As Mendoza ceased speaking he gave a low whistle which the approaching man seemed to understand, for he straightened out of his stooping position and approached the provisions with confidence. In a moment he was greedily devouring meat sandwiches and drinking cold coffee, while Phillips and Mendoza were explaining the situation to him.
“Who’s in the shelter-tents?” he asked in a moment, and Phillips explained. “They’re nervy little foxes!” was Graybill’s only comment.
The three men talked together for perhaps ten minutes, during which the provisions were being stored away on the Louise. Graybill stood looking inquiringly into the air most of the time, while his companions were so occupied.
“It may be a bad night,” he said after a while, “and yet it may be a good one; but I’m willing to take the risk if you are. As I’ve told you, my machine is pretty well smashed, but I think the Louise will carry us all if we take good care of her.”
“She’s got to carry us all!” insisted Mendoza.
Graybill walked cautiously over to the shelter-tent where Jimmie and Kit were still sound asleep and looked in at the sleeping boys with a smile on his hard face.
“The little scamps!” he exclaimed. “They’re hardly larger than peanuts, yet they gave me a run to-day that many a trained aviator wouldn’t be able to manage.”
“Mendoza was thinking of quieting the boys for good and all before leaving,” Phillips suggested, rather suspecting what the answer of the aviator would be.
“Nothing doing!” said Graybill. “If he touches the boys, I’ll duck him into the first canyon we come to. They’re gritty little chaps, and I’m not going to see them harmed!”
“I knew what your decision would be,” said Phillips, “and that’s why I mentioned the matter to you. I don’t want to see the boys injured.”