putting his
theoretical learning to the test, finding just how much and how little
it took to guide, to climb, to dip. Bland Halliday was a good flyer, and
he was doing his best, showing off his skill before Johnny.

He shut off the motor for a minute and volplaned. "Great way to see the
country!" he shouted, and climbed back in an easy spiral.

Johnny looked down. They were still within the lines of the Rolling R
range, he could tell by a certain red hill that, from that height, looked
small and insignificant, but red still and perfect in its contour. Beyond
he could see the small thread stretched across a half-barren slope--the
fence he meant to inspect that day. Between the red hill and the fence
were four moving dots, following behind several other smaller dots, which
his range-trained eyes recognized as horses driven by men on horseback.

The airplane circled hawklike, climbed higher, and disported itself in an
S or two and a "figure eight," all of which Johnny absorbed as a sponge
absorbs water. Then, pointing, flew straight.

They were going back to the ledge. Johnny's heart sank at thought of once
more creeping along on the surface of the earth like a worm, toiling over
the humps and the hollows that looked so tiny from away up there. He
wanted to implore Bland to turn and go back, but he did not know how long
the gasoline would last, and he was afraid they might be compelled to
land in some spot a long way from his rock hangar. He said nothing,
therefore, but strove to squeeze what bliss remained for him in the next
minutes, distressingly few though they were.

As it happened, Bland did not know the topography of Sinkhole as did
Johnny, and in the still air the flour sack did not flutter. Bland was in
a fair way to fly too far. Johnny knew they were much too high to land at
the cleft unless they did an abrupt dive, and he did not quite like the
prospect. He let Bland go on, then daringly banked and circled. Bland had
done it, half a dozen times--so why not Johnny? Luck was with him--or
perhaps his sense of balance was true. He did not side-slip, and he made
the turn on a downward incline, which brought them closer to earth. He
sought out the place where Mary V, a tiny wisp of a figure, stood beside
the cleft, and flattened out as the ground came rushing up to meet him.

To all intents Johnny made that landing alone, for if Bland helped he did
not say so. Johnny was positive that he had made it himself, and