"Go hunt my flask in that wreck!" he commanded.
"Do it yourself!" returned Linda, with sudden spirit. "How do I know that that plane won't burst into flames any minute?"
She was surprised at her sudden display of independence; she had always depended upon Louise to stick up for their rights. But she had risen to the occasion, now that she was alone.
The man started to swear, when suddenly the girl on the ground opened her eyes.
"Take care, Slats!" she begged, to Linda's astonishment. "We'll need this girl and her plane—for I can't fly now!"
The man called "Slats" subsided, and went over to the wreckage. Linda bent over the injured "Susie," and put the flask of water to her lips.
Like the man's, the girl's face was scratched and bleeding, and she began to moan of the pain in her wrist. Her helmet had been pushed off, and her blond hair hung about her face. Her lips were painted a brighter red than even blood could have colored them.
"Where are you hurt?" asked Linda, wiping the girl's face with her handkerchief, and pushing the hair out of her eyes.
"My wrist, worst. And this ankle. And my back."
"If I have enough gasoline, we'll take you to a hospital in my plane."