Blaine set the Neptune down on the dirt runway. No jet would ever survive there. The chronic dust would choke the engines at once. The old prop plane would need maintenance, even though it could take the environment. Half his ground crew was at Reserve anyway. They’d go over the planes one by one, Blaine’s first if he asked them to. He didn’t. Let them deal with the three birds in the order they’d landed—Mike, Margie and then Blaine. Meanwhile, maybe he could scrounge up some chow or at least a lot of black coffee. Then maybe he could make it back to Grant County tonight.
The forest service crews had a basic chow hall set up. If he threw in a few dollars, they’d surely not turn him away. Most of the ground crews were not back yet, and the night crews were going out, so there was no line.
