Strange as it may seem, I didn’t see either of them next day. Our flyings came at different hours, and when one was on the ground the others were in the air. And at three in the afternoon, when I landed, I found that Penoch and Kennedy and Pete Miller had started back for McMullen. Kennard, Sleepy and Tex and I started home at five o’clock. There were Donovan ships available, and there’d been another bandit raid in our territory. The patrol was needed on the river.
I saw Penoch in the mess-hall, at dinner, and sat next to him. We were all ready to drop, and hadn’t even washed. Kennard went to sleep over his soup. Sleepy Spears gave up after the meat course, and stumbled out to bed.
“Where’s Kennedy?” I asked Penoch.
“In at Shirley’s—for dinner,” he said tersely and, as our eyes met, I guess our thoughts were the same.
“Then what you did for him had no effect, eh?” I finally asked him. “How’d he act?”
“Avoids me.”
“I see. Come clean, Penoch. It must have been a temptation to leave him down there, even if you figured you’d have a good chance of saving him.”
Penoch buttered some bread thoughtfully.
“I just couldn’t; and I’d never thought of that wing gag. Just had an idea that there ought to be some way out—”