Daring Wings
CHAPTER SIX
Several days after his flight with supplies to the marooned village inthe Cedar river valley, Tim had an unexpected visitor. He looked up fromhis work to find a tall, curly haired man of not more than thirty yearsof age, standing beside his desk.
"Are you Tim Murphy?" inquired the visitor. Tim nodded.
"I'm Kurt Blandin, boss of the Ace flying circus," replied the other. "Ihear one of the boys treated you rather roughly the other day and Ithought I'd drop in and invite you to come and see us again."
Tim thought he noted a peculiar, strained quality in the other's voice,and he deliberated his answer.
"I'll run out some day," he said. "As a matter of fact I couldn't seeany reason why I was given the cold shoulder when I was out the firsttime."
Blandin laughed and Tim found himself rather liking the other when hesmiled.
"An air circus," he said, "is bound to have some accidents and sometimeswe aren't treated any too well in the newspapers. So you can't blame themechanic for giving you the bum's rush. But everything will be O. K. thenext time you call." With that Blandin breezed out of the office and Timstared after him blankly.
Somewhere he had seen the face before. There were familiar lines aboutthe mouth, a peculiar little scar over the right eye and a hardness ofthe voice that once heard would never be forgotten.
He forced his thoughts back to his work but Blandin and the Ace aircircus troubled him. What were they doing at Atkinson? Could there beany connection between them and the Sky Hawk?
The ghostly quiet that comes just before the dawn was broken by theinsistent voice of the telephone.
Tim rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grabbed savagely at the offendinginstrument.
"Hello, hello!" he barked.
An anxious voice came over the wire.
"What!" Tim's exclamation was charged with alarm. "You're sure? Allright, I'll be at the field just as soon as I can throw on some clothesand get in touch with Ralph."
Tim jammed the receiver on its hook, only to seize it a moment later andsomething in his voice made the operator buzz furiously as she rangRalph's number. After an interval that seemed an age to Tim, a sleepyvoice answered the operator's imperative rings.
"That you, Ralph?" cried Tim. When the voice admitted that it belongedto Ralph, Tim poured his story over the wire.
"Wake up, Ralph. Wake up," he urged. "There's plenty of trouble over inthe Big Smokies. Bad Storm last night and the west-boundTranscontinental plane has crashed somewhere. They haven't had a traceof it since the ship went over Newton. The Transcontinental people havesent out a general alarm and Hunter just phoned and asked us to help inthe search. Meet me at the field just as soon as you can get there."
Ralph, thoroughly awakened by Tim's words, promised to be at the fieldin fifteen minutes.
The flying reporter completed dressing and hastened from his room inquest of a taxicab. A driver, on the lookout for early morning fares,was loafing down the street and Tim hailed the cab.
"To the municipal field," he ordered when the cab pulled up at the curb,"and step on the gas. This is important."
The gears crashed together and the cab lurched away into the night,gathering speed as it headed down the almost deserted avenues.
When they reached the field they found it ablaze with light. Pilots andmechanics were hurrying in and out of the hangars and planes were beingwarmed up and pushed on the line.
"Charge it to the News," said Tim as he disembarked. Hunter, who camerunning out of the office, greeted him.
"Glad to see you, Tim," he said. "We're getting things lined up to startas soon as it gets light. I've put a crew to servicing your plane andshe'll be ready in a few minutes. Where's Ralph? Isn't he going?"
Hunter's question was answered by another snorting taxi, and Ralph, onlyhalf awake, tumbled from the car.
"What's all the excitement and the big rush to get away so quick?"demanded Tim. "The air mail has cracked up before and has always comeout on top."
"Plenty of reason for the rush this time," said Hunter. "The plane lastnight was carrying something like $500,000 in securities from New Yorkfor a Los Angeles bank."
Tim whistled. "No wonder they're getting everything out that can flapits wings. We'll be with the rest of them, Carl, and glad of the chanceto go. It will make a dandy story."
Tim did not voice his real thoughts for there was no need to undulyalarm the field manager, but the minute the $500,000 had been mentioned,the thought of the Sky Hawk flashed through his mind. It was about timefor that daring bandit of the skyways to swoop down in some boldmanoeuvre. The storm might have been responsible for the failure of themail to reach its destination and, again, it might not.
"Called you right away," added the field manager, "for I knew you'd wantthe story. But on top of that, I wanted you to make the trip. I figureyou're one of the best pilots around here to go out on a mission likethis."
Tim grinned and gave Hunter a good-natured shove. The driver of Ralph'staxi was turning his cab around and preparing to start back for the citywhen Tim's cry stopped him.
"Wait a few minutes," he ordered, "and I'll have you take a story to theNews office." The driver agreed and shut off the motor of his cab.
"Check up on the plane, Ralph," said Tim, "and see that we have plentyof equipment for an emergency landing in the mountains--light, stoutcable, an axe, some food and water and a first aid kit. While you'redoing that I'll go into Hunter's room and write a story to send to theoffice."
In less than fifteen minutes Tim had hammered out a column story thatfairly glittered with the sharpness of its sentences and the clearnessof his simple, powerful English.
The air mail was lost somewhere in the Great Smokies, and the flyingreporter, in the Lark, would soon be away on the search. Tim smiled tohimself as he thought how Carson could play up the story. Now if theycould only find the missing plane, it would be one of the best storiesof the year.
Tim hurried out of the office and handed his story to the waiting taxidriver. That done, he turned toward the line where five planes werebeing warmed up for the search.
The flying reporter walked over to the airmen who were grouped aroundthe field manager. He greeted Sparks, Bronson, White and Wilkins, allmail and express pilots--fine fellows every one of them; lean bronzedand alive to the zest of flying. But now there were more serious linesto their faces and it was a determined group of young men who heardHunter outline the plans for the search. Ralph hastened up and joinedthem just as the field chief gave his final instructions.
"Buddy Perkins, who was on the mail, went over Newton on time," saidHunter, "and he must have run into the storm about half an hour later.That would put him almost up to the divide but with the wind against himall the way, he probably didn't make Billy Goat. I've marked out a mapwith the section each one of you is to cover. When you run short of fuelabout noon, drop down to Newton, refuel, eat and exchange notes. I hopeyou won't have to go on out again, hope you'll locate Perkins by noon.It's light enough to takeoff now, fellows, so get going and good luck."
Tim and Ralph took their places in the Good News, which was the thirdship on the line. It was just light enough to distinguish the fencewhich marked the far end of the field.
Sparks and Bronson roared away, flame shooting from the exhausts oftheir motors. Then Tim shoved his throttle ahead and sent the Larkskimming into the air. Behind him came White and Wilkins. Away into thewest they sped, traveling on the wings of the dawn, intent on theirquest for the missing Perkins.
Within the hour they had roared over Newton, nestled in the foothills ofthe Great Smokies, and had started clawing for altitude. The Larkhandled beautifully in the cool air of the early September morning andanswered to Tim's every movement.
The flying reporter could see Sparks and Bronson swing away to his leftwhile White and Wilkins turned to the right to cover the territory whichHunter had mapped out for each plane. Tim was more fortunate than theother
flyers for he had Ralph's keen eyes to help him comb the unevenground below. Ahead of them loomed the Billy Goat, the highest peak ofthe range. Tim's sector was on the east slope of the lofty mountain. Upand down, back and forth, Tim swung the Lark as he shuttled along thepath usually followed by the air mail and express planes. The Billy Goatglistened in the morning sun but smiled grimly--almost defiantly Timimagined, as it thwarted his every effort to find any trace of themissing plane.
By mid-forenoon Tim's gas supply was getting low and he signalled toRalph that he was going to turn back to Newton and replenish his fuel.They were near the top of Billy Goat and both Tim and Ralph felt certainthat if Perkins had crashed on that side of the mountain they would havesighted him.
Tim cut his motor and let the Lark soar gracefully downward from thesummit of the range. For a moment he forgot the urgent mission which hadbrought them out and reveled in the sheer joy of flying. Like a greatbird his plane wheeled and swooped in the sky.
Half way to Newton Tim was joined by Sparks and White. They landed atthe emergency field at the foothill town and a few minutes later werejoined by Bronson and Wilkins. There was no need to ask about theirsuccess. Their faces told the story of the failure of their efforts.
While the other pilots were refueling their planes, Tim hurried into thevillage where he secured a basket of sandwiches. He made severalinquiries in the village and related the result of these when hereturned to the field.
The airmen sprawled beneath their planes and hastily munched thesandwiches Tim had provided.
"You say he went through here on time?" asked White, who had been aclose friend of the missing Perkins.
"That's what they say in Newton," replied Tim. "The storm wasthreatening when Perk went over and he was flying pretty low and fast.About half an hour after he passed, the storm swept down from Billy Goatand from what folks here say, it was a bad one."
"Half an hour," grunted Ralph between bites of a sandwich. "That meanshe was pretty well up toward the divide. Maybe he got across on theother side."
"It's just too bad if he did," remarked Bronson. "You know what theother side of the Billy Goat is like. Not a nickel's worth of room for aforced landing. If Perk got on the other side he's crashed sure."
"Might not be that bad," said Tim. "Anyway, I'm going to try the otherside of Billy Goat this afternoon."
"Look out you don't disappear along with Perk," warned White.
"Not much chance of that with Ralph along," grinned Tim. "I'll see youfellows here later."
The foothills awoke to the roar of five high-powered airplane motors andone after another the flyers took off to resume their hunt.
Tim gunned the Lark and headed straight for the crest of the GreatSmokies. The divide was a little to the right of Billy Goat. Tim boostedhis plane over the snow-capped tops of the range and coasted down theother side. The slope on the west side was more broken--deep canyonswith good-sized streams plunging along in their depths. But from theplane the rivers looked like ribbons of silver. It was a scene ofmajestic beauty but it gave Tim the shivers when he thought of beingtrapped on the inhospitable slope in a storm or, worse, at the mercy ofthe Sky Hawk.
For fifty miles Tim and Ralph followed the path of the mail and expressships, searching every valley, but their efforts were fruitless.
Tim frowned bitterly and turned the Lark eastward in a tight bank. Ralphlooked back apprehensively but Tim only shook his head and pointedsoutheast. How blind he had been. If Perkins had made the crest of thedivide and gotten over before the storm caught him, he would probablyhave been driven southwest along the side of the mountains. The GreatSmokies ran northeast and southwest and the storm of the night beforehad swept down almost directly from the north.
When Tim again reached the western slope of the Billy Goat, he headedsouth and west. He scribbled a note to Ralph, explaining his reason forthe sudden about face, and his companion nodded approval.
For an hour they searched the side of the range south of Billy Goat, andTim, with an eye on the gas gauge, was about to give up the quest, whenRalph shouted and pointed downward.
A flash of white on a rocky ledge caught Tim's eye and he circled lower.His breath caught sharply. Ralph's sharp eyes had found the wreck of theair express. On a ledge of rock cropping out from the side of themountain they could see the twisted remains of the plane!