As the plane, responding perfectly to Bill's touch, soared upward, it
seemed as though they were rising on gossamer wings out of a well of
darkness and mists. They actually rose to greet the sun whose first rays
were gilding the tops of the hills. They went up in the very face of the
great orb whose light, first striking the upper wings, turned all the
delicate wires and cords to gold. How they shone in the clear early
sunlight! As the pace increased, Bill felt rather than heard the
delicate humming of the wires. Over the roar of the engine he did not
know whether he could distinguish a delicate sound or whether it was
only a trick of his imagination, but he was so exalted and so thrilled
by the wonderful experience through which he was passing that he seemed
to hear all sorts of celestial sounds.
Fear fell from him. A new power was born in heart and brain. He felt as
uplifted in soul as he was in body. Somehow he longed more than ever to
be a good boy; to harbor good thoughts; to do good deeds. When he tried
to think of Frank and his ugly black actions, he found that he regarded
them through a haze as though they were a long ways away and of little
consequence. All was going to be well. It was as though the darkness
from which they had risen was a symbol. They were going up, up into the
light! Bill knew as well as though some higher power had whispered it to
him that there would be a good ending: he did not doubt his ability to
do an almost unheard-of thing. His hand was as steady as though he had
flown all his life. He was "exalted in spirit," because his goal was a
worthy one. Without a question for their own safety, the boys had
started on an enterprise filled with dangers, in order to save Lee from
false imprisonment and possibly worse. Ernest knew the Indian nature
better even than Bill. He knew how impossible it is for them to bear
unmerited disgrace and how often they end that disgrace with a bullet or
the swift thrust of a knife. He hoped that the white blood that
dominated Bill's good friend was strong enough to overcome this trend,
but nevertheless he felt that there was not a moment to be lost. So
there he sat, only an observer in his well-beloved aeroplane, the broken
arm throbbing with a blinding pain, while Bill--young Bill who had never
been nearer to flying than the warping of a wing and the sailing on one
wheel over the field--sat in the pilot's seat, grave and intent, and
guided their swift flight.
But ah, who could tell the thoughts that all unbidden coursed through
the mind of the culprit lying bound and muffled in the rear seat? So
intently were the eyes of his spirit bent inward on the dark and
whirling horrors they found there that the eyes of his body were blind
to the wonders of the young day. He lay where they had placed him,
staring blindly through his goggles straight up into the great dome
above him.
The storm seemed to have washed the very air. It was clear as crystal. A
few clouds, thin as gossamer, hung here and there, growing less as a
steady breeze sprang up in the wake of the sun and gently dismissed them
from the great blue bowl in which they lingered.
When they passed through these fairy clouds, they found them a soft
golden mist shot through with rainbow colors. Then emerging, they passed
once more into blue space, a space greater than Bill had ever imagined.
How tiny, how frail they were: three boys darting in a man-made machine
high above their own realm! What daring! What risks!
Daring, risks? Bill was unable to grasp the meaning of those earth-born
words. He felt neither small nor frail. He, Bill Sherman, a boy, was
among the conquerors!
At a signal from Ernest he increased the speed and soared upward. It is
safer in the higher altitudes, although there is usually a great deal
more wind blowing there. In case of any engine trouble, you have more
time and a longer distance in which to bring the machine to the gliding
angle. Also if you are flying over a city when trouble threatens, you
have a chance to find a good landing place.
All of these things Bill had had lectured to him endlessly at Sill, and
from both Ernest and Tom at school. But actual experience he had not
had. That fact, however, he put resolutely behind him. Just one breath
of fear struck him. He had witnessed a tail dive once at Sill, and over
and over his mind kept repeating, "Keep the tail a little higher than
the head and you won't spin." Ernest smiled to himself as he saw from
Bill's manoeuvers as the flight went on that he had stored away all
the counsel he had listened to. Many a trained aviator never learned to
drive his engine and balance his plane with the cool cleverness and
judgment of this young and untried aeronaut. Ernest commenced to relax
and enjoy himself. If they had no engine accident, there was no reason
to suppose that Bill would wreck the plane.
"Up!" cried Ernest, pointing with his well hand.
Bill responded and the plane again soared aloft.
Here the wind screamed a gale. The plane shot forward, the wires
whistling, the engine drumming, the whole light fabric in which they
rode quivering. Bill's hand on the wheel grew tense; his faculties
seemed on a wire edge. Ernest's guiding hand pointed to the right. Bill
was surprised. He had kept good track of his direction by the aid of the
air compass and felt sure he was going in the right direction.
Nevertheless he turned and, banking his wings and lifting the ailerons,
moved smoothly in the direction suggested. Half an hour later Ernest
again motioned, this time for a turn to the left.
It was not until days after their arrival at Sill that Ernest thought to
tell Bill that the unexpected and seemingly unnecessary deviations from
the straight course were merely to try him out. An hour or so later when
Ernest saw that they were passing over a strip of country where good
landing places seemed plentiful, he indicated a dip and Bill executed it
perfectly. He felt proud of himself now, and said, "Tail up, tail up!"
repeatedly, as he felt the plane drop earthward. Reaching a lower level,
Ernest nodded and they sailed on a straight-away flight, their eyes
turned ever to the far-away goal in the west.
Bill was unconscious of the passing time. They had had a heavy and
sustaining breakfast, and luncheon was forgotten. There was no time to
stop if they had been hungry. But Ernest was thinking of many things.
He carefully scanned the country they were passing over for a landing
place. Bill's face was well covered with the flaps of his helmet and the
wings of his goggles, but Ernest fancied that the young aviator was
pale. He felt that they must land for awhile. Even now they were many
hours ahead of the time they would have made on a railroad train. He
indicated an upward course, and Bill rose as they raced over a flat and
open part of the country. Far ahead there lay what seemed to be an open
plain dotted at long intervals with small villages. A pleasant farming
district evidently, far from any large city. Ernest was sure that he
could get gasoline in any hamlet, and there seemed to be plenty of
landing places. The only question remaining was Bill's ability to get
down without a smash. Ernest smiled. He was fatalist enough to be
willing to risk what _had_ to be risked.
The sun was well in the west. They seemed to be flying straight into the
blazing disk when Ernest, pointing to a wide plain far ahead, touched
Bill and told him with a gesture to go down and land.
Bill gave a short nod and prepared to obey. There flashed into his head
a saying of Tom's, "Anybuddy can fly, but it's the landing that hurts."
Bill felt everything--their safety, his own self-respect and Ernest's
confidence in him--rested on this last and different test. He could not
conceive of a reason for landing, but Ernest said land, so land it was!
At any rate, his engine was going perfectly, so he was not required to
attempt a difficult volplane with a dead engine. It was something to be
spared that. Bill picked the likeliest spot in the distant landscape,
all immense field with only a few groups of black dots to break its late
fall greenness. Bill could not tell the nature of the dots at the
height he was flying. They might be bushes or cows. Bill hoped for the
latter, and as he came down he saw that he was right. Cows would be
likely to scatter, thought Bill, but bushes would be difficult to steer
around.
About a hundred feet from the ground he tilted his elevating plane, and
the machine, nosing up, glided off at a tangent. Once more making a
turn, he came down to the ground, striking it gently, and bobbing along
the grassy surface of the field.
The cows scattered all right. When the machine came to a standstill,
swaying back and forth like a giant dragonfly, all that remained of the
herd was a glimpse of agitated and wildly waving tails galloping off
into the second growth which rimmed the pasture.
Ernest, who had taken many long flights, removed his goggles and smiled
at the young pilot as he climbed awkwardly over the side and dropped to
the ground. His head whirled, and his eyes felt strained out of his
head. With fingers that trembled he undid his helmet and pushed off his
goggles.
"Well, boy, I may say that I was never so proud of a friend in my life!
You have done nobly!"
"What did we land for?" asked Bill. "I don't see as we can afford the
time."
"We must take time to get some gas and rest you up a little. Don't you
worry, son! You are going to drive all night to-night unless--well, why
didn't I think of this before? We are 'way past the path of the storm
last night, and--"
"Last night!" interrupted Bill. "Was it only last night? I feel as
though it was a week ago."
"I was going to say," resumed Ernest, "that we can send a telegram from
somewhere around here, and then we can spend the night at a farmhouse,
and go on to-morrow. We can reach there to-morrow night, perhaps
earlier."
"I don't approve of that," said Bill. "If my mother thought I was 'up in
a balloon, boys,' she would about die of fright."
"She gave you permission," reminded Ernest.
"Yes, but of course she never thought anything like this would happen
and honestly I wish you wouldn't! I can drive all night all right. That
is, if I can get a little rest," he added, as he sensed his aching
muscles and realized the tension he had been under.
"I think about so," said Ernest. "I will look around for a farmhouse.
Must be one near on account of all these cows. Oh, goodness! See what's
coming!"
Across the field surged a small but excited procession. A lean boy on
horseback, without saddle or bridle and guiding the shambling colt he
rode by a halter strap, led the van. Behind him, as lean as he, and
about seven feet tall, a farmer, whiskered like a cartoon, kept pace
easily with the horse. Behind came a roly-poly old lady, her apron
strings fluttering in the breeze as she bowled along dragging a fat
little girl by each hand. Three dogs barking loudly brought up the rear.
Twenty-five feet from the plane the procession was thrown into confusion
by the colt which suddenly discovered what seemed to him to be a giant
horsefly, its wings wagging lazily. He had dreamed of just such monsters
while snoozing in the shade on hot summer days, but here, oh, here was
the creature itself ready to fly up and alight on him!
He did not wait for further investigation, but whirled and left for
parts distant where the cows peered through the saplings at the awful
intruder in their peaceful pasture. The sod was soft and the young
rider, rolling head over heels, was not harmed as he came to a stop
close to the boys and sat up, rubbing his red head.
"What's your hurry?" asked Ernest, smiling.
"Nuthin'," said the boy. "Say, is that a airyplane?"
"Sure thing!" replied Ernest. "Do you live near here?"
"Yep!" said the boy. "Let's see you fly in it."
Ernest laughed. "You certainly believe in speeding the parting guest,
don't you, young chap? Is this your father coming?"
"Yep! Say, how do you work her?"
Ernest turned to greet the tall farmer. Everything was turning out as
he hoped. Not only would the farmer and his roly-poly wife, who
presently came up panting, give them supper and a place to rest, but he
had a Ford, and on account of the distance from town was always supplied
with a large tank full of gas. Ernest gave a sigh of relief. The only
danger was from their curiosity. When the thin boy went off to get the
colt, and was seen riding furiously away, Ernest knew that, like Paul
Revere, he was off to give an alarm and rouse the countryside. He looked
at his watch. There should be a full moon later, but Bill was completely
tired out and had not yet come into the condition known as second wind.
It would take three or four hours to get ready for the rest of the
flight.
"What sort of a chap is that boy of yours?" asked Ernest.
"Pig-headed!" said the old lady, speaking for the first time.
"That is not a bad trait," said Ernest, smiling. "I mean can you trust
him?"
"Yes, you _kin_," said his mother. "Webby will do just what he says
every time and all the time."
"The woman's right," said the farmer. "I kin trust Web soon as I kin
myself."
"Sooner!" said his wife scornfully. "You are the forgittinest feller,
and Webby don't _never_ forget. If you want he should go an errant,
mister, he'll be back soon."
"Not exactly an errand," said Ernest, and no more would he say until he
saw the boy come galloping back to the field. He dismounted a long way
off, and came running.
"Your mother and father tell me you can keep your word, and be trusted,"
said Ernest. "I want you to stand guard over this machine. I don't want
you or anyone else to _touch_ it. I want you to keep everyone at least
ten feet away. If you will do this, I will either pay you or else take
you up for a little flight."
"Wait!" said the boy. He turned and went running back to his colt and,
mounting, dashed out of sight. In five minutes he returned bearing a
long out-of-date rifle.
"Go ahead and get something to eat," he said. "This ought to fix 'em!"
With a stick he drew a deep scratch in the green grass around the plane.
Then he looked with a smile across the field.
"Let 'em come!" he said. "This ought to fix 'em!"
Ernest looked. Mr. Paul Revere Webby had not ridden in vain. They were
coming. Coming in Fords, buggies and on horseback. Coming strong.