“Of course not!” snapped Forell, his eyes blazing suddenly. “There isn’t a chance—”
“Well, let’s look at the jets, anyway,” Finley cut in calmly, and went to work on the carbureter.
Forell paced up and down nervously as Finley worked without saying a word. Occasionally the big red-head darted a puzzled look at his stalwart, silent companion. Neither had anything to say until Finley had the jets out and was peering through the tiny openings.
“There she is!” he said triumphantly. “Look!”
The water bubble in the high speed jet was plain to be seen. Forell took a quick look through it. As Finley blew it out the Kink said jerkily:
“As soon as we get her back we’ll make for that town over north and see about getting some men to cut down some trees. We might be able to leave by tomorrow.”
His eyes blazed a challenge to Finley, but the older man said placidly—
“Let’s see whether she works first, anyhow.”
His mind was busy, however, with the implications in the Kink’s words. With eighteen years of experience behind him, he came close to knowing what could and what could not be done on a take-off. This one would have to be perfectly flown, but it could be done.
“Get in, and I’ll swing the prop,” he directed.