Willie Sloan’s eyes shot open to their widest extent. Bob had risen just a little higher than his shaky nerves could stand. He stared hard for an instant, and then:
“Go down, Somers; go down!” he yelled.
The aviator gathered the sense of his words, and in his desire to ease the mind of his excited passenger, sent the “Ogden II” again rushing toward a lower level.
“The little chap ought not to have tried it,” he reflected. “I’ll have to take my chances on the cattle stampeding.”
“GO BACK TO THE RANCH”
And now a new fear had entered Willie Sloan’s mind. He looked at the earth, apparently coming toward them with appalling speed; he thought that Bob Somers had misunderstood him and intended to make an effort to alight somewhere on the plain below. He looked at the dreaded steers, now in a state of great commotion.
“No—no! Go back to the ranch, Somers!” he yelled, hoping that his words might be heard.
In his anxiety, he reached over and gave the aviator’s arm a violent jerk.
It was an unfortunate move, at a critical moment. Instead of soaring off in a horizontal direction, in response to a clever handling of the control levers at the proper instant, as Bob had counted upon, the interference so affected his manipulation that the biplane continued on its downward course.