“Does look a bit rough,” admitted the noncommittal Jack, after himself taking a swift survey.
“A bit rough—huh! yeou jest can’t ekal it if yeou trips all over this Rocky Mountain country fur weeks, that’s a fact, Jack Ralston. Seems like we was abeatin’ the record right along on this here jaunt—the thickest fog—the longest night—an’ neow the beatenist country ever! If it keeps agoin’ like that we’re bound to run up against the wust gang o’ holdup men that was ever heard of.”
“Had that idea in my mind from the start, so it isn’t going to surprise me much if it comes true,” Jack calmly informed him.
About this time Perk discovered that the last retreating phalanx of the late fog belt had passed from his sight, dissolving in thin air as it seemed. The early morning, as viewed from that great altitude, was most charming indeed, with those fleecy white cloudlets all around them.
The speeding plane ducked in and out of the groups as though playing the old childrens’ game of tag, or else hide-and-seek. Perk himself likened the picture to the gridiron, being especially fond of football games as practiced along the Coastal Slope around Thanksgiving time, and later on, when the East was battling with its chilly blizzards—in imagination he could readily picture their ship to be the man who had the pigskin bag held tightly under his arm, and kept darting this way and that, eluding the outstretched hands of would-be tacklers, and dodging all interference, on his wild dash to make a much needed goal.
It gave him a delightful thrill to thus compare their passage with the one hero whom he most admired—the prodigy to whom his favorite college was indebted for their greatest victory, when defeat had seemed so perilously near.
“Take over the stick, Perk; I reckon I’d feel better if I stretched my arms and legs a bit,” the wearied pilot now announced; to which the other only too gladly acquiesced; for many times during the last few hours he had hung over his mate, as if trying to influence Jack to change places.
“Yeah, an’ Jack, while yeou’re ’bout it jest sample the grub—coffee’s fine an’ dandy, as well’s steamin’ hot. Goes through yeou like ’lectricity in this cold atmosphere.”
“After I’ve had a good look through the glasses, to see if there’s any sign of the targets Brother Simeon marked down on his rough pigeon carrier chart we’re depending on to see us through.”
That was just like Jack—duty always before pleasure. His empty stomach—the lovely view Perk had been drinking in so eagerly—all such trivial matters must wait until he had attended to much more important ones.