"Ain't it a shame she ain't equipped with a self-starter?" he fleered. "You two look cute, settin' there; but I don't seem to see yuh making any quick getaway, at that." He spread his legs and stood arrogantly, arms folded, the sneer looking perfectly at home on his face. "Don't be a darned boob!" Johnny snapped impatiently. "Turn 'er over. Miss Selmer wants me to pilot her home, and I'm going to tackle it. You needn't be scared, though; I'll come back." "I don't think so," said Bland, teetering a little as he stood. "I will, unless I bust something. And it's my machine, so I'm sure going to be right careful that nothing busts." What Johnny wanted to do was get out and lick Bland Halliday till he howled, but since the gratification of that desire was neither politic nor convenient, he promised himself a settlement later on, when Mary V was not present. Just now he must humor Bland along. "I don't think you'll come back," Bland repeated, "because I don't think you'll start. There's a little detail to be looked after first--a little swingin' on the propeller to be done. I don't see anybody doin' it. And I never did hear of anybody flying without their motor running." He tittered malevolently. "Cut out the comedy, bo, and let me in there. You start 'er for me, and _I'll_ take Miss Selmer home for you. You ain't got your pilot's license yet--by a long ways. I never heard of a flyer getting his license on a thirty or forty minute course. It ain't done, bo--take it from me." He spat into the sand with an air of patient tolerance. "Are you all ready, Johnny?" Mary V's voice was rather alarmingly sweet. "I'm not going to _touch_ this ducky little wheel. I'm afraid I might think it was my car and do something queer. I shall let you drive--if you _call_ it driving. Now if Mr. Halliday will crank up for us, we'll go." "Mr. Halliday will let you set there till you get enough," Bland grinned sourly. "I'm thinking of your safety, sister. I'm thinkin' more of you than that piece of cheese in the pilot's seat." "Mr. Halliday, won't you _please_ start the motor?" There was a remarkable stress upon the "please," considering the gun in Mary V's steady little right hand. She peered down owl-eyed at Bland through the big goggles. "This is Arizona--where guns are not loaded with blanks, Mr. Halliday. I'll prove it if you like. I'd just _love_ to shoot you!" Bland Halliday drew his feet together as though he intended to run. Mary V, still peering down through the goggles, shot a spurt of sand over the toe of one scuffed shoe. Bland stepped aside hastily. "I can't see well enough to be sure of missing you next time," Mary V assured him. "Generally I can shoot awfully close and miss, but--I'd _like_ to shoot you, really. You'd better crank the motor." Bland saw the hammer lift again, ominously deliberate. He sidled hurriedly down to the propeller. His pale stare never left the gun, which kept him inexorably before its muzzle.