"It'll be all right, Lou dear! I've jumped before—it isn't bad. And you've been taught just what to do."
At four thousand feet up in the air, Linda gave her the signal, and Louise stepped out over the right side of the plane.
Then Linda turned the nose of the Arrow up, and stepped off herself, falling about a hundred feet, head downward, before she pulled the rip-cord which opened the parachute, and jerked her into an upright position. Off to one side of them, the plane was falling rapidly, in a series of spirals; for a moment Linda had the tense fear that it might strike her companion or herself. Holding out her flashlight, and watching the ground below, she floated gently away from the plane, landing finally in a clearing perhaps fifty yards away from Louise.
"Lou, are you safe?" she shouted, gasping.
"O.K.!" was the laughing reply, that brought a warm surge of relief to her heart.
With the aid of their flash-lights the girls disentangled themselves from their cords, and ran towards each other. Suddenly they stopped; a blaze of light flashed in the sky, and they saw the beloved Arrow in flames!
"Oh, poor Linda!" cried Louise, rushing to her chum in sympathy. "What rotten luck!"
Tears came into the young aviatrix's eyes, and she hugged her chum tightly in her grief. It was as if she had lost a very dear friend. For a breathless moment they watched the blazing plane, fearful lest it would drop on them, or set the woods on fire. But gradually the light died, and what was left of the Arrow dropped to the ground at least a mile away.
"I guess we're lucky at that," Linda finally said, shivering.
"I was sure we'd be killed," Louise admitted. "It seems so much worse to have an accident at night—so much more terrifying."