He did not inform Johnny then how far they must walk before they would be within catching distance, and Johnny started off willingly enough, after Bland had convinced him that the Thunder Bird would be perfectly safe until morning.

It was a quiet neighborhood, he declared, and no one would be likely to come near the place.

If they did, they could not fly off with the Thunder Bird unless they happened to be carrying an extra propeller around with them.

This, Johnny suspected, was Bland's best attempt at irony.
They walked and they walked, at first along a rough country road that seemed real boulevard to Johnny, who was accustomed to the trails of Arizona.

Later they emerged upon asphalt, and trudged along the edge of that for a time, moving aside as swift bars of light bathed them briefly, with the swish of speeding automobiles brushing close.
Johnny's head was roaring with the remembered beat of the Thunder Bird's motor.