But as to Tomaso and his oily brother, Johnny did not at first see any possible connection between them and his present trouble, save that they also had innocently contributed to his neglect.  But Sudden had told him to think about it, and the suggestion kept swinging his thoughts that way.  Finally, for want of something better, he went back to the very beginning and reconstructed his first meeting with Tomaso.  Sudden had hinted that they must have known how deeply he was interested in aviation.  But Johnny did not see how that could be.  He had not talked much about his ambition, even at the Rolling R, he remembered; not enough to set him apart from the others as one who dreamed day and night of flying.  Until the boys got hold of that doggerel he wrote, Johnny was sure they had not paid any attention to his occasional vague rhapsodies on the subject.

Tomaso had seen the letterhead of that correspondence school, and had just accidentally mentioned it.  Or was it accidental?  To make sure, Johnny got out the circular which Tomaso had seen, laid it where he remembered it to have been that day, and sat down at the table where Tomaso had been sitting.  He placed the lamp where the light fell full upon the paper and studied the letterhead for several minutes, scowling.

Tomaso, he decided, had remarkably sharp eyes.  Seen from that angle, the letterhead was not conspicuous.  The volplaning machine was not at all striking to the eye.  Unless a person knew beforehand what it represented, or was looking for something of the sort, Johnny was forced to admit that he would be likely to pass it over without a second glance.

Tomaso, then, must have come there with the intention of leading adroitly to the subject of airplanes.  He must have brought those little, steel pliers purposely.  And after all, he really had no business on the Rolling R range, if he was riding for the Forty-seven.  He had come a good five miles inside the line.  And when you looked at it that way, how had he got inside the line?  There was no gate on the east side of the fence.

It looked rather far-fetched, improbable.  Johnny was slow to accept the theory that he had been led to that airplane just as a toy is given to a child, to keep its attention engrossed with a harmless pastime while other business is afoot.  It hurt his self-esteem to believe that—­wherefore he prospected his memory for some other theory to take its place.

“Well!  If that’s why they did it—­it sure worked like a charm,” he summed up his cogitations disgustedly.  “I’ll say I swallowed the bait whole!” And he added grimly:  “I wish I knew who put them wise.”

Youth began to make its demands.  He started a fire, boiled coffee, fried bacon, made fresh bread, and ate a belated supper.  Sudden had told him to do as he pleased.  “Well,” Johnny muttered, “I will take him at his word.”  He did not know just what he would please to do, but he realized that fasting would not help him any; nor would sleeplessness.  He ate, therefore, washed his few dishes and went straight to bed.  And although he lay for a long while looking at his trouble through the magnifying glass of worry, he did sleep finally—­and without one definite plan for the morrow.