The Flying Reporter

by Lewis E. Theiss

Jimmy knew that there was not a second to lose. He must get out of the ship, and get out quick. He thought of Warren Long. He tried to keep his head. He reached for his switches and shut off his ignition, to prevent an explosion when the ship struck. Then he dropped both of his flares. They burst on the night like magnificent rockets, lighting up the mountain below them, like noonday. Jimmy took a single look over the side of his ship and began to struggle frantically to get out of his cockpit. Below him was nothing but jagged rocks and menacing tree growths.

Vainly he struggled. He could not lift himself out of the ship. Had the craft been under control, he could have flipped it over and catapulted himself out of the cockpit. But the plane was going down on level keel, whirling about like a top. Again Jimmy struggled. Desperately he fought to get out of his seat. With all his strength he pulled at the sides of the ship and shoved upward with his legs. Still he was held fast, as by a giant hand. Again he heaved his body upward, convulsively, frantically, with terrible effort. This time he was successful. He gained his feet. As he did so, he could see over the side of his ship.

The mountain was rising up to meet him at a terrifying pace. He was frightfully close to the ground. Snatching up his flash-light, he stepped out on the wing, then dived headlong into space.

He held his breath, fearful lest the whirling plane should strike him. It missed him by inches. He fought for self-control, lest he should pull the rip-cord too soon and cause his own death. Plainly he could see the spinning ship above him. He was going down head first, just as Warren Long had gone. Now he judged he was safe. Instantly he tore at the rip-cord. The steel ring came away in his hand. The parachute snapped out with a crack. It came ballooning open. With a jerk that almost knocked him senseless, Jimmy was snapped into an upright position. Then he went floating straight down.

Instantly he looked below him to see what was there. Then he glanced above, fearful that the falling ship might drop on him. The wind bore him slightly to one side of the descending plane. Jimmy drew a breath of relief and centred his attention on the ground at his feet. The flares were dying out. He snapped on his flash-light. At first it seemed terribly feeble. Then his eyes grew accustomed to the altered light. He saw he was going to land in some saplings. His feet went crashing down through the tree tops. Branches broke beneath him. They also broke his fall. Jimmy reached out and grabbed a little limb. It tore away from the tree trunk under his weight. But it almost stopped his descent. Desperately he clutched at another branch. This one was tougher and bigger. It held. Jimmy found himself motionless, not ten feet from the ground. He had suffered only a few bruises and scratches. He slid the rest of the way down the tree. He was on his feet, safe and sound.

But he was in a terrible plight. Five minutes more in the air would have put him into Bellefonte in safety. Now he was miles from the flying field, deep in the mountains, in the black of night.

Yet he had one advantage. He was not lost. He knew almost exactly where he was. Even as he was falling he had noticed the beacon at Mingoville. Now as he turned his powerful flash-light this way and that, he saw that he had landed in a notch. He knew it must be the Mingoville notch. And if it was, there was a trail running through it. He tore off the parachute and made his way down the slope of the notch to the bottom. Sure enough, here was the trail. Jimmy knew it led directly into Mingoville.

Recklessly he raced down it. The powerful ray from his flash-light illuminated the path ahead of him. Its beam, almost horizontal, showed him the irregularities of the way better even than the noonday sun would have done. Under other circumstances he would not have dared to run down this rough mountain path as he was now tearing along it. But he used the utmost care in striding, and succeeded in missing loose stones that would have turned his ankle.

Down the trail he ran, panting, sweating, his heart pounding in his breast. But never for a moment did he slacken his speed. In ten minutes the trail opened into a road. Not far away was a house, and through a window a light was shining.

Jimmy ran toward the house, shouting as he ran. A man stepped out of the door as he came panting up.