ow. He knew perfectly well what harm he had
wrought. He was doing what he could to undo that harm, and he was at that
high pitch of self-torment when the lash of another was unbearable. He
did not want to quarrel with the boss, but no human being could have
reproached Johnny then without receiving some of the bitterness which
filled Johnny's soul.

He routed Bland out of nap and commanded him to make ready for another
flight. Bland protested, with his usual whine against extra work, and got
a look from Johnny that sent him hurrying around the plane to make his
regular before-flying inspection.

Fifteen minutes after Johnny's arrival the plane was quivering outside on
the flying field, and Bland was pulling down his goggles while Johnny
kicked a small rock away from a wheel and climbed up to straddle into the
rear seat, carrying his rifle with him--to the manifest discomfort of
Bland, who was "gun-shy."

"Fly a kinda zigzag course east till I tell yuh to swing south," Johnny
called, close to Bland's ear. "Miss Selmer's off that way somewhere. If
you see her, don't fly low enough to scare her horse--keep away a little
and hunt a landing. I'll tell yuh when to land, same as before."

He settled back, and Bland nodded, glanced right and left, eased the
motor on and started. They took the air and climbed steadily, circling
until they had the altitude Johnny wanted. Then, swinging away toward
Snake Ridge, they worked eastward. Johnny did not use the controls at
all. He wanted all his mind for scanning the country spread out below
them.

Ridges, arroyos, brushy flats--Johnny's eyes went over them all. Almost
before they had completed the first circle he spied a rider, then
two--and over to the right a couple more, scattered out and riding
eastward. Johnny wished that he could have speech with the boys, could
tell them what he meant to do. But he knew too well how the horses would
feel about the plane, so he kept on, skimming high over their heads like
a great, humming dragon fly. He saw them crane necks to watch him, saw
the horses plunge and try to bolt. Then they were far behind, and his
eyes were searching anxiously the landscape below.

Mary V, it occurred to him suddenly, might be lying hurt. Jake might have
thrown her--though on second thought that was not likely, for Mary V
was too good a rider to be thrown unless a horse pitched rather
viciously. Jake would run away, would rear and plunge and sidle when fear
gri