“Why?” Sandy asked innocently.
“Because,” the aviator replied, “we can take you over there ourselves just as soon as we look over our motor.”
“Did motor trouble force you to land?” Dick inquired.
“Yes, but it’s nothing serious. We’ll have it ready in a jiffy.”
“Trouble is,” said Randall, “there’s room only for one of you.”
This statement immediately relieved Toma’s mind. He had begun to fear that he would be asked to sail through the sky in the bowels of that awesome monster—an invitation he had firmly decided to decline.
“That’s all right me, Dick. Mebbe you or Sandy go, but I like stay here with the ponies.”
“Dick will have to go, of course,” Sandy stated, experiencing a moment or two of regret as he looked at the plane and thought of the thrilling ride through the clouds. “As Toma just said, he and I can remain here with the ponies. We’ll make camp and wait for your return.”
“Good heavens, you can’t do that!” Dick expostulated. “You’ll be in danger here with the fire so close. You never can tell when the wind may change and blow it this way.”
“But we no stay here,” Toma enlightened him. “We go on to Fort Vermilion. You come back that way.”