Rick taxied onto the runway, turned the airplane and moved the throttles forward. Shortly, the tailwheel was off the ground, and a moment after that they were airborne and crossing Santa Monica Beach, then out over the Pacific. Rick began climbing and turning parallel to the beach, then he called Los Angleles Control, reported his position and was cleared en route. He tuned in the Palmdale radio beacon and turned northeast toward it. By Palmdale he was at his cruising altitude of 13,000 feet in smooth air, with a nice tailwind. He calculated his groundspeed at just over 200 knots, or about 230 statute miles per hour.
He punched the button for the intercom and switched on the cabin speaker. “All right, everybody,” he said, “we’re at our cruising altitude of thirteen thousand feet, making good time. Our flight should be about four and a half hours, so that should put us in at the Jackson Airport in a little over four hours from now. If we encounter turbulence and have to climb higher, you may need to put on your oxygen mask, which is near your seat, but please don’t do that until I ask you to.
“Our route is across Nevada, then over the northwest corner of Utah, then over the southeast corner of Idaho, then Jackson. There should be some spectacular mountain scenery below us along the way, and don’t worry; we won’t bump into anything. Glenna and Suzanne will serve lunch around noon.”
Rick leaned the engines for maximum cruise speed and switched on the autopilot. “There,” he said to Vance over the intercom, “we’re on our way.”
“I didn’t realize you were going to be our pilot,” Vance said. “Have you been flying long?”
“All my life. First, in my Dad’s lap. I was flying left seat with him when I was twelve, and I got my license at sixteen. Have you ever flown before?”
“Once: a five-pound, half-hour ride in an old Jenny at Biggin Hill, in Kent. I threw up, and then I was fine.”
“If you have any problems with airsickness, there’s a bag in the pocket by your knee.”
“Nope, that was first-time nervousness,” Vance said.
“I was five minutes into my first combat mission when I threw up into my lap. After that, I was fine.”
“What were you flying, the Thunderbolt?”
“No, those didn’t come along until ’43. We flew the Grumman Wildcat. We were at Guadalcanal in August of ’42, supporting the landings, when a big Japanese transport force turned up to reinforce the island. My squadron led the attack that sank the aircraft carrier Ryujo, but I took some anti-aircraft fire that punched a hole in my airplane and messed up my right knee. After that, it was hospital ships, then San Diego, then back to L.A., where Eddie Harris got me to the best knee man on the West Coast. I got a medical discharge in early ’44.”
“I guess I was lucky; I was too young for conscription,” Vance said. “I tried to enlist when I was fifteen, but my mother heard about it and turned up at the recruiting office with my birth certificate and practically led me out by the ear. I’ve always felt guilty about not serving.”
“Don’t. Your conscience should be clear.”
“I suppose so.”
Vance began asking questions about the airplane, and they passed most of the trip talking about flying. Rick turned off the autopilot and let Vance fly the airplane for a few minutes, but then lunch was served, and he turned it back on.
Rick picked up the radio beacon at Jackson half an hour out and homed in on it. The weather was clear, and the windsock showed him the active runway. He made a smooth landing and taxied up to the terminal.
Manny White was waiting for them with a big Ford station wagon and a pickup truck for the luggage, driven by a Cooper Ranch cowboy. Rick made arrangements for hangaring and refueling, and twenty minutes later they were at the Cooper Ranch.
The Coopers — MacKenzie, known as Mac, and his wife, Eleanor, called Ellie — a weathered-looking pair of sixty or so, were warm and welcoming and showed them to their rooms. When everyone had had a chance to freshen up, Manny loaded them all into the station wagon and gave them a tour of the huge spread, pointing out locations as they went.
“You did good, Manny,” Rick said halfway through. “It’s perfect.”
Eddie Harris, uncharacteristically, seemed speechless, awed by the towering Tetons and the gorgeous landscape.
They dined on home-grown roast beef at the ranch house that night, supplemented by bottles from a case of wine Eddie had brought. He was deep in conversation with the Coopers at his end of the table, while the other end carried on its own conversation.
After dinner, Mac Cooper led them into the rustic living room and showed Eddie and Rick a map of the area with the ranch boundaries marked. Manny had told them that the Coopers had lost two sons in the war, but except to express the visitors’ condolences, nothing more was said about it. Cooper told them that during the war he had had something over 7,000 head of cattle on the place, selling exclusively to the military. He was down to something over 4,000 head now and was selling briskly to the civilian market.
They were at an elevation of around 6,500 feet, and the thin air made everyone tired. They were all in bed by nine o’clock.
Rick settled into a comfortable bed with Glenna.
“Sid Brooks’s wife is worried,” she said sleepily to Rick.
“What’s Alice worried about?”
“The committee business,” she said, then she turned over and fell asleep.
Rick was not far behind her.
12
Rick slept like a stone until after ten o’clock. To his surprise, Glenna was already out of bed. He showered and shaved, went downstairs for coffee and found everyone but Eddie on the front porch with their cups.
“Morning, all,” he said, and everyone returned his greeting. “Is Eddie still in bed?” he asked Suzanne.
“No. He’s deep in conversation with Mac Cooper, in his study,” she replied.
Manny appeared and walked everyone around the immediate environs of the ranch house, showing them the bunkhouse, the mess hall, the barns and corrals and the place that was being prepared for the war-surplus barracks buildings.
“They’re arriving on Tuesday,” Manny said, “and they’ll all be up by the end of next week.”
After their tour they went to a corral and met the ranch foreman, Dick Torrey, who had a wrangler choose horses for them. The animals were saddled, then Torrey led them away from the ranch house for an hour’s ride. They arrived at a low bluff on the Snake River, where the ranch’s chuck wagon awaited them and served lunch while a wrangler picketed their horses.
They sat around a rough-hewn portable table on sawhorses and ate the good food.
“I think I’m going to enjoy shooting up here,” Rick said, “and I’ll be sorry to leave.”
“You can visit as often as you like,” Eddie said. “I bought the place this morning.”
His wife’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”
“Mac and Ellie Cooper expected their sons to carry on here, but that is not to be, so they’ve decided to retire and build a new, smaller house for themselves a couple of miles up the river on fifty acres they’ve kept.”
Suzanne was having difficulty with this. “You bought a ranch?”
Eddie nodded. “This ranch, nearly sixteen thousand acres of it. It’s a going concern, you know, and Dick Torrey is going to run it for me.”
“But you are the most urban person I know,” Suzanne said.
“I could get used to this,” Eddie said, waving an arm. “In fact, I’m already used to it. I even like being on a horse.”
“How much do you expect we’ll use the place?”
“As often as we like,” Eddie replied. “After all, we have an airplane; let’s use it.”