"Well, he helped us to build this machine, and taught us how to run it," informed Fly.
"Build this machine?" Young Chance scrutinized his informant as he would look upon a strange, supernatural being.
"Say," he said. "We want fellows like you in New York. You wouldn't mind making some good money, would you?"
"I—I—" began Fly, but he could not wield his tongue somehow.
"Got a father around the Fort?" asked the young aviator brusquely.
"Yes—yes," answered Fly. "You must meet him."
That evening, when Herb met the boys returning from their mountain trip, triumphantly bearing the Thunder Bird, which Dunk and Jerry carried with the aid of a stout branch stuck through its bound feet, and happily flashing the golden bowl, he ceremoniously held up his hand for them to halt, demanding silence.
"We formed a Boy Scout patrol," he began strangely. "Didn't we?"
"Why—yes," replied Fred, wonderingly.
"That's nothing." Herb wrinkled his nose contemptuously. "And shot a grizzly?" he interrogated.