The women added their voices to the pressing invitation, but Jack was forced to decline, although doing so smilingly, since he would have liked very much to see more of these warm-hearted stockmen and their wild riders, possibly picking up some useful knowledge concerning the way a ranch is run in these modern days, so different from early times in the cattle country.
“It is absolutely necessary for us to be going,” Jack told them all, “if we are lucky enough to be able to hop-off again. Perk, I wish you’d take a look over toward the west, and see if the ground is fairly clear; while I talk for a few more minutes with our new friends here.”
He was astute enough to avoid giving their names to any one but the ranchman, who readily promised not to mention them to a living soul; he felt heavily indebted to Jack and his chum, and considered that they knew their business best—for one thing he felt absolutely certain the fact of their being in such a hurry had nothing whatever to do with any unlawful act on their part—he had as much confidence in them as though Jack had actually confided the fact of their being Government Secret Service agents, bound on a mission fraught with much peril to life and limb, the prime object of which was to save honest people from being victimized by a gang of unprincipled sharks, makers of clever bank notes that were without the pale of the law and only base counterfeits, although clever imitations of the genuine bills.
CHAPTER XVI
IN THE GRIP OF THE STORM
Perk soon afterwards showed up, and seemed so cheerful that it was evident his little scouting mission had yielded favorable results.
“Seems okay to me, partner!” he burst out with, as soon as she came along; “course it ain’t just as smooth as some fields we know but there ain’t goin’ to be any smart trouble takin’ off, I guess now.”
“And are we holding the nose of the ship straight in line of the course you took a squint at, Perk?” Jack asked, as he prepared to climb into his seat, the people of the ranch clustering around, to gaze with wide open eyes at the fleet aircraft, some of them doubtless seeing such a modern cloud clipper for the first time.
“Dead ahead, boss, an’ you’ll strike the right racket, I’m tellin’ you,” came the positive assurance.
“Then jump aboard, comrade, and we’ll put it to the test,” saying which Jack himself climbed into the waiting cockpit, to settle down in his accustomed seat, take a quick glance at his dials when the small light was turned on, and await a signal from the other sky traveler that he was “fixed.”
The way was clear, and the fact that just then the gay old moon condescended to poke her smiling face out from behind a mass of clouds assisted more or less in giving the pilot some of the necessary illumination—the rest must be left to his native sagacity and instinct.