Chiffon Scarf by Mignon Good Eberhart

the immensity of the spectacle below held her spellbound, awed, a little frightened.
    And all at once they were again over a flat country; the plane lost altitude: they were descending—rapidly, too, for the brownish green expanse far below began to take on shape and distinctness.
    She realized that again they were circling. Again it was as if the pilot were looking for something on the earth below. A landing field? Or just a mark to guide him?
    She must find Jim, she told herself again. She reached to unfasten the safety belt the little steward had adjusted around each the night before.
    And just then Jim himself came suddenly, stooping, through the little door, and shouted: “Hey, there, everybody. We’re landing—”
    She felt for the safety belt; it was securely fastened. And the others, as habitual plane travelers do at a landing, woke instantly.
    “It’s a forced landing,” shouted Jim. “Hang on. It may be rough.”
    But it wasn’t a forced landing; the plane was obviously under perfect control. She had time to think that. Then Noel shouted something she couldn’t hear and Averill in front of her apparently looked out the window and cried out sharply above the roar of the motors. And then everybody was silent.
    For they were landing.
    Earth was rushing up to meet them. She held her breath—would they make a good landing? Would they nose over? Would they—
    They didn’t. There was a slight bump; the earth was all at once just outside the window—gray-green, covered with short grass and brush. And they rolled gently to a perfect, quiet stop.
    The silence in the cabin continued for a moment while they realized safety. Then the engine was cut off. And into the abrupt stillness Averill cried shrilly: “Jim, what’s happened? Where are we? Good heavens, there are mountains—”
    And instantly everyone, it seemed to Eden, echoed it. Even Dorothy Woolen looked white and scared and clutched at Noel’s arm agitatedly.
    “Trouble,” said Jim rapidly. “But don’t be scared. We’re all right now.”
    “What kind of trouble?” that was Noel, out of his seat now, at Jim’s side. Pace, emerging from his rug behind Eden, struggling with the clasp of his safety belt, looked very much like a startled and savage bear.
    “I don’t know,” said Jim. “Instruments went haywire during the night; had some clouds; got off our course. Radio’s dead, too. We saw a good place to land and did it. Fuel is barely holding out. We had to land.”
    “But where—” That was Noel.
    “I saw a ranch house over that way,” said Jim. “Maybe they’ll take us in till we can get squared around.”
    “But what—what an extraordinary accident,” cried Averill. “Those are mountains over there—what mountains, for heaven’s sake? Where are we?”
    “We’ll soon find out,” said Jim. “I’m sorry, Averill. But we’re lucky to land so near a house. After all there’s breakfast to think of—I’ll go along. Want to come, Noel?”
    “No,” said Noel. “I’ll stay here.”
    “Don’t be long,” said Creda.
    They watched him leave, striding rapidly along almost as if he knew his way across the sandy, flat stretch of land—a land covered with a kind of coarse, sparse grass and clumps of grayish green growth which Eden for want of more exact knowledge took (and correctly) to be sagebrush. Evidently the tract of land on which they’d landed was not under irrigation for it was arid, flat, desertlike—curiously primitive and untouched in aspect.
    “Well,” said Averill in a tight voice, “there’s nothing to do but wait.” She looked at her watch, said, “Five o’clock. Good heavens. And they are expecting us at the plantation!” She sat down again, pulling her yellow cloak around her and staring disconsolately out the window. Creda came to sit beside Averill. Dorothy leaned back and closed her eyes sleepily. Pace got out of the plane and walked up and down smoking. Rather oddly there was little audible