Daring Wings

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On the way back to the office, Tim mulled over the events of the lastfew weeks. First the attack on the transcontinental air mail, then thewarning note from the Sky Hawk, his gruff reception at the Ace aircircus field and finally his discovery of the tailskid track on a daythat was rotten for flying. Only a flyer with an urgent mission wouldthink of flying with the weather conditions what they were and yetsomeone had evidently landed at the Ace field within the last fewminutes.

  Tim felt that the gods who hold the threads of fate were weaving a newpattern and that he was being drawn deeper and deeper into it. Theflying reporter was seldom blue, but something in the air, the verygrayish color of the day depressed him and he was moody when he reachedthe office.

  "What's the matter, Tim?" asked Dan Watkins, the venerable head of thecopy desk. "You look like you'd lost your last friend. Suppose you'remad because all this rainy weather is keeping you tied down and you haveto associate with us earthworms." Dan chuckled at his own sally.

  "I don't know what's the matter, Dan," admitted Tim. "I feel allrestless and stirred up inside--unsettled."

  The head copy reader looked intently at the flying reporter and what hesaw in the usually clear blue eyes brought forth his next words.

  "Get your hat, Tim," he invited, "and come out and have lunch with me.It will do you good to get out of this stuffy atmosphere."

  Tim welcomed the invitation and Dan guided him down a side street to acheery little restaurant. There was little conversation until they hadgiven their orders for lunch.

  On their way to the restaurant Watkins had carefully appraised Tim,recalled everything he could remember about the boy, and had reached adecision. He started the conversation over the white-topped table.

  "I know what's troubling you, Tim," he began. "You're afraid you'll getin a rut. Right?"

  Tim nodded, his eyes on fingers which were fumbling nervously with thesilverware.

  "I guess that's about right," he admitted, his voice low. "I don't wantto be a flying reporter all my life and I'm afraid I haven't thebackground to get ahead. But there's something more than that." And Timtold the copy reader about the note from the Sky Hawk.

  "Don't let that worry you, Tim," advised the veteran newspaper man. "Itmay be only a joke; it may not, but whatever it is, I have confidenceyou'll be able to take care of yourself. Right now there is something wewant to thresh out. A minute ago you said you didn't think you had thebackground to get ahead. What do you mean by that?"

  "Well, I've only had a high school education and it takes more than thatto get ahead in the modern newspaper world. I've got a fine job now,piloting the new plane, but in a few years I won't be fast enough forthat. Then what? Oh, maybe the weather has made me blue, but I've gotteninto an awful muddle."

  "I think you have," agreed the veteran of the copy desk, "and it lookslike it's high time for your uncle Dan to straighten things out foryou."

  "I've seen lots of young chaps go through this same trouble," he wenton. "Some of them snapped out of it while others went under. But listento me, Tim," and there was rare charm and power in the words, "You mustnever let this thing get your goat. You're made of too fine material."

  Tim started to reply but Dan waved his words aside.

  "You have the opportunity of a lifetime," he continued. "Here youare--young, capable, and with aviation in its swaddling clothes. Withinten years it will be a giant among giants and the newspaper man whoknows aviation from the ground up will be in an enviable position--aposition to command real power and respect."

  There was new interest in Tim's eyes and he drank in Dan Watkins' words.

  "You're luckier than you know," added the head copy reader, "for youhave behind you a great newspaper organization. Someday, and somedaysoon, the News will need an aviation editor. Someone who knows the airfrom A to Z, someone with nerves and brains and foresight, and thereisn't a reason in the world why you shouldn't fill that editorial chairwhen the time comes. Don't get moody, don't get discouraged. I know theweather gets a fellow's nerves once in a while but you must learn topull yourself over those rough spots."

  "I think you're right about the future for an aviation editor," agreedTim, "and that's one of the things that has put me in the dumps lately.The field is so big and I know so little about it. When the time comesto select an editor I'm afraid Carson will pass me by and pick a manwith more education."

  "You can remedy that, Tim," said Dan. "You can take work at night schooland I have a fine library at my room. I'd be only too glad to lend yousome of my books and suggest reading material that will help you. You'llhave to hit the line hard, Tim, but you've got the stuff to do it. Andbesides, Carson likes you and when he knows you are trying to betteryourself it will make a big difference with him."

  Tim's face was aglow with new hope and courage. "I'll work hard," hepromised. "I love the flying game; it's becoming life itself to me and Iwant to keep on but I won't be satisfied unless I'm something more thana flying reporter."

  "I admire your ambition, but don't be too impatient now, Tim,"counselled the copyreader. "As a matter of fact you've gone a lotfurther than most young fellows your age."

  "The growth of aviation is going to be like the growth of thenewspapers. The young fellows who had plenty of foresight back in 1890and 1900 are the big men of today. I started in the print shop back inthe home town, sweeping out and sorting lead slugs. Got fifty cents aweek and thought it was big pay. Next thing, I was setting type by handout of a case. Used to sit on a high stool from 7 o'clock in the morninguntil night and the day before we went to press we used to work half thenight." Dan smiled a little at the thoughts of the old days.

  "When we first read about Mergenthaler and his typesetting machine, wethought he was a nut of some kind. But a few believed in him and todaythey are the leaders in the newspaper business."

  "We used to print our weekly paper on a Washington hand press, and ittook us all day to get out a few hundred copies. Now even the weeklieshave modern presses while the dailies turn out 36, 48 and 56 page papersby the thousands every hour."

  "The same revolution has taken place in the editorial rooms. When Ifirst came to work on the News we had one dinky little telegraph wirethat brought only a few hundred words of news a day. We'd take that andpad it out and also used the scissors liberally to cut dispatches out ofthe big eastern papers. We never knew from one week to another whetherour pay checks were good and it was always a race to see who could getto the bank first."

  Dan paused for a moment, then he continued, "But look at the officetoday. A dozen reporters, an editor to handle every department, half adozen telegraph wires that bring the news from every corner of the worldand even an airplane to ferret out the stories in the clouds."

  Tim smiled at the last phrase.

  "The aviation game is like a newspaper," went on the copyreader. "Thenewspaper went through its baby days and has emerged into one of thegreatest institutions of our modern times. So it will be with aviation.I scoffed at the first strides of modern journalism, and look where Iam." There was no note of self-pity in the words, simply a plainstatement of fact, and Dan hurried on before Tim could speak.

  "I'm only a copyreader while if I had been alert to realize thepossibilities way back in the nineties, I might have been the head ofthis paper or some other like it. I don't want you to miss your chanceTim. You're alert and eager now; keep on that way and I'll help you allI can."

  When Tim left the office that afternoon the rain was still fallingsteadily but he did not feel depressed. He was fired with new enthusiasmand determination. Far into the night he mulled over Dan Watkins' wordsand he knew that the older man's advice was sound and true. It was agoal Tim had hardly dared dream to attain and one that at times had madehis heart ache at the futility of his dreams. But the kindly counsel ofthe older man had set his mind into new channels of thought and givenhim the impetus he needed. It was a long, hard road to follow but beforehe went to
sleep, Tim had determined to throw his every energy towardattainment of his goal.

  When Tim reached the office the next morning he found Ralph Parsonswaiting for him, a camera on his desk.

  "Hurry up, Tim," called his chum. "Carson just phoned down and orderedus out on an assignment. They say that the Cedar River is flooding theentire country over east. Worst high water in twenty-five years, and hewants some good pictures for this afternoon's editions. We'll have tohustle."

  While Ralph was talking, Tim telephoned to the airport and ordered theLark serviced and put on the line ready to go. It was raining hard butthe weather bulletin indicated clearing weather by mid-forenoon so theywould have a chance to get some good pictures when they reached thevalley.

  Tim and Ralph skidded through the city in one of the News' cars and whenthey reached the airport found the Lark ready for them, its motorturning over slowly.

  Hunter came out of his office.

  "It's a bad morning for a takeoff," he warned Tim. "What in thunder isbringing you out on a day like this?"

  "We've got a report of a big flood in the Cedar River valley," said Tim,"and Ralph's going to try for some pictures if the rain clears up."

  Hunter grunted, then said, "Better keep over to the north side of thefield, Tim, and get her off as quick as you can. The other end of thisflat is under a good foot of water and it's all pretty much of a swamp."

  Tim and Ralph waved at the manager of the field, Tim gave the Lark fullthrottle, and they sloshed over the field and got away to a sluggishtakeoff. The muck and water sucked at the Lark's wheels and it was withan effort that Tim got his craft into the air.

  Once clear of the field, he headed into the east. The ceiling was lowthat morning; not over 500 feet, and the Lark thundered over farms andsmall towns at better than 100 miles an hour. Tim piloted wholly bycompass but after forty-five minutes of flying they ran out of the rainand the sky began to clear. When they sighted the Cedar River valley thesun was out from behind the clouds for the first time in days.

  A scene of majestic destruction unfolded itself as Tim swung the Larkover the valley of the Cedar. The usually peaceful stream was on amighty rampage, its banks hidden by swirling torrents of dirty, yellowwater which spread for more than a mile in either direction. In theheart of the foaming flood could be seen great trees, torn up by theirroots, and farm buildings that bobbled and turned as if in protest. Overall there was an air of utter desolation, the surrender of man to thewrath of the elements.

  Tim was fascinated by the terrible splendor of the scene, and he bankedthe Lark gracefully as Ralph took picture after picture of the greatflood. To the south Tim sighted a cluster of buildings marooned in thecenter of the raging stream. He turned the plane and sped toward them.In another minute he recognized the village of Auburn, the scene of hisfirst exploit as a flying reporter. The once peaceful hamlet, which, heremembered, had been on the right bank of the Cedar, was surrounded bythe rampant waters. While Tim circled the village, Ralph managed tosecure two graphic pictures of the marooned village.

  Tim could see a little group gathered in front of the general store andonce he thought they were gesturing to him, but he dared not go closer.Motor trouble at any lower altitude would mean a plunge into the flood.

  A few minutes before noon Tim dropped the crimson-winged Lark down outof the clouds and skidded over the muddy field. He uncurled his legs andgot stiffly out of the cockpit. Ralph hopped down beside him, his cameraunder his arm.

  They left orders for mechanics at the field to take care of the planeand then headed toward the city in the car they had left at the field.

  "That's some flood," said Ralph as they sped toward the office. "Ididn't think there was so much water in the whole world."

  Tim was preoccupied and his words were slow in coming.

  "I'm wondering how things are at Auburn," said he. "With communicationcut off, they might be in bad shape. Wish we could have gone lower but Ididn't dare, and we had to get your plates back as soon as possible."

  When they entered the editorial office, the managing editor was waitingfor them.

  "Get 'em?" he demanded.

  "You bet," said Ralph, "some dandies," and he laid his camera with itsgraphic record of the flood, on the managing editor's desk.

  Carson hurriedly made out a rush order for the engraving room and sent acopy boy scurrying away with the camera. In less than an hour they wouldappear on the front page of the noonday extra, a real scoop over everyother paper in town.

  When Tim and Ralph went out for lunch, the sky was overcast again withhurrying rain clouds and the city was shrouded in a pall of low-lyingclouds and heavy smoke. They were gone not more than half an hour butwhen they returned Carson beckoned at them, one ear glued to a telephonereceiver. He was writing rapidly, occasionally asking a tense question.When he had finished he turned to Tim.

  "This is bad, Tim," said the managing editor. "That little town ofAuburn that you flew over this morning had been isolated for four daysnow. They're getting low on food and typhoid has broken out in thevillage. There isn't a boat left in the village and even if trucks couldget near there with boats, the river is so churned up they wouldn't beable to get out to the village. I've just talked to the owner of thegeneral store at Auburn. He'd taken to a barn door and trusted to luckthat the current would take him ashore. He got through safely and calledus from Applington. They're appealing to us to do something."

  "Get me the food and serum they need and I'll drop it to them in lessthan two hours," replied Tim rising to the challenge in the managingeditor's eyes.