“Roy, you’re just the man I want to see,” he cried, “you dropped out of the sky just in time.”
“I’ll say I did, I was all out of gasoline, you know,” the aviator answered, leaning languidly back in his seat gazing interestedly at the cowboys who stood looking him and the airplane over in open-mouthed wonder.
“Am I welcome?” Roy questioned, turning his attention again to Mason.
“Certainly you’re welcome. What makes you think you wouldn’t be welcome to Bar X ranch?” Mason demanded.
“Well, be a good fellow and help unstrap me from this confounded seat, and when we get to the house I’ll tell you,” he answered whimsically.
Mason called one of the cowboys over to assist him. In a small compartment back of the aviator’s seat was his luggage. It consisted of four suitcases and a black object resembling a tank about the size of a suitcase. Roy took especial charge of this black tank.
“Why all these warlike preparations?” he queried, noticing the bristling guns of the cowboys. “Looks like I had dropped into a fighting man’s country for fair.”
“I’ll explain the whole business to you when we get to the house and you have had some refreshments,” Mason answered.
“Hang the refreshments,” Roy growled, with another puzzled look at the cowboys with their revolvers and saddle guns.
At the house, after having been introduced all around, he surprised Mason by asking him if there was a dark room in the house.