"There! He's done it!" cried Tom in despair. "I was afraid you'd be too strong for that wrench, Koku. You've broken off the handle. Now we'll never be able to loosen that valve."
Ned gave one more glance at the pressure gage. It showed seven hundred and fifty pounds, and the needle was slowly moving onward.
"Hadn't we better descend," asked Mr. Whitford in a low voice.
"I–I guess so," answered Tom, despairingly. "Where are we?"
Ned flashed the light downward for an instant.
Just crossing over the St. Regis Indian reservation again," he replied. "We'll be in Canada in a few minutes more."
"Where are the smugglers?"
"Still ahead, and they're bearing off to the right."
"Going toward Montford," commented the government man. We've lost 'em for to-night, anyhow, but they didn't get their goods landed, at any rate."
"Send her down, Ned!" exclaimed Tom, and it was high time, for the pressure was now within twenty-five pounds of the exploding point.
Down shot the Falcon, while her rival passed onward triumphantly in the darkness. Ned held the light on the smugglers as long as he dared, and
