“That is good,” she smiled, and presently her lips looked less blue and he knew that she was more comfortable. He tipped the plane’s nose again and shot up, then he leveled off, set his course, and calculating that the machines that were chasing him would be lower and ahead of him, he strained to see through the darkness. It wasn’t a moonlit night, but there were stars that helped some as they soared close to the ceiling.
Half an hour passed, then Jim was beginning to feel confident that they had successfully eluded Cardow and his gang, but he did not turn on a light lest someone pick them up.
“Know anything about the towns around here?” he asked his companion.
“No,” she answered. He had planned that he would come down in one of the small settlements and send messages to the De Castros that he and the plane were quite safe, and he thought it would be better to get Mrs. Gonzalas to the ground as soon as possible. She certainly was a plucky little woman. They were a mighty decent family, Jim thought, and again he wished he was at the controls of the “Lark” whose speed was so much greater.
“Is your home in Cuzco?” he asked.
“Yes, not far outside. A small place,” she told him.
“Reckon I’d better get you there,” Jim remarked. “Ever fly before?”
“Never until today.”
“Like it?”
“It is beautiful—so beautiful,” she answered. “If the platinum had been there, a plane we should have had. Arto, in the war he fly, but he is injured. No more is he a good pilot, but he is mechanic for the transportation company, and sometimes he relief.”