"Down!" kicked Pete's legs at me.
I considered my fuel gage. Empty; empty, it warned me. My carburetor was not yet coughing from lack of gas; I had gas for a minute or two. But then I must make, whether I chose it or not, a forced landing. Where?
Where in the hills, except in the little lake of the three blue monoplanes, was water for my pontoons?
Down!
The girl of the grey eyes and the gentle voice, the girl of the brown hair and clear cheek, the girl of the slim, gauntleted hands who had spoken to us on the sea, she undoubtedly was below; she and her effigy.
I can not claim that, as I circled above the lake, any true clue to the meaning of the remarkable phenomenon of the effigy, came to me. Yet it was the fact of it which, more than anything else, drew me down.
In a moment, following a dive which suddenly magnified to exaggerated proportions the miniatures we had seen from the sky, we were levelling over the lake. My pontoons touched; spray flew. We were down.
