.

Johnny grinned and turned off the road to ride straight across the
country. It would be rough going for the aviator, but it would shorten
the journey ten or twelve miles, which meant a good deal to Johnny's
peace of mind.

He did not feel it necessary to inform his expert assistant that Sinkhole
Camp was accessible to wagons, carts, buckboards--automobiles, even, if
one was lucky in dodging rocks, and the tires held out. It had occurred
to him that it might be very good policy to make this a trip of
unpleasant memories for Bland Halliday. He would work on that plane with
more interest in the job. The alternative of a ticket and "eating money"
to Los Angeles had been altogether too easy, Johnny thought. There should
be certain obstacles placed between Sinkhole and the ticket.

So he placed them there with a thoroughness that lathered the horses,
tough as they were. Johnny Jewel knew his Arizona--let it go at that.

"Say, bo, do we have to ride down in there?" came a wail from behind
when Johnny's horse paused to choose the likeliest place to jump off a
three-foot rim of rock that fenced a deep gash.

"Yep--ride or fly. Why? This ain't bad," Johnny chirped, never looking
around.

"Honest to Pete, I'm ready to croak right now! I can loop and I can write
my initials in fire on a still night--but damned if I do a nose-dive with
nothing but a horse under me. He--his control's on the blink! He don't
balance to suit me. Aw, say! Lemme walk! Honest--"

"And get snake-bit?" Johnny glanced back and waved his hand airily just
as his horse went over like a cat jumping off a fence. "Come on! Let your
horse have his head. He'll make it."

"Me? I ain't got his head! Sa-ay, where's--" He trailed off into a
mumble, speaking always from the viewpoint of a flyer. Johnny, listening
while he led the way down a blind trail to the bottom, caught a word now
and then and decided that Bland Halliday must surely be what he claimed
to be, or he would choose different terms for his troubles. He would not,
for instance, be wondering all the while what would happen if Sandy did a
side-slip; nor would he have openly feared a "pancake" at the landing.

Johnny let the horses drink at a water hole, permitted the fellow five
minutes or so in which to make sure that he was alive and that aches did
not necessarily mean broken bones, and led the way on down that small
canon and out across the level toward another gulch, heading straight for
Sinkh