Tim and Hunter turned to glance at another ship that was being warmed up on the line. A shout from a mechanic brought their attention back to Ralph, and their faces went white at the sight of what was happening in the sky. Far above them the Jenny was twisting and falling. For a moment they were speechless.
“His right wing’s crumpled,” yelled Hunter. “He’s going to crash.”
Tim’s throat tightened. He couldn’t even speak when he realized what Ralph was up against. It was enough to turn a veteran pilot gray headed, much less a beginner making his first solo.
If Ralph could keep the Jenny out of a tail spin he had a chance, just a chance. Down, down, down, fluttered the crippled plane, so slowly and yet so swiftly. Nearer and nearer the field Ralph swung his battered ship, nursing it every foot of the way. At 500 feet it fell away in a steep glide—so steep that the two near the hangar held their breath.
The plane gained speed, the sideslip was steeper. In another second it would strike the ground, roll over, and crush its pilot. Tim turned away; he couldn’t stand it.
Only Hunter saw Ralph stake his life in a desperate chance and saw him win. Just before the plane crashed he threw his controls over, bringing his left wing up and levelling off. The lower right wing held for the needed fraction of a second, just the time required to pull out of the sideslip, and Ralph set his crippled plane down hard.
Instead of a bad crash, it was only a noseover and by the time Tim and Hunter reached the Jenny, Ralph was scrambling out of the cockpit.
“Hurt, Ralph?” cried Tim.
“Not hurt, just scared,” he grinned. “Guess I kind of smashed up the old bus, Carl,” he went on, his words tense and close clipped. “I’m mighty sorry.”
“That’s all right, Ralph,” said Hunter. “She was about at the end of her string and I guess I shouldn’t have let you take her up for your solo. I’m glad it wasn’t any worse.”