Prentiss turned around.
“Look at the biplane’s wings,” he cried.
Tim watched closely. The wings were flapping, threatening to break loose from the ship at any moment. The chase was nearly over. McDowell would be forced down. Tim glanced at the country below. It was rough and broken, almost impossible for a safe landing.
A startled cry from Prentiss drew his attention back to the biplane. The old ship was breaking up! McDowell had been pushing it too hard, the spins and rolls and loops had been more than the ancient spruce could stand. The right wing was giving way, the top section drooping down in the lower one.
CHAPTER FIVE
Death Rides the Air
McDowell was making a game fight, attempting to nurse the old craft over the rough country to the more level reaches ahead. Tim eased up on the throttle of the Jupiter, like the eagle giving its prey a moment’s respite before the last swoop.
The left wing of the old trainer was wobbling uncertainly now. The end was near and still they were over the rough country.
Fascinated, Tim and Prentiss watched the drama ahead of them. The biplane was weaving from side to side, the right upper wing now almost touching the lower one. With a rending of linen and wood, the wing tore loose and floated away in the backwash of the propeller. Then the lower right wing collapsed under the strain and the ship started to fall away rapidly.
McDowell, game to the last, methodically prepared to go over the side.
“He’d better hurry,” shouted Prentiss.