by Frank Cobb
CHAPTER XIV
Ernest turned to the boy with the rifle who was standing guard over thewonderful, strange thing that had alighted in his father's meadow, andwas satisfied. Cool, clear, honest blue eyes stared back and met hisgaze fairly.
"Don't you be feared," said the boy. "They won't come apast thatscratch. You kin trust me. Ma and Pa trusts me with the roan colt."
"The one you were riding?" asked Ernest.
"Naw, not that," the boy laughed. "You git on, less'n you want to answerfour million questions. You kin leave her with me. They won't come apastthat scratch, and I kin skeer 'em off with this. They know I kin shoot."
He patted the long, lean rifle lying along his arm, and Ernest knew thatin truth he could not leave the airplane in safer hands.
He followed Bill and the farmer's family across the slope, Franklounging along beside him. They did not talk. Frank staggered as hewalked, he was so tired, and Ernest, who was accustomed to long flights,was silent too. The pain in his arm was about all he could bear, and hedid not feel in the mood for talking to the fellow who had injured him.So they moved silently across the soft sod, the farmer and his wifetalking busily to Bill. The two children and the three dogs ran andfrolicked in the rear. From the distant second growth the herd gazedout, still suspicious. They had almost forgotten to chew their cuds!
The roly-poly farmer's wife gave them a feast. Home-cured ham andhome-laid eggs and corn pone and jam and jelly and cake and molasses andall sorts of good things besides, including cream to drink--real cream,all blobby on the sides of the glass. Bill thought he would never getenough to eat, and even Frank consumed about enough for two boys. Assoon as the meal was over, Ernest made Bill go and lie down on Webby'sbed. Frank was given the narrow horsehair sofa in the stuffy parlor, butErnest knew that Bill must sleep in an airy room, and the parlor had notbeen opened since the war of '60 to judge by the musty closeness of it.Ernest himself was in too much pain to rest so he sat and talkedaviation with the farmer for a few minutes and then they went down tothe lot to take a look at the machine. The farmer's wife had stacked herdishes and was there before them.
Not even his mother was allowed inside the scratch by the important andfaithful Webby. He stood guard beside the machine, enjoying the proudestmoment of his life. In after years, when Webby, goaded on by thatfateful landing, had gained the highest rung of fame's ladder, histriumph was little compared to that clear sunset time in the pasturewhen he stood guard over the wonder-car that had come from the sky withits pilot and passengers scarcely older than himself.
When Ernest approached, the crowd surged forward, but Webby sternlydrove them back.
There were growls from the outsiders, who yearned to step over thedanger line and look and handle and if possible go off with a bit ofwire or string or what not, as a keepsake. But Webby was adamant,although he was obliged to make dates for the following day with threeboys who insisted on fighting him out of revenge.
One glance at the plane assured Ernest that everything was exactly as hehad left it. He thanked Webby and asked him what he would like best--apayment of money or a flight.
"Druther fly," said Webby promptly, laying down his rifle and startingtoward the car.
"I can't fly it myself now," said Ernest, "but when the other boy comesdown from the house he will give you a little turn. If we had time, wecould stay here for a day or so. This is the finest field for landingthat I have seen in a long time. But we are in a great hurry, and all wecan do for you to-night is to give you a short spin."
When Bill came down, his eyes heavy with sleep, he found Webbyrestlessly pacing up and down before the car, and a silent, attentivecrowd of natives waiting to see what was going to happen. Webby'sparents did not know enough about aviation to feel any fear for theirson, and watched with unspeakable delight as Ernest with his one arm andBill with his two sound ones, pulled the plane around to face the wind,settled Webby in his seat and started the engine.
"Don't go more than fifty feet above the ground, and keep over the fieldif you can," whispered Ernest in Bill's ear.
"Aren't you going up?" asked Bill.
"No use; you can manage it all right," said Ernest, "and I will stayhere and keep an eye on Frank. He needs watching. He would lose himselfin the swamp for a cent. He is in a bad state of mind. I hope he is,too. Perhaps he will come to realize what he has done."
"I hope so," said Bill. "Can't we leave as soon as I give that kid aturn? I want to get along. It seems as though we were hanging aroundhere an awful while."
"Land over by the bars if you can," said Ernest. "It will be fun to seethis outfit scamper over, and besides it will be closer to the gasolinetank."
"All right," replied Bill, tuning up the engine. He skimmed along thefield while a wild, shrill shout went up from the observers. Theycommenced to trail excitedly after, and stood hopping up and down andtossing their hats in excitement as the graceful car left the ground andsailed smoothly into the air. Bill found that flying, rising andlighting the second time was much easier than the first. He had lostwhat little awkwardness he had had in the beginning, and the machinemoved with a smooth freedom. He wished that he had eyes in the back ofhis head so he could see Webby. But if he _had_ seen Webby, he would nothave laughed. Webby, watching the old familiar earth drop away, feltexalted; he felt as though he had suddenly become a creature of somefiner, rarer place. When Webby told about it next day, he said, "I feltlike I was a chicken just hatched fum out an aig," but Webby said thatbecause words were hard things and difficult to handle. He reallythought of angels and made up his mind then and there to be a great man.
Bill made the landing on the other side of the field as Ernest hadsuggested, and he and Webby sat in the car and laughed as the audiencestreaked across to them. Webby shook just a little when he stood oncemore on solid earth, and he was more silent than ever. But when Ernestcame up he said in a low tone: "Say, ain't there books about this here?"
"What you want is a magazine," said Ernest, "and I will send you mine assoon as I have read it."
"Every time it comes?" asked Webby. "Say, you are good!"
"That's all right," said Ernest, "only take one piece of advice. Theflying will keep. Just you _keep on going to school_. You will need allsorts of learning, especially mathematics."
"Ho; I kin _eat_ figgers!" boasted the boy.
"That's good," said Ernest, shaking his hand. "Now, good-bye. I haveleft my address with your mother. If you will write me next week, I willsend you that magazine."
They said good-bye to the kindly farmers, having filled up with gas,settled Frank in his seat, and arose just as a great white moon showeditself over the trees.
Once more they were off. With good luck they would reach theirdestination early the following day. Bill was tired, deadly tired; buthe thought of the pain Ernest must be suffering from his wounded arm andsettled himself to his task with dogged determination. He had never beenup after dark, and the sensation was a new one. He was glad to haveErnest beside him. As they rose, a couple of enormous birds sailed outof their way. Eagles or buzzards; he did not know enough of the countryto be able to tell which. He was conscious of a feeling of dizziness andfatigue. Everything he had ever heard about side slipping, tail spins,nose dives--in fact, all the accidents that might befall an aviatorpassed through his mind in gruesome procession. He looked down at thecompass, now beginning to show its luminous dial, and saw that they werereally going in the right direction. As he looked down, he commenced tofeel a stranger to the many levers and knobs before him. He knew themall, knew them like a book; at least he had. Now they were slipping,slipping away from him. He could not remember what they were for.
He felt rather than saw Ernest motion him upward. As he climbed throughthe cutting air, he plunged into a dense bank of cloud. The thoughtflashed over him that if the plane turned over there in unlighted space,he would not be able to right it again. As they passed once more intothe clear air, it was as though they were plunged into a bath of liquidsi
lver. The moon, immense and coldly luminous, had risen and hung in thesky huge and pale. If the morning sun had turned every wire and blade togold, the moon silvered the whole plane. Space about them stretched offdim and threatening. Bill shivered. His clutch on the wheel loosened andthe engine coughed twice.
Bill felt his nerve die within him. Then a voice clear and sweet seemedto speak. It was so clear that he glanced toward Ernest to see if he tooheard. Twice he heard his name called, then the dearest voice in theworld said clearly:
"All's well, sonny. We are waiting. You will be in time."
With a start Bill knew that his mother was speaking. Where she was hedid not know, but he heard her. All his fear, his indecision and hisnervousness faded away. He glanced at the dial of the clock. It wasjust nine. The long, hard night was ahead of him, but he could make it.He set the wheel and risked a look at Ernest. He had not spoken, and hehad not heard. With his well arm he was nursing the broken one, and asBill looked at him he once more motioned upward. So they went soaringup, up and still up, into silver-shod space, above ink-black masses ofcloud that held the silver rays of the moon on their upper surfaces asthough they were cups.
As they sped on a wind began to blow behind them. It raced with them,caught them, hurled them forward with incredible speed. Bill held hiscourse steadily, remembering "tail up!" as he tore onward. They were nowso high that the earth was not even a shadow below them.
Suddenly as though flung through a doorway, they fell into one of thosestrange freaks of the upper air called a "pocket." It is a vacuum, andmost dangerous.
The plane shook and wavered, but Bill set himself for a downward courseand glided across the perilous area. As they emerged and struck the windagain, the plane slipped dangerously, but Bill warped the planes and setthe ailerons with all the speed he could, and presently the indicatorbefore him registered an even keel and the danger past.
Silently Ernest reached over and patted Bill's shoulder. Bill scarcelynoticed. He was no longer afraid, no longer nervous. He had come intohis own--and his mother was waiting for him! He would not fail her. Sheexpected him. He would be there. How or why she knew that he was cominghe could not guess, but he had heard her voice. Bill settled back in hisseat and felt that he was master of his machine. And, better still, hewas master of himself. Never again would he lose control of his nerves.He wondered how he had ever done so. In the darkness he smiled.
Hour after hour sped by. Bill was experiencing one of the peculiarthings about air voyages. Time seemed to be obliterated and he did notfeel the slightest fatigue. All the usual sensations of the human bodyseemed to disappear just as the earth had disappeared. On and on flewthe plane. Once more he glanced at Ernest. It seemed as though he hadslipped down in his seat. Bill wondered if he was tired. Darkness creptover the intense moonlight like a veil, and Bill realized that the moonwas gone. He kept his course, however, with the aid of his indicator andthe air compass and at last a new light commenced to show, the cold,cheerless, dun light of early dawn. As yet there was no sign of the sun.
Bill wondered if, in the night, he had flown past Fort Sill. It wascertainly time they were approaching it. He slowed the engine down asmuch as he dared, and waited for more light. As day came, he saw thathe was indeed over the bleak, cheerless wastes of Oklahoma, but as yetthere was no sign of the great Post.
At last, far, far ahead he saw it; a great city, part of it forsaken anddismantled now that the war was ended and the need of trained troops notso important. He dropped a little as he recognized his location. Hescanned Old Post lying on its low eminence, with the white hospitalsspreading over their area, New Post with its wide parade ground and itstrim rows of officers' quarters staring primly at the departmentalbuildings built in the old Mexican fashion on the other side of theparade.
Donovan, with its splendid roads and miles of skeleton tent frames, andnearer Bill recognized with a quickly beating heart the squat, uglyquarters and class buildings of the School of Fire.
Now on the instant there came to Bill a daring idea. Back of thequarters where his mother and dad lived, a wide level space stretchedout to a bluff under which ran a sluggish stream called Medicine Creek.It was a good-sized field, but of course not nearly the size of AviationField lying far the other side of the Post. Nevertheless Bill made uphis mind to land there. He circled the Post, rising as he did so to ahigh altitude, and leaving the plain he wished to land on far behind.
He knew that he must be careful, as too great speed in striking woulddrive the plane forward into the Students' building lying broadside.
If he approached from the other direction, a false landing would sendthem over the cliff into the trees and underbrush along the creek bank.
But he knew that he could do it, and he did. The plane came down at aperfect angle, reached the earth just at the edge of the bluff, hoppedgayly along toward the class building, turned in response to his hand onthe wheel, and stopped almost opposite his mother's back door.
Bill turned and looked at Ernest. He was lying low in his seat in analmost fainting condition. Frank, with closed eyes, looked deathly inthe early morning light. Bill struggled out of his seat, and stoodshakily beside the plane, undoing his helmet. A group of orderlies andjanitors ran up, and several officers in more or less undress appearedon the porches. Bill, reeling, walked over to his mother's door.
She herself opened it, clasped him in her arms, and gave a cry ofdelight.
"Bill, darling, you have _grown_!" she cried, and then as anafter-thought, "How _late_ you are! I have been watching for you for anhour."
