“Yes, a hole in the air. That angle I turned was too sharp, but luckily the elevator was neutral. It’s too gusty. We’ve got to volplane.”
Now came the crisis. Dave was nearly thrown out of the seat as a stray wind gust caught the tail of the plane. The machine was nearly thrown up perpendicularly. Dave was not alarmed, but he was thrilled and excited. He could tell from the face of the aviator that Mr. King was working out some delicate problem of balance and adjustment. Abruptly the machine righted and sailed downwards on a sharp slant.
“We’re coming down pancake. Lucky for us,” spoke Mr. King in a tone of voice decidedly strained. “If we hadn’t, we would have scraped a wing, sure as fate.”
They were now directly over the field. Dave made out the motion picture group.
“Mr. King,” he said, “I think the manager is waving a flag.”
“Then it’s our signal. We’ll cut the circle next whirl around the course. Everything in place below there?”
“I think it is,” replied Dave, glancing down. “The convict is ready for us, I am sure.”
The airman had superb control of his machine. He had descended to a one hundred foot level, and narrowed the circles as they got directly above the spot where the man dressed in convict garb was seated. The latter was watching for them. Near by two prison guards were walking up and down. Dave had tied one end of the rope to the arm of the seat he occupied. The other end, weighted, was coiled up in his lap.
“Now,” ordered Mr. King, slowing up and directing the machine not thirty feet above the ground.
Dave dropped the weighted end of the rope. The convict threw down his hammer and grasped it. Bang! bang! went the rifles. The convict clung on, starting a seeming flight skywards. He let go five feet from the ground, and that section of the motion picture was cut off.