Tim could see lights gleaming from the windows of the tri-motor. It was
the westbound transcontinental more than an hour late and its pilots
were bringing it in fast in an attempt to make up every minute possible.
The distance between the planes narrowed rapidly. The _Good News_ had
almost lost flying speed, was drifting in, when Tim first sighted the
tri-motor and he was powerless to change his course.
He jammed the throttle open and the motor coughed as the raw fuel leaped
into the white-hot cylinders. There was only one chance; that he could
get up enough speed to throw the _Good News_ into a nose dive. He could
avoid the tri-motor that way but his own chances of coming out of the
dive would be slim.
In that split second Tim made his decision. He would attempt the dive.
There were probably women and children on the tri-motor for the night
plane usually carried a heavy passenger list. If the two planes met they
would all be blown to eternity.
The _Good News_ picked up momentum again and Tim shoved the nose down.
Just as he pushed the stick ahead he heard the engines of the tri-motor
quicken their stride. Evidently the pilots of the big ship had seen him
and were making a desperate effort to avert the collision. Tim hoped
they would have enough sense to climb.
The _Good News_ quivered under the sudden strain of the maneuver and Tim
saw the ground race up to meet him.
The undercarriage of the tri-motor almost brushed the upper wing of the
_Good News_. Then the planes were clear but the _Good News_ was diving
toward the field.
Tim had only one hope. He pulled back on the stick and closed his eyes.
He could feel the ship falling, then the pitch of the descent lessened.
He opened his eyes. The _Good News_ was skimming along the field with
its wheels less than five feet from the ground.
Tim looked up for the tri-motor. It was circling, waiting for him to
land.
The flying reporter lifted the _Good News_ up again for he was going too
fast to attempt a landing. He swung around and then dropped down on the
field, checking his speed with a delicate hand lest he bump hard enough
to set off the "eggs" cradled in the forward cockpit.
The _Good News_ rolled to a stop in front of its hangar.
Carson, Hunter, Ralph and a group of mechanics were waiting for Tim.
They were white and shaky for they had seen how death had ridden on the
wings of the two incoming planes only a minute before. "Tim, Tim," cried
Ralph in a choked voice, "I thought you were a goner."
"So did I," admitted Tim, and for once he found it hard to smile.
"I'll report those flying yahoos," stormed the usually mild-mannered
Hunter. "They'll be grounded for thirty days for pulling a reckless
landing like that. You had the right of way and they attempted to cut in
on you. Here they come now."
The tri-motor had come to a stop on the concrete apron in front of the
administration building and its pilots sprinted toward the No. 5 hangar.
They were red-faced and shaking with anger.
"What's the idea?" stormed the first one as he addressed Tim. "You
crazy, flying fool, you almost wrecked us. I've a good notion to beat up
on you."
"Shut up!" The words whipped through the night and the angry pilot
turned to face the field manager.
"But this nut almost wrecked us," he protested as he pointed at Tim.
"Shut up!" cried Hunter and he almost choked with rage, "if anybody here
is going to get a licking you're one of them. You cut in on Murphy. We
had given him the right-of-way and you barged down and almost ran him
into the ground. As it happens he was on special duty tonight, flying in
here from Fort Armstrong. You may have something to explain to Uncle Sam
and the least you'll hear about this will be thirty days on the ground
without pay."
"You can't get away with that," protested the second flyer. "Why this
kid was trying to beat us in."
"I'll get away with it and I may have your skins to boot," promised
Carson. "You're so all-fired smart, suppose you step over here and take
a look at the load Murphy is carrying tonight."
The pilots of the big transport followed Hunter to the _Good News_ where
they peered into the forward cockpit.
"Bombs!" exclaimed one.
"We'd have been blown to pieces if we had met in the air," gasped the
other.
"Which is just exactly the reason Murphy took such a desperate chance to
avoid hitting you," exclaimed Hunter. "Do you still want to beat up on
him?"
"Not on your life," said the transport pilots and they turned to Tim to
offer their apologies.
"We are lucky to be here," said Tim as the tri-motor men stammered their
appreciation.
Ralph, who had gained control of his emotions, busied himself loading a
dozen parachute flares into the forward cockpit.
By 11:15 the _Good News_ had been refueled for the flight to Auburn.
"What are the latest reports?" asked Tim.
"The ice is piling up every hour," said the managing editor. "People in
the village have started to move their belongings and they expect the
town will be swept away before morning."
"Have they been warned to watch for us and get in the clear when we
start dropping the bombs?"
"Everyone has been ordered to be in the clear by midnight. Before they
leave they will build large fires along the bank of the river to guide
you."
"That's a good idea," said Tim.
"All set," he called to Ralph, who had taken his place in the forward
cockpit, squeezed in between high explosive bombs and parachute flares.
"All ready," replied Ralph. "Only take it easy. I don't want to be part
of another explosion today."
"Don't worry," said Tim. "I'll handle the ship like we were carrying a
basket of Easter eggs."
Tim settled himself for the flight to Auburn and a minute later the
_Good News_ was winging its way into the east.
The safety of the village depended on the success of their efforts.
Within the next hour and Tim and Ralph realized the seriousness of their
mission.
They sped into the night at a chilling pace and both reporters welcomed
the signal fires which marked the course of the river. It was just
before midnight when they swung down out of the sky to reconnoiter the
ice jam.
Ralph dropped a parachute flare which lighted the country-side for half
a mile around.
There was no one in the vicinity of the jam and the village had been
deserted.
Tim inspected the face of the jam closely, hunting for the key point
where the pressure was greatest. Up and down the river they cruised
while Ralph lighted three more flares.
Finally Tim was satisfied that he had picked out the vulnerable spots in
the jam and he motioned for Ralph to get ready with the bombs.
By pre-arranged signal Ralph was to drop a bomb over board every time
Tim raised his left arm. Several of the flares had dropped on the ice
and there was plenty of light.
Tim's arm jerked upward and a small, black object hurtled down from the
plane.
The night was torn by a blinding flash followed by an ear-shattering
roar. A geyser of ice and water mounted upward from the point where the
bomb had struck.
"Score one," cried Ralph as he prepared another bomb.
Tim nodded grimly. The explosion had been spectacular but he wondered
how much it had weakened the jam.
Ralph dropped two more parachute flares and before their light had faded
they had time to plant four bombs. More flares and more bombs. They
honeycombed the face of the jam with the high-explosive missiles and
above the sound of their own plane they could hear the angry grumble of
the river as the restless water, impounded by the ice barrier, sought to
continue its journey down stream.
They had one flare and two bombs left and they had failed to break the
jam.
Tim motioned for Ralph to light one of the two remaining flares and in
the calcium glare he made a final survey of the river. His arm moved
quickly and Ralph tossed out the last of the bombs.
They watched the little black objects speed toward the ice; then saw
them swallowed in mounting sprays of ice and water.
Tim could hear Ralph's shout of victory above the sound of their own
motor and the rumble of the river as the waters, the ice barrier finally
broken, started down stream.
The river was a heaving, moving mass of ice. Great cakes leaped high
into the air and came down with thundering crashes as the pressure of
the water was unleashed.
Tim watched the breaking of the jam with apprehension. There was just a
chance that the river might rush over its banks and sweep away the
village but if he had calculated right the force of the onrushing water
would be expended on the far side of the valley.
The light from the fires on the edge of the river reflected dully on the
scene and was not sufficient to show them what was taking place. After
five minutes of anxious cruising, Tim yelled to Ralph to light the last
of their flares.
The brilliant white light revealed a scene majestic in its power yet
terrible in its uncontrolled fury.
Thousands of tons of ice were moving down stream, sweeping everything
before them but they were moving in the direction Tim had planned. The
ice was piling over the banks of the river, leveling great trees,
crushing the few barns and small buildings on the far side of the river,
but the village itself was safe and already the villagers were starting
to return to their homes.
A dozen men who had come down to the river bank to watch the ice go out
waved their thanks at the flying reporters.
With his goal reached and success at hand, Tim felt a great drowziness
creep over him. His hand lost its firm grip on the stick and his eyes
closed in spite of himself. He managed to shake off the fatigue and
shouted to Ralph to take the plane.
Ralph fitted the extra stick in the control socket in the forward
cockpit and waggled the controls, indicating that he was ready.
The _Good News_ turned away from Auburn, away from the tumbling mass of
ice in the Cedar River, and sped toward home. Tim, exhausted by the
strenuous experiences of the day, dropped into a deep slumber and did
not awaken until Ralph plopped into a mud puddle on their home field.