Roy pointed to the passenger seat.
“One minute!” exclaimed Mr. Cook.
He hurried to the rear door of the office building, unlocked it and in a few moments reappeared buckling on a six-shooter.
“I don’t usually wear such things,” he exclaimed, with a smile. “But I see you have one and I thought I’d be in style. And say,” he added, “talkin’ about rules, I’ve got a suggestion. If by any chance we should happen to strike Mike’s trail, an’ you have any choice about it, you can fly just as high as you like till I tell you to come down.”
Roy understood. Mr. Cook climbed into the fragile framework and gingerly took his seat. Having made a last close examination of the car, Roy did the same. He dropped his hat string into place, turned his loose cuffs back to be sure they were out of the way, adjusted his feet, tested the flexing wires, rudder guides and lever, and then said:
“Hold on and sit steady.”
A moment later the engine exploded into action. The boy with a quick motion threw the chain gear into play, and as the two propellers began to turn, he sprang back and grasped the forward rudder lever.
The car trembled, seemed to heave like a boat rising on the water and then, for a second, settled back into place. The next instant it lunged forward on its wheels, hesitated, sprang forward again and then, touching the corral yard in a series of little jumps started toward the wide space in the mesquite fence. Roy knew the proper moment. Just as the trembling framework seemed settling into its stride, there was a quick movement of the rudder lever.
The swiftly moving car responded like an arrow. With a parting bound, it left the ground and, its big propellers tearing through the air, the aeroplane shot upward. Mr. Cook sat like a professional. Roy’s eyes saw nothing but the engine, the chain gear and the flying propellers. Two hundred feet above the ground, he brought down the rudder, felt the car settle on a level course, and knew from the rushing air that the machine was flying under control and safely.