“What’s this?” Vicki put her finger on a blurred spot on the photo-map. It was the size of a pinhead.
“That’s half a dozen houses and a general store, too small even to be a village,” the younger McKee brother said. “No post office or anything. The ranchers around there call the place Pine Top.”
“No, I don’t mean the cluster of houses,” Vicki insisted, “I mean this tiny dark spot. Could it be a hidden house?”
The young man peered at the blur. “Could be,” the aerial photographer finally said. “Lots of forest and high, winding roads at that point. If it’s a house, it’s hidden, all right. The camera doesn’t tell what that blur is, I’m afraid.”
Vicki looked searchingly at the map. She could not see any other mark which suggested a private house. Only the one above Pine Top.
“I think,” she said slowly, “I’ll gamble on it and fly to Pine Top.”
“Maintain enough altitude,” Wes Clark advised her. “You can get gas from someone at Pine Top, if necessary.”
“Gas!” Vicki remembered. “I need some right now, if you can spare it.”
The airfield had a commercial, self-service gas pump. Wes Clark said with a grin, “Our advice is free, but you have to pay for the gas.”
“I’m glad to have both,” said Vicki.