The “Ogden II” had crossed the mountains and landed in safety on a gently rising swell some distance beyond.
Cranny slapped the aviator on the shoulder with a force corresponding to the enthusiasm exhibited by his speech, whereupon Bob winced and hastily drew away.
“Thanks, Cranny,” he said, “but I’d understand without having the sentiments pounded in.”
“Bob, I couldn’t help it. The way you handled that biplane was simply great. I’d call it a corkin’ fine experience but for——”
The big lad paused, while an anxious expression replaced his habitual grin.
“I wonder what has happened to them,” said Bob, musingly. “The ‘Border City’ has certainly been blown against the mountain.”
“Sure as we’re standin’ here,” agreed Cranny. “By Jupiter, wasn’t it mean luck that the wind had to change?”
The two stared about them for a moment in silence. Foot-hills and mountains rose at their back, while in front a vast expanse of prairie stretched off to the limits of view. Here and there, masses of mesquite and scrubby trees dotted its rolling surface.
“What’s to be done, Somers?” asked Cranny, at length.
“Have a bite to eat, and wait for the wind to quiet down,” answered Bob, with a glance at the sky.