Across her back her name was lettered crudely, blatantly, with the blobbed period where Johnny had his first mental shock of Sudden's changed attitude toward him.
While he pulled on his leather helmet and tied the flaps under his chin, and buttoned his leather coat and pulled on his gloves, Johnny stood off and eyed the Thunder Bird with wistful affection.

She was going into the night for the first time, going into danger, perhaps into annihilation.

She might never fly again! He went up and laid a hand caressingly on her slanted propeller, just as he used to stroke the nose of his horse Sandy before a hard ride.
"Good old Thunder Bird! Good old Mile High! You've got your work cut out for yuh to-night, old girl.

Go to it--eat it up." He slid his hand down along the blade's edge and whispered, "It's you and me for it, old girl.

You back my play like a good girl, and we'll give 'em hell!" He stepped back, catching Cliff's eye as Cliff took a last puff at his cigarette before grinding it under his heel.
"Thought I saw a crack in the blade," Johnny gruffly explained his action.