“It’s the guy we saw the other day,” Jim declared, and Bob nodded.
The mail plane went racing north, and the boys started for home. It felt good being in the air again, but they were going to the dinner and they wanted to give Her Highness her weekly inspection, besides replenish the gas supply. That evening, with their best suits under flying togs, they hopped off again, this time making straight north toward the border. They soared grandly beneath a brilliant dome of colors reflected by the setting sun, roared above Canada, and in half an hour came down on the flying field where they found Allen Ruhel and Sergeant Bradshaw, their uniforms swank, and their faces wearing wide grins of welcome.
“Glad you could come,” Ruhel greeted them.
“We surely owe you a swell spread—” Bradshaw began, but the chief interrupted him.
“Perhaps we do, but they are not going to get much more than the usual mess. I had to promise that or they would not have come.”
“How’s Pat?” Bob inquired as they were led toward the long mess hall.
“He’s so set up over my promotion there’s no doing anything with him,” Bradshaw answered soberly. “I may have to trade him off for a yellow cat.”
“Any time you want to trade him, let us know,” Jim put in quickly.
“I know you boys. You’d spoil him more than I have.”
They were ushered into a barracks-like building and were soon in the mess hall where already two dozen of Canada’s finest men were waiting. The boys recognized a few of their faces, though not many, but introductions were gotten over with little ceremony, and the dinner started. Because of the young American guests of honor there was no wine served, but that did not detract from anyone’s good humor, and the party was an enormous success. Bradshaw told the boys that the outlaw gang they had been trying to capture for such a long time, were at last almost all rounded up.