“It will be time saved,” said the ranch owner. “You get some warm food inside and you’ll be a lot more alert. Come on up to the house and sit down at the table for a few minutes.”
Tim finally agreed and accompanied the rancher to the house.
A Chinese cook served hot coffee, bacon and eggs and the food gave Tim new courage and enthusiasm to resume his gruelling search.
When the flying reporter returned to the meadow he found that the cowboys had appointed themselves a ground crew and had turned the mail plane around. Several of them, armed with shovels, were busy clearing a path through a heavy drift that extended across the middle of the field.
Tim thanked Mr. Cummins for his kindness and promised to send a check to cover the bill for the gasoline.
“That’s all right,” laughed the rancher. “We’re glad to be able to help you.”
The flying reporter climbed into the cockpit, switched on the starter, and heard the motor roar on the second or third time over.
The propeller spewed fine snow in every direction and the cowboys ran for shelter before the driving white particles.
Tim throttled down, aimed his plane down the makeshift runway, and gave her the gun.
The mail ship bounced over the frozen surface of the meadow, swung dangerously as the wheels bit into the soft snow which the cowboys had attempted to clear away, and finally nosed into the air. Tim took his time in gaining altitude and then swung back over the ranch. He waved at the group below and could see them reply. Then he headed into the west to resume his search on the treacherous slopes of the Great Smokies.