I could fly on and on forever. And just think! We may never pass this way again!”

“Life is like that, so why bother?” was the reply. She went back for her turn at resting, but did not sleep.

Was it the spell of the desert night that kept her awake? Who can say? At least she did not sleep, just lay there, wrapped in her robe, staring into the darkness, listening to the roar of the motors and thinking, thinking.

Her father was somewhere in Africa. She knew that and no more. It would seem strange to pass over him in the night and not to see him at all. Yet, that might happen. There was no time for looking around, no time for anything. They must go on and on.

When two hours had passed, she was back at Sparky’s side asking for the controls.

“I can’t sleep,” she explained. “Flying over the desert is fascinating. You don’t care a whoop about it.”

“That’s right.”

“Then why not let me have a chance at it?”

“Sure! Why not?” He yielded the controls.

As she took over, the words of an old song were running through her mind:

“Dance, gypsies; sing, gypsies; dance while you may.”

It is in time of war that such simple songs as this take on a world of meaning.

She had not been at the controls an hour when the first faint traces of dawn began to appear. Then, suddenly, a signal on her board flashed a grim warning. Instantly her fingers shut off the fuel and oil from their left motor. The next instant she turned the carbon-dioxide snow on that motor, as she called:

“Sparky! Sparky! Quick! Our left motor is on fire!”

Sparky was at her side in an instant.

CHAPTER VII BATTLING AT CLOSE QUARTERS

CHAPTER VII

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