"Why yes," answered Gray, regarding him with a puzzled expression.
"That's nothin'," repeated the southerner. "We built an aeroplane," he went on. "That's nothin'. Mere trifle. We shot the Thunder Bird. Nothin', nothin' at all. That bowl's nothin'."
"Say, what you driving at," exclaimed Jerry. "Spit it out quick, or you to the bug house."
"Because something has happened that makes everythin' else look like a thunder clap when it quits."
"What?"
"Fly's goin' to New York to be an aviator with Chance!"
Vacation is over. We are again waiting for the train in the stuffy little depot at Silver City. Gray and Fred are there—they are going back to school. Mr. Phipps is there, smiling happily upon the handsome boy who is returning to college. Captain Crawford and his wife are there, proud of the stalwart young son they are sending to New Jersey, where he will complete his education at Princeton. Lieutenant Rivers and his wife are there, for Dunk is going to an eastern medical school.
And Carl is there, for Carl too is going to college. True, he lost the money he had saved for the purpose, but the golden bowl, which the boys persuaded him was his by right of conquest, proved to be of sufficient value to pay his way through and leave him a generous surplus. Thus, after all, the unselfish Indian realized his dream.
One of the boys is missing—Fly. He left a month ago for New York, where he has already met Mr. Chance, and is showing promise of being one of the most successful bird-men of the day. Before leaving the Fort, he gave all of the boys sufficient instruction to enable them to fly alone, and to qualify for the aviation medal, which, with a number of other awards, for first aid, machinery, marksmanship and stalking, were promptly awarded to the members of the Thunder Bird Patrol, at the recommendation of Hawke, who remembers them now and then with letters from Juarez.