At Fort Smith, which lies on the way north from Chipewyan, Curliereceived a message instructing him to proceed without delay toResolution.
In defending his dogs from an infuriated bull moose a trapper had beenbadly injured. It was necessary to carry him at once to the hospital atEdmonton.
"No pursuit of the 'Gray Streak' this trip," said Curlie as he hurriedlygulped down his coffee and prepared for flight.
"Absolutely not," agreed Jerry.
The thing they saw enacted that day will never seem completely real toCurlie. "More like a moving picture drama," he has said many times.
The day was one of mixed weather. One hour the sky was clear. The next itwas filled with scudding clouds. There were times in between when it washalf sky and half clouds.
It happened during one of these clearing spells. Their plane was bumpingalong like a bob-sled over the clouds, with the sky clearing, and finechances of reaching Resolution in time for dinner when suddenly Jerrynudged Curlie, then pointed silently to the edge of a silver-lined cloud.
There, Curlie made out clearly enough, just emerging was the "GrayStreak."
"Of all the luck!" Curlie groaned.
But what was that glint of red in the distance? For the first time in hislife Curlie thought he knew how a gray-backed old pike must feel whensome red lure is drawn through the water at a distance.
"Is it Drew Lane?" he asked himself. "Or is it some strange trick playedon me by the sun?"
Now he thought he saw it. And now it was gone. A small cloud appeared tohide it. The cloud moved on. It was not there, that red speck. But yes,there it was, a little larger. Or was it?
Between keeping an eye on his own instruments and that elusive spot ofred, he completely lost sight of the "Gray Streak" until once more Jerrynudged and pointed.
Curlie looked, then groaned aloud
"Going to land! What rotten, rotten luck!"
"Absolutely!"
It was true that the "Gray Streak" was circling for a landing, equallytrue that Curlie had sworn to do all within his power to bring thatoutlaw's career to an end. And yet, he did not swerve one inch from hiscourse. How could he? He had orders. This time they must be obeyed to theletter. A man's life depended upon it.
And then came the moving picture drama which was after all not drama atall, but life--life so pulsating and real that Curlie was to start fromhis sleep with a cry of surprise and pain on many a night thereafter.
The "Gray Streak" had been sighted at a position some five miles beforethem. It was landing almost directly beneath the airway they followed.Indeed, it was coming to rest on the surface of the river.
The red spot Curlie had seen, or thought he had, was off at right anglesto their course. A large cloud had blotted out that spot until Curlie wasall but directly over the "Gray Streak," which by this time had come torest on the river, when there emerged from that cloud a large red spotwhich could no longer be mistaken for other than Drew Lane's red racer ofthe air.
"What luck!" Curlie fairly shouted. "What luck for good old Drew Lane! Hewill--"
He broke off to stare. He was close enough now to make out a human figureclinging to the upper surface of the red plane.
"Drew!" His breath came quick. "It can't be the pilot. It must be Drew.But why--why would--"
Again he gasped. The figure that at this distance seemed so tiny, slippedfrom the plane to shoot downward.
Ten seconds of suspense, then a sigh of relief. A parachute had unfolded.Together the figure and the parachute drifted into a cloud.
"Going after them single handed," was Curlie's conclusion. "Good oldDrew! He hunts alone. And, like the Mounties, he gets his man. He--"
At that instant, for the first time in all his flying career, CurlieCarson all but lost control of his plane. A dip, a side twist, three wildheartbeats, and he was himself again and his plane went thundering on.
Yes, he had all but gone into a tailspin, and that with his motorthundering at its best. But who could blame him? The parachute he hadseen a few seconds before, bearing his good friend Drew Lane safelytoward the earth, had suddenly come fluttering out of the clouds. Borneon by the wind, it drifted aimlessly. Drew Lane had vanished.
"It's the end!" Curlie thought, with a gulp.
Filled with rage, once his plane had righted itself, he felt himselfconsumed by a desire to disregard all orders; to drop to earth and engagethe "Gray Streak" in a battle to the death.
But, guided by a more sober counsel, he thundered straight on towardResolution. Duty had called. He must obey.