rel of Johnny's
six-shooter. "I was told to bring you back with me. Get in, I said."

"This is some trick! I--"

"You get--_in_!"

So Schwab climbed in awkwardly, his face mottled and flabby with fear
of the Thunder Bird.

"Fasten that strap around you--be sure it's fast. And put on this cap
and goggles if you like. And sit still." Then he called to the
languid Mexican who was idly watching him from afar. "Hey! Come and
pull the block away from the wheels."

The Mexican came trotting, the silver of the night before clinking in
his overalls pocket. Grinning hopefully, he picked up the post and
carried it to one side. But Johnny was not thinking then of tips. He
let in the motor until the Thunder Bird went teetering around in a wide
half circle and scudded down the level stretch, taking the air easily.

"This is an outrage!" Schwab shouted.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Oh, up in the air a ways," Johnny told him, but the roar of the motor
so filled Schwab's unaccustomed ears that he could hear nothing else.
And presently his mind became engrossed with something more immediately
vital than was his destination.

They were getting too high up, he shouted. Johnny must come down at
once--or if he would not do that, at least he must fly lower. Did
Johnny mean to commit suicide?

For answer Johnny grinned and went higher, and the face of Schwab
became not mottled but a sickly white. He sat gripping the edges of
the cockpit and gazing fearfully downward, save when he turned to
implore, threaten, and command. He would report Johnny to his
employers. He could make him sorry for this. He would make it worth
his while to land. He would do great things for Johnny--he would make
him rich.

From five thousand feet Johnny volplaned steeply to four thousand, and
Schwab's sentences became disconnected phrases that ended mostly in
exclamation points. So pleased was Johnny with the effect that he flew
in scallops from there on--not unmindful of the two scouting planes
that picked him up when he recrossed the line and dogged him from there
on.

"I suppose," snorted Johnny to the Thunder Bird, "they think they're
about the only real flyers in the air this morning. What? Can't you
show 'em an Arizona sample of flying? What you loafing for? Think
you're heading a funeral? Well, now, this is just about the proudest
moment you've spent for quite some time. This man Schwab---he craves
excitement. Can't you