Dugan’s little biplane shot down the field. The tail flipped into the air and the under carriage sailed clear. Then Dugan bounced his ship up and down as he sped alone, never more than five feet above the ground. It was old stuff but mighty dangerous, especially if the motor failed.
The crowd was yelling and milling excitedly as Dugan’s plane neared the fence on the far boundary. Tim wondered how long Dugan would wait before he nosed his ship up. Then he caught his breath for the daredevil was living up to his name.
The biplane shot skyward but Dugan had waited a fraction of a second too long. There was the sharp crashing of wood and to the crowd’s amazement and horror, Dugan left his landing gear hanging on the fence. But probably no one was more surprised and startled than the daredevil himself.
Alive to the emergency, Tim forgot his personal feelings toward Dugan and with Ralph at his heels pushed his way to the announcer’s stand. There he found a group of perplexed and worried officials who were looking on helplessly while Dugan cruised over the field. The crowd recovered its breath, and, mob-like, got all ready for a real thrill when Dugan landed.
Tim cornered Clyde Bennett, the owner of the great tri-motored monoplane which had been on the good will tour. Tim’s plan won Bennett’s hearty approval and together they explained it to the officials. Several hesitated but “Spin” Beeker acclaimed it the only way to avert tragedy. When he presented that angle of the situation, the other officials immediately gave their consent. They didn’t mind giving the crowd its share of thrills, but at the same time they didn’t want tragedy to play a major role in the events of the day if it was humanly possible to prevent it.
While Tim and Bennett warmed up the motors of the great transport plane, Ralph went in search of rope. He was back in less than five minutes staggering under his load. They boosted the coils of manilla into the cabin of the big ship and Tim, who had been delegated to handle the controls, was just taking his place when the fiery little managing editor of the News arrived. Carson had gotten wind of what was in the air and was thoroughly aroused. He collared Tim and Ralph.
“You’re crazy,” he yelled. “I won’t let you go on such a foolhardy trip. You’ll all get killed and I can’t afford to lose two of my best reporters.”
“You’re crazy yourself if you think we’re not going,” shouted Tim in reply. “Some one’s got to help Dugan down. They say he isn’t carrying a parachute. And besides,” he suggested, appealing to Carson’s nose for news, “it will make a great story for the paper.” The managing editor weakened and waved them on. Ralph banged the door of the cabin and Tim fed the fuel into the eager cylinders of the tri-motor. He was mighty glad now that he had taken a course in handling big ships at the flying school.
While they were gaining altitude, Tim scrawled a note, weighed it down with a wrench, and tied it to a stout, light cord. In less than five minutes they were over the daredevil’s plane. Ralph pushed open a window in the cabin of the transport and paid out the cord to which the note was attached. A moment of jockeying and the note was in Dugan’s hands. The daredevil tore it from the wrench, read it hastily, and then waved his understanding to his rescuers.
The two planes forged westward, gradually gaining more altitude. They wanted plenty of room and the sun at their backs when they started to give the 25,000 spectators on the ground the greatest thrill of the day—a thrill that would surpass anything on the scheduled program. Five miles west of the airport they swung around, their tails to the setting sun.