Flood waters

by Leland Jamieson

Progress through the water was an ordeal in which stamina and time only could win.

All three men were tired, Nick and the station man from pushing the hand-car to the wreck; the conductor from his walk to McLearson to report the accident. For nearly an hour they labored through the rising water, saying little to each other, each bent upon conserving his strength until the goal was reached.

At times the water lapped at the top layer of ties, almost floating them in spite of the weight of the four men who rode there. When the water was at its deepest, as when crossing fills in the railroad, progress was even slower; yet somehow they slowly won advancement and kept the car creeping through the rising flood.

After an hour of almost insurmountable difficulty they passed through the last cut and rolled the car out of the water toward the station. From that point on, their progress was much faster; they broke into a ragged trot, using up the last of their energy in an effort to get speed.

The streets of McLearson, though a veritable mire, were passable for motor traffic, and Nick and Doctor Matthies loaded the three injured men into an automobile and proceeded as quickly as possible to the edge of town where the Douglas was waiting. Dusk was lowering down upon them; the light of day was already failing and the rain had increased and fell in fitful, gusty showers. The men were transferred from the car to the stretchers of the plane, and Nick hurriedly examined the line of his take-off. He walked the full length of the field—some seven hundred feet—noting holes and ridges he must avoid when he started the mad rush to get off the ground. He noticed that at one point along the fence—where the ravine intersected it—there was danger of striking his wing against the bank, yet because of the added slope at this point he decided to take off toward it. He walked back to the plane quickly, knowing that he had less than fifteen minutes of daylight still remaining.

When he returned to the ship he found about thirty men and boys who had come to the field at the girl’s request. He cautioned them about the propeller, then climbed into the cockpit and started his motor, returning to the ground, while it warmed up, to instruct the men in aiding him to make the take-off.

“This field’s too muddy to get started rolling unless you help me,” he said to them. “First, I want six men to go to the end of the field”—he pointed out the ravine to them—“and wait there. I may crash this ship, and if I do there’ll probably be a bonfire. You wont have a chance to get me out—I’ll be right in the middle of it—but you can get the Doctor and the men out of the cabin if you’re right there when it happens, and work fast.”

“The six men whom he had selected tramped off through the mud and rain, and Nick turned to the others. Under his instructions they picked up the tail of the Douglas and rolled the ship back until the tail-surfaces were almost against the fence; then, with the Patrol pilot telling each of them where to stand, they stationed themselves in two groups at the trailing edge of the lower wings, each man having a handhold on the wing.

“When I open the throttle,” said Nick, “I want every man of you to push like hell! I mean push! Run with the ship just as long as you can keep up with it pushing—but don’t trail along behind after it is going faster than you can run. When you let go of the wing, look out you don’t get hit by the tail—step to one side and get out of the way.”

“He climbed into the cockpit again and settled himself in the seat. He was surprised, just as he was ready to gun his motor, by the girl’s appearance through the passageway between the pilot’s compartment and the passenger’s room to the rear. She stepped up through the aisleway and seated herself at Nick’s side.