Tim had written the story of his adventure while Dugan had handled the controls and the story of his flight and the pictures of the rebel leader were on the front page of the first afternoon edition of the News—a clean beat over every other paper in the country.
Tim was preparing to leave the field when Dugan stopped him,
“Can you spare a minute?” he asked, his voice low and tense. He was evidently laboring under great emotion and Tim followed him toward the field and away from the others.
“I haven’t forgotten how you saved me the day the good will tour ended here,” hastened Dugan, “nor what you’ve done this time and I’ll repay you now. You’ve heard of the Sky Hawk?”
Tim nodded, waiting for the other to go on.
“I know who he is,” went on Dugan, his voice hoarse from emotion. “He’s a former German ace, a great flyer, but obsessed with the idea that by plundering the air lines he can amass a great fortune and eventually attack America from the air. It’s a crazy dream—a wild one—but he’s sure raising hob while he’s free.”
“He certainly is,” agreed Tim. “Who is it, Dugan?” He waited for the answer, hardly breathing.
The daredevil’s lips started to move. Then he glanced toward the sky where a heavy humming drifted down.
A plane shot through the clouds, whipped around and headed in for the field. The crescendo of its motor was deafening; conversation was impossible. Dugan screamed something at Tim but the words were inaudible. Then he started running along the field in front of the hangers.
Tim yelled after him but his words were lost in the storm of noise as the plane skimmed over the field. The flying reporter screamed until he thought his lungs would burst. Dugan, running toward the Good News, was sprinting directly into the path of the incoming plane.