“Oh, I’ll do it,” promised the young inventor, as he sent his powerful craft aloft in the darkness.  Then, with her nose pointed in the right direction, the Falcon beat her way forward through the night, flying silently, with the great searchlight ready for instant use.

In comparatively short time, though it was rather late at night, they reached the St. Lawrence, and then it was an easy matter to drop down into the midst of the reservation grounds.  Though the redmen, whom the state thus quartered by themselves, had all retired, they swarmed out of their cabins as the powerful light flashed back and forth.

“We want to question some of the head men of the tribe,” said Mr. Whitford.  “I know some of them, for on several occasions I’ve had to come here to look into rumors that tobacco and liquor and other contraband goods dear to the Indian heart were smuggled into the reservation against the law.  I never caught any of them at it though.”

With guttural exclamations, and many grunts of surprise, the redmen gathered around the big airship.  It was too much even for their usual reserve, and they jabbered among themselves.

“How Big Foot!” greeted the custom officer, to one Indian who had an extremely large left foot.  “How!”

“How!” responded the Indian, with a grunt.

“Plenty much fine air-bird; eh?” and the agent waved his hand toward the Falcon.

“Yep.  Plenty much big.”

“Big Foot never see bird like this; eh?”

“Oh sure.  Big Foot see before many times.  Huh!”

“What!  Has he seen this before?” asked Tom.

“No.  Wait a minute,” cautioned Mr. Whitford.  “I’m on the track of something.  Big Foot see air-bird like this?” he questioned.

“Sure.  Fly over Indians’ land many times.  Not same as him,” and he nodded toward Tom’s ship, “but plenty much like.  Make heap noise.  Come down once—­break wheel mebby.  Indians help fix.  Indians get firewater.  You got firewater in your air-bird?”

“No firewater, but maybe we’ve got some tobacco, if you tell us what we want to know, Big Foot.  And so you’ve seen air-birds flying around here before?”

“Sure, Heap times.  We all see,” and he waved his hand to indicate the redmen gathered around him.

There came grunts of confirmation.

“We’re getting there!” exclaimed Mr. Whitford to Tom.  “We’re on the right track now.  Which way air-birds come, Big Foot?”

“Over there,” and he pointed toward Canada.

“Which way go?”

“Over there,” and he pointed toward the east, in the direction of Shopton, as much as anywhere.

“That’s what we want to know.  Tom, we’ll just hang around here for a while, until one of the smugglers’ airships pass over head.  I believe one is due to-night, and that’s why Shafton had that paper.  It was sent to him to tip him off.  He was sneaking up, trying to put your airship out of commission when Koku caught him.  These Indians have used their eyes to good advantage.  I think we’re on the trail at last.”