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Updated: May 25, 2025
At one end two more lay prostrate on the ground. In front a light barrier of boxes and barrels rose a few feet from the ground. And there, a rifle at his shoulder, knelt Elmer Grissom, their friend and servant. Buck was nowhere in sight. Their worst fears were realized. As the dramatic picture flashed from view each boy knew that it was time to act.
A few minutes after they had left a young man suddenly appeared, dodging among the cars. He sprang on to the rear step of the Placida, but before he could enter the car, the door of which had been left open by the departing officials, the vigilant form of Elmer Grissom blocked his way. "Who's in charge here?" demanded the stranger. "I'm a reporter and want to see him in a hurry."
More than once in the night Ned had noticed that the balloon was settling lower and he had been forced to maintain his level by casting over ballast. It was apparent that they were already losing gas. In boyish impulse and sympathy they had made Bob Russell, the young reporter, a third and unexpected passenger, and accident had forced them to add Elmer Grissom, their colored friend and servant.
Alan had been thoughtful enough to foresee the need of special clothing, and it was not long before he and Ned and even Elmer Grissom were enjoying the freedom of wide-brimmed hats, stout shirts, thick-soled shoes, and belts. Elmer's duty was the constant care of the Placida, which he only left on special permission.
It was a peculiar car and worth description, for in it, next to the big engine and ahead of all the other cars of the almost endless train, Ned Napier, his friend Alan Hope, and their servant, Elmer Grissom, were to be the sole passengers on a most mysterious and, as it proved, most eventful journey. In railroad parlance the car was what is known as a "club" car.
"This hot weather is pretty bad on some people," laughed Alan. "But, by the way, who are 'we?" "You and Elmer Grissom and I," answered Ned carelessly. "And where are we going?" continued Alan, who was not unused to Ned's joking. "On a little run in a private car down into New Mexico." Alan looked at him a moment and then determined to have the joke out.
"My chum, Alan Hope, who will make the ascension with me, will be one, and a colored boy, Elmer Grissom, who has helped me prepare for all my flights, will be the other." There was no dissent. "When shall I make my report?" Ned added. Major Honeywell and his friend conferred a moment. "Will five weeks be enough time for your exploration?" "I think so; perhaps less."
General Forrest turned to an orderly: "Go fetch Grissom here; tell him to come right away." The surgeon soon came, General Forrest told Whistling Jim to lead the way, and we were soon riding through the night in the direction of the river. A fine mist was falling, and the night was so dark that we would never have found our way but for a small dog whose inhospitable bark directed us to the cabin.
Am hour later Alan Hope, carried by the faithful Elmer Grissom and the jovial Bob Russell, was laid gently on a blanket by the fire whose smoke had attracted the attention of the ragged, worn wanderers. Not until the sun had set did the exhausted lad open his eyes again. But water and food had been forced through his lips and when reason came back strength was not far behind.
Bob did not know what was going on below, but he knew that he had a task set for him, and in the long silence that followed while the Cibola settled lower and lower and drifted on and on in the dark he stood, knife in hand, at the ballast bags. Buck, the guide, and Elmer Grissom had reached their appointed rendezvous at two o'clock that afternoon. The hot journey had been tedious and uneventful.
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