His talk must have been well lubricated with something substantial in the way of legal tender, for presently he returned, and behind him a team came down the road hauling a flat hayrack on which four Japs sat and dangled their legs to the jolting of the wagon.
"He's a good scout, and he will keep the plane under cover for us," Cliff announced in a satisfied tone.

"They're going to load it on the wagon and haul it home, where there's a shed I think will hold it.

If it won't, we'll buy it and knock out an end or something." The four Japs, chinning unintelligibly and smiling a good deal, loaded the Thunder Bird to Johnny's satisfaction, hauled it to the buildings over the ridge, and after they had knocked all the boards off one side to admit the wings, ran it under a shed.

Afterwards they nailed all the boards on again while Johnny stood around and watched them uneasily, secretly depressed because his Thunder Bird was being penned in by gibbering brown men who might be unwilling to return it to him on demand.
For good or ill, he was committed now to Cliff Lowell's project.

Even though he was committed for only a week, qualms of doubt assailed him at intervals during their roaring progress to the city.