I had the honor of repairing the damage you did to 'em; and I will say, you are so-ome bone smasher!" Which was all very well--but what did Mary V care about the damage done to those Mexicans?
She looked at the open window with the flapping curtains, and then she looked at the doctor.

She did not ask a single question, and I don't think she dreamed how wistful her eyes were.
"Well, our young aviator seems to be--holding on," the doctor observed very, very casually, seeming not to see the question Mary V's eyes were asking because her lips would not form it in words.

"Better, on the whole, than I expected." "Then you think--" "I think we won't worry about it until we have to.

They're tough, these young devils." Mary V tried and tried to wring encouragement from the words, but it was very hard, with Johnny lying like that and never moving.
They brought the airplane to the ranch, much as Johnny had brought it up from "the burning sands of Mexico." Mary V went out to look at it, but it seemed too terrible to think of how high Johnny's hopes had been, how he had worshiped that thing--and what it had done to him.

She went to her ledge on the bluff, and sat there and cried heart-brokenly.
There it stood, reared up on its silly little wheels, with its broken propeller still pointing straight up at the sky.