Bland hesitated, plainly reluctant to try the stunt Johnny had suggested.  But Johnny was urgent.  “Aw, come on!  What’s the matter with you?  They do it all the time, over in France!  Turn her over.  All ready?  Retard—­contact!”

Bland cranked the motor, but it was plain that his mind was working furiously with some hard problem.  Should he refuse to ride on a wing and let Johnny fly off without him?  All Bland’s hatred of the wilderness, his distrust of men who wore spurs and big hats as part of their daily costume, shrieked no.  Where the plane went he should go.  Should he consent to ride flat on his stomach on a wing, with the wind sweeping exhaust fumes in his face and the earth a dwindling panorama of monotonous gray landscape far beneath him?  His nerves twittered uneasily at the suggestion.

But when the motor was going and the plane quivering and kicking back a trail of dust, and Johnny had his goggles down and was looking at him expectantly, Bland chose the lesser woe and laid himself alongside the fuselage with his head tucked under a wire brace, his hands gripping brace and wing edge, his toes hooked, and his cheek pressed against the sleek covering.  He grinned wanly at the boys who watched him, and sent one fervent request up to Johnny.

“F’r cat’s sake, bo, don’t stay up long—­and keep her balanced!”

“Hang on!” Johnny shouted in reply.

The plane veered round, ran down the smooth space alongside the corrals, lifted, and went climbing up toward the lowering sun.  Then it wheeled slowly in a wide arc, still climbing steadily, swung farther around, pointed its nose toward Tucson, and went booming away, straight as a laden bee flies to its hive.

CHAPTER TEN

LOCHINVAR UP TO DATE

In the Tucson calf pasture adjoining the shed now vested with the dignity of a hangar, the Thunder Bird came to a gentle stand.  Bland slid limply down and leaned against the plane, looking rather sick.  Mary V pushed up her goggles and looked around curiously, for once finding nothing to say.  Johnny unfastened his safety belt and straddled out.

He had done it—­the crazy thing he had been tempted to do.  That is, he had done so much of it.  Unconsciously he repeated to Mary V what he had said to Bland down in the Indiana corn patch.

“Well, here we are.”

Mary V unfastened herself from the seat, twisted around and stared at Johnny, still finding nothing to say.  A strange experience for Mary V, I assure you.

“Well,” said Johnny again, “here we are.”  His eyes met Mary V’s with a certain shyness, a wistfulness and a daring quite unusual.  “Get out.  I’ll help you down.”

“Get—­out?” Mary V caught her breath.  “But we must go back, Johnny!  I—­I never meant for you to bring me away up here.  Why, I only meant a little ride—­”

“Now we’re here,” said Johnny, “we might as well go on with it—­get married.  That,” he blurted desperately, “is why I brought you over here.  We’ll get married, Mary V, and stop all this fussing about when and how and all that.  When it’s done it’ll be done, and I can go ahead the way I’ve planned, and have the worry off my mind.  There’s time yet to get a license if we hurry.”