CHAPTER XXII
WINGING WESTWARD
At midnight Hal Dane made his decision. He snatched a few hours’ sleep. Then in the early dawning he went out to inspect the Mazarin Field runway. Not so good—ground wet and heavy with days of drenching rain! But as the downpour seemed scheduled to continue indefinitely, things could only get worse instead of better. So—well, it might as well be now!
In spite of the foreboding, heavy weather, Hal Dane’s heart was light. The past days of indecision had sat like a burden upon his soul, and now that his mind was finally and firmly made up, he suddenly went ecstatic, happy beyond all measure.
He caught himself whistling as he gave his plane its last thorough looking over. It seemed to be in perfect shape. Whew! What a beauty it was! He slid an affectionate hand along its polished length as the men trundled it out into the field. There he slung aboard his provisions and water, climbed in and gave the signal for the blocks to be knocked away.
The motor roared and the plane started down the runway.
“Wish I were going too,” yelled the red-headed McGinnis as he raced alongside.
“Wish so—” Hal’s words were lost in the thud of the motor. The machine labored forward, gathering speed slowly. Wet, muddy ground and the last load of fuel seemed to have rooted it to earth. Would it never rise? Was this splendid attempt to meet disaster in the very beginning?
At last the heavily-loaded Wind Bird began to lift gallantly, rose to barely clear the tree line, then zoomed up into the sky.
Even at this unearthly hour, a horde of spectators milled on the ground below, their hearts’ hopes rising with this brilliant attempt of young Dane. For the young fellow, the shyest of heroes, who had run away from his first taste of fame, had overnight fired the enthusiasm of the whole nation.
As though lifted on the shouts of the onlookers, the lone flyer in his Wind Bird took the air and went up, up into the heights.