He wiped the cold perspiration from his brow, relaxed just a bit, and set a new course for Atkinson.
Ten minutes later he could see the lights of the city reflected in the sky and in another five minutes he was circling down to a landing on the municipal field.
The great Sperry floodlight, used when the air mail planes were landing or taking off, bathed the field in its blue-white brilliance. It was as light as day and Tim set the heavy ship down as lightly as a feather. He taxied up to the administration building and an ambulance, waiting near the gate, backed down toward his plane.
“They telephoned from the Circle Four that you had found Lewis and his ship,” shouted Carl Hunter as he hurried up to the plane.
“Found him on top of a mountain,” replied Tim. “He’s some smashed up inside but I think he’ll pull through. The mail is still in the plane but two of the boys from the Circle Four are watching it and they’ll start down with it tomorrow.”
The field manager took charge of the situation and they lifted the injured flyer down from the mail cockpit. Lewis was unconscious again but was breathing deeply and freely. The young surgeon with the ambulance gave him a cursory examination.
“He’ll pull through all right,” was his verdict as he swung into the ambulance and it started its dash for the hospital in the city.
Tim was so tired and chilled that he had to be helped from the cockpit. His legs, aching from the cold and the arduous exertion of the day, simply folded up under him.
Hank Cummins grinned at him.
“I don’t feel much better myself,” he admitted. “And gosh, what an appetite climbing a mountain gives a fellow. Let’s eat.”