When Tim had completed the last sentence, he turned to the managing editor.
“I’m all in,” he admitted, “And if Carl will lend me a cot in the pilot’s room I’m going to roll in.”
“You deserve a week of sleep,” said the managing editor, as he finished reading the story.
“This is one of the best yarns you’ve ever written,” he added enthusiastically. “Now when Ralph gets in and writes his story—”
Carson didn’t finish. He saw the look of anxiety that his words brought to Tim’s tired, white face and he added quickly.
“You head for bed and we’ll let you know just as soon as we hear from Ralph.”
Tim nodded dully, almost hopelessly, and stumbled into the pilot’s room where he threw himself on a cot. He was asleep before he had time to draw up the blankets.
Half an hour later Tim was roused from his deep slumber by someone shaking his shoulders. Faintly he heard words.
“The pilot on the westbound tonight saw a campfire in the timber along one of the lower mountains. It must be Ralph. We’ll start the first thing in the morning.”