Between him and Ringtown were those stern and beetling hilltops—those mountains that towered heavenward for two thousand feet. Could he get over them? With his face drawn and serious Jimmy glanced at his altimeter. He was still well above that height, but he was losing elevation steadily. Could he get over those mountain crests? Could he find the landing field if he did get over?
Suddenly he thought of his radio. He put the mouthpiece to his lips. “This is Donnelly of the New York Press,” he said firmly and evenly. “I am between Numidia and Ringtown. My oil line has gone bad. My engine is failing. I am losing altitude fast. I am trying to get over the mountains west of Ringtown and land at that field. May need help.”
Jimmy had no idea whether or not any one would hear his call. Ordinarily the radio men would not be listening in for messages. Yet there was a chance that they might be listening to-night, because of the very bad weather. But Jimmy was reckoning without Beverly Graham. The moment he found that Jimmy had a sending set, the latter had issued orders that a constant watch be kept on the air. Hence Jimmy’s message came to waiting ears. The Bellefonte radio man caught it.
He didn’t even wait to answer Jimmy. There is no caretaker at the little Ringtown landing field. The Bellefonte operator knew that. But he snatched up his telephone and tried to get a connection with a man at Ringtown who had control over the field. The telephone operator was a long time in getting the connection. When finally the Bellefonte operator got his man, he said hastily: “A flier is making a forced landing at your field right away. See if you can do something to help him.”
But meantime, though the operator almost failed in his effort to get help for Jimmy, help from another source was at hand. Johnnie Lee had gotten Jimmy’s parachute message and read it. When night came on, and he saw what the weather was like, he doubted very much if Jimmy would attempt to return to New York. But if Jimmy did fly over, Johnnie wanted to signal him. He wanted his old friend to know that he had received his message. He knew that it was idle to attempt to send a message up through the fog with so impotent a thing as his flash-light. And so for a long time Johnnie had been at work preparing for a bonfire.
Fearful of setting fire to his father’s buildings, Johnnie had been stacking up old boards and rails on top of a pile of old wood that stood close to one edge of his father’s farm, and almost adjoining the landing field. He had thrown coal oil on the pile, saturating it thoroughly, and he had a bucket of gasoline all ready to throw on the heap before he touched a match to it.
But that was not all. As Jimmy had suspected, Johnnie had a radio sending set, like most of the other members of the Wireless Patrol. It would not carry his voice so very many miles, but Johnnie knew it would carry well enough for him to hold a conversation with Jimmy as the latter neared Ringtown. Even now he was at his radio, listening. He had been there for some time. He had caught the weather forecast from Bellefonte. He felt sure that if Jimmy had left Cleveland, he ought to be nearing Ringtown. So he listened hopefully yet fearfully. And suddenly he caught the very message that galvanized the Bellefonte operator into action. Jimmy was calling for help. He was near at hand. He was trying to make the Ringtown field, but there was nothing to guide him.
The instant Jimmy stopped speaking, Johnnie sent a call speeding through the air. “Jimmy Donnelly,” he said. “This is Johnnie Lee speaking. I heard your call for help. I have a big bonfire ready to light. I will touch it off at once. Maybe you can see it through the fog. The landing field is just beyond it. Is there anything else I can do to help you?”
Instantly there was an answer. “God bless you, Johnnie. Light your fire quick. I’m coming down fast, but I believe I’m going to clear the mountains. Get your fire lighted quick.”
Johnnie did not tarry a single instant. Out of the house he darted and away he rushed across the fields to his pile of wood, heedless of the dark and the fog. He knew the way perfectly and his flash-light helped him to avoid loose stones. He reached his beacon without a fall or a twisted ankle.