The Marshal’s forces were to start within an hour.
Mason with Red Sullivan and Scotty were looking over their guns at the bunk-house.
Tex, a short distance away from them, was watching an object in the sky. Finally he called Red over to where he stood, and Red in turn called Mason over to them.
“Shure, Jack, and isn’t that a devil of a big bird?” the Irishman asked, pointing to the sky.
Mason looked up and stared at the object which was looming up larger to their vision each minute.
“That’s an airplane,” he said at last in wonderment.
“Holy Saints!” Red cried, crossing himself, “and may the devil fly away with it!”
Mason could plainly hear the humming of the motor now, and he took off his hat and waved it excitedly.
“Tex, call Trent Burton to come here at once,” he said, a glad ring to his voice. “Red, I’ll bet your old red head, that’s my friend Roy Purvis the aviator, from New York.”
The airplane came down in graceful spirals and made a landing a short distance from the corral. Mason rushed over and the aviator offered him a languid hand which Mason shook heartily.