“It’s a bad morning for a takeoff,” he warned Tim. “What in thunder is bringing you out on a day like this?”
“We’ve got a report of a big flood in the Cedar River valley,” said Tim, “and Ralph’s going to try for some pictures if the rain clears up.”
Hunter grunted, then said, “Better keep over to the north side of the field, Tim, and get her off as quick as you can. The other end of this flat is under a good foot of water and it’s all pretty much of a swamp.”
Tim and Ralph waved at the manager of the field, Tim gave the Lark full throttle, and they sloshed over the field and got away to a sluggish takeoff. The muck and water sucked at the Lark’s wheels and it was with an effort that Tim got his craft into the air.
Once clear of the field, he headed into the east. The ceiling was low that morning; not over 500 feet, and the Lark thundered over farms and small towns at better than 100 miles an hour. Tim piloted wholly by compass but after forty-five minutes of flying they ran out of the rain and the sky began to clear. When they sighted the Cedar River valley the sun was out from behind the clouds for the first time in days.
A scene of majestic destruction unfolded itself as Tim swung the Lark over the valley of the Cedar. The usually peaceful stream was on a mighty rampage, its banks hidden by swirling torrents of dirty, yellow water which spread for more than a mile in either direction. In the heart of the foaming flood could be seen great trees, torn up by their roots, and farm buildings that bobbled and turned as if in protest. Over all there was an air of utter desolation, the surrender of man to the wrath of the elements.
Tim was fascinated by the terrible splendor of the scene, and he banked the Lark gracefully as Ralph took picture after picture of the great flood. To the south Tim sighted a cluster of buildings marooned in the center of the raging stream. He turned the plane and sped toward them. In another minute he recognized the village of Auburn, the scene of his first exploit as a flying reporter. The once peaceful hamlet, which, he remembered, had been on the right bank of the Cedar, was surrounded by the rampant waters. While Tim circled the village, Ralph managed to secure two graphic pictures of the marooned village.
Tim could see a little group gathered in front of the general store and once he thought they were gesturing to him, but he dared not go closer. Motor trouble at any lower altitude would mean a plunge into the flood.
A few minutes before noon Tim dropped the crimson-winged Lark down out of the clouds and skidded over the muddy field. He uncurled his legs and got stiffly out of the cockpit. Ralph hopped down beside him, his camera under his arm.
They left orders for mechanics at the field to take care of the plane and then headed toward the city in the car they had left at the field.