and it was high time, for the
pressure was now within twenty-five pounds of the exploding point.

Down shot the Falcon, while her rival passed onward triumphantly in
the darkness. Ned held the light on the smugglers as long as he
dared, and then he flashed it to earth to enable Mr. Damon to pick
out a good landing place.

In a few moments Tom's silent airship came to rest on a little
clearing in the forest, and Tom, with Ned's help, at once opened
every outlet of the gas machine, a thing they had not dared do while
up in the air.

"Come on, now, run, everybody!" cried Tom. "Otherwise you'll he
smothered!"

They leaped from the craft, about which gathered the fumes of the
powerful gas, as it hissed from the pipes. Running a hundred yards
away they were safe, and could return in a few minutes.

"We're in Canada," remarked Mr. Whitford, as they came to a halt,
watching the airship.

"How do you know?" asked Ned.

"As we landed I saw one of the stone boundary posts," was the
answer. "We're on English territory, and we can't touch the
smugglers if we should see them now."

"Well, we'll soon be back in Uncle Sam's land," declared Tom. "We
can go back on board the Falcon to sleep shortly. Jove! I wish I
could have caught those fellows!"

"Never mind, we'll get 'em yet," counseled Mr. Whitford.

Waiting until he was sure all the vapor had disappeared, Tom led the
way back to the Falcon. No great harm had been done, save to lose
considerable gas, and this could be remedied. Tired and disappointed
from the chase, they sought their bunks, and were soon asleep. In
the morning Tom and Ned began work on the clogged pipes.

This work was nearly accomplished by noon, when Mr. Damon, coming
back from a stroll, announced that they were but fifteen minutes
walk from the St. Lawrence River, as he had seen the sparkling
waters from a neighboring hill.

"Let's go over and have a look at it," proposed Ned. "We can easily
finish this when we get back. Besides, Tom, we don't want to get to
our regular camp until after dark, anyhow."

The young inventor was willing, and the two lads, with Mr. Whitford,
strolled toward the historic stream. As they drew near the bank,
they saw, anchored a little distance out, a small steamer.
Approaching it, as if she had just left the shore at a point near
where our friends stood, was a gasolene launch, containing several
men, while on shore, in front of a small shanty, stood another man.

Thi