“You ain’t doing me justice,” the aviator protested.  “Every fellow to his own game.  I never was on a horse’s back before, and I’ll say I hope I never get on one again.  But that ain’t saying I can’t fly, because I can, and I’ll prove it if you lead me to something I can fly with.”

“I’ll lead you—­right now.  You can ride that far, can’t you?”

Bland Halliday thought he would prefer to walk, which he did, slowly and with much groaning complaint.  Earth and sky were wonderful with the blush of sunrise, but he never gave the miracle a thought.

Nor did Johnny, for that matter.  Johnny was leading Sandy, packed with the repair stuff and a makeshift camp outfit for the aviator.  He had decided, during breakfast, to put Bland Halliday in the niche with the airplane, and leave him there.  He had three very good reasons for doing that, and ridding himself of Bland’s incessant whining was not the smallest, though the necessity of keeping Bland’s presence a secret from the Rolling R loomed rather large, as did Johnny’s desire to have some one always with the plane.  He had no fear that Halliday would do anything but his level best at the repairing.  He also reasoned that he would prove a faithful, if none too courageous watchdog.  That airplane was Bland’s one hope of escape from the country, since riding horseback was so unpopular a mode of travel with him.

Thinking these things, Johnny looked back at the unhappily plodding birdman and grinned.

He was not grinning when he rode away from the niche more than an hour later, though he had reason for feeling encouraged.  Bland Halliday did know airplanes.  He had proved that almost with his first comment when he limped around the plane, looking her over.  His whole manner had changed; his personality, even.  He was no longer the spineless, whining hobo; he was a man, alert, critical, sure of himself and his ability to handle the job before him.  Johnny’s manner toward him changed perceptibly.  He even caught himself addressing him as Mr. Halliday, and wanting to apologize for his treatment of the aviator that morning.

“We’ll have to have a new strut here.  You didn’t get one in that outfit.  And by rights we need a new propeller.  There ain’t the same thrust when it’s gravel-chewed like that.  But maybe you can’t stand the expense, so we’ll try and make this do for awhile.  Say,” he added abruptly, turning his pale stare upon Johnny, “for cat’s sake, how d’yuh figure I’m going to replace them broken cables without a brazing outfit?”

Johnny didn’t know, of course.  “I guess we can manage somehow,” he hazarded loftily.

“A hell of a lot you know about flying!” Bland Halliday snorted.  “A lot of cable to fit, and no blowtorch, and you tell me we can manage!”

“Every fellow to his own game,” Johnny retorted, feeling himself slipping from his sure footing of superiority.  “I can ride, anyway.”

“Well, I’ll say I can fly.  Don’t you forget that.  And here’s where you take orders from me, bo.  I took ’em from you yesterday.  Got pencil and paper?  I’ll just make you out a list of what’s needed here.  And you get it here quick as possible.”