CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LET’S GO

From a crooked willow branch thrust upright into the hard-packed sand to mark the entrance to the secret niche, a ripped flour sack hung limp in the cool, still air of a red dawn.  From the niche itself came the vibrant buzzing of a high-powered motor to which Sandy listened with head up and ears perked anxiously, his staring eyes rolling toward a feasible line of retreat should panic overwhelm his present astonished disapproval.

The buzzing drew steadily nearer the yawning mouth of the cleft.  The air swirled with a fine, rushing cloud of sand, against which Johnny blinked and pressed tight his lips while he dug his toes deep to guide and help propel the airplane through the opening.  Followed Mary V, walking on her toes with excitement, swallowing dust without a murmur, her camera ready for action when they emerged into a better light.  In the pilot’s seat Bland Halliday, goggled and capped for flying, tested the controls before he eased the motor into its work.

Johnny, with his head bent low against the backwash of dust, looked at Mary V. Words were useless, worse than inadequate.

Well out from the mouth of the cleft, on the barren strip before the sage growth began, Bland swung the plane so that it pointed to the west.  He lifted a hand in signal, and Johnny leaned backward, digging in his heels instead of his toes.  The huge man-made dragon fly stopped, buzzing vibrantly.  Bland Halliday beckoned imperiously, and Johnny went up to where he could hear.

“I’m going to try her out on a straightaway first, before I take you in,” Bland leaned to shout.  “Tell the girl she can be ready to snap me when I come back.  I’ve got to test out the controls, and I want you ready to grab ’er if she don’t stop right along here somewhere.  All right—­outa the way!”

Johnny ran back, away from the wing, and stood beside Mary V. He saw Bland turn his head and glance out along the right wing, then to the left.  He caught a sense of Bland’s tightening nerves, a mental and muscular poising for the flight.  The thrumming jumped to a throbbing roar.  The plane ran forward like a plover, gathering speed as it went.  Fifty yards—­a hundred—­the little wheels left the sand, the tail sagged, the nose pointed slightly upward.  The throb accelerated as distance dimmed the roar, until once more the droning thrum dominated.

“Oh-h-h!” gasped Mary V, and caught Johnny’s arm and gripped it.

Johnny did not hear, did not feel her fingers pressing hard upon his biceps.  Johnny stood like a man hypnotized; wide-eyed, the white line around his mouth, all his young soul straining after the airplane that went sailing away like a hawk balancing on outstretched wings.

“Oh-h-h-h!” gasped Mary V again, and squeezed his arm without knowing that she did so.  “O-h—­he’s coming back!  See—­see how he circles—­oh-h—­he’s doing an S, Johnny!  Oh, Johnny, you lucky, lucky boy!  Oh, and it’s yours!  Johnny Jewel, you’ve simply got to let me fly!  Oh-h, I’m going to learn too!  Oh-h-Skyrider!  You wooden image, you, why don’t you say something?”