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 fo