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 grinn