"F'r cat's sake, what they went and done to this field?" Bland's
whining voice complained, and he swung the Thunder Bird away from a
long windrow of dried vines, just in time to avoid entangling the
wheels. They settled, ran along uneven surface for a space. A small
loose pile lay just ahead, and Bland veered sharply away. Another pile
to the left caught the wheels just as the tail was settling. The
Thunder Bird jerked, staggered drunkenly, wheeled over the pile and
then, with a gentle determination quite unexpected in so docile a bird,
turned itself up on its nose and with a splintering crash of the
propeller tilted on over until it lay flat on its back. Which was a
silly ending to so glorious a flight.
Johnny, hanging upside down with the strap strained tight across his
loins, with Bland dangling before him, felt even sillier than the
Thunder Bird looked. He freed himself after the first paralyzing shock
of surprise, dropped on all fours upon the upper wing covering, and
crawled out between the front braces. A minute later Bland followed,
looking extremely foolish.
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