Front matter (continued 3)

Jimmy was out of her in a flash. Throwing off his parachute, and leaving Carl to guard the plane, he hurried off with his mats. In no time he found the editor of the Berlin paper, delivered the mats and the message, and was back at his ship. But on the way he had stopped at a garage to engage some gasoline. Soon a tank wagon rolled up, and Jimmy’s tanks were quickly filled. Then, waving good-bye to the circle of admiring small boys, Jimmy hopped off.

A great, bald-faced, precipitous hill rose to the west of the town. Jimmy circled over the city, to gain altitude. Below him he noticed the great pulp mill and the enormous pile of pulp wood, that rose like a little mountain close beside the river. The whole atmosphere was redolent of the sulphur used in making paper.

But Jimmy had little interest now in sightseeing. The instant he had gained sufficient altitude, he darted away to the west, shot between the hills, and sped straight as an arrow to Lancaster, the nearest town on the Connecticut.

Then he banked to the left and with throttle opened wide went roaring down the valley of that river, over the same route by which he had come. He dropped Carl at Springfield, after getting his promise that when things were straightened out at home Carl would come to New York to visit him.

Again he took off, and this time he did not come to earth again until he landed at his home field. A taxi once more took him to the Press office, where he delivered his news proofs and films to the city editor, then sat down and for a long time worked industriously at his typewriter, putting down on paper the description of what he had seen and learned at Northend.

His trip back to Long Island was a pleasant one. Again he had been equal to the occasion. Once more he had made good. But there was one memory of his recent trip that left a bad taste in his mouth. That was the thought of Rand. On several occasions now he had gotten the better of the fellow. Each time Jimmy had triumphed over him, Rand had made his hatred more evident, had tried meaner tricks to thwart Jimmy. But never before had Rand cursed him at sight or seemed so venomously hostile.

“I’ll have to watch him carefully,” thought Jimmy. “He is vicious enough to do most anything.” And Jimmy was right, as coming events were to prove.

CHAPTER X

Jimmy Visits a Lightship off the Coast

For some time after his flight to Northend Jimmy found life rather tame. No really big stories happened in the eastern part of the country. So Jimmy was occupied from day to day with minor tasks that provided little excitement. Yet all the while he was learning more about his job. From day to day he talked with fellow pilots at the Long Island airport, and drew from them as much as he could in the way of helpful suggestions about flying. For some of them had had extremely trying experiences. Whenever he was with newspaper men Jimmy asked as many questions as he could about reporting and news coverage. He bore in mind what the managing editor had said to him: “If you continue to improve, you’ll make a great reporter some day.” It was Jimmy’s ambition to be one of the very best. So he welcomed every experience that added to his knowledge.

Even when his work seemed tamest he was acquiring facts and knowledge with surprising rapidity; and all that he learned enlarged his background and was just so much preparation for the day when he should truly become a great reporter. One of his assignments was to fly out to an incoming steamer in a seaplane and bring ashore some important news photographs from Europe. It was on this flight that Jimmy had his first sight of a lightship anchored at sea. He was instructed to meet the incoming ship near the Ambrose lightship, off the entrance to the Ambrose Channel that leads from the deep water of the sea up to the New York harbor.

Jimmy knew the approximate hour of the steamship’s arrival at that point. He flew out to sea a little early, to be certain that he was on time. He was to get the pictures when the ship slowed down to pick up the pilot who was to guide her up the channel to her dock. Arrangements had been made by wireless with the photographer, who was aboard the liner. He was to get the pictures down to Jimmy in the seaplane.

When the latter reached the lightship, the ocean liner was not yet in sight. Jimmy decided that he would not fly out to sea to meet her. He was a little distrustful of all this vast stretch of water about him. He had been ordered to meet the ship when she picked up her pilot. The pilot boat was cruising not far away. Jimmy decided that he would come down on the water, which was very calm, and take a look at the lightship. So he flew close to the vessel, then came down in a long glide, and was soon bobbing safely on the gentle swells of the Atlantic.

The lightship was only a few hundred feet distant. Jimmy turned the nose of his plane toward the vessel and taxied to a point close to leeward of it. He had never seen such a curious craft. It was a clumsy, bunty sort of ship, apparently not more than a hundred feet long, with bulging, bulky bow, like that of a Dutch canal-boat. The sides of the vessel were very high for a ship of her length. The ship was a straw color; and painted on her hull in huge letters was the word Ambrose. She had two masts, and at the top of each mast was apparently a guide light, protected by a circular black iron grating, to flash out warning signals in the dark.

Jimmy taxied as close to the ship as he dared. The crew of ten or a dozen men was lined up along the leeward rail, watching him. Apparently the men thought he wished to board the ship, for one of them had a light line in his hand. Seeing that, Jimmy decided he would go aboard. He scanned the sea and saw no sign of an approaching liner. Then he forced his plane a very little closer to the lightship and waited. At once the man with the coil of rope drew back his arm and flung the line straight toward Jimmy. It sped through the air, uncoiling as it flew, and dropped lightly on the fuselage of the plane. Jimmy stepped out on a wing and secured the line. In another moment he had been drawn close up to the ship. A port opened. A sailor skilfully drew one wing up to the side of the ship, holding it so it would not bump the vessel. Jimmy walked out on the wing and climbed aboard the vessel. At once his plane was allowed to drift a few fathoms to leeward, where it was safe.

The sailors, eager for news from shore, flocked around Jimmy. They plied him with questions. When he had answered all they asked, he put a few questions himself. He wanted to know about all the interesting things he saw. The huge anchor chain and the anchor itself interested Jimmy. The chain was the thickest chain Jimmy had ever seen. The links were made of iron two inches thick, and each link was strengthened by a cast-iron stud. Jimmy whistled when the captain told him that a single fathom of the chain weighed close to 200 pounds, and that the entire chain, measuring only 120 fathoms, weighed about twelve tons. Of course, the chain had to be moved by an engine.

The anchors, too, attracted Jimmy. One of them was at the bottom of the sea, of course, but the other was stopped fast at the bow of the vessel, ready to be let down at a moment’s notice. It was a mushroom anchor, and got its name from its shape; for it looked for all the world like a huge metal toadstool. The circular edge of the anchor was sharp, so it would bite into the bottom of the sea easily.

But the thing that interested Jimmie most was the light. This, the captain said, was an occulting white light, that was visible for twelve out of every fifteen seconds. The light at the forward masthead is always used, excepting when that light is out of commission. Then the after light shines.

“If there was a string of lights like this one, each with a distinctive flash,” said Jimmy, “a fellow could find his way by night at sea as easily as he can follow his route on land when he follows the Air Mail beacons.”

“There is a string of lights all along the coast,” said the captain, “and each has its distinctive flash. Most of them are on land, but a few are floating lights, like this, which mark danger points far out from shore.”

Jimmy discovered that the great twelve-inch steam fog-whistle blows for three seconds in each fifteen, when the fog is bad at this light station, and the fog bell rings once every thirty seconds. Once every twelve seconds the submarine bell strikes two groups of two strokes each. And the radio fog-signal of the Ambrose lightship is a continuous string of dashes, exactly like the signal of the radio beacons along the lighted airway. Thus, whether a passing ship’s captain sees the light or merely hears the fog-horn, or detects the radio signal, he knows what lightship he is passing.

Jimmy was so much interested in learning about the lightship that he could have spent hours aboard of her, but the captain warned him that the liner was visible on the horizon. Jimmy knew it was time for him to be stirring. His plane was drawn up to the ship and he got carefully aboard of her. Soon he was in the air. He came down close to the pilot-boat, which was ready to put a pilot aboard the approaching steamer. The men on this boat said they would get his photographs for him when they put the pilot aboard the liner.

The big steamer came plowing along, her speed gradually lessening, until she was practically at a standstill. Meantime a rowboat had taken the pilot from the pilot-boat to the side of the liner. The pilot climbed up the ladder at the side of the ship and spoke to the photographer who stood at the rail, ready with his photographs. These were carefully wrapped for protection. He handed them to a sailor who slipped down the ladder with them and put them in the hands of one of the men in the rowboat. The little craft headed about and pulled for the pilot-boat. The liner began to move slowly and presently was steaming away at a rapid rate.

Jimmy was all ready to board his plane when the men got back with his pictures. He stowed them in his coat, climbed carefully aboard his ship, and floated away to a safe distance. Then he rose from the water, headed his plane straight for his landing-place on the southern shore of Long Island, and went streaking back with his pictures. He gave them to a waiting messenger and hustled to get back to his own field.

As he drew near the hangar he noticed great activity. Mechanics were bustling about, ships were on the line, ready to take off, and pilots were getting into their flying togs. Jimmy knew something was in the air. He was just about to ask some one what was up when a mechanic who looked after his ship spied him and shouted: “Call up your office. You are wanted. There’s a big story that broke up in Pennsylvania. I’ve got your ship ready to go at a moment’s notice. She’s been warming up for half an hour.”

CHAPTER XI

Jimmy is Tricked by His Rival

In a moment Jimmy was in telephonic communication with his chief. “There has been a big coal mine disaster, Jimmy,” said Mr. Johnson. “We have just received a despatch from Shenandoah about it. The mine is near that city. More than one hundred men are believed to have been imprisoned in the mine. It is not known how many are dead or whether any of the entombed miners are still alive. We want as complete a story of the disaster as you can gather in a short time, and we particularly want photographs. You’ve got just about time enough to get there and get some photographs before dark. You can pick up your story after you get your pictures. Then hustle back here. If you make as good time as you have made on some other assignments, you can get back here before 10:30. You ought to make it by 11:00 for sure, and you must be here by 11:15. I would send Handley with you, but he is in Phillipsburg on a story. I will try to get into touch with him by phone, and order him to go to Shenandoah, to follow up the story to-morrow.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Johnson,” said Jimmy. “Good-bye. I’m off.” And in less than no time he was off.

The minute Jimmy had reached a safe altitude and was straightened out on his course, he began to consider how he should cover this story. He had never reported the story of a coal mine disaster. He was a little uncertain as to how to get at it.

First of all, there was the matter of topography. Shenandoah was in the very heart of the anthracite region in Pennsylvania. That meant it was right among the hills. Jimmy knew the region well. It was almost on the Air Mail route. In fact, in a straight line it was only three miles from Ringtown. But a great ridge—the North Mahanoy Mountain, that towered aloft almost 1,900 feet—rose between Ringtown and Shenandoah. The highway between the two places, circuitous and winding, was probably twice that distance. Jimmy was of course sure that he could make a landing at Ringtown. But whether he could do so at Shenandoah or not, he did not know. The town itself occupied almost every foot of the level land in the little bottom in which it stood. On every side the ground rose sharply.

Jimmy managed to get the proper topographic map from his map case. Folding it in small compass he studied it as he flew along. The only place where there seemed to be even the possibility of making a safe landing was in the tiny bottom along Lost Creek, southwest of the town. But the more Jimmy studied the map, the more impossible this place seemed for his purpose. Jimmy finally decided that he would not take a chance. He would land at Ringtown, get a motor car, and drive to Shenandoah.

“If Johnnie Lee is home,” thought Jimmy, “there won’t be a bit of trouble about that. Johnnie will take me over there in his car. That will be just the thing, too. Then he can help me cover the story. I can tell him what to do and he can do it readily enough. It will give him a start toward reporting. Johnnie will know the country round about, too, and that may be a very great advantage. For I see now that it is going to hustle me to get back on time. I’m sure glad this has turned out this way.”

A load seemed to drop from Jimmy’s mind. He had come to a decision as to his course. Now he had only to drive ahead as fast as possible along the way he had chosen. He felt his confidence growing.

Suddenly he heard his own name sounding in his head phones. “The New York Press speaking to Jimmy Donnelly,” said the voice. “We have been in touch with Handley at Phillipsburg. He will go with you to Shenandoah. Land at Easton and wait for him. He is on the watch for you.”

Jimmy hardly knew whether to be pleased or sorry. He would be glad enough of Handley’s help. Even the two of them could not clean up the story in the short time Jimmy would have at the scene of the disaster. But now that Jimmy saw an opportunity to help his friend Johnnie Lee, he rather regretted that Handley was to join him. They could hardly bother with Johnnie now.

These thoughts went through Jimmy’s mind in an instant. They did not prevent him from answering promptly the Morning Press message. He put his mouthpiece to his lips and said: “Jimmy Donnelly talking to the New York Press. I have your message about Handley and will wait for him at Easton.”

When Jimmy reached that city, it looked for a little time as though he would not be able to keep his word. It hardly seemed possible to make a landing. But west of the city Jimmy found some fields and got down safety, though he had a scare when he saw a fence loom up suddenly before him. His plane struck sand and came to a stop within ten feet of the fence.

Jimmy hopped out of the ship and looked about him. Handley was nowhere in sight. “He’ll have to come along pretty soon if we are to get the stuff back to New York in time,” thought Jimmy. “I wonder if there is anything I could do to help matters.”

He thought of Johnnie Lee. “If I could talk to him,” muttered Jimmy, “I could put him right to work.”

With Jimmy, to think was to act. Not far away was a house. Jimmy raced over to it, and was rejoiced to see that telephone wires ran to the house. He knocked at the door. A pleasant faced woman answered his knock.

“Good afternoon,” said Jimmy, politely. “I need very much to use a telephone. May I use yours?”

The woman looked him over. “I take it you are the pilot of the plane that just landed,” she said.

“I am,” said Jimmy, “and I am in a trying situation. It will help me greatly if I may use your phone.”

“Go ahead,” she said. “You are welcome. I’ll be glad if it will help you.”

Jimmy called for the long-distance operator and asked for the Lee home in Ringtown. He begged the operator to hurry the call, as it was an urgent one. In a very few moments Jimmy had his connection. To his delight, Johnnie himself answered the telephone. Jimmy recognized his voice at once.

“Hello, Johnnie,” he said. “This is Jimmy Donnelly. Have you heard anything about a mine explosion in your neighborhood?”

“We sure have,” said Johnnie. “It was near Krebs. It was a terrible affair.”

“Where’s Krebs?” demanded Jimmy.

“About two miles from here. It’s at the foot of North Mahanoy Mountain.”

“What do you know about the disaster, Johnnie?”

“A lot, Jimmy. My father’s first cousin, Pat Healy, telephoned us all about it. He’s a foreman in the mine, and was just on his way out when the explosion occurred. He got out all right, though he was hurt some. But he says there are scores of men entombed.”

“Can you get hold of him again, Johnnie?” cried Jimmy, his voice almost shaking with eagerness.

“Sure. He lives near us. Why?”

“It’s like this, Johnnie. I’m on my way out to cover this story. I’ve got to get pictures and as much of the story as I can pick up in a little while. But I had to land in Easton to pick up Mr. Handley. That’s going to delay me a lot. This is a chance for you to show what you can do in collecting news. Will you try it?”

“Will I? You bet your neck I will. What do you want me to do?”

“Have you got a camera?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Then get some pictures of the wrecked mine if you can, and of the mine entrance, injured miners, crowds at the shaft, or anything else that will illustrate the story.”

“I can do that easily. I can drive to the mouth of the mine in less than ten minutes. I’ll hustle right over and get all the pictures I can. Anything else?”

“Sure. Get the story. Get hold of your father’s cousin again. Find as many survivors as possible. See anybody you can who is in authority at the mine and get a statement from him. Get all the details you can.”

“Just what do you want, Jimmy?”

“Find out what happened, when it happened, where it happened, how it happened, why it happened, and to whom it happened. Get every detail you can about every phase of the story. Get the names of the dead and injured, if possible. Find out how many are still in the mine. Maybe Mr. Healy can tell you. Get a story of the explosion from him. Find out how it happened and what caused it. Get Mr. Healy to tell you about the mine itself—what it is like, whether there is any chance for rescue, whether there are places where the imprisoned men can take refuge in the mine. Ask all the questions you can think of. Try to get enough stuff together so you can tell me a complete story of the disaster when I get there.”

“I’ll do it, Jimmy. I’m off this minute. Good-bye.”

Jimmy said good-bye and rang off. “That was a lucky thought,” he muttered, “to set Johnnie to work. He’s evidently got the inside track. He may be able to get the whole story.”

Jimmy ascertained the amount of his tolls and paid the woman. She had heard his talk with Johnnie and was intensely interested. She asked Jimmy question after question about his work as a flying reporter. Before Jimmy knew it, half an hour had passed. Then he noticed a clock and frowned. He looked out at his plane. Some small boys had gathered about it, but there was no sign of Handley. Fifteen minutes more passed, and Jimmy was growing desperate. Finally he reached for the telephone again. “Please get me the New York Morning Press” he told the operator.

When Jimmy finally got his connection, he called for Mr. Johnson. “Have you any idea how long it is going to take Handley to reach me here at Easton?” he asked. “I’ve waited for him more than an hour already. I’ve got to push on if I am to get any photographs.”

“What’s this about Handley and Easton and waiting an hour? What are you talking about?” demanded the managing editor.

“What am I talking about!” exclaimed Jimmy. “I am talking about Handley. You ordered me to wait for him in Easton. I’ve been here at Easton for more than an hour. Can you give me any idea how soon he will arrive? I can’t possibly wait much longer if I am to get back with the story in time for the midnight edition.”

“You’re in Easton! Waiting for Handley! What are you talking about? I never ordered you to stop at Easton. You ought to be in Shenandoah this very minute.”

“You never ordered me to stop at Easton!” cried Jimmy. “Somebody did. I received a radio message forty minutes after I took off, telling me you had ordered Handley to join me here and ordering me to wait for him. I acknowledged the message and supposed you had my acknowledgment.”

“Somebody has put one over on you, Jimmy,” said the managing editor. “It’s a pretty bad business. But we have no time to discuss it now. Get on to Shenandoah as fast as you can and do the best you can. I want to see you about this as soon as you get back here. Now hustle.”

Jimmy was mortified, angry, and anxious. His face showed his anxiety. He paid his telephone tolls and raced back to his plane. As fast as he could, he got his ship into the air. Then he opened his throttle as far as it would open and went streaking along the Air Mail route for Ringtown.

In less than half an hour he dropped down on the landing field at that place. He leaped from his plane, threw off his flying togs, and raced for Johnnie Lee’s house. Johnnie’s mother met him at the door.

“Johnnie’s expecting you,” she said. “He called up a few minutes ago and said you should call him at Healy’s when you arrived. Come in. I’ll get the connection for you.” And in no time she had it. She asked for Johnnie and handed the receiver to Jimmy.

“Hello, Johnnie,” he said. “This is Jimmy. I just arrived at your house. Where are you? How can I get into touch with you?”

“I’m at Healy’s. It’s straight down the road. Mother will show you the way. Come over as quick as you can. Mr. Healy is talking to me now.”

Jimmy hung up the receiver, got directions from Mrs. Lee, and raced down the road. In ten minutes he was in the Healy home.

“What have you done and what have you learned?” Jimmy demanded, after Johnnie had introduced him to Mr. Healy.

“I went right over to the mine with my camera, after you called me, and I have a whole roll of films for you—a dozen pictures. They ought to be good, for the conditions were just right for taking them. I got a picture of the mine mouth, the crowd about it, some snaps of the rescue crews descending into the mine, one of an injured miner who was hurt in the attempt at rescue, and other similar pictures.”

“Good! They are just what I want. What about the story?”

“I believe I have the whole thing. Mr. Healy was in the mine when the explosion occurred. In fact, he was close to the very spot where it happened. He saw the explosion occur. He was injured slightly, but not disabled. He gathered together all the men within call and started for an old opening that is no longer used. The explosion had prevented escape through the shaft used nowadays. Gases began to spread through the mine, and the men with Mr. Healy were overcome one by one. Those still able to walk tried to drag the others out. But the only man who got out on his own feet was my cousin. He dragged out one man. Then he collapsed himself. He came to in about half an hour and managed to stagger home. He telephoned about the man he had dragged out, and some miners came and got him. We heard about it over the telephone, just before you called me from Easton.”

“Won’t you repeat your story to me, Mr. Healy?” asked Jimmy. “Just start at the beginning. Tell me what the conditions were like in the mine when the explosion came. That is, about how many men you think went into the mine, how many were still in it, and what the mine is like. Give me a mental picture of it, so I can follow your story. Then start again with the explosion and tell me what you saw and did.” For half an hour Mr. Healy talked steadily, stopping only when he was interrupted by Jimmy with a question. He gave Jimmy an excellent picture of the mine workings. Mr. Healy had been a foreman in this particular mine for years, and knew every foot of it as workers above ground know the cities in which they live. Then he told of the explosion, pictured the damage it did, showed how it shut off escape by the newer shaft, and pictured the situation of the imprisoned men. He estimated their number at more than one hundred.

“If the gas was as severe in other chambers as it was where we were,” he said, “most of those one hundred men are now dead. I have been using the telephone, and so far as I can learn, we two men who got out through the old drift are the only men who have escaped. Unless some of the miners were able to retreat to dead ends of passages, ahead of the gas, and make air-tight barricades to keep the gas out, I fear every man in the mine is past help. But we shall not know for sure until the rescue crews have searched every foot of the workings. That will take many hours, and perhaps some days.”

Jimmy checked back over his notes. His story seemed to be very complete. He asked for a few more details about this point or that. Then he thrust his notes into his pocket. “You have given me a very complete account, Mr. Healy,” he said. “I can write a mighty clear story just from these notes. But I must see the mine myself, and the mine mouth, and the crowds, and if possible I must talk with some of the officials. You don’t feel well enough to go over there with me, do you?”

“Yes, I am all right now,” said Mr. Healy. “I’ll be glad to go with you.”

They hurried out to Johnnie’s car and were rushed over to the mouth of the mine, which was hardly more than a mile distant. Parking the car, the three walked about through the crowd, observing, asking questions, gathering up what incidents they could.

“There’s the superintendent,” said Mr. Healy, as a large man came out of one of the mine buildings. “Would you like to talk to him?”

“I surely would,” answered Jimmy.

“Then come on.”

They walked toward the man. While they were still at some distance from him, they saw a young man hurry up to him and lay a detaining hand on his arm. The superintendent looked surprised. The young man said something. The superintendent brushed him roughly aside and went on. He seemed angry. He was still frowning when he came face to face with Mr. Healy and the two lads.

“Pat, I’m mighty glad to see you,” said the superintendent, “but I am mighty sad to see you alone. I fear it’s all up with the men underground.”

“This young man wants to talk to you,” said Mr. Healy. “He’s a reporter from New York.”

“So was that jackass that just tried to stop me,” said the superintendent. “I don’t want to talk to reporters.”

“But this lad is a very good friend of mine,” urged Mr. Healy. “And he is a gentleman. I know you will be willing to talk to him.”

“Well, what is it?” said the superintendent. “I haven’t much time to spare. This is a crowded hour for me.”

“Thank you very much,” said Jimmy. “I know how you feel. I don’t blame you for not wanting to talk about this terrible affair. I appreciate your courtesy.” Then Jimmy began to ask questions, in a courteous, considerate manner. The mine official gave him all the information he asked for.

When the interview was ended, the superintendent walked on. So did the Healy party.

Presently Jimmy heard a voice saying: “There he is. He’s the only man who escaped unaided. He dragged out another man, and they are the only men who have reached the surface so far.”

“I’ll get a statement from him,” replied another voice.

Jimmy knew this latter voice well—too well. He began to tremble with anger. A sudden light shone in upon him. Now he understood the game that had been played upon him. Now he knew who had tricked him into landing at Easton. The voice he was listening to was the voice of Rand.

Like a shot Jimmy turned to Johnnie. “If you think anything of me, Johnnie,” he said, “don’t let your cousin talk to the fellow who is coming to interview him. It’s Rand, the fellow I have told you about. It was Rand who stopped the superintendent a little while ago, though at a distance I did not recognize him. But I know well enough now who it was.”

Johnnie laid his hand on Mr. Healy’s arm. “Pat,” he said, “this fellow who is approaching to talk to you is Jimmy’s worst enemy. He has just played a dirty trick on him. Don’t say a word to him.”

“Played a dirty trick on Jimmy, did he? Very well. He gets no news from me.”

A moment later Rand stepped up and began to question the mine foreman. “I have nothing to say. See the superintendent,” snapped Mr. Healy. And turning on his heel, he strode away, with Johnnie and Jimmy at his heels.

But as Jimmy walked away, he said: “Rand, dirty tricks don’t pay. You thought you had put over a clever one when you got me down at Easton to-day, but your game failed. This is what came of it. You lose out yourself.” And Jimmy hurried after Mr. Healy and Johnnie, while Rand stood and cursed him. “I’ll get you yet,” Jimmy heard him say. But Jimmy wasn’t caring about Rand’s threats. He held all the aces in the pack himself.

CHAPTER XII

Jimmy Lands a Job for Johnnie

When Jimmy had finished writing his story, after a fast trip back to his office, where he arrived well ahead of his deadline, he reported to the managing editor.

“Well, I see you got here in time anyway, Jimmy,” smiled that official. “Your photographs are fine, but they are a little small. Why didn’t you use your regular news camera?”

“I didn’t take the pictures, Mr. Johnson. Johnnie Lee took them. He had to use his own camera because I was miles away, at Easton. He got the story, too, and he got the details in fine shape. If it hadn’t been for Johnnie, I guess I’d still be at the mine.”

“This sounds interesting. How did your young friend get into the affair, anyway? Tell me about it.”

“There isn’t much to tell, Mr. Johnson. When I landed at Easton, and didn’t see Handley anywhere, I suspected I might have to wait some time for him, so I called Johnnie up at his home. By good luck he was right at hand. He lives within two miles of the wrecked mine. I asked him to see what he could do for me. He skipped right over in his car, got the photographs, rounded up the only man who escaped from the mine on his own feet, and had the whole story in hand when I reached there. He introduced me to this survivor, who is a foreman in the mine, and so was able to give us such a comprehensive description of the place. Then Johnnie took us both back to the mine, so I could see the place and the crowds for myself. The foreman got me an interview with the mine superintendent. And by the way, the superintendent had just refused to talk to Rand.”

“Rand, eh? So he’s working on this story.” The managing editor’s eyes narrowed to mere slits. He looked at Jimmy intently. “You don’t suppose, Jimmy, that Rand——”

“Yes, sir, I do suppose so,” interrupted Jimmy. “I’d be willing to bet my last nickel that it was Rand who tricked me into landing at Easton. You know the paper he works for has a plane at the same field where we keep ours. I didn’t see Rand at the field before I took off, but I believe he was there. And I believe that in some way he got wind of the fact that you had ordered me to Shenandoah. I have no proof of that, and I don’t see how I can get proof. He might easily have picked up the fact from employees about the field. My mechanic knew that you wanted me to make the trip. He told me so the instant I got in from my flight out to sea. He might have mentioned the matter to other people about the field. Of course everybody soon knew about the disaster, and it was a safe bet that I would have to fly to the scene. Rand would know that.”

“Yes, or some one may have tapped our wire. Or some one may be paying mechanics at the field to keep tabs on you. I know of at least one newspaper in this town that wouldn’t be above such work. You just watch yourself, Jimmy. Keep your eyes and ears open and see if you can’t find out more about this matter. Everything turned out well this time, but you won’t always have a Johnnie Lee on the spot to pull you out of a hole.”

“That’s what he did, Mr. Johnson. Johnnie pulled me out of a great big hole. I might have rounded up the story after I got there, but I could not possibly have gotten the pictures also. It grew dark soon after I reached the mine. Johnnie made a fine job of it. I believe you will say so, too, when you read his story.”

Just then a copy boy thrust some proofs into Mr. Johnson’s hands.

“Here it is,” said the managing editor. “Now we’ll see what your story is like.”

“It’s really Johnnie’s story, Mr. Johnson,” protested Jimmy. “Please read it and see if you don’t think Johnnie has shown enough ability now to start in as a cub.”

Mr. Johnson smiled. “What a fine world it would be, Jimmy,” he said, “if we all had such loyal friends as Johnnie Lee has in you.”

Then he began to read, and the expression on his face showed well enough that he was interested. When he had finished, he laid down the proofs. “It’s a good story, Jimmy,” he said. “Then does Johnnie get his job?” demanded Jimmy.

“You are nothing if not an ardent partisan, Jimmy. I hadn’t any idea of employing Johnnie; but he has been so useful to us that if he wants to come on here and start in as a cub, at the lowest salary we pay cubs, we’ll give him a chance. I somehow have a feeling that he has good stuff in him.”

“Indeed he has, Mr. Johnson. You’ll never be sorry you hired him. When do you want him to report for work?”

“There’s no hurry, Jimmy. I’ll drop him a line in a few days. I want him to understand exactly the terms on which he comes and the amount of pay he will receive while he is learning his job.”

“Thank you ever so much, Mr. Johnson. I’ll do all I can to help him make good.” And Jimmy walked out of the managing editor’s office as happy as a lark. Altogether, it had been a mighty good day for Jimmy.

“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” he thought. “If Rand hadn’t pulled me down at Easton, Johnnie would never have gotten this job. It just seems to me as though most of the things that look like difficulties when they occur are really opportunities. It’s been that way with me more than once. The main thing is to keep a stiff upper lip, use your head, and just keep on going. I’ll try to remember that the next time I get in a pinch.”

Jimmy went back to his ship, to see that she was put in shape for instant use again. He was very happy. Not only had he made good again for himself, but he had helped his old friend. He had secured for him the opening that Johnnie so much desired. He wanted to write to Johnnie and tell him about the situation, but he decided not to do it. “Mr. Johnson evidently prefers to write to him himself,” thought Jimmy. “I don’t want to do anything that could possibly gum things up.” So he restrained himself.

It wasn’t long, however, before Jimmy had abundant opportunity to tell Johnnie all about the matter. A new and important airport was to be opened in central Pennsylvania. Celebrated fliers by the dozens were to be on hand. An attractive program of races and flying stunts had been arranged, and the affair had been given great publicity. Mr. Johnson decided to send a man to cover the story. Quite naturally, he selected Jimmy.

“Go up there and get us a good story, Jimmy,” he said. “If all the fliers are present who are advertised to be there, this will be a very interesting gathering. And by the way, I suppose you will fly out along the Air Mail route. If you do, stop at Ringtown and take Johnnie Lee along with you. I wrote him two days ago, offering him a job, and I just received his reply. He is eager to come. Pick him up and take him to the airport opening with you. I’ll give you credentials for him. He can start right in with you. And remember, I expect you to help him learn his job.”

“Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” replied Jimmy. “I’ll do my very best to help Johnnie. You won’t be sorry you hired him. I’ll pick him up as I fly out, and bring him back to the city with me.”

“That’s exactly what I wish,” replied the managing editor.

So it happened that when Jimmy flew to the air races, he stopped at Ringtown and picked up his old friend. Then the two flew on to the airport.

The aviation meeting was all it had been advertised to be. Scores of pilots were present, many of them famous veterans of the air. The edge of the flying field was lined for hundreds of yards with ships that were crowded so close together their wing tips almost touched. There were flying machines of almost every known variety. Tiny Moth planes stood wing to wing with huge tri-motored cabin ships that would hold a dozen passengers each. There were monoplanes and biplanes, and even some gliders were to be seen. The Army and the Navy were represented by several fliers each. The planes of the latter instantly caught the eye as they stood on the line in military formation, noticeable among all other planes for their blazing insignia on their wing surfaces. It was a sight to delight a pilot’s heart.

Yet the ground show was nothing compared to the exhibition in the air. Aloft there was a constant stream of ships. Some were arriving, some departing, some were carrying passengers at so much a ride, some were stunting, and others were merely aloft for the pleasure of it. Then came races. The air was cleared of all other fliers, and the speedsters had their innings. Back and forth they darted along a course many miles long, one end of which was in the centre of the new airport. Around the striped pylon they roared, some darting upward on the turn, others roaring around on level keel. And so steeply were the ships banked that each seemed fairly to be standing on one wing as it whirled around the pylon. It was a stirring sight.

But the performance that stopped every heart and made every onlooker hold his breath was the parachute jumps. Jimmy and Johnnie had gone aloft again by the time the jumping started. Ever since Jimmy had received the piece of Warren Long’s parachute, he had felt a particular interest in parachute jumps. He believed he could see the jumps better if he were in the air, about on the level with the jumpers, than he could see them if he were on the ground. Likewise, he wanted to get some photographs of the jumpers, taken from aloft. So he and Johnnie had gone aloft once more.

They flew along lazily, to the rear of the ship that held the jumpers. And they were a little lower than this ship. Jimmy wanted to see just how the parachutes worked. He had selected an excellent viewpoint; for when the first jumper walked out on a wing of the ship and calmly dropped toward the earth, Jimmy could see his every movement. Down dropped the man, straight as a plummet, hardly moving his body or limbs, until he was well below the plane. Then Jimmy saw him reach for the rip-cord, grasp the metal ring, and give it a sharp jerk. With an instant response the covers of the parachute pack snapped open, the folds of the white silk “umbrella” were caught by the wind, ballooning out and opening full with a crack that could be heard all over the huge airport. The downward flight of the jumper was checked. With a jerk he spun upright, then settled toward the earth under his wide-spreading canopy. He landed safely, amid great applause. Johnnie got several fine snaps with the camera while the jump was taking place.

Another jumper followed. This one elected to come down awhirling. He stepped off backward, and went spinning toward the earth like a ball. When he pulled his rip-cord, his parachute pulled him upright with a jerk that, as Jimmy phrased it, must have splashed his liver against his backbone like a butcher throwing a slab of beef on the block. But the jumper landed safe and sound and appeared none the worse for his experience.

The best performance—at least the one that most attracted the crowd—had been reserved for the last. A woman was to do some stunts and then put on a parachute and jump. She was a slender young flier, whom the Morning Press men had noticed at the hangar. She was clad in a light flying suit, and her short hair was bound tight with a broad red ribbon wound about her brow.

When she came out on the wing of the plane, preparatory to giving her exhibition, Jimmy could feel his pulse quicken perceptibly. The sight of men about to risk their lives had not stirred him so much. They were fliers, like himself, and every pilot expected that some day he might have to make the trip to the ground in a parachute. But to see a young woman risking her life, merely to make a show for a curious multitude, stirred Jimmy as it did others. He knew well enough that the crowd on the ground was standing in breathless suspense. He flew his plane as near to the jumper’s ship as he dared, so Johnnie could get some close-up snapshots.

Jimmy watched the woman like a hawk. He noticed her every movement. She made her way along the wing of the plane. A rope ladder had been fastened to a strut. This the woman untied and lowered. Then she swung over the edge of the wing and made her way down the rope ladder. She had no parachute. Should she lose her grip or be jolted from the ladder she would fall straight to earth and be crushed. Jimmy almost shuddered as he looked at her. It seemed terrible to him that any one should risk life in this way. He could hardly bear to watch her. Yet he had come aloft to see the performance and he steeled himself to watch. He kept his plane moving at the same rate as the exhibition ship but at a lower level.

Down the rope ladder came the young woman. This swung and swayed uncertainly in the breeze. At the bottom of the ladder was a strong metal rung or crossbar. It helped to keep the ladder from blowing backward too far. When the performer came to this metal bar she did not pause but grasped it with both hands and lowered her body into space. There she dangled, a thousand feet in air, with nothing between her and an awful death but her own good grip. Jimmy could feel chills of horror running up and down his spine. He prayed that the air would stay calm. He could hardly bear to look at the woman when she released one hand from the bar and swung for a moment by a single arm. It was too much for Jimmy. He looked away.

When he brought his glance back to the woman she had altered her position. Now she was hanging by her knees, her head down, as the ship flew along. For several minutes she did acrobatic stunts at the end of the swaying ladder. And during all that time Jimmy was in a tremble. But the young woman was as steady as Gibraltar. She lost neither her nerve nor her grip. Presently she climbed back up the ladder, rolled and fastened it to the strut, and then climbed to the upper wing, where she braced herself and stood upright with nothing whatever to hold to, while the ship shot through the air at seventy miles an hour.

Again Jimmy was in a fever of fear. If she slipped, if the plane plunged and threw her off her balance, if the air grew bumpy and tumbled the ship about, there could be but one end to the exhibition. The young woman would be thrown off her balance and blown out into space. Once more Jimmy turned his look away. He could not bear to look at her.

When he glanced again at the ship he was following he saw something that electrified him, that shocked him into instant activity. From the crankcase of the ship ahead of him flames were leaping.

Quick as thought Jimmy turned to his companion. “Get the tie rope,” he shouted, indicating with a sweep of his arm where he kept the rope with which he tied his plane down when he had to leave it out over night.

Johnnie had the long, strong rope out in no time. He knotted one end of it fast in the cabin, so it could not get away from him. Meantime Jimmy opened his throttle and his ship darted upward and to one side. In a moment it was almost wing and wing with the exhibition ship.

The other pilot glanced out and saw Jimmy’s plane. Johnnie leaned from a cabin window and began making vigorous gestures. He pointed to the woman on the upper wing of the exhibition plane. She was utterly unconscious that anything was wrong. Then Johnnie held up his rope and made a gesture to indicate that he would try to pick up the woman on the plane wing. For a moment the pilot looked at Johnnie as though he did not comprehend. It came to Johnnie that the pilot did not yet know his ship was afire. The flames were underneath the engine, and he had not yet noticed them. Violently Johnnie gestured toward the crankcase. The pilot got partly to his feet and peered over the edge of his plane. Instantly he saw what was wrong. Johnnie once more held up his rope and pointed to the woman on the upper wing. The pilot nodded agreement.

“He understands,” shouted Johnnie.

With a suddenness that almost threw Johnnie off his feet, Jimmy banked his plane and circled. In a moment he was once more to the rear of the exhibition plane, but now he was above it. The ship was flying slowly, on level keel. Very carefully, like a refueling plane about to fuel another ship, Jimmy flew his craft over and a trifle ahead of the other plane. Johnnie was watching carefully.

“There!” he shouted. “You’re just right. Slow her up a bit.”

Jimmy followed instructions. In a moment he was keeping pace with the other ship, but was slightly in advance of it. Johnnie leaned through the open window and started to lower the rope. The wind blew it almost straight back. He drew the rope in and fastened the starter handle to it with a loose knot. Then he leaned from the window once more and carefully but swiftly lowered the rope.

Meantime the young woman on the wing below him had been watching with curious interest. She did not understand what was afoot. It was well she did not. She might have lost her nerve. She caught the rope as it came level with her and held it uncertainly, meantime looking up at Johnnie questioningly. Johnnie saw that she did not comprehend the situation. He pointed toward the blazing crankcase. The girl held fast to his rope and took a step toward the leading edge of the plane wing. The moment she saw the flames she shrank back in evident terror, and Johnnie’s heart almost stood still with fear lest she fall from the plane wing. But she recovered her nerve in an instant. Grasping the starter handle, she quickly untied it and laid it down on the wing. That one act told Johnnie that she had a complete grip on herself. Otherwise she might thoughtlessly have tossed it into the air. In a second the girl had the rope around her body, just below her arms. She tied it tight, with knot after knot. Then she looked up and nodded.

Johnnie braced himself and began to haul on the rope. A foot at a time he dragged the girl upward, while she clung with both hands to the life line. It was fortunate she was light in weight. Johnnie was working at a disadvantage. He could not get all his muscles into play. Yet slowly he lifted the girl upward until she could grasp the window-frame. Then Johnnie threw open the cabin door, which was immediately beside the window, and reached out and grasped the girl. At the same time she slid her foot within the cabin of the plane and pulled herself, with Johnnie’s help, after it. Even above the roar of both motors Johnnie could hear the tremendous cheer that came up from the ground. Johnnie slammed the door shut and fastened it. Then he turned to the girl. She had slumped to the floor, as pale as death. But it was merely the reaction after her moment of peril.

Meantime, Jimmy opened his throttle, pulled back on his stick, and shot his plane upward for hundreds of feet. By the time he leveled off, the pilot below him, who had seen a part of the rescue, had acted to save his own life. The fire had spread rapidly. Flames were beginning to shoot into the cockpit. Adjusting the stabilizer of his ship so that she was slightly nose heavy, the pilot headed his plane toward a near-by woods. Then he stepped over the side, and a moment later was floating safely downward under his open parachute. He landed near the flying field, without a scratch.

Seeing the pilot safe and the air clear, for the burning plane soon crashed in the woods, Jimmy swooped down and landed in the middle of the flying field. His plane rolled rapidly toward the judge’s stand and he taxied it close to the railing that kept the crowd from the field. A doctor and several officials rushed out to the ship to look after the young woman. She was still in a state of collapse. Carefully they assisted her to the hangar and gave her the necessary attention.

Jimmy was glad enough to have her off his hands. He was waiting for his engine to cool a bit before cutting the switch. Then he intended to hurry to the telegraph station and send off a wire. His whole attention was now centered on the story he must send.

What was his astonishment, then, when the crowd broke through the barriers and a veritable mob came charging toward him as he stepped from his ship. For a second Jimmy was dumbfounded. He did not understand what was happening. But it did not take him very long to learn. As he and Johnnie stepped clear of the ship the crowd thundered up. A hundred hands were thrust out at them. A babel of voices arose in shouted greetings. Men and women swarmed about them, patting them on their backs, slapping their shoulders, and reaching for their hands. Then somebody caught them both from behind, eager hands lifted them bodily, and in another moment they were riding from the field on the shoulders of sturdy men, while the crowd yelled itself hoarse.

CHAPTER XIII

Jimmy Has an Adventure with a Bootlegger

It was nearly ten o’clock that night when the two young fliers walked into the Morning Press office in New York, tired but happy. Jimmy had filed his story as soon as he could get away from the crowd and write it. A hasty bite to eat had followed, and then the two young reporters had hopped off for Long Island, which they reached quickly and without incident. Now Jimmy was waiting to see the managing editor.

He did not have to wait long. Mr. Johnson soon sent for him. Jimmy took Johnnie with him, and the two stepped into the managing editor’s office.

“Well, Jimmy, I’m glad to see you back safe and sound,” said Mr. Johnson. “Sit down and tell me about your trip. I have about come to the conclusion that any time news is scarce hereafter I shall send you out on an assignment. You seem to have more adventures than any reporter I ever heard of. When I hired you, it was to get the news. I never dreamed that you would also provide the news. As I recall it, I paid you a certain sum to act as pilot, and I had to increase your pay considerably when you blossomed out into a reporter as well as a pilot. Now I suppose you’ll be asking for still more money because you make the news as well as report it.”

Jimmy laughed with the managing editor, who was evidently feeling well pleased. “I’ll be glad to tell you about my trip, Mr. Johnson,” he said, “but first I want to introduce my friend Johnnie Lee. He’s your new reporter and he helped to make the news to-day.”

“Johnnie, I’m glad to know you,” said Mr. Johnson, shaking the lad’s hand warmly. “You certainly made a fine start with the Press. It was my idea that you were to come here as a cub, and start at the very bottom of the ladder. But it looks as though you have been learning some tricks from Jimmy. I suppose you’ll want a raise right away.” And the managing editor laughed heartily.

“No, sir,” said Johnnie. “I don’t want anything more just now than a chance and enough to live on.” Then he added, “But I’ll try to deserve the raise before very long.”

“You had better borrow a rabbit’s foot from Jimmy,” chuckled Mr. Johnson. “He carries them in every pocket. He has—excuse me, until I look at these.”

A copy boy had just brought him proofs of Jimmy’s photographs.

“Jimmy,” said the managing editor, after looking at the proofs, “just what breed of rabbit is it that you get your rabbit feet from? You have the greatest luck of any fellow I ever knew. You’ve got the most remarkable picture here that’s been taken since—since—well, since Clint Murphy snapped Forest O’Brine working on the engine of the endurance plane, the St. Louis Robin, 3,000 feet above the ground. That picture was a wonder. But you’ve got one here to equal it. It’s a close-up snap of that woman parachute jumper dangling from her plane.”

“I’m mighty glad it came out good,” said Jimmy, “but I didn’t take it. Johnnie snapped all the photos while I flew the ship. It’s his picture, Mr. Johnson.”

“It doesn’t matter who snapped the camera,” said the managing editor. “It took two of you to get it. We’ll surely beat the town on this.”

“Yes, we shall,” replied Jimmy. “There wasn’t another plane in the air when she was performing except our two ships. Nobody else could have gotten a close-up of the thing.”

“I’d just like to know, Jimmy,” grinned the managing editor, “exactly what breed of rabbit you cultivate. You take a tip from me, Johnnie, and get some feet from this same breed. Now you boys run along. I’ve got to get to work.”

Jimmy introduced his friend to Mr. Davis, the city editor, who would henceforth be Johnnie’s boss. Then he made Johnnie known to several of the reporters. Finally the two young men left the office and went to Jimmy’s boarding house, for they had decided that they would room together. In a little while they were both asleep, but at intervals through the night Jimmy dreamed about the accident to the parachute jumper that he had witnessed.

He saw little of Johnnie thereafter, for their hours did not synchronize. Most of the time Jimmy’s work was done in daylight hours, whereas Johnnie went to work early in the afternoon and worked until late at night. But they roomed together, sleeping in separate beds, and left notes for each other, and could of course see each other when occasion demanded.

The days passed quickly. Johnnie learned rapidly. Jimmy had few assignments of an exciting nature. His luck seemed to have deserted him. He carried pictures, transported reporters, covered a few unimportant stories. Time hung heavy on his hands. Meantime the autumn passed and winter came. It came with a rush and it came early. Almost over night the balmy days of Indian summer changed into days of fierce winds and icy chill. From all parts of the country came reports of intense cold. Almost in a twinkling navigation in the north was tied up. The lakes and streams were frostbound and frozen. Steamers were caught in the ice, far from land. Suffering was intense. Deaths were reported in many quarters, due to the cold. Isolated lighthouse keepers and the dwellers on remote islands were cut off from communication. In many of these isolated places food and medicine ran low. The weather itself, with the attendant difficulties of travel, the deaths, the hardships, all consequent upon the intense cold and the deep snow and ice, became a leading story.

Day after day, belated tales of freezing, hardship, death, heroic rescues, blizzards, storms, and other phases of the weather, or stories incident to the abnormal cold, came trickling belatedly into the office. The managing editor watched this news with growing interest. He had lived, in his younger days, on the very northern border of the country and even in Canada. He knew what these periods of cold and storm meant to the people living in isolated places. And so, when one day there came a belated despatch to the Press, saying that a feeble wireless message had been received by a boy wireless operator in Smithville, in northern New York, telling of the plight of people on a neighboring island, in Lake Ontario, the managing editor was filled with both interest and sympathy. The island was absolutely cut off from communication with the mainland by the terrible ice, food was running low, and a whole family was dying of pneumonia because of the lack of certain medicines.

“It’s really a story for the Montreal or Rochester papers to cover,” thought Mr. Johnson, “but up to this time they haven’t done it. If we could slip in there ahead of them, we’d not only do some real good, but we’d bring a lot of credit to the Morning Press. I believe I’ll see how it looks to Donnelly.”

He called Jimmy on the telephone and told him about the situation. “Do you think you could reach the place safely with your plane?” he asked.

“Let me look at my maps before I answer you,” said Jimmy.

Jimmy studied them a moment. “If I flew to Smithville, which is only six or seven miles south of Sackett’s Harbor,” he said, “and hopped off from there, I should not have to fly over more than a few miles of water. There are several islands in a straight line close to Smithville. In case of a forced landing, I could probably make one of those islands. I think I can do it all right, and I’ll be glad to go. It won’t take so very long to make it, either.”

“Then get your ship ready at once. I will have a physician make up a package of medicines and write down some directions to be followed in caring for patients with pneumonia. You take the stuff out to the island and find out how many are ill and how ill they are. Leave the drugs and the directions. Fly back to Smithville and communicate with me from there. Then we can determine what should be done further. Perhaps you will have to take a physician to the island. We’ll do all we can to help these poor people on the island.”

When all was ready, and Jimmy had his medicines aboard, he hopped off and headed straight for the Hudson, up which river he flew as far as Albany, where he swung to the left and followed the Mohawk River to Rome. Thence he followed the railway tracks direct to Smithville, where he landed in a great snow-covered field. He had had his plane equipped with skis, and the snow did not bother him at all.

Jimmy climbed out of his plane and walked into the village to ask some questions. He wanted to know about the possibility of making a safe landing at the island, whether or not he had selected the safest route, and what was known in Smithville concerning the condition of the people on the island. He found the lad who had heard the wireless message, and he got information on all these points. He was soon satisfied that the islanders needed help, and that he had chosen the very best way to get there. The villagers told him he had estimated the distance correctly and would have to cross only a few miles of the lake. But there was little open water, they said, and the chances were that in case of a forced landing he could get down safely on the ice, which was very thick, and also rough. Jimmy said he had a radio sending set and asked some of the radio fans to listen in for him during the next half hour. Then he prepared to hop off.

To his surprise, another plane soared into the sky from a point near the lake shore on the other side of the village, just as Jimmy was about ready to take off. He looked at the plane with dismay. Another newspaper was going to beat him, he thought, and beat him by the tiniest of margins. But when he suggested as much to the townsfolk who had gathered about his plane, they laughed. Also they winked their eyes.

“Never mind about him,” they said. “The only medicine he carries is for snakebites. He flies back and forth between Canada and points along the shore hereabout. Just what he carries we don’t know for sure, but we can all guess. He’ll go right on over to Canada.”

Relieved, Jimmy hopped off, headed straight out over the frozen lake toward the first island, and opened his throttle. He did not like the looks of the rough ice beneath him, and he meant to reach the island as speedily as possible. Soon he saw that he was flying faster than the bootlegger ahead of him. But as he had only a few miles to go, he thought he should hardly overtake the man.

On they flew, Jimmy following straight after the other plane, and all the time creeping up on it. To fly to the island took less than ten minutes. Yet Jimmy was glad enough when he neared the shore, for he did not like the looks of the rough pack ice beneath him. He had just started to circle over the island, in order to search out a landing place, when he noticed the bootlegger’s plane acting crazily. Jimmy saw at once that something was wrong with the craft. Also, he saw that the pilot, who was already at the farther end of the island, was making a desperate effort to turn and effect a landing. The ship came down fast, landing on ground that was none too smooth, but was apparently not harmed, though the running gear might have been broken. About that, Jimmy could not be sure without a close inspection.

Sweeping completely around the island, Jimmy saw that there was no better place to land than the open space in which the bootlegger had been forced down. So he came down cautiously, in as easy a glide as he could make, ready to give her the gun instantly, should the place prove impossible. But he found a long, fairly smooth stretch before him, and set his ship down neatly in the snow. She slid for some distance, then came to rest in perfect safety.

Jimmy hopped from his plane and looked about him. On one side was the other flying machine, and the pilot of it was walking toward him with great speed. On the other hand, at a considerable distance, was a little group of houses, doubtless the residences of the stricken islanders. But they were evidently not all stricken, for several men could be seen coming toward him.

For a moment Jimmy stood looking at them, trying to count them. He was curious about these isolated islanders, and not a little sympathetic toward them. He wondered what sort of people they would prove to be. And he was eager to get their story, and to deliver the medicines. He was also curious to know what manner of man the bootlegger would prove to be. And presently, hearing the latter’s step at hand, he spun about to face him, and found himself looking into the barrel of a revolver that the approaching bootlegger had leveled at him.

Jimmy’s heart began to beat violently. He was so utterly taken by surprise that he did not know what to do or say. For a moment he was silent. The bootlegger did the talking.

“Get back into your plane,” he said sharply.

Jimmy did as ordered. There was nothing else to do. To his astonishment the bootlegger climbed into the plane after him, shut the door, and sat down in one of the seats. The revolver he still held in his hand menacingly.

“Take off as quick as you can,” he said gruffly.

Jimmy glanced at the advancing islanders and played for time.

“What’s the big idea?” he asked, trying to appear calm, though his heart was beating a tattoo against his ribs.

“I just put a connecting-rod through my crankcase,” growled the man.

“Then you want to be ferried ashore,” said Jimmy. “Just as soon as I speak to these men I’ll take you. I’ve got a package for them.”

The man raised his pistol. His face was black as a thunder cloud. “If you know when you’re well off, kid,” he snarled, “you’ll do what I tell you. Hop off and hop off quick, or I’ll drill you full of holes and fly your old crate myself.” Jimmy saw that he was in a tight place. He swung about and hopped off. He headed straight back for Smithville.

“Turn her in the opposite direction,” growled the man, “and just keep going.”

CHAPTER XIV

Taking Help to Marooned Islanders

Jimmy obeyed the command with alacrity. There was nothing else to do. In a moment he was flying on precisely the same course he had followed in coming to the island from Smithville. Soon he was beyond Duck Island and heading for Prince Edward, that great, bold Canadian peninsula that thrusts out far into the lake. A long point of land reached straight out toward Duck Island. Jimmy could see this point easily, for it was hardly more than a dozen miles in an air-line. At some distance from the end of this point were small islands, and they were almost in Jimmy’s line of flight. Five or eight minutes of flying would take him to land again, so he had no apprehensions about the short flight over this reach of open lake.

But Jimmy wasn’t at all comfortable in his mind about other aspects of the situation. If the bootlegger wanted simply to be carried across to Canada because his own plane had gone bad, that was one thing. Jimmy didn’t in the least object to ferrying a man over a dozen miles of lake—even a bootlegger—if the man was in trouble. But would that be the end of the matter?

Now that the bootlegger’s own plane was out of commission, he might decide to take Jimmy’s. That wasn’t such a pleasant prospect. But there was still another angle to the situation. If the man seized the plane, would he not almost necessarily feel compelled to get rid of the evidence of his crime? In short, would he not find it expedient to get rid of Jimmy? When Jimmy thought of the old saying, so commonly quoted by criminals, that “dead men tell no tales,” he could feel the cold shivers run up and down his spine.

Jimmy wanted to turn around and talk to his captor. He felt as though a bullet might come crashing through his back at any instant. It seemed to him that he simply must look around and face the bootlegger. Yet he hesitated. The man had told him to fly straight on. That was evidently what the fellow wanted—to get to his destination. He was getting there, and he seemed satisfied. Jimmy decided that the best course was to attend to his flying and make careful note of the country over which he passed, together with the compass bearings, rate of speed, prominent landmarks, etc., so that if he had the opportunity to fly back, he could find his way. So he centred his whole attention on the matter of navigation and soon found that he felt relieved in mind. He could think better. He was not so oppressed by fear.

But Jimmy had far less time for thought than he had anticipated. In six or seven minutes he had reached the tip of the Prince Edward peninsula, and in twenty minutes he was over the very heart of this body of land. Still he kept on as straight as the crow flies.

Now, for the first time, his unwelcome passenger spoke. “Set her down in the open space just ahead,” he said gruffly.

Jimmy eased his plane toward the ground and throttled down his engine. The uniform whiteness of the snow made it difficult for him to distinguish the contour of the ground. But as he came lower, he saw that there was a great, smooth area ahead of him that had quite evidently been used for landing planes. The snow was streaked with the long parallel marks of giant skis. Jimmy picked out a pair of ski marks and set his ship down safely almost in the very treads he was watching. The plane slid safely to rest. The landing ground was in a lonely region, and not a house or a human being was in sight.

“Get out,” said the man brusquely.

Jimmy stepped from the plane. His captor followed.

“Now that you succeeded in tracking me down, what do you intend to do with your information?” he demanded, as he toyed with his revolver suggestively.

“Tracking you down!” exclaimed Jimmy, amazed. “I don’t even know what you are talking about. I never saw you before, never heard of you, and certainly never tried to trail you. Where did you get that idea?”

The man looked at him uncertainly. “Ain’t you one of them government prohibition agents?” he asked.

A great light dawned upon Jimmy’s mind. He actually laughed. “That’s a good one,” he exclaimed. “So you took me for a ‘dry’ agent. No, I’m not a government agent. I’m a newspaper reporter. I represent the New York Morning Press. Look at the name on the side of my ship.”

“I can’t read,” said the man. “It makes no difference if you are a newspaper man. You was on my trail.”

“You’ve got another guess,” said Jimmy. “I flew up here to carry medicines to some people on Duck Island who are sick. We just got a newspaper despatch telling about them. There’s a whole family dying over there because they lack medicine. Nobody could get to them because of the ice. My boss used to live up this way, and when he read the despatch he sent me up to help them.”

The bootlegger looked at Jimmy intently. “You don’t look like you was lyin’,” he said.

“Of course I’m not lying,” protested Jimmy.

“Here’s the medicine.” And stepping into the plane, he picked up the bulky package he had been transporting and opened it.

The rum runner looked at it and then at Jimmy. “Say, kid,” he blurted out suddenly, “you’re all right. To think you’d come clean from New York and risk your life flyin’ over the lake just to help some sick folks. By Joe! I’ll look in on them folks myself, next time I go over the island. If they need help, they need it quick I reckon. So you’d better be on your way. I’m much obliged for the ride. Maybe this’ll square things with you.” And he reached into his pocket, pulled out a huge roll of bills, peeled off a one hundred dollar gold certificate and thrust it into Jimmy’s hand. “Now you better hustle,” he said.

Jimmy was too much astonished for words. He did not want to take the man’s money. He wanted less to cross the fellow, for the rum runner was quite evidently a desperate character. Wisely, Jimmy decided to go while the going was good. He handed the bill back to the man.

“Thanks,” he said. “It will be worth more to me if you will look after those people on the island. Spend the money for them. I probably can’t get up here again. Good-bye.” And climbing into his plane, Jimmy was off as soon as he could lift his ship from the snow. He opened his throttle wide. In a minute he was far away, beyond the possible range of any pursuing bullet that might come his way. He breathed freely again, and flew straight as an arrow back toward the island.

Once fairly aloft, Jimmy began to meditate on his adventure. Suddenly an idea came to him. “Gee!” he thought. “I’m sure glad this was such an isolated place we landed in. I don’t believe there was a soul within miles. It was a good thing, too. Nobody could get my license number. If any one had noticed it, I might get into a jam with the Canadian officials for landing on Canadian soil without clearing the customs. Well, I guess I had a good excuse, anyway. But just the same, I’m glad nobody could get my number.”

As he approached the island, he saw a group of people clustered about the bootlegger’s airplane. They were examining it carefully. Evidently they had been much mystified by what had taken place. They came thronging eagerly about Jimmy’s plane as he set it down in the snow.

Jimmy stepped from his ship, with the medicines in his hand. “I am from the New York Morning Press,” he said. “We received a despatch a few hours ago from Smithville, saying that you were cut off here by the ice and that people were very sick with pneumonia and lacked medicines. My paper has sent you the drugs you need, and some directions for using them.”

When Jimmy saw the expressions of gratitude that came on the faces of the people about him, he felt that he was more than repaid for anything he had done or could do to help them.

“Come with us,” they said. “We want you to talk to some of the people that are in trouble.”

Jimmy went with them. Neighbors were caring for the stricken family. One or two of the ailing ones were too sick to be seen. But Jimmy was able to talk briefly to the mother of the family and the oldest boy. He got from them their story, which was a startling tale in itself. The entire family of seven—father, mother, and five children—had gone, some days previously, to pay a visit to friends on the mainland. The lake was not then frozen so solidly. There were wide, open leads of water, which made it easily possible to reach the mainland. The visit lasted several days. Just before the return home, the great cold wave came. When they were half-way to the island, their motor went dead. A storm came up, and they drifted helplessly before it for twelve hours. The waves washed into their boat until they were all drenched. They could do nothing but sit in their boat and pray that the ice would not crush it. Their situation had finally been discovered, and hardy neighbors, taking their lives in their hands, had launched the most powerful boat on the island and fought their way to them. Thus their lives were saved for the time being, although every one of the seven was stricken with pneumonia, and it looked as though two of the seven might die. There was just a chance that the arrival of the medicine might arrest the disease.

Jimmy was powerfully affected by this recital. He had seldom been so close to human suffering. Never had he been in touch with people so pitifully situated as these folks had been. Glad, indeed, was he that he had attempted the journey, and that there were great newspapers like his own, to take upon themselves the relief of suffering and the righting of wrong when other agencies failed.

One thing was sure, Jimmy thought. These suffering ones certainly must have medical treatment. And so, taking a hasty departure, he flew back to Smithville and got into touch with his chief, setting the story before him fully.

“Get a doctor and rush him to the island,” Mr. Johnson wired back.

Jimmy secured the only physician in the neighborhood, loaded the doctor and the necessary supplies in his plane, and was soon back on the island. The medical assistance came in time. The doctor was able to give immediate treatments and to leave directions for further care.

As for Jimmy himself, nothing was too good for him on the island. The inhabitants would have given him almost anything he asked for, so grateful were they for his efforts in their behalf. But Jimmy wanted nothing. He was more than repaid by their gratitude and their friendship.

It was with real regret that Jimmy said goodbye to these new-found friends. He was amazed to see how rapidly a mutual feeling of regard had sprung up between these people and himself in such a short time. He understood, of course, that this was because of the unusual conditions under which they had come to know one another. When the time for departure came, he shook hands with them all, promised to come back to the island some time, and then ferried his doctor back to Smithville. And now he went winging his way home across the great Empire State, to his old quarters at the Long Island flying field.

Weeks later Jimmy learned that the rescue efforts he had set in motion had been wholly successful. Every one of the seven sufferers had recovered. But more astonishing than that was the news that for a week after Jimmy’s departure, the sick islanders had daily treatment from the Smithville physician. The rum runner from Canada had flown the physician back and forth every day, as long as it was necessary, in a new plane, and had concluded the matter by paying the doctor handsomely for his services.

Jimmy mused over this for quite a while. “It just shows,” he concluded, “that the poet was right when he said there is so much bad in the best of us and so much good in the worst of us that we ought to be mighty careful what we say about anybody.”

CHAPTER XV

Jimmy Joins the Caterpillar Club

For many weeks after Jimmy’s return from this trip he found life tame and colorless, although he was busy enough. There were flying assignments aplenty; but Jimmy found them very ordinary experiences. The day had long since passed when Jimmy could get a thrill merely by making a flight in the air. And that was about all his assignments now amounted to. One of the first of these flying assignments was a commission to hunt for a lost yacht. A small pleasure craft had disappeared somewhere along the Atlantic coast between New York and Boston. It was not known whether the craft was floating helplessly on the sea, or whether it had put in at some isolated harbor, or whether it might have gone down, with all on board. The owner was a man of importance. With a small group of friends he had ventured out on the ocean, and the party had utterly vanished. Great anxiety was felt for their safety, and because of the social and business prominence of the missing man, the newspapers joined in the hunt.

Jimmy had little expectation of finding the lost yacht. The story promised to be an easy one to cover. Jimmy would fly until he found the boat or failed to find it. In the one case there would be nothing to write, or next to nothing, whereas in the other there would be little to do, probably, except drop a note to the boat, promising aid, then fly back to land and send out a relief ship, and finally to write a story to the effect that the missing boat had been found.

Jimmy secured permission to take Johnnie with him on this trip. Or, to be more exact, the city editor assigned Johnnie the job of flying with Jimmy. And that was about all the assignment amounted to. They flew for hours, and covered a tremendous stretch of shore-line and coastal waters, but discovered no trace of the missing ship. They got back to the hangar cold, hungry, and stiff, and Jimmy at least was thoroughly disgusted. To Johnnie the trip was thrilling enough.

Soon afterward Jimmy made a flight that was far more interesting. The managing editor telephoned him to get ready to fly to Auburn, New York, where rioting had broken out in the state prison. Handley was sent along to write a story, for this was a two-man job. The flight up state was ordinary enough, but the riot within the prison walls was far different. Buildings were afire, prisoners were armed, guards were located in strategic positions, and a real battle was in progress within the walls, while outside were ranged troops and policemen, hastily collected and thrown about the institution to prevent a general escape of prisoners.

When Jimmy reached the place he found his was the first airplane on the job. He flew over the prison so that he and Handley could get a good view of what was going on within the walls. He saw in a moment that a real battle was raging. From the building that had fallen into the hands of the rioters bullets were evidently flying in volleys. Prison guards were answering with an incessant rifle fire. Within the walls things were smashed and broken. Flames were blazing high. Structures had been set on fire by the rioters. It was impossible for firemen to get into the buildings to fight the flames.

Again and again Jimmy circled over the prison, while Handley took snapshots of the scene. Then Jimmy landed his ship and Handley left him, to gather the remainder of his story on the ground and put it on the wire, while Jimmy himself sped back to New York with his photographs.

Long afterward he learned that, altogether unknown to himself, he had played a most important part in subduing the mob and restoring authority and order in the prison. For some of the rioters later told the guards that when Jimmy’s plane appeared and began to circle above the prison, the rioters were certain it was an army bomber, hovering above them with intent to blow them all to eternity should they get the upper hand of the guards. That belief broke their fighting spirit. They knew they hadn’t a chance to succeed. And scores of rioters gave up at once.

The prison riot assignment was followed by one to cover a big railroad wreck, and that in turn by an order to assist in a search for four coastwise fliers who had taken off in the South, with intent to race a fast train to New York, and who had utterly disappeared. Jimmy flew for hours along the Atlantic coast, but like other fliers who were engaged in the same task, discovered absolutely no trace of the missing airmen.

By this time Jimmy’s engine was in need of overhauling. Indeed, it had somewhat alarmed him on his homeward flight from the search for the lost fliers. But he had made his airport safely, though he felt sure he could not have flown much farther. His engine was not only beginning to miss badly, but it quite evidently needed attention.

At once Jimmy got the managing editor on the telephone. “Mr. Johnson,” he said, “the engine in my plane will have to be ‘pulled’ right away. I can’t make another flight until it has had a thorough overhauling. I’ve flown this ship more than 500 hours, with only one top overhaul of the motor. In the Air Mail we used to 'pull’ the motors every time they had done 500 hours. I just barely got back safely to-day.”

“Very well,” said the managing editor. “Arrange to have your plane overhauled at once. How long will it take?”

“It’s a pretty long job, Mr. Johnson. I should judge it would take two weeks. As long as the ship has to be laid up, we might as well have it checked over thoroughly. While they are working on the engine, we ought to have the wings inspected internally, to see that all the fittings are in shape and to see if any drag wires need tightening. We might need new pins in the hinges of the control surfaces, and some of the control cables may need replacing. The brakes should be taken up, too. In fact, there’s no end of things that ought to be checked over. It’s a big job, but it must be done. It isn’t safe to fly the ship any longer without a complete overhaul.”

“That’s too bad,” said the managing editor, “but if it is necessary have it done. The difficulty is not about the repairs, but about the loss of the use of the plane. We simply can’t get along without a plane. Is there a ship you can hire if the need arises?”

“Yes, sir. There’s an old open cockpit Travelair-Whirlwind here, Mr. Johnson. It’s an old-timer, but it has a good engine and flies well. We can hire it for very little. But I suggest that you do not wait till the need arises, for somebody else might have the plane out at the very moment we want it.”

“Then go hire it at once, Jimmy, for as long a time as you think you will be without your ship.”

“I think they will rush my work if I ask them to do it,” said Jimmy. “I am sure they can have the job finished inside of two weeks. Suppose I charter this old ship for that period.”

“Very well, if that is long enough. If it isn’t, make it longer. We mustn’t be caught without a plane. You never can tell when a story will break that will have to be covered by flight.”

Jimmy rented the old Travelair-Whirlwind and had it moved to his hangar. His own ship was rolled away to the shop, where the mechanics could work at it conveniently. Then Jimmy transferred to his new plane all the equipment that he ordinarily carried in his own ship—maps, camera, flash-light, and similar necessary articles. Also, he got out his flying suits, for now he would have to ride in the open.

It was well that Jimmy acted promptly about the old ship; for hardly had he gotten her ready for flight before the managing editor was on the wire again.

“Jimmy,” he said, “I’ll have to ask you to jump right out on another flight. Is everything all right about your new plane?”

“Everything is O. K., Mr. Johnson. I’ve had her rolled into my hangar and serviced. I’ve put all my outfit aboard of her. She’s ready to fly at a minute’s notice, and so am I. Where do I go this time?”

“Jimmy,” said the managing editor, “this is a very serious and important mission which I am about to entrust to you. One of the under secretaries of war from Washington was here to talk to me about certain matters that are to be decided at the peace conference in London, now in session. I cannot tell you what these things are, but they are affairs of great moment. The under secretary left my office to go to Chicago. I have just found that he left some very important papers behind him. These he absolutely must have in Chicago, where he is going for a conference before he starts for Europe. I could stop him by a telegram sent to his train, but it is highly important that he be in Chicago at the earliest possible moment. He must not be delayed a second. At the same time, he absolutely must have these papers. What I want you to do is to get them into his hands. Deliver them to him in person and to no one else.”

“Yes, Mr. Johnson. Have you any suggestions?”

“I’ve been studying maps and time tables, Jimmy, and I think you can do this nicely. If you fly to Bellefonte, which is right on the lighted airway, you can there take a motor car to Tyrone, which is perhaps thirty miles distant. The train on which the under secretary is traveling is due to stop at Tyrone. There you can board his train and put the papers into his hands. I will wire him on the train that the papers he left in my office are going ahead by plane, and will be handed him at Tyrone.”

“You couldn’t possibly have planned the thing out any better, Mr. Johnson,” replied Jimmy. “I know that whole section well. From Bellefonte I shall drive to Milesburg, where I hit the new cement road from Lock Haven to Tyrone. It is as fine a strip of cement as there is in the United States. It runs along the Bald Eagle Creek, and for miles is as level as a floor. A motor car can almost fly along there. But you should have a car at the flying field to meet me. The field is several miles outside of the town of Bellefonte, and I’ll save a lot of time if the car is on hand when I arrive.”