“I reckon you’re right,” sighed Bill, and was silent.
Presently he spoke again. “A captain should stay with his ship to the last,” he murmured, as if giving vent to his secret thoughts. “But there are exceptions to every rule.”
“What are you saying?” Osceola was puzzled.
Bill hesitated for a moment, then went on with sudden energy.
“Open the locker under this seat. There are three or four parachutes stowed away there. I saw them when I first came aboard. Pull out three of them—one for each of us. When you and Sam have got into yours, I’ll put on mine.”
“How are you going to fly the plane and do that, too?”
“Get yours on and I’ll show you.”
Osceola brought forth two of the parachutes and passed one over the seat to Sam. A motion or two from Bill gave them an idea of how to adjust the harness, and presently Osceola brought out the one for Bill. That young gentleman laid it on his wheel and began to issue further instructions.
“Place your feet on your rudder pedals, Osceola, and keep her nose pointed just as she is. That’s right. Now take hold of your wheel. No—don’t clamp onto it that way. Hold it lightly—that’s better. This wooden yoke to which your wheel and mine are attached controls the elevators, those horizontal planes on either side of the rudder—Push your wheel forward and with it the yoke—your plane flies downward. Pull back your wheel and she flies upward.”
“I didn’t expect to be given flight instruction today—”