“Why, no—but I thought there was some fire coming from one of the cylinders.” “There sure was. You know, on these motors with revolving cylinders, the exhaust-valve works automatically on a spring. Well, that spring broke. That let the fire spurt out—and it might have reached the fuel-tank. Know what might have happened then? Remember reading about several different aviators that got burned up, machines and all, up in the air? Well, fire reached their fuel tanks—that’s all. If you hadn’t jumped quick, every last plane might have been blazing, by now—and we burning alive, or blown to pieces. Hike, somehow, I’m glad you jumped quick!” Hike didn’t say a word. He merely sat down and imitated the Lieutenant, by wiping his forehead. Then he got up, as if very tired—he really was a bit wobbly, yet, after thinking what they had escaped. “I guess I’d better see if we can’t get hold of a ranchero and a team, and get driven into the city, and have a spring sent out.” “Yes, go ahead,” said the Lieutenant. It was nearly noon, the next day, before he was able to send out a man with a repair-kit and assorted springs to the Lieutenant. Then he caught a train for San Francisco. At last he was bound for the Academy again. For the first time since he had started for Mexico, he really remembered that he was a Sophomore at Santa Benicia, who might lose the glorious chance of playing in the San Dinero game because of his trip south. In a few moments, he had become very much of a Santa Benician. The only question in the world was: “Will they keep me out of the game? Will I be in decent trim to play, if they do put me in? Have my wind and nerve been hurt by the last few days?” The fast train seemed scarcely to move, so anxious was Hike to get back, and see where he stood with the coach and Captain McDever. CHAPTER XXVII WILL HIKE PLAY? Hike got off the train at Santa Benicia, weary now and looking a little worn. It seemed strange to alight at this familiar dowdy wooden station, after the brilliant desert nights and the terrible grandeur of battle. He walked slowly toward the Academy, and around a corner swung Bluggy Blodgett and two classmates, on a walk. “Hello, Hike,” they cried excitedly. “Back?” That same excited question as to whether he was back was asked by at least fifty before Hike reached Captain McDever’s room, where he found McDever and the coach, talking over the coming afternoon’s practise. They both rose from the window-seat, and, running him by the shoulders into a better light, by the windows, looked him over sharply. The coach shook his head. “You’re pretty well done up. What you been doing?” “Aeroplaning,” was all Hike would say.