"Let me up!" cried Frank, the veins standing out on his purple forehead as he struggled vainly under Bill's grasp. "You Injun fighter you, give me a white man's chance and I'll fight you square!"
"I don't intend to fight you at all," said Bill. "I don't fight with fellows like you. And I don't intend to let you beat me up. If you promise to sit there in that chair and make a clean breast of it, I will let you up."
"There is nothing to tell," said Frank. "Lee must have put that money and that envelope in my trunk. I don't see what you are going to do about it."
"Thank goodness there was a witness of the way you acted when I found it!" exclaimed Bill. He stood up, and Frank scrambled to his feet. He watched Bill furtively until he glanced aside, then he made a mad lunge toward him. Bill was too quick for him and once more Frank, sobbing with rage, went crashing to the floor.
As Bill stood over him, he glanced at Ernest, who had been an interested observer.
"What are we going to do with him?" he asked.
"This," said Ernest. He pulled a quantity of very strong waxed cord from his pocket. It wassome he sometimes had need of in fixing his plane.
With a quick twist he had a loop around Frank's ankles, and then, dragging the resisting boy to his feet, he jammed him down on a chair and proceeded to fasten him neatly to it.
"Now," he said, "what next?"
"Next is to save Lee from Leavenworth," said Bill. "Mother says he will kill himself if ever he gets there. He can't stand the disgrace. If you will stick around and watch this fellow, I will go down and see about sending the telegram."
"You had better stay here, and I will go," offered Ernest. "It is too late for you underclass fellows to be out in the corridor, and I can go down and rush the message. I have a pull with the telephone boy. Write your message."
"Don't do it; you will ruin me!" cried Frank.
Bill stared. "Ruin you; ruin you? What do you mean?"
"Why, you know what this will mean to me if it gets back on the Post. What's Lee, anyhow? Just a half-breed private! Let him take his medicine!"
Bill paled and Ernest made an involuntary motion as though he was going to strike the coward down. Bill controlled himself with an effort.
"He is worth more—his littlefingeris worth more than your whole body. He is the finest chap I know. And the next time you call him half-breed I will lick you. He is justly proud of the AmericanIndian blood in him. Oh, you aren't worth talking to!"
He scribbled something on a pad and gave it to Ernest, who disappeared with it. Instead of returning in a few minutes, it was almost an hour before he stuck his head in the door and beckoned Bill into the corridor.
The boys had not spoken during his absence.
"Wires all down," he said briefly. "The storm has destroyed all lines of communication. And they say there are wash-outs all along the lines of railroads. Also we are under quarantine. Hope you don't mind what I did. I went to the principal and told him the whole thing, and offered to take you and Frank out to Sill in my plane. I am perfectly capable of making a flight ten times that long, and as you know I am a licensed pilot. Unless a new storm comes up, the air is perfect for flying, and we can start at daybreak. What do you say?"
"Do you mean to tell me old Prexy will let us go?" demanded Bill.
"Surely! He is a good old chappie when he has to rise to an occasion and I should say this was one. Besides, he wants to get rid of Frank. He says he doesn't want him in the school another day, and if he is here he will put him in close confinement. And this affair really does not come within the school discipline, so the old dear is willing to let you take Frank and that precious envelope backto Sill. And the only way we can make it is by air."
"Oh, it is the greatest luck in the world!" cried Bill. "This is the reason mother let me off my promise. That plane of yours holds three, doesn't it?"
"Easily!" said Ernest.
"Don't say a word to Frank until we are ready to go," Bill suggested.
"Well, you can't leave him trussed up there in that chair all night," said Ernest. "We all need to sleep. I never fly unless I have had a good supper and a good sleep afterwards. It is the only way to keep a clear head and steady nerve."
Between them they lifted Frank, who in sullen silence refused to stand or use his legs, over on one of the beds, and again tied him securely. When they were sure that he could not escape, and yet was able to move sufficiently to keep from being cramped, Bill tumbled into his own bed and Ernest went off in the direction of his own room, stopping on his way to thank the principal for his permission. Then, with a last look at the sky he set his alarm clock, and in a second was fast asleep.
Before Bill realized that he had really shut his eyes, he felt Ernest shaking him, and rolled over to see Frank, still bound, glaring at him in sullen fury.
"Almost daylight," said Ernest. "I have somebreakfast ready over at the Grill. No one is up, so we can bring Frank right along."
"What are you up to?" demanded Frank as Bill commenced to dress, hastily donning his heaviest underclothes. "I am sick of this fooling. You try to take me out of this room and I will yell so I will bring every teacher in the building!"
"Good for you!" said Ernest. "Forewarned is forearmed." He arranged a gag which effectually prevented Frank from making a sound and, loosening his feet, they started toward the door. But scenting punishment, Frank let himself go suddenly limp, and Bill had to put the screws on, as he expressed it, by applying one of the hand holds that Lee had taught him. After that the prisoner walked.
As they silently passed the office the stern face of the principal of the school suddenly appeared. He made a gesture and the three boys stopped. Then for a long minute he looked at Frank.
"Good-bye," he said solemnly. "I pray that you will wake to a realization of what you have done. You have been a thief; you have willingly allowed a good young man to bear punishment for your crime, and you are now about to endanger the lives of two of your mates, who are willing to take the risk in order to save the innocent. If you are mercifully permitted to make good this wicked crime, arouse yourself, Anderson, and resolve to bea different boy." He turned as though he could say no more, and with a warm handclasp for each of the others, closed the door.
"I bet he has been up all night," whispered Ernest.
They found a hot breakfast at the Grill, and just as the pitch darkness gave way to a pale streak of dawn, they cut across the campus and reached the hangar.
As they switched on the lights, Ernest's beautiful plane seemed to sparkle with preparedness. He went over it bolt by bolt, nuts, screws, wires, and wings passing under his careful and critical eye. He looked at and tested the tension of the wires, the swing of the rudder, the looseness of the ailerons. Satisfied at last that everything was perfectly in tune, he turned and gave a critical glance at Frank.
"He is going to freeze," he said. "You go up to the gym and in my locker you will find another coat and safety helmet."
Bill started on a run. It was growing light fast, and it was time they were on their way. Frank suddenly found his tongue.
"You have got to tell me what you are trying to do with me," he said. All the bluster had gone from his voice, and he watched Ernest with worried eyes. "It is not fair the way you are acting. What are you going to do?"
"You may as well know now," said Ernest. "Ithink myself it is fair to tell you. We are going to fly to Fort Sill and save Lee from the trip to Leavenworth. If we have good luck, we have just about time to make it. That storm last night blew half the telephones down, and we are under such strict quarantine that we couldn't get away from here any other way.
"And if we could there is no time. Of course if we could telegraph, it would fix things all right. But we have got to hurry. Mrs. Sherman writes that your victim will never allow himself to go to Leavenworth. The Indians are proud, you know, and we are making this flight perhaps to save a life. I don't envy you when you get there, young chap!"
"I won't go!" said Frank in a low voice. "If you take me up, I will spill us all out of the plane."
"You can't do it, you know," said Ernest, laughing. "This plane doesn't spill as easily as all that, and if you go to talking like that we will tie you up. I think we will anyway."
Frank came close to his side. "Have a heart, will you?" he said. "I did take that money, and I did pawn my watch in Bill's name, but I will write it all down, if you won't try to take me back."
"More news," said Ernest. "We didn't know about the watch. I think you are badly needed back there at Fort Sill."
He turned to adjust something, dismissing Frank as though he was not there. They could hear Billtrotting rapidly down the campus. A short heavy length of iron pipe lay close to Frank's foot. He stooped, picked it up and made a lunge for Ernest. Ernest turned in time to see the bar descending and threw up his arm. The bar struck it with sickening force and the boy reeled back, both bones in the forearm broken. His right arm dangling loosely at his side, Ernest leaped on his assailant and threw him to the ground as Bill came up.
"Help me!" he panted, his face pale with pain. Once more they bound Anderson, and then put Ernest's arm in rough splints.
"Well, this ends it!" said Bill gloomily. He dropped down on a bench and pressed his face in his hands.
Frank grinned. He was desperate and almost crazy with worry and despair and remorse. He had not meant to hurt Ernest badly; he thought a good crack would disturb him and he would have a chance to coax or wriggle out of the terrible trip before him. He was called to the present and his surroundings by hearing Ernest's voice.
"Ends it? Not at all! We will go right ahead."
"You can't drive with one hand," said Bill sadly.
"No, but you can and will," replied Ernest grimly.
"What?" cried Bill.
"He can't drive!" cried Frank. "It will besuicide and murder to let him try. He has never been up in a plane in his life. Don't do it; don't do it, I tell you! Don't you know anything, Bill? You will be killed sure as shooting!"
"I am not afraid," said Bill calmly.
"Well, I am!" cried Frank.
"I would be if I were you," scorned Bill. "If I had stolen one man's reputation and broken another man's arm, I would be a little afraid myself!"
"To say nothing of stealing another boy's name!" cut in Ernest.
"What's that?" asked Bill.
"That's another story," said Ernest. "You can hear that some other time. Hustle into your togs now; I want to get to Sill. My arm hurts."
Flying is getting to be such a widespread sport as well as profession that every device possible is being developed for the safety and welfare of airmen and women. So Bill helped Ernest into a leather hood which extended down over the shoulders, and which was softly and warmly lined with wool fleece. Over this went a helmet with a specially heavy padded top and sides built on a heavy leather form with ear cones, adjustable visors, and flaps. Ernest's leather coat could only be worn on one arm on account of the right one which was tightly bandaged against his breast, but Bill buttoned and tied it together as closely as he could.
He then ordered Frank into a similar outfit,which they found in Jardin's car, and rapidly dressed himself in the same manner. He unlatched the great doors and swung them wide, and together they pushed the plane out onto the field, Frank lying tied in the observer's seat. It seemed cruel to tie him in the face of his fear, but they were afraid he would do something desperate.
"Now just a last word," said Ernest, laying a hand on Bill's shoulder. "You won't lose your nerve, will you, old fellow?"
"Of course not!" said Bill. "Let's get off. I have a hunch that we ought to get along. We don't want to have to follow all the way to Leavenworth."
"All right-o, let's be off!" seconded Ernest. "Take the pilot's seat, and I will help you if it is necessary. Good luck, old dear!"
"Here comes Tom and the other fellow," said Bill. "They can hold us."
He climbed into his seat and Ernest sat beside him, nursing his wounded arm. Tom and his helper, boiling with amazement and curiosity, held the machine and turned it to face the wind.
Bill gave his engine plenty of gas, the propellers whirled faster and faster, and when they reached top speed under Bill's accustomed hand, he gave the signal and the men let go. The plane bounded forward, skipping merrily over the field. Bill balanced on one wheel for a moment, then with athrill of the heart such as he had never known tilted the elevating plane and felt himself rise in the air.
They were off!
As the plane, responding perfectly to Bill's touch, soared upward, it seemed as though they were rising on gossamer wings out of a well of darkness and mists. They actually rose to greet the sun whose first rays were gilding the tops of the hills. They went up in the very face of the great orb whose light, first striking the upper wings, turned all the delicate wires and cords to gold. How they shone in the clear early sunlight! As the pace increased, Bill felt rather than heard the delicate humming of the wires. Over the roar of the engine he did not know whether he could distinguish a delicate sound or whether it was only a trick of his imagination, but he was so exalted and so thrilled by the wonderful experience through which he was passing that he seemed to hear all sorts of celestial sounds.
Fear fell from him. A new power was born in heart and brain. He felt as uplifted in soul as he was in body. Somehow he longed more than ever to be a good boy; to harbor good thoughts; to do good deeds. When he tried to think of Frank and his ugly black actions, he found that he regarded them through a haze as though they were a long ways away and of little consequence. Allwas going to be well. It was as though the darkness from which they had risen was a symbol. They were going up, up into the light! Bill knew as well as though some higher power had whispered it to him that there would be a good ending: he did not doubt his ability to do an almost unheard-of thing. His hand was as steady as though he had flown all his life. He was "exalted in spirit," because his goal was a worthy one. Without a question for their own safety, the boys had started on an enterprise filled with dangers, in order to save Lee from false imprisonment and possibly worse. Ernest knew the Indian nature better even than Bill. He knew how impossible it is for them to bear unmerited disgrace and how often they end that disgrace with a bullet or the swift thrust of a knife. He hoped that the white blood that dominated Bill's good friend was strong enough to overcome this trend, but nevertheless he felt that there was not a moment to be lost. So there he sat, only an observer in his well-beloved aeroplane, the broken arm throbbing with a blinding pain, while Bill—young Bill who had never been nearer to flying than the warping of a wing and the sailing on one wheel over the field—sat in the pilot's seat, grave and intent, and guided their swift flight.
But ah, who could tell the thoughts that all unbidden coursed through the mind of the culprit lying bound and muffled in the rear seat? So intently were the eyes of his spirit bent inward on the dark and whirling horrors they found there that the eyes of his body were blind to the wonders of the young day. He lay where they had placed him, staring blindly through his goggles straight up into the great dome above him.
The storm seemed to have washed the very air. It was clear as crystal. A few clouds, thin as gossamer, hung here and there, growing less as a steady breeze sprang up in the wake of the sun and gently dismissed them from the great blue bowl in which they lingered.
When they passed through these fairy clouds, they found them a soft golden mist shot through with rainbow colors. Then emerging, they passed once more into blue space, a space greater than Bill had ever imagined.
How tiny, how frail they were: three boys darting in a man-made machine high above their own realm! What daring! What risks!
Daring, risks? Bill was unable to grasp the meaning of those earth-born words. He felt neither small nor frail. He, Bill Sherman, a boy, was among the conquerors!
At a signal from Ernest he increased the speed and soared upward. It is safer in the higher altitudes, although there is usually a great deal more wind blowing there. In case of any engine trouble, you have more time and a longer distance in which to bring the machine to the gliding angle. Also ifyou are flying over a city when trouble threatens, you have a chance to find a good landing place.
All of these things Bill had had lectured to him endlessly at Sill, and from both Ernest and Tom at school. But actual experience he had not had. That fact, however, he put resolutely behind him. Just one breath of fear struck him. He had witnessed a tail dive once at Sill, and over and over his mind kept repeating, "Keep the tail a little higher than the head and you won't spin." Ernest smiled to himself as he saw from Bill's manœuvers as the flight went on that he had stored away all the counsel he had listened to. Many a trained aviator never learned to drive his engine and balance his plane with the cool cleverness and judgment of this young and untried aeronaut. Ernest commenced to relax and enjoy himself. If they had no engine accident, there was no reason to suppose that Bill would wreck the plane.
"Up!" cried Ernest, pointing with his well hand.
Bill responded and the plane again soared aloft.
Here the wind screamed a gale. The plane shot forward, the wires whistling, the engine drumming, the whole light fabric in which they rode quivering. Bill's hand on the wheel grew tense; his faculties seemed on a wire edge. Ernest's guiding hand pointed to the right. Bill was surprised. He had kept good track of his direction by the aid of the air compass and felt sure he was going in the rightdirection. Nevertheless he turned and, banking his wings and lifting the ailerons, moved smoothly in the direction suggested. Half an hour later Ernest again motioned, this time for a turn to the left.
It was not until days after their arrival at Sill that Ernest thought to tell Bill that the unexpected and seemingly unnecessary deviations from the straight course were merely to try him out. An hour or so later when Ernest saw that they were passing over a strip of country where good landing places seemed plentiful, he indicated a dip and Bill executed it perfectly. He felt proud of himself now, and said, "Tail up, tail up!" repeatedly, as he felt the plane drop earthward. Reaching a lower level, Ernest nodded and they sailed on a straight-away flight, their eyes turned ever to the far-away goal in the west.
Bill was unconscious of the passing time. They had had a heavy and sustaining breakfast, and luncheon was forgotten. There was no time to stop if they had been hungry. But Ernest was thinking of many things.
He carefully scanned the country they were passing over for a landing place. Bill's face was well covered with the flaps of his helmet and the wings of his goggles, but Ernest fancied that the young aviator was pale. He felt that they must land for awhile. Even now they were many hours ahead of the time they would have made on a railroadtrain. He indicated an upward course, and Bill rose as they raced over a flat and open part of the country. Far ahead there lay what seemed to be an open plain dotted at long intervals with small villages. A pleasant farming district evidently, far from any large city. Ernest was sure that he could get gasoline in any hamlet, and there seemed to be plenty of landing places. The only question remaining was Bill's ability to get down without a smash. Ernest smiled. He was fatalist enough to be willing to risk whathadto be risked.
The sun was well in the west. They seemed to be flying straight into the blazing disk when Ernest, pointing to a wide plain far ahead, touched Bill and told him with a gesture to go down and land.
Bill gave a short nod and prepared to obey. There flashed into his head a saying of Tom's, "Anybuddy can fly, but it's the landing that hurts."
Bill felt everything—their safety, his own self-respect and Ernest's confidence in him—rested on this last and different test. He could not conceive of a reason for landing, but Ernest said land, so land it was!
At any rate, his engine was going perfectly, so he was not required to attempt a difficult volplane with a dead engine. It was something to be spared that. Bill picked the likeliest spot in the distant landscape, all immense field with only a few groups of black dots to break its late fall greenness. Billcould not tell the nature of the dots at the height he was flying. They might be bushes or cows. Bill hoped for the latter, and as he came down he saw that he was right. Cows would be likely to scatter, thought Bill, but bushes would be difficult to steer around.
About a hundred feet from the ground he tilted his elevating plane, and the machine, nosing up, glided off at a tangent. Once more making a turn, he came down to the ground, striking it gently, and bobbing along the grassy surface of the field.
The cows scattered all right. When the machine came to a standstill, swaying back and forth like a giant dragonfly, all that remained of the herd was a glimpse of agitated and wildly waving tails galloping off into the second growth which rimmed the pasture.
Ernest, who had taken many long flights, removed his goggles and smiled at the young pilot as he climbed awkwardly over the side and dropped to the ground. His head whirled, and his eyes felt strained out of his head. With fingers that trembled he undid his helmet and pushed off his goggles.
"Well, boy, I may say that I was never so proud of a friend in my life! You have done nobly!"
"What did we land for?" asked Bill. "I don't see as we can afford the time."
"We must take time to get some gas and rest you up a little. Don't you worry, son! You aregoing to drive all night to-night unless—well, why didn't I think of this before? We are 'way past the path of the storm last night, and—"
"Last night!" interrupted Bill. "Was it only last night? I feel as though it was a week ago."
"I was going to say," resumed Ernest, "that we can send a telegram from somewhere around here, and then we can spend the night at a farmhouse, and go on to-morrow. We can reach there to-morrow night, perhaps earlier."
"I don't approve of that," said Bill. "If my mother thought I was 'up in a balloon, boys,' she would about die of fright."
"She gave you permission," reminded Ernest.
"Yes, but of course she never thought anything like this would happen and honestly I wish you wouldn't! I can drive all night all right. That is, if I can get a little rest," he added, as he sensed his aching muscles and realized the tension he had been under.
"I think about so," said Ernest. "I will look around for a farmhouse. Must be one near on account of all these cows. Oh, goodness! See what's coming!"
Across the field surged a small but excited procession. A lean boy on horseback, without saddle or bridle and guiding the shambling colt he rode by a halter strap, led the van. Behind him, as lean as he, and about seven feet tall, a farmer, whiskered like a cartoon, kept pace easily with the horse. Behind came a roly-poly old lady, her apron strings fluttering in the breeze as she bowled along dragging a fat little girl by each hand. Three dogs barking loudly brought up the rear.
Twenty-five feet from the plane the procession was thrown into confusion by the colt which suddenly discovered what seemed to him to be a giant horsefly, its wings wagging lazily. He had dreamed of just such monsters while snoozing in the shade on hot summer days, but here, oh, here was the creature itself ready to fly up and alight on him!
He did not wait for further investigation, but whirled and left for parts distant where the cows peered through the saplings at the awful intruder in their peaceful pasture. The sod was soft and the young rider, rolling head over heels, was not harmed as he came to a stop close to the boys and sat up, rubbing his red head.
"What's your hurry?" asked Ernest, smiling.
"Nuthin'," said the boy. "Say, is that a airyplane?"
"Sure thing!" replied Ernest. "Do you live near here?"
"Yep!" said the boy. "Let's see you fly in it."
Ernest laughed. "You certainly believe in speeding the parting guest, don't you, young chap? Is this your father coming?"
"Yep! Say, how do you work her?"
Ernest turned to greet the tall farmer. Everything was turning out as he hoped. Not only would the farmer and his roly-poly wife, who presently came up panting, give them supper and a place to rest, but he had a Ford, and on account of the distance from town was always supplied with a large tank full of gas. Ernest gave a sigh of relief. The only danger was from their curiosity. When the thin boy went off to get the colt, and was seen riding furiously away, Ernest knew that, like Paul Revere, he was off to give an alarm and rouse the countryside. He looked at his watch. There should be a full moon later, but Bill was completely tired out and had not yet come into the condition known as second wind. It would take three or four hours to get ready for the rest of the flight.
"What sort of a chap is that boy of yours?" asked Ernest.
"Pig-headed!" said the old lady, speaking for the first time.
"That is not a bad trait," said Ernest, smiling. "I mean can you trust him?"
"Yes, youkin," said his mother. "Webby will do just what he says every time and all the time."
"The woman's right," said the farmer. "I kin trust Web soon as I kin myself."
"Sooner!" said his wife scornfully. "You are the forgittinest feller, and Webby don'tneverforget. If you want he should go an errant, mister, he'll be back soon."
"Not exactly an errand," said Ernest, and no more would he say until he saw the boy come galloping back to the field. He dismounted a long way off, and came running.
"Your mother and father tell me you can keep your word, and be trusted," said Ernest. "I want you to stand guard over this machine. I don't want you or anyone else totouchit. I want you to keep everyone at least ten feet away. If you will do this, I will either pay you or else take you up for a little flight."
"Wait!" said the boy. He turned and went running back to his colt and, mounting, dashed out of sight. In five minutes he returned bearing a long out-of-date rifle.
"Go ahead and get something to eat," he said. "This ought to fix 'em!"
With a stick he drew a deep scratch in the green grass around the plane. Then he looked with a smile across the field.
"Let 'em come!" he said. "This ought to fix 'em!"
Ernest looked. Mr. Paul Revere Webby had not ridden in vain. They were coming. Coming in Fords, buggies and on horseback. Coming strong.
Ernest turned to the boy with the rifle who was standing guard over the wonderful, strange thing that had alighted in his father's meadow, and was satisfied. Cool, clear, honest blue eyes stared back and met his gaze fairly.
"Don't you be feared," said the boy. "They won't come apast that scratch. 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 answer four million questions. You kin leave her with me. They won't come apast that 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 that in truth he could not leave the airplane in safer hands.
He followed Bill and the farmer's family across the slope, Frank lounging along beside him. They did not talk. Frank staggered as he walked, 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 he did 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 wife talking busily to Bill. The two children and the three dogs ran and frolicked in the rear. From the distant second growth the herd gazed out, still suspicious. They had almost forgotten to chew their cuds!
The roly-poly farmer's wife gave them a feast. Home-cured ham and home-laid eggs and corn pone and jam and jelly and cake and molasses and all sorts of good things besides, including cream to drink—real cream, all blobby on the sides of the glass. Bill thought he would never get enough to eat, and even Frank consumed about enough for two boys. As soon as the meal was over, Ernest made Bill go and lie down on Webby's bed. Frank was given the narrow horsehair sofa in the stuffy parlor, but Ernest knew that Bill must sleep in an airy room, and the parlor had not been 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 talked aviation with the farmer for a few minutes and then they went down to the lot to take a look at the machine. The farmer's wife had stacked her dishes and was there before them.
Not even his mother was allowed inside the scratch by the important and faithful Webby. He stood guard beside the machine, enjoying the proudest moment of his life. In after years, when Webby, goaded on by that fateful landing, had gained the highest rung of fame's ladder, his triumph was little compared to that clear sunset timein the pasture when he stood guard over the wonder-car that had come from the sky with its pilot and passengers scarcely older than himself.
When Ernest approached, the crowd surged forward, but Webby sternly drove them back.
There were growls from the outsiders, who yearned to step over the danger line and look and handle and if possible go off with a bit of wire or string or what not, as a keepsake. But Webby was adamant, although he was obliged to make dates for the following day with three boys who insisted on fighting him out of revenge.
One glance at the plane assured Ernest that everything was exactly as he had left it. He thanked Webby and asked him what he would like best—a payment of money or a flight.
"Druther fly," said Webby promptly, laying down his rifle and starting toward the car.
"I can't fly it myself now," said Ernest, "but when the other boy comes down from the house he will give you a little turn. If we had time, we could stay here for a day or so. This is the finest field for landing that I have seen in a long time. But we are in a great hurry, and all we can do for you to-night is to give you a short spin."
When Bill came down, his eyes heavy with sleep, he found Webby restlessly pacing up and down before the car, and a silent, attentive crowd of natives waiting to see what was going to happen. Webby's parents did not know enough about aviation to feelany fear for their son, and watched with unspeakable delight as Ernest with his one arm and Bill 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 field if 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 stay here and keep an eye on Frank. He needs watching. He would lose himself in 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 a turn? I want to get along. It seems as though we were hanging around here an awful while."
"Land over by the bars if you can," said Ernest. "It will be fun to see this outfit scamper over, and besides it will be closer to the gasoline tank."
"All right," replied Bill, tuning up the engine. He skimmed along the field while a wild, shrill shout went up from the observers. They commenced to trail excitedly after, and stood hopping up and down and tossing their hats in excitement as the graceful car left the ground and sailed smoothly into the air. Bill found that flying, rising and lighting the second time was much easier than the first. He had lost what little awkwardness he had had in the beginning, and the machine moved with a smooth freedom. He wished that he had eyes in the back of his head so he could see Webby. But if hehadseen Webby, he would not have laughed. Webby, watching the old familiar earth drop away, felt exalted; he felt as though he had suddenly become a creature of some finer, rarer place. When Webby told about it next day, he said, "I felt like I was a chicken just hatched fum out an aig," but Webby said that because words were hard things and difficult to handle. He really thought 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 had suggested, and he and Webby sat in the car and laughed as the audience streaked across to them. Webby shook just a little when he stood once more on solid earth, and he was more silent than ever. But when Ernest came 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 as soon as I have read it."
"Every time it comes?" asked Webby. "Say, you are good!"
"That's all right," said Ernest, "only take onepiece of advice. The flying will keep. Just youkeep on going to school. You will need all sorts of learning, especially mathematics."
"Ho; I kineatfiggers!" boasted the boy.
"That's good," said Ernest, shaking his hand. "Now, good-bye. I have left my address with your mother. If you will write me next week, I will send 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 showed itself over the trees.
Once more they were off. With good luck they would reach their destination early the following day. Bill was tired, deadly tired; but he thought of the pain Ernest must be suffering from his wounded arm and settled himself to his task with dogged determination. He had never been up after dark, and the sensation was a new one. He was glad to have Ernest beside him. As they rose, a couple of enormous birds sailed out of their way. Eagles or buzzards; he did not know enough of the country to be able to tell which. He was conscious of a feeling of dizziness and fatigue. Everything he had ever heard about side slipping, tail spins, nose dives—in fact, all the accidents that might befall an aviator passed through his mind in gruesome procession. He looked down at the compass, now beginning to show its luminous dial, and saw that they were really going in the right direction.As he looked down, he commenced to feel a stranger to the many levers and knobs before him. He knew them all, 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 through the cutting air, he plunged into a dense bank of cloud. The thought flashed 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 into the clear air, it was as though they were plunged into a bath of liquid silver. The moon, immense and coldly luminous, had risen and hung in the sky huge and pale. If the morning sun had turned every wire and blade to gold, the moon silvered the whole plane. Space about them stretched off dim and threatening. Bill shivered. His clutch on the wheel loosened and the engine coughed twice.
Bill felt his nerve die within him. Then a voice clear and sweet seemed to speak. It was so clear that he glanced toward Ernest to see if he too heard. Twice he heard his name called, then the dearest voice in the world 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 he did not know, but he heard her. All his fear, his indecision and his nervousness faded away. He glanced at the dial of theclock. It was just 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 he had not heard. With his well arm he was nursing the broken one, and as Bill looked at him he once more motioned upward. So they went soaring up, up and still up, into silver-shod space, above ink-black masses of cloud that held the silver rays of the moon on their upper surfaces as though 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 his course steadily, remembering "tail up!" as he tore onward. They were now so high that the earth was not even a shadow below them.
Suddenly as though flung through a doorway, they fell into one of those strange freaks of the upper air called a "pocket." It is a vacuum, and most dangerous.
The plane shook and wavered, but Bill set himself for a downward course and glided across the perilous area. As they emerged and struck the wind again, the plane slipped dangerously, but Bill warped the planes and set the ailerons with all the speed he could, and presently the indicator before him registered an even keel and the danger past.
Silently Ernest reached over and patted Bill's shoulder. Bill scarcely noticed. He was no longerafraid, no longer nervous. He had come into his own—and his mother was waiting for him! He would not fail her. She expected him. He would be there. How or why she knew that he was coming he could not guess, but he had heard her voice. Bill settled back in his seat and felt that he was master of his machine. And, better still, he was 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 peculiar things about air voyages. Time seemed to be obliterated and he did not feel the slightest fatigue. All the usual sensations of the human body seemed to disappear just as the earth had disappeared. On and on flew the plane. Once more he glanced at Ernest. It seemed as though he had slipped down in his seat. Bill wondered if he was tired. Darkness crept over the intense moonlight like a veil, and Bill realized that the moon was gone. He kept his course, however, with the aid of his indicator and the 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 was certainly time they were approaching it. He slowed the engine down as much as he dared, and waited for more light. As daycame, he saw that he was indeed over the bleak, cheerless wastes of Oklahoma, but as yet there was no sign of the great Post.
At last, far, far ahead he saw it; a great city, part of it forsaken and dismantled now that the war was ended and the need of trained troops not so important. He dropped a little as he recognized his location. He scanned Old Post lying on its low eminence, with the white hospitals spreading over their area, New Post with its wide parade ground and its trim rows of officers' quarters staring primly at the departmental buildings built in the old Mexican fashion on the other side of the parade.
Donovan, with its splendid roads and miles of skeleton tent frames, and nearer Bill recognized with a quickly beating heart the squat, ugly quarters and class buildings of the School of Fire.
Now on the instant there came to Bill a daring idea. Back of the quarters where his mother and dad lived, a wide level space stretched out 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 Aviation Field lying far the other side of the Post. Nevertheless Bill made up his mind to land there. He circled the Post, rising as he did so to a high 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 would drive the plane forward into the Students' building lying broadside.
If he approached from the other direction, a false landing would send them 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 a perfect angle, reached the earth just at the edge of the bluff, hopped gayly along toward the class building, turned in response to his hand on the wheel, and stopped almost opposite his mother's back door.
Bill turned and looked at Ernest. He was lying low in his seat in an almost fainting condition. Frank, with closed eyes, looked deathly in the early morning light. Bill struggled out of his seat, and stood shakily beside the plane, undoing his helmet. A group of orderlies and janitors ran up, and several officers in more or less undress appeared on the porches. Bill, reeling, walked over to his mother's door.
She herself opened it, clasped him in her arms, and gave a cry of delight.
"Bill, darling, you havegrown!" she cried, and then as an after-thought, "Howlateyou are! I have been watching for you for an hour."
"How did you know I was coming, mother dear?" asked Bill, clinging rather crazily to her as he tried to steady himself.
"I justfeltit," she answered, "and once I was so frightened about you, but that passed away."
"What time was it, do you remember?" asked Bill.
"Nine o'clock," she said. "I was waiting for dad to come home from a board meeting."
"Yes, it was just nine," said Bill with a strange look on his face. "I heard you when you spoke to me, mother, and I think it saved my life, and the lives of the other fellows.
"How very strange!" exclaimed Mrs. Sherman. "Who came with you, Bill, and who piloted the plane?"
"I did," replied the boy. "It is a very long story, mother. It was the only way we could come. Wehadto get here, and a storm had torn all the wires down, and the school was in quarantine, and oh, mother, Lee issaved! We have the envelope and the money and it is all going to be right again. They have not taken him away, have they?"
"They were going at noon to-day," answered Mrs. Sherman. "I don't understand at all, Bill.How do you happen to have the money, and all that?"
"I will tell you everything about it presently, mother," said Bill. "I want you to take care of Ernest Breeze, if you will. It is his plane, and he has a broken arm and could not manage to drive, so I had to do it. We flew all night and all day yesterday. Gosh, we are about all in!"
"Don't say another word then!" cried Mrs. Sherman. "Dad isn't out yet, but go get Ernest and I will make some coffee."
Bill took a quick step to her side.
"Coffee for three, please, mother," he said. "There is someone else with us. Frank Anderson is here. He knows something about the theft."
Bill stumbled over his statement. Somehow he hated to tell his mother the bald and awful truth about the boy who had been his friend and hers.
She did not wait for further explanations. Already she was moving rapidly about the tiny kitchen, regulating the roaring fire that had already been started by the janitor, and getting out the canister of coffee.
Bill went back to the airplane. With the aid of the soldiers grouped about, he assisted Ernest over to the quarters, and laid him down on the Major's bed. That gentleman called a lathery greeting from the bathroom where he was shaving.
Ernest was in bad condition. The exposure and the lack of proper care had caused his arm to become terribly inflamed. Mrs. Sherman sent an orderly with a side car over to the Hospital on a hurry call for the doctor.
Then she braced the boy carefully with pillows and covered him with a warm blanket. As soon as it was ready, she brought him a cup of hot coffee and an egg, leaving Bill to care for himself and attend to Frank.
Frank had reached a state where he seemed numb. He was past caring what happened. After a hot drink, however, he braced up a little and prepared to face his ordeal. He did not know what it was to be. For all he knew, he would be taken to Leavenworth. It was agony to think that soon someone would go to his father and mother and tell them that their son on whom they had built such hopes was a thief. He sat silent and downcast and only answered in brief sentences when they addressed him. Of course Major and Mrs. Sherman sensed something dreadful, but they were too wise to press their questions until such time as the boys were fed and rested.
A little color had already crept back in Ernest's face, and Bill was seemingly quite himself.
Then he asked Major Sherman to come into the den, and beckoned Frank to follow. The boy did so with the air of a condemned man.
No one ever knew what went on at that solemn meeting. One hour, two passed and still they sat behind the closed door. Then Major Sherman,with a grave and troubled face, came out, kissed his wife, mounted the horse the orderly had been holding for the past hour, and rode away in the direction of the General's quarters. Bill and Frank remained seated in the den.
Bill, almost as shaken as the culprit, stared out of the window at the quarters across the court. Frank, broken at last, lay on the hard quartermaster cot and shook with dry and racking sobs. Neither boy knew what the outcome would be. It seemed days before the jingle of spurs in the tiny passageway told of the approach of officers, and the door opened to admit General Marcom, his aide, and the Major. Bill rose and stood at attention. Frank too struggled to his feet and stood drooping before his judges.
Once more the story was told, this time Frank adding a broken sentence here and there. He told how Jardin had filled him with the longing for money, and how he had seen the amounts that Jardin spent and wickedly wanted to do likewise. It was on the impulse of the moment that he had taken the envelope filled with bills to pay the Battery. Once in his possession, he was panicstricken. The terror of being found out and punished had driven him onward; that was all.
The General, an old and kindly man, listened with a grave face. He said nothing. Writing an order on a slip of paper, he gave it to his orderly, who galloped off toward Old Post where the jail issituated. In this grim building with its small, grated windows and thick stone walls, Lee was awaiting the hour of his departure for prison. There was much red tape to go through with, but at last the orderly went clattering back to the General with his answer, and close behind him followed an ambulance with Lee and a couple of guards, armed with short carbines and heavy pistols.
As they entered the quarters through the kitchen, Mrs. Sherman placed both hands on Lee's shoulders—shoulders as straight and proud as ever.
"Oh, my dear boy, it isall right!" she whispered so the guard would not hear. "It is all right, just as I knew it would be! Be generous, be forgiving, won't you, Lee?"
He smiled down tenderly at the little lady he loved so well and nodded. Then he too passed into the den. For a long while the rumble of the General's deep voice rattled the ornaments on the thin walls, and once more the wild sobbing of a boy was heard. The orderly, standing just outside the door, saluted as the door opened and the General gave him another order to deliver. He came out in person a moment later and dismissed the ambulance and the guards, who went away wondering.
Lee was a free man.
When the General returned to the den he looked long at Frank, and the Major was inspired to ask permission to leave for a few moments.
"Please call if you want us," he said, and nodding to Lee and Bill to follow, he took them across into his wife's room where they awaited a signal from the General. The wise Major knew that anything the General might say to Frank would be burned forever on his memory. For the General was not only a very great man but a wise one as well, and his words were always words of wisdom, and they were often words of mercy and forgiveness as well.
So the deep old voice rumbled on in the den, with only a brief word in Frank's boyish tones once in awhile.
Presently the door was opened and the General called.
The group advanced.
"Lee," said the General, "have you anything to say to this boy?"
There was a silence. Lee stiffened. Then Mrs. Sherman's tiny hand closed around Lee's great horny fingers and pressed them in the warmest, tenderest clasp. It was very unmilitary, but the General said nothing.
Lee looked down at the little lady and smiled; the first smile for many weeks.
Then he stepped forward a pace, still holding Mrs. Sherman's little hand. Lee raised it, looked at the General, at Mrs. Sherman and last at Frank. With a gesture of reverence he let the little hand drop.
"I forgive you!" he said, "Let's begin new."He held out his hand to the boy, but with a cry Frank turned away.
"Not yet, not yet! I can't take it!" he cried.
"You can if I can," said Lee.
"No, no, I can't; not yet!"
"He is right," said the General. "Letmeshake your hand instead, young man, and thank you as one man to another for your forgiveness."
"My car is outside," said Major Sherman meaningly.
"Thank you," said the General. "Anderson, the hardest part is before you. Go home and make a straight confession to your father and mother, and then close this black chapter. Somehow or other I will see that our part of it is taken from the records. It remains for you to turn over a clean page."
Looking at no one, Frank left the room. He entered the Major's car, a lonely, frightened, despairing culprit.
"General," cried Lee suddenly, "if you please, sir, let me go with him! Major Anderson is a hard man, sir. Please let me go!"
"Go!" said the General, and in a moment the boy who had caused such bitter trouble and so much pain and his innocent and forgiving victim were on their way to the Anderson quarters at Aviation Field. The General fussed for a moment, then went outside to the fateful telephone and called Major Anderson.
The others could hear what he said.
"Anderson," he commenced, "this is unofficial. General Marcom speaking. You have a hard and trying interview before you. I want you to meet it withmercy, Anderson;mercyrather than justice. Justice has already been done. I could recall something in your past, Anderson, that met with mercy, and which saved your whole career. I ask you to remember this. What? No, I won't explain—the explanation will reach you shortly—You will do as I suggest? Thank you, Anderson. Tell your wife what I have said. Good-morning!"
He hung up the receiver and returned to the house. A round wicker table stood in the center of the living-room near Ernest's couch. A snowy cloth covered it, and it was spread with the most delicious breakfast.
Notwithstanding the General's assurances that he had eaten hours ago he sat down, unable to withstand the delicious whiffs rising from the coffee urn, and the smell of crispy toast browning in the electric toaster.
Grapefruit and eggs and commissary bacon (which is by all odds the best on earth) and that same before-mentioned toast, and coffee, and orange marmalade.
Bill, who had never imagined the time would come when he would be taking breakfast with a real General, was nevertheless so hungry and so happy that he forgot rank and everything else.The General did too, it seemed, because he sat and sipped, and ate, and ate, and questioned the boys and finally wanted the story of the flight from the very first instead of getting it tail-end first in little pieces.
Bill told his side of the flight, and Ernest told his, and together they told about the landing in the farmer's field, and the amusing people and about Webby, the "pig-headed" and trustworthy one.
And then the General and Major smoked as though there were no dispatches for the General to read and no classes waiting for the Major—in fact, as though there was no military discipline at all. But as the General said, what was the use of being a General, anyway, if it didn't give you some privileges?
But at last the General jingled away, happy and quite full up with delicious coffee and things, and thinking Major Sherman was a lucky dog anyhow to have that little wife and fine boy. Before he left he gave an order for a guard for the airplane standing so calmly in the small field.
Close on his departure came the ambulance, and Major Sherman went off with Ernest to the Hospital for an X-ray of his broken arm.
Bill and his mother were alone.
Together they hustled the dishes into the kitchen and cleared up the living-room. Then Mrs. Sherman sat down in her favorite corner on the couchand Bill threw himself beside her with his tousled head in her lap.
"Goodness, Billy, you certainlyhavegrown!" she said. "Your legs trail way off the end, and when you went to school you didn't reach to the edge."
"Oh, come now, mother," said Bill, "quit fooling! I have grown about an inch."
"More than that," insisted Mrs. Sherman. "You are taller than I am now. What an awful time I am going to have bossing you around now that you are so big."
"You neverdidboss me," boasted Bill. "You just twisted me around your little finger."
"I won't be slandered!" said Mrs. Sherman, pulling his hair. "You are tired now and I should think you would like a nice hot bath and a good long sleep."
"That does sound good, Mummy. We will have to stay here for awhile, you know, because of the quarantine. But we will get rested up in, a few hours."
"Yes, youmustget rested," said Mrs. Sherman, "because as soon as you feel right, I want you to take me for a ride in that nice, lovely airplane."
Bill sat up. "What!" he cried. "You—fly!"
Mrs. Sherman nodded, smiling. "Yes,me—fly!" she mimicked. "Bill, I am converted!"
Transcriber's note: TABLE OF CONTENTS added by the transcriber.