The two youthful air aces murmured their thanks and followed the Commandant outside. But there was a warm tingling glow in their chests, and a pleased and happy light in their eyes. The L.A. Base Commandant could have praised them to the skies, but all his words would not have been half the compliment that was his offer to loan them a Vultee two seater that was “a sweetheart.” That meant that the plane was the Commandant’s own personal ship, when he could use it. And he was doing them high honor to offer it for their use.
Half an hour later they thanked the Base Commandant again and took off in the Vultee with Dave at the controls, and Freddy Farmer riding the rear gunner’s pit. Dave took them up to eight or nine thousand, and then started tossing the ship around a little, just to get the feel of the air again. That off his chest, he twisted around in the seat and grinned at Freddy. The English youth shook his head, made a wry face, and held up both hands with the thumbs extended downward.
“Simply terrible!” he shouted above the sound of the Wright radial in the nose. “Go back and do it all over again. And you call yourself a pukka pilot? Rubbish! But I say, Dave, now that we’re up here, and have lots of time on our hands, mind doing something?”
“Certainly, if it’s not for you!” Dawson shot back at him. “What is it?”
Freddy raised a hand and pointed eastward.
“Let’s go inland a bit and follow the mountains northward,” he said. “They’re very picturesque, and I’d like a good look at them. Mind?”
“Okay by me,” Dave replied with a nod. “Always did like mountain flying. Fair enough, then. Hang on, little man. Here we go.”
Banking the plane eastward, Dave headed for the long range of towering peaks, then turned northward when he was over them, and throttled slightly. For a good half hour they flew along about the peaks, not saying more than half a dozen words to each other. The wild rugged beauty of the scene below was something that made words seem empty and futile. It was a scene that moved the heart rather than the tongue.
Suddenly, though, Freddy Farmer leaned forward and rapped Dave sharply on the shoulder.
“Off there to the right, Dave!” he called out. “About a mile, and down in that valley shaped like an S. I think—Dave! That’s a crashed plane down there, or I’m crazy. Look! Do you see it?”