Finally a particularly vicious smash sent Jim reeling, his head toward the forward cock-pit, the dwarf on top of him. He caught his victim by the collar and twisted his fingers tightly in the cloth, then his eyes rested on Bob.
“Turn around and go back, or I’ll kill him,” he shrieked.
“All right. Let go of him and I’ll turn around,” Bob answered coolly.
“You turn,” the fellow roared and his great hand twisted more tightly.
“You win.” Caldwell leaned forward over the board, one hand went like a flash downward as the “Lark” began the curve to return. The dwarf glanced out to be sure that the order was being obeyed, then Bob swung up his shoe in his hand, but before he could do anything Jim renewed his struggles and the pair slid over the side into space.
Quick as a flash, Bob tipped the plane’s nose downward and followed into the swirling fog. The two dropped swiftly, but in a moment Caldwell saw Austin kick himself free from the clutching arms, sprawl out as he hauled on his parachute, and after a breathless moment, its dark folds opened around the boy’s body. Then Bob remembered that the Don had said that in an emergency it would act as a life saver. With the engine racing, the “Lark” cut through the air, dove between the two, partly righted itself and leveled out below Jim. Caldwell stood up as he calculated the distance, and a moment later he felt a thud on the top of the wings as Austin landed, then the pilot reduced the speed until it was barely enough to sustain the plane in the air.
It seemed to the boy as if months passed before he saw Jim’s legs slip over the edge of the wing. He watched tensely as his flying buddy climbed painfully down to the fuselage, hung on to the supporting strut, then, the instant he had regained his balance, he hauled the folds of the parachute out of his way and crawled toward the rear cock-pit. In a moment he had the lid up and dropped in beside his father.
“Wow!” Bob glanced at the indicators. They were a thousand up, so he banked around and began to climb as fast as the “Lark” could carry him. He set his lips tightly as he recalled the last he had seen of the dwarf tumbling through the fog toward the ocean below. The fellow had no parachute and the boy wondered why he hadn’t taken the precaution to equip himself with one of those in the rear cabin, but it was a mystery he could not answer. Painstakingly Bob studied the map and calculated the course. He had made up his mind to carry on until Jim could let him know how things were in the rear. They were above the fog again, and miles ahead the boy could see the blue waters of the Carribbean Sea stretched beyond the rim of mist. Just then he noticed the light flash over the radio and he picked up the speaking tube. Although he was mighty anxious to hear what his step-brother had to tell him, he dreaded to listen for he was sure that something terrible had happened to his step-father.
“Hello, Old Timer,” he tried to call cheerily, but his voice shook.
“Hello yourself. Thanks for the wing-ride. All right up there?”