The Thunder Bird

by B. M. Bower

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GODS OR SOMETHING

  "Well, here we are," Johnny announced with more cheerfulness than theoccasion warranted. "Now what?"

  Bland was staring slack-jawed after the squaws. "Wasn't them Injuns?"he wanted to know, and his voice showed some anxiety. "We want to getouta here, bo, while the gittin's good. You bring any guns?" His paleeyes turned to Johnny's face. "I'll bet they've gone after the rest ofthe bunch, and we don't want to be here when they git back. I'll saywe don't!"

  Johnny laughed at him while he climbed down. "We made a dandy landinganyway," he said. "What ails that darned motor? She didn't do thatyesterday."

  Bland grunted and straddled out over the edge of the cockpit, keepingan eye slanted toward the brush fringe. What Johnny did not know aboutmotors would at any other time have stirred him to acrimoniouseloquence. Just now, however, a deeper problem filled his mind. Couldhe locate the fault and correct it before that brush-fringe belchedforth painted warriors bent on massacre? He pushed up his goggles andstepped forward to the motor.

  "I put in new spark plugs just the other day," Johnny volunteeredhelpfully. "Maybe a connection worked loose--or something." He got upon the side opposite Bland, meaning to help, but Bland would have noneof his assistance.

  "Say, f'r cat's sake, keep a watch out for Injuns and leave me alone!I can locate the trouble all right, if I don't have to hang on to myskelp with both hands. You got a gun?"

  "Yeah. Back in Tucson I have," Johnny suppressed a grin. Bland'signorance, his childlike helplessness away from a town tickled him."But that's all right, Bland. We'll make 'em think we're gods orsomething. They might make you a chief, Bland--if they don't take anotion to offer you up as a burnt offering to some other god that's gotit in for yuh."

  Bland, testing the spark plugs hastily, one after the other, droppedthe screwdriver. "Aw, f'r cat's sake, lay off that stuff," heremonstrated nervously. "Fat chance we got of godding over Injuns thisclose to a town! They're wise to white men. Quit your kiddin', bo,and keep a watch out." And he added glumly, "Spark plugs is O.K.Maybe it's the timer. I'll have to trace it up. Quit turning yourback on that brush! You want us both to git killed? Hand me out thatsmall wrench."

  "Say, I know what ailed them squaws, Bland. Gods is right. You knowwhat they thought? They took us for their Thunder Bird lighting. I'llbet they're making medicine right now, trying to appease the Bird'swrath. And say, listen here, Bland. If they do come at us, all we'vegot to do is start up and buzz at 'em. There ain't an Injun on earthcould face that."

  Bland lifted a pasty face from his work. "Fat chance," he lamented."You'd oughta brought your gun. Back there at Sinkhole you was damngenerous with the artillery--there where you had no use for it. Nowyou fly into Injun country without so much as a sharp idea. Bo, yougive me a pain!"

  Johnny spied an Indian peering fearfully out from the branches of awillow. He ducked behind the motor and hissed the news to Bland.Bland nearly fell from his perch.

  "Gawd!" he gasped, clinging to a strut while he stared fascinatedly inthe direction Johnny had indicated. "Git in, bo, and we'll beat it.She may have power enough to hop us outa this death trap. We can comedown somewheres else." He clawed back and climbed in feverishly.

  Johnny emitted a convulsive snort. "Death trap" sounded very funny,applied to this particular bit of harmless landscape. Behind him,Bland was imploring him to hurry, and Johnny climbed in.

  "You let me pilot the thing," he ordered. "I know Injuns. I stillhave hopes of saving our lives, Bland. We'll scare 'em to death.We'll be their Thunder Bird for 'em. Now lemme tell yuh, before westart--oh, we're safe for the present. They'll stutter some beforethey attack us in here--say, good golly, Bland! Is that your teethchattering? Hold your jaws still, can't yuh, while I tell yuh whatwe'll do?"

  "F'r cat's sake, hurry! I seen another one peekin' around the cornerof the house!"

  "Now listen, Bland. The Navajos have got a Thunder Bird mixed up intheir religion, and I guess maybe these Injuns will have, too. If so,we are reasonably safe. They must not know we're plain human--we'vegot to be gods come down to earth, and this is the Thunder Bird. Oranother kind of bird. We'll make 'em think that. They don't sabeflying machines--see? And we'll find out where they're all at, and flylow over their heads to convince them that didn't see us come down.It'll scare 'em, and work on their superstition, so when we come downagain to locate that motor trouble, they'll stand in awe of us longenough to give us time to get in shape. You leave the soaring to me,Bland. I'll pull us through all right. Think she'll lift us off theground?"

  "She's _gotta_ lift us!" Bland chattered. "She's runnin' better sincewe landed. And say, bo, don't go any closer to them--"

  Johnny told him to shut up; he was running things. Whereupon hecircled and taxied back down the field, thankful that the soil wassun-baked and hard. The motor ran smoothly again--a fact which Blandwas too scared to notice. He gasped when Johnny turned back toward thehuts, but beyond a protesting look over his shoulder he gave no sign ofdissent.

  They started to climb, got fifty feet from the ground and the motorbegan to spit and pop again. Then it stalled completely, and they camedown and went bouncing over the uneven surface and stopped again, a rodor so nearer the willows than before.

  Several scuttling figures left that particular hiding place likerabbits scared out of a covert, and Bland took heart again. A fewminutes he spent crouched down in the cockpit, watching the willows,and when nothing happened he ventured forth, armed with pliers andwrench, and went at the motor.

  "Sounds to me like poor contact," he diagnosed the trouble. "Like thebreaker-points are roughened, maybe. You'll have to work the gawdstuff, bo, and work it right. Because if I start tearing into the hullignition system, we ain't going to be able to hop outa here at aminute's notice, nor even start the motor and buzz at 'em."

  "Fly at it," said Johnny, eyeing the huts speculatively. He washungry, and certain odors floated to his nostrils. Something leftcooking over a fire was beginning to scorch, if his nose told thetruth, and it seemed a shame to let food burn when his stomach clamoredto be filled.

  With Bland watching him nervously, he crossed the little open space andentered the hut nearest, presently emerging with two flat cakes in hishand. Another hut yielded a pot of stew which he thought it wise notto analyze too closely. It was this which had begun to burn, but itwas still fairly palatable. So, with a can of water from a muddyspring, they breakfasted, their hunger charitably covering muchdistrust and dulling for the time even Bland's fear of the place.

  The sun, shining its Arizona fiercest though the season was early fall,brought a cooked-varnish smell from the wings. There was no shade savethe scant shadow which the scraggly willows and brush cast over theedge of the parched field, and of that Bland refused to avail himself.He would rather roast, he said.

  Johnny conscientiously carried the kettle back to the hut, then set towork helping Bland. Which help consisted mainly of turning thepropeller whenever Bland wanted to start the motor; a heartbreakingtask in that broiling heat, especially since the motor half the timewould not start at all. Crimson, the perspiration streaming down hischeeks like tears, Johnny swung on that propeller until Bland's gratingvoice singing out "Contact!" stirred murder within his soul and hebalked with the motor and crawled under a wing.

  "Yon can start her yourself if you want to start," he growled whenBland expostulated. "I've turned that darned propeller enough to flyfrom here to New York. Why don't you get in and locate the trouble?"

  "There ain't any trouble--not according to the look of things. Actslike water in the gas, or something. F'r cat's sake, don't lay down onthe job now, bo! We gotta beat it outa here."

  "I'm ready to go any time you are," Johnny retorted, mopping neck andchest while he lay sprawled on his back. "But I'd rather stay heretill Christmas than get sun-struck trying to start, I'm all in."

  Bland could not bu
dge him and swore voluminously while he worked overthe motor. Finally he too gave up and crawled under a wing where theheat was not quite so unendurable, and tried to think of something hehad not done but which he might do to correct the motor trouble. NoIndians having been sighted since their second landing, he could pushhis fear of them into the back of his mind until a dark face peered outat him again.

  Miles away to the west men were sweating while they rode, searching forthis very airplane that sat so placidly in the midst of an Indian cornfield. Farther away the news went humming along the wires, of a youngaviator lost with his airplane on the desert. The fame of that youngaviator was growing apace while he lay there, casually wishing therewas a telephone handy so he could call up Mary V and tell her he had aplan which might make him big money without his having to sell hisplane.

  Not once did it occur to him that any one would be especially concernedover his absence. Not once did he look upon this mishap as anythingmore serious than an unpleasant incident in the life of a flyer. Hewent to sleep, lying there under a wing of his plane, and presentlyBland himself drifted off into dreams that would have been much lessagreeable had he known that a full two dozen Indians had crawled intothe willows and were peering timorously out at them.

  It was past noon when Bland awoke. Johnny was still sound asleep,snoring a little now and then. Bland grumbled more profanity, sent aquesting glance toward the willows and saw nothing to alarm him,crawled out into the searing sunlight and tried to work. But the motorwas so hot he could not touch it anywhere. His pliers and wrencheswere too hot to hold, and his face felt scorched where the sun fellupon it. So Bland crawled back again and cursed the land that knewsuch heat, and himself for being in it, and presently slept again.

  Hunger woke Johnny at last, and he straight-way woke Bland, politelyintimating that it was about time he got busy and did something.Johnny did not propose to settle down for life in that neighborhood, hepointed out. There must be something they could do, if the darnedengine wasn't broken anywhere.

  Bland, too miserable to argue, sat up and pushed greasy fingers throughhis lank hair. Having remained alive and unharmed for so long in thatneighborhood, his faith in Johnny's knowledge of Indians waxedstronger. He began to think less of his danger and more about themotor.

  The thing mystified him, who could tear a motor apart and put ittogether again. What he felt he ought to do was impossible for lack ofthe proper tools, Johnny's emergency kit being quite as useless for anyreal emergency as such kits usually are. Merely as an experiment heremoved the needle valve and washed several specks of dirt off it withgasoline. Without hesitation the motor started, and Bland cursedhimself quite sincerely for not having sooner thought of the simpleexpedient. He must be getting feeble-minded, he said, while headjusted the mixture and made ready to fly.

  Once more they taxied down the denuded corn field, turned and ascendedbuoyantly, boring into the hot breeze that rose as the shadowslengthened into late afternoon. They circled, climbing steadily. Thenpop--pop-pop-pop--pop, the motor began to stutter. The earth lifted tothem as if pulled up by a string. They could see more huts and tinyfigures running like disturbed ants. The field where they had spentmost of the day broadened beneath them, like a brown blanket spread toreceive them.

  They came down with a jolt that bent the axle of the landing gear, sentthem bounding into the air, and all but wrecked them. They wentducking and wobbling up to the willow fringe and swung off just in timeto escape plunging into a deep little creek. As they stopped theyheard a great crackling of brush and glimpsed many forms fleeingwildly, but they were too engrossed in their own trouble to be greatlyimpressed. One wing had barely escaped damage with the tilting of themachine, and the near-catastrophe chilled them both with the memory ofa certain other forced landing which had not ended so harmlessly. Theyclimbed down soberly and inspected the landing gear.

  "Well, that can be fixed," Bland stated in the tone of one who isgrateful that worse has not befallen. "I'll say it was a close shave,though, bo."

  "I'll try and straighten the axle, while you see what ails that cussedmotor. Good golly! We'll be here all night at this rate. And if wekeep on hopping over this field like a lame crow, we'll be plumb outagas. For a mechanic that can _make_ a motor, Bland, you sure ain'tmaking much of a showing!"

  "Aw, f'r cat's sake, lay off the crabbing! Gimme the tools and I'llrip your damn motor apart so quick it'll make your head swim! I'll sayI've tied into a sweet mess of trouble when I tied up with you. Imighta knowed I'd git the worst of it. Look at what I was handed theother time I throwed in with you! Got stuck in a cave and had to livelike a darned animal, and double-crossed when I'd helped you outa thehole you was in. And now you wish this job on to me and begin to laythe blame on me when this mess of junk fails to act like a motor. Comeoff down here with a monkey wrench and a can opener and expect me torebuild a motor that oughta been junked ten year ago!"

  "Aw, shut up!" snapped Johnny, and stalked off to find something theycould eat. "Monkey wrench and can opener are about as many tools asyou know how to use--unless maybe it's a corkscrew."

  He went on, muttering because he had ever let himself be imposed uponby Bland Halliday. Muttering too because he had started out thatmorning to do stunts, instead of trying to find a buyer for the machineas he had first planned. Now the prospect of getting back to Tucsonthat night looked very remote indeed. And the winning of a fortunedoing exhibition work looked even more remote. "Unless we take up acollection amongst the Injuns cached out in the brush," he grinnedruefully to himself. "We're liable to take up a collection all right,if we have to sleep here--but it won't be money."