The ace of the air mail pilots was not a sensational flyer in the sense that his name was on the front pages of the newspapers every day. In fact, he was just the opposite and as he often told his friends, he didn’t care anything about being the best air mail flyer. All he wanted was to be the oldest.
Winslow had trained Col. Charles A. Lindbergh when he was a fledgling and before the flying colonel had even dreamed of a flight to Paris, and he had performed many a heroic deed as he winged his way across the plains of the middle west of the snow-capped Rockies and the rugged Sierras.
Tim was still finding valuable material in the files when a mechanic stuck his head in the door.
“Here comes Winslow,” he announced and Tim and Hunter promptly deserted the office and took their places at one side of the big concrete apron which marked the end of the main runway on the field.
The plane rapidly took form as it roared out of the east. Winslow swung low over the field to sight the wind sock, then lined southwest and floated down to a three point landing. There was nothing startling in the way he handled his plane but his every move revealed the hand of a master birdman.
After Winslow had given his orders to the mechanics, he greeted Hunter.
“Winslow,” said the field manager as he introduced Tim, “here’s a young newspaper man I want you to know, Tim Murphy of the Atkinson News. I think Tim is unique in the newspaper world. He’s not only a mighty good reporter but a fine flyer.”
Both Tim and Winslow smiled at Hunter’s introduction and Tim felt a friendly tingle as he grasped Winslow’s hand.
“I’ve heard of you,” said Winslow.
“And I’ve heard a great deal about you,” replied Tim, “so I guess that makes us even.”