CHAPTER EIGHT
The burden of the chute slowed the plane. Then it leaped almostvertically as Ralph attempted to free it from the human burden it wasdragging through the sky. The whole thing required a second, not morethan two, when part of the tail assembly gave way and the chute startedits downward course again. It had been an endless span of years to Tim,who sobbed aloud as they drifted through the fog.
Lights pierced the mist below and Tim instinctively swung around toprotect Perkins when they landed. But they didn't land. The chute caughtin a maze of telephone wires along one of the main highways on theoutskirts of Atkinson and Tim and Perkins dangled just above the ground.Passing motorists released them and rushed them to a hospital wherePerkins was given immediate attention and Tim was put to bed after athorough massage to ease his strained muscles. But not until he hadtelephoned the office and dictated the first part of the story of theirfinding of the wreck of the air mail and their sensational trip aboveAtkinson with the injured pilot.
Tim, who had been almost forcibly put in bed by the hospital attendants,was protesting that he had work to do when Ralph burst into the room.
"Are you all right, Tim?" he demanded.
"Sure," replied Tim. "How about yourself and the plane?"
"Both O. K.," said Ralph. "I blew out a couple of tires in landing andbroke the prop, but that's all. How's Perk?"
Tim turned to the head surgeon who had just entered the room.
"He'll be back in the air in a few days," said the surgeon. "He has anasty crack on the head and it was a good thing you got him here whenyou did. Much more exposure and he would have had pneumonia."
The surgeon had just stepped from the room when the managing editor ofthe News hurried in.
"Wonderful work, Tim," said Carson. "Wonderful. We put out an extra onthe story you phoned. Now let's have the rest of it. This Sky Hawk anglemakes it the most thrilling yarn of the year."
For the better part of half an hour, Tim and Ralph related theirexperiences while a stenographer took down their story.
The next day the Sky Hawk's daring robbery and their rescue of the airmail flyer were the talk of the town. Before noon, Tim was visited byHunter, who was not only manager of the local field, but representativefor the Transcontinental company.
Hunter looked worried and his words bore out his looks.
"This Sky Hawk is getting to be a nuisance," he told Tim. "He's pickedus for $500,000 and although we had it covered by insurance, it doesn'thelp matters any. Old Tom Blair, who heads our company, has wired me touse every means to apprehend the Sky Hawk. The police and stateofficials are doing all they can, but the very nature of his operationsleaves them almost helpless."
"Flying cops are something for the future," smiled Tim.
"And that's just what we need," went on Hunter. "I want you to agree tohelp me all you can. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears close to theground. You may be able to turn up something the police can't uncover.And remember, Tim," he grinned, "there'll be something more than justthe fun of a story if you get the Sky Hawk."
"You know I'll do everything I can," replied Tim, as Hunter, weigheddown with his worries, said goodbye.
But the Sky Hawk seemed to have dropped from sight. There was a dearthof news and the managing editor cast anxious eyes about for interestingmaterial with which to fill the columns of his paper.
Ever since he had been given the assignment as the flying reporter, Timhad cherished the hope that some day he would be given permission towrite a daily column on aviation. That day had been particularly quietand devoid of stories with interest and to Tim it seemed the right timeto approach his managing editor.
After the rush of the final edition had subsided and the presses wereroaring their symphony of news, Tim accosted the managing editor.
"I'm sure I can give you a column of live news about aviation every day,Mr. Carson," he said. "We're not running very heavy on news right nowand if you'll give me the space, I'd like to show you what I can do."
"When would you have the time to handle it, Tim?" asked the managingeditor. "I couldn't spare you for two or three hours every day forthat."
"I'm not asking for that," replied Tim. "If you'll give me a column,I'll write the stories after hours and in the evening. I know most ofthe flyers at the field here and then with the chaps who are flying theair mail, there is an unlimited field for human interest stories. On topof that, I'm keeping right up on all the developments of aviation. All Ineed is the space, Mr. Carson!"
"When do you want to start it?" asked Carson.
"Any time you can give me the room."
"Can you whip a column of material into shape by tomorrow morning?"
"Easily."
"Then have about three pages of copy ready in the morning." The actionwas characteristic of Carson. In fact, it was characteristic ofnewspaper work with its quick decisions and demands that to any class ofmen but reporters would have been insurmountable.
To Tim the demand for a column of copy in the morning was the best newsin weeks and he turned away from the managing editor after expressinghis appreciation for the opportunity.
"Oh, Tim," called Carson. "Better stop on your way down stairs and tellthe engraving department to work up one and two column heads for you.Have them draw a picture of a plane and put your name under it: By TimMurphy, the Flying Reporter of the Atkinson News."
Getting together a column of interesting, readable material on suchshort notice would not be easy, especially since Tim wanted his firstcolumn to be alive with interest. After conferring with the head of theengraving department, Tim hurried out to the municipal field where heimparted his good luck into the ever-sympathetic ear of Hunter, thefield manager.
"That's fine, Tim," congratulated Hunter. "I know you've wanted to writea daily column on aviation for a long time. Do you think Carson willmake it a permanent feature of the paper?"
"That all depends on what kind of material I can dig up and how well Ican write it. Means you fellows here at the field will have to cooperatewith me."
"You know we'll do that Tim," promised Hunter. "The boys all like youmighty well. The only thing is that they are a bit bashful in tellingsome of their own experiences. You may have to pry around a bit."
"I expect you're right there," agreed Tim, "but after I get them startedI'll get plenty of material. Now I've got to line up a good feature tostart the column off tomorrow. You know of anything unusual here at thefield?"
Hunter scratched his head and looked meditatively at a cloud as ifseeking inspiration.
"Afraid I'm not much help right now," he said. "Say, wait a minute.We'll go over to the radio shack and see if there are any late bulletinson planes coming in tonight."
Tim agreed and they walked over to the little building at the foot ofthe radio towers where the department of commerce maintained a station,part of its transcontinental link of communication to advise airmen onweather conditions and report the movements of aircraft along the mainskyways.
The operator on duty greeted them cordially and turned his file ofmessages over to them. Hunter thumbed through the flimsy sheets oftissue with experienced fingers. He stopped and read one of thecommunications with interest. Then he turned to Tim.
"Here's something that came in within the last hour," he said. "May bejust what you need for a story."
Tim read the tissue and glowed with excitement at what he read. What alucky break for him. According to the report, Arthur Winslow, king ofthe air mail flyers, would land at the local field within two hours foran overnight stop.
"That's just what I need," exclaimed Tim. "Why Winslow is rated as theace of all airmen. It will make a great yarn if he'll talk."
"There may be some trouble on that point," said Hunter. "I know Winslowonly slightly for he's flying on the west end of the transcontinentalnow, and he's mighty reticent when it comes to talking about himself. Itsays here that he is ferrying a new passenger and mail plane west."
"Good thing I have a car here," said Tim. "If I can't get a chance athim any other way I can offer him a ride to the city and he can hardlyrefuse to talk then."
"I think he'll help you out if you explain what you want and how badlyyou need a good story for the first day your column is printed."
They went into Hunter's office where the manager of the field busiedhimself at his desk. Tim dug into the files to secure, in advance, allof the available material he could about Arthur Winslow, airman withoutpeer.
The ace of the air mail pilots was not a sensational flyer in the sensethat his name was on the front pages of the newspapers every day. Infact, he was just the opposite and as he often told his friends, hedidn't care anything about being the best air mail flyer. All he wantedwas to be the oldest.
Winslow had trained Col. Charles A. Lindbergh when he was a fledglingand before the flying colonel had even dreamed of a flight to Paris, andhe had performed many a heroic deed as he winged his way across theplains of the middle west of the snow-capped Rockies and the ruggedSierras.
Tim was still finding valuable material in the files when a mechanicstuck his head in the door.
"Here comes Winslow," he announced and Tim and Hunter promptly desertedthe office and took their places at one side of the big concrete apronwhich marked the end of the main runway on the field.
The plane rapidly took form as it roared out of the east. Winslow swunglow over the field to sight the wind sock, then lined southwest andfloated down to a three point landing. There was nothing startling inthe way he handled his plane but his every move revealed the hand of amaster birdman.
After Winslow had given his orders to the mechanics, he greeted Hunter.
"Winslow," said the field manager as he introduced Tim, "here's a youngnewspaper man I want you to know, Tim Murphy of the Atkinson News. Ithink Tim is unique in the newspaper world. He's not only a mighty goodreporter but a fine flyer."
Both Tim and Winslow smiled at Hunter's introduction and Tim felt afriendly tingle as he grasped Winslow's hand.
"I've heard of you," said Winslow.
"And I've heard a great deal about you," replied Tim, "so I guess thatmakes us even."
"Tim's up against a tough proposition," said Hunter as they strolledtoward the office. "He wants to run a daily column of aviation in hispaper and only today convinced his managing editor that it ought to begiven a trial. As a result, Tim has to have a column of material readyearly tomorrow morning. On top of that, he's going to do this aviationcolumn on his own time. He wants it to go over big and become apermanent part of the paper and so do I. Down here at the field we thinkit would be a fine thing and when we saw you were coming in for anover-night stop, we figured you might be able to give Tim some materialthat would be mighty readable."
"I don't think I've done anything very remarkable or anything that wouldmake good newspaper reading," laughed Winslow, "but if you're willing tohave dinner with me up town, Murphy, we'll see what we can dig up."
Tim was pleased at the invitation and accepted it at once. He was havingeven better luck than he had dared dream, and he felt that given enoughtime with Winslow, the famous pilot would loosen up and tell him some ofthe experiences he had had in his eighteen years of flying.
Hunter excused himself, saying that he had work at the field whichrequired his attention, and Tim and Winslow got into the car Tim hadbrought to the field, and started for town.
They talked of the recent developments in aviation and of the greatincrease in the number of air mail lines, but it was not until they wereat dinner that Winslow really started to unburden himself in answer toTim's questions.
"When did I start to fly?" mused the veteran of the skyways. "Why that'sso long ago I've almost forgotten the date. You young fellows think offlying as a development since the war, but I started flying back in 1912in the days before we had ailerons on the wing tips and used to warp thewings of our planes to control them."
"You've flown more than anyone else, haven't you?" queried Tim.
"I believe I have," was Winslow's quiet reply. "My record book showsmore than 12,000 hours in the air for a little better than 1,400,000miles. That would be a long time and a long ways if it were a continuousflight," he smiled.
Tim liked Winslow when he smiled. There was nothing of the boaster inthis man who was the king of the air. His brown hair looked a littlefaded from exposure in thousands of hours of sun and wind and storm, andthere were decided wrinkles on his face, but his eyes were a clear brownthat invited confidence in their owner.
When Tim mentioned the air mail, he struck an especially responsivechord in Winslow's mind, whose life, for the last ten years, had been apart of the mail. He had flown the first mail plane from New York toWashington and later had been one of the pioneer flyers on thetranscontinental.
"Those early days were when we got our thrills," reminisced Winslow. "Wewere flying in cast-off army planes that the post office department hadpicked up. Our limit was under five hundred pounds of mail and we neverhad to worry about being overloaded at that. After the old armyDeHaviland's were put on the junk heap we got Douglas cruisers and therewas a little more regularity to the way we maintained our schedules.When the post office department turned the air mail over to privatecontractors, we were given the best planes money could buy."
"The air mail's grown immensely popular in the last two years hasn'tit?" asked Tim.
"Immensely is hardly the word," said Winslow. "Universally is better,and it's all since Lindbergh flew the Atlantic and focused popularinterest on aviation. Why this new plane I'm ferrying west is capable ofcarrying six passengers and 1,500 pounds of mail and maintaining anaverage speed of 130 miles an hour. In two years it will be obsolete andwe'll have bigger and faster planes in its place."
"Didn't you take a mail plane several years ago and brave a LakeMichigan storm in mid-winter to take food to fishermen marooned on anisland?"
"I was lucky," was Winslow's simple reply. "By the way, I've readrecently how you did a similar stunt only you dropped supplies to avillage cut off by a flood."
"That was luck, too," smiled Tim. "Now I'd like to know if you've everhad any accidents."
"One," admitted Winslow after some deliberation. "It was pretty seriousand I don't know whether I ought to give it to you or not. But I guessit won't do any harm," he added and smiled.
"Someone," he said, "parked a plane in the middle of the field atBlanton one night and when my landing lights didn't work I ran into ithead-on. Result, two damaged planes and one bad temper."
"You mean that's the only accident you've had in more than a millionmiles of flying?" asked the incredulous Tim.
"That's all and that's enough," said Winslow. "Flying is safe if youtake the proper precautions. The chaps who get cracked-up are stunting,have inferior equipment, or are just plain dumb."
"What," asked Tim, "would be the most thrilling flight to you?"
"A hop over the top of the world," replied Winslow. "I've always wantedto make an Arctic flight and even though Wilkins and Eilson made thetrip from Point Barrow to Spitzbergen, I'm not entirely convinced thatthere isn't land somewhere up there. It would be worth a try, anyway,"and his dark eyes glowed with enthusiasm.
Tim felt a peculiar warmth and thrill of inspiration and Winslow's wordsfell on far more fertile soil than he ever dreamed.
"There's just one more question?" said Tim. "Didn't you help trainLindbergh to fly?"
"Yes, some. We were on the same division of the air mail and saw quite alot of each other before he flew to Paris."
"What kind of a fellow was he then?"
"Not much more than a kid, quiet and serious minded. If he had anythought of flying to Paris when I knew him, he certainly kept it asecret. He's a wonderful flyer; uses his head and knows every trick inthe game."
They had completed their dinner and Winslow, who was obviously tiredfrom a long day in the air, asked Tim if he had all the material heneeded for his first column.
"Rea
ms of it, thanks to you," said the flying reporter.
"I'm glad if I have been of any help," replied the veteran of the airmail. "I think the column will be a fine thing. I hope you make asuccess of it, and I'm sure you will. I'm going to turn in now and get afew hours of sleep."
Tim had been too fascinated with their conversation to take notes duringthe dinner but it would have been a waste of effort for he couldremember clearly every scrap of the information Winslow had given him.He hurried to his room, gathered up half a dozen books Dan Watkins hadloaned him to study, and then headed for the copyreader's rooming house.
He found Dan, in dressing gown and carpet slippers, enjoying a novel.
"What's up, Tim," asked Dan.
"Need some advice and also brought your books home," replied Tim."Carson is going to let me try a daily aviation column to see how itgoes. I've got more material than I can possibly use for the first time.Just interviewed Arthur Winslow, dean of the air mail flyers, and havesome stuff that will make wonderful copy."
"How much space will you have?"
"Just an even column and I've enough dope for three or four," said Timenthusiastically.
"That's going to be a job, then," said Dan, "for you must keep withinthe limits of your space. But that means your story will be even thebetter--not an extra word or phrase. Here, use my typewriter and getbusy."
Tim welcomed the suggestion and for an hour he worked diligently,cutting and rewriting as the copyreader suggested. When he had completedhis task he had a column story about Winslow--a column that was fairlyalive with the romance of the air mail and of the flyer who was themaster of all birdmen.
"Carson will like this, you see if he doesn't," was Dan's comment as hefinished reading Tim's work. "Keep this up and it won't be long untilyou'll be the aviation editor of the News."
"Do you really think so, Dan?"
"I'm sure of it. Only the other day Carson was talking about you and Itold him how you were going to night school four evenings every week andthat I was suggesting books for you to read. He was well pleased. Therearen't many of the boys on the paper who are working like you to getahead."
Tim reached the office early the next morning and placed his copy onCarson's desk before the managing editor arrived. The directingeditorial genius of the News said nothing about Tim's first story butafter two or three days he stopped beside the flying reporter's desk onemorning.
"The aviation stories you're turning out are good stuff, Tim," hecommented. "If you have a little more than a column some days don'thesitate to run over your usual amount of space."
From the fact that Carson was willing to give him more space, Tim knewthat his work was finding favor. But he hoped for the day when themanaging editor would make it a permanent feature.
Tim worked every extra minute getting material for his column. Heinterviewed all the famous pilots who landed at the field, wrotesketches of the flyers on the regular air mail runs, and describedflights over the city and the surrounding towns. The latter stunt made agreat hit with the circulation manager, who personally made a trip tothe editorial office to commend Tim. Every town visited and written upfrom the air meant the sale of more copies of the News.
With his regular work and his studies, Tim found the task of gatheringand writing the material for the column a real drain on his physicalenergies.
"Better take things a little easier," cautioned Dan, but Tim was toomuch interested in his work and studies to give up anything and he wastoo conscientious to slight either.
When Tim's health started to suffer under the burden, Dan took thematter in his own hands and went to the managing editor.
"Tim's working too hard," he told Carson. "The boy is too ambitious forhis own good and unless you do something he'll work himself to death.He's doing his usual work in the office, writing his daily column andgoing to night school four times a week. That's more than he can stand,especially this hot weather."
"I'm glad you called it to my attention," said the managing editor."I've been very much pleased over Tim's column and it's made a hit withthe business office. We decided to make a little change last night andthis is a good time to tell Tim about it. Come along."
They walked down the editorial room together until they reached Tim'sdesk where the flying reporter, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep,was working.
"Hold up a minute, Tim," said the managing editor. "I have some news foryou. We're going to discontinue your column."
"But Mr. Carson," protested Tim. Then he stopped abruptly, his tiredeyes welling with tears.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Tim, I shouldn't have said it in that way," Carsonhurried on. "What I meant to tell you is that the column is gone forgood--from now on it will be a regular department of the paper andyou're to have charge of it."