“How’s the pilot and co-pilot?” she asked, anxiety making her voice sound unnatural.
“They’ll come through all right,” said Sue. “I think the pilot has a slight concussion and his right arm is broken. The co-pilot is only suffering from shock and bruises.”
“And the girls?”
“They’re all right. When the fire died down a bit, several of them even tried to get close enough to salvage some of the mail, but the flames leaped up again and forced them back.”
The flyers were carried to the waiting ambulance and that vehicle soon lurched away over the uneven ground.
The crew from the Kearney field had brought powerful electric torches and with these they made a thorough survey of the tri-motor. It was a charred mass of twisted steel tubing, little resembling the proud ship which had bucked the storm a few hours before.
“The company can write about $80,000 off the books,” growled the manager of the Kearney field. “I wonder how it happened?”
“The left wing started to flutter,” said Miss Comstock. “I could tell from the vibration of the ship something was wrong and when I went up into the cockpit Slim Bollei told me we were in a jam. He was afraid the wing was going to tear loose so he cut the left motor. With the wind bad and the wing loosening up more every second we were in the air he had to hunt a place to set down quick.”
“Well, he sure put this crate down for keeps,” grunted the manager. “Guess we might as well start back to the field and I’ll write up a report of the accident.”
The girls piled into the big truck, Jane and Sue sitting at the very end with their feet hanging over.