CHAPTER TWO
While the parachutes floated down through the night, Tim realized thatthings were not turning out the way he had expected. He hoped the possewhich was supposed to be in readiness at Auburn had seen the battle inthe sky and was ready to do its part now.
Tim spilled some of the air from his parachute to speed his descent. Hemust reach the ground ahead of the bandits. If the posse wasn't on thejob, he might be able to handle the situation alone. Below him a heavypatch of timber loomed in the night. He jerked hard on the chute cordsand, kicking desperately with his legs, swung away from the trees anddropped into a small clearing. Over to his right he could see the othertwo parachutes settling to earth.
The flying reporter unsnapped his parachute harness, made sure that hisgun was ready, and then sprinted toward the place where he had last seenthe parachutes.
There was a rushing, moaning sound that stopped Tim in his tracks. Forthe moment he had forgotten the two planes. Locked together, they hadswung in great circles in the sky and the flyers, who had leaped in thechutes, had beaten them to the ground. Now, in a last tragic circle, theplanes were hovering over the trees. For a moment they hung in the sky.Then, with a final flirt of their tails, stuck their noses down and thenext moment struck the ground with terrific impact. There was a flash offire and the roar of bursting fuel tanks. In a moment both planes weremasses of flame.
Tim groaned at the thought of his beloved Lark coming to such an end andhe hurried on with renewed determination. A hundred yards on the otherside of the burning planes he came to an open field. Two irregularmasses of white were laying near the center while on the far side Timcould distinguish the forms of two men, running toward a nearby road.
He heard the sputter of a powerful engine, headlights flashed on andbefore he was a third of the way across the field a car, with the twoaerial bandits in it, was speeding down the valley away from the villageof Auburn.
When the posse arrived five minutes later they found Tim waiting forthem at the side of the road. Briefly he explained what had happened andthen went to Auburn where he telephoned his story to the News office.
It was the next afternoon when Tim reached Atkinson and he half wayexpected a bawling out from Carson for the loss of his new plane.Instead, he found the managing editor jubilant.
"Best story we've had in months, Tim," congratulated Carson. "And theTranscontinental is going to replace our plane so you can gocloud-hopping again."
"I'm glad you liked the story," replied Tim, "And it's great of theTranscontinental people to buy a new plane, but I felt I sort of felldown on the story. I should have caught those fellows."
"Nonsense," exploded the managing editor. "It wasn't your fault theposse wasn't on the job. You did everything you could."
"Yes, I know," said Tim, "but it makes a fellow's blood boil to think offlyers who will stoop as low as that pair. Besides, they're apt to trythe stunt again. Not with the death ray but with something else. Theairways aren't patrolled like the highways and some mighty valuablecargoes are carried by plane these days."
"Kind of riles up your Irish pride at the thought of them getting away,doesn't it?" asked Carson.
"Guess it does," admitted Tim, "but you don't want to be too surethey've gotten away. Next time it will be a different story."
"I hope there isn't a next time," said the managing editor, and hepicked up the handful of copy he had been reading when Tim came in.
News is news but for a day and then it fades from the front pages tobecome only a matter for memory, and so it was with Tim's adventure withthe sky bandits.
For a few hours he received the praise of his fellow reporters. Then hisdeed was forgotten in the hurry and bustle that is part of a great dailynewspaper. Tim would not have wished it otherwise. He had no desire tobe a hero, even in the News office, and considered the entire incidentas nothing more than a part of his duty, for reporting takes itsfollowers into many a situation which calls for quick thinking andsteady nerves.
In less than two weeks the new plane which the Transcontinental Air Mailcompany had agreed to buy to replace the one wrecked by Tim in the CedarRiver valley arrived and was uncrated at the municipal field. Themechanics were busy several days assembling the plane and another daywas required for the ground tests.
Then Tim was ready to soar into the clouds again. The test flight wassuccessful and the flying reporter was highly elated with the new Lark.He was ready to follow new trails through the sky in his quest for thenews of the day.
One morning a copy boy stopped at his desk.
"Say Tim, Mr. Carson wants to see you."
Tim's slender fingers stopped their tattoo on the keys of histypewriter. Anchoring his notes securely under a piece of lead he usedfor a paper weight, he left his desk and walked down the aisle in thecenter of the big news room. At one end, on a slightly elevatedplatform, were the desks of the managing editor and the city editor, solocated that the executives in charge of the paper could see at a glancejust what reporters were in the room. Directly in front of the platformwas a large, horseshoe shaped desk where half a dozen copyreaders werebusy editing stories which were to go into the editions that day. At thecenter of the horseshoe sat the head copyreader, a gray-haired veteranby the name of Dan Watkins, who could spin many a yarn of the earlydays.
The copyreaders, engrossed with their work, did not look up as Timpassed by.
"Sit down, Tim," said the managing editor, and he waved the flyingreporter to a chair beside his desk. For a minute Carson was busy withthe makeup editor, completing the final layout for the first page of themail edition for that day. The layout finished, he turned to Tim.
"I'm well satisfied," he commenced, "with the way you're handling ourplane. There's just one thing, though, Tim. Sometime you may not be ableto take the controls and then we'll be up against it."
"But you could get any one of half a dozen reliable pilots at themunicipal field to fly for you in an emergency," suggested Tim.
"I know it," replied Carson, "but I want more than pilots. I want flyingreporters. When I first gave you the assignment of handling our newplane, I felt sure that many of the big stories of the future will be inthe air. Now I'm more convinced than ever. What I want is another flyingreporter; someone that can take your place if need be. I want you topick your man from the staff and devote the next few weeks to teachinghim how to fly. I've made arrangements with the manager of the municipalfield to give you whatever assistance you need."
"That's fine, Mr. Carson," said Tim enthusiastically. "Does this meanyou want me to take three or four weeks and give all my time to teachingsomeone on the staff to fly?"
"Right, Tim," said the managing editor. "Have you any suggestions? Pickyour man carefully," he added, "for we have a heavy investment in thatplane."
"I believe Ralph Parsons could be trained to fly," suggested Tim.
"But isn't Ralph a little too slow for this game in the air?"
"Ralph may be a little slow in learning," admitted Tim, "but he's steadyand that counts a lot in flying. On top of that, Ralph is a brilliantand clever writer. I'm sure he would fit into your scheme of thingsnicely."
"All right, Tim," agreed Carson, "if you think Ralph can handle the jobwe'll give him a try. When he comes into the office tell him I want tosee him."
Half an hour later Ralph breezed in from his round of the hotels.Without betraying anything unusual in his voice, Tim accosted his chum.
"Ralph, Mr. Carson wants to see you right away. It's important."
Ralph frowned. "Wonder what's up now," he said, as he started for themanaging editor's desk.
Tim smiled for he knew how his chum would feel when he returned from theinterview with Carson.
Five minutes later Ralph fairly ran down the room to Tim's desk. He wasbubbling with excitement.
"Why didn't you tell me what he wanted," he exploded. "Gosh, Tim, I'm sotickled I hardly know what to do."
"I'm mighty glad, too," sai
d Tim. "It's a great opportunity and I knowyou'll make good. We're to take three or four weeks and go in for anintensive course."
When they reached the municipal field the next morning, Tim took Ralphto the office where he introduced him to Carl Hunter, the genial managerof the field.
"So you're going to be the new flying reporter," smiled Hunter as hegreeted Ralph. "That's great. Tim phoned me yesterday and I've got aship all ready and waiting on the line for you chaps."
Ralph was a little disappointed when he saw the craft in which he was totake his first lesson. It was an antiquated machine whose exact numberof years were unknown. Suffice to say that it was classed as a "Jenny,"a type of biplane used by the army in training it's flyers in the daysof the World War.
The Jenny's wings drooped a little dejectedly and her fuselage wasliberally patched and doped but the motor, which was turning overslowly, sounded sweet.
"Everything O.K.?" asked Hunter as Tim completed his examination of theplane.
"Looks like it," said the flying reporter, as he turned to his chum toexplain the intricacies of a seat pack parachute. With the heavy packagebanging around his knees, Ralph climbed into the rear cockpit. Theinstruments there looked sensible enough to him. A gas gauge to indicatethe amount of fuel, an altimeter to show the height, an oil gauge toshow that the motor was getting the proper amount of lubrication and atachometer which indicated the number of revolutions of the motor perminute.
Tim was getting Ralph acclimated to the cockpit and he intentionallykept the motor idling while he explained the functions of the controls;how the rudder at the back of the fuselage controlled the right and leftdirection of the plane while the ailerons on the wings were used todirect it's up and down movements. The explanation seemed simple enoughto Ralph and when he placed his feet on the rudder bar it recalled daysnot so long gone when he had guided a speeding sled down long hills.This might not be so bad, after all, but he admitted a few qualms whenTim climbed into the forward cockpit, strapped himself in, revved up themotor, waggled the wings, and sent the plane throbbing into the air.
Ralph needed some time to get used to the sensation of roaring alongthrough the clouds at eighty miles an hour and for the first fifteen ortwenty minutes Tim made no effort to give his chum any furtherinstructions. Instead, they conversed freely through the headphones andTim took pains to keep Ralph's attention diverted from the plane and itsmaneuvering. When he felt that his chum had become more air-minded hestarted the actual instruction.
Ralph was slow to learn the rudiments of handling the plane, but he wassteady and after another half hour in the air, Tim took his hands offthe controls and signalled for Ralph to take the stick. Everything wentwell for several minutes until they struck an air pocket and the shipdropped fifty feet. Ralph, surprised at the sinking sensation,overcontrolled and threw the Jenny into a side-slip.
Tim righted the plane and continued the instruction for another tenminutes. Then he started down, calling Ralph's attention to every shiftin the position of the controls and explaining his reason.
When they skimmed to a stop in front of the office at the field theywere stiff and numb from cold for the late winter winds had bittenthrough their heavy clothing.
Hunter was on hand to greet them.
"How goes it?" he asked.
"Fine, Carl, fine," said Tim. "Ralph will make a cracking good flyerwhen he gets over being scared. We'll be out again this afternoon."
Three weeks slipped away and to Ralph and Tim the time was like threedays. Then Ralph was ready for his solo flight. He had satisfied bothTim and Hunter that he could handle a plane and that morning, late inMarch, he was to soar aloft alone.
Ralph, silent and serious of face, took his place in the Jenny. He heardTim yell a few reassuring words at him. Then he was off.
Ralph got the Jenny off the ground like a veteran and started climbingfor altitude. At 2,000 feet he levelled off and swung the Jenny over thefield in great circles, his motor barking in the crisp morning air. Forfifteen minutes Tim and Hunter strained their necks as they watchedRalph put the Jenny through her paces.
"He's all right," said Hunter, "you've done a nice piece of work, Tim,in teaching him how to fly. I was afraid he wouldn't be fast enough inan emergency." When the manager of the Atkinson field said a flyer wasall right, he was that and more, for Hunter was known as a cautious man.
Tim and Hunter turned to glance at another ship that was being warmed upon the line. A shout from a mechanic brought their attention back toRalph, and their faces went white at the sight of what was happening inthe sky. Far above them the Jenny was twisting and falling. For a momentthey were speechless.
"His right wing's crumpled," yelled Hunter. "He's going to crash."
Tim's throat tightened. He couldn't even speak when he realized whatRalph was up against. It was enough to turn a veteran pilot gray headed,much less a beginner making his first solo.
If Ralph could keep the Jenny out of a tail spin he had a chance, just achance. Down, down, down, fluttered the crippled plane, so slowly andyet so swiftly. Nearer and nearer the field Ralph swung his batteredship, nursing it every foot of the way. At 500 feet it fell away in asteep glide--so steep that the two near the hangar held their breath.
The plane gained speed, the sideslip was steeper. In another second itwould strike the ground, roll over, and crush its pilot. Tim turnedaway; he couldn't stand it.
Only Hunter saw Ralph stake his life in a desperate chance and saw himwin. Just before the plane crashed he threw his controls over, bringinghis left wing up and levelling off. The lower right wing held for theneeded fraction of a second, just the time required to pull out of thesideslip, and Ralph set his crippled plane down hard.
Instead of a bad crash, it was only a noseover and by the time Tim andHunter reached the Jenny, Ralph was scrambling out of the cockpit.
"Hurt, Ralph?" cried Tim.
"Not hurt, just scared," he grinned. "Guess I kind of smashed up the oldbus, Carl," he went on, his words tense and close clipped. "I'm mightysorry."
"That's all right, Ralph," said Hunter. "She was about at the end of herstring and I guess I shouldn't have let you take her up for your solo.I'm glad it wasn't any worse."
"How did you feel coming down?" queried Tim, as they started back to theoffice after a careful survey of the wrecked Jenny.
"Pretty nervous," admitted Ralph, "but it's great stuff. I'd have beenall right if I hadn't hit a bump when I went into a sharp bank and theold ship just couldn't stand the gaff. It was some trip down, though. Ithought I had a ticket straight through for China."
"That landing with the broken wing was a great piece of flying," cut inHunter in his quiet voice. Ralph was thrilled, for words of praise fromthe manager of the field meant much.
"Better come out this afternoon," said Hunter when they reached theoffice, "and we'll have another try at it."
Tim caught the significance of the words and he wondered if Ralph sensedtheir meaning. After a crash the first thing for a flyer to do is to getinto the air again. If he lets the effects of the crackup work on hisnerves he may never be able to handle a plane again. Tim realized thathis chum had been through a severe flying ordeal but he was elated thatRalph had come through in such fine shape. The next thing was to get himback into the air as soon as possible and in the meantime to keep hismind occupied with thoughts other than those of the crackup.
They were speeding into town in one of the cars owned by the News whenRalph let out a yell and Tim swerved just in time to avoid a hog whichwas having a hard time making up its mind in which way to go.
"One thing," laughed Ralph when the pork menace was safely behind, "wedon't have to dodge such things up there."
Tim purposely took Ralph to the busiest cafeteria in town where the rushto get food kept them busy for half an hour. The heavy tide of noondaytraffic caught them in its swirl when they started back to the field andby the time they reached the airport, they had said scarcely a dozenwords about the incident
of the morning.
Hunter, wise in the ways of the air and the men who ride through itstrackless lanes, had another plane warmed up on the line when they putin their appearance.
It was the work of only a few minutes for Ralph to don his heavy flyingclothes. Tim thought his chum looked a little white around his lips. Hewondered what thoughts were racing through Ralph's mind. If his chumonly knew it, the big test was before him.
Tim wanted Ralph to make good, wanted him to pass the next ordeal for heknew how much he had counted on becoming a companion of the flyingreporter. They had worked up from cub reporter, taken all the hardknocks of the newspaper game with a smile. Now their big opportunity wasat hand if Ralph could come through the gruelling test of the afternoon.Tim knew he must go on flying even if Ralph failed, but the zest of itwould be gone.
Ralph took his place in the cockpit of the ship Hunter designated. Itwas similar to the old Jenny in design but a much sturdier type. Timwatched Ralph closely as he checked over the instruments. If Ralph wasupset or unnerved at the thought of taking the air so soon after hisfirst crackup, he gave no sign other than a certain firmness to thelines around his mouth.
With a roar, Ralph went scudding down the field, bouncing from side toside. Tim felt chills of apprehension running up and down his back asRalph jounced along. There was little in his handling of the plane toresemble the fine takeoff of the morning. But just before Ralph crashedinto the fence at the other side of the airport, he pulled the stickback hard.
The little ship shot skyward in a breathtaking climb; almost straight upit seemed to the anxious watchers on the field. For a second it hung atthe peak of its climb. Would it fall off into a spin or would the sturdymotor pull on through? For an eternity the plane was hanging almostvertically against the sky--then the nose came down, the tail went up,and Ralph started circling the field.
Again Ralph put his plane through its paces and as far as Tim and Huntercould see, his handling of the craft showed no sign of uncertainty. Atthe end of half an hour he had completed every maneuver and even morethan is required of a pilot on his solo flight but instead of comingdown, Ralph continued to circle the field.
For ten or fifteen minutes Tim thought little of his chum's actions butbefore the hour was up he was genuinely worried. What could be keepingRalph up? he asked himself.
Hunter dodged out of the office to scan the sky.
"What's Ralph doing up there so long?" he asked Tim in surprise.
"I don't know, Carl," replied the flying reporter, lines of worrycreasing his brow. "I'm going to warm up the Lark and hop up and see ifanything is wrong."
In less than ten minutes, Tim, in the Lark, was pulling up besideRalph's plane. Tim was astonished at the sight which greeted his eyes.Apparently the training plane was a ghost ship, flying without humanhands at its controls. Ralph was nowhere to be seen! But the movementsof the ailerons and the rudder indicated that someone was in the cockpitand Tim wondered what kind of a joke Ralph was trying to play on him.
The two planes circled lazily over the airport and when several minuteselapsed and Ralph still remained hidden in the cockpit, Tim felt newalarm. He let the Lark drop behind the training plane, then gave it thegun and climbed above Ralph's ship so he could look down into thecockpit.
He could see Ralph, doubled up on the floor at one side of the cockpit,controlling the plane as best he could with his hands. Ralph evidentlyheard the deeper roar of the motor of Tim's plane for he looked up andmanaged to wave one hand. His face was twisted with pain.
The flying reporter waved back at his chum, then threw the Lark into asideslip and plunged madly for the ground.
Hunter heard the thunder of the Lark as Tim sent it earthward in a powerdive and was waiting for the flying reporter when he checked his planeon the concrete apron in front of the office.
"Something's happened to Ralph," yelled Tim. "He's slumped down in onecorner of the cockpit. Evidently he can't use his legs for he's handlingthe controls with his hands. We've got to get him down some way or he'llcrash sure."
Hunter glanced at his watch. "He's been up nearly an hour and a half andI didn't put much gas in that ship," he muttered half to himself andhalf to Tim.
Tim slipped into the forward cockpit and yelled for Hunter to take thecontrols. A mechanic helped them whip the Lark around and get it headeddown the field.
Hunter opened the throttle wide. The Lark had its tail off the ground ina hundred feet and in less than five hundred feet was pointing its noseinto the sky.
While they fought for altitude, Tim slipped the harness of his parachutefrom his shoulders. He couldn't afford to be hampered by anything ascumbersome as a parachute if his plan to save Ralph from crashing was tosucceed.
Tim and Hunter quickly overtook Ralph's plane and that young man,despite the seriousness of his predicament, managed to grin at them asthey jockeyed for a position directly over him.
While Hunter was coordinating the speed of the Lark with that of thetraining plane, Tim slipped out of his seat and down onto the wing. Fromthe lower wing it was the work of a minute to wrap his legs around thelanding gear and slide down onto the axle below the plane. If Huntercould bring the Lark down close enough to Ralph's ship, Tim planned todrop onto the upper wing of the training plane.
The Lark was hovering over Ralph's ship when the motor of the lowerplane coughed once or twice and died. Not more than fifteen feetseparated Tim from Ralph but it might just as well have been a mile. Thetraining plane, its motor dead, was rapidly falling away from the Larkin spite of Hunter's best efforts!