Smith’s senses swam with the jolt of it.  All about him was a confused jumble of blurred figures and forms; it was infinitely worse than his first ride in a hoist.  In a moment, however, he was able to examine things fairly well.

The aircraft had come to a stop in the middle of what looked like a cane brake.  On all sides rose yellowish-green shafts, bearing leaves characteristic of the maize family.  Smith knew little about cane, yet felt sure that these specimens were a trifle large.  “Possibly due to difference in gravitation,” he thought.

However, he could not tell much about the spot on which the machine had landed.  For a moment it was motionless; the engine had been stopped, and all was silent except for the gentle rustling of the cane in the field.  The unknown operator did not change his position in the slightest.  Then the craft began to move over the surface, in a jerky lurching fashion which indicated a very rough piece of ground.  At the same time a queer, leathery squeaking came to the engineer’s borrowed ears; he concluded that the machine was being sorely strained by the motion.  At the time he was puzzled to account for the motion itself.  Either there was another occupant of the craft, who had climbed out and was now pushing the thing along the ground, or else some form of silent mechanism was operating the wheels upon which, presumably, the craft was mounted.  Shortly the motion stopped altogether.

It was then that Smith noticed something he had so far ignored because he knew his own dinner hour was approaching.  His agent was hungry, like himself.  He noticed it because, just then, he received a very definite impression of the opposite feeling; the agent was eating lunch of some sort, and enjoying it.  There was no doubt about this.  All that Smith could do was to wish, for the hundredth time, that he could look around a little and see what was being eaten, and how.