"It was the way the light struck.

All right; turn her over, and we'll go." He climbed in while Cliff went to the propeller.

Never before had Johnny felt so keenly the profanation of Cliff's immaculate, gloved hands on his beloved Thunder Bird.
"Never mind, old girl.

His time's short--or ours is," he muttered while he tested his controls.

"All right--contact!" he called afterwards, and Cliff, with a mighty pull, set the propeller whirling and climbed hastily into his place.
The kiddies, grouped close to watch the Thunder Bird's flight, blinked and turned their faces from the dust storm kicked up by the exhaust.
The plane shook, ran forward faster and faster, lifted its little wheels off the ground and went whirring away toward the dark blur of the mountains that rimmed the southern edge of the valley.
Johnny circled twice, getting sufficient altitude to clear the hills, then flew straight for the border.