“Dismiss such unpleasant memories. Come on, I’m going to the Bar-Z. Probably Don Haurea can give me some valuable information about air-currents and other jams.”
“Flap along by yourself, Old Timer. I’m going to the Cross-Bar to look at my new hotbeds. I want to be sure I have them in order to leave, and I’ll get one of the boys to look after them.”
“Shall I take you along in the “Lark”?”
“No, thanks. Dad isn’t using the freighter, so I’ll take that, and carry some pots back,” Bob answered. The “Freighter” was the name the Flying Buddies had named the ranch plane.
“I think it isn’t very respectful to call the plane Dad and I use a freighter—are we the freight?” his mother demanded with assumed indignation.
“Nope,” he answered quickly, “but she’s a slow-boat compared to the “Lark”, Mom, and before we leave, I’ll clean her up spick and span for you.”
A bit later the two boys took off from the open corral, and the difference in the two machines was immediately evident. The “Lark” rose, like the bird from which her name was borrowed, while the other plane went into the air at a more gradual ascent, and by the time Bob had reached sufficient altitude to set his course, Jim was becoming a speck in the distance. It did not take him long to reach Don Haurea’s and leaving the bus with one of the men. He proceeded to the laboratory where he knew he would find the Don busy at work.
“Good afternoon, my boy, something I can do for you?”
“I expect you can, sir. Fact is, Dad has to go to Peru, place in the southern part called Cuzco—”
“Cuzco?”