"No wonder," exclaimed the other. "I never saw such a performance as that in my life."
"Is—is that plane yours?" asked Herb, who, like Fly, did not know whether the two strangers were real beings or ghosts.
"Sure. I just had a silly little breakdown. Stopped to mend it. Then—great Cæsar, I saw you fellows up there. How my brain went traveling when I realized the plight you were in. And you came through! A couple of kids! Who is he?" he continued, referring to Fly. "Where did he learn to control like that—at his age!"
The speaker's friend was forcing Fly to drink the water he had brought for him from the stream, and when the boy had moistened his lips, the man bathed his brow and face with the solicitude of a brother.
But Fly's sinking spell was only momentary and he soon recovered his composure.
"Where you going?" demanded their new friend breezily. "I'm going to take charge of you. You're in no condition to fly any more to-day."
But the young aviator was made of stronger stuff.
"Oh, I can handle her all right," he said contemptuously, a little ashamed of the weakness he had shown.
"What!" ejaculated the blond young man, looking at his friend in amazement, as much as to say, "Listen to that, will you!"
"Nothing doing," he added, decidedly. "Barkely, just take care of our baby—follow us up—while I whirl this young dare-devil to—where will it be?"