He was inquiring the way, he explained to Johnny, who did not
believe him; Cliff drove with too much certainty, seemed too familiar
with certain unexpected twists in the road, to be a stranger upon it,
Johnny thought. But he did not say anything--it was none of his
business. Cliff was running this part of the show, and Johnny was
merely a passenger. His job was flying, when the time came to fly.
After a while he slid farther down into the seat and slept.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"MY JOB'S FLYING"
The stopping of the motor wakened him finally, and he sat up,
stretching his arms and yawning prodigiously. His legs were cramped,
his neck was stiff, he was conscious of great emptiness. By the stars
he knew that it was well toward morning. Hills bulked in the distance,
with dark blobs here and there which daylight later identified as live
oaks. Cliff was climbing out, and at the sound of Johnny's yawn he
turned.
"We'll camp here, I think. There's no road from here on, and I rather
want daylight. Perhaps then we will decide not to go on. How would a
cup of coffee suit you? I can get out enough plunder for a meal.
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