efusing to explain the omission. Bland turned to
Johnny.

"She's O.K., old man. All we gotta do now is load up and start. You sure
have balled things up by not getting enough gas, though. How far is it to
that tank station--or some other that's closer?"

"There isn't any closer. I don't know exactly, but--"

"It's fifty-seven miles," Mary V fibbed hastily, and reached back a foot
to kick Johnny into silence.

"Not air-line?"

"Certainly, air-line. Do you realize that you rode _seventy-five miles_,
the way you came? And it's pretty rough country to land on, if you ran
out of gas." She gave Johnny another kick, which Bland could not observe
because of the wing they were leaning against.

Bland's mouth pulled down at the corners. "I _told_ yuh we needed more
gas," he complained. "Where'd you git the idea of packing gas in a tin
cup to run an airplane on?"

"Where'd you get the idea we could pack a fifty-gallon drum on
horseback?" Johnny retorted. "Believe me, you're lucky to get any at
all!"

"I'll say this is some country!" Bland observed sourly. "Here we are--all
ready to go--and not enough gas to take us to the railroad, even! Well,
get in. I'll joy-ride yuh up and down this damn' scenery till the gas
gives out."

"You'll teach me to fly. There's enough gas for one good lesson, anyway."

"Oh, all right. Sure, I'll teach you, if you're able to learn. But you
hustle more gas down here, see? I'm all fed up on this country, and I
ain't denying it. First off, we'll do a straightaway. I spotted a good
level strip of ground over there a ways; that'll do to teach you how to
land. Then we'll come back and fly straight off east for a ways, and
circle and come back. How does that suit?"

"Fine and dandy. Hold my hat, Mary V." Johnny went to the front, reached
high and caught the propeller blade. "All ready?" he cried, with the air
of a veteran.

"A'right!" answered Bland, and Johnny put his weight into the pull,
failed to "turn 'er over," took a deep breath and tried it again. The
third attempt set the propeller whirling in a blurred circle. The motor
woke to throbbing life again.

"Help me turn 'er first," called Bland, with a gesture to make his
meaning clear.

"'Bye, Mary V! Now's your chance to get a picture--but you'll have to
hurry!"

Johnny climbed up, straddled into the seat ahead of Bland. He placed his
feet, pulled down his goggles, grasped the wheel and felt himself
balanced--poised, with a drumming