“He made it down—in the only landing place for miles!” jubilated Hal as he leaped from the truck and raced toward the grounded plane.
As he reached the scene of the crash he saw that the plane really had made a marvelous landing, merely slightly down-tipped as to nose, and frame intact save where a sapling stub had torn a jagged hole through one wing.
Minor injuries to the plane—but the man! The aviator hung limp against the supporting belt. As the boy loosed buckles and lifted the pilot out, he felt blood dampen his hands.
Hal raced to a stream he remembered crossing. With his hat full of water, he was back and kneeling beside the aviator, splashing water in his face.
It was like a ghost rising from the dead when the prostrate man flicked open his eyes, then suddenly—as though some valiant pull of power within urged him—staggered to his feet, made a few steps and leaned heavily against his plane.
“Why—” Hal Dane’s mouth dropped open in amazement as he stared at the figure picked out whitely in the moonlight, “it’s—it’s Rex Raynor, famous—”
“Yes—yes! Don’t waste time gawking at me. Need help—got to get this—this packet on the train—at crossing!” He touched the bulge of the packet beneath his coat. His eyes were wild with pain, but somehow he forced his voice to be steady, even as he forced his body to stay upright. “Can you help—patch things—get me off—”
“Yes,” Hal Dane answered, “yes!” At first he had thought to offer the truck, but two tires were down and the back axle had steered in a strangely crooked fashion towards the end of that wild dash over stumps and boulders. It might take hours, days, to get the truck back into running order. The plane—maybe there was a chance there!
First, though, Hal slit open the bloody sleeve of Raynor’s coat and shirt. From torn strips of clothing he made bandages over a bullet wound in the lower left arm, and tightened a tourniquet above to stop further bleeding.
With iron grit Raynor held on to himself—sheer will power must have kept him from fainting a dozen times. In his harsh, steady voice he barked out his orders.