He would never forget the yearning look she gave him when, seated at the table, they started their simple breakfast. It was as though her heart were in her throat, choking her and Jack, realizing the girl must be close to the breaking point, quickly started talking of outside matters and even cracked a little joke to try and divert her mind from the subject that had gripped her day and night for so long.
About the time they settled their account and were ready to start for the field, a car stopped at the door and their accommodating friend of the night before, Mr. Caleb Cushman, accompanied by his wife, appeared. They came early to have the pleasure of taking them to where they meant to start off again—perhaps his good wife also wished to meet the brave girl who was the now famous Buddy Warner’s sweetheart. Apparently they both knew about this important fact, showing that Mr. Cushman must have been in touch with Bart Hicks by telephone since last they saw the latter, and learned this thrilling circumstance that might put their little town on the map, with all the big newspapers of the country blazing inch high scareheads on their front pages when covering the latest sensation along aviation lines.
Although Jack would not admit that he felt the least uneasiness concerning the safety of the amphibian, nevertheless he gave a sigh of relief when after looking the ship over he found everything in shipshape condition.
“Get that gas aboard as quick as you can, Perk,” he told his comrade for he had contracted to have the tank filled to full capacity while the chance held good, and besides he wished to have a little further conversation with affable Bart Hicks, with the hope of picking up a few crumbs of information in regard to the terrain they meant to cover on this most important day.
Accordingly he drew the ground superintendent aside and plied him with a variety of questions, all of which the accommodating test pilot answered to the best of his ability.
Jack had him describe the general character of the ground and just as he anticipated, learned that it was actually the roughest section in all the region.
“Rocks—deep gullies that seem to have no bottom—peaks with slithering points that look like the savage steel tips of spearheads—the worst territory for a poor devil of an air pilot to crash in or have to make a forced landing that you could run across in a hundred square miles. I’d say there wasn’t over one chance in a thousand that the lad could get to the ground alive and even granted that he did, wounded as he must be, he never in the wide world would be able to find his way out of that hole. I’m sorry to have to say that, Mr. Ralston, but it’s the truth.”
Jack may have winced, but just the same he showed not the slightest sign of being yellow.
“Tell me about that thousandth chance, brother,” he observed, at which the other looked him keenly in the face, shrugged his shoulders and went on to say:
“Guess you’re clear grit all right, son. The best pilots are built that way. Look at our Lindy now, and you’ll find he never flinches, no matter what happens but always does the one right thing as if by instinct. Fact is, when I mentioned that there might be a tiny loophole for a poor devil who had to go down in that god-forsaken stretch of wilderness, I must have been thinking of that strange old hermit who has a secret hideout somewhere in that country. There’s a beautiful little clear water lake surrounded by peaks and heavy woods that no white man’s ever fished in or set eyes on at close quarters, ’cept maybe that queer old chap.”