Black's expressing himself in this manner opened the way for Matt to tell him the true inwardness of that night's work.
"You're the sort of fellows I like to help!" cried Black, as soon as Matt had placed the situation before him. "It's a fine thing for Mrs. Traquair, and it speaks mighty well for you that you've jumped into this thing like you've done. Not many young fellows would have gone to all that trouble, with the prospect of a broken neck, or a bullet between the ribs as a possible reward. But let me tell you something, Motor Matt."
Black spoke very earnestly, and commanded the instant attention of the king of the motor boys.
"What's that, Mr. Black?"
"If I were you, I'd be more afraid of that aëroplane than of Siwash Charley or Murgatroyd."
"Flying the aëroplane is the least of my worries. I'm sure I can handle it all right."
"Don't be too sure. Traquair invented the machine, and it stands to reason that he knew it as well as any human being could; but see what happened! Something snapped, a gust of wind hit the aëroplane, and the whole business came down like a piece of lead."
"Accidents are always liable to happen, of course," said Matt; "the only thing to do is to guard against them as well as you can, and do your best."
"This North Dakota wind is a hard thing to figure on," pursued Black. "It gathers terrific force coming across the prairies, and it's liable to come up quick. I don't think Traquair's aëroplane could stand a sixty-mile-an-hour wind."
"She couldn't make any headway against it, but I believe she could be kept upright."