age and manufacturing
facilities for a dozen or more planes of Hart Jones' design. A curiously
constructed example of his handiwork stood directly before me, and
several mechanics were engaged in making it ready for flight. My friend
advanced from their midst to meet me, a broad smile on his grease
smeared countenance.

"Greetings, Jack," he said, taking my small bag from my hands. "Right on
time, I see. And I can't tell you how glad I am that you are coming with
us. So is George."

"Well, I didn't expect to," I admitted; "but there is no need of telling
you that I had far rather be in your ship than in the big one."

* * * * *

George Boehm, the same jolly chap I had several times met in Hart's
company, but fatter than ever, crawled from beneath the shiny metal body
of the plane and scrambled to his feet at my side.

"Going in for a bit of adventuring, Mr. Makely?" he asked, wiping his
hand with a piece of cotton waste before extending it.

"Yes," I replied, as I squeezed his chubby fingers. "Can't stick in the
mud all my life, George. And I wouldn't want to be in better company for
my first attempt either."

"Nor we," he returned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Rather have a
greenhorn on the Pioneer than some government agent, who'd be butting in
and trying to run everything. Think you'll be scared?"

"Probably," I admitted; "but I guess I can stand it."

"Hear the latest news broadcast?" interrupted Hart Jones.

"No. What was it?" I asked.

"There has been a report from out near Cripple Creek," said Hart
solemnly, "that a pillar of fire was observed in the mountains shortly
after the time the NY-18 last reported. The time and the location
coincide with her probable position and the report was confirmed by no
less than three of the natives of that locality. Of course the
statements are probably extravagant, but they claim this pillar of fire
extended for miles into the heavens and was accompanied by a tremendous
roaring sound that ceased abruptly as the light of the flame
disappeared, leaving nothing but blackness and awe-inspiring silence
behind."

* * * * *

"Lot of bunk!" grunted George, who was vigorously scrubbing the back of
his neck.

"Sounds like a fairy tale," I commented.

"Nevertheless, there may be something in it. In fact, there must be.
Three of these mountaineers observed practically the same phenomenon
from quite wid