"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, you _kin_," 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't _never_ forget. 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 to _touch_ it. 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 In five minutes he returned bearing a long out-of-date rifle.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 gra.s.s 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.

CHAPTER XIV

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 mola.s.ses and all sorts of good things besides, including cream to drink--real cream, all blobby on the sides of the gla.s.s. 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 time in the pasture when he stood guard over the wonder-car that had come from the sky with its pilot and pa.s.sengers 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 a.s.sured 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 feel any 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 he _had_ seen 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 one piece of advice. The flying will keep. Just you _keep on going to school_. You will need all sorts of learning, especially mathematics."

"Ho; I kin _eat_ figgers!" 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 pa.s.sed through his mind in gruesome procession. He looked down at the compa.s.s, 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 k.n.o.bs 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 s.p.a.ce, he would not be able to right it again. As they pa.s.sed 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. s.p.a.ce about them stretched off dim and threatening. Bill shivered. His clutch on the wheel loosened and the engine coughed twice.