“Well, what about him?”
“Why, just this,” said Jack. “Maybe he, too, has gone away to join this mysterious individual Ramirez. Rebels must eat, and a good cook like Ramon ought to be in demand.”
“You may be right, Jack,” said his father, after a moment’s consideration. “But, somehow,” he added, glancing up, “I have a suspicion—well, you can hardly call it that, because I have nothing to go on—say, a feeling that the mysterious Ramirez isn’t contemplating revolution.”
“What makes you think that?” Jack demanded in astonishment. “Especially after what Don Ferdinand said.”
“I can’t explain it,” said Mr. Hampton, going back to his task. “And I don’t know what he can be about if it isn’t the stirring up of another revolution. But, there it is. What you might call a hunch.”
Jack regarded his father’s bowed head with a puzzled frown. Then he straightened up and moved briskly away. “Well, this isn’t getting the bus ready for her trip.” And he went to work again.
Whitey appeared from somewhere presently, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and announcing he had been up all the night attending a dance at the Horsethief Canyon School. He was put to work, but was more hindrance than help. At noon they knocked off work to take a cup of coffee and a hastily-thrown-together sandwich. Tom had taken the flivver and gone to Red Butte for supplies. Then they returned to work again.
After the plane had been lubricated and overhauled, it was trundled out onto the field, where, while it strained against the wheel blocks, Jack warmed it up. Everything was running sweet and true. It was now the middle of the afternoon. Jack once more attempted to raise Rafaela’s station, but again without success.
“All right, Dad,” he said. “May as well go.”
Mr. Hampton was already aboard. Jack climbed into the cockpit, Whitey dragged the wheel blocks out of the way. Jack saw to it that the motor shutters were open, the spark properly advanced and the altitude adjustment was correct. Already, during the warming-up process, he had satisfied himself that the motor was working at its best. So now he threw up his hand as a farewell signal to Whitey, and slowly eased the throttle on. Five minute’s later, after a perfect take-off he was well up and heading east.