A WILD NIGHT RIDE
"Go!"
It was less than half an hour after the appearance of Grimshaw on
the scene that the Baby Racer was all ready for its stormy night's
flight.
The old aviator had fussed and poked about the dainty little
biplane, as if it was some valued friend he was sending out into the
world to try its fortune. Every once in a while he had growled out
some brief advice to Dave in his characteristic way.
Then he directed and helped, while two field men started the machine
on its forward run.
"Look out for telegraph poles, and watch your fuel tank," was
Grimshaw's final injunction.
Dave knew the Baby Racer just as an engineer understands his
locomotive. Daylight or dirk, once aloft the young aviator did not
doubt his own powers. The moment the Racer left the ground,
however, with a switch of her flapping tail, Dave knew that he was
to have no easy fair-weather cruise.
"Slow it is," the watchful, excited Hiram heard him say, working the
wheel as cautiously as an automobilist rounding a sharp curve.
Dave saw that everything depended on getting a start and reaching a
higher level. He kept the angle of ascent small, for the maximum
power of the engine could not be reached in a moment. The starting
speed naturally let down with the machine ascending an inclined
plane.
"It's slow enough, that's sure," remarked Hiram. "It's the wind,
isn't it, Dave?"
"We don't want to slide back in the air or be blown over backwards,"
replied Dave, eye, ear, and nerve on the keenest alert.
The wind resistance caused a growing speed reduction. The
sensitiveness of the elevating rudder warned Dave that he must
maintain a perfect balance until they could strike a steady path of
flight. Hiram's rapt gaze followed every skillful maneuver of the
master hand at that wheel.
"Good for you!" he chirped, as Dave worked the ailerons to
counteract the leaning of the machine. A swing of the rudder had
caused the biplane to bank, but quick as a flash Dave righted it by
getting the warping control on the opposite tack, avoiding a bad
spill.
The machine was tail heavy as Dave directed a forward plunge,
coasting slightly. He had, however, pretty good control of the
center of gravity.
It was now only a question of fighting the stiff breeze that
prevailed, and keeping an even balance.
Hiram's eyes sparkled as the Racer volplaned, caught the head wind
at just the right angle, and struck a course due northwest like a
sail boat under perfect control.
The engine was near the operator's seat, and on the post just under
the wheel were the spark and throttle levers on the fuselage beam.
The steering wheel was a solid piece of wood about eight inches in
diameter with two holes cut into it to fit the hands.
The passenger's seat now occupied by Hiram was in the center line of
the machine, so that, filled or vacant, the lateral balance was not
affected.
Hiram knew all about the monoplane dummy or the aerocycle with
treadle power for practice work which he had operated under old
Grimshaw's direction. As to the practical running of a biplane
aloft, however, that was something for him to learn. He was keenly
alive to every maneuver that Dave executed, and he stored in his
mind every new point he noticed as the Racer seemed fairly started
on its way.
"Keep me posted, Dave," spoke the willing Hiram. "If anything
happens I want to know what you expect me to do."
"I don't intend to have anything happen if I can help it, Hiram,"
replied Dave. "This is a famous start."
"It's not half as bad as I thought it would be," said Hiram.
The rain had changed into a fine mist, but the breeze continued
choppy and strong at times. Dave had gone over the course with Mr.
King in The Aegis twice in the daytime, and had an accurate idea of
the route. However, he had landmarks to follow. What guided Dave
were the lights of the various towns on the route to Kewaukee and
railway signals. These were dimly outlined by a glow only at times,
but Dave as he progressed felt that he was keeping fairly close to
his outlined programme.
Hiram chuckled and warbled, as he knew from Dave's manner and the
way the Baby Racer acted that his friend had it under full control.
Our hero attempted no fancy flying nor spurts of swiftness. Up to
the end of the first hour the flight had proven far less difficult
than he had anticipated.
"There's Medbury," said Dave at length, inclining his head towards
a cluster of electric lights below and somewhat beyond them. "That
means one-third of our journey covered."
"It's great what you and the Baby Racer can do, Dave," cried the
admiring and enthusiastic country boy. "We're going to make it,
aren't we?"
"If the wind doesn't change and we meet with no mishaps," answered
Dave.
A stretch of steady sailing was an excuse for Hiram to share a brief
lunch of ham sandwiches with Dave. The thoughtful Grimshaw had
provided these at the last moment of the departure of the biplane.
By the watch Mr. King had given him on the occasion of winning a
race for the Aegis, Dave found that it was a little after two
o'clock when the Racer passed a town named Creston.
"It's only twenty miles farther, Hiram," announced the young aviator
with satisfaction.
"And plenty of juice in the tank left to go on," added Hiram. "This
is a trip to talk about, eh, Dave?"
Dave nodded and smiled. He suddenly gave renewed attention to wheel
and levers.
"Anything wrong?" inquired Hiram, noticing the movement.
"The wind is shifting slightly," was the reply.
Dave felt of the breeze cautiously after that, keeping his cheek
well to windward. It required constant watchfulness and
maneuvering for the next fifteen miles to keep the control
permanent. Dave was glad when a dim glow of radiance told that they
had nearly reached the end of their journey.
Dave "ducked," as the phrase goes, as a swoop from a new quarter
sent the machine banking.
He managed the dilemma by circling. There was only five more miles
to cover. Dave went up searching for a steadier air current, found
it, maintained a steady flight for over a quarter of an hour, and
slowed down slightly as they came directly over Kewaukee.
"Going to land?" inquired Hiram, attentively attracted by all these
skillful maneuvers.
"Yes," replied Dave. "The question is, though, to find just the
right place."
Dave tried to figure out the contour of the landscape beneath them.
He passed over high buildings, skirted what seemed like a factory
district, and began to volplane.
"Going to drop?" queried Hiram.
"I think so," responded Dave. "According to those electric lights
there is a park or some other large vacant space we can strike on
this angle."
"The mischief!" exclaimed Hiram abruptly as the Racer struck a lower
air current a strong blast of wind made it shake and reel. Then
there was a creak, a sway and a snap.
"Something broke!" shouted Hiram in excitement.
"Yes," answered Dave rapidly. "It's one of the right outermost
struts between the supporting planes."
"The one that snapped the other day," suggested Hiram.
"Likely. Grimshaw fixed it with glue and bracing, and fitting iron
rings about it. The vibration of the motor and the straining have
pulled the nail heads through the holes in the rings."
"Can you hold out?"
Dave did not reply. He felt new vibrations, and knew that the
strain of warping the wings at the tips had caused more than one of
the struts to collapse.
The young aviator realized that it would be a hard drop unless he
did something quickly and effectively. There was no time to think.
Counterbalance was everything.
Dave tried to restore the disturbed balance of the machine by
bringing the left wing under the control. Then he forced the
twisting on the right side.
The young aviator held his breath, while his excited companion
stared ahead and down, transfixed. They were going at a rapid rate,
and every moment the Baby Racer threatened to turn turtle and spill
them out.
Dave succeeded in temporarily checking the tendency to tip. All
aerial support was gone. He kept the rudder at counterbalance,
threw off the power, and wondered what they were headed into.
The next moment the Baby Racer crashed to the ground.