Back at the field, King cut a straight line through the crowd to the office. But the little room where he had left Lyle was empty. The roll of bandage was still on the desk. The sight of it made King feel strange. He laid a hand gently on the arm she had bound up. King sought her on the field, but she was not there. Walt Tennant was, however. The boss of the circus stood just inside the ropes, slowly chewing an unlit cigar. He kept a keen eye upon the knot of waiting customers who had already bought tickets for flights, but he did not fail to see King Horn as the stunt pilot walked toward him. “Fixed up?” he asked, glancing at King’s arm. “Sure. Look here, Walt--I’m quitting.” Walt Tennant transferred all his attention to his pilot. “You? What for? Somebody been telling you that flying’s dangerous?” “My kind of flying--yes. I’m quitting the rough stuff, Walt. How about a job carrying passengers?” Tennant laughed. “I’ll bet Lyle’s been talking to you.” King Horn ignored this and looked away in some resentment when Tennant’s keen eyes probed his face. He didn’t want to talk about Lyle to anyone--not even to her own father. “D’you think you could put me on carrying passengers?” he repeated. Walt Tennant continued to appraise the younger man. “You?” he said at last. “You carry passengers!” King Horn looked at his employer, puzzled by his tone. “Why not?” he asked. “You’re not trying to tell me you think I’m a poor pilot, are you?” Walt Tennant clapped King suddenly on the back. “The best in the world!” he declared heartily. “The best--bar none, otherwise you’d have killed yourself in a crash long ago instead of just cracking up a few ships.” “Well----” King paused questionings. “How could I give you a job as a regular pilot when your friend Cross and these other newspaper men have got you labeled all over the country as the craziest, crashingest pilot in the game?” Walt Tennant demanded. “How many customers would come near this circus if they thought they might draw you to take ’em for a ride? You--a man that’s crashed or cracked thirteen ships! How long would I have a circus, do you suppose?” King Horn was stunned by this volley of questions. He had never doubted his own ability as a pilot and none of the other airmen, he knew, had ever denied his skill at the stick. He had proved that often enough and in ways that no other pilot would follow. But the public--he saw Tennant’s point. His reputation had not only pressed him into taking more and more risks every day. It had also cut him off from the chance of earning a living in any other way than by continuing to take risks. He was a pilot apart--a specialist in the air who was being pushed steadily toward death by his specialty. There was no job for him with the Tennant circus but the job of flying fool.