“So am I. We miss the bird no end.”
“Well, now you understand exactly what took place, shall we turn our attention to aeronautics?”
“Yes, sir, and I’d like to watch those chemical experiments.”
“Very good.” Presently the boy was seated in his own corner of the great laboratory, a huge book on the table before him, and a collection of shiny instruments and test-tubes waiting for use. He glanced at the array affectionately, gave his head a little shake as he thought how much he wanted to accomplish, then he set grimly to work, forgetting everything else in the world. It wasn’t until Don Haurea touched him on the shoulder to remind him that the hours had passed, that he glanced away from his work.
“Zargo will run you home,” he offered.
“Thank you, sir.”
The next two days were uneventful, although they were full of suppressed excitement because they were the last before Christmas, and on every huge ranch great preparations were going forward for the holiday. Kramer improved rapidly, and so did Jute, and at last the great date arrived. Homes were decorated with greens, extra bells were attached to harnesses, and cooks were putting the last touches on feasts which were to be spread in homes and bunkhouses. The repaired plane had arrived from the shop early Christmas Eve, and the Flying Buddies went gleefully off to Crofton for newspapers and mail, to say nothing of packages which had accumulated at the post office. They came back as laden as a pair of Santa Clauses, and the entire evening was spent in preparations for the next day. No word had come from the sheriff, so the boys knew that young Gordon had made good his escape. Not even a trace of the parachute had been discovered.
Every man working at the Cross-Bar and the K-A was at headquarters for the festival, and because of the tenderfoot guest, a special party was being arranged—a real wild-west affair with rodeo exhibitions such as only real wild west men can put on successfully. The Austin family, even if there were no little members, were up betimes, and Mom insisted that breakfast be eaten before presents were opened. Everybody was in high spirits, and the air was filled with shouted greetings which lingered in the clear atmosphere. The meal was barely finished when from somewhere came the familiar drone of a racing motor. The Flying Buddies glanced at each other, then by one impulse ran out to see who might be arriving by airplane. It took only a moment to locate the tiny speck in the blue which they watched as interestedly as if they were a pair of small boys. Cap Rock was too far west for them ever to see the air-mail-men, and pilots flew their planes over that section very rarely.
“Gosh, she’s a bird,” Bob exclaimed.
“Looks as if she’s pure silver,” Jim added, and in the bright sunshine the plane did look exactly like that, highly polished. She was rapidly getting nearer, but as yet they could not make out her pilot. However, they did not think much about that for the machine was two thousand feet up and the man was probably protecting himself from the cold. Without diminishing her speed she came straight toward them and in a moment they decided that she was going to pass over, but to their surprise she executed a wide graceful curve, dipped as if she were making a salute, banked, zoomed swiftly, curved again, dived and began to descend in narrowing spirals.