“There he does go—down!”
Off they pelted toward the road.
An airplane had been cruising over the flares. Its motor had stopped. That was sure.
And no one knew it better than Bob.
For he was the pilot whose engine stop had left him with a “dead stick.” He must glide. He had enough gliding angle, he supposed, to take him back to that providential field—if he could throw over a flare and make some sort of a set-down!——
It was dangerous—but it must be done.
For, in spite of its danger, knowing well what might happen, Bob had shut off his own engine—deliberately!
He had to—to save his life!
“Look!” gasped Curt, running. “See that glare? The ‘plane——”
“On fire!” panted Al.