“We better get home. You get on the back of the ski and we’ll slide, Buddy slide! It’s lucky we learned to do these things double. Someone at the house may have seen you drop and be worried to bits. Come along, Old Timer,” Jim urged. He went for the bag, tightened the straps of the ski, then Bob planted himself behind his step-brother, the bag in one hand and the other on the older boy’s shoulder, they got into step, and presently they were making good speed toward home. Jim was right in thinking that the blazing plane had been sighted, for they had not turned into the ranch road when they heard the jingle of bells as a team came dashing around the curve, the elder Austin standing in the bob-sled.
“What happened?” he shouted. “We saw Bob—”
“I’m all right, Dad,” Bob assured him, “but Her Highness went up in smoke, gosh—”
“So long as you didn’t go up with her, old man. Hop in here,” Mr. Austin urged. “Want to come with us, Jim?”
“I might as well,” Jim accepted. Presently the team dashed to the house, and on the long veranda, Mrs. Austin was waiting. She had taken only time enough to throw a heavy blanket shawl over her head, and when she saw the Flying Buddies, her eyes were filled with tears.
“We’re top hole, both of us, Mom,” Bob called cheerily.
“I—I watched that plane—the smoke coming from the tail long before you started to dive—oh Bob—”
“Now, you knew I was wearing my trusty chute over me union suit,” he teased, but he put his arms around her and held her tight.
“Your union suit, how long since you—”