“There’s that ‘plane again!” Al pointed to a tiny red flare high up over the roadhouse ground. “He has come back.”
“I suppose I frightened him away,” Bob said. “He probably thinks whoever chased him has given up, and he has come back.”
“One thing bothers me,” Al observed, forgetting his weary legs in the fresh excitement. “Why would a crate that has a pilot who flies away from pursuit come back to do stunts?”
“I can’t answer that,” Bob replied. “Let’s get there. See! He is looping, and he has lighted some sort of rocket or bomb that makes a trail of fire to show his stunt off in the dark.”
“It’s pretty, isn’t it?”
Bob agreed with his brother’s exclamation as the airplane, high above them, with fireworks leaving a comet’s tail behind it, made a series of loops, dived, zoomed, made a sort of “S” of fire by side-slipping first one way and then the other.
When they got back to the roadhouse the display was over. Ground flares were going and it was clear that the pilot meant to land.
“We’re going to see who it is, after all,” declared Bob, thrilled by the possible revelation that was to come.
Curt saw the gyrating ship and its glowing trail of sparks. He watched for a moment and then went doggedly back to his work. If Bob needed this sport craft, Curt proposed to have it ready if careful, methodical work could get it so.
Surprised, he heard himself addressed by a youth who came over from the farmhouse whose builder owned the field.