Scanned by Sean Pobuda (jpobuda@adelphia.net)
No. 2 of a series.
By Margaret Burnham
"And so this is the great Nevada desert!"
Peggy Prescott wrinkled her nose rather disdainfully as she gazedfrom the open window of the car out over the white, glitteringexpanse—dotted here and there with gloomy-looking clumps of sagebrush—through which they had been traveling for some little timepast.
"This is it," nodded her brother Roy; "what do you think of it,sis?"
"Um—er, I shall have to wait a while before I answer that,"rejoined Peggy judicially.
"Well, here's Jimsy; let's ask him," cried Roy, as a lad of his ownage, accompanied by a slender, graceful girl, came down the aisle ofthe car and approached the section in which the two young Prescottswere sitting.
"Jimsy Bancroft," demanded Roy, "we are now on the great Nevadadesert, or on the edge of it. Does it meet with your approval?"
"There's plenty of it anyhow," laughed Jimsy, "and really it's verymuch like what I expected it would be."
"I feel like a regular cowgirl or—a—er—well, what the newspaperscall a typical Westerner already," said Jess Bancroft, Jimsy'ssister.
"Only typical Westerners don't protect their delicate complexionsfrom dust with cold cream," laughed Peggy, holding up a fingerreprovingly. "As if any beauty magazine won't tell you it's awoman's duty to take the greatest care of her complexion," parriedJess. "Roy and I have been sitting out on the observation platformon the last coach—that is, we sat there till the dust drove us in."
She shook the folds of a long, light pongee automobile coat she woreand a little cloud of dust arose. They all coughed as the pungentstuff circulated.
"Ugh," cried Roy, "it makes your eyes smart."
"That's the alkali in it," quoth Jimsy sagely, "alkali is—"
"Very unpleasant," coughed Peggy.
"But as we are likely to have to endure it for the next few weeks,"struck in Roy, "we might as well lose no time in getting accustomedto it."
"Well girls and boys," came a deep, pleasant voice behind them, "weshall be in Blue Creek in a short time now, so gather up yourbelongings. I'll take care of the aeroplane outfits and the otherstuff in the baggage car," he went on, "and here comes Miss Prescottnow."
The lady referred to was a sweet-faced woman of some fifty years ofage, though it was easy to see that the years had dealt kindly withher during her placid life in the village of Sandy Beach, on LongIsland, New York, where she had made, her home. Miss Prescott wasthe aunt of the two Prescott children, and since their father'sdeath some time before had been both mother and father to them—theirown mother having passed away when they were but small children.
As readers of the first volume of this series know, Mr. Prescott hadbeen an inventor of some distinction. Dying, he had confided to hisson and daughter his plans for a non-capsizable aeroplane of greatpower. His son had promised to carry on the work, and had devotedhis legacy to this purpose.
In that volume, which was called "The Girl Aviators and the PhantomAirship," it will be recalled, it was told how Peggy had been ofmaterial aid to her brother in his plans and hopes, and had, inreality, "saved the day" for him when he fe