CHAPTER XV
Jimmy Joins the Caterpillar Club
For many weeks after Jimmy's return from this trip he found life tameand colorless, although he was busy enough. There were flyingassignments aplenty; but Jimmy found them very ordinary experiences. Theday had long since passed when Jimmy could get a thrill merely by makinga flight in the air. And that was about all his assignments now amountedto. One of the first of these flying assignments was a commission tohunt for a lost yacht. A small pleasure craft had disappeared somewherealong the Atlantic coast between New York and Boston. It was not knownwhether the craft was floating helplessly on the sea, or whether it hadput in at some isolated harbor, or whether it might have gone down, withall on board. The owner was a man of importance. With a small group offriends he had ventured out on the ocean, and the party had utterlyvanished. Great anxiety was felt for their safety, and because of thesocial and business prominence of the missing man, the newspapers joinedin the hunt.
Jimmy had little expectation of finding the lost yacht. The storypromised to be an easy one to cover. Jimmy would fly until he found theboat or failed to find it. In the one case there would be nothing towrite, or next to nothing, whereas in the other there would be little todo, probably, except drop a note to the boat, promising aid, then flyback to land and send out a relief ship, and finally to write a story tothe effect that the missing boat had been found.
Jimmy secured permission to take Johnnie with him on this trip. Or, tobe more exact, the city editor assigned Johnnie the job of flying withJimmy. And that was about all the assignment amounted to. They flew forhours, and covered a tremendous stretch of shore-line and coastalwaters, but discovered no trace of the missing ship. They got back tothe hangar cold, hungry, and stiff, and Jimmy at least was thoroughlydisgusted. To Johnnie the trip was thrilling enough.
Soon afterward Jimmy made a flight that was far more interesting. Themanaging editor telephoned him to get ready to fly to Auburn, New York,where rioting had broken out in the state prison. Handley was sent alongto write a story, for this was a two-man job. The flight up state wasordinary enough, but the riot within the prison walls was far different.Buildings were afire, prisoners were armed, guards were located instrategic positions, and a real battle was in progress within the walls,while outside were ranged troops and policemen, hastily collected andthrown about the institution to prevent a general escape of prisoners.
When Jimmy reached the place he found his was the first airplane on thejob. He flew over the prison so that he and Handley could get a goodview of what was going on within the walls. He saw in a moment that areal battle was raging. From the building that had fallen into the handsof the rioters bullets were evidently flying in volleys. Prison guardswere answering with an incessant rifle fire. Within the walls thingswere smashed and broken. Flames were blazing high. Structures had beenset on fire by the rioters. It was impossible for firemen to get intothe buildings to fight the flames.
Again and again Jimmy circled over the prison, while Handley tooksnapshots 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 thewire, while Jimmy himself sped back to New York with his photographs.
Long afterward he learned that, altogether unknown to himself, he hadplayed a most important part in subduing the mob and restoring authorityand order in the prison. For some of the rioters later told the guardsthat when Jimmy's plane appeared and began to circle above the prison,the rioters were certain it was an army bomber, hovering above them withintent to blow them all to eternity should they get the upper hand ofthe guards. That belief broke their fighting spirit. They knew theyhadn'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 railroadwreck, and that in turn by an order to assist in a search for fourcoastwise fliers who had taken off in the South, with intent to race afast train to New York, and who had utterly disappeared. Jimmy flew forhours along the Atlantic coast, but like other fliers who were engagedin the same task, discovered absolutely no trace of the missing airmen.
By this time Jimmy's engine was in need of overhauling. Indeed, it hadsomewhat alarmed him on his homeward flight from the search for the lostfliers. But he had made his airport safely, though he felt sure he couldnot have flown much farther. His engine was not only beginning to missbadly, 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. Ican't make another flight until it has had a thorough overhauling. I'veflown this ship more than 500 hours, with only one top overhaul of themotor. In the Air Mail we used to 'pull' the motors every time they haddone 500 hours. I just barely got back safely to-day."
"Very well," said the managing editor. "Arrange to have your planeoverhauled at once. How long will it take?"
"It's a pretty long job, Mr. Johnson. I should judge it would take twoweeks. As long as the ship has to be laid up, we might as well have itchecked over thoroughly. While they are working on the engine, we oughtto have the wings inspected internally, to see that all the fittings arein shape and to see if any drag wires need tightening. We might need newpins in the hinges of the control surfaces, and some of the controlcables 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 acomplete overhaul."
"That's too bad," said the managing editor, "but if it is necessary haveit done. The difficulty is not about the repairs, but about the loss ofthe use of the plane. We simply can't get along without a plane. Isthere a ship you can hire if the need arises?"
"Yes, sir. There's an old open cockpit _Travelair-Whirlwind_ here, Mr.Johnson. It's an old-timer, but it has a good engine and flies well. Wecan hire it for very little. But I suggest that you do not wait till theneed arises, for somebody else might have the plane out at the verymoment we want it."
"Then go hire it at once, Jimmy, for as long a time as you think youwill be without your ship."
"I think they will rush my work if I ask them to do it," said Jimmy. "Iam sure they can have the job finished inside of two weeks. Suppose Icharter this old ship for that period."
"Very well, if that is long enough. If it isn't, make it longer. Wemustn't be caught without a plane. You never can tell when a story willbreak that will have to be covered by flight."
Jimmy rented the old _Travelair-Whirlwind_ and had it moved to hishangar. His own ship was rolled away to the shop, where the mechanicscould work at it conveniently. Then Jimmy transferred to his new planeall the equipment that he ordinarily carried in his own ship--maps,camera, flash-light, and similar necessary articles. Also, he got outhis 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 hadhe gotten her ready for flight before the managing editor was on thewire again.
"Jimmy," he said, "I'll have to ask you to jump right out on anotherflight. Is everything all right about your new plane?"
"Everything is O. K., Mr. Johnson. I've had her rolled into my hangarand serviced. I've put all my outfit aboard of her. She's ready to flyat 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 importantmission which I am about to entrust to you. One of the under secretariesof war from Washington was here to talk to me about certain matters thatare to be decided at the peace conference in London, now in session. Icannot tell you what these things are, but they are affairs of greatmoment. The under secretary left my office to go to Chicago. I have justfound that he left some very important papers behind him. These heabsolutely must have in Chicago, where he is going for a conferencebefore he starts for Europe. I could stop him by a telegram sent to histrain, but it is highly
important that he be in Chicago at the earliestpossible moment. He must not be delayed a second. At the same time, heabsolutely must have these papers. What I want you to do is to get theminto 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 dothis nicely. If you fly to Bellefonte, which is right on the lightedairway, you can there take a motor car to Tyrone, which is perhapsthirty miles distant. The train on which the under secretary istraveling is due to stop at Tyrone. There you can board his train andput the papers into his hands. I will wire him on the train that thepapers he left in my office are going ahead by plane, and will be handedhim at Tyrone."
"You couldn't possibly have planned the thing out any better, Mr.Johnson," replied Jimmy. "I know that whole section well. FromBellefonte I shall drive to Milesburg, where I hit the new cement roadfrom Lock Haven to Tyrone. It is as fine a strip of cement as there isin the United States. It runs along the Bald Eagle Creek, and for milesis as level as a floor. A motor car can almost fly along there. But youshould have a car at the flying field to meet me. The field is severalmiles outside of the town of Bellefonte, and I'll save a lot of time ifthe car is on hand when I arrive."
"Very well. I'll telegraph for a car and it will be at the flying fieldwhen you arrive. How soon can you take off, and how long will it takeyou to reach Bellefonte?"
"It's 215 miles from here to Bellefonte, by the lighted airway. I can'texpect to get much more than 100 miles an hour out of this plane, and ifthere is a strong west wind I can't do nearly as well as that. It willprobably take me two hours and a half and perhaps even three hours. Ishould be in Tyrone within another hour, easily."
"That ought to give you plenty of time, Jimmy. The secretary's train wasdue to leave Philadelphia at 6:30 p m. So it has been under way aboutfifteen minutes, for it is now quarter of seven. It takes the train fivehours and a quarter to reach Tyrone from Philadelphia. That should putit there at 11:45. If it should be late, it may not reach there beforemidnight. 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 rushingthem to you in a fast taxi. He also has some money for you. You may needmore cash than perhaps you have in your pocket."
"Very well, sir. I'll start my engine to warming, and be ready to takeoff 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 youas 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 heinspected his ship to make sure he had every necessary piece ofequipment. Before he had finished his inspection, a taxi rushed up andHandley stepped out.
"Here are your papers and your money, Jimmy. I suppose the Old Manphoned you about them. I hope you have a quick trip. The best of luck toyou."
Jimmy thanked his colleague and stowed the papers and the money in aninner coat pocket, where he could not possibly lose them. Then he pulledon 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. Starsshone dimly through a slight haze. He could see quite well. "If it stayslike this," he thought, "I won't have a bit of trouble to get there. ButI sure do wish I had my own ship. These open cockpit planes certainlyare back numbers."
Jimmy centred his attention on his instruments, and was soon satisfiedthat everything was working perfectly. His plane seemed to functionbetter than he had expected it would. He covered the thirty-five milesto Hadley Field in a fraction more than twenty minutes. "That's almost105 miles an hour," thought Jimmy. "I didn't believe the old boat woulddo it. But it will be a different story when I turn west and face thewind. There's only a twelve-mile breeze blowing, they said, but eventhat will cut me down to ninety miles an hour."
He flew along the old familiar airway. The visibility was good. Beneathhim he could see the clustered lights of town after town, as he roaredacross New Jersey. He knew every town as he passed over it. He checkedtime and distance as he flew along. It seemed almost no time before hewas approaching Easton. He thought of Rand, and the latter's effort totrick him; and he was glad it had happened. It had resulted in JohnnieLee's getting the job he was so eager to have.
Westward Jimmy roared along, straight as the crow flies. Beneath him, onhill and meadow, shone the beacon lights, stretching out before him inan endless row of revolving lights. For miles ahead of him he could seethese friendly beacons.
Before he knew it he was over Sunbury. He noticed that the haze wasincreasing rapidly. He thought it might be fog rolling up from theSusquehanna. Soon he was at the Woodward Pass. There was the loftybeacon on the brow of Winkelblech Mountain. Jimmy was high above it. Nowhe was past the mountain and soaring over Penn's Valley. A very fewminutes would put him into Bellefonte. He glanced at his clock. He hadmade amazingly good time. He was going to reach Bellefonte in close totwo and a half hours after all.
Now he was passing Millheim, with its blazing beacon on the crest ofNittany Mountain. The mist was increasing. It bade fair to be bad. Butit could not gather quick enough to interfere with him. In no time hewould be in Bellefonte. But suddenly his struts and wires began to humand vibrate. The vibration rapidly grew worse. The humming grew into ascreech. Jimmy's blood began to run cold. His plane was icing up. Thething most feared by airmen was happening to him. Along the edges of hiswings, 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. Theywould lose their lifting power. Then nothing under heaven could keep himaloft.
And his wings _were_ icing up rapidly. He could tell that from thefeeling of the plane beneath him. It no longer slid through the air withits smooth, hawk-like passage. Its flight was becoming uncertain. Ittrembled and shook. The ship responded but slowly to his control.Desperately he strove to climb. If he could reach either a colder or awarmer stratum of air, the ice would melt. He dared not descend, forbeneath him were these terrible mountains. He found it impossible toclimb. The ship had utterly lost its power to do so. Yet Jimmy foughtwith all his ability to force the craft upward. He tried every trick hehad 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. Hisaltimeter showed that he was losing altitude steadily. He had beenflying at 5,000 feet elevation. Already he was down to 4,500 feet. Themountain beneath him towered up to 2,000 feet. If only he could make thenext few miles, and get over the high crests near Bellefonte, he wouldbe 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, triedevery trick he knew of to get the ship out of the spin. He could doabsolutely nothing with it. The plane was beyond all control.
With dismay Jimmy realized that he was in a flat spin. He thought ofJack Webster, the mail pilot, who had been caught in exactly the sameway just a few miles farther west only a few months previously. Thethought made Jimmy's heart stop beating. For the centripetal force ofthat spin had held the mail pilot fast in his cockpit, and he had fallenwith his plane and been cruelly injured.
Jimmy knew that there was not a second to lose. He must get out of theship, and get out quick. He thought of Warren Long. He tried to keep hishead. He reached for his switches and shut off his ignition, to preventan explosion when the ship struck. Then he dropped both of his flares.They burst on the night like magnificent rockets, lighting up themountain below them, like noonday. Jimmy took a single look over t
heside of his ship and began to struggle frantically to get out of hiscockpit. Below him was nothing but jagged rocks and menacing treegrowths.
Vainly he struggled. He could not lift himself out of the ship. Had thecraft been under control, he could have flipped it over and catapultedhimself out of the cockpit. But the plane was going down on level keel,whirling about like a top. Again Jimmy struggled. Desperately he foughtto get out of his seat. With all his strength he pulled at the sides ofthe ship and shoved upward with his legs. Still he was held fast, as bya giant hand. Again he heaved his body upward, convulsively,frantically, with terrible effort. This time he was successful. Hegained 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 wasfrightfully close to the ground. Snatching up his flash-light, hestepped 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 pullthe rip-cord too soon and cause his own death. Plainly he could see thespinning ship above him. He was going down head first, just as WarrenLong had gone. Now he judged he was safe. Instantly he tore at therip-cord. The steel ring came away in his hand. The parachute snappedout with a crack. It came ballooning open. With a jerk that almostknocked him senseless, Jimmy was snapped into an upright position. Thenhe went floating straight down.
Instantly he looked below him to see what was there. Then he glancedabove, fearful that the falling ship might drop on him. The wind borehim slightly to one side of the descending plane. Jimmy drew a breath ofrelief and centred his attention on the ground at his feet. The flareswere dying out. He snapped on his flash-light. At first it seemedterribly feeble. Then his eyes grew accustomed to the altered light. Hesaw he was going to land in some saplings. His feet went crashing downthrough the tree tops. Branches broke beneath him. They also broke hisfall. Jimmy reached out and grabbed a little limb. It tore away from thetree trunk under his weight. But it almost stopped his descent.Desperately he clutched at another branch. This one was tougher andbigger. It held. Jimmy found himself motionless, not ten feet from theground. He had suffered only a few bruises and scratches. He slid therest 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 haveput him into Bellefonte in safety. Now he was miles from the flyingfield, deep in the mountains, in the black of night.
Yet he had one advantage. He was not lost. He knew almost exactly wherehe 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 thathe had landed in a notch. He knew it must be the Mingoville notch. Andif it was, there was a trail running through it. He tore off theparachute and made his way down the slope of the notch to the bottom.Sure enough, here was the trail. Jimmy knew it led directly intoMingoville.
Recklessly he raced down it. The powerful ray from his flash-lightilluminated the path ahead of him. Its beam, almost horizontal, showedhim the irregularities of the way better even than the noonday sun wouldhave done. Under other circumstances he would not have dared to run downthis rough mountain path as he was now tearing along it. But he used theutmost care in striding, and succeeded in missing loose stones thatwould have turned his ankle.
Down the trail he ran, panting, sweating, his heart pounding in hisbreast. But never for a moment did he slacken his speed. In ten minutesthe trail opened into a road. Not far away was a house, and through awindow a light was shining.
Jimmy ran toward the house, shouting as he ran. A man stepped out of thedoor as he came panting up.
"I just jumped out of an airplane," said Jimmy, "and I've got to get toBellefonte 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 therequick, I'll make it $30," said Jimmy. "I'm trying to catch a man forwhom I have important despatches. I have to get there in the least timepossible."
"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. Jimmygroaned when he saw it. The man started to crank it. To Jimmy it seemedas though the thing would never start. But finally it coughed, thenbegan to explode regularly. The motor sounded good to Jimmy. The mandrew on an old overcoat that was in the car. "Get in," he said. Jimmyobeyed with alacrity. The man let in his clutch and the car rolled outinto the road.
"Drive as fast as you can make her go," urged Jimmy. "I have veryimportant despatches for an official of the government. I simply mustcatch 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 moneythan he had seen at one time in years. He opened the throttle wide. Thelittle Ford tore along the road. It roared and rattled. It bounced andswayed. When it struck a bump it leaped like a rabbit. But the man neverslackened his speed and Jimmy clung to the seat desperately.
"I want to go to the flying field," said Jimmy. "There's a car waitingfor 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 couldmake it if everything went well. Jimmy sat in silence. But his heart wasbeating fast with anxiety and apprehension.
On they raced through the night. The man seemed to know the roadperfectly. He tore around sharp bends, dashed into dark hollows, wentroaring 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, andcounted out $30. As the Ford came to a stop before the hangar, Jimmythrust the money into the driver's hand, leaped from the car, and racedfor 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 York _Morning Press_ to take a manto Tyrone?" he asked.
"Yes," said the driver, in surprise. "He's coming in by plane and oughtto 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 andfell 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 hewent 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 sogreat. Jimmy wanted to protest, but when he glanced at the speedometerhe thought better of it. He sat in silence, watching the road, as theywent roaring along.
Once on the cement highway, the driver opened his throttle, and Jimmywatched the indicator on the dashboard creep up. From forty-five milesan hour it climbed to fifty, to fifty-five, to sixty, to seventy, toeighty miles an hour. And there the speedometer finger stood as thoughglued to the spot.
They neared Tyrone. Jimmy watched the lights draw near. The driver beganto slacken his speed. They reached the fringes of the town. Close athand Jimmy heard a long, shrill blast of a locomotive whistle. He knewit was a train blowing for Tyrone. It was going to stop. He glanced athis 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 shovedhis speed up and up while Jimmy sat with his heart in his mouth. Theycould never stop if anything came out of a side street.
But nothing did. They roared on to the station. The train was standingat the platform. The locomotive was panting restlessly, as though eagerto be off.
"All aboard," came a deep voice through the night.
Jimmy leaped from the still moving car, and raced down the platformtoward the train. The train began to move. Jimmy put everything he hadinto a last desperate sprint. He reached the car vestibule just as theconductor was closing the door. Jimmy grabbed the hand rail and swung upon 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.
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