"I guess so," replied the girl. "They say they're easier than airplanes."
"O.K. Then we're off. Get dressed as quick as you can."
"But Slats," protested Susie, rubbing her injured ankle, "don't forget I've been hurt!"
"Rats!" was his unsympathetic reply. "Get busy. I'll be getting the gas, and some grub. We'll need coffee—and a lot of it."
Distasteful as the plan was, Susie could do nothing but obey. But she was feeling very miserable as she ate her breakfast, very sorry for the "poor, brave kid," as she called Linda, very resentful against her husband.
The latter helped her down to the autogiro and put her into the pilot's cock-pit, where she sat for some minutes examining the controls. The dawn had changed into daylight, and the swamp was beautiful in the early morning sunrise. But, like Linda Carlton, Susie did not even notice it.
Impatient at the delay, her husband demanded, "Got the idea how to run her?"
"Sure," she replied, listlessly. "Start her up and climb in.... Where do you want to go!"
"Circle all around—flying low, so that we can spot the kid if she's here. If we don't see her in the water, we'll stop at some of the islands, and look there. She can't 'ave got out of this swamp."