“Seems like they did—queer how two pilots, strangers both, would take a notion to change their course, not once but twice running,” commented Jack in his non-committal fashion that always had Perk guessing.
“Strikes me as something more than a happy chance,” asserted Perk, beginning to throw off that comfortable feeling with which he had wrapped himself as he contemplated a steady going night run, with never a reason for anything gripping them by way of excitement; “ev’ry little movement of that Ryan two-seater’s got a meanin’ of its own. Now what ails the ducks I want to know—how c’n our movements have a mite to do with what they’re planning to carry out—got any idea along them lines, old hoss?”
“Nothing definite as yet,” answered Jack; “I was starting to figure it out just when you barged in, and opened this talk fest up with your question.”
“Jack, come to think of it, what did you make out of that stiff yarn Scotty put over on us a while ago?”
“It was raw stuff for a fact; but I don’t question anything he told us, remember, Perk.”
“Whoever his mysterious visitor was he must have been hunting for something, that’s dead sure!” declared Perk.
“Yes.”
“Something he didn’t find, either,” continued Jack’s assistant pilot.
“Scotty was ready to swear to that fact, and he ought to know.” Jack countered by saying:
“But see here, old hoss, you’ve got some sorter idea what the game might abeen, haven’t you for a fact?”