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The Thunder Bird

by B. M. Bower · English · Gutenberg #14486 · 395,875 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Thunder Bird

Author: B. M. Bower


        
Release date: December 27, 2004 [eBook #14486]
                Most recently updated: October 28, 2024

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14486

Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THUNDER BIRD ***

THE THUNDER BIRD

by

B. M. BOWER

Author of _Chip of The Flying-U_, _Starr of the Desert_, _Skyrider_,
etc.

Frontispiece by Anton Otto Fischer

Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers  New York

1919,







[Frontispiece:  Still Schwab hung back.  "I'll wait until he can
come.  I--I can't leave."]






CONTENTS

CHAPTER

     I  JOHNNY ASSUMES A DEBT OF HONOR
    II  AND THE CAT CAME BACK
   III  JOHNNY WOULD DO STUNTS
    IV  MARY V TO THE RESCUE
     V  GODS OR SOMETHING
    VI  FAME WAITS UPON JOHNNY
   VII  MERELY TWO POINTS OF VIEW
  VIII  SUDDEN MUST DO SOMETHING
    IX  GIVING THE COLT HIS HEAD
     X  LOCHINVAR UP TO DATE
    XI  JOHNNY WILL NOT BE A NICE BOY
   XII  THE THUNDER BIRD TAKES WING
  XIII  THE HEGIRA OF JOHN IVAN JEWEL
   XIV  FATE MEETS JOHNNY SMILING
    XV  ONE MORE PLUNGE FOR JOHNNY
   XVI  WITH HIS HANDS FULL OF MONEY AND HIS EYES SHUT
  XVII  "MY JOB'S FLYING"
 XVIII  INTO MEXICO AND RETURN
   XIX  BUT JOHNNY WAS NEITHER FOOL NOR KNAVE
    XX  MARY V TAKES THE TRAIL
   XXI  JOHNNY IS NOT PAID TO THINK
  XXII  JOHNNY MAKES UP HIS MIND
 XXIII  JOHNNY ACTS BOLDLY
  XXIV  THE THUNDER BIRD'S LAST FLIGHT FOR JOHNNY
   XXV  OVER THE TELEPHONE





CHAPTER ONE

JOHNNY ASSUMES A DEBT OF HONOR

Since Life is no more than a series of achievements and failures, this
story is going to begin exactly where the teller of tales usually
stops.  It is going to begin with Johnny Jewel an accepted lover and
with one of his dearest ambitions realized.  It is going to begin there
because Johnny himself was just beginning to climb, and the top of his
desires was still a long way off, and the higher you go the harder is
the climbing.  Even love does not rest at peace with the slipping on of
the engagement ring.  I leave it to Life, the supreme judge, to bear me
out in the statement that Love must straightway gird himself for a life
struggle when he has passed the flowered gateway of a woman's tremulous
yes.

To Johnny Jewel the achievement of possessing himself of so coveted a
piece of mechanism as an airplane, and of flying it with rapidly
increasing skill, began to lose a little of its power to thrill.  The
getting had filled his thoughts waking and sleeping, had brought him
some danger, many thrills, a good deal of reproach and much
self-condemnation.  Now he had it--that episode was diminishing rapidly
in importance as it slid into the past, and Johnny was facing a problem
quite as great, was harboring ambitions quite as dazzling, as when he
rode a sweaty horse across the barren stretches of the Rolling R Ranch
and dreamed the while of soaring far above the barrenness.

Well, he had soared high above many miles of barrenness.  That dream
could be dreamed no more, since its magic vapors had been dissipated in
the bright sun of reality.  He could no longer dream of flying, any
more than he could build air castles over riding a horse.  Neither
could he rack his soul with thoughts of Mary V Selmer, wondering
whether she would ever get to caring much for a fellow.  Mary V had
demonstrated with much frankness that she cared.  He knew the feel of
her arms around his neck, the look of her face close to his own, the
sweet thrill of her warm young lips against his.  He had bought her a
modest little ring, and had watched the shine of it on the third finger
of her tanned left hand when she left him--going gloveless that the
ring might shine up at her.

The first episode of her life thus happily finished, Johnny was looking
with round, boyish, troubled eyes upon the second.


"Long-distance call for you, Mr. Jewel," the clerk announced, when
Johnny strolled into the Argonaut hotel in Tucson for his mail.  "Just
came in.  The girl at the switchboard will connect you with the party."

Johnny glanced into his empty key box and went on to the telephone
desk.  It was Mary V, he guessed.  He had promised to call her up, but
there hadn't been any news to tell, nothing but the flat monotony of
inaction, which meant failure, and Johnny Jewel never liked talking of
his failures, even to Mary V.

"Oh, Johnny, is that you?  I've been waiting and _waiting_, and I just
wondered if you had enlisted and gone off to war without even calling
up to say good-by.  I've been perfectly _frantic_.  There's something--"

"You needn't worry about me enlisting," Johnny broke in, his voice the
essence of gloom.  "They won't have me."

"Won't _have_--why, Johnny Jewel!  How _can_ the United States Army be
so stupid?  Why, I should think they would be glad to get--"

"They don't look at me from your point of view, Mary V."  Johnny's lips
softened into a smile.  She was a great little girl, all right.  If it
were left to her, the world would get down on its marrow bones and
worship Johnny Jewel.  "Why?  Well, they won't take me and my airplane
as a gift.  Won't have us around.  They'll take me on as a common buck
trooper, and that's all.  And I can't afford--"

"Well, but Johnny!  Don't they know what a perfectly wonderful flyer
you are?  Why, I should think--"

"They won't have me in aviation at all, even without the plane," said
Johnny.  "The papers came back to-day.  I was turned down--flat on my
face!  Gol darn 'em, they can do without me now!"

"Well, I should say so!" cried Mary V's thin, indignant voice in his
ear.  "How perfectly idiotic!  I didn't want you to go, anyway.  Now
you'll come back to the ranch, won't you, Johnny?"  The voice had
turned wheedling.  "We can have the duckiest times, flying around!
Dad'll give you a tremendously good--"

"You seem to forget I owe your dad three or four thousand dollars,"
Johnny cut in.  "I'll come back to the ranch when that's paid, and not
before."

"Well, but listen, Johnny!  Dad doesn't look at it that way at all.  He
knows you didn't mean to let those horses be stolen.  He doesn't feel
you owe him anything at all, Johnny.  Now we're engaged, he'll give you
a good--"

"You don't get me, Mary V.  I don't care what your father thinks.  It's
what I think that counts.  This airplane of mine cost your dad a lot of
good horses, and I've got to make that good to him.  If I can't sell
the darned thing and pay him up, I'll have to--"

"I suppose what I think doesn't count anything at all!  I say you don't
owe dad a cent.  Now that you are going to marry me--"

"You talk as if you was an encumbrance your dad had to pay me to take
off his hands," blurted Johnny distractedly.  "Our being engaged
doesn't make any difference--"

"Oh, doesn't it?  I'm tremendously glad to know you feel that way about
it.  Since it doesn't make any difference whatever--"

"Aw, cut it out, Mary V!  You know darn well what I meant."

"Why, certainly.  You mean that our being engaged doesn't make a
particle--"

"Say, _listen_ a minute, will you!  I'm going to pay your dad for those
horses that were run off right under my nose while I was tinkering with
this airplane.  I don't care what you think, or what old Sudden thinks,
or what anybody on earth thinks!  I know what I think, and that's a
plenty.  I'm going to make good before I marry you, or come back to the
ranch.

"Why, good golly!  Do you think I'm going to be pointed out as a joke
on the Rolling R?  Do you think I'm going to walk around as a living
curiosity, the only thing Sudden Selmer ever got stung on?  Oh--h, no!
Not little Johnny!  They can't say I got into the old man for a bunch
of horses and the girl, and that old Sudden had to stand for it!  I
told your dad I'd pay him back, and I'm going to do it if it takes a
lifetime.

"I'm calling that debt three thousand dollars--and I consider at that
I'm giving him the worst of it.  He's out more than that, I guess--but
I'm calling it three thousand.  So," he added with an extreme
cheerfulness that proved how heavy was his load, "I guess I won't be
out to supper, Mary V.  It's going to take me a day or two to raise
three thousand--unless I can sell the plane.  I'm sticking here trying,
but there ain't much hope.  About three or four a day kid me into
giving 'em a trial flight--and to-morrow I'm going to start charging
'em five dollars a throw.  I can't burn gas giving away joy rides to
fellows that haven't any intention of buying me out.  They'll have to
dig up the coin, after this--I can let it go on the purchase price if
they do buy, you see.  That's fair enough--"

"Then you won't even listen to dad's proposition?"  Mary V's tone
proved how she was clinging to the real issue.  "It's a perfectly
wonderful one, Johnny, and really, for your own good--and not because
we are engaged in the least--you should at least consider it.  If you
insist on owing him money, why, I suppose you could pay him back a
little at a time out of the salary he'll pay you.  He will pay you a
good enough salary so you can do it nicely--"

Johnny laughed impatiently.  "Let your dad jump up my wages to a point
where he can pay himself back, you mean," he retorted.  "Oh--h, no,
Mary V.  You can't kid me out of this, so why keep on arguing?  You
don't seem to take me seriously.  You seem to think this is just a whim
of mine.  Why, good golly!  I should think it would be plain enough to
you that I've got to do it if I want to hold up my head and look men in
the face.  It's--why, it's an insult to my self-respect and my honesty
to even hint that I could do anything but what I'm going to do.  The
very fact that your dad ain't going to force the debt makes it all the
more necessary that I should pay it.

"Why, good golly, Mary V!  I'd feel better toward your father if he had
me arrested for being an accomplice with those horse thieves, or
slapped an attachment on the plane or something, than wave the whole
thing off the way he's doing.  It'd show he looked on me as a man,
anyway.

"I'll be darned if I appreciate this way he's got of treating it like a
spoiled kid's prank.  I'm going to make him recognize the fact that I'm
a _man_, by golly, and that I look at things like a man.  He's got to
be proud to have me in the family, before I come into the family.  He
ain't going to take me in as one more kid to look after.  I'll come in
as his equal in honesty and business ability,--instead of just a new
fad of Mary V's--"

"Well, for gracious sake, Johnny!  If you feel that way about it, why
didn't you say so?  You don't seem to care what I think, or how I feel
about it.  You don't seem to care whether you ever get married or not.
And I'm sure I wasn't the one that did the proposing.  Why, it will
take years and _years_ to square up with dad, if you insist on doing it
in a regular business way--"

Johnny's harsh laugh stopped her.  "You see, you do know where I stand,
after all.  If I let it slide, the way you want me to, that's exactly
what you'd be thinking after awhile--that I never had squared up with
your dad.  You'd look down on me, and so would your father and your
mother.  They'd always be afraid I'd do some fool thing and sting your
dad again for a few thousand."

"Well, of all the crazy talk!  And I've gone to the trouble of coaxing
dad to give you a share in the Rolling R instead of putting it in his
will for me.  And dad's going to do it--"

"Oh, no, he isn't.  I don't want any share in the Rolling R.  I'd go to
jail before I'd take it."

Mary V produced woman's final argument.  "If you cared anything at all
for me, Johnny, when I ask you to come back and do what dad is willing
to have you do, you'd do it.  I don't see how you can be stubborn
enough to refuse such a perfectly wonderful offer.  You wouldn't, if
you cared a snap about me.  You act just as if you were sorry--"

"Aw, lay off that don't-care stuff!" Johnny growled indignantly.
"Caring for you has got nothing to do with it, I tell you.  It's just
simply a question of what kinda mark I am.  You know I care!"

"Well, then, if you do you'll come right over here.  If you start now
you can be here by sundown, and it's nice and quiet and no wind at all.
You've absolutely no excuse, Johnny, and you know it.  When dad's
willing to forget about those horses--"

"When I come, your dad won't have anything to forget about," Johnny
reiterated obstinately.  "I do wish you'd look at the thing right!"

Mary V changed her tactics, relying now upon intimidation.  "I shall
begin to look for you in about an hour," she said sweetly.  "I shall
keep on looking till you come, or till it gets too dark.  If you care
anything about me, Johnny, you'll be here.  I'll have dinner all ready,
so you needn't wait to eat."  Then she hung up.

Johnny rattled the hook impatiently, called hello with irritated
insistence, and finally succeeded in raising Central's impersonal:
"Number, please?"  Whereupon he flung himself angrily out of the booth.

"Do you want to pay at this end?"  The girl at the desk looked up at
him with a gleam of curiosity.  Mentally Johnny accused her of
"listening in."  He snapped an affirmative at her and waited until
"long distance" told her the amount.

"Four dollars and eighty-five cents," she announced, giving him a pert
little smile.  Johnny flipped a small gold piece to the desk and
marched off, scorning his fifteen cents change with the air of a
millionaire.

Johnny was angry, grieved, disappointed, worried--and would have been
wholly miserable had not his anger so dominated his other emotions that
he could continue mentally his argument against the attitude of Mary V
and the Rolling R.

They refused to take him seriously, which hurt Johnny's self-esteem
terribly.  Were he older, were he a property owner, Sudden Selmer would
not so lightly wave aside that debt.  He would pay Johnny the respect
of fighting for his just rights.  But no--just because he was barely of
age, just because he was Johnny Jewel, they all acted as though--why,
darn 'em, they acted as though he was a kid offering to earn money to
pay for a broken plate!  And Mary V--

Well, Mary V was a great little girl, but she would have to learn some
day that Johnny was master.  He considered this as good a day as any
for the lesson.  Better, because he was really upholding his principles
by not going to the ranch meekly submissive, because Mary V had
announced that she would be looking for him.  Johnny winced from the
thought of Mary V, out on the porch, watching the sky toward Tucson for
the black speck that would be his airplane; listening for the high,
strident drone that would herald his coming.  She would cry herself to
sleep.

But she had deliberately sentenced herself to tears and disappointment,
he told himself sternly.  She must have known he was in earnest about
not coming.  She had no right to think she could kid him out of
something big and vital to his honor.  She ought to know him by this
time.

Briefly he considered returning to the hotel and calling up the ranch,
just to tell her not to look for him because he was not coming.  But
the small matter of paying the toll deterred him.  It was humiliating
to admit, even to himself, that he could not afford another
long-distance conversation with Mary V, but he had come to the point in
his finances where a two-bit piece looked large as a dollar.  He would
miss that small gold piece.

Since the government had refused to consider accepting his services and
paying him a bonus for his plane, he would have to sell it--if he could.

There it sat, reared up on its two little wheels, its nose poked
rakishly out of an old shed that had been remodelled to accommodate it,
its tail sticking out at the other side so that it slightly resembled a
turtle with its shell not quite covering its extremities.  The Mexican
boy whom Johnny had hired to watch the plane in his absence lay asleep
under one wing.  A faint odor of varnish testified to the heat of the
day that was waning toward a sultry night.

Without disturbing the boy Johnny rolled a smoke and stood, as he had
stood many and many a time, staring at his prize and wondering what to
do with it.  He had to have money.  That was flat, final, admitting no
argument.  At a reasonable estimate, three thousand dollars were tied
up in that machine.  He could not afford to sell it for any less.  Yet
there did not seem to be a man in the country willing to pay three
thousand dollars for it.  It was a curiosity, a thing to come out and
stare at, a thing to admire; but not to buy, even though Johnny had as
an added inducement offered to teach the buyer to fly before the
purchase price was taken from the bank.

The stalking shadow of a man moving slowly warned Johnny of an
approaching visitor.  He did not trouble to turn his head; he even
moved farther into the shed, to tighten a turnbuckle that was letting a
cable sag a little.

"Hello, old top--how they using yuh?" greeted a voice that had in it a
familiar, whining note.

Johnny's muscles stiffened.  Hostility, suspicion, surprise surged
confusingly through his brain.  He turned as one who was bracing
himself to meet an enemy, with a primitive prickling where the bristles
used to rise on the necks of our cavemen ancestors.




CHAPTER TWO

AND THE CAT CAME BACK

"Why, hello, Bland," Johnny exclaimed after the first blank silence.
"I thought you was tied up in a sack and throwed into the pond long
ago!"

The visitor grinned with a sour droop to his mouth, a droop which
Johnny knew of old.  "But the cat came back," he followed the simile,
blinking at Johnny with his pale, opaque blue eyes.  "What yuh doing
here?  Starting an aviation school?"

"Yeah.  Free instruction.  Want a lesson?" Johnny retorted, only half
the sarcasm intended for Bland; the rest going to the town that had
failed to disgorge a buyer for what he had to sell.

"Aw, I suppose you think you could give me lessons, now you've learned
to do a little straightaway flying without landing on your tail," Bland
fleered, with the impatience of the seasoned flyer for the novice who
thinks well of himself and his newly acquired skill.  "Say, that was
some bump you give yourself on the dome when we lit over there in that
sand patch.  I tried to tell yuh that sand looked loose--"

"Yes, you did--not!  You was scared stiff.  Your face looked like the
inside of a raw bacon rind!"

"Sure, I was scared.  So would you of been if you'd a known as much
about it as I knew.  I knew we was due to pile up, when you grabbed the
control away from me.  You'll make a flyer, all right--and a good one,
if yuh last long enough.  But you can't learn it all in a day, bo--take
it from me.  Anyway, I got no kick to make.  It was you and the plane
that got the bumps.  All I done was bite my tongue half off!"

Boy that he was, Johnny laughed over this.  The idea of Bland biting
his tongue tickled him and served to blur his antagonism for the tricky
aviator who had played so large a part in his salvaging of this very
airplane.

"Uh course you'll laugh--but you wasn't laughing then.  I'll say you
wasn't.  I thought you was croaked.  Cost something to repair the
plane, too.  I'm saying it did.  Had to have a new propeller, and a new
crank-case for the motor--cost the old man at the ranch close to three
hundred dollars before I turned her over to him, ready to take the air
again.  That's including what he paid me, of course.  But I guess you
know what it cost, when he handed you the bill."

This was news to Johnny, news that made his soul squirm.  Lying there
sick at the Rolling R ranch, he had not known what was taking place.
He had found his airplane ready to fly, when he was at last able to
walk out to the corrals, but no one seemed to know how much the
repairing had cost.  Certainly Sudden Selmer himself had suffered a
lapse of memory on the subject.  All the more reason then why Johnny
should repay his debt.

"What I'm wondering about is why you aren't in Los Angeles," he evaded
the unpleasant subject awkwardly.  "Old Sudden gave you money to go,
and dumped you at the depot, didn't he?  That's what Mary V told me."

"He did--and I missed my train.  And while I was waiting for the next I
must 'a' et something poison.  I was awful sick.  I guess it was ten
days or so before I come to enough to know where I was.  I've had hard
luck, bo--I'll say I have.  I was robbed while I was sick, and only for
a tambourine queen I got acquainted with, I guess I'd 'a' died.
They're treacherous as hell, though.  Long as she thought I had
money--oh, well, they's no use expecting kindness in this world.  Or
gratitude.  I'm always helpin' folks out and gittin' kicked and cussed
for my pay.  Lookit the way I lived with snakes and lizards--lived in a
cave, like a coyote!--to help you git this plane in shape.  You was to
take me to Los for pay--but I ain't there yet.  I'm stuck here, sick
and hungry--I ain't et a mouthful since last night, and then I only had
a dish of sour beans that damn' Mex. hussy handed out to me through a
window!  Me, Bland Halliday, a flyer that has made his hundreds doing
exhibition work; that has had his picture on the front page of big city
papers, and folks followin' him down the street just to get a look at
him!  Me--why, a yellow dawg has got the edge on me for luck!  I might
better be dead--"  His loose lips quivered.  Tears of self-pity welled
up into his pale blue eyes.  He turned away and stared across the
barren calf lot that Johnny used for a flying field.

Johnny began to have premonitory qualms of a sympathy which he knew was
undeserved.  Bland Halliday had got a square deal--more than a square
deal; for Sudden, Johnny knew, had paid him generously for repairing
the plane while Johnny was sick.  Bland had undoubtedly squandered the
money in one long debauch, and there was no doubt in Johnny's mind of
Bland's reason for missing his train.  He was a bum by nature and he
would double-cross his own mother, Johnny firmly believed.  Yet, there
was Johnny's boyish sympathy that never failed sundry stray dogs and
cats that came in his way.  It impelled him now to befriend Bland
Halliday.

"Well, since the cat's come back, I suppose it must have its saucer of
milk," he grinned, by way of hiding the fact that the lip-quiver had
touched him.  "I haven't taken any nourishment myself for quite some
time.  Come on and eat."

He started back toward town, and Bland Halliday followed him like a
lonesome pup.

On the way, Johnny took stock of Bland in little quick glances from the
corner of his eyes.  Bland had been shabby when Johnny discovered him
one day on the depot platform of a tiny town farther down the line.  He
had been shabbier after three weeks in Johnny's camp, working on the
airplane in hope of a free trip to the Coast.  But his shabbiness now
surpassed anything Johnny had known, because Bland had evidently made
pitiful attempts to hide it.  That, Johnny guessed, was because of the
hussy Bland had mentioned.

Bland's shoes were worn through on the sides, and he had blackened his
ragged socks to hide the holes.  Somewhere he had got a blue serge
coat, from which the lining sagged in frayed wrinkles.  His pockets
were torn down at the corners; buttons were gone, grease spots and beer
stains patterned the cloth.  Under the coat he wore a pink-and-white
silk shirt, much soiled and with the neck frankly open, imitating sport
style because of missing buttons.  He looked what he was by nature;
what he was by training,--a really skilful birdman,--did not show at
all.

He begged a smoke from Johnny and slouched along, with an aimless
garrulity talking of his hard luck, now curiously shot with hope.
Which irritated Johnny vaguely, since instinct told him whence that
hope had sprung.  Still, sympathy made him kind to Bland just because
Bland was so worthless and so miserable.

At a dingy, fly-infested place called "Red's Quick Lunch" whither
Johnny, mindful of his low finances, piloted him, Bland ordered largely
and complained because his "T bone" was too rare, and afterwards
because it was tough.  Johnny dined on "coffee and sinkers" so that he
could afford Bland's steak and "French fried" and hot biscuits and pie
and two cups of coffee.  The cat, he told himself grimly, was not
content with a saucer of milk.  It was on the top shelf of the pantry,
lapping all the cream off the pan!

Afterwards he took Bland to the hotel where his room was paid for until
the end of the week, led him up there, produced an old suit of clothes
that had not seemed to wear a sufficiently prosperous air for the owner
of an airplane, and suggestively opened the door to the bathroom.

Bland took the clothes and went in, mumbling a fear that he would do
himself mortal injury if he took a bath right after a meal.

"If you die, you'll die clean, anyway," Johnny told him grimly.  So
Bland took a bath and emerged looking almost respectable.

Johnny had brought his second-best shoes out, and Bland put them on,
pursing his loose lips because the shoes were a size too small.  But
Johnny had thrown Bland's shoes out of the window, so Bland had to bear
the pinching.

Johnny sat on the edge of the dresser smoking and fanning the smoke
away from his round, meditative eyes while he looked Bland over.  Bland
caught the look, and in spite of the shoes he grinned amiably.

"I take it back, bo, what I said about gratitude.  You got it, after
all."

"Huh!" Johnny grunted.  "Gratitude, huh?"

"I knowed you wouldn't throw down a friend, old top.  I was in the
dumps.  A feller'll talk most any way when he's feeling the after
effects, and is hungry and broke.  Now I'm my own man again.  What
next?  Name it, bo--I'm game."

"Next," said Johnny, "is bed, I guess.  You're clean, now--you can
sleep here."

Bland showed that he could feel the sentiment called compunction.

"Much obliged, bo--but I don't want to crowd you--"

"You won't crowd me," said Johnny drily, "I aim to sleep with the
plane."  Bland may have read Johnny's reason for sleeping with his
airplane, but beyond one quick look he made no sign.  "Still nuts over
it--I'll say you are," he grunted.  "You wait till you've been in the
game long as I have, bo."

With a blanket and pillow bought on his way through the town, Johnny
disposed himself for the night under the nose of the plane with the
wheels of the landing gear at his back.  He was not by nature a
suspicious young man, but he knew Bland Halliday; and to know Bland was
to distrust him.

He felt that he was taking a necessary precaution, now that he knew
Bland was in Tucson.  With the landing gear behind him, no one could
move the airplane in the night without first moving him.

Now that he thought of it, Bland had been left fifty miles farther down
the line, to catch his train.  Tucson was a perfectly illogical place
for him to be in, even for the purpose of carousing.  One would
certainly expect him to hurry to the city of his desires and take his
pleasure there.  Johnny decided that Bland must still have an eye on
the plane.

That he was secretly envious of Bland as an aviator did not add to his
mental comfort.  Bland could speak with slighting familiarity of "the
game," and assume a boredom not altogether a pose.  Bland had drunk
deep and satisfyingly of the cup which Johnny, to save his honor, must
put away from him after a tantalising sip or two.  Not until Bland had
said, "Wait till you've been in the game as long as I have," had Johnny
realized to the full just what it would mean to him to part with his
airplane without being accepted by the government as an aviator.

At the Rolling R, when his conscience debt to Sudden pressed so
heavily, he had figured very nicely and had found the answer to his
problem without much trouble.  To enlist as an aviator with his
airplane, or to sell the plane in Tucson, turn the proceeds over to
Sudden to pay his debt and enlist as an aviator without the machine,
had seemed perfectly simple.  Either way would be making good the
mistakes of his past and paving the way for future achievements.
Parting with the plane had not promised to so wrench the very heart out
of him when he fully expected to fly faster and farther in airplanes
owned by the government; faster and farther toward the goal of all
red-blooded young males: glory or wealth, the hero's wreath of laurel
or the smile of dame Fortune.

Mary V stood on the heights waiting for him, as Johnny had planned and
dreamed.  He would come back to her a captain, maybe--perhaps even a
major, in these hot times of swift achievement.  They would all be
proud to shake his hand, those jeering ones who called him Skyrider for
a joke.  Captain Jewel would not have sounded bad at all.  But--

There is no dodging the finality of Uncle Sam's no.  They had not
wanted Johnny Jewel to fly for fame and his country's honor.  And if he
sold his own airplane, how then would he fly?  How could he ever hope
to be in the game as long as Bland had been?  How could he do anything
but go back meekly to the Rolling R Ranch and ride bronks for Mary V's
father, and be hailed as Skyrider still, who had no more any hope of
riding the sky?

Gloom at last plumbed the depths of Johnny's soul, and showed him where
grew the root of his unalterable determination to combat Mary V's plan
to have him at the ranch.  Much as he loved Mary V he would hate going
back to the dull routine of ranch life.  (And after all, a youth like
Johnny loves nothing quite so much as his air castles.)  As a rider of
bronks he was spoiled, he who had ridden triumphant the high air lanes.
He had talked of paying his debt to Sudden, he had talked of his
self-respect and his honesty and his pride--but above and beyond them
all he was fighting to save his castle in the air.  Debt or no debt, he
could never go back to the Rolling R and be a rancher.  Lying there
under his airplane and staring up at the starred purple of the night he
knew that he could not go back.

Yet he knew too that once he had sold his airplane he would be almost
as helpless financially as Bland Halliday, unless he returned to the
only trade he knew, the trade of riding bronks and performing the
various other duties that would be his portion at the Rolling R.

Johnny pictured himself back at the Rolling R; pictured himself riding
out with the boys at dawn after horses, or sweating in the corrals,
spitting dust and profanity through long, hot hours.  There was a lure,
of course; a picturesque, intangible attraction that calls to the wild
blood of youth.  But not as calls this other life which he had tasted.
There was no gainsaying the fact--ranch life had grown too tame, too
stale for Johnny Jewel.  And there was no gainsaying that other
fact--that Mary V would have to reconcile herself to being an aviator's
wife, if she would mate with Johnny.

He went to sleep thinking bitterly that neither he nor Mary V need
concern themselves at present over that point.  It would be some time
before the issue need be faced, judging from Johnny's present prospects.




CHAPTER THREE

JOHNNY WOULD DO STUNTS

Bland woke him, just as day was coming.  A new Bland, fresh
shaven,--with Johnny's razor,--and with a certain languid animation in
his manner that was in sharp contrast to his extreme dejection of the
night before.

"Thought I'd come out and see if you was going to make a flight this
morning," he said.  "It's a good morning for it, bo.  How's she
working, these days?  Old man at the ranch wouldn't let me try her out
after I'd fixed her up; said you was too sick to have the motor going.
So I couldn't be sure I'd made a good job of it.  Give you any trouble?"

Johnny sat up and knuckled his eyes, his mouth wide open in a capital
O.  It seemed to him that Bland had his nerve, and he guessed shrewdly
that the aviator was simply making sure of his breakfast.  When cats
come back they have a fashion of hanging around the kitchen, he
remembered.  Oh, well, there was nothing to be gained by being nasty
and even Bland's company was better than none.

"Hey, ain't yuh awake yet?  I asked yuh how the motor's acting."

"O--o--h, aw-righ!" yawned Johnny, blinking around for his boots.  "I
ain't been flying much.  Just flew over here from the ranch, and a
little circle now and then when something come along that looked like
money.  I wanted to keep her in good shape in case the gover'ment--"

"Trying to sell it back to the gover'ment, huh?  I coulda told yuh, bo,
they wouldn't take it as a gift.  She's a back number now--a has-been,
from the gover'ment viewpoint.  Why don't you keep it?  What yuh want
to sell it for, f'r cat's sake?  She's a gold mine if you know how to
work it, bo--take it from me."

"Well, I wish to thunder you'd show me the gold, then," Johnny retorted
crossly, pulling on his boots.

"Lend us a smoke, will yuh, old top?  The money's here, all right, if
yuh just know how to get it out.  And flying for the gover'ment ain't
the way.  I'll say a man's got to be his own boss if he wants to pull
down real money.  Long as you're workin' for somebody else, he's
getting the velvet.  You ain't, believe me.  And the gover'ment as a
boss--"

"Well, good golly, come to the point!" snapped Johnny.  "How can I make
money with this plane?"  He gave it a disgruntled look, and turned to
Bland.  "She's a bird of a millionaire's toy, if you ask me," he said.
"She's a fiend for gas and oil, and every time you turn 'er around
there's some darned thing to be fixed or replaced.  I'm about broke,
trying to keep her up till I can sell out.  It's coffee and sinkers for
you, old timer, if you're going to eat on me.  Another meal like you
had last night, and we'll both have to skip a few in order to buy gas
to joy-ride some cheap sport that lets on he's thinking of buying.  I
suppose your idea is--"

"F'r cat's sake give me a chance to tell yuh!  Course you'll go broke
trying to support the plane.  You're goin' at it backwards.  Make the
plane support you.  That's my idea.  And you do it by exhibition flying
for money--not sailin' around giving the whole damn country a free
treat.

"I know--you think I'm a bum and all that; maybe you think I'm a crook,
fer all I know.  And you turn up your nose at anything I say.  But
lemme tell yuh, old top, I ain't a D. and O. because I never made any
money flyin'.  It's because I blowed what I made.  And it's because I
made so damn' much it went to my head and made a fool outa me.  Listen
here, bo: I bought me a Stutz outa what I earned flyin' in one
season--and I blowed money right and left and smashed the car and like
to of broke my neck, and had to pay damages to the other feller that
peeled my roll down to the size of a pencil.  The point is, it took
_money_ to do them things, didn't it?  And I made it flyin' my own
plane.  That's what you want to soak into your system.  _I made big
money flying_.  What I done with the money don't need to worry you--you
ain't copyin' me for morals.

"Now what you want to do is learn some stunts, first off.  You learn to
loop and tail-slide and the fallin' leaf, and to write your name, and
them things.  It ain't so hard--not for a guy like you that ain't got
sense enough to be afraid of nothing.  The way you went off in that
plane with the girl made my hair stand on end, and that's no kiddin',
neither.  If you'd had a fear germ in your system you wouldn't 'a' done
that.  But you done it, and got away with it, is the point.  And you
been gittin' away with it right along--and you not knowin' your motor
any more'n I know ridin' on a horse!"

"Aw, say!  That's goin' too far," protested Johnny, but Bland gave him
no heed.

"You learn the stunts--early in the morning when there ain't the hull
town out to rubber--and then pull off an exhibition or two.
Seventy-five dollars is the least you ever need to expect.  Don't go in
the air for less.  From that up--depends on how spectacular you are.
The public loves to watch for the death fall.  That's what they pay to
see--not hopin' you get killed, but not wantin' to miss seeing it in
case yuh do.  And with this the only airplane around here--why, say,
bo, it's a cinch!"

Johnny fanned the smoke away from his face and eyed Bland with lofty
tolerance.  "And where do you expect to come in?  You needn't kid
yourself into hoping I'll take you for a self-forgetful martyr person.
What's the little joker, Bland?"

Bland turned his pale, opaque stare upon Johnny for a minute.  "Aw, for
cat's sake, gimme the doubt, bo!  I'm human in more ways than tryin' to
see how much booze I kin lap up.  It's a chance I want to start fresh.
This bumming around ain't getting me anything.  I'm sick of it.  You
gotta be learnt to do exhibition stuff, and I'm the guy that can learn
yuh.  You'll want a mechanician to keep your motor in shape.  I can
_make_ a motor, gimme the tools.  You want somebody that knows the game
to kinda manage things.  You're Skyrider Johnny, same as the boys at
the ranch calls yuh.  Yon gotta have a flunkey, ain't yuh?  I'm willin'
to be it.  I'll change my name, so nobody needs to know it's Bland
Halliday.  Or you can gimme a share in the net profits, and I'll keep
the name and make it pull things our way.  They's no use talking, bo,
I've got the goods!  The name Bland Halliday is a trademark for
flyin'--and never mind if it also stands for damfool.  I'll brace up
and give yuh the best I got.  Honest, that's what I want--a chance to
get on my feet agin.  I'd ruther help you fly your plane than fly one
of my own.  I'd run amuck agin if I owned anything I could raise money
on.

"If you think I tried to do you dirt, back there in the desert, bo,
you're wrong.  Ab-so-lutely.  I thought you was fixing to double-cross
me, and git away with the plane and leave me there.  It got my
goat--I'll say it did--that desert stuff.  So I hid the gas, so you
couldn't go off and leave me.  But that's behind us.  You can give me a
chance now to straighten up, and I can put you in the way to make big
money.  You think it over, bo.  They's no great hurry, and we can make
a flight now and see how she stacks up.  Be a sport--go fill up the
tank and let's go."

Johnny ground the cigarette stub under his heel in the dirt, shrugged
his shoulders with a fine imitation of perfect indifference, and
yawned.  He would think over Bland's idea.  He did not, of course,
intend to fall for anything that did not look like good business, and
he was not at all anxious to have Bland for a partner.  Indeed, having
Bland for a partner was about the last thing Johnny would ever expect
himself to do.  Still, there was no harm in letting Bland down easy.  A
flight or two, maybe, would give Johnny some good pointers.  He had
learned much from Bland, in a very short time, he admitted readily to
himself.  He could learn more, and he could let Bland go over the
motor.  By that time he would maybe have a buyer.  If not, he would
have time to decide about exhibition flying.

Johnny did not know that as he went after gas his step was springier
than it had been for a long, long while.  He did not know why it was
that he whistled while he filled the torpedo-shaped tank--indeed,
Johnny did not even know that he whistled, nor that it was the first
time since he had worked over his plane down at Sinkhole Camp when all
his dreams were bright, and bad luck had not knocked at his door.  Yet
he did whistle while he made ready for flight, and his eyes were big
and round and eager, said he moved with the impatient energy of a youth
going to his favorite game.  These signs Mary V would have recognized
immediately; Johnny did not know the signs existed.

Bland helped himself to a pair of new coveralls of Johnny's and
tinkered with the motor.  Johnny went around the plane, testing cables
and trying to conceal even from himself his new hope of keeping it.

"All right, bo," Bland announced at last.  "Kick the block away and
let's run her out.  She sounds pretty fair--better than I expected."

It pleased Johnny that Bland seemed to take it as a matter of course
that he should occupy the front seat.  The last time they had flown
together, Bland had occupied it perforce, with Johnny and two guns
behind him.  After all, Johnny reflected, he would not have been so
suspicious of Bland if Mary V had not influenced him.  And every one
knows that girls take notions with very little reason for the
foundation.  Bland was a bum, but the little cuss seemed to want to
make good, and a man would be pretty poor stuff that wouldn't help a
fellow reform.

With that comfortable readjustment of his mental attitude toward the
birdman, Johnny strapped himself in, pulled down his goggles while
Bland eased in the motor.  He saw Bland glance to right and left with
the old vigilance.  He felt the testing of controls, the unconscious
tensing of nerves for the start.  They raced down the calf pasture,
nosed upward and went whirring away from a dwindling earth, straight
toward the heart of the dawn.

It was like drinking of some heady wine that blurs one's troubles and
pushes them far down over the horizon.  Johnny forgot that he had
problems to solve or worries that nagged at him incessantly.  He forgot
that Mary V, away off there to the southwest, had probably cried
herself to sleep the night before because he had disappointed her.  He
was flying up and away from all that.  He was soaring free as a bird,
and the rush of a strong, clean wind was in his face.  The roar of the
motor was a great, throbbing harmony in his ears.  For a little while
the world would hold nothing else.

They were climbing, climbing, writing an invisible spiral in the air.
Bland half turned his head, and Johnny caught his meaning with
telepathic keenness.  They were going to loop, and Bland wanted him to
yield the control and to watch closely how the thing was done.

They swooped like a hawk that has seen a meadow mouse amongst the
grass.  They climbed steeply, swung clean over, so that the earth was
oddly slipping past far above their heads; swung down, flattened out
and flew straight.  It was glorious.

A second time Bland looped, and yet again.  It was exactly as Johnny
had known it would be.  He who had flown so long in his day-dreaming,
who had performed wonderful acrobatics in his imagination, felt the
sensation old, accustomed, milder even than in his dreams.

Once more, and he did the loop himself, hardly conscious of Bland's
presence.  Bland turned his head, signalling, and did a flop, righted,
and was flying straight in the opposite direction.  Again, and flew
southeast by the sun.  They practised that manoeuver again and again
before Johnny felt fairly sure of himself, but once he did it he was
one proud young man!

All this while the familiar landmarks were slipping behind them.
Tucson was out of sight, had they thought to look for it.  And all this
while the sturdy motor was humming its song of force triumphant.
Subsequently it stuttered faintly in expressing itself.  Triumph was
there, but it was not so joyously sure of itself.  Bland glided,
cocking an anxious ear to listen while he slowed the motor.  It was
there, the stutter--more pronounced than before; and once that pulsing
power begins to flag a little and grow uncertain, there is but one
thing to do.

They glided another ten miles or so before Bland picked a spot that
looked safe for landing.  They had one ill-chosen landing still vivid
in their memory, and Johnny carried a long, white scar along the side
of his head and a tenderness of the scalp to assist him in remembering.

Wherefore they came down circumspectly in a flat little field beside a
flat little stream, with a huddle of flat dwellings drawn back shyly
behind a thin group of willows.  They came down gently, bouncing toward
the willows as though they meant to drive up to the very doorway of the
nearest hut.  As they came on, their great wings out-spread rigidly,
the propeller whirring at slackened speed, the motor sputtering
unevenly, the doorway spewed forth three fat squaws and some naked
papooses who fled shrieking into the brush behind the willows.




CHAPTER FOUR

MARY V TO THE RESCUE

Mary V Selmer was a young woman of quick impulses, a complete disdain
for consequences as yet unseen, and a disposition to have her own way,
to override obstacles man-made or sent by fate to thwart her desires.
Ask any man on the Rolling R Ranch, where Mary V was born; they will
bear witness that this is true.

Mary V had fired the first gun in the battle of wills.  She had told
Johnny Jewel that she would expect him to fly straight to the ranch--if
Johnny loved her.  Mary V did not mean to seem dictatorial; she merely
wanted Johnny to come back to the Rolling R, and she took what seemed
to her to be the surest means of bringing him.  So, serenely sure of
Johnny's love, she had no misgivings when the sun went down and those
wonderful, opal tints of the afterglow filled all the sky.

Johnny would be hungry, of course.  She wheedled Bedelia, the cook,
into letting her keep the veal roast hot in the oven of the gasoline
range.  She herself spread one of mommie's cherished lunch cloths on
Bedelia's little square table in the kitchen alcove, where she and
Johnny could be alone while he ate.  She dipped generously into the
newest preserves and filled a glass dish full for him.  She raided the
great refrigerator, closing her eyes to the morrow's reckoning.  Johnny
would be hungry, Johnny was a sort of prodigal, and the fatted calf
should be killed figuratively and the ring placed upon his finger.

She told her mommie and her dad that Johnny was coming, and that
everything was all right, and Johnny would be sensible and settle down
now, because he was not going to enlist after all.  She kissed them
both and flew back to the kitchen because she had thought of something
else that Johnny would like to eat.

This, you must understand, was while Johnny was feeding Bland,--and
himself,--in "Red's Quick Lunch", and worrying because Bland tactlessly
chose such expensive fare as T-bone steak and French fried.  She was
out on the porch, watching the sky toward Tucson and looking rather
wistful, while Johnny was generously sorting out clothes for Bland and
insisting upon the bath and the change before Bland should sleep in
Johnny's bed.  Mary V, you will observe, had no telepathic sense at all.

She watched while dark came and brought its star canopy,--and did not
bring Johnny.  Long after she saw the rim of hills draw back into vague
shadows, she remained on the porch and listened for the hum of the
airplane speeding toward her.  He would come, of course; he loved her.

Johnny did love her more than he had ever loved any one in his life,
but a man's love is not like a woman's love, they say.

"He must have had some trouble with his motor," Mary V observed
optimistically to her sleepy parents, when their early bedtime arrived.
"I'm going to leave the lights all on, so he'll see where to land.  It
will be tremendously exciting to hear him come buzzing up in the dark.
It'll sound exactly like an air raid--only he won't have any bombs to
drop."

"He'll have himself to drop," her mother tactlessly pointed out.  "I
guess he won't do much flying around in the dark, Mary V.  Not if he's
got sense enough to come in when it rains.  You go to bed, and don't be
setting out there in the mosquitoes.  They're thick, to-night."

"Well, for gracious sake, mom!  It's perfectly easy to fly at night.
Over in France they _always_--"

"It's the lightin' I'm talking about," her mother interrupted with that
terrible logic that insists upon stating unpleasant truths, "And this
ain't France, Mary V.  You go on to bed.  I'm going to turn out the
lights."

"And have him bump right into the house?  A person would think you
wanted Johnny to smash himself all to pieces again!  And it isn't going
to cost anything so terrible to leave the lights on for another little
minute, mom!  A few cents' worth of gas will run the dynamo--"

"For land's sake, Mary V, don't go into a tantrum just at bedtime.
Who's talking about cost?  Your father can't sleep with all the lights
turned on in the house, and neither can I.  And it ain't a particle of
use for you to sit up and wait for Johnny; he won't come to-night, and
you needn't look for him."

Mary V did not want to hear a statement of that kind, even if it were a
mere argumentative flourish on the part of a selfish, unsympathetic
parent who would jeopardize a person's life rather than annoy herself
with a light or two burning.  Mary V immediately had what her mother
called a tantrum.  That is, she began to cry and to declaim
unreasonably that no one cared whether Johnny smashed himself all to
pieces in the dark--that perhaps certain persons wished that Johnny
would fall and be killed, just so they could sleep!

Her mother may have been weak in discipline, but now that Mary V was
spoiled to the extent of having tantrums, she proved herself a
sensible, level-headed sort of woman.  She went away to her bed quite
unmoved by the tears and self-pity, and left Mary V alone.

"You turn out all the lights except the porch light, Mary V," Old
Sudden himself commanded from his bedroom door.  "I guess if he comes,
one light will be as good as a dozen.  You better do as your mother
tells you.  The kid's got more sense than to tackle flying from Tucson
after sundown.  If I thought he didn't have, I'd kick him off the
ranch!"

This perfectly heartless statement served to distract Mary V's mind
from her mother's lack of feeling.  She obediently turned out the
lights,--all the lights, since they meant to kill Johnny in cold
blood!--and wept anew upon the darkened porch, while swarms of
mosquitoes hummed just without the screen, sending a slim scout through
now and then to torment Mary V, who spatted her chiffon-covered arms
viciously and wished that she were dead, since no one had any feelings
or any heart or any conscience on that ranch.

It was midnight before healthy youth demanded sleep and dulled her
half-feigned agonies of self-pity.  It was morning before she began to
feel really uneasy about Johnny.  After her tantrum she slept late, so
that when she awoke it was past time for Johnny's arrival, supposing he
had started at sunrise, which she now admitted to herself was the most
sensible time for the flight.  Eight o'clock--and he must have started,
else he would have called her up on the 'phone and told her he was not
coming.  For that matter, he would have called up the night before if
he had not meant to do as she wanted him to do.  Of course, Johnny was
awfully stubborn sometimes, and he might have waited until morning,
just to worry her.  But he would have called up if he hadn't intended
to come.  A little thing like hanging up her receiver would not bother
him, she argued, and a little obstacle like long-distance toll never
occurred to Mary V, whose idea of poverty was vague indeed.

He must have started this morning, at the latest.  And he should have
been here before now.  To make sure that he had not come while she
slept Mary V went to a window overlooking the open space between the
house and corrals.  It was empty, but to make doubly sure she asked
Bedelia.  For answer, Bedelia threatened to quit, declaring shrilly
that she would not work where nothing was safe under lock and key, and
a girl might work her fingers to the bone putting up jell for spoiled,
ungrateful, meddlesome Matties to waste, and so forth and so on.

Mary V wisely withdrew from the kitchen without having her question
answered.  She asked no more questions of any one.  In silk kimono and
Indian moccasins, one of her pet incongruities, she forthwith explored
the yard down by the corrals which the bunk house had hidden from her
view.  There was no sign of Johnny Jewel's airplane anywhere.  Mary V
was thorough, even to the point of looking for tracks of the little
wheels, but at last she was convinced, and returned to the porch to
digest the ominous fact of Johnny's failure to arrive.

He must have started,--she would not admit the possibility that he had
deliberately ignored her ultimatum,--but she would make sure.  So she
called Tucson on the telephone and was presently in conversation with
the clerk at Johnny's hotel.

Hotel clerks are usually quite positive that they know what they are
supposed to know about their guests.  This clerk interviewed somebody
while Mary V held the line, and later returned to assure her that Mr.
Jewel had been seen leaving the lobby the night before, and had not
returned.  A strange young gentleman had occupied Mr. Jewel's room.
No, Mr. Jewel had not been seen since last evening.  The clerk was
positive, but since Mary V's voice was young and feminine, he permitted
her to hold the line while he called the night clerk to the 'phone.
The result was disheartening.  Mr. Jewel had brought in a young man,
and later had left the hotel.  The young man had gone out very early
and neither had returned.  Could he do anything else for her?

Mary V thanked him coldly and hung up the receiver, mentally calling
the clerk names that were not flattering.  Why in the world did he keep
harping on that one fact that Johnny had gone out and had not come
back?  Why didn't he know where Johnny had gone?  What, for gracious
sake, was a hotel clerk for, if not to tell a person what she wanted to
know?  The strange young man who had slept in Johnny's room meant
nothing at all to Mary V just then.

She had a dislike of creating unnecessary excitement, but it did seem
as though something ought to be done about Johnny.  All her faith was
pinned to the fact that he had let her final word stand uncontradicted;
he had not told her he would not come.  She went outside and stared for
awhile in the direction of Tucson, turning with a little start when her
mother spoke just behind her.

"Did Johnny tell you he was coming, Mary V?"

"My goodness, mom!  Of _course_, he--well, it was just the same as
saying he would.  I told him he had to come and I'd expect him, and he
didn't say he wouldn't.  Why, for gracious sake, do you suppose I went
and fixed his din--dinner--?"  Mary V gulped down a sob she had not
suspected was present.

"Well, there, now, don't cry about it.  You'll have plenty better
reasons to cry after you're married to him.  Seems to me the boy's
changed considerable, if he comes and goes at the crook of your finger,
Mary V.  Johnny's most as stubborn as you be, if I'm any judge.  If I
was in your place, Mary V, I'd 'phone and find out if he's started,
before I commenced crying because he was late."

"I did 'phone.  And he wasn't at the hotel--"

"Land sakes, child, I heard you!  You might as well have asked what the
weather was like.  If I was you I'd ask if his airplane is there.  If
it is, there's no sense in you straining your eyes looking for it.  If
it ain't, he's likely on the way somewhere.  But from what I heard of
your talk last night, and from what I know about Johnny--"

"For pity's _sake_, mom!  If you listened in--"

"There now, Mary V, you shouldn't object to your own mother overhearing
anything you've got to say.  And if you expect me to clap my hands over
my cars and start on a long lope across the desert the minute you begin
to 'phone--"

Mary V laughed and gave her mother a bear-hug.  Mommie was a plump
matron, and the idea of her loping across the desert with her hands
over her ears was funny.  "You do have tremendously sensible ideas,
mommie, though you simply do not understand Johnny as I do.  I am
perfectly positive that he would not disappoint me.  However, I'll just
make sure when he started.  I'm so afraid of some horrible accident--"

"Well, you 'phone first, before you begin to borrow trouble," her
mother advised her shrewdly.  "I know if you had laid down the law to
me the way you did to Johnny, I'd stay away if it was the last thing I
did on earth.  And Johnny--"

Mary V called Tucson again, and mommie subsided so as not to interrupt.
There was a delay while the hotel clerk obligingly sent a boy over to
where Johnny kept his airplane.  While she waited for his ring, Mary V
went restlessly out to watch the sky toward Tucson.  Half an hour
slipped away.  Mary V was just declaring pettishly that she could walk
to Tucson and find out, while she waited for that idiotic clerk, when
he called her.  Mary V listened, hung up the receiver with trembling
fingers, and went to find her mother in the kitchen.

"Mommie, the plane is gone, and they are almost sure he went last
night, because he was seen going that way after he left the hotel.  So
he did start, just as I told him to do--and something awful has
happened to him--and where's dad?"

Mary V's father, whom men for some unaccountable reason called "Sudden"
when he was not present, crawled out from under the rear end of his
battered touring car when Mary V's moccasins and the fluttering hem of
blue kimono moved within his range of vision.  Sudden's face was
smudged with black grease and the dust of the desert, and in his hand
was a crescent wrench worn shiny where it had nipped nuts and bolts.

"You musta done some fancy driving the other day," he greeted his
anxious-faced daughter.  "Didn't you know you was sliding a wheel every
time you threw on the brake?  Wonder to me is you didn't skid off a
grade somewhere!"  He hitched himself into a new and uncomfortable pose
and set the wrench on a nut, screwing his well-fed face into an
agonized grimace while he put his full strength into the turn.  "If I
could find a man that I'd trust my life with on these roads, I'd have
me a chauffeur," he grumbled for the millionth time.  "That reformed
blacksmith musta welded these nuts on to the bolts," he added, and
muttered something savage when the wrench slipped and he barked a
knuckle.  "Well, what yuh want?  Go ahead and have it, or do it--only
don't stand watching me when I'm trying to--"  He gritted his teeth,
threw the wrench away and picked up another.  "Go ask your mother," he
exclaimed.  "Tell her I'll let you if she will."

At another time Mary V would have deeply resented the implication that
she never approached her dad save when she wanted something; or more
likely she would have stated her want before her dad had time to speak.
Just now she was hopefully watching a buzzard that sailed on
outstretched, rigid wings, high in the sky.  It seemed to be circling
toward the ranch, and it looked like an airplane flying very high.
Mary V's heart forgot to beat while she watched it.  But the buzzard
sighted something, flapped its wings and went off in another direction,
and the girl winced as though some one had dropped a leaden weight on
her chest.

"Dad!" The voice did not sound like Mary V's, and her father ducked his
head out where he could look up at her with startled attention.  "We
must have the car--and all the boys--and get out and find Johnny.
He--he started in his airplane, to come to the ranch.  And they haven't
seen him since last night, and--and you know what happened at Sinkhole!"

Sudden got heavily to his feet and stood looking down at her, his
whimsical mouth slack with dismay.  But he pulled himself together and
took the dominant, cool initiative which was so much a part of his
nature.

"You say he started last night.  How do you know?"

"The hotel clerk--I 'phoned--oh, don't start cross-questioning, dad!  I
_know_!  His plane is gone, and--he should have been here last night!
He was alone, and--oh, get the boys and start them out!  There isn't a
minute--he may be dead somewhere--or hurt--"

"Now, now, we'll only bungle things by getting excited, Mary V.  I'll
send the cook after the boys while I fix this brake and fill up the gas
tank.  You go get some clothes on, and tell your mother to get the
emergency box ready, in case he's hurt.  And if you can be calm enough,
you 'phone to Tucson to the sheriff, and tell him to send out a party
from that end, and work this way.  Tell them to scatter out, but keep
the general airline to the ranch.  We'll start in from here.  And for
Lord's sake, baby, don't look like that!  We'll find him--and the
chances are he's all right; maybe landed for some little repair or
something.  Now hurry along, if you expect to go with me, because I
won't wait a minute."

Mary V looked at her dad, standing there grease-smudged and calm and
capable, and half the terror went out of her eyes to leave room for
hope.  Her dad had such a way of gathering up the threads of logic and
drawing them firmly into coherent action--just as a skilled driver
would take the slack reins of a runaway team and pull them down to a
steady pace.  It seemed to her that Johnny Jewel was half found before
ever her dad laid down the wrench and began unscrewing the cap of the
gas tank.

Like a fluttering bluebird she flew back to the house to do his
bidding.  Excited she was, and worried, and more than ever inclined to
exclamation points and unfinished sentences; but she was no longer
panic-stricken.  She was the Mary V who would move heaven and earth and
slosh all the water out of our five oceans in her headlong
determination to do what she had set out to do.

In two minutes she had her mother and Bedelia rushing around like
scared hens, trying to collect the things she wanted to take for
Johnny's comfort and welfare.  In three she was bullying the
long-distance operator.  In five she was laying down the law to the
sheriff, just as though he were one of her father's cowpunchers.

"Get all the men you can," she commanded, when she had reached the
details, "and scatter them like a round-up.  You know how, of course.
And keep them within sight of each other, and make them keep watch in
every hollow and wash and high brush--because an airplane might not
show up very plainly if it's all smashed.  And 'phone to all the places
down this way, and make all the men you can get out and help.  It's
tremendously important that you find Mr. Jewel immediately, because he
may be badly hurt.  My father will give a thousand dollars to the man
who finds him.  You tell that to every one, Mr. Sheriff, will you,
please?  And say that the Rolling R will pay well for the time of those
who aren't lucky enough to win the reward.  We will pay every man
twenty-five dollars that goes out.  And have an automobile follow you,
with a doctor in it, to take care of John--Mr. Jewel, when he is found.
We will start all our riders out from here, and ride until we meet you.
Now hurry!  Don't stop for a lot of red tape and orders and things--get
right out on the trail.  And don't forget the thousand dollars reward."
Just when the sheriff was saying "Aw right--goo'by," Mary V thought of
something else.

"Be sure and have every man carry an extra canteen for Mr. Jewel.
Injured men are always tremendously thirsty.  And don't forget that
every man will get twenty-five dollars, and the man that finds him--"

The sheriff had hung up, which was rude of him.  Mary V had several
other little suggestions to make--but men never do want to be told
anything, especially by a woman.  Mary V was glad she had not been
permitted to say that the sheriff would of course receive an especially
attractive reward.  He could go without, now, just for his smartness.

The Rolling R boys, hastily summoned by the cook who had galloped off
without removing his flour-sack apron, came racing in and saddled fresh
mounts.  In a surprisingly short time they were filling canteens and
gathering in a restive circle around the big touring car where the boss
sat behind the wheel, and Mary V, fidgeting on the seat beside him, was
telling them all for gracious sake to hurry up and get started, and not
fool around until dark.

Bill Hayden got his orders, leaning down from his horse so that Mary
V's impatient young voice should not submerge her father's in Bill's
big, sun-peeled ears.  "All right--better scatter out right now, soon
as we git past the fence.  You foller along about in the middle."  He
wheeled and was gone, overtaking the boys who were already starting for
the gate, which little Curley held open until the last man should pass.

Sudden stepped on the starter, the big car began to gurgle.  The search
was on.  A hundred men were presently combing the desert land and
looking for an airplane that had not flown that way--just because
Johnny Jewel was true to his supreme purpose in life.  And just because
Johnny's whole heart and soul were set upon repaying a conscience debt
to Mary V's father, Mary V herself was innocently saddling his
conscience with a still greater debt.  For that is the way Fate loves
to set us playing at cross-purposes with each other.




CHAPTER FIVE

GODS OR SOMETHING

"Well, here we are," Johnny announced with more cheerfulness than the
occasion warranted.  "Now what?"

Bland was staring slack-jawed after the squaws.  "Wasn't them Injuns?"
he wanted to know, and his voice showed some anxiety.  "We want to get
outa here, bo, while the gittin's good.  You bring any guns?"  His pale
eyes turned to Johnny's face.  "I'll bet they've gone after the rest of
the bunch, and we don't want to be here when they git back.  I'll say
we don't!"

Johnny laughed at him while he climbed down.  "We made a dandy landing
anyway," he said.  "What ails that darned motor?  She didn't do that
yesterday."

Bland grunted and straddled out over the edge of the cockpit, keeping
an eye slanted toward the brush fringe.  What Johnny did not know about
motors would at any other time have stirred him to acrimonious
eloquence.  Just now, however, a deeper problem filled his mind.  Could
he locate the fault and correct it before that brush-fringe belched
forth painted warriors bent on massacre?  He pushed up his goggles and
stepped forward to the motor.

"I put in new spark plugs just the other day," Johnny volunteered
helpfully.  "Maybe a connection worked loose--or something."  He got up
on the side opposite Bland, meaning to help, but Bland would have none
of his assistance.

"Say, f'r cat's sake, keep a watch out for Injuns and leave me alone!
I can locate the trouble all right, if I don't have to hang on to my
skelp with both hands.  You got a gun?"

"Yeah.  Back in Tucson I have," Johnny suppressed a grin.  Bland's
ignorance, his childlike helplessness away from a town tickled him.
"But that's all right, Bland.  We'll make 'em think we're gods or
something.  They might make you a chief, Bland--if they don't take a
notion to offer you up as a burnt offering to some other god that's got
it in for yuh."

Bland, testing the spark plugs hastily, one after the other, dropped
the screwdriver.  "Aw, f'r cat's sake, lay off that stuff," he
remonstrated nervously.  "Fat chance we got of godding over Injuns this
close to a town!  They're wise to white men.  Quit your kiddin', bo,
and keep a watch out."  And he added glumly, "Spark plugs is O.K.
Maybe it's the timer.  I'll have to trace it up.  Quit turning your
back on that brush!  You want us both to git killed?  Hand me out that
small wrench."

"Say, I know what ailed them squaws, Bland.  Gods is right.  You know
what they thought?  They took us for their Thunder Bird lighting.  I'll
bet they're making medicine right now, trying to appease the Bird's
wrath.  And say, listen here, Bland.  If they do come at us, all we've
got to do is start up and buzz at 'em.  There ain't an Injun on earth
could face that."

Bland lifted a pasty face from his work.  "Fat chance," he lamented.
"You'd oughta brought your gun.  Back there at Sinkhole you was damn
generous with the artillery--there where you had no use for it.  Now
you fly into Injun country without so much as a sharp idea.  Bo, you
give me a pain!"

Johnny spied an Indian peering fearfully out from the branches of a
willow.  He ducked behind the motor and hissed the news to Bland.
Bland nearly fell from his perch.

"Gawd!" he gasped, clinging to a strut while he stared fascinatedly in
the direction Johnny had indicated.  "Git in, bo, and we'll beat it.
She may have power enough to hop us outa this death trap.  We can come
down somewheres else."  He clawed back and climbed in feverishly.

Johnny emitted a convulsive snort.  "Death trap" sounded very funny,
applied to this particular bit of harmless landscape.  Behind him,
Bland was imploring him to hurry, and Johnny climbed in.

"You let me pilot the thing," he ordered.  "I know Injuns.  I still
have hopes of saving our lives, Bland.  We'll scare 'em to death.
We'll be their Thunder Bird for 'em.  Now lemme tell yuh, before we
start--oh, we're safe for the present.  They'll stutter some before
they attack us in here--say, good golly, Bland!  Is that your teeth
chattering?  Hold your jaws still, can't yuh, while I tell yuh what
we'll do?"

"F'r cat's sake, hurry!  I seen another one peekin' around the corner
of the house!"

"Now listen, Bland.  The Navajos have got a Thunder Bird mixed up in
their religion, and I guess maybe these Injuns will have, too.  If so,
we are reasonably safe.  They must not know we're plain human--we've
got to be gods come down to earth, and this is the Thunder Bird.  Or
another kind of bird.  We'll make 'em think that.  They don't sabe
flying machines--see?  And we'll find out where they're all at, and fly
low over their heads to convince them that didn't see us come down.
It'll scare 'em, and work on their superstition, so when we come down
again to locate that motor trouble, they'll stand in awe of us long
enough to give us time to get in shape.  You leave the soaring to me,
Bland.  I'll pull us through all right.  Think she'll lift us off the
ground?"

"She's _gotta_ lift us!" Bland chattered.  "She's runnin' better since
we landed.  And say, bo, don't go any closer to them--"

Johnny told him to shut up; he was running things.  Whereupon he
circled and taxied back down the field, thankful that the soil was
sun-baked and hard.  The motor ran smoothly again--a fact which Bland
was too scared to notice.  He gasped when Johnny turned back toward the
huts, but beyond a protesting look over his shoulder he gave no sign of
dissent.

They started to climb, got fifty feet from the ground and the motor
began to spit and pop again.  Then it stalled completely, and they came
down and went bouncing over the uneven surface and stopped again, a rod
or so nearer the willows than before.

Several scuttling figures left that particular hiding place like
rabbits scared out of a covert, and Bland took heart again.  A few
minutes he spent crouched down in the cockpit, watching the willows,
and when nothing happened he ventured forth, armed with pliers and
wrench, and went at the motor.

"Sounds to me like poor contact," he diagnosed the trouble.  "Like the
breaker-points are roughened, maybe.  You'll have to work the gawd
stuff, bo, and work it right.  Because if I start tearing into the hull
ignition system, we ain't going to be able to hop outa here at a
minute's notice, nor even start the motor and buzz at 'em."

"Fly at it," said Johnny, eyeing the huts speculatively.  He was
hungry, and certain odors floated to his nostrils.  Something left
cooking over a fire was beginning to scorch, if his nose told the
truth, and it seemed a shame to let food burn when his stomach clamored
to be filled.

With Bland watching him nervously, he crossed the little open space and
entered the hut nearest, presently emerging with two flat cakes in his
hand.  Another hut yielded a pot of stew which he thought it wise not
to analyze too closely.  It was this which had begun to burn, but it
was still fairly palatable.  So, with a can of water from a muddy
spring, they breakfasted, their hunger charitably covering much
distrust and dulling for the time even Bland's fear of the place.

The sun, shining its Arizona fiercest though the season was early fall,
brought a cooked-varnish smell from the wings.  There was no shade save
the scant shadow which the scraggly willows and brush cast over the
edge of the parched field, and of that Bland refused to avail himself.
He would rather roast, he said.

Johnny conscientiously carried the kettle back to the hut, then set to
work helping Bland.  Which help consisted mainly of turning the
propeller whenever Bland wanted to start the motor; a heartbreaking
task in that broiling heat, especially since the motor half the time
would not start at all.  Crimson, the perspiration streaming down his
cheeks like tears, Johnny swung on that propeller until Bland's grating
voice singing out "Contact!" stirred murder within his soul and he
balked with the motor and crawled under a wing.

"Yon can start her yourself if you want to start," he growled when
Bland expostulated.  "I've turned that darned propeller enough to fly
from here to New York.  Why don't you get in and locate the trouble?"

"There ain't any trouble--not according to the look of things.  Acts
like water in the gas, or something.  F'r cat's sake, don't lay down on
the job now, bo!  We gotta beat it outa here."

"I'm ready to go any time you are," Johnny retorted, mopping neck and
chest while he lay sprawled on his back.  "But I'd rather stay here
till Christmas than get sun-struck trying to start, I'm all in."

Bland could not budge him and swore voluminously while he worked over
the motor.  Finally he too gave up and crawled under a wing where the
heat was not quite so unendurable, and tried to think of something he
had not done but which he might do to correct the motor trouble.  No
Indians having been sighted since their second landing, he could push
his fear of them into the back of his mind until a dark face peered out
at him again.

Miles away to the west men were sweating while they rode, searching for
this very airplane that sat so placidly in the midst of an Indian corn
field.  Farther away the news went humming along the wires, of a young
aviator lost with his airplane on the desert.  The fame of that young
aviator was growing apace while he lay there, casually wishing there
was a telephone handy so he could call up Mary V and tell her he had a
plan which might make him big money without his having to sell his
plane.

Not once did it occur to him that any one would be especially concerned
over his absence.  Not once did he look upon this mishap as anything
more serious than an unpleasant incident in the life of a flyer.  He
went to sleep, lying there under a wing of his plane, and presently
Bland himself drifted off into dreams that would have been much less
agreeable had he known that a full two dozen Indians had crawled into
the willows and were peering timorously out at them.

It was past noon when Bland awoke.  Johnny was still sound asleep,
snoring a little now and then.  Bland grumbled more profanity, sent a
questing glance toward the willows and saw nothing to alarm him,
crawled out into the searing sunlight and tried to work.  But the motor
was so hot he could not touch it anywhere.  His pliers and wrenches
were too hot to hold, and his face felt scorched where the sun fell
upon it.  So Bland crawled back again and cursed the land that knew
such heat, and himself for being in it, and presently slept again.

Hunger woke Johnny at last, and he straight-way woke Bland, politely
intimating that it was about time he got busy and did something.
Johnny did not propose to settle down for life in that neighborhood, he
pointed out.  There must be something they could do, if the darned
engine wasn't broken anywhere.

Bland, too miserable to argue, sat up and pushed greasy fingers through
his lank hair.  Having remained alive and unharmed for so long in that
neighborhood, his faith in Johnny's knowledge of Indians waxed
stronger.  He began to think less of his danger and more about the
motor.

The thing mystified him, who could tear a motor apart and put it
together again.  What he felt he ought to do was impossible for lack of
the proper tools, Johnny's emergency kit being quite as useless for any
real emergency as such kits usually are.  Merely as an experiment he
removed the needle valve and washed several specks of dirt off it with
gasoline.  Without hesitation the motor started, and Bland cursed
himself quite sincerely for not having sooner thought of the simple
expedient.  He must be getting feeble-minded, he said, while he
adjusted the mixture and made ready to fly.

Once more they taxied down the denuded corn field, turned and ascended
buoyantly, boring into the hot breeze that rose as the shadows
lengthened into late afternoon.  They circled, climbing steadily.  Then
pop--pop-pop-pop--pop, the motor began to stutter.  The earth lifted to
them as if pulled up by a string.  They could see more huts and tiny
figures running like disturbed ants.  The field where they had spent
most of the day broadened beneath them, like a brown blanket spread to
receive them.

They came down with a jolt that bent the axle of the landing gear, sent
them bounding into the air, and all but wrecked them.  They went
ducking and wobbling up to the willow fringe and swung off just in time
to escape plunging into a deep little creek.  As they stopped they
heard a great crackling of brush and glimpsed many forms fleeing
wildly, but they were too engrossed in their own trouble to be greatly
impressed.  One wing had barely escaped damage with the tilting of the
machine, and the near-catastrophe chilled them both with the memory of
a certain other forced landing which had not ended so harmlessly.  They
climbed down soberly and inspected the landing gear.

"Well, that can be fixed," Bland stated in the tone of one who is
grateful that worse has not befallen.  "I'll say it was a close shave,
though, bo."

"I'll try and straighten the axle, while you see what ails that cussed
motor.  Good golly!  We'll be here all night at this rate.  And if we
keep on hopping over this field like a lame crow, we'll be plumb outa
gas.  For a mechanic that can _make_ a motor, Bland, you sure ain't
making much of a showing!"

"Aw, f'r cat's sake, lay off the crabbing!  Gimme the tools and I'll
rip your damn motor apart so quick it'll make your head swim!  I'll say
I've tied into a sweet mess of trouble when I tied up with you.  I
mighta knowed I'd git the worst of it.  Look at what I was handed the
other time I throwed in with you!  Got stuck in a cave and had to live
like a darned animal, and double-crossed when I'd helped you outa the
hole you was in.  And now you wish this job on to me and begin to lay
the blame on me when this mess of junk fails to act like a motor.  Come
off down here with a monkey wrench and a can opener and expect me to
rebuild a motor that oughta been junked ten year ago!"

"Aw, shut up!" snapped Johnny, and stalked off to find something they
could eat.  "Monkey wrench and can opener are about as many tools as
you know how to use--unless maybe it's a corkscrew."

He went on, muttering because he had ever let himself be imposed upon
by Bland Halliday.  Muttering too because he had started out that
morning to do stunts, instead of trying to find a buyer for the machine
as he had first planned.  Now the prospect of getting back to Tucson
that night looked very remote indeed.  And the winning of a fortune
doing exhibition work looked even more remote.  "Unless we take up a
collection amongst the Injuns cached out in the brush," he grinned
ruefully to himself.  "We're liable to take up a collection all right,
if we have to sleep here--but it won't be money."




CHAPTER SIX

FAME WAITS UPON JOHNNY

That day was a terrible one for Mary V.  The big car went lurching here
and there over roads that never expected an automobile to travel them,
and Mary V watched and hoped and would not give up when even her dad
showed signs of yielding to heat and discouragement.

Before noon they had met the sheriff and some of his men, and had
compared notes and given what information they could.  The sheriff, in
a desert-scarred Ford loaded mostly with water and some emergency
rations, had managed to scatter his men and yet keep in fairly close
touch with them, and he seemed very sure that the search had been
thorough as far as they had gone.  Young Jewel, he asserted, had not so
much as dropped a handkerchief on the ground they had covered, or his
men would certainly have found it.

This, while it served as a temporary relief from the dread of hearing
the worst, merely postponed the full knowledge of a disaster which Mary
V could not bear to contemplate.  They drove to a rendezvous previously
agreed upon with Bill Hayden and gleaned what news the boys had to
tell.  Which was no news at all.  Their search had been as barren of
results as the sheriff's, and Mary V's eyes, when they turned from face
to face, were hard to meet.  Little Curley, who had been Johnny Jewel's
especial admirer and champion when that youth was spending his days
more or less tumultuously at the Rolling R Ranch, was seen to draw his
shirt sleeve hastily across his eyes after he had confronted Mary V for
a minute's questioning.

She watched with painful interest a car that came bouncing toward them
over the rough trail they had taken.  When it arrived their fears might
become a terrible certainty.  Two men occupied the dusty roadster, and
neither was Johnny, and their haste implied great urgency.  Mary V
weakened to the point of covering her face with her hands as they drew
near.  But they were merely reporters anxious for news.

That afternoon other reporters appeared, and the next day an
enterprising motion-picture concern had a camera man on the job.  The
mystery of the vanished airplane grew with the passing hours.  The
desert fairly swarmed with men, and theories were thick as lizards.  On
the second night beacon fires were burning on every hilltop, and water
was being hauled in barrels to certain rest stations where the
searchers could come and recuperate.  Old Sudden achieved some
front-page fame himself as a stalwart Napoleon of the desert--which he
profanely resented, by the way.

On the third day Mary V was ordered to stay at home.  There were
reasons which her father did not care to dwell upon, which made it
extremely undesirable that the girl should be present when her lover
was discovered.  And, since the search had narrowed to a point where
discovery was practically certain within a few hours, Sudden was not to
be cajoled or bullied.

Mary V was lying on the porch, wondering dully when the nightmare would
end and she would wake up and find life just as it had always been,
with Johnny alive and full of fun and ready to argue with her over
every little thing.  It seemed grotesquely impossible that her own
innocent command that he come to her should result in all this horror.

Upheld at first by a frenzied hope that they should find him, she now
dreaded the finding, and refused to reckon the time since she had last
heard his voice over the telephone.  Hurt and without water or food on
the desert in all that heat--she set her teeth to stifle a groan.  A
little while ago when he had been so sure that he could enlist as a
flyer, she had shrunk from the thought of his going to war.  Before
that, when he had lain unconscious for so many days there in the
bedroom behind her; when a trained nurse had stood guard and would not
let Mary V so much as look at Johnny, and the doctor had spoken glibly
of hope, when his eyes told her how little hope there was, she had
suffered terribly.  She had thought that she had touched the depths of
worry over Johnny--and she had not begun to know the meaning of the
word.

She lay a small, huddled heap of heartache, shrinking from her own
thoughts, shrinking from the sight of every one, dazed with terror of
what she might hear if any one spoke.  Into this nightmare jingled the
telephone bell.  Mary V gave a faint scream and put her hands over her
ears.

"There, there, baby--I'll answer it," her mother's voice came
soothingly, and Mary V shrank farther down in the hammock cushions.

"Oh--why--land alive!  Just a minute--hold the line," she heard her
mother say in a strange, flustered voice.  Then she called, "Mary V--I
guess you better come and--"

"Oh, I--_can't_, mommie!  I'll go crazy if I have to hear--"

"There, there, baby, it's something you want to hear!"

Mary V's knees shook under her as she went to the telephone.  Her voice
was pinched and feeble when she tried to call the stereotyped hello.

"Oh, hello, Mary V.  That you?  I just got in, and I thought I'd better
call up.  I hear they're out looking for me--"

Mary V's eyes turned glassy.  She made a faint sound and drooped
forward until her forehead rested on the table.  The receiver slid
soundlessly into her lap and lay there while Johnny Jewel rattled on
hurriedly.

"--And so after that happened, we were held up till dark getting the
landing gear straightened out.  And of course we couldn't fly very well
after dark.  And then next morning, after Bland had cleaned out the
carburetor--say, it was straight mud in there and the screen was packed
solid, so of course she didn't get gas half the time, and that's what
ailed her--and when we did start, or was going to start, we found out
there wasn't enough gas in the tank to take us home.  So I had to catch
an Injun and make him take a note to the nearest station for gas, and
wait till he got back with some.  I'd have sent word on to you, but I
was in such a darned hurry I forgot--and the Injuns were all scared
stiff, and it was only by making them understand I wanted water for the
Bird, and nothing else would do."

"Mary V's fainted," mommie interrupted him then.  "I guess it was too
sudden, hearing you on the wire when she thought you was dead.  You
better wait and call up after awhile when her mind's more settled.
She's had an awful hard time.  I'm real glad you're all right, Johnny,
but I've got to take care of Mary V now."

Johnny's eyes were very wide open when he came out of the telephone
booth in the hotel lobby.  That Mary V should faint when she heard his
voice sounded rather incredible, but it seemed to confirm the strange
intent looks and the flustered manners of every one around that hotel.
People seemed to be flocking in from the street and from other parts of
the hotel, and that they were gathering to gaze upon him, Johnny Jewel,
came with a shock.

Three reporters came at him so impetuously that the foremost man
skidded on the polished floor and all but fell.  Bland was plucking at
his elbow and whispering, "You let me handle the publicity, bo!"  The
clerk was staring at him, both palms planted firmly on the desk, and
men were pushing up and craning for a look at him.  Johnny whirled
suddenly and retreated to the telephone booth, shutting the door
tightly behind him.  It was the first time in his life that he had run
from any one.

To gain time, he called up the Rolling R Ranch again and managed to get
Bedelia, the cook, on the 'phone.  Bedelia was perfectly willing to
tell all she knew, and she appeared to know a great deal.  Johnny held
the receiver to his ear until his elbow cramped, and said "uh-huh" once
in a while, and wondered how much Bedelia was exaggerating the truth.
As a matter of fact Bedelia was giving him a conservative history of
the past three days and, indirectly, she was explaining the crowd in
the lobby behind him.

Telephone booths are not any too comfortable on a hot day, and Johnny
emerged rather limp and sober.

He edged in to where Bland was gesticulating in the center of a group
that seemed to be drinking in his words eagerly.

"I'm going on to the ranch, Bland," he said shortly.  "Jar loose here
and come help get the machine ready."

"In a minute, bo.  As I was saying--"

"Ah--I hear you had quite an adventure, Mr. Jewel, down among the
Indians with your airplane.  Now, just where--"

"I'm in a hurry," Johnny hedged.  "I don't know anything about any
adventure.  We had a little carburetor trouble, and had to wait for gas
before we could get back.  That's all."  He grabbed Bland firmly by one
arm and hustled him outside, where men were seemingly waiting far his
appearance.

"Oh, Mr. Jewel!  I wish you'd tell me--"

"I'm in a hurry!  Good golly, folks seem to think talking is all there
is to do in this world!  Come on, Bland."  He hurried on, his mind
absorbed in grasping the full significance of Bedelia's excited report
of events at the Rolling R and this curious crowd that gaped at him.
The thought of Mary V lying unconscious, stricken by the sound of his
voice over the telephone, nagged at him persistently and unpleasantly.
He had not told Bedelia that he was coming, and now he feared that his
unheralded appearance might be another shock to Mary V; but he would
not take the time to go back and warn her, for all that.  Instead, he
walked a little faster to where his plane was waiting.

"I think you're making a bad play, bo--duckin' out when all them
newspaper guys are hot after dope on us,"  Bland expostulated while he
drilled along beside his boss.  "I give 'em some scarehead stuff, but
they'd lap up a lot more.  We can get a lot of valuable publicity right
now if we play 'em right.  I give 'em that gawd stuff for a start-off,
and I made--"

"Shut up and save your breath," snapped Johnny.  "I'm not chasing up
any newspaper notoriety now."

"Well, it'd be better business if yah did, bo--I'll say it would.  Why,
it's free advertising we couldn't have pulled off on a bet, if we'd
tried to frame it.  Absolutely not.  Well, mebby your duckin' out right
now is a good play, too.  It'll keep 'em chasin' yuh for more--and I'll
say that's about the only way to handle them smart guys.  Oncet you
chase them, the stuff's off.  You can bust your spine in four different
places and wreck your machine, and mebby get a four- or five-line
notice down in a corner next the dentist ads.  It's worse, too, since
the war begun.  There ain't no more chance, hardly, of getting
front-page publicity.  Say, a couple of 'em took your picture.  D' yuh
know that?"

"No, and I don't care," Johnny retorted.

Just now nothing mattered save getting to the Rolling R as soon as
possible and stopping that idiotic search for him.  He hustled Bland
around to such good purpose that by the time the reporters had trailed
him to the hangar he was already in his seat and was barking "Contact!"
at Bland, who was unhappily turning the propeller at stated intervals
and wondering when he would ever again have a square meal, and hoping
that no misfortune would delay their arrival at the Rolling R, where he
remembered hungrily certain past achievements of the cook.

"Going back to your Indian tribe?" one smiling, sandy-haired fellow
called out to Johnny.

"No.  I'm going to the Rolling R!" Johnny retorted unguardedly.
"Ready, Bland?  Contact!"

The motor started, and Bland pulled down his cap.  "His best girl lives
at the Rolling R.  He's goin' to see her," he informed the sandy-haired
man as he passed him.  "They're engaged."  He climbed up and took his
place, tickled at the chance to hand out more "dope."  The sandy-haired
one seemed tickled, too, until he saw that his ears had not been the
only ones to drink in Bland's words.

They moved hastily aside as the big plane swung round and went down the
field like a running plover.  They watched it swing and come back,
taking the air easily, thrumming its high, triumphant note.  They
tilted heads backward and followed it as Johnny circled, getting his
altitude.  They squinted into the sun to see the plane head straight
away toward the Rolling R, its little wheels looking very much like the
tucked-up feet of some gigantic bird, until it had dwindled to the
rigid, dragon-fly outline.

"He's got nerve, that kid!" the sandy-haired one declared to his
fellows.  "Didn't care a whoop for publicity--did you fellows get that?
I'd been wondering if it wasn't some frame-up, but it's on the level.
That boy couldn't frame anything."

"Not with those eyes," a sallow companion agreed.  "I seem to know that
other bird.  He's a crook, if I know faces."

"He's just the mechanic.  He don't count.  But that kid--say, I like
that kid!"  And he added enthusiastically, "Great story, that stuff the
mechanic doped out for us.  We'd never have pulled it out of the kid."

"I wish I could remember that bird.  I ought to know him.  Leaves a bad
taste in my memory, somehow.  You're right--it's some story."




CHAPTER SEVEN

MERELY TWO POINTS OF VIEW

Mary V wadded a soft cushion under the nape of her neck, looked again
at Johnny sprawled in her dad's pet chair and smoking a cigarette after
a very ample meal that had been served him half-way between dinner and
supper, and stifled a sigh.  Johnny was alive and well and full of
enthusiasm as ever.  He had just finished telling her all the wonderful
things he could do and would do with his airplane, and the earnings he
had hopefully mentioned ran into thousands of dollars, and left a nice
marrying balance after her father's debt was paid.  Yet Mary V felt a
heaviness in her heart, and though she listened to all the wonderful
things Johnny meant to do, she could not feel that they were really
possible.

Something else troubled Mary V, but just now, with Johnny there before
her almost like one risen from the grave, she dreaded to recognize the
thing that shadowed the back of her mind.  Johnny turned his head and
looked at her, and she forced a smile that held so little joy that even
Johnny was perturbed.

"What's the matter?  Don't you believe I can do it?" he challenged her
instantly.  "There's no reason why I can't.  It's being done all the
time.  Other flyers make as much money as your dad makes here on the
ranch.  And--you know yourself, Mary V, I couldn't settle down and be
just a rider again.  Fighting bronks is too tame, now--too slow.  I'll
have to make a flyer of you, Mary V, and then you'll know--"

Mary V suddenly buried her face in a cushion.  Johnny heard a smothered
sob and got up, looking very much astonished and perturbed.  With a
glance over his shoulder to make sure no one saw him, ho put an arm
awkwardly around her shaking shoulders.

"If you don't want to fly, you needn't," he reassured her.  "I didn't
mean you had to.  I only meant--"

"It--it isn't that at all," Mary V managed to enunciate more or less
clearly.  "But we've been simply crazy, worrying about you and thinking
all kinds of horrible things, and--"

"Well, but I'm all right, you see, so you don't need to worry any more.
I was all right all the time, if you had only known it.  You don't want
to let that give you a prejudice against flying.  It's just as safe as
riding bronks."

"It--it isn't the safeness."  Mary V choked back a sob and wiped her
eyes.  "But you don't seem to take it seriously at all!"

"Now, you know I do!  It's the most serious thing in my whole
life---except you, of course.  And you know--"

"I don't mean that!"  Mary Y gave a small stamp with her slipper toe on
the porch floor, thereby proving how swiftly her resilient young self
was coming back to a normal condition after the strain of the past
forty-eight hours.  "You ought to know what I mean."

Johnny sat down again and looked at her with his eyebrows pulled
together.  Mary V had always been more or less puzzling in her swift
changes of mood, wherefore this sudden change in her did not greatly
surprise him.

"Well, what do you mean, then?" he asked patiently.  "Seems to me I've
been taking everything too seriously to suit you, till just this
minute.  I've been pretty serious, let me tell you, about making good,
and now I can see my way clear for the first time since all those
horses were run off right under my nose, while I was busy with my
airplane, getting it in shape to fly.  You've been after me all the
time because I couldn't let things slide.  Don't you think, Mary V,
you're kinda changeable?"

Mary V gave him a quick, intent look and bit her lower lip.  "I only
wish I could change you a little bit," she retorted.  "I don't want to
be disagreeable, Johnny, after you were given up for lost and
everything, and then turned out to be all right.  But that's just the
trouble!  You--"

"The trouble is that I wasn't killed?  Good golly!"

"No, I don't mean that at all.  But we thought you were, and everybody
in the country was simply frantic, and you weren't even--"

"Huh!"  Johnny got up, plainly hesitating between dignified retreat and
another profitless argument with Mary V.  Another, because his
acquaintance with her had been one long series of arguments, it seemed
to him; and profitless, because Mary V simply would not be logical, or
ever stick to one contention, but instead would change her attack in
the most bewildering manner.

"I'm very sorry," he said stiffly, "that the whole country was frantic
without due cause.  But I never asked them to take it upon themselves
to get all fussed up because I happened to be late for my meals.  I was
foolish enough to take it for granted that a man has a right to go
about his business without asking permission of the general public.  I
didn't know the public had my welfare on its mind like that.  I'll have
to call a meeting after this, I reckon, and put it to vote whether I
can please go up in my little airplane.  Or maybe the public will pass
the hat around and buy a string to tie on to me, so I can't get too far
away.  Then they can take turns holding the string and pull me down
when they think I've been up long enough!  Darned boobs--what did they
want to get up searching parties for?  Couldn't they find anything else
to do, for gosh sake?"

"Why, Johnny Jewel!"  Righteous indignation brought Mary V to her feet,
trembling a little but with the undaunted spirit of her fighting
forebears shining in her eyes.  "Johnny Jewel, you silly, ungrateful
boy!  What if you had been hurt somewhere?  You'd have been glad enough
then for the public to take some interest in you, I guess!"

"Well, but I wasn't hurt," Johnny reiterated with his mouth set
stubbornly.  "They had to go and worry the life outa you, Mary
V--that's what I'm kicking about.  They--"

Mary V gazed at him strangely.  "But you see, Johnny, it was I who
worried the life out of them!  When you didn't come, I got dad started,
and then I 'phoned the sheriff and offered a reward and big pay and
everything, to get men out.  All the sheriff's men will get twenty-five
dollars a day, Johnny, for hunting you.  And there was a reward and
everything.  So don't blame the public for taking an interest in
whether you were killed or not.  Blame me, Johnny--and dad, and the
boys that have been riding day and night to find you."

Johnny reddened.  "Well, I appreciate it, of course, Mary V--but I
don't see why you should think--"

"Because, Johnny, you didn't come the next morning after I told you to
come.  And the hotel clerk found your plane was gone, so--"

"But I never said I'd come.  I told you I wouldn't come to the ranch
till I had the money to square up with your dad.  I meant it--just
that.  You must have known I wasn't talking just to be using the
telephone."

"But you knew I expected you just the same.  And how could I know--how
could I _dream_, Johnny, that instead of coming or letting me know, or
anything, you would take up with that perfectly horrible Bland Halliday
again, and go off in the opposite direction, and be gone three whole
days without a word?  I'm sure I wouldn't have believed it possible
you'd do a thing like that, Johnny.  I--I can't believe it now.  It--it
seems almost worse than if you had started for the ranch and--"

"Got killed on the way, I suppose!  I like that.  I must say, I like
that, Mary VI You'd rather have me with my neck broken than not doing
exactly as you say.  Is that it?"

Mary V set her teeth together until she had herself under control,
which, had you known the girl, would have meant a great deal.  For Mary
V was not much given to guarding her tongue.

"Johnny, tell me this: After knowing Bland Halliday as you do, and
after knowing what I think of him, and what he tried to do down there
at Sinkhole when he was going to steal your airplane and fly off with
it, _why_ have you taken up with him again, without one word to me
about it?  And why didn't you take the time and the trouble to call me
up and say what you were going to do, when you knew that I'd be looking
for you?  I hate to say it, Johnny, but it does look as though you
didn't care one bit about me or what I'd think, or anything.  You've
just gone crazy on the subject of flying, and that Bland Halliday is
just working you, Johnny, for an easy mark.  You think it's pride
that's holding you back from taking dad's offer and staying here and
settling down.  But it isn't that at all, Johnny.  It's just plain
conceit and swell-headedness, and I hate to tell you this, but it's the
truth.

"That airplane has simply gone to your head and you can't look at
anything sensibly any more.  If you could, you'd have _kicked_ that
miserable Bland Halliday when he came sneaking around--wanting money
and a square meal, and you needn't deny it, Johnny.  But no, instead of
taking the chance that's given you to make good, you turn up your nose
at it because it isn't spectacular enough to keep you in the limelight
as the original Boy Wonder!  And you--you take that crook, that tramp,
that--that _bum_ as a partner, and imagine you're going to do wonderful
things and get rich and everything!  And you won't do anything except
give that tramp a chance to steal you blind!"

"I didn't say I'd taken Bland as a partner.  But I may do it, at
that--if my judgment approves of the deal."

"Your judgment!  Johnny Jewel, you haven't got any more judgment than a
cat!"

This was putting it rather strongly, since Mary V had fully intended to
guard her tongue, being careful not to antagonize him.  That heady
young man now stood glaring at her in a thoroughly antagonistic manner.
Speech trembled on his lips that would not formulate the scathing
rebuke surging within his mind.  He had been called conceited,
swell-headed, inconsiderate of others, and now this final insult was
heaped upon the full measure of his wrongs, just when he had a clear
vision of future achievements that should have dazzled any young woman
whose life was to be linked with his.  But Mary V, he reminded himself,
could not look beyond her own little desires and whims.  Because she
had tried to lay down the law for him and he had failed to obey, she
refused to see that he was playing for big stakes and that he could not
be expected to throw everything up just because she had been worried
over him for a couple of days.  The mere fact that he had not been lost
on the desert, as every one supposed he was, could not affect his plans
for the future, though Mary V seemed to think that it should.

"Well, since that is the way you feel toward me, I may as well drift,"
he made belated retort in a tone of suppressed wrath.  "I guess it
would have been better if I'd stayed away, I'll remember--"

"For gracious _sake_, what does make you so horrid?"  Mary V now had
one arm crooked around his neck, which he stiffened stubbornly.  With
her other hand she was tweaking his ears rather painfully.  "You're
going to stay right here and behave yourself till dad comes, and you're
going to have a talk with him about your affairs before you go doing
anything silly.  You know perfectly well that my father's advice is
worth something.  Everybody in the country thinks he has a wonderful
brain when it comes to business or anything like that.  He can tell you
what you ought to do, Johnny, if you'll only be sensible and listen to
him."

"What do I want to listen to him for?"  Johnny's eyes looked down at
her with no softening of his anger.  "Good golly!  Do you think your
dad's got the only brain in the world?  How do men run their affairs,
and get rich, that never heard of him, do you suppose?  I don't want to
mock your dad--he's all right in his own field, and a smart man and all
that.  But he don't know the flying game, and his advice wouldn't be
worth the breath he'd use giving it.  Perhaps I am conceited and
swell-headed and a few other things, but I am perfectly willing to take
a chance on my own judgment for awhile yet, anyway.  When I do need
advice, I'll know where to go."

"To Bland Halliday, I suppose!"  Mary V took away her arm and stood
back from him.  "You'd take a tramp's advice before you would my
father's, would you?" She pressed her lips together, seeming to hold
back with difficulty a storm of reproaches.

"I would, where flying is concerned."  Johnny's lips spelled anger to
match her own.  "He knows the game, and your father doesn't.  And just
because Bland's playing hard luck is no reason why you need call him
names.  Give the devil his due, anyway."

"I just perfectly ache to do it!" cried Mary V.  "He wouldn't be
talking you into all kinds of crazy things--"

"Crazy because they don't happen to appeal to you," Johnny flung back.
"Oh, well, what's the use of talking?  You don't seem to get the right
angle on things, is all."  He busied himself with a cigarette, his
face, that had been so boyishly eager while he told her his plan, gone
gloomy with the self-pity of one who feels himself misunderstood.

Mary V had gone back to her hammock and was lying with one arm thrown
up across the cushion, her face concealed behind it.  She, too, felt
miserably misunderstood.  Flighty she was, spoiled and impulsive, but
beneath it all she had her father's practical strain of hard sense.
Mary V had grown older in the past three days.  She had faced some
bitter possibilities and had done a good deal of sober thinking.  She
felt now that Johnny was carried away by the fascination of flying, and
that Bland's companionship was the worst thing in the world for him.
She was hurt at Johnny's lack of consideration for her, at his complete
absorption in himself and his own plans.  She wanted him to "settle
down," and be content with loving her and with being loved--to be
satisfied with prosperity that carried no element of danger.

Moreover, that he had not troubled to send her any message but had
deliberately gone flying off in the opposite direction with Bland,
regardless of what she might think or suffer, filled her with something
more bitter than mere girlish resentment.  Johnny was like one under a
spell, hypnotized by his own air castles and believing them very real.

Mary V had no faith in his dreams, and not even to please Johnny would
she pretend that she had.  She had nothing but impatience for his
plans, nothing but disgust for his partner, nothing but disappointment
from his visit.  She moved her arm so that she could look at him, and
wondered why it should give her no pleasure to see him standing there
unharmed, sturdy, alive to his finger tips--him whom she had but a
little while ago believed dead.  Johnny, I must confess, was cot a
cheerful object.  He was scowling, with his face turned so that Mary V
saw only his sullen profile; with his mouth pinched in at the corners
and his chin set in the lines of stubbornness.

As if he felt her eyes upon him, Johnny turned and sent her a look not
calculated to be conciliating.  If Mary V wanted to sulk, he'd give her
a chance.  He certainly could not throw up all his plans just on her
whim.

"I guess I'll go down and help Bland," he said in the repressed tone of
anger forcing itself to be civil.  "We ought to be getting back
to-night."  He opened the screen door, gave her another look, and went
off toward the corral, sulks written all over him.

Mary V waited until she was sure he did not mean to turn back, then
went off to her room, shut the door with a force that vibrated the
whole house, and turned the key in the lock.




CHAPTER EIGHT

SUDDEN MUST DO SOMETHING

"I been thinking, bo, what we better do." Bland climbed down from the
motor and approached Johnny eagerly, casting suspicious glances here
and there lest eavesdroppers be near.  That air of secrecy was a habit
with Bland, yet it never quite failed to impress Johnny and lend weight
to Bland's utterances.  Now, having been put on the defensive by Mary
V, he was more than ever inclined to listen.

"Shoot," he said glumly, and sent a resentful glance back at the house.
At least, Bland showed some interest in his welfare, he thought, and
regretted that it had not occurred to him to tell Mary V that and see
how she would take it.

"Well, bo, all this limelight stuff is playing right into your mitt.  I
didn't spill who I was to them news hounds, and I don't have to.  I let
you take all the foreground.  I was the mechanic--see?  So it's you
that will have to put this over; and put it over strong, I say.

"Now first off you want some catchy name for the plane, and you've got
it ready-made.  All yuh need is paint to put it on with.  Across the
top of the wings you want to paint THE THUNDER BIRD--just like that.
Get the idea?  And we'll go back to Tucson and clean up a piece of
money.  While you work into the exhibition stuff we can take up
passengers and make good money.  Ten minutes of joyride, at ten dollars
per joy--you mind the mob that follered us to the hotel just for a
look-in?  Say one in ten takes a ride, look at the clean-up!  You take
'em yourself, bo--do the flunkey work and look wise.  I never mentioned
the joyridin' at first, because I look on that as side money, and
exhibition flyers don't do nothing like that.  They think it cheapens
'em, and it does.  But right now it means quick money, see.  With all
this publicity, and the Injun name--say, it's a cinch, bo!  They'll
fall over theirselves to git a ride.

"My idea is to get the name painted on right now, before we go back.
Then we'll circle over town and do a few flops and show our sign.  So
right away the name'll stick in their minds and make good advertising.
Then when we land, the mob'll be there--I'll say they will!  And
they'll take a ride, too.  I wonder is there any lampblack on the
place?"

Johnny smoked a cigarette and studied the proposition.  It looked
feasible.  Moreover, it promised ready money, and ready money was
Johnny's greatest, most immediate need.  Not a little of his
captiousness with Mary V was caused by his secret worry over his empty
pockets.  He grinned ruefully when the thought struck him that, if the
bald truth were known, he himself did not have much more than the price
of one joyride in his own machine!  He had been seriously considering
asking Curley for a loan when that staunch little friend returned from
the search, but it galled his pride to borrow money from any one.
Bland's idea began to look not only feasible but brilliant.  It would
establish at once his independence and furnish concrete proof to Mary V
that his determination to fly was based on sound business principles.
Supposing he only took up four or five passengers a day, he would make
more money than he could earn in two weeks at any other occupation.

Bland seemed to read this thought.  "You can count on an average of ten
a day, bo--that's a hundred dollars.  Sometimes, like on Sundays, it
would run to two and three hundred bones.  I guess that will let you
throw your feet under the table regular--what?"

"What about you?" Johnny asked, looking up at him studiedly.

"Me?  I'll tell yuh, bo.  You give me the second ten bucks you take in.
You keep the rest until the tenth passenger, and give me that, and then
the fifteenth.  And you pay all expenses.  That's fair enough, ain't
it?  I'll make good money when you make better.  Any exhibition work,
you give me half, because it'll really be me that's pulling off the
stunts.  The public needn't be wise to that.  You as Skyrider Johnny,
see.  I'm just anybody, for the present."

"Why all this modesty to-day?  When you first wanted to go in with me,
I couldn't call you no violet, Bland.  You said then that your name was
worth a lot."

Bland's loose lips parted in a crafty grin.  "It is worth a lot, bo--to
keep it under cover right now.  One of them newspaper guys reminded me
of somebody.  I don't think he remembered me--but it wouldn't do us no
good now to joggle his memory, bo.  I ain't saying he's got anything on
me--only--"

"Only he has," Johnny rounded out the sentence dryly.  "All right.  I'm
willing to play that way till I find out more about you.  We'll try
your scheme out.  It can't do any hurt."

He went off to the shed where all sorts of things were stored, looking
for lamp black.  And Bland, seeing ready money just ahead, overlooked
Johnny's blunt distrust of him, and pulled the corners of his mouth out
of their habitual whining droop and whistled to himself while he
tinkered with the motor.

Johnny was up on a stepladder laboriously painting the R on THUNDER
when old Sudden drove into the yard with half the Rolling R boys packed
into the big car.  They had heard the strident humming of the plane
when Johnny made his homing flight, and craning necks backward, had
seen him winging away to the Rolling R.  They had guessed very close to
the truth, and for them the search ended right there.  So, after
signalling the other searchers, many of the boys had ridden back in the
car, leaving patient, obliging little Curley to bring home their horses.

Bud and Aleck, who had ridden uncomplainingly from dawn to dark,
looking for Johnny's remains, straightway pulled him, paint-pot and
all, from the stepladder and began to maul him affectionately and call
him various names to hide their joy and relief.  Which Johnny accepted
philosophically and with less gratitude than he should have shown.

"What yo' all doin', up there?" Bud wanted to know when the first
excitement had subsided.  "Writin' poetry for friend Venus to read?
I'll bet that there's where Skyrider has been all this while!  I'll bet
he's been visitin' with Venus and brandin' stars with the Rollin' R
whilst we been ridin' the tails off our hawses huntin' his mangled
ree-mains.  Ain't that right, Eyebrow?"

Bland grinned sourly.  "Us, we been gawdin' amongst the Injuns," he
stated loftily.  "We sure had some time.  I'll say we did!  Say, we're
goin' to be ready to do business now pretty quick.  Don't you birds
want to fly?  Just a little ways--to see how it feels?"

Halfway up the stepladder Johnny stopped.  "What's the matter with you,
Bland?" he asked sharply.  "You crazy?"

"We're out to do business.  That's right, boys.  Now's your time to
fly.  All it takes is a little nerve--and ten dollars."

"Shut up!" growled Johnny.  "Don't be a darned boob."

The boys looked at one another uncertainly.  It might be some obscure
joke of Bland's, and they were wary.

"Fly where?" Bud guardedly sought information.

"Anywheres.  Just a circle or two, to show yuh how this ranch looks to
a chicken hawk, and down again," Bland persisted, in spite of Johnny.

"Yeah--it's that _down again_ I wouldn't much hanker for," Aleck put
in.  "I seen how you and Skyrider come down, once."

"That there was him learnin' not to pick nice, deep, soft sand for a
landin'," Bland explained equably, glancing up to where Johnny was
painting a somewhat wobbly B.  "He ain't done it lately, bo."

"Lemme up there, Skyrider, and see what it is yo'all are paintin' on,"
Bud pleaded.  "If it's po'try, maybe I can sing it."

Johnny relaxed into a grin, but he did not answer the jibe.  He was
disgusted with Bland for having such bad taste as to drum up trade here
on the ranch, among the boys who had ridden hard and long, believing
him in dire need.  He hoped the boys would not guess that Bland was in
earnest; a poor, cheap joke is sometimes better than tactless
sincerity.  He was even ashamed now of the name he was painting on the
wings.  That, too, seemed cheap and pointless.  He felt nauseated with
Bland Halliday and his petty grafting.

A little more and he would have told Bland so and sent him about his
business.  At that moment of revulsion against Bland he was almost in
the mood to give up the whole scheme and do as Mary V wished him to do:
settle down there at the ranch and work out his debt where he had made
it.  Looking down into the grimy, friendly faces of those who had
braved desert wind and sun for him, the sallow, shifty-eyed face of
Bland Halliday seemed to epitomize the sordid avariciousness of the man
and made him wonder if any measure of success would atone for the
forced intimacy with the fellow.  Mary V, had she known his mood then,
might have won her way with him and altered immeasurably the future.

But Mary V knew only that he was staying down there with that
unbearable Bland Halliday, fussing around his horrid old airplane
instead of coming to the house and telling her he was sorry.  Besides,
there was her dad, who had gone to all that trouble and expense for
him, not so much as getting a word of thanks or appreciation from
Johnny.  Instead of coming right away to see her dad, he was down there
fooling with the boys.  What, for gracious sake, ailed Johnny lately?
He ought to have a good talking to, she decided.  Perhaps her dad could
talk some sense into him--she was sure that she couldn't.

So she stopped her dad when he was on the point of going down where
Johnny was, and she told him what perfectly crazy ideas Johnny had, and
how he had refused to listen to a word she said, but instead had taken
up with Bland Halliday again.  And wouldn't dad please talk to Johnny?

"He keeps harping on owing you for those horses he lost," she said
impatiently.  "I've told him and told him that you don't care and would
never hold it against him, but he won't listen.  He keeps on talking
about paying it back, and making good before we can be married and all
that.  And he simply will not consent to come and make good on the
ranch, and pay you out of his salary, if he feels he must pay.

"He says ranching is too tame for him--dad, think of that!  Too tame,
when he knows very well it would mean--  But he doesn't seem to care
whether we're together or not.  He says he can make a fortune flying,
and he said he might go in partnership with Bland Halliday.  He says we
can't think of being married until he has paid you--and he imagines he
can earn the money with that airplane!  And I know perfectly well he
can't, because if he does make a cent Bland Halliday will cheat him out
of it.  And dad--" Mary V's voice trembled "--he went off that morning
with that fellow, exactly in the opposite direction from the ranch!  He
never intended to come, and he didn't care enough to tell me, even.  He
just went as if nothing in the world mattered!  And we were all
hunting--"

"Well, if you look at it that way it's easy enough to handle him,"
Sudden observed.  "I've been thinking myself the young imp showed
mighty little thought for you.  Of course you don't want to marry a
fellow like that."

"Why, I do too!  What, for gracious sake, ever put that idea into your
head?  But I don't want him to act like a perfectly crazy lunatic.  I
wish you'd speak to him.  He won't listen to me--we just quarrel when I
try to reason with him."

Sudden smoothed down his face with his hand.  "I expect you do, all
right.  The dove of peace is going to find mighty poor roosting on your
roof, babe, if I'm any judge."

"I suppose you mean I'm quarrelsome, but you simply don't understand.
It was Johnny who quarrelled with me because I wanted him to have some
sense.  I wish you'd speak to him, dad."

"Oh, I'll speak to him," her dad promised grimly.

Still, he did not immediately proceed to speak.  Instead, he drove the
car down to the garage and put it away, passing rather close to the
airplane without giving much attention to Johnny.  His casual wave of a
hand could have meant almost anything, and Johnny felt a small tremor
of apprehension.  When he was merely one of the men on the payroll he
had stood just a bit in awe of old Sudden, and he could not all at once
throw off the feeling, even though Sudden had willingly enough
acknowledged him as a prospective son-in-law.  He allowed a blob of
black paint to place a period where no period should be while he stared
after Sudden's bulky form in the dust-covered car.

Sudden busied himself in the garage, turning up grease cups and going
over certain squeaky spots with the oil can while he studied the
problem before him.  He had once before likened Johnny Jewel to a
thoroughbred colt that must be given its head lest its temper be
spoiled for all time.  Just now the human colt seemed inclined to bolt
where the bolting threatened disaster to Mary V.  The question of using
the curb or giving a free rein was a nice one; and the old car was
given an astonishing amount of oil before Sudden wiped his hands on a
bit of waste with the air of a man who had just made an important
decision.

"If you've got time," he said to Johnny, when he approached the group
at the plane, "I'd like to have a little talk with you.  No hurry,
though.  Glad to see you got back all right.  You had the whole country
guessing for a while."

Johnny scowled, for the subject was becoming extremely unpleasant.
"I'm sorry--but I don't see what I can do about it, unless I go off and
smash things up to carry out the program as expected," he retorted, and
it did not occur to him that the words sounded particularly ungracious.
The thing was on his nerves so much that it seemed to him even Sudden
was taunting him with the trouble he had caused.

"No, the show's over now, and the audience has gone home.  No use
playing to an empty house," Sudden drawled.

Johnny looked at him quickly, suspiciously.  He had an overwhelming
wish to know just exactly what Sudden meant.  He climbed down and took
the ladder back to the shed near by.

"I'm ready for the talk, Mr. Selmer," he said when he came back.
Whatever Sudden had in his mind, Johnny wanted it in plain speech.  A
white line was showing around his mouth--a line brought there by the
feeling that his affairs had reached a crisis.  One way or the other
his future would be decided in the next few minutes.

He followed Sudden to the house and into the office room fronting the
corrals and yards.  Sudden sat down before his desk and Johnny took the
chair opposite him, his spirits still weighted by the impending crisis.
He tried to read in Sudden's face what attitude he might expect, but
Sudden was wearing what his friends called his poker expression, which
was no expression at all.  His very impassiveness warned and steadied
Johnny.




CHAPTER NINE

GIVING THE COLT HIS HEAD

"You and Mary V are engaged to be married," Sudden began abruptly.  "Have
you any particular time set for it, or any plans made?"

Johnny faced him steadily and explained just what his plans were.  That
Mary V had undoubtedly forestalled him in the telling made no difference
to Johnny.  Since Sudden had asked him, he should have it straight from
headquarters.  We all know what Johnny told him; we have heard him state
his views on the subject.

"H-mm.  And how long do you expect it will take to pay me for the horses?"

Johnny hesitated before he plunged--but when he did he went deep enough
in all conscience.  "With any kind of luck I expect to be square with you
in a year at the latest."

"A year.  H-mm!  Will you sign a note for that three thousand, with
interest at seven per cent., and give your flying machine as security?"

"I will, provided I can pay it any time within the year," Johnny
answered, trying to read the poker face and failing as many a man had
failed.

Sudden nodded, pulled a book of note blanks from a drawer and calmly drew
up a note for three thousand dollars, payable "on or before" one year
from date, with interest at seven per cent. per annum, with a bill of
sale of Johnny's airplane attached and taking effect automatically upon
default of payment of the note.

Johnny read the document slowly, pursing his lips.  It was what he had
proclaimed to Mary V that he wished to do, but seeing it there in black
and white made the debt look bigger, the year shorter, the penalty of
failure more severe.  It seemed uncompromisingly legal, binding as the
death seal placed upon all life.  He looked at Mary V's father, and it
seemed that he, too, was stern and uncompromising as the agreement he had
drawn.  Johnny's shoulders went back automatically.  He reached across
the desk for a pen.

"There will have to be witnesses," said Sudden, and opened a door and
called for his wife and Bedelia.  Until they came Johnny sat staring at
the bill of sale as though he meant to commit it to memory.  "One
military type tractor biplane . . . ownership vested in me . . .  without
process of law . . ."  He felt a weight in his chest, as though already
the document had gone into effect.

When he had signed his name and watched Bedelia's moist hand, reddened
from dishwater, laboriously constructing her signature while she breathed
hard over the task, the plane seemed irrevocably lost.  Mommie, leaning
close to his shoulder so that a wisp of her hair tickled his cheek while
she wrote, gave him a little cheer by her nearness and her unspoken
friendliness.  She signed "Mary Amanda Selmer" very precisely, with
old-fashioned curls at the end of each word.  Then, quite unexpectedly,
she slipped an arm around Johnny's neck and kissed him on his tanned
cheek where a four-day's growth of beard was no more than a brown fuzz
scarcely discernible to the naked eye.  She gave his shoulder two little
affectionate pats that said plainly, "There, there, don't you worry one
bit," and went away without a word.  Johnny gulped and winked hard, and
wished that Mary V was more like her mother, and hoped that Sudden was
not looking at him.

Sudden was folding the paper very carefully and slipping it into an
envelope, on the face of which he wrote "John Ivan Jewel, $3000.  secured
note, due ----" whenever the date said.  When he finally looked up at
John Ivan Jewel, that young man was rolling a cigarette with a fine
assumption of indifference, as though giving a three-thousand-dollar note
payable in one year and secured with all he owned in the world save his
clothes was a mere bagatelle; an unimportant detail of the day's business.

Sudden smoothed his face down with the palm of his hand, as he sometimes
did when Mary V demanded that she be taken seriously, and spoke calmly,
with neither pity, blame, nor approval in his voice.

"I have held you accountable for the horses stolen through your neglect
while you were in charge of Sinkhole range and therefore responsible for
their safety within a reasonable limit.  The expenses of your sickness
after your fall with your flying machine, I will take care of myself.
You were at that time trying to find Mary V, which naturally I
appreciated.  More than that, I make it a rule to pay the expenses of any
man hurt in my employ.

"The expense I have been under in hiring men, letting my own work go to
the devil, and so forth, while we thought you were lost, I shall not
expect you to pay.  As I understand the matter, you had no intention of
coming to the ranch and had not said that you were coming.  The expense
of looking for you really ought to come out of Mary V--and serve her
right for having so much faith in you.  I am lucky in one sense--I shan't
have to pay the thousand-dollar reward the kid so generously offered in
my name for your recovery.  The bonus she offered that sheriff's posse
will mighty near eat up that new automobile she's been wanting, though.
Maybe next time--"

"I'll buy Mary V an automobile if she wants one--when I get the note
paid," Johnny stated boyishly, to show his disapproval of Sudden's
hardness.

Sudden once more passed his palm thoughtfully over the lower half of his
face.  "Mary V ought to appreciate that," he said dryly, and Johnny
flushed.

"Anyway, it ain't right to make her suffer for being worried about me.
That was my fault, in a way.  If you'll tell me how much you're out--?"

"That's all right.  It's on me, for falling so easy for one of Mary V's
spasms.  I was led to believe you had actually started for the ranch--in
which case I was justified in supposing you had come to grief somewhere
en route.  We'll let it go."  He cleared his throat, glanced at Johnny
from under his eyebrows, took a cigar out of a drawer, and bit off the
end.

"Now under the circumstances, I think I have a right to know how you
expect to pay that note.  I realize that if I leave the flying machine in
your hands it's going to depreciate in value, and the chances are it'll
go smash and I'll be out my security.  Don't you think you had better run
it under a shed somewhere and go to work?  Of course it's nothing to me,
so long as I get my money, just how you earn it.  Working for me you
couldn't earn any three thousand dollars in a year--you ain't worth it to
anybody.  You're too much a kid.  You ain't grown up yet, and I couldn't
depend on you like I can on Bill.  But I could strain a point, and pay
you a thousand dollars a year, and split the debt into three or four
yearly payments.  In four years," he pointed out relentlessly, "you might
come clear--with hard work and good luck."

"On the other hand, when Mary V marries with our consent she gets a third
interest in the Rolling R.  Her husband will naturally fall into a pretty
good layout.  So you might fix it with the kid to jump down the four
years some.  That's between you and--"

"That's an insult!  I'll pay you, and it won't be any Rolling R money
that does it, either.  When I marry Mary V or any other girl it's my
money that will support her.  I may be a kid, all right--but I ain't that
kind of a hound.  I don't know the law on such things, but there ain't
anything in that Bill of Sale that says I've got to stand my plane in
your cow shed till I've paid the note, and I won't do it.  The plane
ain't yours till I don't pay.  Seems to me you better wait till the
note's due before you begin to worry, Mr. Selmer.  And I'll set your mind
at rest on one point, anyway.  The plane may go to smash, as you say, but
if I don't smash with it, I'll pay you that three thousand.  And you
don't have to strain any point, either, to give me a job.  When I want to
work for you I'll sure tell you so.  In the meantime, I don't know as
it's very businesslike for you to go prying into my plans.  You've
accepted my note, and you've got your security, and what the hell more do
you want?"

Sudden was very much occupied with his cigar just then, and he did not
answer the challenge.  Moreover, he was having some difficulty with his
poker face, which showed odd twitchings around his mouth.  But Johnny did
not wait for a reply.  He was started now, and he went on hotly,
relieving his mind of a good many other little grievances.

"You don't go around asking other men how they expect to meet their
obligations a year from now, do you?  Then why should you think you've
got a right to butt in on my private business, I'd like to know?  Put my
plane in your cow shed and go to work for you!  Huh!  I've caused you
trouble and expense enough, I should think, without saddling myself on
you like that.  I appreciate all you have done--but I absolutely will not
get under your wing and let you pet and humor me along like you do Mary
V.  Why, good golly!  You've spoiled and humored her now until I can't do
a thing with her!  Why, she harps on my staying here at the ranch--under
dad's wing, of course!--instead of getting out and making something of
myself.  You didn't fool around and let somebody else shoulder your
responsibilities, did you?  You didn't let somebody plan for you and
dictate to you and do all your thinking--no, you bet your life you
didn't!  And nobody's going to do it for me, either.  If I haven't got
brains enough and guts enough to make good for myself, I'll blow the top
of my head off and be done with it."

He rose and pushed his chair back with a kick that sent it skating
against the wall.  His stormy blue eyes snapped at Sudden as though he
would force some display of emotion into that smooth, impassive, well-fed
countenance, the very sight of which lashed his indignation into a kind
of fury.

"If you really think I don't amount to any more than to hang around here
for you to support, why the devil don't you kick me out and tell Mary V
not to marry me?  You must think you're going to have a fine boob in the
family!  And it's to show you--it's--why the hell don't you--what I can't
stand for," he blurted desperately, "is your insinuating right to my face
that I'd want to marry Mary V to get a third interest in the Rolling R.
I want to tell you right now, Mr. Selmer, you couldn't give me any third
interest nor any one millionth interest.  If I thought Mary V had put you
up to that I'd absolutely--but she didn't.  She knows where I stand.
I've told her straight out.  Mary V's got more sense--she knows me better
than you do.  She knows--"

"There's another thing I neglected to mention," Sudden drawled, blowing
smoke with maddening placidity under the tirade.  "It's none of my
business how you hook up with that tramp flyer out there--but you
understand, of course, that flying machine is tied up in a hard knot by
this note.  I couldn't accept any division of interest in it, you know.
You have given it as security, affirming it to be your own property.  So
whatever kind of deal you make with him or any one else, the flying
machine must be kept clear.  Selling it or borrowing money on
it--anything of that kind would be a penal offence.  You probably
understand this--but if so, telling you can do no harm; and if you didn't
know it, it may prevent you from making a mistake."

"I guess you needn't lay awake nights over my going to the pen," Johnny
replied loftily.  "I believe our business is finished for the present--so
good day to you, Mr. Selmer."

"Good day, Mr. Jewel.  I wish you good luck," Sudden made formal reply,
and watched Johnny's stiff neck and arrogant shoulders with much secret
amusement.  "Oh--Mary V's out on the front porch, I believe!"

Johnny turned and glared at him, and stalked off.  He had meant to find
Mary V and tell her what had happened, and say good-by.  But old Sudden
had spoiled all that.  A donkey engine would have stalled trying to pull
Johnny around to the front porch, after that bald hint.

As it happened, Mary V was not taking any chances.  She was not on the
front porch, but down at the airplane, snubbing Bland most unmercifully
and waiting for Johnny.  When he appeared she was up in the front seat
working the controls and pretending that she was speeding through the air
while thousands gaped at her from below.

"I'm doing a make-believe nose dive, Skyrider," she chirped down at him,
looking over the edge through Johnny's goggles, and hoping that he would
accept her play as a tacit reconciliation, so that they could start all
over again without any fussing.  No doubt dad had fixed things up with
Johnny and everything would be perfectly all right.  "Look out below."

"You better do a nose dive outa there," Johnny told her with terrific
bluntness.  "I'm in a hurry.  I want to make Tucson yet this afternoon."

Mary V's mouth fell open in sheer amazement.

"Johnny Jewel!  Do you mean to tell me you're going to leave?  And I was
just waiting a chance to ask you if you won't give me a ride!  I'm just
dying to fly, Johnny."

Johnny looked at her.  He turned and looked back at the house.  He looked
at the boys and at Bland.  He took a deep breath, like a man making ready
to dive from some sheer height into very deep water.  "All right, stay
where you are--but leave those controls alone.  Want to show the boys a
new stunt, Bland?  We'll take Miss Selmer up, and you ride here on the
wing.  You can lay down close to the fuselage and hang on to a brace.
They've been doubting your nerve, I hear."  He climbed in, pulling off
his cap for Mary V to wear.  "Reach down there on the right-hand side,
Mary V, and get me those extra goggles.  All right--come on, Bland, let's
show 'em something."

Bland hesitated, plainly reluctant to try the stunt Johnny had suggested.
But Johnny was urgent.  "Aw, come on!  What's the matter with you?  They
do it all the time, over in France!  Turn her over.  All ready?
Retard--contact!"

Bland cranked the motor, but it was plain that his mind was working
furiously with some hard problem.  Should he refuse to ride on a wing and
let Johnny fly off without him?  All Bland's hatred of the wilderness,
his distrust of men who wore spurs and big hats as part of their daily
costume, shrieked no.  Where the plane went he should go.  Should he
consent to ride flat on his stomach on a wing, with the wind sweeping
exhaust fumes in his face and the earth a dwindling panorama of
monotonous gray landscape far beneath him?  His nerves twittered uneasily
at the suggestion.

But when the motor was going and the plane quivering and kicking back a
trail of dust, and Johnny had his goggles down and was looking at him
expectantly, Bland chose the lesser woe and laid himself alongside the
fuselage with his head tucked under a wire brace, his hands gripping
brace and wing edge, his toes hooked, and his cheek pressed against the
sleek covering.  He grinned wanly at the boys who watched him, and sent
one fervent request up to Johnny.

"F'r cat's sake, bo, don't stay up long--and keep her balanced!"

"Hang on!" Johnny shouted in reply.

The plane veered round, ran down the smooth space alongside the corrals,
lifted, and went climbing up toward the lowering sun.  Then it wheeled
slowly in a wide arc, still climbing steadily, swung farther around,
pointed its nose toward Tucson, and went booming away, straight as a
laden bee flies to its hive.




CHAPTER TEN

LOCHINVAR UP TO DATE

In the Tucson calf pasture adjoining the shed now vested with the
dignity of a hangar, the Thunder Bird came to a gentle stand.  Bland
slid limply down and leaned against the plane, looking rather sick.
Mary V pushed up her goggles and looked around curiously, for once
finding nothing to say.  Johnny unfastened his safety belt and
straddled out.

He had done it--the crazy thing he had been tempted to do.  That is, he
had done so much of it.  Unconsciously he repeated to Mary V what he
had said to Bland down in the Indiana corn patch.

"Well, here we are."

Mary V unfastened herself from the seat, twisted around and stared at
Johnny, still finding nothing to say.  A strange experience for Mary V,
I assure you.

"Well," said Johnny again, "here we are."  His eyes met Mary V's with a
certain shyness, a wistfulness and a daring quite unusual.  "Get out.
I'll help you down."

"Get--out?" Mary V caught her breath.  "But we must go back, Johnny!
I--I never meant for you to bring me away up here.  Why, I only meant a
little ride--"

"Now we're here," said Johnny, "we might as well go on with it--get
married.  That," he blurted desperately, "is why I brought you over
here.  We'll get married, Mary V, and stop all this fussing about when
and how and all that.  When it's done it'll be done, and I can go ahead
the way I've planned, and have the worry off my mind.  There's time yet
to get a license if we hurry."

Bland muttered something under his breath and went away to the calf
shed and reclined against it disgustedly, too sick from the exhaust in
his face all the way to speak his mind.

"But Johnny!" Mary V was gasping.  "Why, I'm not ready or anything!"

"You can get ready afterwards.  There's just one thing I ought to tell
you, Mary V.  If you do marry me, you can't take anything from your
dad.  I can't buy you a new automobile for a while yet, but I'll do the
best I can.  The point is, your dad is not going to support you or do a
thing for you.  If you're willing to get along for a while on what I
can earn, all right.  I guess you won't starve, at that."

"Well, but you said you wouldn't get married, Johnny, until you'd
paid--"

"I changed my mind.  The best way is to settle the marrying part now.
I'll do the paying fast enough.  Are you coming?"

Mary V climbed meekly out and permitted her abductor to lift her to the
ground, and to kiss her twice before he let her go.  Events were moving
so swiftly that Mary V was a bit dazed, and she did not argue the
point, even when she remembered that a white middy suit was not her
idea of the way a bride should be dressed.  The very boldness of
Johnny's proposition, its reckless disregard of the future, swept her
along with him down the sandy side street which already held curious
stragglers coming to see what new sensation the airplane could furnish.
These they passed without speaking, hurrying along, with Bland, like a
footsore dog, trailing dejectedly after.

They passed the hotel and made straight for the county clerk's office,
too absorbed in their mission to observe that their passing had brought
the three newspaper men from the hotel lobby.  Bland fell into step
with one of these and gave the news.  The three scented a good story
and hastened their steps.

In the county clerk's office were two strangers who glanced
significantly at each other when Johnny entered the room with Mary V
close behind him and with Bland and the three reporters following like
a bodyguard.

"Here they are," said a short, fat man whom Mary V recognized vaguely
as the sheriff.  He gave a little, satisfied, nickering kind of
chuckle, and the sound of it irritated Johnny exceedingly.  "Old man's
a good guesser--or else he knows these young ones pretty well.  Ha-ha.
Well, son, you can get any kind of license here yuh want, except a
marriage license."  Place a chuckle at the end of every sentence, and
you will wonder with me what held Johnny Jewel from doing murder.

"And who the heck are you?" Johnny inquired with a deadly sort of calm.
"You ain't half as funny as you look.  Get out."  With a jab of his
elbow he pushed the sheriff and his chuckle away, guessing that the man
with an indoor complexion and a pen behind his ear was the clerk.  Him
he addressed with businesslike bluntness.  He wanted a marriage
license, and he could see no reason why he should not have it.  The man
with the chuckle he chose to ignore, instinct telling him that haste
was needful.

The clerk was a slow man who deliberated upon each sentence, each
signature.  Eager prospective bridegrooms could neither hurry him nor
flurry him.  He took the pen from behind his ear as a small concession
to Johnny's demand, but he made no motion toward using it.

"Are you sure this is the couple?" he cautiously inquired of the
sheriff.

"Sure, I am.  I knew this kid of Selmer's--have known her by sight ever
since she could walk.  It's the couple, all right.  The girl's eighteen
on the twenty-fourth day of next January, at five o'clock in the
morning.  If you like, Robbins, I'll call up Selmer.  I guess I'd
better, anyway.  He may want to talk to these kids himself."

The clerk put his pen behind his ear again and turned apologetically to
Johnny.  "We'd better wait," he said mildly.  "If the young lady's age
is questioned, I have no right--"  He waved his hand vaguely.

"You bet it's questioned," chuckled the sheriff.  "Her dad 'phoned the
office and told us to watch out for 'em.  Made their getaway in that
flying machine there's been such a hullabaloo about.  He had a hunch
they'd make for here."  He turned to Johnny with a grin.  "Pretty cute,
young man--but the old man's cuter.  Every town within flying distance
has been notified to look out for you and stop you.  Your wings," he
added, "is clipped."

Johnny opened his mouth for bitter retort, but thought better of it.
Nothing could be gained by arguing with the law.  He whirled instead on
Bland and the three reporters, standing just within the open door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded hotly.  "Who asked you
to tag around after me?  Get out!"  Whereupon he bundled Bland out
without ceremony or gentleness, and the three scribes with him; slammed
the door shut and turned the key which the clerk had left in the lock.
"Now," he stated truculently, "I want that marriage license and I want
it quick!"

The sheriff was humped over the telephone waiting for his connection.
He cocked an eye toward Johnny, looked at his colleague, and jerked his
head sidewise.  The man immediately stepped up alongside the irate one
and tapped him on the arm.

"No rough stuff, see.  We can arrest--"

"Don't you _dare_ arrest Johnny!" Mary Y cried indignantly.  "What has
he done, for gracious sake?  Is it a crime for people to get married?
Johnny and I have been engaged for a long, long while.  A month, at
least!--and dad knows it, and has thought it was perfectly all right.
I told him just this afternoon that I intended to marry Johnny.  He has
no right to tell everybody in the country that I am not old enough.
Why didn't he tell me, if he thought I should wait until after my
birthday?"

"If that's my father you're talking to," she attacked the sheriff who
was attempting to carry on a conversation and listen to Mary V also,
"I'd just like to say a few things to him myself!"

The sheriff waved her off and spoke into the mouthpiece.  "Your girl,
here, says she wants to say a few things . . .  What's that? . . .  Oh.
All right, Mr. Selmer, you're the doctor."

He turned to Mary V with that exasperating chuckle of his.  "Your
father says he'd rather not talk to you.  He says you can't get
married, because you're under age, and you can't marry without his
consent.  So if I was you I'd just wait like a good girl and not make
any trouble.  Your father is coming after you, and in the meantime I'll
take charge of you myself."

"You will like hell," gritted Johnny, and hit the sheriff on the jaw,
sending him full tilt against the clerk, who fell over a chair so that
the two sprawled on the floor.

For that, the third man, who was a deputy sheriff as it happened,
grappled with Johnny from behind, and slipped a pair of handcuffs on
his wrists.  The deadly finality of the smooth steel against his skin
froze Johnny into a semblance of calm.  He stood white and very still
until the deputy took him away down a corridor into another building
and up a steep flight of dirty stairs to a barren, sweltering little
room under the roof.

Baffled, stunned with the humiliation of his plight, he had not even
spoken a good-by to Mary V, who had looked upon him strangely when he
stood manacled before her.

"Now you've made a nice mess of things!" she had exclaimed, half
crying.  And Johnny had inwardly agreed with her more sweepingly than
Mary V suspected.  A nice mess he had made of things, truly!
Everything was a muddle, and like the fool he was, he went right on
muddling things worse.  Even Mary V could see it, he told himself
bitterly, and forgot that Mary V had said other things,--tender,
pitying things,--before they had led him away from her.

He had no delusions regarding the seriousness of his plight.
Assaulting an officer was a madness he should have avoided above all
else, and because he had yielded to that madness he expected to pay
more dearly than he was paying old Sudden for his folly of the early
summer.  It seemed to him that the rest of his life would be spent in
paying for his own blunders.  It was like a nightmare that held him
struggling futilely to attain some vital object; for how could he ever
hope to achieve great things if he were forever atoning for past
mistakes?

Now, instead of earning money wherewith to pay his debt to Sudden, he
would be sweltering indefinitely in jail.  And when they did finally
turn him loose, Mary V would be ashamed of her jailbird sweetheart, and
his airplane would be--where?

He thought of Bland, having things his own way with the plane.
Dissipated, dishonest, with an instinct for petty graft--Johnny would
be helpless, caged there under the roof of their jail while Bland made
free with his property.  It did not occur to him that that he could
call the law to his aid and have the airplane stored safe from Bland's
pilfering fingers.  That little gleam of brightness could not penetrate
his gloom; for, once Johnny's indomitable optimism failed him, he fell
deep indeed into the black pit of despair.

Strangely, the failure of his impromptu elopement troubled him the
least of all.  It had been a crazy idea, born of Mary V's presence in
the airplane and his angry impulse to spite old Sudden.  He had known
all along that it was a crazy idea, and that it was likely to breed
complications and jeopardize his dearest ambition, though he had never
dreamed just what form the complications would take.  Even when he
landed it was mostly his stubbornness that had sent him on after the
marriage license.  He simply would not consider taking Mary V back to
the ranch.  It was much easier for him to face the future with a wife
and ten dollars and a mortgaged airplane than to face Sudden's
impassive face and maddening sarcasm.

Darkness settled muggily upon him, but he did not move from the cot
where he had flung himself when the door closed behind his jailer.  He
still felt the smooth hardness of the handcuffs, though they had been
removed before he was left there alone.

He did not sleep that night.  He lay face down and thought and thought,
until his brain whirled, and his emotions dulled to an apathetic
hopelessness.  That he was tired with a long day's unpleasant
occurrences failed to bring forgetfulness of his plight.  Until the
morning crept grayly in through his barred window he lay awake, and
then slid swiftly down into slumber so deep that it held no dreams to
soothe or to torment with their semblance of reality.

Two hours later the jailer tried to shake him awake so that he could
have his breakfast and the morning paper, but Johnny swore incoherently
and turned over with his face to the wall.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

JOHNNY WILL NOT BE A NICE BOY

The jailer reappeared later, and finding Johnny sitting on the edge of
the cot with his tousled head between his two palms, scowling moodily
at his feet, advised him not unkindly to buck up.

Without moving, Johnny told him to get somewhere out of there.

"Your girl's father is here and wants to talk to you," the jailer
informed him, overlooking the snub.

"Tell him to go to hell," Johnny expanded his invitation.  "If you
bring him up here I'll kick him down-stairs.  And that goes, too.  Now,
get out of here before I--"

"Aw, say, you ain't in any position to get flossy.  Look where you
are," the jailer reminded him good-naturedly as he closed the door.

He must have repeated Johnny's words verbatim, for Sudden did not
insist upon the interview, and no one else came near him.  At noon the
jailer brought him a note from Mary V, along with his lunch, but Johnny
had no heart for either.  He had just finished reading the front-page
account of his exploits, and his mood was blacker than ever.

No man likes to see his private affairs garbled and exaggerated and
dished to the public with the sauce of a heartless reporter's wit.  The
headlines themselves struck his young dignity a deadly blow:


BIRDMAN FURNISHES NEW SENSATION!

Modern Lochinvar Lands in Jail!

Thunder Bird Carries Maiden Off.

Telephone Halts Flight in County Clerk's Office, Where Couple is
Arrested.  Abductor Attacks Sheriff Viciously.  Is Manacled in Presence
of Hysterical Young Heiress Who Faints as Her Lover is Overpowered.
Irate Father Hurries to the Scene.

After keeping the country in a turmoil of excitement over his
disappearance in an airplane, the Skyrider, young Jewel, flies boldly
to Rolling R ranch and abducts beautiful Mary V Selmer, only daughter
of the rich rancher who led the search for the missing birdman.

Romance is not dead, though airplanes have taken the place of horses
when young Lochinvar goes boldly out to steal himself a bride.  Modern
inventions cannot cool the hot blood of youth, as young Jewel has once
more proven.  This sensational young man, apparently not content with
the uproar of the country for the past three days, when he was believed
to be lost on the desert with his airplane, attempts one adventure too
many.  When he brazenly carried off his sweetheart in his airplane he
forgot to first cut the telephone wire.  That oversight cost him dear,
for now he languishes in jail, while the young lady, who is under age,
is being held by the sheriff--


It was sickening, because in a measure it was true, though he had never
thought of emulating Lochinvar or any one else.  He had neither thought
nor cared about the public and what it would think, and the blatant way
in which he had been made to entertain the country at large humiliated
him beyond words.

He picked up the square, white envelope tightly sealed and addressed in
Mary V's straight, uncompromising chirography, turned it over,
reconsidered opening it, and flipped it upon the cot.

"There was an answer expected," the jailer lingered to hint broadly.
"The young lady is waiting, and she seemed right anxious."

But Johnny merely walked to the barred window and stared across at the
blank wall of another building fifteen feet away, and in a moment the
jailer went away and left him alone, which was what Johnny wanted most.

After a while he opened Mary V's letter and read it, scowling and
biting his lips.  Mary V, it would seem, had read all that the papers
had to say, and was considerably upset by the facetious tone of most of
the articles.


". . . and I think it's perfectly terrible, the way everybody stares
and whispers and grins.  What in the world made you act the way you did
and get arrested.  And those were reporters that you shoved out of the
office, too, and that is why they wrote about us in such a horrid way.
And I shall never be able to live it down.  I shall be considered
hysterical and always fainting, which is not true and a perfect libel
which they ought to be sent to jail for printing.  I shall probably
have that horrid Lochinvar piece recited at me the rest of my life,
Johnny, and I should think you would be willing to apologize to the
sheriff and be nice now and make them let you off easy.  And dad blames
me for eloping with you and thinks we had it planned before he got home
yesterday, and he says there was no excuse and it showed a lack of
confidence in his judgment.  He says you are a d. fool and take
yourself too seriously, and it is a pity you couldn't have some sense
knocked into you.  But you must not mind him now because he is angry
and will get over it.  But Johnny, please do be a good boy now and
don't make us any more trouble.  I am sure I never dreamed what you had
in mind, but I would have married you since we started to, but now it
is perfectly odious to have it turn out such a fizzle, with you in jail
and I being preached at every waking moment by dad and mommie.  If you
had only kept your temper and waited until dad and mommie got here, I
am sure we would be married by now, because I could have made them give
their consent and be present at the Wedding and everything go off
pleasantly instead of such a horrid mess as this is.

"I want you to promise me now that you will be good, and I will make
dad get the judge to let you off.  Won't you please see dad and be nice
to him?  His calling you a d. fool does not mean anything.  That is
dad's way when he is peeved, and the jailer says you told him dad could
go to h.  That is why he said it and not on general principles, because
he does really like you, Johnny.  Of course we could see you anyway,
because you couldn't help yourself, but dad won't do it unless you are
willing to be good.  So please, dear, won't you let us come up and talk
nicely together?  I am sure the sheriff bears no ill will though his
jaw is swelled a little but not much.  So we can get you out of this
scrape if you will meet us halfway and be a nice sensible boy.  Please,
Johnny.

"Your loving Mary V."


Johnny read that last paragraph three times, and gave a snort with each
reading.  If being let off easy involved the intercession of Mary V's
father, Johnny would prefer imprisonment for life.  At least, that is
what he told himself.  And if being a nice sensible boy meant that he
was to apologize to the sheriff and say pretty please to Sudden, the
chance of Johnny's ever being nice and sensible was extremely remote.
His loving Mary V had said too much--a common mistake.  What she should
have done was confine her letter to a ten-word message, and tear the
message up.  A fellow in Johnny's frame of mind were better left alone
for a while.

He sulked until he was taken down into the police court, where his
crime was duly presented to the judge and his sentence duly pronounced.
Knowing nothing whatever of the seamy side of life, as it is seen
inside those dismal houses with barred windows, Johnny thought he was
being treated with much severity.  As a matter of fact, his offence was
being almost forgiven, and the six days' sentence was merely a bit of
discipline applied by the judge because Johnny sulked and scowled and
scarcely deigned to answer when he was spoken to.

The judge had a boy of his own, and it seemed to him that Johnny needed
time to think, and to recover from his sulks.  Six days, in his
opinion, would be about right.  The first two would be spent in
revilings; the third and fourth in realizing that he had only himself
to blame for his predicament, and the fifth and sixth days would
stretch themselves out like months and he would come out a considerably
chastened young man.

Another thing Johnny did not know was that, thanks to Mary V's father,
he was not herded with the other prisoners, where the air was bad and
the company was worse.  He went back to his room under the roof, where
the jailer presently visited him and brought fruit and magazines and a
great box of candy, sent by Mary V with a doleful little note of
good-by as tragic as though he were going to be hanged.

Johnny was sulkier than ever, but his stomach ached from fasting.  He
ate the fruit and the candy and gloomed in comparative comfort for the
rest of that day.

The next day, when the jailer invited him down into the jail yard for a
half hour or so, Johnny experienced a fresh shock.  Somewhere, high in
the air, he heard the droning hum of his airplane.  Bland was not
neglecting the opportunity Johnny had inadvertently given him, then.

Johnny craned his neck, but he could not see the plane in the patch of
sky visible from the yard.  He listened, and fancied the sound was
diminishing with the distance.  Bland was probably leaving the country,
though Johnny could not quite understand how Bland had managed to get
the funds for a trip.  Perhaps he had taken up a passenger or two--or
if not that, Bland undoubtedly had ways of raising money unknown to the
honest.

Oh, well, what did it matter?  What did anything matter?  All the world
was against John Ivan Jewel, and one treachery more or less could not
alter greatly the black total.  Not one friendly face had he seen in
the police court--since he did not call the reporters friendly.  Mary V
had not been there, as he had half expected; nor Sudden, as he had
feared.  The sheriff had not been friendly, in spite of his chuckle.
Bland had not shown up--the pop-eyed little sneak!--probably because he
had already planned this treachery.

He went back to his lonely room too utterly depressed to think.
Apathetically he read the paper which his jailer brought him along with
the tobacco which Johnny had sent for.  Smoke was a dreary comfort--the
paper was not.  The reporters had lost interest in him.  Whereas two
columns had been given to his personal affairs the day before, his
troubles to-day had been dismissed with a couple of paragraphs.  They
told him, however, that the "irate father" had taken the weeping maiden
out of town and left the "truculent young birdman pining in captivity."
It was a sordid end to a most romantic exploit, declared the paper.
And in that Johnny agreed.  He could not quite visualize Mary V as a
weeping maiden, unless she had wept tears of anger.  But the fact that
her irate father had taken her away without a word to him seemed to
Johnny a silent notice served upon him that he was to be banished
definitely and forever from her life.  So be it, he told himself
proudly.  They need not think that he would ever attempt to break down
the barrier again.  He would bide his time.  And perhaps some day--

There hope crept in,--a faint, weary-winged, bedraggled hope, it is
true,--to comfort him a little.  He was not down and out--yet!  He
could still show them that he had the stuff in him to make good.

He went to the window and listened eagerly.  Once more he heard the
high, strident droning of the Thunder Bird.  He watched, pressing his
forehead against the bars.  The sound increased steadily, and Johnny,
gripping the bars until his fingers cramped afterwards, felt a
suffocating beat in his throat.  A great revulsion seized him, an
overwhelming desire to master a situation that had so far mastered him.
What were six days--five days now?  Why, already one day had gone, and
the Thunder Bird was still in town.

Johnny let go the bars and returned to his cot.  The brief spasm of
hope had passed.  What good would it do him if Bland carried passengers
from morning until night, every day of the six?  Bland couldn't save a
cent.  The more he made, the more he would spend.  He would simply go
on a spree and perhaps wreck the plane before Johnny was free to hold
him in check.

Once more the motor's thrumming pulled him to the window.  Again he
craned and listened, and this time he saw it, flying low so that the
landing gear showed plainly and he could even see Bland in the rear
seat.  He knew him by the drooping shoulders, the set of his head, by
that indefinable something which identifies a man to his acquaintances
at a distance.  In the front seat was a stranger.

He could see the swirl of the propeller, like fine, circular lines
drawn in the air.  The exhaust trailed a ribbon of bluish white behind
the tail.  And that indescribable thrumming vibrated through the air
and tore the very soul of him with yearning.

There it went, his airplane, that he loved more than he had ever loved
anything in his life.  There it went, boring through the air, all
aquiver with life, a sentient, live thing to be worshipped; a thing to
fight for, a thing to cling to as he clung to life itself.  And here
was he, locked into a hot, bare little room, fed as one feeds a caged
beast.  Disgraced, abandoned, impotent.

It was in that hour that Johnny found deeper depths of despair than he
had dreamed of before.  Bedraggled hope limped away, crushed and
battered anew by this fresh tragedy.




CHAPTER TWELVE

THE THUNDER BIRD TAKES WING

The days dragged interminably, but they passed somehow, and one morning
Johnny was free to go where he would.  Where he would go he believed
was a matter of little interest to him, but without waiting for his
brain to decide, his feet took him down the sandy side street to the
calf shed that had held his treasure.  He did not expect to see it
there.  For three days he had not heard the unmistakable hum of its
motor, though his ears were always strained to catch the sound that
would tell him Bland had not gone.  Some stubborn streak in him would
not permit him to ask the jailer whether the airplane was still in
town.  Or perhaps he dreaded to hear that it was gone.

His glance went dismally over the bare stretches he had used for his
field.  The wind had levelled the loose dirt over the tracks, so that
the field looked long deserted and added its mite to his depressed
mood.  He hesitated, almost minded to turn back.  What was the use of
tormenting himself further?  But then it occurred to him that his whole
world lay as forlornly empty before him as this field and hangar, and
that one place was like another to him, who had lost his hold on
everything worth while.  He had a vague notion to invoke the aid of the
law to hold Bland and the plane, wherever he might be located, but he
was not feeling particularly friendly toward the law just now, and the
idea remained nebulous and remote.  He went on because there was really
nothing to turn back for.

His dull apathy of despair received something in the nature of a shock
when he walked around the corner and almost butted into Bland, who had
just finished tightening a turnbuckle and stepped back to walk around
the end of a wing.  Bland's pale, unpleasant eyes watered with
welcome--which was even more surprising to Johnny than his actual
presence there.

"Why, hello, old top!  They told me you'd be let out t'day, but I
didn't know just when.  You're looking peaked.  Didn't they feed yuh
good?"

Johnny did not answer.  He went up and ran his fingers caressingly
along the polished propeller blade that slanted toward him; he fingered
the cables and touched the smooth curve of the wing as if he needed
more evidence than his eyes could furnish that the Thunder Bird was
there, where he had not dared hope he would find it.  Bland came up
with an eager, apologetic air and stood beside him.  He was like a dog
that waits to be sure of his mastery mood before he makes any wild
demonstrations of joy at the end of a forced separation.

"I been overhauling the motor, bo, and I got her all tuned up and in
fine shape for you.  She's ready to take the long trail any old time.
I flew her for a couple of days, bo; took up passengers fast as they
could climb in and out.  I knew you said you was about broke, so I went
ahead and took in some coin.  I'll say I did.  Three hundred bones the
first day,--how's that?  There was a gang around here all day.  I
didn't get a chance to eat, even.  Second day I made a hundred and
ninety, and got a flat tire, so I quit.  Next day I took in a hundred
and thirty.  Then I put her in here and went to work on the motor.  I
figured, the way they had throwed it into you, you'd probably want to
beat it soon as you got out, and I was afraid to overwork the motor and
maybe have to wait while I sent to Los Angeles for new parts.  It was
time to quit while the quittin' was good, bo.  Here's your money--all
except what I spent for gas and oil and a few tools and one thing and
another.  I kept out my share, and I ain't chargin' you for flying.
That goes in the bargain, that I'll fly in an emergency like that.  So
this is yours."  Then he had to add an I-told-you-so sentence.  "Goes
to prove I was right, don't it?  Didn't I say there was big money in
flyin'?"

He held out a roll of bills tied with a string; a roll big as Johnny's
wrist.  Johnny looked at it, looked into Eland's lean, grimy face
queerly.  "Good golly!" he said in a hushed tone, and that was the
first normal, Johnny-Jewel phrase he had spoken for six days.

"Well, there's plenty to see yuh through, if you want to try the
Coast," Bland urged, watching Johnny's face avidly.  "Way they done yuh
dirt here, bo, I couldn't git out quick enough, if it was me.  I'll say
I couldn't.  And out there's where the real money is.  Here, I've taken
everybody up that's got the nerve and the ten dollars.  In Los Angeles
you can be taking in money like that every day.  F'r cat's sake, bo,
let's git outa this.  They ain't handed you nothin' but the worst of
it."

He had changed his point of view considerably since he painted the
picture of easy wealth in Tucson, to be won on the strength of the
newspaper publicity Johnny had acquired.  He had seen something in
Johnny's face that encouraged him to suggest Los Angeles once more as
the ultimate goal of all true aviators.  Johnny had nothing to hold
him, now that Mary V had broken with him--as Bland understood the
separation.  With Mary V's influence strong upon Johnny's decisions,
Bland had bided his time; but there was nothing now to hold him,
everything to urge him away from the place.  And Bland pined for the
gay cafes on Spring Street.  (They are not so gay nowadays, but that is
beside the point, for Bland remembered them as being gay, and for their
gayety he pined.)

Johnny resorted to his old subterfuge of rolling and smoking a
cigarette very deliberately while he made up his mind what to do.  And
Bland watched his face as a hungry dog watches for flung scraps of food.

"Aw, come on, bo!  F'r cat's sake let's get to a regular town where we
got a chance to make real money!  Why--think of it!  We can start now,
and with luck we can sleep in Los Angeles to-night.  And it won't be
hot like it is here, and you can git a decent meal and see a decent
show while you put yourself outside it.  And," he added artfully,
giving the propeller a pull, "the Thunder Bird is achin' to fly.  Look
underneath, bo.  I've got her name painted on the under side, too, so
she'll holler her name like a honkin' goose as she flies.  And you
don't want her to go squawking Thunder Bird to these damn' hicks, I
guess, and keep 'em rememberin' that you spent six days--"

"That'll be about all," Johnny cut him short.  "No, I don't want
anything more of this darn country.  I'm willing to fly to Los Angeles
or Miles City, Montana--just so we get outa here.  Come on, if you're
ready.  We'll make a bee line for the Coast.  We'd better take grub and
water in case of accidents.  You know what happened to the poor devils
that lost this plane in the first place, before I got it."

Bland's jaw went slack.  Los Angeles, that had seemed so near, wavered
and receded like a fading mirage.  What had happened to those who had
abandoned the plane where Johnny had found it was a horror Bland
disliked to contemplate; a horror of thirst and crazed wanderings over
hot Band and through parched greasewood, with lizards and snakes for
company.

"There can't be any accidents, bo," he said uneasily.  "I've went over
the motor careful, and we oughta make it with about two stops for gas
and oil.  If I thought we'd git caught out--"

Johnny threw away his cigarette stub and straightened his shoulders.
"Well, we're going to try it," he stated definitely.  "You needn't
think I'm anxious to get caught out in that damned desert--I know what
it's like, a heap better than you do, Bland.  There's ways to commit
suicide that's quicker and easier than running around in circles on the
desert without water.  I aim to play safe.  You go down town and buy an
extra water bag and some grub.  And when we start we'll follow the
railroad.  Beat it--and say!  Don't go and load up with sandwiches like
a town hick.  Get half a dozen small cans of beans, and some salt and
pancake flour and matches and a small frying pan and bucket and a hunk
of bacon and some coffee.  And say!" he called as Bland was hurrying
off, "don't forget that water bag!"

Bland nodded to show that he heard, and struck a trot down the street.
And Johnny, while he occupied himself with going over the plane and
making sure that the gas tank was full and there was plenty of oil,
almost whistled until the thought of Mary V pulled his lips down at the
corners.  He wanted to call up the ranch and see if she were there, and
tell her where he was going, but that seemed foolish, after a week of
silence from her.  He shrank from the possibility of being told that
Mary V wished to have nothing to do with him.  So pride stiffened his
determination to go on and let them think what they pleased of him.

Bland came back with a furtive look in his pale-blue eyes.  Johnny gave
him a keenly appraising glance, edged close and sniffed, and decided
that he was too suspicious and that Bland's sneaking look was merely an
outcropping of his nature and had nothing to do with prohibition.
Bland had the supplies in a gunny sack and made haste to stow them away
to the best advantage.

Bland carried a guilty conscience.  The hotel clerk had hailed him as
he passed and had inquired for Johnny.  "Long distance" had a call for
him, and had insisted that Johnny be found at once and put in
connection with the "party" who wished to talk with him.  Bland had
promised to find Johnny and tell him, and had hurried on.  A block
farther down the street a messenger boy had hailed him and asked him if
he knew where Johnny Jewel was.  "Long distance" was calling and had
orders to search the town and get Johnny on the 'phone at once.  The
call had come in just after Johnny had left the jail, and no one seemed
to know where he had gone.

"It's his girl--the one he tried to elope with," the boy had informed
Bland with that uncanny knowledge of state secrets which messenger boys
are prone to display.  "She'll tear the telephone out by the roots if
we don't get him.  Is he over to the flying-machine shed?"

Bland lied, and promised again that he would try and find Johnny and
tell him to hurry to a telephone.  Bland had shaved seconds off every
minute thereafter, getting through with his errand and back to the
hangar.  He had expected to be followed out there, and he was in a
secret agony of haste which he betrayed in every move he made.

But Johnny was himself in a hurry to be gone, and excitement over the
adventure and a troubled sense of running away occupied his mind so
that he gave little heed to Bland.  He climbed in, and Bland raised his
two arms to the propeller blade and waited with visible impatience for
the word.  He had that word.  And Bland, who had glanced over his
shoulder and glimpsed some one coming,--some one who much resembled a
messenger boy,--turned the motor over with one mighty pull, and made
the cockpit in two jumps and a straddle.

"We're off, bo!  Give it to 'er!" he shouted, in a tone quite foreign
to his usual languid whine, and fastened his safety belt.

Johnny settled himself, felt out his controls, gave her more gas.  A
uniformed young fellow, running toward them, shouted something, but
Johnny gave no heed.  Uniforms did not appeal to him, anyway.  He
scowled at this one and went taxieing down the field, spurned the
earth, and whirred off into the air.

"We want to climb to about ten thousand," Bland shouted over his
shoulder, "and f'r cat's sake, don't let's lose sight of the railroad."

Rapidly the earth dropped away.  The town shrunk to a handful of toy
houses flung carelessly down upon a dingy gray carpet, with a yellow
seam stretched across--which was the railroad--and yellow gashes here
and there.  The toy houses dwindled to mere dots on a relief map of
gray with green splotches here and there for groves and orchards not
yet denuded of leaves.  Their ears were filled with the pulsing roar of
the motor, their faces tingled with the keen wind of their passing
through the higher spaces.

Away down below, where the dust they had kicked up had not yet settled,
the messenger boy stood open-mouthed, with his cap tilted precariously
on the bulge of his head, a damp lock of hair straggling down into his
right eyebrow, while he craned his neck to stare after the dwindling
speck.

He waited, leaning against the shady side of the shed with his feet
crossed; but the Thunder Bird did not circle back and prepare to
descend the invisible spiral it had climbed so ardently.  Two
cigarettes he smoked leisurely, now and then tilting back his head and
squinting into the silent blue depth above.  He drew out his book and
looked at the slip saying that Johnny Jewel was being called by the
Rolling R Ranch on long-distance telephone.  He squinted again at the
sky, cocked his ear like a spaniel and got no faint humming, replaced
the slip in his book and the book in his torn-down pocket, and
presently meandered back to town.

Away off to the west, so high that it looked a mere speck floating
swiftly, the Thunder Bird went roaring, steadily boring its way to
journey's end.  And a little farther to the south, Mary V was making
life unpleasant for the telephone operator and for her mother who
preached patience and courtesy to those who toll, and for her dad who
had ventured to inquire what she wanted to dog that young imp for,
anyway, and why didn't she try waiting until he showed interest enough
in somebody besides himself to call her up?  And where was her pride,
anyway?

Then, after what seemed to Mary V sufficient time to call Johnny from
the farthest corner of the universe, the telephone jangled.  The
operator told her, with what Mary V called a perfectly intolerable tone
of spite, that her "party" could not be located for her at present, as
he had left town.

"And I hope to goodness he stays!" gritted Mary V, slamming the
receiver on its hook.  "With dad acting the way he did and treating
Johnny like a _dog_, and with Johnny acting worse than dad does and
treating me as if I were to blame for everything, I just wish men had
never been born.  I don't see what use they are in the world, except to
drive a person raving distracted.  Now, dad, just see what you have
done!"  She confronted Sudden like a small fury.  "You wanted to teach
Johnny a lesson, and you refused to let me see him while he was in
jail, just because he told you to go somewhere.  And you know perfectly
well that you swore worse about him.  And he did not plan to elope.
He--he just did it because I was right there and--handy.  And now see
what you've done!  You wouldn't let me go to him, and now he's out, and
he has left town, and nobody knows where he is!  I should think, for a
parent who is responsible to heaven for his offspring's happiness,
you'd be ashamed of yourself.  You let me be engaged to him, and now
you've gone and balled things up until I wish I were dead!"

About that time Johnny turned his head and stared wistfully down at the
gray expanse sliding away beneath him.  Off there to the left was the
Rolling R Ranch--and Mary V.  He wondered dully if it would hurt her,
this abrupt ending of their dreams.  Or had she ever really cared?

Bland, sitting in front with his guilty secret, felt the swing Johnny
was unconsciously giving to the plane, and set his control against it.
The Thunder Bird veered, hesitated, and came back to the course.
Johnny took a long breath and turned his eyes to the front again.  The
past was past--the future lay all before him.  He set his teeth
together and drove the Thunder Bird straight into the west.




CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TEE HEGIRA OF JOHN IVAN JEWEL

Fiction would give to the venture a hairbreadth escape or two and many
insurmountable obstacles which would, of course, be triumphantly
surmounted by the hero.  But fact will have it otherwise, and the
chronicler of events must not be blamed if the hegira of John Ivan
Jewel lacked excitement.

The Thunder Bird flew high, with a steady air current behind which gave
the plane more speed than Johnny had hoped for, and brought them close
to Yuma before the gas gauge began to worry him.  They descended
cautiously, circled over the town like a wild duck over a pond,
choosing their landing.  They alighted without mishap and Johnny hired
a decent-looking Mexican to watch the plane and protect it from curious
meddlers while he and Bland went into town and ate their fill, and
bought gas and oil to be delivered immediately.  Before the town had
fairly awakened to the fact that an airplane had descended in its
immediate vicinity, they were off again, climbing once more to the high
air lanes that made smoother going.

The motor worked smoothly, the hand of the tachometer wavering around
twelve hundred, and the altometer registering nine thousand feet, save
when they dipped and lifted to the uneven currents over the mountains.
The Thunder Bird seemed alive, glorying in her native element.  The
earth slid away like a map unrolled endlessly beneath them.  Desert and
little towns on the railroad like broken beads strung loosely on a taut
wire.  Salton Sea was cool and tempting, though the air shimmered all
around it with heat.  They flew the full length of it and on up the
valley.  Then they climbed higher and so breasted the currents flowing
over the San Jacintos.  And over a little town set in level country
they wheeled, descending and searching for a field.  Again they landed
and filled their gas tank and went on.  Always it was the distance
ahead that called them.  Always they grudged the minutes lost, as
though they were racing against time and the stakes were high.

After the last stop, exaltation seized Johnny and lifted him high above
the sordid things of earth.  Trouble dropped away from him; rather, it
was left behind as he flew toward the sunset, He lost the sense of
weight that clogs the bodies of human creatures plodding over the
earth's uneven surface and became as an eagle, soaring high on wings
that never tired.  Never before had he remained so long in flight,
wherefore he had never attained so completely that birdlike feeling of
mastery in the air.  Falling seemed impossible; as easily could his
senses have visualized falling through the earth in the old days of
crawling.  There was no earth.  There was only a sliding relief map far
below to guide him in his triumphant flight.  Tucson, the Rolling
R--they were clouds that hovered far back on the horizon of his mind.
Mary V was a dim vision that came and went but never quite took
definite form.  The roar of the motor he had long ceased to hear.
Godlike he floated with wings outspread, straight into the sunset.

The sliding map below took on strange, beautiful colors of purple and
gold and rose, with sometimes a wonderful blending of all.  Before him
the sky was a gorgeous, piled radiance.  The earth colors changed,
softened, deepened to a mysterious shadowy expanse, with here and there
a brightness where the sun touched a hilltop.

"We better drop a little," Bland shouted.  "I gotta keep my bearings!"

Swiftly the vague outlines sharpened.  Groves and groves and groves
appeared beneath them.  And small islands of twinkling stars, set in
patterns and squares, with here and there a splotch of brightness.  And
single stars that had somehow strayed and lay twinkling, lost in the
great squares of dark green.

"We gotta make it before dark," Bland yelled.  "I been away a year.  I
need daylight--"

They gave her more gas, and Johnny became conscious of the motor's
voice.  Eighty miles she was doing now, on a gentle incline that lifted
the earth a little nearer.  The glory before them was deepening to ruby
red that glowed and darkened.  Beneath the heaped radiance lay a sea of
stars--and beyond, a smooth floor of polished purple.

"There's Los Angeles--and over beyond is the ocean!" called Bland,
turning his head a little.

Johnny sucked in his breath and nodded, forgetting that Bland could not
see the motion.

"Gimme the control--I gotta pick out a landing!  I'll head for
Inglewood.  They's a big field--"

Inglewood meant nothing at all to Johnny, even had he heard the name
distinctly, which he did not.  It cost him an effort to yield the
control, but he pulled hands and feet away and sat passive, breathing
quickly, gazing down at the wonders spread beneath him.  For this was
his first amazed sight of Los Angeles, though he had twice passed
through the city in a train that clung to dingy streets and left him an
impression of grime and lumbering trucks and clanging street cars and
more grime, and Chinese signs painted on shacks, and slinking figures.

But this was a magic city spread beneath him.  It glowed and twinkled
behind the thin veil of dusk.  There seemed no end to the lights which
overflowed the lower slopes of the cupped hills at their right and
hesitated on the very brink of the purpling ocean before them.

Bland shut off the motor and they glided, the plane silent as a great
bat.  The city disclosed houses, and streets down which lighted cars
seemed to be standing still, so much greater was the speed of the
Thunder Bird.  They passed the thickest sprinkle of lights and headed
for dark slopes midway between the indrawing hills.  Many pairs of
bright lights crawled along a narrow black pathway.  Now the ocean was
nearer, so that Johnny could see a fringe of white along its edge where
waves lapped up to the lights.

They swooped, flattened out, and glided again while Bland picked up
certain landmarks.  The motor spoke, its voice increased while they
banked in a circle and swooped again.  Now a long bare stretch lay just
ahead.  The motor stopped, and they volplaned steeply; flattened,
dipped a little, skimmed close to earth, touched, lifted again.

"F'r cat's sake, what they went and done to this field?"  Bland's
whining voice complained, and he swung the Thunder Bird away from a
long windrow of dried vines, just in time to avoid entangling the
wheels.  They settled, ran along uneven surface for a space.  A small
loose pile lay just ahead, and Bland veered sharply away.  Another pile
to the left caught the wheels just as the tail was settling.  The
Thunder Bird jerked, staggered drunkenly, wheeled over the pile and
then, with a gentle determination quite unexpected in so docile a bird,
turned itself up on its nose and with a splintering crash of the
propeller tilted on over until it lay flat on its back.  Which was a
silly ending to so glorious a flight.

Johnny, hanging upside down with the strap strained tight across his
loins, with Bland dangling before him, felt even sillier than the
Thunder Bird looked.  He freed himself after the first paralyzing shock
of surprise, dropped on all fours upon the upper wing covering, and
crawled out between the front braces.  A minute later Bland followed,
looking extremely foolish.

"That's a hell of a way to land!" Johnny snorted.  "What kinda pilot
are you, for gosh sake?"

"Aw, how was I to know they'd went and planted this field to beans?  I
been away a year, almost.  It was a good field when I was here before.
Come on and let's turn her back, bo, before all the cylinders is full
of oil."  Then Bland added with a surprising optimism in one so given
to complaining, "We're here, and we ain't hurt, and Los Angeles is just
back there a ways.  I'm satisfied."

"Yes, and we shelled the beans--that's something more," Johnny
sarcastically added to the sum of their blessings.

With some labor they turned the Thunder Bird right side up.  It was too
dark to estimate the damage, and Bland suggested that they catch a
street car and ride into town.  He did not inform Johnny then how far
they must walk before they would be within catching distance, and
Johnny started off willingly enough, after Bland had convinced him that
the Thunder Bird would be perfectly safe until morning.  It was a quiet
neighborhood, he declared, and no one would be likely to come near the
place.  If they did, they could not fly off with the Thunder Bird
unless they happened to be carrying an extra propeller around with
them.  This, Johnny suspected, was Bland's best attempt at irony.

They walked and they walked, at first along a rough country road that
seemed real boulevard to Johnny, who was accustomed to the trails of
Arizona.  Later they emerged upon asphalt, and trudged along the edge
of that for a time, moving aside as swift bars of light bathed them
briefly, with the swish of speeding automobiles brushing close.
Johnny's head was roaring with the remembered beat of the Thunder
Bird's motor.  In the silence between automobiles it deafened him so
that Bland's drawling voice came to him dully, the words muffled.

"We'll have to get us a car," Bland repeated three times before Johnny
understood.

"Oh.  I thought you meant we're getting close to a car," Johnny
grumbled.  "How much farther we got to walk, for gosh sake?"

"About a mile now, bo.  It's only--"

"A mile!  Good golly!  I thought we was flying to Los Angeles!  You
never said we had to walk half the way from Tucson.  What in thunder
made you fly forty miles beyond the darned place!  Just so you'd have a
chance to wreck the plane?  A hell of a pilot you are!"

Bland protested, trailing a step behind Johnny, whose stride had
lengthened with the bad news.  Did Johnny think, f'r cat's sake, he
could light in front of the Alexandria and call a bell-hop to take the
plane?  Did he think they could put the darn thing in an auto park?
What about telephone wires and electric light wires and trolley wires?
Bland would like to know.  Leave it to Johnny, the crowd would now be
roped off the spot and the cops fighting to make a gangway for the
ambulance, and women would edge up and faint at the ghastly sight.
Leave it to Johnny--

"Leave it to me," Johnny cut in acrimoniously, "and we'd have landed
right side up, anyway.  I wouldn't have lit in the middle of a mess of
beans.  Beans!  Good gosh!  For half a cent I'd go back and make camp
there.  That's what we ought to do, anyway, instead of walking all
night, getting to town.  We've got grub enough--and there's _beans_!"

"Aw, now, bo, have a heart!  You wait till I lead you into the Frolic,
and you won't say beans no more.  You wait till you git your knees
pushed under the mahogany and the head waiter scatters the glasses
around your plate, and you lamp the dames--"

He stopped abruptly, his jaw going slack with dismay.  "Only we ain't
got the scenery for no such place as the Frolic," he mourned.  "Lookin'
the way we do, we'd be eyed suspicious if we went to grab a tray in
Boos Brothers!  Some Main Street waffle joint is about our number,
unless--"

"A waffle joint sounds good to me," Johnny said.  "I didn't come out
here to spend money.  I'm here to make it."

"That's all right, bo.  I ain't going to hit any flowery path either.
But listen, old top.  We've had a hard day, and before that a bunch of
'em.  We've earned one good meal, ain't we?  That ain't going to hurt
nobody, bo.  Just to celebrate our arrival and git the taste of the
desert out of our mouths.  I'll say we've earned it.  And it needn't
cost so much.  And listen here, bo.  I know a place on Main where we
can rent the scenery.  Lots of fellers do that, and nobody the wiser.
I don't mean open-face coats, neither.  Just some good clothes that
have got class will do fine.  And we can git a shave there, and go to
the Frolic and have some regular chow, bo, and listen to the tra-la-la
girlies warble whilst we eat.  Come on.  Be a regular guy for oncet!"

"Do regular guys wear borrowed clothes?  Not where I come from, they
don't."

"Aw, them hicks!  Well, you can buy what you want, if that suits you
better.  I'll take you to a place that keeps open evenings.  There'll
be time enough.  The Frolic don't hardly git woke up till ten or
'leven, anyway."

"At that it will be closed for the night before we arrive," Johnny
stated morosely.  "It's a wonder to me you let the ocean stop you,
Bland.

"Why didn't you go on and light in Japan?  We could have caught a boat
back then, instead of walking."

Once more Bland protested and explained and defended himself.  But
Johnny had already drifted off into troubled meditation rendered
somewhat vague and inconsequential by his rapid changes of financial
condition, moods, environment--the brief ecstasy of his triumphant
flight that had so ridiculous a climax.  Small wonder that Bland's
whining voice failed to register anything but a dreary monotone of
meaningless words in Johnny's ears.  Small wonder that Johnny's
thoughts dwelt upon little worries that could have no possible bearing
upon the big things he meant to do.

How much would a new propeller cost?  Would all the barber shops be
closed when they reached town?  He needed a haircut and a hot bath
before he would feel fit to walk the streets.  Should he take at once
the position he meant to maintain, and stop at the best hotel in town,
as an aviator who owned the plane he flew and had a roll of money in
his pocket might be expected to do?  Or should he go to some cheap
rooming house and save a few dollars, and sink into obscurity among the
city's strange thousands?

He remembered the headlines concerning him--front-page headlines that
crowded Europe's war into second place!  He had not seen anything much
about himself lately, though the jailer had brought him a paper every
morning.  Certainly his misfortune had not been given the prominence
accorded to his disappearance.  If he should go to some good hotel and
register as John Ivan Jewel, Tucson, Arizona, the reporters might
remember the name.  Probably they would, and his arrival would be
announced--

What would they think, if he walked in just as he was; leather coat,
aviator's cap with the ear-tabs flapping, corduroy breeches tucked into
riding boots that needed a shine and the heels straightened?  Would
they put him out, or would they think he was so rich and famous he
didn't give a darn?

He wondered what Mary V would think, if she knew that he was here in
Los Angeles.  Would she care whether she ever saw him again?  Or could
girls forget a fellow all at once?  Were they still engaged, so long as
she did not return his ring?  He wished he knew what was the rule in
cases like this.  Then it struck him that Mary V could not return the
ring now if she wanted to.  She would not know where to send it.  She
might have sent it to him while he was in jail--but probably she feared
that the reporters might hear about it.  How much would a propeller
cost, any way?  There would probably be more than that broken--the
Thunder Bird had turned over with quite a jolt.

No, certainly he should not spend money on high-priced hotels until he
had things moving again.  There would be no more money coming in until
the plane was repaired--darn it, there was always that big hump in the
trail; always something in the way, something to postpone his grasping
at success!  Now he'd have to sleep in some hot, frowsy little room for
about four bits, instead of luxuriating in a suite as he would like to
do.

They reached the little suburban village and the street car.  Johnny
had an impulse to stop there for the night and leave the city to a more
propitious time, but Bland was already licking lips in anticipation of
the joys of Spring Street, and made such vehement protest that Johnny
yielded.  If he stayed in Inglewood Bland would go on without him, and
Johnny did not want that, for Bland might not come back.  And whatever
his mental and moral shortcomings, Bland was somebody whom Johnny knew;
if not a friend, yet a familiar personality in a city filled with
strangers.

Perhaps it was the night that veiled the city's big human workaday side
and showed only the cold, blue-white residence streets palm-shaded and
remote, and the inhospitable closed stores and shops of the business
district, that gave Johnny a lost, lonesome feeling of utter
homelessness.  For the matter of that, Johnny could not remember when
he was not homeless--but he did not often feel depressed by the fact.
He followed Bland down the car steps at Fifth Street, walked with him
past a delicatessen store whence apartment dwellers were trickling,
their hands full of small paper bags and packages.  They looked pale
and sickly and harassed to Johnny, to whom desert-browned faces were a
standard by which he measured all others.

A barber shop reminded him of grime and untrimmed hair, and he halted
so abruptly that Bland forged several paces ahead before he missed him.
He turned back grumbling, just as Johnny went in at the door, and
followed grudgingly.  He had wanted a glass of beer first of all, but
yielded the point and took his shave resignedly.

Johnny spent a full hour in that shop, and when he emerged he was worth
the second glance he got from the girls hurrying homeward.  Tubbed,
shaven, trimmed, a fresh shine on boots that still showed the marks of
spurs worn from dawn to dark when those boots were new, he towered
above Bland Halliday, who looked dingier and more down-at-heel than
ever by contrast.  It would take more than shaven jowls to make a
gentleman of Bland.

They went on to Broadway, crossed it precariously, and reached the
pavement by what Johnny considered a hair's-breadth of safety as a big
car slid past his heels.  They passed lighted plate-glass windows
wherein silver and gold gleamed richly.  Then Bland unwittingly pushed
Johnny Jewel from the edge of obscurity into the bright light of
notoriety again.

Bland said, "I know a joint where we can git a good room for fifty
cents--and no questions asked, bo."

They happened at that moment to be nearing the immaculate white-gloved
doorman who stands ward over the entrance to the Alexandria.  Johnny
looked at him, saw what exclusive hostelry was named upon his cap band,
and stopped.  "You can go to your joint where they don't ask
questions," he said somewhat loftily to Bland.  "I'll stop here where
they don't have to."

Bland gasped, but Johnny was already turning in past the immaculate
white-gloved one who bowed as Johnny brushed him by.  Bland had only
time enough to mutter, "I'll wait here till you register," before
Johnny disappeared into the subdued elegance where Bland would not
venture.  "Till they throw yuh out, you boob," Bland amended his
parting sentence.  "Stoppin' at the Alexandria--hnm!"

Johnny, secure in his fresh cleanness and his ignorance of the
traditions of the place, strode through the onyx-pillared lobby peopled
with well-fed, modish human beings who conversed in modulated voices or
bustled in and out, engrossed with affairs which might or might not be
of national importance.  At the desk a perfectly groomed, worldly wise
aristocrat proffered a pen well inked and gave Johnny what Bland would
have termed the double O.

Before he had finished pressing blotter upon "John Ivan Jewel, Tucson,
Arizona", his brain had registered certain details and his smile had
attained a certain quality of deference.

"We are glad to have you with us, Mr. Jewel.  Ah--a room and bath, say
on the sixth floor?  Ah--did you have a good flight, Mr. Jewel?"

Oh, the adaptability of American youth!  "Made it in seven hours
continuous flight," Johnny informed him carelessly.  "Nothing to it.
Yes, the sixth floor will be all right.  Didn't bring any
baggage--didn't want to load the plane down."

And that clerk, to whom baggageless guests are ever objects of
suspicion, smiled understandingly and called his favorite boy, and when
Johnny's back was turned, immediately whispered the news that that
Arizona flyer who had been so much in the public eye lately, was a
guest of the hotel, having flown over in five hours.




CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FATE MEETS JOHNNY SMILING

Johnny inspected his room and bath on the sixth floor and straightway
began to worry about the bill.  The shaded reading lamp by the bed
impressed him mightily, as did the smoking set on its own little
mahogany stand, and the coat-hangers in the closet.  Johnny was
accustomed to stopping in hotels where the furnishings were all but
nailed down, and the little conveniences were conspicuously absent.
This, he decided, was a regular place; a home for millionaires.  He
doubted very much whether the Thunder Bird was worth the furniture in
this one room, and wondered at his own temerity in making free with it.
To brace his courage he must untie the roll of money Bland had given
him in Tucson and count the bank notes twice.

"By golly, I can stand one night here, any way," he reassured himself
finally, and took a long breath.

Just then a bell boy tapped discreetly on the door, and when Johnny
opened it he slipped in with a pitcher of ice water, which he carried
to a table with the air of a loyal henchman serving his king, which
means that he was thinking of tips.  In the exuberance of his fresh
sensation of affluence and his gratitude for the service, Johnny pulled
off a five-dollar bill and gave it to the boy.  The bell boy said,
"Thank you, sir," and added breathlessly, "Gee, I wish I was an
aviator, Mr. Jewel!"

Sir and M

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