Together, as gently as possible, they lifted Mr. Bilney’s unconscious form and carried it to his room.
“Git dressed and start, Judy; we’ll see that the horse is ready,” said the Sheriff. “We’re on our way.”
“Oh, I hope you get him!” the girl said passionately. She seemed ablaze as she stood there, a statue of vengeance personified.
The horse was in the corral, unsaddled. It was the work of a moment for the Sheriff to saddle him. Meanwhile Sleepy made for the ship with long strides.
He climbed into the cock-pit, and without a single lost motion turned on the gas, set the air-pump, and rapidly pumped up the air to three pounds. This done, he adjusted the priming pet-cock and sent three stiff shots of gasoline into the cylinders. As Trowbridge came lumbering across the field, Sleepy was twirling the propeller. The effortless ease with which he overcame the compression of the big motor and the weight of the heavy stick would have been an eye-opener to some of Spears’s best friends.
“Ready, son?” bellowed Trowbridge.
“Just about. Here’s the scheme. He’ll probably stay pretty close to the railroad in order to keep a straight course for the border, won’t he?”
The puffing representative of the law nodded.
“Keep a close watch. If we spot him, I’ll go low and stall the ship. When it hovers for a minute, shoot. I believe you can hit. It’ll be ticklish work, Sheriff. I may not be able to catch the ship again after the stall.”
“What do I care?” Trowbridge burst forth.