“I’ve got her, Bud.”
“Got what, Pa?” broke in Mrs. Camp, nervously, as she sprang up and looked into the pot-pie bowl.
Her husband smiled, pounded the table again, and went on:
“Sure as shootin’, Bud, them fellers is agoin’ to foller you. Mebbe you could go right back there to the lake an’ never be discivered, and mebbe not. ’Tain’t no use takin’ chances. Jest you hold yer horses, finish yer pie, an’ I’ll put a bug in yer ear.”
“You’ve got a way to hide me?” exclaimed Bud eagerly.
“I hev that. An’ it’s simple as A. B. C.”
With most profuse thanks to Mrs. Camp for all she had done for him and many promises to come and see her later if anything prevented his return that night, Bud took farewell of his hostess. The men had already left with Josh’s dinner. Out in the open space between the dooryard and the mill, Mr. Camp, helping himself to an ample supply of Kentucky twist, explained to Bud the details of his plan for concealing the aeroplane that night. It did not have to be told twice. The exuberant boy chuckled with delight.
“Mr. Camp,” exclaimed Bud, “if I ever get my farm, I’m goin’ to buy an aeroplane. It’s goin’ to be a two-seater, too. An’ the first passenger ’at rides with me’ll be you.”
“Well, sir,” replied the farmer mill owner, twisting a lock of his whiskers about his horny finger and shaking his head, “don’t you worry about me bein’ afeered.”
It wasn’t an hour after the working squad reached the dam and head gates again until the aeroplane was ready for flight. The gasoline tank was full, the oil cups were charged and the engine—to the joy of Mr. Camp and his hands—had been tested and found in order. The flat boat had been lifted over the head-gate and was on the flume ready to dart away upon the rushing flood of water when the head-gate was raised. Finally, the bird-like framework had been balanced on the thwarts of the flat boat, and nothing remain but to wait for the time to start.