He levelled off two feet above the peak which had impaled the eastbound mail and circled carefully. He made two complete swings and there was no sign of life in the wrecked plane.
Lewis, pilot of the eastbound, must have been flying blind, attempting to make a landing, when he struck the crag. The mail had evidently hit the peak at a sharp downward angle. The tail had been ripped off and left to serve as a solitary beacon which eventually brought Tim to the scene. The rest of the plane had skidded and bounced along the far slope of the mountain for more than a hundred feet, finally coming to rest in a small clump of straggling mountain pine. The tough tree trunks had crumpled the wings back along the fuselage and Tim had to admit that it was just about as complete a washout as he had ever seen.
There was no ledge along the mountain on which he could make a landing and he had about decided to return to Atkinson and report when a slight movement in the wreckage attracted his attention.
Tim dropped the heavy mail plane as low as he dared and cut his motor down to a minimum. He was not more than fifty feet above the clump of pines which held the wreck of the air mail. From the splintered wood and canvas he saw an arm emerge and then the face of Tiny Lewis, one of the best pilots in the service.
The flying reporter was low enough to glimpse the wild stare in Lewis’s eyes and he knew that the pilot had been knocked out of his senses by the crash. While Tim watched Lewis collapsed and sank back into the wreckage. The motor of Tim’s ship had aroused some inner sense and Lewis had made a supreme effort to make his presence known.
Tim looked about eagerly for a landing field. The nearest level ground was at least three miles down the mountain and on the other side. There was only one thing to do—speed for help. The Circle Four Ranch was nearest and Tim opened the throttle of the mail ship and sped into the east.
He wondered how Lewis had managed to withstand the cold of the night and day. Perhaps he had been sheltered somewhat by the wreckage of the plane.
It was just after three o’clock when Tim roared over the Circle Four ranch house and set the mail plane down in the pasture with little ceremony. By the time he had taxied back to the side of the field nearest the ranch buildings Cummins and his cowboys were climbing the fence.
“I’ve found the eastbound plane and pilot,” shouted Tim, “and I need more gas and a couple of men to fly back with me and help get the pilot out. He appears hurt and is caught in the wreckage.”
Hank Cummins roared orders with great gusto and the cowboys hurried to carry them out. The fuel tanks were refilled in record time.