CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tim kept the contents of the Sky Hawk’s message to himself. There was no need to alarm Ralph for he felt that it was a personal matter, but it disturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge. On the verge of what should have been his greatest success, the attainment of the goal to which he had been striving, the aviation editorship of the News, had come the mysterious message from the Sky Hawk, and Tim promised himself that he would keep himself fully prepared and alive to every emergency.
Their return to Atkinson brought a round of banquets and series of speeches at civic clubs. By early fall he was back in the pleasant routine, but this time with a desk of his own and the sign, “Aviation Editor,” on a small card.
For days he watched the news, listened to the gossip at the airport but there was no sign of the Sky Hawk—no sign since the day he had looted the wreck of the mail months before in the fastnesses of the Great Smokies. Yet Tim felt that the Sky Hawk was about to strike again and he knew that the next time it would be a battle to the end.
Then the smouldering fires of revolt burst into flame in Mexico. General Enrique Lopez, an officer in the federal army, had broken with the government and had taken the field against the federals. His army, recruited from the ranks of disgruntled federal soldiers, Yaqui Indians and peasants, enjoyed startling success in the first days of the revolution. Then Lopez played his hidden card and bombed Mexico City from the air.
The daring of his feat fanned American interest in the revolt and the front pages of the papers blazed with headlines which told of the progress of the revolt.
Young airmen, attracted by the high salaries offered by both the federal and rebel armies, flocked toward the border, only to be met by the stern, hard flying men of the U.S. army’s border patrol. There they were warned to turn back or take their chances at being shot down in their attempt to fly into Mexico. The majority of them returned but a few of the more daring ran the gauntlet of fire from the border patrol and made their way into Mexico.
A few pictures of the fighting between the troops came straggling up from the border but they were far from satisfactory and so far as could be ascertained, there were no actual photographs of the rebel chieftain. Within a short time American news picture services were offering fabulous prices for pictures of General Lopez but the wily rebel leader evaded every effort of the photographers. The luckless individuals who penetrated through his lines were imprisoned and their plates and cameras smashed.
Tim, who had been watching the course of events below the border, was not greatly surprised when, one morning late in August, Carson called him to his desk.
“Can you be ready to start for Mexico in half an hour?” asked the managing editor.