Steve shook his head. "Ten or fifteen miles is all. Almost out of fuel, Mr. Gort. You saw how I took her up for only a quick mile swing each day. He won't get far."
"He'll crash in the desert?"
"Crash or crash-land," Steve said.
Mary sobbed, and bit her lip, and was silent.
"We've got to stop him," Gort said. "And fast. If he gets to the Kumaji, they'll send down a raiding party and we'll be finished. We could never fight them off without the protection of our village. Near as I can figure, there's a Kumaji base fifty miles due north of here. Whiting knows it too, so that's where he'll be going, I figure. Can't spare more than a couple of men to look for him, though, in case the Kumaji find us—or are led to us—and attack."
Steve said, "I should have taken something out of the 'copter every night, so it couldn't start. I'll go."
Mary came forward boldly. "I have to go. He's my father. If he crashed out there, he may be hurt. He may be—dying."
Gort looked at her. "And if he's trying to sell us out to the Kumajis?"
"Then—then I'll do whatever Steve asks me to. I promise."
"That's good enough for me," Steve said.