g 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