Saxton laughed. “I’ll fix that for you, boy! I’ll buy your plane. Give you two thousand dollars for it. You ride with me technically as a passenger, but you’re hired to do what you’re told to do—and you’ll be at the joy-stick. Get the idea?”
Bill got the idea, and the transaction was duly carried out.
“Remember,” Saxton warned him, as he pocketed the dummy bill-of-sale. “I’ve ‘bought’ that plane. I have you at my mercy now. I may charge you plenty when you want to get it back—and get the free ride into the bargain.”
“Fair enough!” Bill chuckled. “But you haven’t got it all your own way, Mr. Wise Guy. Don’t be surprised if I suddenly decide to quit piloting the ship when we’re five thousand feet above a Kansas farm and take to parachute stunts unless you come to time with me.”
So Bill Barlow and Frank C. Saxton, since they could laugh with each other and threaten to do each other, knew that they were friends, and the next day Bill Barlow had his ship ready for the long jump.
Saxton wished to arrive at Pampa, where he operated a cattleman’s bank, as soon as possible, he explained, as a shipment of gold bullion was due in Pampa that week from a correspondent bank in Trinidad, Colorado. He wanted to be on the ground when the transfer was made.
He rode out to the field in a taxicab accompanied by a slender, gray-eyed girl who looked trim and athletic in a heavy blue jersey and knickers.
“Think she’s dressed warm enough for the hop?” Saxton asked, his shrewd eyes twinkling. “I forgot to mention yesterday that my daughter is going along. This is Mr. Barlow, Ruth. He’s the fellow that looped the loop with your dad yesterday.”
Ruth extended her hand boyishly, and Bill may have held it just a trifle too long, but the act was unconscious.
“The more I see of you bankers, Mr. Saxton,” he said, turning to the gray-haired man, “the less I value your keenness in a business deal despite your reputation. If I’d known Miss Saxton was coming along, I’d have piloted you for nothing.”