“What’s that you said, Dave?” came Freddy Farmer’s voice. “Or is it just this morning sun that makes you mumble in your beard?”
“I haven’t a beard,” Dave slapped back at him. “And besides, I don’t mumble. I was just telling myself that Intelligence work is all pretty much alike. I mean, you start with nothing, and hope you’ll end up with all the correct answers.”
“Absolutely right,” the English youth agreed readily. “And I fancy the insane asylums are full of chaps who took up Intelligence work. I say! Aren’t those mountains beautiful? You certainly do have wonderful scenery over here in America. No wonder you fought so hard in the Revolutionary War.”
It was too perfect an opening for Dave to pass up. He twisted around in the seat and grinned broadly at his closest pal.
“Fought hard?” he echoed scornfully. “Nuts. It was a cinch. Why, I’ve read in history books where the American soldiers only used their right hands. Kept the left ones tied behind their backs.”
Freddy Farmer made a face and stuck his nose in the air in a sniffing gesture. But as soon as he did that he stiffened slightly, narrowed his eyes and peered hard off to the right.
“Look at that plane over there, Dave!” he cried, and pointed. “It’s one of your light plane affairs, one of your two-cylinder Grasshopper ships, as you call them. The chap’s crazy to fly that thing around these mountains. Wind currents can bash him against a slope in no time. However, you Yanks!”
Dave didn’t comment on the last. He had picked out the small plane silhouetted against the towering banks of clouds. It was one of those puddle-jumping Taylor Cubs, and it was dangerously close to the wind and squall-swept mountain sides. He could see it hit air current after air current and bounce about in the rough air like a cork in a heavy sea. The plane reminded him of a swimmer going against the tide. The plane was staggering forward, staggering toward a point that would take it across the Vultee’s path of flight.
“Maybe he’s some guy who got disappointed in love,” Dave ventured the guess aloud. “Or maybe he just doesn’t give a darn. But he seems to be getting clear of the mountains okay. So we should worry. I guess he must have slipped through from the other side. What was that crack about us Yanks?”
“I don’t remember,” Freddy grunted absently. “I wonder about that chap over there, though. What do you suppose he could be doing in among those jagged sloped mountains?”