The gray dawn of early morning found Linda and Dot at the airport of Cape San Lucas, all ready to take off on their momentous journey. More than two thousand miles over the biggest ocean in the world, without a single stop!

The Sky Rocket was already on the runway, in perfect condition for the trip. Her high-powered Wright engine was performing as excellently as an expensive watch; her instruments were in tune, her tanks filled. The wireless had been tested, and found to be working, and the rubber life-boat which Linda had ordered was tucked away in the plane.

“What are the weather predictions for this morning?” Linda inquired of the mechanic, as Dot put the lunch into the cockpit.
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“Good for at least twenty-four hours,” he replied. “But that’s not the only danger, Miss Carlton.” He shook his head ominously. “This is sure suicide,” he predicted.

“Why?” demanded Dot. “Isn’t the motor in perfect condition? There isn’t anything wrong, is there?”

“No. She’s O.K. Oiled her up a bit, and tightened a few screws. It isn’t that. But you’ll run into a typhoon, or lose your way—”

“It’s a pretty straight course,” said Linda. “We’re on the Tropic of Cancer now, and Hawaii is just a little below it. It looks like pretty easy navigating to me.”

“You’re welcome to it. And—happy landing!”

Linda and Dot lost no time in getting started. Five minutes later the Sky Rocket was triumphantly rising into the air, heading straight towards the ocean. Over the weeds and rough seashore growth on the beach, past the waves breaking on the shore of the Pacific! The sun had not yet risen, but it was light enough to see where they were going. On they flew; now the waves seemed higher, but the air was calm.
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There was little wind, so Linda continued to fly low, so that they could make use of the cushion of air on top of the water. And it was thrilling to watch the ocean—more exciting than seeing it from the deck of a boat.

“It does seem calmer than the Atlantic,” observed Dot, in a loud tone. Seated side by side as they were in the companion cockpit, it was not necessary to use the speaking-tube, and for this advantage they were grateful. “They say that’s why it was called the ‘Pacific.’”

“It’s beautiful, anyway,” returned Linda, admiringly.

On and on they flew, ever westward, as the sun rose in its full glory behind them. Soon the land was lost to view; there were no vessels in sight—only limitless sky and ocean, and two girls alone in that vast, empty universe. But both girls were in high spirits; neither was the least bit afraid.

Climbing a little higher, Linda opened her throttle to its maximum, and found themselves travelling at a speed of a hundred and fifty miles an hour. The girls laughed and sang at the joy of the exhilarating motion, but they did not attempt to talk. There was so much to think about—the fun of the flight, and the triumph of landing in Hawaii, ahead of that boat, the “Mona.” Oh, if they only made it!
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Water everywhere—and the sky overhead. Noontime came, with the sun right above them, and the girls realized that it had been a long time since they had eaten. Dot made a dive for the coffee and sandwiches, divided off as they were in portions for lunch and supper and breakfast, and both girls ate ravenously. When they had finished she insisted that Linda take a rest.

With a yawn and a stretch, Linda willingly complied, and gave the controls over to the other girl. It would afford her not only an opportunity to relax, but a chance to study the maps as well.

“We’ve covered eight hundred miles already,” she shouted in Dot’s ear. “And we’re sticking straight to our course.”

“How’s the gas holding out?” returned her companion.

“Fine. I think we’ll have some left over, at this rate.... Now Dot, if you’re all right, I think I’ll take forty winks. Even that blazing sun doesn’t seem to keep me from being sleepy.”
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The other girl nodded, and Linda slipped off to sleep. Even the bumps in the air seemed to have no effect upon her slumbers; for an hour perhaps, she slept soundly, while Dot continued on the flight. Then, all of a sudden she was abruptly awakened by a terrified cry from her companion. The plane was dropping—it seemed to be diving right into the ocean—into the very jaws of death!

For one brief moment Linda thought of the life-boat, but that did not seem feasible now. Instinctively she grabbed the stick, and pulled it back sharply. The Sky Rocket wobbled almost on the surface of the water, and at that very moment a hideous, terrifying shark poked its head above the surface!

For one awful second death stared them in the face. Not the easy death of drowning, but a horrible torturing agony at the jaws of a ferocious fish. The plane seemed to hover uncertainly for a moment; then with a sudden lightning speed it gathered control and started to climb upward—to safety!

Linda let out a gasp of relief, and Dot sobbed in contrition as the Sky Rocket soared into the air.
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“I don’t know how I could have done it,” wailed Dot. “All of a sudden, it seemed as if we were headed straight for the ocean, and nothing could stop us. If you hadn’t taken hold that very instant, we’d have been killed.”

“It was a lucky escape,” returned Linda. “And from now on we’ll make it a point to fly higher, even if we can’t use the wind to such advantage, as we could right over the water.”

The afternoon passed, with the motor still functioning perfectly. The wind increased somewhat, but not enough to disturb Linda greatly. She was continuing to fly high, for she didn’t want to run any risk of hitting that deep, terrifying ocean again. A little before sunset they sighted a ship.

“I’m going a little lower,” she shouted to Dot. “Get your glasses. We’ll see whether that’s the ‘Mona.’”

“It is!” exclaimed Dot, a few minutes later. “I suppose we’re too far south to meet the regular Los Angeles-Hawaii lines. But we must be following about the same course as the ‘Mona.’”

“Keep a watch-out for the girl-friend!” advised Linda.
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Down they glided, keeping the ship in sight until they were about a hundred feet over the water. It was a small boat—not nearly so large as the regular San Francisco-Hawaii line; and they could see the people hurrying to the deck, peering through their glasses, and waving and shouting in greeting. Dot, too, did her share of the searching.

“I don’t see them,” she said.

Linda looked intently, but she could not distinguish the passengers’ faces. However, she did not think it was likely that Sprague or his wife would be waving to them. They would surely recognize the plane.

“Probably they’ve been keeping off the decks,” she said. “Hiding, as much as possible, without arousing suspicion.”

“Maybe the girl’s seasick,” observed Dot. “I only hope she doesn’t pass out and get buried at sea, before we ever have a look at her, or a chance to collect that five thousand,” remarked Dot.
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Linda regained her height, and sped onward, determined to get to Hawaii well in advance of the boat, and to lie in wait for the criminals. The blood was rushing through her veins, and she was thrilled with the chase, but she resolutely kept calm. The worst of the trip—the black night—was ahead of her, and she needed every ounce she had of energy and nerve.

The plane was still doing well over a hundred miles an hour, and going forward with mighty gains, eating up the miles. The sun set and once again the girls ate some sandwiches and drank more coffee.

“I’m almost afraid to offer to take the controls and let you rest,” said Dot, hu............