CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Later in the day Kurt Blandin stalked into the News office and wentdirectly to Tim's desk.
"Too bad about Dugan," he said, but there was no pity in his words. "Ididn't see him until we struck. I'd thought of bringing the air circusback here, but I'm not so sure about it now. The accident will give uskind of a black eye."
"You don't seem to be very sorry about what happened to Dugan," snappedTim, his eyes steely and his lips drawn in hard lines. "And Blandin, Idon't think we want you around here. There are a lot of things you aregoing to have to explain. I've got a few suspicions about you thataren't very pleasant--Sky Hawk!"
The last words fairly ripped between Tim's lips. Tensed, the flyingreporter watched their effect on Blandin. The head of the Ace air circusswayed like a slender reed in the wind, but there was no change in themask-like expression of his face. Perhaps his eyes shifted slightly, butthat was all. He laughed, a cold, nerve-chilling laugh that shockedTim's finer sensibilities.
"You're crazy, Murphy," replied Blandin and before Tim could reply,turned and hurried from the room.
For half an hour Tim remained at his desk, mulling over the events ofthe last months. Only a few hours before he had been so near thesolution--so near to learning the identity of the Sky Hawk. If Dugancould only talk, but Dugan's lips were stilled forever.
The daredevil's words about the German ace came back to him and he wentinto the library in the News building and sat down before a large file.Slowly he thumbed through the orderly stack of pictures with theirdescriptive stories attached. Back through the years he went as herejected first one picture and then another.
Suddenly he stopped. The picture in his hand was familiar. A face wassmiling up at him from the glossy print, a German fatigue cap was set ata jaunty angle, there was a slight scar over one eye--it was familiarand yet unfamiliar. It looked like Kurt Blandin, yet it was unlike KurtBlandin. It might have been Kurt ten years before.
Hastily Tim read the short paragraph of descriptive matter attached. Thepicture in his hand was that of Max Reuter, one of the greatest ofGerman aces, who had been brought down behind the Allied lines justbefore the close of the war. Shell-shocked, Reuter had been held in aprison camp until the close of the war and then released.
The clipping told little more of importance, but to Tim it had provideda world of information. The whole puzzle fitted together. Dugan's story,even without him, was complete, and he hurried from the library andstarted toward the municipal airport.
Tim had a premonition of danger and when he reached the field was notsurprised to see Hunter run toward him the minute he came through thegate.
"Tim, Tim," cried the field manager. "The Sky Hawk has struck! He'swrecked our eastbound express plane and looted its cargo!"
"Where?" asked Tim with a numbness of heart that seemed to weigh himdown.
"East of Montour. The report just came in. It couldn't have happenedmore than an hour ago. Ralph's over on the line now warming up yourship. Will you help us out?"
Tim nodded, hastened into the office for a suit of coveralls and in fiveminutes was speeding west. Less than an hour later they were scudding toa landing on a field where the remains of the eastbound express wereonly a blackened heap.
It was a simple story. The country was sparsely settled. A forcedlanding by the plane, a pounce by the waiting Sky Hawk, a dead pilot, aflaming plane with empty express compartments. The marks of the SkyHawk's plane were plainly visible in the snow, even his footprints couldbe discerned. But that was all There were no fingerprints, nothing morethan the tracks in the snow. It looked like a hopeless quest when Ralph,poking around in the wreckage of the plane, picked up a bit of metal. Itwas a small piece of copper, corroded, strangely so.
Without explaining his action to Tim, he pocketed it and they preparedfor the return flight to Atkinson.
"Find out anything?" demanded Hunter who was waiting for them when theylanded.
"Not much," said Ralph, "but I'm going to ride the westbound planetomorrow morning. Maybe we'll know more then."
"What's this theory about the Sky Hawk you're working on?" asked Timwhen they were alone.
"It's hardly a theory," admitted Ralph. "A hunch maybe, but not atheory. Look at this."
He pulled the chunk of corroded copper from his pocket.
"It's one of the cabin fittings," said Tim recognizing the piece fromthe wrecked plane, "but what of it."
"Nothing much," replied Ralph, "except it holds the secret of the SkyHawk's power."
"What! You're crazy."
"No, I'm not crazy. It's as plain as day. You wait and see."
"I'll wait, all right," agreed Tim. "Either you're awful bright or I'mawfully dumb. But this is your show. You must have a good idea of howthe Sky Hawk is bringing down these planes. Here's luck."
The next morning found them at the field, ready for the departure of thewestbound express. Hunter, worried and anxious, was on hand. Every planewhich the Sky Hawk destroyed meant a loss of $25,000 and he could see ayear's profits gone in a week unless someone solved the secret of theSky Hawk's power.
Tim was warming up the Good News but turned for a final word from Ralph.
"Fly high and keep well behind us," instructed his chum. "If anythinggoes wrong with our ship, cut your motor, listen for the hum of anotherplane, but don't try to follow it. Beat it for the ground and pullwhat's left of us clear of the machine."
"And don't," he added as an after thought, "dive through any queerlooking clouds which may be near our plane if we're struck down."
With that Ralph hurried into the cockpit of the waiting express shipwhere he crowded in beside the pilot. In another minute both planes werewinging their way into the west, the motors barking in the cold winterair.
The trip was uneventful and four hours later the planes roared down onthe snow covered field at Lytton, the western terminal of thetranscontinental's southwestern division.
"Too clear. We need clouds to catch the Sky Hawk," was the onlyexplanation Ralph would make when Tim asked him about the trip.
The next day Ralph looked at the winter sky, studded with scurryingwind-swept clouds.
"We'll go with the express," he informed Hunter over the phone. "The SkyHawk will strike today and we want to be on the job."
Ralph lapsed into a grim silence as Tim and the pilot of the expressship prepared their planes for the takeoff on the eastbound trip. Withina few hours, perhaps minutes, the Sky Hawk would strike again. Justwhere and how he could only guess. He was pitting his nerve and brainsagainst the craft of a master crook. The decision was in the balance.
Ralph conferred with Tim for a moment before he crowded into the cockpitof the express plane. Then the two ships whirled over the snow and intothe air.
An hour, two hours elapsed and the planes were speeding over thedesolate Rock river country.
Tim, above and behind the mail, suddenly saw the express plane wobbleunsteadily and then drop away in a sickening dive. Remembering theinstructions Ralph had given him, he cut the motor of his own craft, andglided noiselessly through the broken clouds. He thought he heard thefaint hum of a motor--a higher pitched note than that of the expressplane's engine. It was gone in a second and he turned his attention tothe express plane, fluttering helplessly toward the ground.
With motor on full, he crashed downward through the clouds in ascreaming power dive. Every strut on the Good News shrilled its protestbut he held the nose down. He must reach the ground with the express;must be able to help Ralph and the express pilot if they needed hisassistance.
The express was limping toward a small clearing and Tim, now under it,leveled off and made a fast landing. A ground loop slowed his speed andhe was running toward the express plane when it banged down into thesnow, its landing gear crumpling as the pilot made clumsy attempt toland. The plane flipped over on its nose and a figure was thrown clearof the wreckage.
Tim reached the limp form on the snow. It
was Ralph! But there was notime to ascertain how badly his chum was injured. There was a sizzlingflash, a roar, and the motor of the express was enveloped in a mass offlame. Tim plunged on and under the overturned fuselage. There, stillstrapped in his seat, he found the unconscious pilot. With anxious handshe unfastened the safety belt and dragged the man away from the flamingcraft.
When he returned to Ralph, he found his chum gasping for air butotherwise unhurt. Together they worked to bring the express pilot backto consciousness.
"What happened?" demanded Tim.
"The Sky Hawk almost got us," said Ralph, his voice husky and unnatural."Another ten seconds and our goose would have been cooked. Here, let'sget this chap in the Good News. We've got to get him to a doctor quick.I'll tell you all about it on the way to Atkinson."
When they were safely on their way to the home field, Ralph explainedwhat had happened.
"He gassed us," he said simply. "That's the secret of his power to sendplanes and pilots to their destruction. He only strikes on cloudy dayswhen he can hide in the clouds. Just before his intended victim comesalong, he releases the gas in the clouds. The unsuspecting pilot runsright into the gas and puff! That's all there is to it. Simple, isn'tit?"
Tim was speechless with the horror of the Sky Hawk's method.
"Simple, yes," he managed to say, "but terrible."
"I'll admit that," grinned Ralph, and after tomorrow, if the weather'scloudy, there won't be any more Sky Hawk.
"What do you mean?"
"That we'll get the Sky Hawk. Now that we know his methods, we have theupper hand. This terror of the skies is about at the end of his string."
When they landed at Atkinson a doctor quickly brought the express flyerback to consciousness although he was rushed to a hospital for treatmentto check the ravages of the gas which he had breathed. Ralph had beenlucky and the slight whiff he had gotten had knocked him out onlytemporarily with no lasting danger.
They reported to Hunter, studied the weather forecasts for the next day,and completed their simple preparations for the capture of the Sky Hawk.
The morning edition of the News carried a carefully worded story how aspecial plane was to leave Atkinson that morning on a dash across theplains with a heavy shipment of specie needed by a bank at the westernterminal of the division. The $1,000,000 plane, the paper called it.
When Tim and Ralph wheeled the Good News from the hangar that morning, atruck was coming through the main gate with uniformed policemen on therunning boards. It was the work only of a minute to transfer the twodummy specie chests, heavy iron-bound boxes, from the truck to the cabinof the Good News. They were leaving nothing to chance for the Sky Hawkmight have accomplices on the field.
After a word with Hunter, Tim gunned the motor of the Good News and theyraced across the field and into the air in quest of the Sky Hawk. Bothboys were concentrating on the task ahead.
When they neared the Rock River country Ralph nudged his companion.
"Better put on the gas masks," he warned. "The clouds are heavy ahead ofus; just the place for the Sky Hawk."
They donned the gas protectors, ready for the Sky Hawk to strike. Aheadof them loomed a cloud, grayish-green in color.
Ralph signed for Tim to cut the motor. They soared silently. To theirright and ahead of them they could hear the sound of another plane. Timturned on his motor and ruddered hard to the right. All around them werethe grayish-green clouds of gas. The Sky Hawk had laid a careful trapfor the specie plane.
Suddenly they broke through the clouds. Just ahead of them a sleek,black monoplane was loafing in the sky. Its pilot, startled at thesudden appearance of the Good News, was caught unawares, and they werealmost on him before he could rev up his motor.
As they roared down on the monoplane, they caught a glimpse of thepilot, his face covered with a hideous mask to protect him from the gasclouds which he had scattered through the sky.
It was the Sky Hawk, the terror of the airways!
With quickening pulse, Tim set himself to the task of riding the SkyHawk to earth. He knew his plane was faster than that of the aerialbandit, but could he match his skill with the enemy and force him toearth?
There was a puff of smoke under the fuselage of the Sky Hawk's plane andanother of the gray-green clouds took form. But Tim and Ralph wereprotected from the gas and they drove through the cloud in a burst ofspeed.
The Sky Hawk looked around, plainly alarmed. He had evidently believedtheir, first appearance pure luck but their escape this time was no suchthing and the sky bandit realized that he was cornered. He could fightor run and either way the odds were against him for the Good News wastoo speedy for his craft. The tables were turned on the Sky Hawk. Forthe first time he found the odds against him and he chose to run.
It was a game to Tim's liking and he roared down on the tail of theblack monoplane. Both Tim and Ralph were armed but they hesitated to usetheir guns except as a last resort.
On and on they roared, first zig-zagging to the right, then to the left,up, then down, always on the tail of the sky Hawk, driving him evernearer the ground.
Desperate, the masked bandit in the black plane turned on them andbullet after bullet ripped through the air as he blazed away at Tim andRalph with a sub-machine gun. It was dangerous work now, but Tim handledthe Good News in masterful fashion relentlessly teasing the Sky Hawkinto shooting at them when they had him at a disadvantage.
Finally the sky bandit threw away his gun, his ammunition exhausted. Timsaw the gesture and steeled himself for the end. Whatever its outcome itwould come quickly.
The Sky Hawk threw his plane into a crazy, twisting climb thatthreatened to pull the motor out of the ship. Tim outguessed him andclimbed two feet to the bandit's one. Two, three, four, five thousandfeet they clawed their way into the sky, the Sky Hawk trying franticallyto escape his pursuers for in the grimfaced flying reporters he couldread his finish unless escape came soon.
Ralph had put together the tangled webs which put them on the Sky Hawk'strail. Now it was up to Tim to bring about the end of the career of thegangster of the airways.
"Hang on," yelled Tim as he pushed the throttle to the end of its arc.The song of the motor deepened and the Good News quivered as it felt thefull power of the 500 horse power engine.
The Good News dropped down on the Sky Hawk's ship like an avengingeagle. It swooped low, ready for the kill.
Closer and closer came the motor-maddened planes, each pilot intent onthe destruction of the other. Then, too late to escape, the Sky Hawkguessed Tim's plan but before he could move or throw his plane into aspin, there was the crash of wood and the scream of wires.
Half of the upper wing of the monoplane crumpled as Tim raked hislanding gear through it. The propeller shivered into a thousand piecesand the motor raced madly.
Tim and Ralph, peering from their plane, saw the black craft pause inmid-air for a moment. In that fleeting second they saw the Sky Hawk halfrise in his cockpit and rip the gas mask from his face.
It was Kurt Blandin and in the anger-marked face Tim recognized thelikeness to Max Reuter, the German ace. The mystery was solved, thepuzzle fitted and Blandin punctuated its completion with a final show ofbravado as he raised clenched fists toward them.
Then the black plane fell away in a tight spin. Blandin made no effortto escape and a thousand feet above the ground the wings collapsed andthe Sky Hawk crashed to his death.
Tim swung the Good News in a great circle, then headed for Atkinson. TheSky Hawk was gone; the airways were clear once more.
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