“Perhaps one was sent to that place in the desert we were supposed to make a landing to see if we were alive and they discovered the trick; or someone may have located us later and given them word by radio. I don’t know how they managed it.”
“I see only one plane,” she said hopefully. He glanced back.
“That will be less trouble than three.” He tried to grin, but the effort was not highly successful.
“They gain,” Arto spoke in his ear.
“How many?” Jim thought the plural pronoun must surely mean more than one machine.
“One only. It has guns.”
“It is better that we did not stay in the desert,” Mrs. Gonzalas remarked, and then he knew that she too had thought of that possibility.
“Reckon it is,” he nodded.
“I will pray to the Mother of God. She deserts not the men on the sea and the men in danger,” she spoke earnestly, and Jim was glad that she could do that. It would make her feel better. He did it himself many times. Not always when he was in danger. As he thought of it he couldn’t recall ever praying when things were going wrong, but when they were flying over some magnificent scene, when he learned some new marvel of the universe, or when Bob got over being sick, then he had a feeling as if God was very close. There was a sort of smiling somewhere deep in him. He never tried to define it any other way; but it suited his purpose, and now, just thinking about it brought a quiet confidence to his mind and a steadiness to his body.
“He gains fast.”