Sleepy cut the motor to thirteen hundred and fifty revolutions, and as he nosed down, the speedometer jumped to a hundred and thirty-five miles an hour. In a shallow spiral he circled the field, dropping down to twenty-five hundred. Then he nosed upward and banked smoothly to the left, jamming on full right rudder as the big ship tilted. It shot downward on the tip of the left wing in a wicked side-slip. Trowbridge grabbed his goggles to keep them from blowing sideways, and strove to get his breath and conquer that sinking sensation in his stomach. In a moment the nose dropped, and in a smooth wing-turn the ship zoomed upward again and banked to the right. Another side-slip to the right, and they were down to fifteen hundred feet.
With a somewhat strained smile twisting his lips, the Sheriff watched Sleepy handle his ship. The flyer’s eyes rested steadily on the field below, and he seemed to fly instinctively. Alternately to the right and left, the roaring ship dropped downward. At five hundred feet Sleepy gave it full gun and flashed across the field for a last look. It appeared to be a close-cut hayfield, with no particular obstacle except a shallow ditch cutting diagonally across the northeast corner.
The ship swept out of the slip barely a foot above the ground, and sped across the ground with quickly decreasing speed. For a split-second it seemed to hover, and at the instant Sleepy jerked the stick back. Came the crunch of the tail skid and the rumble of the wheels on the ground in a perfect three-point landing. Most people do not know that alongside a perfect landing most of the thrilling acrobatic flying they “oh” and “ah” is child’s play.
The big plane stopped rolling a hundred yards short of the end of the field, and Sleepy promptly turned off the gas pet-cock, to allow the motor to run itself out of gas. By this method damaging backfire in the expensive, fragile motor would be impossible. In a moment the Liberty sputtered and died, and the seven-foot propeller came to rest. He clicked off the switches and released the air-pressure.
“You use these things right careless-like,” came the Sheriff’s voice, vague because ear-drums were still humming from the roar of the motor.
The pilot unstrapped himself, climbed out, and leaned restfully against the trailing edge of a wing while he set fire to a cigarette and watched the Sheriff release himself from his belt and climb out.
“Funny there ain’t nobody out to greet us,” remarked Trowbridge. “Let’s mosey over to the emporium.” The front door was closed; and there was not a sign of life. They went to the back door, and the Sheriff knocked without result. He tried the door experimentally, and it opened.
“I don’t quite get the lay,” said Trowbridge, as he led Spears into the sitting-room. “O George! You lazy old counter-jumper, where be yuh?”
A muffled cry came to them from the store. Without a word, Trowbridge lumbered swiftly up the passageway that led to the store, Spears behind him.
“Great God!” breathed the Sheriff, as he reached the office door. Almost before the words were out of his mouth, Sleepy was peering over his shoulder at the gruesome tableau.