When familiar scenes again came into view and Tim sighted the field at Atkinson, he was astounded at the size of the crowd which had gathered to see the end of the tour. Every side of the field was jammed with cars, parked row on row, and police and national guardsmen were hard put to keep the milling thousands from sweeping on to the landing field.
Tim had pushed his plane hard and was nearly ten minutes ahead of the others. To keep the interest of the crowd he stunted over the field, looping, falling and zooming in manoeuvres that had the crowd gasping for breath. When he saw the first of the planes in the tour heading in from the west, he nosed down for the field.
Ping! For a second Tim did not realize what had happened. Ralph, in the forward cockpit, had heard the noise and he looked around at the flying reporter. Tim wiggled his stick and it was then that he discovered their predicament. The main control wire to the ailerons on the left wing had parted and was dangling from the wing. By rare good luck the Good News had been in an easy dive when the accident occurred and had leveled off of its own accord.
Below, Tim could see the banked masses of humanity. They’d come out for a thrill, had they? Well, they’d get it but he didn’t dare risk a crackup in the crowd. The slogan all through the tour had been to play safe and now here he was up better than 3,000 feet and with a slim chance of getting down alive.
Ralph had sensed what they were up against and was staring back, the color drained from his face. Tim wondered what his own face looked like. Probably he was just as white as Ralph for he was sure enough up against it. What irony! After spending days promoting the aviation day to mark the close of the air tour, then an accident like this. If he could only get his hands on that strand of loose wire he might be able to get the ship down after all.
Tim motioned to Ralph, who leaned back until the flying reporter could make his shouts understood. Ralph’s eyes got as big as cart wheels and his mouth dropped open but he nodded and took a firm grip on his nerve.
Carefully the two men in the little plane started to move. Tim thanked his lucky stars that Ralph was a competent flyer and he was ready to bless his managing editor for his foresight in having another reporter trained as an aviator.
To the 25,000 packed around the airport it was something new in the way of thrills. To Tim and Ralph it meant taking their lives on luck and consummate nerve for they had sacrificed their parachutes to make room for their baggage on the five day tour. Tim edged forward and Ralph slid back. In less than a minute they had exchanged places and Ralph was giving the plane an easy rudder to swing it back toward the airport.
Tim stretched his six feet of muscular body over the side of the forward cockpit as Ralph headed for the field. His nerves were remarkably calm; he felt sure he could accomplish the task before him.
Tim swung both legs over the side of the cockpit. Ralph had throttled the motor down as slow as he dared but even then the blast of air from the propeller tore at Tim. The flying reporter anchored his right foot in the step in the fuselage while his right hand was locked in the safety belt which was too short to go around his body as he swung from the side of the ship.