“We’ll find them if it is humanly possible,” promised Tim.
They were well into the foothills of the mountains when Ralph signaled that he was going to start his search for Mitchell, who had been on the westbound ship the night before.
Ralph circled downward while Tim continued his dash toward the formidable, rocky crests in the west.
According to all the information available, Lewis should have been on the east side of the divide. Five minutes before the blizzard struck he had radiophoned that he was about to cross the crest of the range.
Tim had been up an hour and a half when he reached the higher slopes and precipices of the mountains. He shoved the mail plane up and up until he was almost to the divide before he started his detailed search for the missing plane and pilot.
Back and forth Tim cruised the mail plane, dodging in and out of canyons, circling over sheer precipices that fell away for a thousand feet, scanning the snow and the rocks for some sign.
The powerful motor was using great quantities of fuel and Tim watched the gasoline gauge with an anxious eye. At nine o’clock he had fuel for a little more than another hour of flying. To have gone back to Atkinson was out of the question. He would land at some village or ranch in the foothills, replenish his gasoline tanks, and resume the search.
Half an hour later he switched on the radiophone and informed the field manager that he was temporarily abandoning his search. Hunter directed Tim to the nearest ranch where fuel would be available and the flying reporter snapped off the radiophone and glided down off the divide.
Ten minutes later he swung low over ranch buildings which nestled in a sheltered valley in the foothills. Below the buildings was a level meadow, the only piece of ground that appeared safe to attempt a landing.
The noise of the airplane motor brought men from the ranch buildings and Tim waved at them.