But Mary V was not present, and Cliff Lowell was fully absorbed in his own thoughts and purposes; wherefore Johnny’s ominous expression went unnoticed.

In the moonlight the notched ridge showed clear, and toward it the Thunder Bird went booming steadily, as ducks fly south with the first storm wind of November.  A twinkling light just under the notch showed that Cliff’s allies were at home, whether they expected him or not.  Johnny veered slightly, pointing the Thunder Bird’s nose straight toward the light.

Cliff half turned, handing something back over his shoulder.

“Can you drop this for me, old man, when we are almost over the hacienda?  The fuse is lighted, and I’m afraid I might heave it on to the wing and set us afire.”

Johnny heard only about half of what Cliff was saying, but he understood what was wanted and took the bomb-like contraption and balanced it in his hand.  Cliff had said rockets, but this thing was not like any rocket Johnny had ever seen.  Some new aerial signal bomb, he guessed it, and thought how thoroughly up-to-date Cliff was in all his tools of trade.

He poised the thing on the edge of the cockpit, waited until they were rather close, and then gave it a toss overboard.  For a few seconds nothing happened.  Than, halfway to the ground a great blob of red light burst dazzlingly, lighting the adobe building with a crimson glow that floated gently earthward, suspended from its little parachute.

Cliff handed back another, and Johnny heaved it away from the plane.  It flared white; the third one, dropped almost before the door of the main building, revealed three men standing there gazing upward, their faces weird in its bluish glare.  Red, white and blue—­a signal used sacrilegiously here, he thought.

Johnny circled widely and came back to find the landing place lighted by torches of some kind.  He was not interested in details, and what they were he did not know or care.  The landing was marked for him plainly, though he scarcely needed it with the moon riding now above the low rim of hills.

He came down gently, and Cliff, remembering to give Johnny his money, climbed out hurriedly to meet the florid gentleman who had never yet failed to appear when the Thunder Bird landed.  Johnny did not know his name, for Cliff had never mentioned it.  The two never talked together in his presence, but strolled away where even their voices would not reach him, or went inside the adobe house and stayed there until Cliff was ready to return.  News gathering, as Johnny saw the news gathered, seemed to be mighty secret business, never to be mentioned save in a whisper.

The florid gentleman came strolling toward them through the moonlight, smoking a big, fat cigar whose aroma reminded Johnny of something disagreeable, like burning rubbish.  Tonight the florid gentleman’s stroll did not seem to match his face, which betrayed a suppressed excitement in spite of the fat cigar.  He reached out, caught Cliff’s arm, and turned back toward the house, forgetting all about his stroll as soon as he began to speak.  He forgot something else, for Johnny distinctly heard a sentence or two not meant for his ears.