CHAPTER XXVIII
THE STORY OF A MAP
Turning away, the red-skinned pilot helped his father to the runway.
The old medicine man was stiff from the cramped position, and somewhat shaken by his “stunting” trip through the air lanes.
Chick, belligerent and impulsive, followed John.
“What did you mean by throwing that smoke flare in on us?” he demanded. “You might have suffocated us!”
“I did not throw anything!” the young Indian retorted, cool and quiet, as he steadied his father. “We watched, that is all. Some one else is to blame, not I. And—when I find him!——”
Garry, seeing his face, felt glad that he was not the target of an emotion that contorted the copper-colored face into the mask of a veritable fury.
“Let’s go to the hangar,” Don suggested. “Maybe we can talk this out.”
“Come!” agreed Ti-O-Ga, moving away.
Doc Morgan, Toby Tew and some of the handlers who had stayed around discussing the exciting night’s events, looked disappointed.