Trouble on His Wings Read Online Free PDF Page B

scratch pad, pausing
now and then to look at the faraway earth, pencil poised against her lips and then
writing again. It went on for some time, and finally Johnny’s curiosity got the
better of him. He stood up quietly, but an air bump made him clutch his chair.
She caught the motion and, in a flurry of embarrassment, wadded the paper into
a ball.
    â€œLet’s see it,” said
Johnny.
    She shook her head,
tightening the wad. He reached out his hand, but before he had reached her, she
had already lowered the window an inch and the white ball fled back and away.
    â€œWhat were you
writing?” said Johnny.
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou might at least
confide in me. I have some rights.”
    â€œIt wasn’t anything,”
she said, cheeks turning a deeper hue.
    â€œIt must have been,”
said Johnny.
    â€œIt . . . it was some
poetry,” she faltered.
    He looked her askance
and sat down, changing his attention to the Black Hills which slowly rose out
of the horizon ahead. She pushed her hands down into the pockets of Irish’s
flying jacket and studied Johnny.
    â€œYou don’t believe
me,” she decided at last. “Maybe you thought I was framing a message or
something. But, honest, it was poetry. This is the first time I have ever flown
over the United States.”
    â€œWhy don’t you give me
a break?” said Johnny. “I’m on your side.”
    â€œYou weren’t this
morning,” she reminded him.
    â€œAw, can’t a guy blow
off the steam of a hangover if he wants? And besides, it was funny that I’d
pick you up and have my first bad luck in the movie business all at one and the
same time. Give me a break. What’s your name and who’s after you, and why? I
got influence, sometimes.”
    â€œYou . . . you
couldn’t ever help me out of this . . . but then, I’ve said too much already.”
    â€œIs it some smuggling
outfit?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œMaybe it’s
espionage.”
    â€œN-No.”
    â€œMaybe it’s the
police.”
    She didn’t answer, and
he showed immediate interest. “Are the cops after you?”
    â€œThere’s no use trying
to find out. It would be worth your life to know.”
    â€œI’ve got some
rights,” persisted Johnny, with a slow smile. “After all, when you pick up a
ship at sea, you got rights. And I picked you out of the drink. Salvage, that’s
what. I’ve got salvage rights on you. And you won’t even tell me your name.”
    â€œDon’t make me tell,”
she pleaded. “It . . . it would be the end of you.”
    Johnny considered her
calmly. “Something on the order of Medusa , eh?”
    She was startled.
    â€œOh, cameramen can
read, too,” smiled Johnny.
    â€œI may be a Medusa,
but perhaps you aren’t Perseus .”
    â€œI don’t want your
head,” said Johnny, “and I doubt that you’d turn me to stone. I only want to
know what’s in it.”
    â€œDoes the right of
salvage include that, too?”
    â€œIt does,” said
Johnny, “but definitely.”
    â€œThen, someday, if I
live, perhaps I’ll tell you.” And that was all she would say.

Chapter
Four
    A GAINST the evening sky they
could see the rosy glow of flame and before they had traveled much further,
even at this height the smoke began to sting their eyes. And then, as they
climbed, the whole earth below, it seemed, was one vast blanket of flame. To
the north, like lightning, the crown fire was running. To the south the dead
earth smoldered.
    The girl stared down,
appalled, feeling small and weak before this panorama of seared mountains. The
drone of their engine seemed small and when the heat currents began to buffet
their wings, knocking them about the sky, her heart stood in her throat, lest
they be thrown down to cook in this hell. It was hot enough at three thousand
feet.
    Steadily Irish