"And this could hardly be called a road. It's nothing but a trail through sage brush."
"It would be a pity to leave our bones to whiten on the desert," observed Nancy cheerfully.
"I shall make tea," exclaimed Elinor with sudden inspiration. "If you are lost in the desert on the seventh of July, drink a cup of tea. It will keep your veins from swelling and bring wisdom and comfort."
By the time Billie and Mary had put on a new tire the tea was ready, and seated on the sand in a circle, the thirsty travelers sipped the delicious beverage. Billie was very quiet and black care sat upon her brow. Mary also was silent. The truth is there was no trail at all. They had lost it a mile back.
Now a trail is a very subtle and illusive thing, once it's lost, and one's imagination plays many strange tricks in a desert of sage brush. A dozen times Mary had whispered to Billie: "There's the trail," and Billie had replied, "That looks a good deal more like it to the right." No matter which way they looked they saw the lines which marked the trail. And when they looked again, the lines had shifted into a new direction.
At last Billie rose up and faced the company.
"I have to report to you that we are lost," she said. "We are completely and utterly lost and have been for two hours. It's a quarter to five o'clock and we can't decide whether to turn back Eastward or go on toward the West. I leave it to the company."
Why go back when there was no more trail behind than there was in front? Back into the Comet they climbed and on they went but progress was slow and the way was heavy. Sage brush impeded them greatly and at six o'clock they appeared to be just as deep in it as ever. They were very low in their minds and very tired. In all the long journey things had never seemed at such a low ebb.
At last Nancy leaned out of the car, for what reason she could not have told, but suddenly there came to her that inexplicable feeling that comes to us all occasionally. She felt she was about to enact a scene which somewhere, somehow she had before. Her eyes swept the deep blueness of the skies unseeingly and then fixed themselves on--what was it--an enormous crane or was it--?
"Billie, Billie," she cried. "It's the race. It's the flying machines--look, there are two, one just behind the other!"