The Sky Trail

  CHAPTER TWO

  The managing editor of the _News_ jumped from the car before Ralphbrought it to a stop and ran toward Tim.

  "Can you start on another assignment right away?" he asked.

  "Whenever you say, Mr. Carson," replied Tim. "We've just made a completecheck and the _Good News_ isn't hurt in the least. She's refueled andready to go."

  "Then you're heading for Cedar river valley," said the managing editor."Here's the situation. The village of Auburn you took food and medicalsupplies to last spring when the Cedar was on a rampage is in need ofhelp again. The river is causing trouble and the worst ice jam in thehistory of the country is just above the village. This changeableweather has kept the river thawing and then freezing and thousands oftons of ice are piling up behind the jam. I want you and Ralph to make atrip there this afternoon, survey the situation, get all the picturesyou can, and report to me. When we know the size of the jam we can planto get relief to them."

  "We'll be on our way in ten minutes," promised Tim. "The people atAuburn helped me when I was working on the Sky Hawk mystery and I'll beglad of the chance to do another favor for them."

  "In the excitement of this new story," said the managing editor, "Ialmost forgot to tell you how much I appreciate your fine work ingetting the pictures of the fire at the oil tanks. I've never seenanything like them for action. They were so good we put out an extrawith nothing but pictures on the front page. Biggest selling extra everpublished in Atkinson."

  "They may prove fairly expensive by the time you pay the cost of a newcoat of paint for the _Good News_," said Tim.

  "Hang the cost of the paint," exclaimed the managing editor, "Thosepictures were worth $500 to the paper. Why the one showing that piece ofsteel hurtling up out of the smoke and flame is the best action pictureever taken."

  "The what!" said Tim.

  "The picture showing that piece of steel coming toward you," repeatedCarson.

  "I'll explain," said Ralph, and he turned to Tim. "We had a luckybreak," he continued. "When that explosion caught us I had only oneplate left in the camera. In the excitement I snapped the shutter and itso happened that the camera was aimed to get that steel plate thatalmost wrote 'finish' for us."

  "We'll be able to sell that picture all over the country," said themanaging editor, "And I'll see that you boys get half of whatever thepaper makes on it."

  Carl Hunter came out of the administration building to report that theweather in the direction of Cedar Valley was fair.

  "Better get into some heavier clothes," he warned, "For it will bepretty breezy up there if Tim decides to step on the gas."

  "Our winter flying outfits are all in town," said Ralph. "Guess we canmake it this way."

  "I've got some spare clothes," suggested Hunter. "Some of them belong to'Tiny' Lewis but they'll keep you warm at least."

  The young reporters laughed at the thought of wearing "Tiny" Lewis'flying togs. "Tiny," was the exact opposite from his name. He was asround as a barrel and not much over five feet six in height.

  The boys followed Hunter back to the administration building and madetheir way to the pilots' room. Hunter opened several lockers and finallyfound the clothes he sought, heavy fleece-lined coveralls especiallydesigned for cold weather flying.

  When the boys had donned their ill-fitting clothes they looked like apair of aerial scare crows for their legs projected awkwardly from thesuits, which were far too short for them.

  "Throw a couple of robes over your legs and you'll be all right,"suggested the field manager.

  "Not for me," grinned Tim. "Ralph can bundle up all he wants to but I'mnot going to have a blanket tangled around the stick just about the timeI have to get into action."

  When the boys returned to No. 5 hangar the mechanics had the _Good News_warmed up and on the line.

  The managing editor looked at his watch.

  "Just a few minutes after one-thirty," he said, half to himself, half tohis star reporters. Then aloud he said, "You won't be able to get toAuburn, snap your pictures and get back here in time for the city final.However, if you get some good shots we'll put out a five o'clock pictureextra so step on it all the way."

  "We'll be back in less than two hours," promised Tim. "Wouldn't be ableto do it with the old motor in the ship, but with this new power unitwe'll do 180 an hour steady over and back. The trip is about 125 mileseach way and with the time it takes for the pictures we'll make it intwo hours easy."

  "Then I'll have the engravers and the composing room stand by for a fiveo'clock picture extra," said the managing editor. "This will be ared-letter day in the history of the _News_--two picture extras in thesame day and believe me, boys, that's what the readers want. Pictures,action, and more pictures. Now get going."

  Ralph lifted his big camera into the front cockpit and settled himselffor the trip. He wrapped a heavy robe around his legs for he knew Timwas going to tear loose on the trip to Auburn and even though it wasmoderately warm on the ground the air at two thousand feet would bechilly.

  Tim checked his instruments, waved for the mechanics to get in theclear, and opened his throttle.

  The _Good News_ lifted her tail off the muddy field, splattered thewater out of half a dozen puddles, and then shot up into her own domain.

  The new radial motor, tested in flame and smoke little more than an hourbefore, leaped to its task and they sped away into the east. Behind themthe fire still raged at the oil tanks, but firemen appeared to havechecked its spread.

  Tim pushed the throttle steadily forward until the air speed indicatorregistered 175 miles an hour. At 2,000 feet the ground was a dull, graycheckerboard beneath them. In places there were splotches of dirty snow,a last vestige of winter. Creeks, silver ribbons winding through thecountryside, were running bankfull of water. Several times they sightedstreams in which the outgoing ice had jammed around some bridge or sharpcurve. Behind these jams the stream had spread out until it formed asmall lake. None of them were of major importance but at one bridge halfa dozen men were busy trying to dynamite the mass of ice which wasthreatening the safety of the structure.

  As they neared the valley of the mighty Cedar the country became rougherand there were fewer fields for an emergency landing. A plane in troublein the valley would have small chance of making a safe descent.

  They were fifteen miles from Auburn when they caught their first glimpseof the river, a great lake stretching for miles up its valley.

  Then they saw the jumbled mass of ice above the village. The toweringblocks had jammed at a sharp bend in the river and hundreds of tons ofice, born by the spring freshets, had built a great dam which wasimpounding the waters of the river.

  The bed of the stream below the ice jam carried little more than atrickle of water when compared to the usual volume.

  From the position of the jam Tim could see that unless the pressure wasrelieved soon the water behind the ice, spreading out over the valley,would soon creep around the wings of the jam and sweep down on thevillage.

  The _Good News_ slid down out of the clouds and swung over the scene ofthe impending disaster. The village was practically deserted. Men andwomen were at the jam, working side by side in what appeared a futileeffort to start the thousands of tons of ice moving down stream beforetheir own homes were destroyed.

  Tim guided the _Good News_ up the valley, over the jam, and on upstream. The jam of ice extended nearly a half mile above the village.The river above that point, running free, was piling more ice on thejam, adding to the pressure which hourly threatened to let go and sweepeverything before it.

  Ralph, leaning far over the side of the plane, was busy with his camera.He motioned for Tim to return to the village. There they took picturesof the practically deserted town and Tim dropped low enough for Ralph toget some good flashes of the men and women working along the edge of theice jam.

  Just a year before the villagers had helped Tim when he was on the trailof the Sky Hawk and he felt that he
owed them a real debt.

  They gazed upward as the plane sped over them but they did not recognizethe scorched, blackened plane as the _Good News_. Tim and Ralph wavedeagerly, but there was no reply. The villagers were weighted down withdespair.

  Ralph indicated that he had used the last of the plates in the cameraand Tim swung the _Good News_ into the west. He headed back for Atkinsonat 180 miles an hour, the motor singing as they shot through the greyingsky.

  The clouds were dropping on them and by the time they were half way toAtkinson they had a ceiling of less than six hundred feet. Tim tried torise above the clouds, but they were massed solidly. He climbed to thefive thousand foot level only to find himself lost in swirling vapor andwith the air growing colder every minute.

  Ice started to form on the wings of the _Good News_ and Tim realized thedanger. The plane was harder to handle, slower to answer the controls.

  Ralph sensed the danger of the higher altitude and motioned for Tim todive, but the flying reporter shook his head. He was too experienced anairman for a power dive when ice was gathering on his ship.

  To have nosed the ship down at 180 miles an hour might be fatal for bothof them. With the ceiling probably down to nothing they would flash outof the clouds at high speed with only a few hundred feet of clearance.Normally they could get away with it but with the wings weighted downwith ice one of them might snap off when he pulled back on the stick. Itwas too dangerous to risk. He decided to take his time, come downgradually, and fight the ice as best he could.

  The next ten minutes were an hour to Tim as he eased the _Good News_toward the ground. Little by little they lost altitude. The ship wasloggy now with its burden of ice but he managed to keep it out of a diveand they finally levelled off at two hundred feet. Even at that lowaltitude the clouds were brushing their wings but the air was warmer andthe ice gradually disappeared from the wings.

  For a few minutes Tim had been too busy with his own troubles to thinkabout those of the villagers back at Auburn, but the danger of the icepast his mind returned to them.

  It had been plain to him that unless something was done in the next fewhours the massed ice would give way and march down the valley, sweepingeverything before it. As towns went Auburn wasn't much to brag about,but its people were friendly and the village was home to them. Tim, anorphan, knew what it meant to be without a home and he resolved to doeverything within his means to help the villagers.

  They roared over the suburbs of Atkinson, sped across the heart of thecity, and skidded over the ground to roll to a stop in front of theirown hangar.

  The managing editor was waiting for them.

  "Get the pictures O. K.?" he cried.

  "Camera full of the best ice photos you ever saw," grinned Ralph as heeased his cramped legs over the side of the plane and dropped to themuddy ground.

  "How is the situation in the valley?" asked the managing editor.

  "Critical," replied Tim as he shut off his engine. "I never saw so muchice in my life. The jam is at a sharp bend in the river just above thevillage. Thousands and thousands of tons of ice has piled up there andthe river is bringing down more every hour. The flow of water below thejam is practically shut off and it's spreading out above the ice. Bytomorrow morning the whole thing will let go and that will be the end ofthe village."

  "What are the people doing?" Carl Hunter wanted to know.

  "Everything they can do," said Ralph. "All the men and women are out atthe jam, working side by side. I saw them plant several charges ofdynamite and they might just as well have been five inch firecrackersfor all the good it did. There isn't enough dynamite in this part of thestate to move that jam. They couldn't get it planted in time."

  "I wish we could do something to help them," said the managing editorthoughtfully.

  "If you really want to save the village," said Tim, "I think I've got aplan that will work. Listen."

  In a few words he outlined his plan. The managing editor listenedthoughtfully.

  "Sounds like it is the only chance of saving them, but you'll be runninga mighty big risk, Tim."

  "I'm willing to take the chance if you'll let me have the _Good News_.I'll have to cover nearly a thousand miles before I can really startwork."

  "The _Good News_ and anything else you need is yours," promised themanaging editor.

  "Then I'll get ready and start at once," said Tim.

  "Count me in," added Ralph.

  "Not in this first trip," said Tim. "I've got to fly fast and far andthe less weight the faster I'll go. When I'm ready to start for Auburnagain I'll need you. In the meantime you see that we have at least adozen flares ready to take with us for it will be midnight or later bythe time we reach the valley again."

  Ralph promised to have the parachute flares ready and then followed themanaging editor to one of the _New's_ cars. An extra was being held upfor the pictures in Ralph's camera and after all his duty was to thepaper first.

  Tim turned the _Good News_ over to the Mechanics for refueling and wentover to Hunter's office to get warm and map out the course of his nextflight.

  The field manager unfurled a roll of maps and helped Tim check hisplans.

  "You're going to get plenty of hours in the air today," he grinned.

  "I know it," smiled Tim, "And only a little more than three hours ago Iwas grumbling because there wasn't more chance for any flyingassignments this week."

  Tim took a ruler and laid out his course, an air line from Atkinson toFort Armstrong, the nearest army post. It was a good five hundred milesand with certain weather ahead Tim knew that he would have to count onthree hours for the flight. He should be at the army post by seveno'clock. If he allowed himself one hour at the post he ought to be ableto start back around 8 o'clock. Three more hours and he would be back inAtkinson at 11 o'clock. A stop to pick up Ralph, make final arrangementsand then into the air again for Cedar river valley.

  Every minute counted and after carefully checking his course Tim hurriedback to his plane.

  "Aren't you going to telephone the Fort you're coming?" asked the fieldmanager.

  "Carson promised to do that," replied Tim. "I'll need his political pullto get the material I need at the Fort. You phone Carson when I takeoff. Have him tell the army people I'll drop in on them about 7 o'clock,wind and weather allowing."

  "You'll make it all right, Tim," said Carson, "But look out for ice ifyou go too high."

  "I had a taste of that coming back from the valley," said the flyingreporter. "No more of that for me if I can help myself."

  Enough gas for a four hour flight had been placed in the tanks of the_Good News_.

  The engine, still warm, caught on the first turn and roared into action.

  Tim adjusted the pack parachute Carson had brought from the office,settled himself on his seat, and motioned "all clear."

  Water and mud sprayed from the wheels as the _Good News_ picked upspeed. Then it lifted off the heavy field, shook itself free of the mud,and climbed the low-hanging clouds.

  The ceiling was less than five hundred and by this time the afternoonwas grey and a sharp breeze was zipping down out of the north. It wouldbe a nasty night for flying over an unmarked and unlighted course.

  Tim followed the air mail trail for half an hour and then turned to hisleft. Fort Armstrong was now almost straight south on an air line. Withprairie country the flight would have been easy but Tim knew that 200miles out of Atkinson he would run into the Flint hills, a branch of theGreat Smoky Mountains which wandered out into the prairie at a mostinconvenient angle. If the ceiling was low over the Flint hills, hewould be in for a nasty half hour of flying.

  The first hour slid away as Tim roared southward at nearly 200 miles anhour. The thunder of his motor roused prairie villages from their winterlethargy and stampeded cattle on lonely farms. Occasionally some farmer,surprised at his chores, shook his fist angrily as Tim sailed over thechimney tops.

  The ceiling was still six hundred when Tim sighted the first low r
idgeof hills that marked the Flint range. He had flown over the territoryonly once before and that time when he was returning the year beforefrom Old Mexico with exclusive pictures of a rebel leader.

  The hills were really ridges of rock, rearing their sharp, bleak headsinto the air--a trap for any unwary flyer. To crash on thoseinhospitable crags would have meant the end for plane and pilot.

  Tim lifted the _Good News_ until his wing tips were brushing the massedclouds. Six hundred and fifty was the highest he could go withoutburying himself in the clouds and flying blind, something which he didnot relish.

  Tim throttled down to half speed as he reached the first ridge of theFlint hills. He cleared the tops of the crags by two hundred feet andwas congratulating himself when another ridge loomed ahead of hisspinning prop. The second one bulked higher and beyond he could see athird which buried its head in the low-hanging clouds.

  Tim slid over the second ridge and then swung sharply to the right.Perhaps he would find a gap in the third ridge which would let himthrough. For five minutes he sped along, hunting for some opening thatwould let him through. He was almost ready to make a blind attemptthrough the clouds when he caught sight of a break in the hills. It wasnot more than 200 feet wide but Tim took the chance, banked the _GoodNews_ sharply, and dove for the opening.

  The hills closed in on him and dismal masses of rock on each side waitedfor him to crash. But he slid through the narrow break and found himselfagain over the prairie, the hills in the background.

  The rest of the trip to Fort Armstrong was easy going compared with thetask of getting through the hills and Tim sighted the lights of the armypost at five minutes to seven.

  Markers on the landing field flashed on when guards heard the sound ofhis motor and mechanics were waiting to guide his ship into a hangarwhen he landed and taxied up the runway.

  Tim's body ached from the cold and his legs were stiff and cramped. Amechanic reached up and gave him a hand as he clambered out of thecockpit.

  An officer with a captain's bars on his shoulder, strode into thehangar.

  "We were expecting you, Murphy," he said. "Your managing editortelephoned that you were on your way and we've tried to have everythingready for you. How did you find the Flint hills?"

  "They gave me the shivers for half an hour," admitted Tim, "But Imanaged to find a gap in the third ridge and got through without buryingmyself in the clouds."

  "You were lucky," commented the army man who introduced himself asCaptain John Nugent, in command of the air force at Fort Armstrong.

  "Better come over to my quarters and get warm and have a snack to eat,"suggested the army man.

  Tim readily agreed for he was chilled to the bone and hungry.

  "I know you're anxious to start back," said Captain Nugent, "But you'llbe more alert if you rest a few minutes and fill up with some hot food.I've had my boy keep things hot for you."

  "That's mighty nice of you," said Tim, "And I expect I'll save time inthe end if I take a few minutes rest here."

  When they reached the captain's quarters, the army man insisted that Timtake off his things and enjoy a good meal.

  "Have you planned your trip back?" he asked.

  "Looks like I'll have to try the Flint hills in the dark," said Tim."I've got to be in Atkinson before midnight if my plan to help thepeople at Auburn is going to work. I'm sure that ice jam will go beforemorning and if it does it's goodbye to that town."

  "If anything goes wrong with your ship in the hills with the load you'llbe carrying, it will be curtains for you," said the army man.

  "I haven't had time to think about that," confessed Tim. "As far as Ican see it is the only way to get back in time. I'll have to bore upinto the clouds and take a chance."

  "Columbus took a chance and was lucky," said Captain Nugent. "However,you're not Columbus and you've had just about your share of luck for oneday. Don't tempt fate too much."

  "I won't deliberately tempt fate," said Tim, "But time counts tonight."

  "Would half an hour make a great deal of difference?"

  "It might," replied the flying reporter.

  "Half an hour isn't long when it comes to considering your own life."

  "But I must think of the people of Auburn."

  "If you crash in the Flint hills it won't help them."

  "True enough. But what else can I do?"

  "Go around the hills."

  "That would take too much time."

  "Not more than an extra half hour," countered the army man. "Look atthis map."

  They bent over the map on the table and the army officer pointed outwhat he considered Tim's best route for the return flight to Atkinson.

  "You'll have to swing to the east of the hills," he said, "But yourflight will be over level country and you'll have a chance if anythinggoes wrong."

  "I believe you're right," agreed Tim. "The last thing I'm looking fortonight is a crack-up."

  An orderly came in to announce that Tim's plane was ready for the returntrip.

  Captain Nugent put on a heavy coat and accompanied Tim to the runway.The _Good News_, outlined in the field's floodlights, was waiting forTim, motor idling.

  Captain Nugent climbed up to the forward cockpit and made a thoroughinspection of the contents. Satisfied that everything was ship-shape, hedropped back to the ground.

  "You've got an even dozen demolition bombs," he told Tim. "The mendidn't have time to rig a bomb rack on your plane but they did the nextbest thing. They put the 'eggs' in a hammock that will carry themwithout danger unless you happen to crack-up."

  "Pleasant prospect," smiled Tim.

  "But I don't think you'll have any trouble if you swing out around theFlint hills," said the army officer.

  "Say, what the dickens have you been doing to this plane?" he demandedas he noticed for the first time, the smoke-blackened condition of thewings.

  Tim explained what had taken place earlier in the day and the armyofficer whistled as the flying reporter told how they had been caught bythe explosion of the oil tanks.

  "If you've had a narrow escape like that today," said Captain Nugent, "Iguess flying the hills at night won't bother you."

  "I've decided not to risk it," said Tim. "I'm going to go around."

  "The air is getting sharper," said the army man. "Sure you've got warmenough clothes? We'll be glad to lend you some extra togs if there isanything you need."

  "Thanks a lot," said Tim. "You've been mighty good to let me have thesehigh explosive bombs. I won't need anything more and now I think I'dbetter get under way."

  Tim climbed into the rear cockpit, tested the motor, and after wavingfarewell to Captain Nugent, sent the _Good News_ skimming down thelighted runway.

  The motor barked lustily as the plane gained altitude, the lights of theFort Armstrong were soon lost in the night.

  Tim followed the course Captain Nugent had helped him lay out. For morethan an hour he sped over the right-of-way of the Southwestern Railroad.Mile after mile he was guided by the dim streaks of steel which werebarely discernible in the darkness.

  The railroad skimmed the east end of the Flint hills and when the lightsof Macon showed in the distance Tim knew he was around the worstbarrier. The dreaded hills now lay to his left and behind.

  He glanced at his watch. He was making good time. With no unforeseenemergencies he would be in Atkinson by eleven.

  The sky had lightened somewhat and Tim now had a ceiling of 1,000 feet.With a greater margin of safety, he opened the throttle wide and the_Good News_ bored into the night.

  In the dim light of the instrument board Tim could see the needle on theair speed indicator hovering near the 200-mile an hour mark. He wasmaking more than three miles a minute. That was time! It was faster thanTim had ever traveled.

  Then the indicator crept on up. Two hundred and five and then it waveredat two hundred and ten. The motor was not turning over any faster than aminute or two before so Tim knew he must have picked up a good tailwind.

/>   Let'er go! The sooner he reached Atkinson the sooner he would be on thelast lap of his trip to Auburn and the nearer the completion of hisplans for the salvation of the village. On he roared through the nightand the lights of small towns were little more than blurs in a magiccarpet.

  Far ahead the lights of Atkinson reflected against the clouds and fourminutes later Tim was throttling down the motor preparatory to glidinginto the airport.

  For the first time since leaving Fort Armstrong the load of highexplosive bombs which he had obtained at the army post worried him.

  Supposing he struck a mud puddle and nosed over? One blinding,shattering blast and it would be all over. So much depended on thesuccess of his landing that he dared not think of failure.

  The flood lights came on and bathed the field in a chilling bluebrilliance. Tim cut his motor and sidled down, killing speed everysecond. He glanced at his watch. Ten fifty-five; five minutes to thegood.

  He was less than two hundred feet above the field when the deafeningroar of an incoming tri-motored passenger and express plane drowned thesound of his own motor. Tim looked up and froze at his controls. Thetri-motor was coming in from the left, and their paths would cross inless than 300 feet.