CHAPTER SEVEN
Tim stalled down over the wreck of the air mail. There was no sign oflife; no sign of Perk. His heart caught in his throat. Perk had been amighty good flyer and a good fellow. Tim bad known him only casually buthe had been well liked by all the other pilots in the air service. Therewas a chance that the airman, unharmed in the crackup, might havestarted to make his way out of the wilderness of broken rock and tangledforest on foot.
Tim made a careful survey of the shelf that jutted out from the mountainside. It was not more than 100 feet wide and perhaps 400 feet long--adangerous place on which to attempt a landing.
The flying reporter shut off his motor.
"What do you say?" he shouted at Ralph, and pointed to the ledge.
"Go on," came the reply. "You'll make it all right."
Tim tore off his goggles and Ralph did likewise. No use endangeringtheir eyes if they crashed.
The flying reporter put the Lark into a sideslip. Just before they slidinto the side of the mountain he leveled off and set the plane downalmost on the edge of the rocky shelf. The ship bounded forward and heshoved the brakes on hard. They were still going fast, too fast. In afew more seconds they would pile up on the rocks ahead. Tim jammed hisleft wheel brake on hard and released the right one. The planestaggered, dug its left wing into the ground and almost did a groundloop. But the maneuver killed the speed and Ralph and Tim leaped fromtheir plane and ran toward the wreck of the air mail.
From the looks of things, Perkins, blinded by the storm and driven faroff his course, had rammed straight into the side of the mountain. Thenose of the big biplane, with the motor, had been bashed back into theexpress cockpit and the landing gear had folded up.
Tim fairly leaped up the side of the fuselage and into the pilot'scockpit, but Perkins was nowhere in sight. On the padded leather seatTim found a folded sheet of paper. With eager fingers he grasped it andread its message at a glance.
"Hello, Tim," he read. "The first time we met you won; this time fatebrought the mail into my hands and right now I'm richer by some$500,000, which will keep me out of mischief for some time. I justhappened to be crossing the Great Smokies this morning and saw the mail,which had cracked up in the storm last night. Don't you wish you had ahelicopter on your plane to lift you off this ledge? But I don't thinkthe pilot is badly hurt. See you later, and remember, the score iseven."
There was no need for Tim to read the name signed to the note. The SkyHawk, profiting by the vagaries of the storm, had struck again!
Ralph, who had gone around to the far side of the plane, cried out. WhenTim reached his chum he found him under one wing, bending over theunconscious form of the mail pilot.
There was a jagged cut on one side of Perkins' head where he must havecome in contact with some part of the plane in the crackup. His face wasa grayish-white and Tim instantly realized that he was in need of expertmedical attention.
"How badly do you think he's hurt?" asked Ralph.
"I don't know," replied Tim. "He's got a nasty crack on the head and itmay be serious and it may not. Get me the first aid kit in our ship andI'll dress this wound on his head."
In less than five minutes Tim had dressed the cut and with Ralph'sassistance, had carried Perkins into the sunlight where his clothes,still damp from the rain of the night before, would have a chance todry. He was breathing slowly but regularly and they forced a littlewater between his lips. While they were working over Perk, Tim showedthe Sky Hawk's note to Ralph, and their lips were drawn in hard,straight lines as they realized the power of the unknown bandit of theskyways.
Both Tim and Ralph knew that their real task, that of making asuccessful takeoff from the narrow ledge, was their biggest problem andthey turned to it with determination. With Perkins taken care oftemporarily, they made sure that the remaining registered mail was O. K.and then transferred it to their own plane. After that they startedtheir survey of the shelf on which they had landed. On one side was themountain, on the other a drop of nearly 1,000 feet. The surface of theshelf was fairly even but it was only about 400 feet long, far too shortfor a takeoff, especially with three in the Lark as there would be onthe return trip.
"Looks like we're going to be marooned here along with Perk," said Ralphdubiously.
"It isn't quite as bad as all that," replied Tim. "If you're willing totake a long chance, I think we can make it."
"What do you mean?"
"You've seen those pictures of how the navy uses a catapult to launchits fighting planes from the decks of battleships?" Ralph nodded.
"We'll use the same principle. Shoot ourselves into the air."
"But we haven't any catapult and the nearest battleship is a thousandmiles away," said Ralph, still unconvinced.
"All right," said Tim. "I'll show you how it can be done. Give me a handnow."
Under Tim's directions, they managed to trundle the Lark to the end ofthe ledge where the air mail had crashed. There they turned it aroundand pointed its nose toward the far end of the shelf.
"What now?" demanded Ralph.
"Open up that bundle of light cable we brought and get out the axe,"said Tim.
When that had been completed he took the cable and tied one end securelyaround a huge boulder directly back of the tail assembly of the Lark.The other end he passed along the fuselage and lashed around the nose ofthe ship.
"Simple, isn't it?" asked Tim when he had made sure that the ends of thecable had been properly secured.
"Simple, yes," agreed Ralph. "But what does it spell?"
"C-a-t-a-p-u-l-t," said Tim. "C-a-t-a-p-u-l-t."
"I heard you the first time, but that doesn't look like a catapult tome."
"Well, it is," insisted Tim. "And if you'll stop asking questions andhelp me boost Perkins into your cockpit, we'll get out of here. It'sgetting late now and will be dark by the time we get to Atkinson."
Together they managed to get the inert form of Perkins into the forwardcockpit and made him as comfortable as possible. Tim primed the starterand the motor caught on the first turn over.
Ralph was looking skeptically at Tim's make-shift catapult.
"When I give her full throttle you slash the rope with the axe,"explained Tim. "I'll admit that isn't much of a catapult but it willgive us a lot of added momentum when you use the axe." Ralph, only halfconvinced, hopped into his cockpit and leaned over the side, axe inhand.
Tim tested the sturdy motor thoroughly. If it failed him when he startedon his mad takeoff, they would plunge 1,000 feet down the side of themountain to be impaled on the tall pines far below.
Satisfied that the motor would do its share, Tim settled himself for thetest. He glanced ahead. The edge of the shelf looked dangerously nearbut there was no other course to take. He must get Perkins where hecould have the best of medical attention.
Tim opened his throttle. Faster and faster he threw the raw gas into themotor until the plane quivered like a thing alive. The engine wasthrumming wildly and Tim threw up his left hand, the signal for Ralph tocut the cable.
With a well-aimed blow, Ralph's axe bit through the rope and the Larkleaped forward like an arrow and flashed toward the edge of theprecipice.
The plane bounced from side to side on the uneven ground and Tim heldhis breath as they swooped nearer the end of their short runway. But theplane was gaining speed rapidly. How rapidly, he didn't dare look.
At the last moment Tim pulled back hard on the stick but it was asthough some giant had tied a string to the Lark and was playing withthem. The plane staggered into the air, settled back, bounced hard, andthen shot skyward. They were off at last but hovering dizzily in theair. The motor labored at its task and Tim sensed a losing battle. Theadded weight of Perkins in the front cockpit might be just enough toturn the scales against them. In another second they would be in a spin,hurtling down to death on the gaunt pines.
In a flash Tim took his only chance and threw the Lark into a powerdive. That would give him th
e momentum necessary to handle his craft.Down the side of the mountain roared the plane, the wild beating of itsmotor echoing and re-echoing among the cliffs and valleys. They werealmost on the tree tops when Tim pulled the nose of his ship up andleveled off with his plane under control.
Tim set his course for the crest of the range and was just slidingaround the Billy Goat when the sun went down in the west, a great, redball of fire. The evening shadows were thickening, for night comesquickly in the mountains.
The Lark made splendid time and they were less than fifty miles fromAtkinson when Tim sighted the gray bank of fog rolling out of the east.Although fogs were not uncommon at that time of year he had not countedon that hazard.
With his gas getting low there was only one thing to do--hammer throughand trust to his compass to bring him over his home field.
The cold, gray banks swallowed the little plane and Tim was flying in aworld alone. The mist was so thick that Ralph, only a half dozen feetahead of him, was only a blurred outline.
On all sides the fog mocked the flying reporter but he was determined toget through. A glance at the gas gauge was none too reassuring. His fuelwas running low but if his calculations were correct, there would beenough to finish his task.
Tim turned on the light on his instrument board for it was quite dark bythat time. He penciled a note to Ralph, asking him how Perkins wasstanding the trip. Then Tim took a wrench and tapped on the fuselage toattract Ralph's attention.
Ralph leaned back and Tim handed him the message. Two or three minuteslater they repeated the operation, this time transferring a note fromRalph to Tim. The flying reporter read his chum's hasty scrawl.
"Perk's all right so far but mighty white and quiet. Do you know whereyou are?"
Tim had to admit that he wasn't exactly sure of their location but hekept on hoping for the best.
When Tim figured that he must be almost over Atkinson, he dropped as lowas he dared, a careful eye on the altimeter, while he hunted for a riftin the fog that would allow him to land.
A light spot glowed ahead--perhaps the reflection of the lights of thecity. For a moment the fog parted and Tim got a fleeting glimpse ofAtkinson. But before he could locate the airport, the city was blottedfrom view.
Ralph, who had been on the lookout, had seen the lights and now waslooking at Tim expectantly.
Tim fumed and raged against the luck of the elements and while hecircled over the city his precious supply of fuel trickled away. Themotor sputtered and he turned on the emergency tank enough for twentyminutes more of flying. Then they'd have to come down and probablycrack-up in the process. It wasn't a nice picture that flashed into hismind. Probably he would be safe enough for his cockpit was well back inthe fuselage, but it would be tough on Ralph and the unconsciousPerkins. Desperately, Tim searched his mind for some way out; some wayto minimize the danger.
He gripped the controls harder as a plan took form. Tim put the Larkinto a steep climb and soon reached the 3,000 foot level, plenty highenough for his purpose. Then he signalled for Ralph to crawl back intohis cockpit.
Ralph scrambled back over the fuselage and his face, illuminated by thelight on the instrument board, showed his amazement at the plan Timunfolded.
"You can't do that, Tim," he protested. "It's too risky. I won't standfor it. We'll stick by the ship and take our chances."
"Not on your life," replied Tim. "We can't risk Perk's life in a crackupand my plan is the only way out. You take the stick and tend tobusiness. See you later."
With that Tim scrambled into the forward cockpit where he busiedhimself, making sure that Perkins' head was well bandaged. Then heunsnapped the safety belt, pulled Perkins into an almost verticalposition, and lashed the body of the unconscious airman securely to hisown.
Tim was glad that Perkins was slight in stature. With a heavier man hisplan would have failed. Somehow he managed to work himself up on theedge of the cockpit with Perkins held to him by the safety belt.
Tim looked back at Ralph and waved his hand reassuringly. Then, aided bya mighty shove by his feet, he hurled himself into the fog, pullingPerkins with him. As he fell, Tim thought he heard a shout from Ralph.
Down, down, down they tumbled before Tim could find the ring and jerkhis parachute. It was an eternity before he heard the pilot chute crackopen to be followed a moment later by a dull sort of an explosion as thebig chute unfolded and filled with air. A violent jerk stopped their maddescent and Tim hugged Perkins closer to him.
Maybe he had been foolhardy to desert the ship and trust to the silkenumbrella to get them down, but it had seemed the only way to protectPerkins from what was sure to be a crash if they stayed by the plane.Tim figured that they would get nothing more than a hard bump when theylanded and he could swing Perkins around and shield him. Ralph was fullycapable of taking care of himself and the fortune in securities they hadsalvaged from the wreck of the air express.
Far away Tim heard the sound of an airplane motor. Probably his ownship. He hoped that the Lark wouldn't be wrecked when Ralph was forceddown.
The sound of the motor came nearer. It was the Lark for Tim knew itssong by heart. Suddenly his face blanched. Somewhere to his right theplane was roaring down on them through the fog. With Ralph's visibilityat zero, it might run into them and chew them to pieces.
Tim strained to one side as he listened to the higher note of the motor.He grasped the shrouds of the parachute, ready to spill the air from thechute in an attempt to escape the plane if it was necessary. The addedburden of carrying Perkins was a cruel strain on his body.
The roar of the motor filled the heavens as the Lark flashed out of thefog. Tim cried out in agony and horror for they were directly in thepath of the ship. He closed his eyes and pulled the shrouds with everyounce of strength left in his weary body. They dropped earthward quicklyas the air spilled from the chute.
But Tim's tired mind had not acted quickly enough. Although they escapedthe deadly whirl of the propeller, the tail of the plane took a huskybite at the chute. A great chunk of the strong silk wedged itself intothe tail assembly and Tim's body was almost jerked apart as he waspulled upward and after the plane. It couldn't last long; it was morethan his body could stand. He screamed under the agony of the awfulstrain and his eyes stared upward into Ralph's terror-stricken face, ashe fought to protect the unconscious Perkins while they were pulledthrough the sky like the tail of a great rocket.