by B. M. Bower
“Nothing doing.” Johnny pulled himself from his dreams to bargain for his heart’s desire—because he knew Mexicans. “I ain’t sure I want the thing, anyway. It’s probably broke, and it takes money to fix a busted plane, let me tell you. And there might be complications; and besides, I’ve got to ride this range. I can’t go rambling around all over Mexico hunting an airplane that probably wouldn’t be any good when I found it.”
Tomaso’s brother rose from the doorsill to gesticulate while he argued those points and others which Johnny thought of later. It was a beautiful flying machine. By every object impressive enough to make oath upon, Tomaso’s brother swore that it was as he said. Look! Not one peso would he accept until Johnny had seen. And the range? Would it run off in two days, perhaps? Look, then! Tomaso’s brother would make the bet. He would agree. They would go for the airship, and they would return with it, and of the fifty pesos that was the full price he asked, not one centavo would he accept until the señor had seen that all was as he had left it. Look! That very night they would go, and by noon tomorrow they would be there. And under the great wings would they rest. And they would return in two more days—such a little while it would take—
Johnny’s jaw lengthened. Making due allowance for the lying tongue of Tomaso’s brother, it would take a week to get the thing home. And that would mean that Johnny would have no job when he returned; which would mean that he would have no fifty dollars a month coming in; which would mean that he would be broke and would have to hunt another job. And you couldn’t pack a government airplane around under your arm. Not once did it occur to Johnny that he might sell it for more money than he had ever possessed in his life, for more than what a full course in aviation would cost him. As his own precious plane he saw it. His to keep. His to fly, his to worship—but never to sell.
He looked away to the southward where the land stretched gray and dreary to the low skyline broken here and there with the pale outline of distant hills. A night and half a day of riding to take them there, and an airplane to haul back through brush and rocks, maybe, and across draws and gulches—Good Lord! The thing might almost as well be in Honolulu!
“But the desert places—me, I’m making the plan how it can be brought across the sand, with little brush to cut away.” Tomaso’s brother began arguing away his unspoken fears. “We fix that, you bet! Two days, that’s all. You got strong, good fence; horses, they don’t go away in such little time, you bet!”
Johnny stood irresolute, tempted, weakly trying to beat back the temptation while he hugged it to his soul.
“Why don’t you—” Johnny was on the point of asking Tomaso’s brother why he didn’t sell it to the government, but he shut his teeth on the words. Tomaso’s brother evidently had not thought of that; and why put the idea into his head? “Why don’t you and Tomaso go after it and bring it here? Then if it’s all right, I might buy it—for fifty dollars. I can give you a check on the Arizona State Bank in Tucson.”
Tomaso’s brother shrugged his shoulders in true Mexican eloquence. “That puts me all the troubles for notheeng, maybe. Maybe you say she’s no good—what I’m going to do? Not drag it back for notheeng? Not leave her set here for notheeng.” He shrugged again with an air of finality that sent a shiver over Johnny’s nerves. “Twenty-fi’ dollar when you look at her and say she’s all right. Twenty-fi’ dollar when she’s here. That suits me. It don’t suit you, no importa.”
It did matter, though. It mattered a great deal to Johnny, hard as he tried to hide the fact.
“Well, I’ll think about it. I’d have to ride fence first, anyway, and make sure everything’s all right. And you’d have to tell Tomaso to drift over this way and kinda keep an eye out. I—you come back tomorrow. If I take the offer at all, which I ain’t sure of, we can start tomorrow night. But I’m not making any promises. It’s a gamble; I’ve got to think it over first.”
In that way did Johnny invite temptation to tarry with him and wax stronger while it fed on his resistance, while thinking that he was being very firm and businesslike and cautious, and that he was in no danger whatever of yielding unless his reason thoroughly approved.
His manner of thinking it over calmly was rather pathetic. It consisted of building anew his air castle, and in riding out to the forbidden lava ridge that rose like a wall out of the sandy plain west of Sinkhole to choose the niche which might best be converted into a secret hangar. Since first he heard of the derelict airplane, his mind had several times strayed toward those deep clefts, but his feet had heretofore refrained from following his thoughts.
Niches there were many, but they were too prone to yawn wide-mouthed at the world so that whatever treasure they might have contained would be revealed to any chance passer-by. These Johnny disdained without a second glance. Others he investigated by riding in a little way, sending a glance around and riding out again.
Just before dusk, as he was returning disappointedly after looking as far as was practicable, his horse Sandy swung into one of the open-mouthed depressions of his own accord. Probably he had become convinced that they were hunting stock, and that every niche must be entered. (Range horses are quick to form opinions of that sort and to act upon them.) Johnny was dreaming along, and let Sandy go back toward the wall, but Sandy, poking along with his head bobbing contentedly at the end of his long neck, swerved to the right, into a nature-built ell that had a fine-sifted sand floor, walls that converged toward the top, and an entrance which no one would suspect, surely, since Johnny himself had passed it by not half an hour before.
Johnny did not say a word. He sat there and gazed, a little awed by the discovery, thrilled with the feeling that this place had been planned especially for him; that Nature had built it and kept it until he needed it—in other words, that luck was with him and that it would be madness to go against his luck.
He got down, went to the left wall and, taking long strides, stepped off the width of the place. Wide enough, plenty; he couldn’t have ordered it any better himself. From the mouth he started to step the depth, but stopped when he had gone a third farther than the length of a military type fuselage. He turned and looked back toward the entrance, his hands on his hips, his eyes wide and glowing, his lips trembling and eager. He looked up at the top; with cottonwood poles and brush he could roof it against the sun and the winds. He looked at the fine, hard-packed sand floor that the winds never stirred. He looked at the walls.
But he would put his luck to another test. He would abide by it—so he told himself bravely. He felt in his pocket for a coin, pulled out a half dollar, balanced it on his bent thumb and forefinger. He turned white around the mouth, as he always did when deep emotion gripped him. He hesitated. What if—? But if his luck was any good, it would hold. It had to hold!
“Heads, I go. Tails, I stay.” He muttered the fateful six words and snapped his thumb up straight. The half dollar went spinning, clinked against a high projection of rock, fell back to the sand floor.
Johnny stood where he was and stared at it. From where he was he could not see which side was uppermost, and he was afraid to go and look. But he had to look. He had to know, for he was still boy enough to feel solemnly bound by the toss. He walked slowly toward it, stared hard—and pounced like a kid after a hard-won marble.
“Heads, I go! That’s the way I flipped ’er; it’s a fair throw.”
At the sound of his voice ringing in the confined space, Sandy lifted his head and looked at Johnny tolerantly. Johnny came toward him grinning, tossing the half-dollar and catching it, his steps springy. The last few yards he took in a run, and vaulted into the saddle without touching the stirrups at all. Even that did not seem to ease him quite. So he gave a whoop that echoed and re-echoed from the rock walls and made Sandy squat, lay back his ears, and shake his head violently.
At the mouth of the hidden nook Johnny turned to take a last, gloating survey of the place in the deepening dusk. “She sure will make one bird of a hangar!” he told Sandy glowing
ly. “Golly! Oh, good golly!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
FINDER, KEEPER
From the crest of a low, sandy ridge that had on it a giant cactus standing with four spiney, knobbed fingers uplifted like a warning hand, Johnny surveyed with wide, red-rimmed eyes the hidden basin that held his heart’s desire. Tomaso’s brother sat his sweaty horse beside Johnny and eyed both the gazer and the object of his gaze. A smile split whitely the swarthiness of Tomaso’s brother’s face.
“She’s settin’ there jus’ like I told,” he pointed out with a wilted kind of triumph, for the day was hot.
“Unh-hunh,” Johnny conceded absent-mindedly. He was trying to make the thing look real to him after all the visions he had had of it.
He had had his spells of doubting the probity of Tomaso’s brother; of secretly wondering whether the story of the plane might not be a ruse to lure him away from Sinkhole. But then, how would Tomaso or his brother know that Johnny would care anything about whether an airplane “sat” over in Mexico within riding distance of the Border? Johnny did not think of Tex as a possible factor in the proposition.
Well, there it was, anyway, not a quarter of a mile away. Between him and the object of his quest the sand lay wrinkled in tiny drifts, with here and there a ragged gray bush leaning forlornly from the wind. One wing of the machine was tilted, as though it had careened a little in the winds, but from that distance Johnny could not tell what damage had been done. He kicked Sandy in the ribs and led the way down the hill. Tomaso’s brother, still grinning, followed close behind.
“It’s going to be some sweet job getting the thing home,” Johnny growled, trying to disguise his excitement. “I expect I’ve had my trip for nothing. She don’t look to be in very good condition.”
The grin of Tomaso’s brother changed its expression a bit, but he did not trouble to answer. Tomaso’s brother knew far better than did Johnny all the rules of commerce. Johnny’s clumsy attempt to depreciate what he wanted very much to buy merely convinced Tomaso’s brother of the extreme youthfulness of Johnny.
“Well, I might as well give her the once-over, now I’m here,” Johnny added with a fine air of indifference, and urged Sandy into a trot.
Now Sandy had discovered the secret hangar for Johnny without having the slightest imagining of the use which Johnny hoped to make of it. That he should ever have to face a thing like this was beyond his most fevered imagination. He had been a tired, sweaty, head-hanging horse when he started down the slope. He had trotted along with his half-closed eyes on the ground before him, picking the smoothest path for his desert-weary feet. He did not look up until Johnny pulled sharply on the reins and gave a startling whoop built around the word “Whoa.”
Sandy’s bulging eyes got a full-front, close-up view of the “thing what set.” He saw a wicked nose with a feeler about twice as high as he was. He saw great, terrible, outspread wings and a long slim body. It looked poised, ready to come at him and snatch him with one frightful swoop, as he had seen prairie hawks snatch little birds from the grass.
Sandy forgot that he was a tired, sweaty, head-hanging horse. He forgot everything except the four unbroken legs under him. He wheeled half away and went lunging up the far side of the little basin as if he felt the horrible creature close behind him.
Johnny’s mind had been so absorbed by the airplane that it took him a few seconds to comprehend that Sandy was actually running away with him. It took him a few seconds longer to realize that Sandy’s jaw was set like iron, with the bit gripped tight in his teeth. By the time he was thoroughly convinced that Sandy was going to be hard to stop, Sandy had topped the rise and was streaking it across an expanse of barrenness that rose gently in spite of the fact that it looked perfectly level. A sliding streak of gray dust rising into the heat waves marked his passing.
Nearly a mile he ran before the slight grade and a rocky strip slowed him down to a heavy gallop. Johnny had been in the mind to let the fool run himself down just for punishment, but the rocks and an eagerness to return to the stranded plane urged him to forego the discipline.
He stopped just where the scattered rocks ended abruptly in a wall that rimmed a sunken, green valley, narrowing near where Johnny stood looking down, but broadening farther along, and seeming to extend southward with many twistings and windings. Johnny viewed the place with a passing surprise, familiar though he was with the freakish topography of Arizona. It was the greenness, and the little winding creek, and the huddle of adobe buildings among the cottonwoods that struck him oddly. The creek might be a continuation of Sinkhole Creek, that disappeared into the sands away back there near his camp. There was nothing particularly strange about that, or the green growth that water made possible wherever the soil held latent fertility. It was the fact that those poor devils who lost the airplane—and themselves—should have wandered on and on, crazed with hunger and thirst when food and water and perhaps a guide were to be found within a mile or so of where they landed.
It was a pity, thought Johnny. But, being very human, he also thought that if the airmen had found this place, that plane would not be sitting back there waiting his grave if inexpert inspection. So with his pity cooled a little with self-interest, Johnny turned the puffing Sandy upon the backward trail and followed his tracks across the apparently level stretch of barrenness to the basin where waited the plane and Tomaso’s brother. Only for Sandy’s tracks, Johnny knew he might have had a little trouble in finding the place again, the country looked so unbroken and monotonous.
However, he found it too soon for Sandy’s comfort. There it sat—the giant bird that had seemed ready to swoop and rise. But now its back was turned toward him, and it did not look quite so fearsome. He circled and plunged awhile, and even made shift to pitch a little, tired as he was. But man’s mastery prevailed, just as it had always done, and Sandy found himself edging closer and closer to the thing. The horse of Tomaso’s brother, standing quiet in the very shade of a great wing, reassured him further, so that presently he stood subdued but wall-eyed still, where Johnny could dismount and hand the reins to the brother of Tomaso while he examined the prize.
His manner was impressive, and the brother of Tomaso stopped grinning to himself and began to look somewhat worried. He watched Johnny’s face—and I assure you that Johnny’s face would have been worth any one’s watching. A cigarette slanted from the corner of his boyish lips, and the eye on that side was squinted to keep out the smoke; which was merely an impressive bit of byplay, because there was no smoke. The cigarette was not burning, though Johnny had made a hasty dab at it with a lighted match. The other eye was as coldly critical as was humanly possible when the whole heart of Johnny was swelling with ecstasy. His head was tilted a little, his hands were on his hips except when he used them to push and test and try some reachable part.
Johnny thrust out a foot and gently kicked the flattened tire on one wheel. “Umh-humh,” he muttered to himself. “Flat tire.” Never in his life had Johnny enjoyed the privilege of kicking a wheel on the landing gear of an airplane, but you would have thought that this was his business, and that it bored him intensely to do so. He took one hand off his hip long enough to lift the drooping wing that canted toward the south. “Mhm-hmh—busted skid,” he observed, in a tone which, to the brother of Tomaso, shaved several dollars off the coveted fifty. Close behind Johnny he stayed, following him around the plane in a secret agony of apprehension.
Johnny, primed by the two rides he had taken—for a price—the fall before, stepped nimbly up and straddled into the pilot’s seat. He found out, by actual experimentation, what wires tilted the ailerons, which ones operated the elevators. “Mhm-hmh—dep control here,” he commented; whereupon the brother of Tomaso squirmed, thinking Johnny had discovered a fatal flaw somewhere.
With one eye still squinted against cigarette smoke that did not rise, Johnny climbed out and walked back along the fuselage to the tail. “Mhm-hmh—I thought so!” he ejaculated, staring severely at the elevat
ors. “This is bad—pret-ty darn bad! They musta done a tail-slide and pancaked. That’s ba-ad.” He removed the smokeless cigarette from his lips, looked at it, felt for a match, and shook his head slowly while he drew the match across a hot rock at his feet.
“Jus’ broke little small,” Tomaso’s brother’s voice came pleadingly from behind Johnny. “You can feex him easy. She’s fine airship, you bet!”
Johnny turned and looked at him pityingly. “Say, where do you get that stuff?” he inquired. “A hell of a lot you know about airships—bringing me off down here to see this! Say! where’s the fuselage at?” he abruptly demanded.
Tomaso’s brother gazed at the machine with tragic eyes. “Me, I’m seen it here ontil this time I come,” he declared virtuously. “I’m not touch notheeng. That fuz’lawge, she’s right here las’ time I’m here. I’m not touch notheeng but one little small hammer, one pliers. You find him up there, I bet.” Tomaso’s brother pointed to the pilot’s seat.
“Hunh! a lot you know about it!” snorted Johnny, and turned and walked away to the other side of the machine where Tomaso’s brother could not see him grin.
“No matter what kind of a cheese you are, you must know an airplane can’t fly without a fuselage,” he grumbled to the unhappy brother of Tomaso. “Without that the plane’s no good to me or anybody else. You better get busy and hunt it up.”
Tomaso’s brother tied the horses to the nearest bush and got busy, volubly protesting all the while that he had not touched a thing, and that if Tomaso really had carried off the fuz’lawge, he would presently make that young devil wish he had never been born.
“Maybe the aviators dropped it back there on the edge of the basin when they were coming down,” Johnny suggested, and laid himself down in the shade of the plane to smoke and dream and gloat. He felt that he would burst into insane and costly whoops if he attempted another minute’s repression. And he knew that Tomaso’s brother would bleed him of his last dollar if he guessed one half of Johnny’s exultation; wherefore the ruse to send Tomaso’s brother off on a senseless quest.
