“You get out of the way,” bellowed Pedro.
“Oh, hello, Old Man,” Jim called good naturedly. “Our engine stalled. Guess we got something in it. Maybe you can give me a hand.”
“I got no time. Get out of the way, fast. I’m in a hurry.”
“Sorry, we won’t be a minute.” Bob was also struggling in the cock-pit as if something was out of order, and after a minute, during which Pedro made the air blue with curses, he got back in his seat.
“Guess we got it,” he shouted. “Beastly sorry to keep you.” Bob tried out the motor. It thundered smooth as silk, the plane moved a few inches, coughed apologetically, then stopped.
“Come on, now, old girl,” Bob coaxed, and again he set the motor humming, but the propeller hung idle. Caldwell did not dare to move forward until he was ready to fly, for there wasn’t a foot to spare on the road ahead, which curved sharply. Frantically the step-brothers tried out this and that, including the compass, but it didn’t seem to help them a bit, and they were afraid to look over their shoulders at the fuming truck-man.
“What’s the matter with her?” Pedro hadn’t been able to sit still a moment longer, so he climbed from his seat and strode along the gully to the cock-pit.
“Hanged if I know. She never acted this way before,” Jim answered innocently, and the man scowled savagely.
“What you doing here anyway?” Pedro persisted.
“Great guns,” Bob looked up into the man’s face. “Didn’t you see us stall up there, and come down tail spinning! You are darned lucky we didn’t smash up in front of you, that would have been something to cuss about. It takes hours to clear up a busted plane and she digs a hole in the ground ten feet deep. That would have held you up good and proper. Now, get back to your bus, we’ll fix this thing as fast as we can and be out of your way.”