“Woods,” he said, making his lips form the word so the boy would get it, and Bob nodded that he understood. By this time they were so close to the ground that the descending furnace cast a brighter glow, and they could see the tree tops standing out like sentinels. At five hundred feet Bob pulled Her Highness out of the mad drop, leveled off and circled in swift short turns. He maintained the height, and the two looked over the side. Presently they saw the pilot dropping toward them for his speed had been checked by the parachute. At the same instant there was a dull thud and the mail plane smashed into the ground. The flames leaped furiously, and while they ate hungrily at their prey, they lighted the vicinity brilliantly.
“Over there,” Jim pointed, and Bob looked. He saw a clear place, and shutting off the motor, glided to a landing. Before Her Highness came to a full stop, Jim was out of the cock-pit. He glanced anxiously at the work of destruction, then looked up to the pilot, but he gasped with dismay as he discovered that the fellow was over trees and seemed unable to spill enough air to guide himself out of their reach. In a second a huge branch caught the silk and held it firmly, while the man dangled like a pendulum thirty feet above the hard ground. A fall would mean broken bones.
As the step-brothers were Texans first and foremost, ranchers’ sons, they never went anywhere without a rope. In fact they would have felt as if they were not fully dressed, so now long lariats were coiled under their seats. It took only a second to secure them, then the two raced toward the tree.
“Hey you lads, get the mail out of the plane,” the pilot shouted when he saw them approaching.
“You go back and do that while I get him down,” Jim said quickly to his brother. “The three of us can probably save it all.”
“Take my rope.” Bob handed it over, then started to save the mail or as much of it as he could, while Austin ran on to the tree.
“Be careful. I’m trying to figure out a way to get onto the branch, but if I swing. I’ll come down,” the pilot called.
“I’ll look out. Hold yourself steady.” Jim had the rope in his hands, but a flying suit is a cumbersome garment and hampering. He stood away on a slight knoll, gave the lariat a few expert turns, then sent it forth. It shot under the pilot’s feet, opened wide, rose quickly and was jerked securely.
“Good work, Buddy,” the pilot called.
“Fix it so it won’t cut you and I’ll get in that nearest tree,” Jim answered. He was already beside the tree, and looping the end of the rope about his wrist as he started to climb. It was no easy task to prevent the lariat from tangling with the branches, but luckily the tree was a yellow pine, and one side of its trunk had only a few short stubs. The boy went like a monkey and was soon a few feet higher than the pilot. He fastened the end of the rope to a stout branch, took an instant to decide what his next move would be, then he made up his mind, and began to crawl out closer to the man he was trying to save.