s route
across the prairie. Things looked serious for Uncle Prudent and Phil
Evans.

"It is serious, then, this absurd project of taking us to the
Antipodes."

"And whether we like it or not!" exclaimed the other.

"Robur had better take care! I am not the man to stand that sort of
thing."

"Nor am I!" replied Phil Evans. "But be calm, Uncle Prudent, be calm."

"Be calm!"

"And keep your temper until it is wanted."

By five o'clock they had crossed the Black Mountains covered with
pines and cedars, and the "Albatross" was over the appropriately
named Bad Lands of Nebraska--a chaos of ochre-colored hills, of
mountainous fragments fallen on the soil and broken in their fall. At
a distance these blocks take the most fantastic shapes. Here and
there amid this enormous game of knucklebones there could be traced
the imaginary ruins of medieval cities with forts and dungeons,
pepper-box turrets, and machicolated towers. And in truth these Bad
Lands are an immense ossuary where lie bleaching in the sun myriads
of fragments of pachyderms, chelonians, and even, some would have us
believe, fossil men, overwhelmed by unknown cataclysms ages and ages
ago.

When evening came the whole basin of the Platte River had been
crossed, and the plain extended to the extreme limits of the horizon,
which rose high owing to the altitude of the "Albatross."

During the night there were no more shrill whistles of locomotives or
deeper notes of the river steamers to trouble the quiet of the starry
firmament. Long bellowing occasionally reached the aeronef from the
herds of buffalo that roamed over the prairie in search of water and
pasturage. And when they ceased, the trampling of the grass under
their feet produced a dull roaring similar to the rushing of a flood,
and very different from the continuous f-r-r-r-r of the screws.

Then from time to time came the howl of a wolf, a fox, a wild cat, or
a coyote, the "Canis latrans," whose name is justified by his
sonorous bark.

Occasionally came penetrating odors of mint, and sage, and absinthe,
mingled with the more powerful fragrance of the conifers which rose
floating through the night air.

At last came a menacing yell, which was not due to the coyote. It was
the shout of a Redskin, which no Tenderfoot would confound with the
cry of a wild beast.

Chapter X

WESTWARD--BUT WHITHER?

The next day, the 15th of June, about five o'clock in the morning,
Phil Evans left his