“Go up there and get us a good story, Jimmy,” he said. “If all the fliers are present who are advertised to be there, this will be a very interesting gathering. And by the way, I suppose you will fly out along the Air Mail route. If you do, stop at Ringtown and take Johnnie Lee along with you. I wrote him two days ago, offering him a job, and I just received his reply. He is eager to come. Pick him up and take him to the airport opening with you. I’ll give you credentials for him. He can start right in with you. And remember, I expect you to help him learn his job.”
“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” replied Jimmy. “I’ll do my very best to help Johnnie. You won’t be sorry you hired him. I’ll pick him up as I fly out, and bring him back to the city with me.”
“That’s exactly what I wish,” replied the managing editor.
So it happened that when Jimmy flew to the air races, he stopped at Ringtown and picked up his old friend. Then the two flew on to the airport.
The aviation meeting was all it had been advertised to be. Scores of pilots were present, many of them famous veterans of the air. The edge of the flying field was lined for hundreds of yards with ships that were crowded so close together their wing tips almost touched. There were flying machines of almost every known variety. Tiny Moth planes stood wing to wing with huge tri-motored cabin ships that would hold a dozen passengers each. There were monoplanes and biplanes, and even some gliders were to be seen. The Army and the Navy were represented by several fliers each. The planes of the latter instantly caught the eye as they stood on the line in military formation, noticeable among all other planes for their blazing insignia on their wing surfaces. It was a sight to delight a pilot’s heart.
Yet the ground show was nothing compared to the exhibition in the air. Aloft there was a constant stream of ships. Some were arriving, some departing, some were carrying passengers at so much a ride, some were stunting, and others were merely aloft for the pleasure of it. Then came races. The air was cleared of all other fliers, and the speedsters had their innings. Back and forth they darted along a course many miles long, one end of which was in the centre of the new airport. Around the striped pylon they roared, some darting upward on the turn, others roaring around on level keel. And so steeply were the ships banked that each seemed fairly to be standing on one wing as it whirled around the pylon. It was a stirring sight.
But the performance that stopped every heart and made every onlooker hold his breath was the parachute jumps. Jimmy and Johnnie had gone aloft again by the time the jumping started. Ever since Jimmy had received the piece of Warren Long’s parachute, he had felt a particular interest in parachute jumps. He believed he could see the jumps better if he were in the air, about on the level with the jumpers, than he could see them if he were on the ground. Likewise, he wanted to get some photographs of the jumpers, taken from aloft. So he and Johnnie had gone aloft once more.
They flew along lazily, to the rear of the ship that held the jumpers. And they were a little lower than this ship. Jimmy wanted to see just how the parachutes worked. He had selected an excellent viewpoint; for when the first jumper walked out on a wing of the ship and calmly dropped toward the earth, Jimmy could see his every movement. Down dropped the man, straight as a plummet, hardly moving his body or limbs, until he was well below the plane. Then Jimmy saw him reach for the rip-cord, grasp the metal ring, and give it a sharp jerk. With an instant response the covers of the parachute pack snapped open, the folds of the white silk “umbrella” were caught by the wind, ballooning out and opening full with a crack that could be heard all over the huge airport. The downward flight of the jumper was checked. With a jerk he spun upright, then settled toward the earth under his wide-spreading canopy. He landed safely, amid great applause. Johnnie got several fine snaps with the camera while the jump was taking place.
Another jumper followed. This one elected to come down awhirling. He stepped off backward, and went spinning toward the earth like a ball. When he pulled his rip-cord, his parachute pulled him upright with a jerk that, as Jimmy phrased it, must have splashed his liver against his backbone like a butcher throwing a slab of beef on the block. But the jumper landed safe and sound and appeared none the worse for his experience.
The best performance—at least the one that most attracted the crowd—had been reserved for the last. A woman was to do some stunts and then put on a parachute and jump. She was a slender young flier, whom theMorning Pressmen had noticed at the hangar. She was clad in a light flying suit, and her short hair was bound tight with a broad red ribbon wound about her brow.
When she came out on the wing of the plane, preparatory to giving her exhibition, Jimmy could feel his pulse quicken perceptibly. The sight of men about to risk their lives had not stirred him so much. They were fliers, like himself, and every pilot expected that some day he might have to make the trip to the ground in a parachute. But to see a young woman risking her life, merely to make a show for a curious multitude, stirred Jimmy as it did others. He knew well enough that the crowd on the ground was standing in breathless suspense. He flew his plane as near to the jumper’s ship as he dared, so Johnnie could get some close-up snapshots.
Jimmy watched the woman like a hawk. He noticed her every movement. She made her way along the wing of the plane. A rope ladder had been fastened to a strut. This the woman untied and lowered. Then she swung over the edge of the wing and made her way down the rope ladder. She had no parachute. Should she lose her grip or be jolted from the ladder she would fall straight to earth and be crushed. Jimmy almost shuddered as he looked at her. It seemed terrible to him that any one should risk life in this way. He could hardly bear to watch her. Yet he had come aloft to see the performance and he steeled himself to watch. He kept his plane moving at the same rate as the exhibition ship but at a lower level.
Down the rope ladder came the young woman. This swung and swayed uncertainly in the breeze. At the bottom of the ladder was a strong metal rung or crossbar. It helped to keep the ladder from blowing backward too far. When the performer came to this metal bar she did not pause but grasped it with both hands and lowered her body into space. There she dangled, a thousand feet in air, with nothing between her and an awful death but her own good grip. Jimmy could feel chills of horror running up and down his spine. He prayed that the air would stay calm. He could hardly bear to look at the woman when she released one hand from the bar and swung for a moment by a single arm. It was too much for Jimmy. He looked away.
When he brought his glance back to the woman she had altered her position. Now she was hanging by her knees, her head down, as the ship flew along. For several minutes she did acrobatic stunts at the end of the swaying ladder. And during all that time Jimmy was in a tremble. But the young woman was as steady as Gibraltar. She lost neither her nerve nor her grip. Presently she climbed back up the ladder, rolled and fastened it to the strut, and then climbed to the upper wing, where she braced herself and stood upright with nothing whatever to hold to, while the ship shot through the air at seventy miles an hour.
Again Jimmy was in a fever of fear. If she slipped, if the plane plunged and threw her off her balance, if the air grew bumpy and tumbled the ship about, there could be but one end to the exhibition. The young woman would be thrown off her balance and blown out into space. Once more Jimmy turned his look away. He could not bear to look at her.
When he glanced again at the ship he was following he saw something that electrified him, that shocked him into instant activity. From the crankcase of the ship ahead of him flames were leaping.
Quick as thought Jimmy turned to his companion. “Get the tie rope,” he shouted, indicating with a sweep of his arm where he kept the rope with which he tied his plane down when he had to leave it out over night.
Johnnie had the long, strong rope out in no time. He knotted one end of it fast in the cabin, so it could not get away from him. Meantime Jimmy opened his throttle and his ship darted upward and to one side. In a moment it was almost wing and wing with the exhibition ship.
The other pilot glanced out and saw Jimmy’s plane. Johnnie leaned from a cabin window and began making vigorous gestures. He pointed to the woman on the upper wing of the exhibition plane. She was utterly unconscious that anything was wrong. Then Johnnie held up his rope and made a gesture to indicate that he would try to pick up the woman on the plane wing. For a moment the pilot looked at Johnnie as though he did not comprehend. It came to Johnnie that the pilot did not yet know his ship was afire. The flames were underneath the engine, and he had not yet noticed them. Violently Johnnie gestured toward the crankcase. The pilot got partly to his feet and peered over the edge of his plane. Instantly he saw what was wrong. Johnnie once more held up his rope and pointed to the woman on the upper wing. The pilot nodded agreement.
“He understands,” shouted Johnnie.
With a suddenness that almost threw Johnnie off his feet, Jimmy banked his plane and circled. In a moment he was once more to the rear of the exhibition plane, but now he was above it. The ship was flying slowly, on level keel. Very carefully, like a refueling plane about to fuel another ship, Jimmy flew his craft over and a trifle ahead of the other plane. Johnnie was watching carefully.
“There!” he shouted. “You’re just right. Slow her up a bit.”
Jimmy followed instructions. In a moment he was keeping pace with the other ship, but was slightly in advance of it. Johnnie leaned through the open window and started to lower the rope. The wind blew it almost straight back. He drew the rope in and fastened the starter handle to it with a loose knot. Then he leaned from the window once more and carefully but swiftly lowered the rope.
Meantime the young woman on the wing below him had been watching with curious interest. She did not understand what was afoot. It was well she did not. She might have lost her nerve. She caught the rope as it came level with her and held it uncertainly, meantime looking up at Johnnie questioningly. Johnnie saw that she did not comprehend the situation. He pointed toward the blazing crankcase. The girl held fast to his rope and took a step toward the leading edge of the plane wing. The moment she saw the flames she shrank back in evident terror, and Johnnie’s heart almost stood still with fear lest she fall from the plane wing. But she recovered her nerve in an instant. Grasping the starter handle, she quickly untied it and laid it down on the wing. That one act told Johnnie that she had a complete grip on herself. Otherwise she might thoughtlessly have tossed it into the air. In a second the girl had the rope around her body, just below her arms. She tied it tight, with knot after knot. Then she looked up and nodded.
Johnnie braced himself and began to haul on the rope. A foot at a time he dragged the girl upward, while she clung with both hands to the life line. It was fortunate she was light in weight. Johnnie was working at a disadvantage. He could not get all his muscles into play. Yet slowly he lifted the girl upward until she could grasp the window-frame. Then Johnnie threw open the cabin door, which was immediately beside the window, and reached out and grasped the girl. At the same time she slid her foot within the cabin of the plane and pulled herself, with Johnnie’s help, after it. Even above the roar of both motors Johnnie could hear the tremendous cheer that came up from the ground. Johnnie slammed the door shut and fastened it. Then he turned to the girl. She had slumped to the floor, as pale as death. But it was merely the reaction after her moment of peril.
Meantime, Jimmy opened his throttle, pulled back on his stick, and shot his plane upward for hundreds of feet. By the time he leveled off, the pilot below him, who had seen a part of the rescue, had acted to save his own life. The fire had spread rapidly. Flames were beginning to shoot into the cockpit. Adjusting the stabilizer of his ship so that she was slightly nose heavy, the pilot headed his plane toward a near-by woods. Then he stepped over the side, and a moment later was floating safely downward under his open parachute. He landed near the flying field, without a scratch.
Seeing the pilot safe and the air clear, for the burning plane soon crashed in the woods, Jimmy swooped down and landed in the middle of the flying field. His plane rolled rapidly toward the judge’s stand and he taxied it close to the railing that kept the crowd from the field. A doctor and several officials rushed out to the ship to look after the young woman. She was still in a state of collapse. Carefully they assisted her to the hangar and gave her the necessary attention.
Jimmy was glad enough to have her off his hands. He was waiting for his engine to cool a bit before cutting the switch. Then he intended to hurry to the telegraph station and send off a wire. His whole attention was now centered on the story he must send.
What was his astonishment, then, when the crowd broke through the barriers and a veritable mob came charging toward him as he stepped from his ship. For a second Jimmy was dumbfounded. He did not understand what was happening. But it did not take him very long to learn. As he and Johnnie stepped clear of the ship the crowd thundered up. A hundred hands were thrust out at them. A babel of voices arose in shouted greetings. Men and women swarmed about them, patting them on their backs, slapping their shoulders, and reaching for their hands. Then somebody caught them both from behind, eager hands lifted them bodily, and in another moment they were riding from the field on the shoulders of sturdy men, while the crowd yelled itself hoarse.
CHAPTER XIII
Jimmy Has an Adventure with a Bootlegger
It was nearly ten o’clock that night when the two young fliers walked into theMorning Pressoffice in New York, tired but happy. Jimmy had filed his story as soon as he could get away from the crowd and write it. A hasty bite to eat had followed, and then the two young reporters had hopped off for Long Island, which they reached quickly and without incident. Now Jimmy was waiting to see the managing editor.
He did not have to wait long. Mr. Johnson soon sent for him. Jimmy took Johnnie with him, and the two stepped into the managing editor’s office.
“Well, Jimmy, I’m glad to see you back safe and sound,” said Mr. Johnson. “Sit down and tell me about your trip. I have about come to the conclusion that any time news is scarce hereafter I shall send you out on an assignment. You seem to have more adventures than any reporter I ever heard of. When I hired you, it was togetthe news. I never dreamed that you would alsoprovidethe news. As I recall it, I paid you a certain sum to act as pilot, and I had to increase your pay considerably when you blossomed out into a reporter as well as a pilot. Now I suppose you’ll be asking for still more money because youmakethe news as well as report it.”
Jimmy laughed with the managing editor, who was evidently feeling well pleased. “I’ll be glad to tell you about my trip, Mr. Johnson,” he said, “but first I want to introduce my friend Johnnie Lee. He’s your new reporter and he helped to make the news to-day.”
“Johnnie, I’m glad to know you,” said Mr. Johnson, shaking the lad’s hand warmly. “You certainly made a fine start with thePress. It was my idea that you were to come here as a cub, and start at the very bottom of the ladder. But it looks as though you have been learning some tricks from Jimmy. I suppose you’ll want a raise right away.” And the managing editor laughed heartily.
“No, sir,” said Johnnie. “I don’t want anything more just now than a chance and enough to live on.” Then he added, “But I’ll try to deserve the raise before very long.”
“You had better borrow a rabbit’s foot from Jimmy,” chuckled Mr. Johnson. “He carries them in every pocket. He has—excuse me, until I look at these.”
A copy boy had just brought him proofs of Jimmy’s photographs.
“Jimmy,” said the managing editor, after looking at the proofs, “just what breed of rabbit is it that you get your rabbit feet from? You have the greatest luck of any fellow I ever knew. You’ve got the most remarkable picture here that’s been taken since—since—well, since Clint Murphy snapped Forest O’Brine working on the engine of the endurance plane, theSt. Louis Robin, 3,000 feet above the ground. That picture was a wonder. But you’ve got one here to equal it. It’s a close-up snap of that woman parachute jumper dangling from her plane.”
“I’m mighty glad it came out good,” said Jimmy, “but I didn’t take it. Johnnie snapped all the photos while I flew the ship. It’s his picture, Mr. Johnson.”
“It doesn’t matter who snapped the camera,” said the managing editor. “It took two of you to get it. We’ll surely beat the town on this.”
“Yes, we shall,” replied Jimmy. “There wasn’t another plane in the air when she was performing except our two ships. Nobody else could have gotten a close-up of the thing.”
“I’d just like to know, Jimmy,” grinned the managing editor, “exactly what breed of rabbit you cultivate. You take a tip from me, Johnnie, and get some feet from this same breed. Now you boys run along. I’ve got to get to work.”
Jimmy introduced his friend to Mr. Davis, the city editor, who would henceforth be Johnnie’s boss. Then he made Johnnie known to several of the reporters. Finally the two young men left the office and went to Jimmy’s boarding house, for they had decided that they would room together. In a little while they were both asleep, but at intervals through the night Jimmy dreamed about the accident to the parachute jumper that he had witnessed.
He saw little of Johnnie thereafter, for their hours did not synchronize. Most of the time Jimmy’s work was done in daylight hours, whereas Johnnie went to work early in the afternoon and worked until late at night. But they roomed together, sleeping in separate beds, and left notes for each other, and could of course see each other when occasion demanded.
The days passed quickly. Johnnie learned rapidly. Jimmy had few assignments of an exciting nature. His luck seemed to have deserted him. He carried pictures, transported reporters, covered a few unimportant stories. Time hung heavy on his hands. Meantime the autumn passed and winter came. It came with a rush and it came early. Almost over night the balmy days of Indian summer changed into days of fierce winds and icy chill. From all parts of the country came reports of intense cold. Almost in a twinkling navigation in the north was tied up. The lakes and streams were frostbound and frozen. Steamers were caught in the ice, far from land. Suffering was intense. Deaths were reported in many quarters, due to the cold. Isolated lighthouse keepers and the dwellers on remote islands were cut off from communication. In many of these isolated places food and medicine ran low. The weather itself, with the attendant difficulties of travel, the deaths, the hardships, all consequent upon the intense cold and the deep snow and ice, became a leading story.
Day after day, belated tales of freezing, hardship, death, heroic rescues, blizzards, storms, and other phases of the weather, or stories incident to the abnormal cold, came trickling belatedly into the office. The managing editor watched this news with growing interest. He had lived, in his younger days, on the very northern border of the country and even in Canada. He knew what these periods of cold and storm meant to the people living in isolated places. And so, when one day there came a belated despatch to thePress, saying that a feeble wireless message had been received by a boy wireless operator in Smithville, in northern New York, telling of the plight of people on a neighboring island, in Lake Ontario, the managing editor was filled with both interest and sympathy. The island was absolutely cut off from communication with the mainland by the terrible ice, food was running low, and a whole family was dying of pneumonia because of the lack of certain medicines.
“It’s really a story for the Montreal or Rochester papers to cover,” thought Mr. Johnson, “but up to this time they haven’t done it. If we could slip in there ahead of them, we’d not only do some real good, but we’d bring a lot of credit to theMorning Press. I believe I’ll see how it looks to Donnelly.”
He called Jimmy on the telephone and told him about the situation. “Do you think you could reach the place safely with your plane?” he asked.
“Let me look at my maps before I answer you,” said Jimmy.
Jimmy studied them a moment. “If I flew to Smithville, which is only six or seven miles south of Sackett’s Harbor,” he said, “and hopped off from there, I should not have to fly over more than a few miles of water. There are several islands in a straight line close to Smithville. In case of a forced landing, I could probably make one of those islands. I think I can do it all right, and I’ll be glad to go. It won’t take so very long to make it, either.”
“Then get your ship ready at once. I will have a physician make up a package of medicines and write down some directions to be followed in caring for patients with pneumonia. You take the stuff out to the island and find out how many are ill and how ill they are. Leave the drugs and the directions. Fly back to Smithville and communicate with me from there. Then we can determine what should be done further. Perhaps you will have to take a physician to the island. We’ll do all we can to help these poor people on the island.”
When all was ready, and Jimmy had his medicines aboard, he hopped off and headed straight for the Hudson, up which river he flew as far as Albany, where he swung to the left and followed the Mohawk River to Rome. Thence he followed the railway tracks direct to Smithville, where he landed in a great snow-covered field. He had had his plane equipped with skis, and the snow did not bother him at all.
Jimmy climbed out of his plane and walked into the village to ask some questions. He wanted to know about the possibility of making a safe landing at the island, whether or not he had selected the safest route, and what was known in Smithville concerning the condition of the people on the island. He found the lad who had heard the wireless message, and he got information on all these points. He was soon satisfied that the islanders needed help, and that he had chosen the very best way to get there. The villagers told him he had estimated the distance correctly and would have to cross only a few miles of the lake. But there was little open water, they said, and the chances were that in case of a forced landing he could get down safely on the ice, which was very thick, and also rough. Jimmy said he had a radio sending set and asked some of the radio fans to listen in for him during the next half hour. Then he prepared to hop off.
To his surprise, another plane soared into the sky from a point near the lake shore on the other side of the village, just as Jimmy was about ready to take off. He looked at the plane with dismay. Another newspaper was going to beat him, he thought, and beat him by the tiniest of margins. But when he suggested as much to the townsfolk who had gathered about his plane, they laughed. Also they winked their eyes.
“Never mind about him,” they said. “The only medicine he carries is for snakebites. He flies back and forth between Canada and points along the shore hereabout. Just what he carries we don’t know for sure, but we can all guess. He’ll go right on over to Canada.”
Relieved, Jimmy hopped off, headed straight out over the frozen lake toward the first island, and opened his throttle. He did not like the looks of the rough ice beneath him, and he meant to reach the island as speedily as possible. Soon he saw that he was flying faster than the bootlegger ahead of him. But as he had only a few miles to go, he thought he should hardly overtake the man.
On they flew, Jimmy following straight after the other plane, and all the time creeping up on it. To fly to the island took less than ten minutes. Yet Jimmy was glad enough when he neared the shore, for he did not like the looks of the rough pack ice beneath him. He had just started to circle over the island, in order to search out a landing place, when he noticed the bootlegger’s plane acting crazily. Jimmy saw at once that something was wrong with the craft. Also, he saw that the pilot, who was already at the farther end of the island, was making a desperate effort to turn and effect a landing. The ship came down fast, landing on ground that was none too smooth, but was apparently not harmed, though the running gear might have been broken. About that, Jimmy could not be sure without a close inspection.
Sweeping completely around the island, Jimmy saw that there was no better place to land than the open space in which the bootlegger had been forced down. So he came down cautiously, in as easy a glide as he could make, ready to give her the gun instantly, should the place prove impossible. But he found a long, fairly smooth stretch before him, and set his ship down neatly in the snow. She slid for some distance, then came to rest in perfect safety.
Jimmy hopped from his plane and looked about him. On one side was the other flying machine, and the pilot of it was walking toward him with great speed. On the other hand, at a considerable distance, was a little group of houses, doubtless the residences of the stricken islanders. But they were evidently not all stricken, for several men could be seen coming toward him.
For a moment Jimmy stood looking at them, trying to count them. He was curious about these isolated islanders, and not a little sympathetic toward them. He wondered what sort of people they would prove to be. And he was eager to get their story, and to deliver the medicines. He was also curious to know what manner of man the bootlegger would prove to be. And presently, hearing the latter’s step at hand, he spun about to face him, and found himself looking into the barrel of a revolver that the approaching bootlegger had leveled at him.
Jimmy’s heart began to beat violently. He was so utterly taken by surprise that he did not know what to do or say. For a moment he was silent. The bootlegger did the talking.
“Get back into your plane,” he said sharply.
Jimmy did as ordered. There was nothing else to do. To his astonishment the bootlegger climbed into the plane after him, shut the door, and sat down in one of the seats. The revolver he still held in his hand menacingly.
“Take off as quick as you can,” he said gruffly.
Jimmy glanced at the advancing islanders and played for time.
“What’s the big idea?” he asked, trying to appear calm, though his heart was beating a tattoo against his ribs.
“I just put a connecting-rod through my crankcase,” growled the man.
“Then you want to be ferried ashore,” said Jimmy. “Just as soon as I speak to these men I’ll take you. I’ve got a package for them.”
The man raised his pistol. His face was black as a thunder cloud. “If you know when you’re well off, kid,” he snarled, “you’ll do what I tell you. Hop off and hop off quick, or I’ll drill you full of holes and fly your old crate myself.” Jimmy saw that he was in a tight place. He swung about and hopped off. He headed straight back for Smithville.
“Turn her in the opposite direction,” growled the man, “and just keep going.”
CHAPTER XIV
Taking Help to Marooned Islanders
Jimmy obeyed the command with alacrity. There was nothing else to do. In a moment he was flying on precisely the same course he had followed in coming to the island from Smithville. Soon he was beyond Duck Island and heading for Prince Edward, that great, bold Canadian peninsula that thrusts out far into the lake. A long point of land reached straight out toward Duck Island. Jimmy could see this point easily, for it was hardly more than a dozen miles in an air-line. At some distance from the end of this point were small islands, and they were almost in Jimmy’s line of flight. Five or eight minutes of flying would take him to land again, so he had no apprehensions about the short flight over this reach of open lake.
But Jimmy wasn’t at all comfortable in his mind about other aspects of the situation. If the bootlegger wanted simply to be carried across to Canada because his own plane had gone bad, that was one thing. Jimmy didn’t in the least object to ferrying a man over a dozen miles of lake—even a bootlegger—if the man was in trouble. But would that be the end of the matter?
Now that the bootlegger’s own plane was out of commission, he might decide to take Jimmy’s. That wasn’t such a pleasant prospect. But there was still another angle to the situation. If the man seized the plane, would he not almost necessarily feel compelled to get rid of the evidence of his crime? In short, would he not find it expedient to get rid of Jimmy? When Jimmy thought of the old saying, so commonly quoted by criminals, that “dead men tell no tales,” he could feel the cold shivers run up and down his spine.
Jimmy wanted to turn around and talk to his captor. He felt as though a bullet might come crashing through his back at any instant. It seemed to him that he simply must look around and face the bootlegger. Yet he hesitated. The man had told him to fly straight on. That was evidently what the fellow wanted—to get to his destination. He was getting there, and he seemed satisfied. Jimmy decided that the best course was to attend to his flying and make careful note of the country over which he passed, together with the compass bearings, rate of speed, prominent landmarks, etc., so that if he had the opportunity to fly back, he could find his way. So he centred his whole attention on the matter of navigation and soon found that he felt relieved in mind. He could think better. He was not so oppressed by fear.
But Jimmy had far less time for thought than he had anticipated. In six or seven minutes he had reached the tip of the Prince Edward peninsula, and in twenty minutes he was over the very heart of this body of land. Still he kept on as straight as the crow flies.
Now, for the first time, his unwelcome passenger spoke. “Set her down in the open space just ahead,” he said gruffly.
Jimmy eased his plane toward the ground and throttled down his engine. The uniform whiteness of the snow made it difficult for him to distinguish the contour of the ground. But as he came lower, he saw that there was a great, smooth area ahead of him that had quite evidently been used for landing planes. The snow was streaked with the long parallel marks of giant skis. Jimmy picked out a pair of ski marks and set his ship down safely almost in the very treads he was watching. The plane slid safely to rest. The landing ground was in a lonely region, and not a house or a human being was in sight.
“Get out,” said the man brusquely.
Jimmy stepped from the plane. His captor followed.
“Now that you succeeded in tracking me down, what do you intend to do with your information?” he demanded, as he toyed with his revolver suggestively.
“Tracking you down!” exclaimed Jimmy, amazed. “I don’t even know what you are talking about. I never saw you before, never heard of you, and certainly never tried to trail you. Where did you get that idea?”
The man looked at him uncertainly. “Ain’t you one of them government prohibition agents?” he asked.
A great light dawned upon Jimmy’s mind. He actually laughed. “That’s a good one,” he exclaimed. “So you took me for a ‘dry’ agent. No, I’m not a government agent. I’m a newspaper reporter. I represent the New YorkMorning Press. Look at the name on the side of my ship.”
“I can’t read,” said the man. “It makes no difference if you are a newspaper man. You was on my trail.”
“You’ve got another guess,” said Jimmy. “I flew up here to carry medicines to some people on Duck Island who are sick. We just got a newspaper despatch telling about them. There’s a whole family dying over there because they lack medicine. Nobody could get to them because of the ice. My boss used to live up this way, and when he read the despatch he sent me up to help them.”
The bootlegger looked at Jimmy intently. “You don’t look like you was lyin’,” he said.
“Of course I’m not lying,” protested Jimmy.
“Here’s the medicine.” And stepping into the plane, he picked up the bulky package he had been transporting and opened it.
The rum runner looked at it and then at Jimmy. “Say, kid,” he blurted out suddenly, “you’re all right. To think you’d come clean from New York and risk your life flyin’ over the lake just to help some sick folks. By Joe! I’ll look in on them folks myself, next time I go over the island. If they need help, they need it quick I reckon. So you’d better be on your way. I’m much obliged for the ride. Maybe this’ll square things with you.” And he reached into his pocket, pulled out a huge roll of bills, peeled off a one hundred dollar gold certificate and thrust it into Jimmy’s hand. “Now you better hustle,” he said.
Jimmy was too much astonished for words. He did not want to take the man’s money. He wanted less to cross the fellow, for the rum runner was quite evidently a desperate character. Wisely, Jimmy decided to go while the going was good. He handed the bill back to the man.
“Thanks,” he said. “It will be worth more to me if you will look after those people on the island. Spend the money for them. I probably can’t get up here again. Good-bye.” And climbing into his plane, Jimmy was off as soon as he could lift his ship from the snow. He opened his throttle wide. In a minute he was far away, beyond the possible range of any pursuing bullet that might come his way. He breathed freely again, and flew straight as an arrow back toward the island.
Once fairly aloft, Jimmy began to meditate on his adventure. Suddenly an idea came to him. “Gee!” he thought. “I’m sure glad this was such an isolated place we landed in. I don’t believe there was a soul within miles. It was a good thing, too. Nobody could get my license number. If any one had noticed it, I might get into a jam with the Canadian officials for landing on Canadian soil without clearing the customs. Well, I guess I had a good excuse, anyway. But just the same, I’m glad nobody could get my number.”
As he approached the island, he saw a group of people clustered about the bootlegger’s airplane. They were examining it carefully. Evidently they had been much mystified by what had taken place. They came thronging eagerly about Jimmy’s plane as he set it down in the snow.
Jimmy stepped from his ship, with the medicines in his hand. “I am from the New YorkMorning Press,” he said. “We received a despatch a few hours ago from Smithville, saying that you were cut off here by the ice and that people were very sick with pneumonia and lacked medicines. My paper has sent you the drugs you need, and some directions for using them.”
When Jimmy saw the expressions of gratitude that came on the faces of the people about him, he felt that he was more than repaid for anything he had done or could do to help them.
“Come with us,” they said. “We want you to talk to some of the people that are in trouble.”
Jimmy went with them. Neighbors were caring for the stricken family. One or two of the ailing ones were too sick to be seen. But Jimmy was able to talk briefly to the mother of the family and the oldest boy. He got from them their story, which was a startling tale in itself. The entire family of seven—father, mother, and five children—had gone, some days previously, to pay a visit to friends on the mainland. The lake was not then frozen so solidly. There were wide, open leads of water, which made it easily possible to reach the mainland. The visit lasted several days. Just before the return home, the great cold wave came. When they were half-way to the island, their motor went dead. A storm came up, and they drifted helplessly before it for twelve hours. The waves washed into their boat until they were all drenched. They could do nothing but sit in their boat and pray that the ice would not crush it. Their situation had finally been discovered, and hardy neighbors, taking their lives in their hands, had launched the most powerful boat on the island and fought their way to them. Thus their lives were saved for the time being, although every one of the seven was stricken with pneumonia, and it looked as though two of the seven might die. There was just a chance that the arrival of the medicine might arrest the disease.
Jimmy was powerfully affected by this recital. He had seldom been so close to human suffering. Never had he been in touch with people so pitifully situated as these folks had been. Glad, indeed, was he that he had attempted the journey, and that there were great newspapers like his own, to take upon themselves the relief of suffering and the righting of wrong when other agencies failed.
One thing was sure, Jimmy thought. These suffering ones certainly must have medical treatment. And so, taking a hasty departure, he flew back to Smithville and got into touch with his chief, setting the story before him fully.
“Get a doctor and rush him to the island,” Mr. Johnson wired back.
Jimmy secured the only physician in the neighborhood, loaded the doctor and the necessary supplies in his plane, and was soon back on the island. The medical assistance came in time. The doctor was able to give immediate treatments and to leave directions for further care.
As for Jimmy himself, nothing was too good for him on the island. The inhabitants would have given him almost anything he asked for, so grateful were they for his efforts in their behalf. But Jimmy wanted nothing. He was more than repaid by their gratitude and their friendship.
It was with real regret that Jimmy said goodbye to these new-found friends. He was amazed to see how rapidly a mutual feeling of regard had sprung up between these people and himself in such a short time. He understood, of course, that this was because of the unusual conditions under which they had come to know one another. When the time for departure came, he shook hands with them all, promised to come back to the island some time, and then ferried his doctor back to Smithville. And now he went winging his way home across the great Empire State, to his old quarters at the Long Island flying field.
Weeks later Jimmy learned that the rescue efforts he had set in motion had been wholly successful. Every one of the seven sufferers had recovered. But more astonishing than that was the news that for a week after Jimmy’s departure, the sick islanders had daily treatment from the Smithville physician. The rum runner from Canada had flown the physician back and forth every day, as long as it was necessary, in a new plane, and had concluded the matter by paying the doctor handsomely for his services.
Jimmy mused over this for quite a while. “It just shows,” he concluded, “that the poet was right when he said there is so much bad in the best of us and so much good in the worst of us that we ought to be mighty careful what we say about anybody.”
CHAPTER XV
Jimmy Joins the Caterpillar Club
For many weeks after Jimmy’s return from this trip he found life tame and colorless, although he was busy enough. There were flying assignments aplenty; but Jimmy found them very ordinary experiences. The day had long since passed when Jimmy could get a thrill merely by making a flight in the air. And that was about all his assignments now amounted to. One of the first of these flying assignments was a commission to hunt for a lost yacht. A small pleasure craft had disappeared somewhere along the Atlantic coast between New York and Boston. It was not known whether the craft was floating helplessly on the sea, or whether it had put in at some isolated harbor, or whether it might have gone down, with all on board. The owner was a man of importance. With a small group of friends he had ventured out on the ocean, and the party had utterly vanished. Great anxiety was felt for their safety, and because of the social and business prominence of the missing man, the newspapers joined in the hunt.
Jimmy had little expectation of finding the lost yacht. The story promised to be an easy one to cover. Jimmy would fly until he found the boat or failed to find it. In the one case there would be nothing to write, or next to nothing, whereas in the other there would be little to do, probably, except drop a note to the boat, promising aid, then fly back to land and send out a relief ship, and finally to write a story to the effect that the missing boat had been found.
Jimmy secured permission to take Johnnie with him on this trip. Or, to be more exact, the city editor assigned Johnnie the job of flying with Jimmy. And that was about all the assignment amounted to. They flew for hours, and covered a tremendous stretch of shore-line and coastal waters, but discovered no trace of the missing ship. They got back to the hangar cold, hungry, and stiff, and Jimmy at least was thoroughly disgusted. To Johnnie the trip was thrilling enough.
Soon afterward Jimmy made a flight that was far more interesting. The managing editor telephoned him to get ready to fly to Auburn, New York, where rioting had broken out in the state prison. Handley was sent along to write a story, for this was a two-man job. The flight up state was ordinary enough, but the riot within the prison walls was far different. Buildings were afire, prisoners were armed, guards were located in strategic positions, and a real battle was in progress within the walls, while outside were ranged troops and policemen, hastily collected and thrown about the institution to prevent a general escape of prisoners.
When Jimmy reached the place he found his was the first airplane on the job. He flew over the prison so that he and Handley could get a good view of what was going on within the walls. He saw in a moment that a real battle was raging. From the building that had fallen into the hands of the rioters bullets were evidently flying in volleys. Prison guards were answering with an incessant rifle fire. Within the walls things were smashed and broken. Flames were blazing high. Structures had been set on fire by the rioters. It was impossible for firemen to get into the buildings to fight the flames.
Again and again Jimmy circled over the prison, while Handley took snapshots of the scene. Then Jimmy landed his ship and Handley left him, to gather the remainder of his story on the ground and put it on the wire, while Jimmy himself sped back to New York with his photographs.
Long afterward he learned that, altogether unknown to himself, he had played a most important part in subduing the mob and restoring authority and order in the prison. For some of the rioters later told the guards that when Jimmy’s plane appeared and began to circle above the prison, the rioters were certain it was an army bomber, hovering above them with intent to blow them all to eternity should they get the upper hand of the guards. That belief broke their fighting spirit. They knew they hadn’t a chance to succeed. And scores of rioters gave up at once.
The prison riot assignment was followed by one to cover a big railroad wreck, and that in turn by an order to assist in a search for four coastwise fliers who had taken off in the South, with intent to race a fast train to New York, and who had utterly disappeared. Jimmy flew for hours along the Atlantic coast, but like other fliers who were engaged in the same task, discovered absolutely no trace of the missing airmen.
By this time Jimmy’s engine was in need of overhauling. Indeed, it had somewhat alarmed him on his homeward flight from the search for the lost fliers. But he had made his airport safely, though he felt sure he could not have flown much farther. His engine was not only beginning to miss badly, but it quite evidently needed attention.
At once Jimmy got the managing editor on the telephone. “Mr. Johnson,” he said, “the engine in my plane will have to be ‘pulled’ right away. I can’t make another flight until it has had a thorough overhauling. I’ve flown this ship more than 500 hours, with only one top overhaul of the motor. In the Air Mail we used to 'pull’ the motors every time they had done 500 hours. I just barely got back safely to-day.”
“Very well,” said the managing editor. “Arrange to have your plane overhauled at once. How long will it take?”
“It’s a pretty long job, Mr. Johnson. I should judge it would take two weeks. As long as the ship has to be laid up, we might as well have it checked over thoroughly. While they are working on the engine, we ought to have the wings inspected internally, to see that all the fittings are in shape and to see if any drag wires need tightening. We might need new pins in the hinges of the control surfaces, and some of the control cables may need replacing. The brakes should be taken up, too. In fact, there’s no end of things that ought to be checked over. It’s a big job, but it must be done. It isn’t safe to fly the ship any longer without a complete overhaul.”
“That’s too bad,” said the managing editor, “but if it is necessary have it done. The difficulty is not about the repairs, but about the loss of the use of the plane. We simply can’t get along without a plane. Is there a ship you can hire if the need arises?”
“Yes, sir. There’s an old open cockpitTravelair-Whirlwindhere, Mr. Johnson. It’s an old-timer, but it has a good engine and flies well. We can hire it for very little. But I suggest that you do not wait till the need arises, for somebody else might have the plane out at the very moment we want it.”
“Then go hire it at once, Jimmy, for as long a time as you think you will be without your ship.”
“I think they will rush my work if I ask them to do it,” said Jimmy. “I am sure they can have the job finished inside of two weeks. Suppose I charter this old ship for that period.”
“Very well, if that is long enough. If it isn’t, make it longer. We mustn’t be caught without a plane. You never can tell when a story will break that will have to be covered by flight.”
Jimmy rented the oldTravelair-Whirlwindand had it moved to his hangar. His own ship was rolled away to the shop, where the mechanics could work at it conveniently. Then Jimmy transferred to his new plane all the equipment that he ordinarily carried in his own ship—maps, camera, flash-light, and similar necessary articles. Also, he got out his flying suits, for now he would have to ride in the open.
It was well that Jimmy acted promptly about the old ship; for hardly had he gotten her ready for flight before the managing editor was on the wire again.
“Jimmy,” he said, “I’ll have to ask you to jump right out on another flight. Is everything all right about your new plane?”
“Everything is O. K., Mr. Johnson. I’ve had her rolled into my hangar and serviced. I’ve put all my outfit aboard of her. She’s ready to fly at a minute’s notice, and so am I. Where do I go this time?”
“Jimmy,” said the managing editor, “this is a very serious and important mission which I am about to entrust to you. One of the under secretaries of war from Washington was here to talk to me about certain matters that are to be decided at the peace conference in London, now in session. I cannot tell you what these things are, but they are affairs of great moment. The under secretary left my office to go to Chicago. I have just found that he left some very important papers behind him. These he absolutely must have in Chicago, where he is going for a conference before he starts for Europe. I could stop him by a telegram sent to his train, but it is highly important that he be in Chicago at the earliest possible moment. He must not be delayed a second. At the same time, he absolutely must have these papers. What I want you to do is to get them into his hands. Deliver them to him in person and to no one else.”
“Yes, Mr. Johnson. Have you any suggestions?”
“I’ve been studying maps and time tables, Jimmy, and I think you can do this nicely. If you fly to Bellefonte, which is right on the lighted airway, you can there take a motor car to Tyrone, which is perhaps thirty miles distant. The train on which the under secretary is traveling is due to stop at Tyrone. There you can board his train and put the papers into his hands. I will wire him on the train that the papers he left in my office are going ahead by plane, and will be handed him at Tyrone.”
“You couldn’t possibly have planned the thing out any better, Mr. Johnson,” replied Jimmy. “I know that whole section well. From Bellefonte I shall drive to Milesburg, where I hit the new cement road from Lock Haven to Tyrone. It is as fine a strip of cement as there is in the United States. It runs along the Bald Eagle Creek, and for miles is as level as a floor. A motor car can almost fly along there. But you should have a car at the flying field to meet me. The field is several miles outside of the town of Bellefonte, and I’ll save a lot of time if the car is on hand when I arrive.”
“Very well. I’ll telegraph for a car and it will be at the flying field when you arrive. How soon can you take off, and how long will it take you to reach Bellefonte?”
“It’s 215 miles from here to Bellefonte, by the lighted airway. I can’t expect to get much more than 100 miles an hour out of this plane, and if there is a strong west wind I can’t do nearly as well as that. It will probably take me two hours and a half and perhaps even three hours. I should be in Tyrone within another hour, easily.”
“That ought to give you plenty of time, Jimmy. The secretary’s train was due to leave Philadelphia at 6:30 p m. So it has been under way about fifteen minutes, for it is now quarter of seven. It takes the train five hours and a quarter to reach Tyrone from Philadelphia. That should put it there at 11:45. If it should be late, it may not reach there before midnight. You should have an hour’s leeway.”
“I will if I can get off soon,” said Jimmy, “but what about the papers? How am I to get hold of them promptly?”
“They should be in your hands within a few minutes. Handley is rushing them to you in a fast taxi. He also has some money for you. You may need more cash than perhaps you have in your pocket.”
“Very well, sir. I’ll start my engine to warming, and be ready to take off the instant Handley gets here. Good-bye. I’ll do my best, Mr. Johnson.”
“Good-bye, Jimmy. The best of luck to you. Let me have a wire from you as soon as you put the papers in the secretary’s hands.”
Jimmy rang off and ran out into the hangar to warm his engine. Then he inspected his ship to make sure he had every necessary piece of equipment. Before he had finished his inspection, a taxi rushed up and Handley stepped out.
“Here are your papers and your money, Jimmy. I suppose the Old Man phoned you about them. I hope you have a quick trip. The best of luck to you.”
Jimmy thanked his colleague and stowed the papers and the money in an inner coat pocket, where he could not possibly lose them. Then he pulled on his flying suit, buckled on his parachute, climbed into his cockpit, nodded good-bye to his mechanic, and soared up into the night.
As he left the earth, Jimmy glanced at his clock. It was exactly seven. He looked aloft, into the night. The sky was a deep, dark blue. Stars shone dimly through a slight haze. He could see quite well. “If it stays like this,” he thought, “I won’t have a bit of trouble to get there. But I sure do wish I had my own ship. These open cockpit planes certainly are back numbers.”
Jimmy centred his attention on his instruments, and was soon satisfied that everything was working perfectly. His plane seemed to function better than he had expected it would. He covered the thirty-five miles to Hadley Field in a fraction more than twenty minutes. “That’s almost 105 miles an hour,” thought Jimmy. “I didn’t believe the old boat would do it. But it will be a different story when I turn west and face the wind. There’s only a twelve-mile breeze blowing, they said, but even that will cut me down to ninety miles an hour.”
He flew along the old familiar airway. The visibility was good. Beneath him he could see the clustered lights of town after town, as he roared across New Jersey. He knew every town as he passed over it. He checked time and distance as he flew along. It seemed almost no time before he was approaching Easton. He thought of Rand, and the latter’s effort to trick him; and he was glad it had happened. It had resulted in Johnnie Lee’s getting the job he was so eager to have.
Westward Jimmy roared along, straight as the crow flies. Beneath him, on hill and meadow, shone the beacon lights, stretching out before him in an endless row of revolving lights. For miles ahead of him he could see these friendly beacons.
Before he knew it he was over Sunbury. He noticed that the haze was increasing rapidly. He thought it might be fog rolling up from the Susquehanna. Soon he was at the Woodward Pass. There was the lofty beacon on the brow of Winkelblech Mountain. Jimmy was high above it. Now he was past the mountain and soaring over Penn’s Valley. A very few minutes would put him into Bellefonte. He glanced at his clock. He had made amazingly good time. He was going to reach Bellefonte in close to two and a half hours after all.
Now he was passing Millheim, with its blazing beacon on the crest of Nittany Mountain. The mist was increasing. It bade fair to be bad. But it could not gather quick enough to interfere with him. In no time he would be in Bellefonte. But suddenly his struts and wires began to hum and vibrate. The vibration rapidly grew worse. The humming grew into a screech. Jimmy’s blood began to run cold. His plane was icing up. The thing most feared by airmen was happening to him. Along the edges of his wings, he knew, ice was forming, as the mist froze fast to the fabric. If it continued to form, it would destroy the shape of his wings. They would lose their lifting power. Then nothing under heaven could keep him aloft.
And his wingswereicing up rapidly. He could tell that from the feeling of the plane beneath him. It no longer slid through the air with its smooth, hawk-like passage. Its flight was becoming uncertain. It trembled and shook. The ship responded but slowly to his control. Desperately he strove to climb. If he could reach either a colder or a warmer stratum of air, the ice would melt. He dared not descend, for beneath him were these terrible mountains. He found it impossible to climb. The ship had utterly lost its power to do so. Yet Jimmy fought with all his ability to force the craft upward. He tried every trick he had ever heard of, to lift the plane higher. He could not gain an inch.
On the other hand, Jimmy knew full well that he was coming down. His altimeter showed that he was losing altitude steadily. He had been flying at 5,000 feet elevation. Already he was down to 4,500 feet. The mountain beneath him towered up to 2,000 feet. If only he could make the next few miles, and get over the high crests near Bellefonte, he would be all right. The landing field was at an elevation of only 1,200 feet. He believed he could glide down into it in safety.
But suddenly his plane began to spin. It was absolutely out of control. Frantically Jimmy kicked at his rudder, shifted his ailerons, tried every trick he knew of to get the ship out of the spin. He could do absolutely nothing with it. The plane was beyond all control.
With dismay Jimmy realized that he was in a flat spin. He thought of Jack Webster, the mail pilot, who had been caught in exactly the same way just a few miles farther west only a few months previously. The thought made Jimmy’s heart stop beating. For the centripetal force of that spin had held the mail pilot fast in his cockpit, and he had fallen with his plane and been cruelly injured.
Jimmy knew that there was not a second to lose. He must get out of the ship, and get out quick. He thought of Warren Long. He tried to keep his head. He reached for his switches and shut off his ignition, to prevent an explosion when the ship struck. Then he dropped both of his flares. They burst on the night like magnificent rockets, lighting up the mountain below them, like noonday. Jimmy took a single look over the side of his ship and began to struggle frantically to get out of his cockpit. Below him was nothing but jagged rocks and menacing tree growths.
Vainly he struggled. He could not lift himself out of the ship. Had the craft been under control, he could have flipped it over and catapulted himself out of the cockpit. But the plane was going down on level keel, whirling about like a top. Again Jimmy struggled. Desperately he fought to get out of his seat. With all his strength he pulled at the sides of the ship and shoved upward with his legs. Still he was held fast, as by a giant hand. Again he heaved his body upward, convulsively, frantically, with terrible effort. This time he was successful. He gained his feet. As he did so, he could see over the side of his ship.
The mountain was rising up to meet him at a terrifying pace. He was frightfully close to the ground. Snatching up his flash-light, he stepped out on the wing, then dived headlong into space.
He held his breath, fearful lest the whirling plane should strike him. It missed him by inches. He fought for self-control, lest he should pull the rip-cord too soon and cause his own death. Plainly he could see the spinning ship above him. He was going down head first, just as Warren Long had gone. Now he judged he was safe. Instantly he tore at the rip-cord. The steel ring came away in his hand. The parachute snapped out with a crack. It came ballooning open. With a jerk that almost knocked him senseless, Jimmy was snapped into an upright position. Then he went floating straight down.
Instantly he looked below him to see what was there. Then he glanced above, fearful that the falling ship might drop on him. The wind bore him slightly to one side of the descending plane. Jimmy drew a breath of relief and centred his attention on the ground at his feet. The flares were dying out. He snapped on his flash-light. At first it seemed terribly feeble. Then his eyes grew accustomed to the altered light. He saw he was going to land in some saplings. His feet went crashing down through the tree tops. Branches broke beneath him. They also broke his fall. Jimmy reached out and grabbed a little limb. It tore away from the tree trunk under his weight. But it almost stopped his descent. Desperately he clutched at another branch. This one was tougher and bigger. It held. Jimmy found himself motionless, not ten feet from the ground. He had suffered only a few bruises and scratches. He slid the rest of the way down the tree. He was on his feet, safe and sound.
But he was in a terrible plight. Five minutes more in the air would have put him into Bellefonte in safety. Now he was miles from the flying field, deep in the mountains, in the black of night.
Yet he had one advantage. He was not lost. He knew almost exactly where he was. Even as he was falling he had noticed the beacon at Mingoville. Now as he turned his powerful flash-light this way and that, he saw that he had landed in a notch. He knew it must be the Mingoville notch. And if it was, there was a trail running through it. He tore off the parachute and made his way down the slope of the notch to the bottom. Sure enough, here was the trail. Jimmy knew it led directly into Mingoville.
Recklessly he raced down it. The powerful ray from his flash-light illuminated the path ahead of him. Its beam, almost horizontal, showed him the irregularities of the way better even than the noonday sun would have done. Under other circumstances he would not have dared to run down this rough mountain path as he was now tearing along it. But he used the utmost care in striding, and succeeded in missing loose stones that would have turned his ankle.
Down the trail he ran, panting, sweating, his heart pounding in his breast. But never for a moment did he slacken his speed. In ten minutes the trail opened into a road. Not far away was a house, and through a window a light was shining.
Jimmy ran toward the house, shouting as he ran. A man stepped out of the door as he came panting up.
“I just jumped out of an airplane,” said Jimmy, “and I’ve got to get to Bellefonte at once. Have you got a car?”
“Sure,” said the mountaineer deliberately.
“I’ll pay you $25 to take me to Bellefonte. And if you get me there quick, I’ll make it $30,” said Jimmy. “I’m trying to catch a man for whom I have important despatches. I have to get there in the least time possible.”
“I’ll take you,” said the mountaineer.
“Hurry,” panted Jimmy.
The man ran for his barn. The car was inside. It was an old Ford. Jimmy groaned when he saw it. The man started to crank it. To Jimmy it seemed as though the thing would never start. But finally it coughed, then began to explode regularly. The motor sounded good to Jimmy. The man drew on an old overcoat that was in the car. “Get in,” he said. Jimmy obeyed with alacrity. The man let in his clutch and the car rolled out into the road.
“Drive as fast as you can make her go,” urged Jimmy. “I have very important despatches for an official of the government. I simply must catch him. He’s on his way west. If you hurry, there’s a chance.”
The man threw caution to the winds. Twenty-five dollars was more money than he had seen at one time in years. He opened the throttle wide. The little Ford tore along the road. It roared and rattled. It bounced and swayed. When it struck a bump it leaped like a rabbit. But the man never slackened his speed and Jimmy clung to the seat desperately.
“I want to go to the flying field,” said Jimmy. “There’s a car waiting for me there to take me to Tyrone.”
“I’ll put you there in no time,” said the mountaineer.
Jimmy looked at his watch. There was just a possibility that he could make it if everything went well. Jimmy sat in silence. But his heart was beating fast with anxiety and apprehension.
On they raced through the night. The man seemed to know the road perfectly. He tore around sharp bends, dashed into dark hollows, went roaring along the straight stretches, almost without altering his pace. Suddenly he applied the brakes. Then he shot around a sharp corner. Ahead of them lights were gleaming. Jimmy recognized the flying field. He thrust his hand into his pocket, drew out his roll of bills, and counted out $30. As the Ford came to a stop before the hangar, Jimmy thrust the money into the driver’s hand, leaped from the car, and raced for a powerful, big motor that stood a few rods distant.
He ran up to the driver, who was sitting on the front seat.
“Is this the car engaged by the New YorkMorning Pressto take a man to Tyrone?” he asked.
“Yes,” said the driver, in surprise. “He’s coming in by plane and ought to have been here some time ago. I’m beginning to be alarmed about him. Know anything about him?”
“I’m the man,” said Jimmy, climbing into the car. “My plane iced up and fell near Mingoville, but I wasn’t hurt. Get started, please.”
The driver was off like a shot. Jimmy looked at his watch.
“You’ve got thirty-five minutes to make it,” he said.
The driver’s only response was to put on more speed. Over rough roads he went spinning, as recklessly as the mountaineer had done in his Ford. But the great car he drove took up shocks and the speed did not seem so great. Jimmy wanted to protest, but when he glanced at the speedometer he thought better of it. He sat in silence, watching the road, as they went roaring along.
Once on the cement highway, the driver opened his throttle, and Jimmy watched the indicator on the dashboard creep up. From forty-five miles an hour it climbed to fifty, to fifty-five, to sixty, to seventy, to eighty miles an hour. And there the speedometer finger stood as though glued to the spot.
They neared Tyrone. Jimmy watched the lights draw near. The driver began to slacken his speed. They reached the fringes of the town. Close at hand Jimmy heard a long, shrill blast of a locomotive whistle. He knew it was a train blowing for Tyrone. It was going to stop. He glanced at his watch. It lacked two minutes of being 11:45.
“Step on it,” begged Jimmy. “That’s the train I must catch.”
The driver turned a corner and straightened out for a dash. He shoved his speed up and up while Jimmy sat with his heart in his mouth. They could never stop if anything came out of a side street.
But nothing did. They roared on to the station. The train was standing at the platform. The locomotive was panting restlessly, as though eager to be off.
“All aboard,” came a deep voice through the night.
Jimmy leaped from the still moving car, and raced down the platform toward the train. The train began to move. Jimmy put everything he had into a last desperate sprint. He reached the car vestibule just as the conductor was closing the door. Jimmy grabbed the hand rail and swung up on the step. The conductor slammed the door open and grabbed him.
“Is the—assistant secretary—of war—on this train?” panted Jimmy.
“He is,” said the conductor.
CHAPTER XVI
The Bootlegger Repays Jimmy’s Kindness
Jimmy delivered his papers to the under secretary and got a receipt for them. He left the train at Altoona, wired the managing editor a brief statement of his experiences, then registered at a hotel and went to bed. Utterly worn out by his trying efforts, he slept like a stone and did not awaken until almost noon the following day. Then he ate some breakfast, hired a taxi-cab, and drove back to Mingoville. He sought out the mountaineer who had driven him to Tyrone on the preceding night, and the two climbed the notch and found the fallenTravelair. It was a complete “washout,” but Jimmy found that his camera was not much harmed, and he secured his maps, a compass that was still intact, his parachute, and a few other articles. Then he had the mountaineer drive him back to Bellefonte, whence he made his way by train to New York, where he reported at once to the managing editor.
“So you decided to join the Caterpillar Club, did you?” said Mr. Johnson, speaking jestingly but shaking Jimmy warmly by the hand. “I’m mighty glad to see you back,mighty glad. I had some real shivers when I read your telegram saying that your plane had fallen and that you had had to jump for your life. And I was more than amazed to learn that, despite your accident, you still succeeded in accomplishing your errand. It must have been a tight squeeze, Jimmy. I want to know how you did it.”
Jimmy fished out one of his topographic maps. “I fell right here,” he said, putting his pencil point on the spot that represented the gap above Mingoville. “It was great luck. Had I been a mile distant in almost any direction, I could never have made that train at Tyrone.”
“It was a wonderful achievement, Jimmy. I want to hear every particular of the story.”
Simply Jimmy related what had happened to him, beginning his tale with the moment when he felt his plane icing up.
“It’s a great story, Jimmy,” was the managing editor’s only comment. “You should have told me about it in your wire last night. I want you to tell Handley what you have just told me. It will make a great story for thePress. Of course we must not betray the fact that the under secretary of war lost some state papers. For the purpose of this tale you were merely bearing confidential despatches to him from thePress.”
So it happened that Jimmy once more figured in the news columns. He disliked so much publicity. But he understood that this was a great story for his particular newspaper to print. The thing that pleased him most was the fact that he had made good. He had delivered the message to Garcia. Nor was Jimmy at all displeased when he found at the end of the week that he had been given a nice bonus for his work.
His own ship was ready for flight once more within the period that Jimmy had designated as the time allowance for the job. But for some time there was again a dearth of interesting assignments. Meanwhile winter was succeeded by early spring, the snow disappeared in the region of New York, though there was plenty of it left in the far north and would be for weeks to come. Jimmy had the skis on his plane replaced by wheels, for everywhere in the territory that he was likely to cover there was now bare ground.
The first break in this new stretch of uninteresting days came when Jimmy was sent to the pine barrens of New Jersey, to take photographs of a great forest fire that was sweeping through the pines. Jimmy had seen forest fires in Pennsylvania, but nothing like this crown fire that was roaring through the pine woods in a line twenty-five miles long, laying waste not only thousands of acres of timber land, but utterly destroying scores of homes within the forested area.
On another occasion he was sent down the Bay to take photographs of an incoming steamer from Europe that had effected a daring rescue in mid-ocean of the crew of a sinking freighter.
But the assignment that gave Jimmy the greatest thrill he had had in a long time was an order to fly to the eastern end of Lake Ontario once more, and cover the wreck of a lake steamer. This craft, one of the first ships to make its way from its winter harborage through the disintegrating ice of the lake, had been caught in a terrible gale and dashed on one of the small islands just off Smithville.
Jimmy was atingle with enthusiasm the instant he got word from the managing editor. It was already well into the evening. Only a flash had come—the merest hint of the great story that eventually unfolded—saying that the steamer had gone aground on the island. The storm had somewhat abated, though it was still blowing hard. But at the Long Island hangar there was small evidence of any disturbance in the air.
“Would it be possible for you to get up there to-night?” asked Mr. Johnson. “Or is it better to wait until morning? If youcouldreach the scene to-night, we could almost certainly get something into our city edition about the wreck. That goes to press at 3:30 in the morning. But we could hold it, or we could get out an extra. What do you think about it, Jimmy?”