McGinnis must be on his mettle; he had achieved the rise full two hundred yards within the end of the runway. A brisk shout of admiration followed his take-off—then the shout died into a composite gasp of dismay.
“The wheel—look!”
Just at the rise of the plane, the wheel on the left side had crumpled and now swung a useless, dangerous mass beneath the ship.
“Mercy on him,” moaned Hal, “half his landing gear ruined! He’s in for a smash!”
“Ninety-nine chances out of a hundred are against him,” half-whispered Rex Raynor who was standing near, eyes glued on the beautiful plane circling so gracefully in the sky above.
Both he and Hal knew well enough what was likely to happen when the aviator came down to a landing with only one wheel to make the ground contact. A crash, an overturn, a complete capsizing that would spell the end for the occupants. And that boy Jacky in there too, a young life to be so horribly snuffed out.
None of the occupants of the ship were aware of what had happened. They circled serenely, while all unknown to them a death trap swung beneath their speeding plane. That slight obstruction on the runway must have cracked the gear, but the actual buckling of the wheel must not have occurred till the very moment of the take-off, and so had passed unnoticed.
For the throng of sightseers crowding the field, the dangle of broken gear had slight significance as to the terrible danger it presaged. But every student, pilot and mechanic knew what must eventually happen—unless the aviator in the damaged ship could be warned!
On the ground, men rushed about, shouting, pointing to gear of other machines, hoping to attract the attention of those in the air.
But for the flyers in the roaring ship, the shouts from far-away human pin-points on the earth below must have been as mere whispers, as nothing at all. There was no sign that any of this ground commotion ever reached the ship.