With the advent of late spring, aviation became the news of the day.

Flyers were planning trans-Atlantic hops, endurance tests and Arctic exploration. The adventure which held Tim’s interest was the Arctic flight which Capt. Rayburn Rutledge, famed explorer, was planning across the top of the world. Not entirely satisfied with the efforts of other aerial explorers, Rutledge still hoped to find a hidden continent under the ice and snow of the Northland.

A great newspaper syndicate had undertaken to finance his trip and Tim’s paper had contributed $1,000. Tim read every word of Rutledge’s plans with avid interest, and made a thorough study of the conditions in the Arctic. It was just the flight he had dreamed about ever since Arthur Winslow, dean of the air mail flyers, had planted the seed in his mind only a few months before.

On his trip to the west coast, Rutledge stopped in Atkinson and in his interview with the explorer, Tim learned in detail of the plans for the flight over the top of the world. Then Rutledge soared over the Great Smokies on his way to Seattle, his embarkation point for Alaska.

The big news came unexpectedly. Rutledge had been injured in an automobile accident in Seattle; was definitely out of the flight for that year, yet the plane was ready, fully equipped, supplies had been shipped to the far north, and every detail cared for. The time for the adventure was ripe.

Tim read and dreamed and when his managing editor, speaking for the newspaper syndicate, asked him to take over the flight and carry on, Tim’s happiness knew no bounds. He felt it was the opportunity of a lifetime and within an hour after his acceptance, word was sent out on the humming press association wires that Tim Murphy and Ralph Parsons, the flying reporters of the Atkinson News, would attempt the daring Arctic adventure.

Another month elapsed before they were ready to leave Atkinson on the start of their long trip. Tim spent his last evening with Dan Watkins in the quiet of his friend’s room.

Dan had gone over all the plans with Tim and agreed that they had an excellent chance to succeed in their mission.

“And here’s a bit of good news, Tim,” he added, just before the flying reporter took his leave, “I have a hunch that if you succeed Carson will make you the aviation editor of the News.”

“You really think so, Dan?” Tim’s words reflected his hope and eagerness.

“I certainly do,” replied the copy reader. “From what I accidentally overheard this afternoon when he was talking with the business manager, things are all set—providing you succeed.”

“Then I’ll make it across the top of the world or bust up in the attempt,” said Tim determinedly.

The farewells the next day were brief for there is little time on a daily paper for leave-taking and Tim and Ralph were glad that it was so. A few sincere good wishes from Dan and their managing editor, and they found themselves on the Overland limited, bound for the coast where they would embark for the voyage along the coast to Alaska.

A week later when their steamer pulled away from the dock, Tim gazed at Seattle’s skyline but his thoughts were in the far north as they churned down Puget sound. He was actually bound for the Arctic! Really going to fly across the heart of the great unknown!

His dream had not been a dream after all but he was sensible enough to realize that only by hard work and the whole-hearted cooperation of Ralph had he been able to turn his dream into a reality. Good old steady Ralph. Perhaps he wasn’t the speediest sort of a fellow but he was reliable and could always be counted on in coming through in a crisis. And after all that was what counted on such an adventure as they were facing.

The trip up the coast and into the interior of Alaska was uneventful. When they reached Fairbanks they found that their plane had arrived safely and mechanics were already at work assembling it. Days passed like hours as they made their final preparations and it was June before Tim announced that they were ready to make the first hop of their long trip.

On a bright morning in early June they loaded their equipment into the monoplane, waved goodbye to mechanics who had helped so enthusiastically, and headed northward.

Then—fog!

Cold, bone chilling blasts from the Arctic swirled around the high peaks of the Endicott range and forced the trim, gray monoplane plane up and up. Inside the cabin of the little ship Tim and Ralph were eagerly trying to see through the drifting fog banks ahead and below them. The air was bitter cold.

It seemed hours to them since they had skimmed over the field at Fairbanks, flirted the tail of the plane into the air and headed northward across the heart of Alaska for Point Barrow, the northernmost outpost of civilization in that part of North America. For over an hour the weather had been cold but clear—then the dreaded fog. It had forced them higher and higher until they were almost at the ceiling for their heavily loaded plane. For four hours they had plunged blindly ahead, depending solely on their instruments and hoping against hope that they were still on their course.

Tim pored over his charts while Ralph handled the stick. Even a slight deviation from their course would cause them to miss Point Barrow and either go far out over the Arctic Ocean or come down at some lonely spot in the interior of Alaska.

Tim nudged Ralph and pointed to the clock on the instrument board. They had been in the air a little more than five hours. If the fog would only clear they might sight Point Barrow. But the fog refused to lift.

It was useless to go further north and with a bitter face Tim stared down at the drifting banks of gray. A flight across the top of the world—it was the ambition of his life and now, at the very outset, they were apparently doomed to failure through a whim of nature.

Ralph’s features were set in equally bitter lines for he knew how much the proposed flight over the top of the world meant to the young explorer. Even in the face of disaster few words passed their lips.

But now months of planning were worthless before the drifting gray clouds. Helplessly, the men in the monoplane cruised around and around, desperately clinging to the hope that the fog would clear. The minutes were speeding, drinking great gulps of precious fuel and their time in the air was nearing an end.

In less than an hour they would be forced to plunge down through the fog to whatever fate the gods of the air had prepared for them. If luck was with them, they might land without cracking up too badly and with the rifles, concentrated food and snowshoes which they had in the plane preparatory to their hop off from Point Barrow, they might be able to reach Barrow or find some trapper’s cabin. They might—but the chances were slim and Tim and Ralph now made no attempt to hide their anxiety.

Half an hour more of gas; half an hour more of life. The chill of the Arctic was creeping into their bones; their faces were white with the cold and the little thermometer on the side of the ship registered well below zero. Anything but pleasant weather for a forced landing and probable smashup.

Then Ralph let out a yell. Far to the right there was a rift in the fog and without a moment’s hesitation, he headed for it with the motor on full. They shot downward in a long glide, down and through the walls of gray—down and underneath the fog, which was lifting rapidly.

Ahead of them was the rugged coast of North Alaska and Tim managed to get his bearings. They were not more than eight or ten miles west of Point Barrow. With lighter hearts and a motor that was singing sweetly in spite of the sub-zero temperature, they skimmed along the coast. Less than ten minutes later they swooped low over the huddle of buildings that is Point Barrow and out to the pack ice where they landed, turned around, and taxied back toward the village to be greeted by the handful of Eskimos and the crew of the government radio station.

After hasty greetings, Tim and Ralph, still bundled in their heavy clothes, turned their attention to the plane and refused to leave it until they had satisfied themselves that everything thing was O.K.

Early the next day they were back on the ice, working over the monoplane, repacking their equipment and filling the gas and oil tanks, for now that they were ready, they intended to take advantage of the first favorable weather.

Tim was whistling as he worked in the cockpit, making a final inspection, while Ralph busied himself on the motor. Carefully he checked the equipment, the supply of concentrated food, snowshoes, knives, rifles, and a hood and heater for the motor. A forced landing in the heart of the Arctic would not find them unprepared and the stout, specially constructed wooden cockpit would provide them with a real shelter. He was working with a rifle when Ralph climbed in beside him.

“Motor O.K.?” Tim asked.

Ralph nodded and tucked long legs underneath as he sat down. He watched Tim work over the rifle for several minutes before he spoke.

“What’s the use of taking all that stuff?” He pointed to the rifle, the pile of soft-nosed bullets beside it, the snowshoes, the axe and other equipment fastened to the walls of the cockpit. “If we come down out there,” and he pointed toward the bleak stretches of the Arctic, “it’s curtains for us.”

Ralph wasn’t trying to hang crepe. He was simply stating the situation as he saw it, tinged with an airman’s sense of fatality.

Tim kept on with his work; he knew Ralph well. When he did answer, it was with carefully chosen words.

“Simply this, Ralph, if we come down out there we’ve still got a good chance of coming through. With snowshoes, this concentrated food, plenty of warm clothing, plus a good rifle and lots of ammunition, we can live for months. Not scared, are you?” The last words were whipped out.

“Scared? Me?” Ralph’s question was one of amazement. “I’m not scared and you know it but a 2,200 mile flight over the jumping off place isn’t the nicest thing in the world. But I’m here and I’m going through with it.”

Tim, laughing at his friend’s evident indignation, turned to him. “I know you are, Ralph, and we’ll come out on top in the end. Now get out of here and let me stow this stuff away. If the weather is favorable, we’ll hop off as soon as we can get some sleep.”

Twelve hours later every inhabitant of Point Barrow was down on the ice pack watching the flyers’ final preparations. A final inspection, a roar of the motor, and Ralph flirted the tail of the plane around. The motor, on full, drove a cloud of snow and ice into the faces of the little cluster of Eskimos and radio operators, and the monoplane bumped over the ice. It gained speed slowly.

Inside the little cabin Tim and Ralph were straining forward, fairly throwing their energy into the roar of the motor and praying that they would gain air speed.

The skis on the under carriage finally left the rough ice; wobbled in the air for a moment, looking as though they were on the feet of a drunken man, and then plunked to the ice. The plane careened and Tim and Ralph were hurled against the sides of the cabin with sickening thuds as a ski crumpled under the shock and one wing drooped low, almost scraping the ice. Ralph his hands clinging to the controls, was fighting the plane in an attempt to check its speed before any damage could be done.

He finally nosed it up an easy incline of snow and the flyers hopped out to inspect the damage. A minute later they were surrounded by their Eskimo friends. One of the metal skis was damaged beyond repair, and Tim thanked heaven he had had the foresight to put an extra pair in the plane before they left Fairbanks. With the Eskimos to keep the wing on the damaged side from dragging, Ralph got his ship turned around and back at the edge of the ice pack. Their first attempt had failed.

Working feverishly in an effort to replace the damaged ski and to take advantage of the good weather, Tim and Ralph labored on the plane, the numbing cold forcing them to stop at short intervals to warm their chilled hands.

Four hours later they were ready for the second attempt. With the Eskimos cheering as loudly as before, they started over the uneven ice pack. The plane bumped and swayed as it gained speed, calling for all the mastery in the capable hands of Ralph, but it was going faster than on the first attempt. It looked like a sure thing this time, and both young adventurers were congratulating themselves when one ski struck a hummock, the rapidly moving ship swung off its course and before Ralph could right it, dove over a snow bank and headed at right angles to its intended course. By quick work they cut the motor and stopped the plane before it had rammed its nose into a snowbank.

Tim grinned a little ruefully as he looked at Ralph. Two attempts had failed and just when conditions were ideal for their success.

“I’ll get this ship off the ice or bust in the attempt!” Ralph had sensed the question in his friend’s mind.

The plane had not been damaged and with the help of the willing Eskimos, they pulled it out of the soft snow. It was evident to both Tim and Ralph that it would be impossible to make a take off from the rough ice pack near Point Barrow. Further out on the pack, the ice was smoother and three miles from the village they found a suitable stretch.

Another day was spent in dragging the plane over the ice and clearing away the rough spots on their new field. But when they had finished, they had a smooth runway more than half a mile in length and wide enough for a good margin of safety. A smashup now would mean failure for the year since a new plane could not be secured in time for another attempt.

Tim and Ralph planned to snatch a few hours sleep and then take off, for day and night were one in the Arctic summer.

They had hardly dropped asleep when an operator from the radio station awakened them with the news that a severe storm was reported sweeping down the coast. The adventurers hastily donned their clothes and hurried across the pack where they covered the plane with heavy tarpaulins and staked them down. Tim was loath to desert his ship, but the song of the chill blasts that were sweeping over the ice warned them that it would mean sure death to remain on the windswept pack. After reassuring themselves that they had done everything possible to protect the plane, they started back for Point Barrow on a run.

The cry of the storm was louder, and far in the west the sky was gray with sweeping snow clouds. The flyers struggled on; Point Barrow was less than half a mile away. Then dense curtains of snow swirled about them and Point Barrow might have been a million miles away. The cold was intense; the snow blinding, but arm in arm they staggered on, trying to keep at right angles to the blasts. Ralph was rapidly becoming numb for he had donned only comparatively light clothes when they had started their dash to the plane. Now his feet were dragging and his body chilled to the bone. He was half dazed, too, with the desperateness of their situation. With the village perhaps only a few feet away, the wall of snow shut them in as effectively as though they were in another world. Ralph’s feet refused to move and he dropped to the ice, exhausted.

Tim slapped his companion’s face, beat his arms and legs, but the aviator’s mind refused to respond and he lay helpless. Struggling with his friend, Tim finally managed to swing his body over his shoulders and he staggered slowly on through the swirling snow. His double burden was sapping his strength and his feet were like lead. The end was near. He could hardly put one foot ahead of another.

“One-two, one-two, one-two.” Slowly his feet obeyed the command, then refused, and he pitched forward, pinned to the ice by Ralph’s body.

They might have been centuries on the ice for all Tim and Ralph knew, but when they came to, they were in the radio station, clothing off and their bodies undergoing snow massages. Neither one had suffered much from the effects of the experience although the Eskimos had found them just in time. Nervous exhaustion more than anything else had been responsible for their collapse on the ice.

The wind and snow raged for three days, and during that time Tim and Ralph spent their hours in sleep and stowing away plenty of good food, for the experience in the storm had warned them that they must have their bodies as well as their minds on edge if they hoped to succeed on their flight over the top of the world.

By the fourth day the skies had cleared, although the cold was intense. As soon as they could get into their clothes, Tim and Ralph headed a party across the ice, anxious to discover what damage the storm might have done to the plane. The tarpaulin-covered ship looked like a model T snow house but when they had removed the snow and the heavy canvas covering, they found the plane intact. The strong wind had swept snow clear of their runway and after warming up the motor and giving it a final test, they were ready for another attempt.

Eskimos were dispatched to the village to bring compasses and extra clothing while Tim and Ralph satisfied themselves that the plane was in perfect condition. When the party from Point Barrow returned, they brought two messages from the radio station. One was that weather conditions were as near perfect as possible and that the storm which had raged for three days had passed down into the Hudson Bay country.

The other message was from their managing editor.

“Eyes of the entire world on your daring attempt. Our every wish for your success.—Carson.”

The message cheered both flyers for they well knew the dangers they were about to face.

Tim installed the compasses, unrolled his charts and checked them again while Ralph idled the motor and then ran it up and down the scale with never a miss.

They were ready. The Eskimos jerked the chocks out from under the skis, and the trim little monoplane shot down the smooth runway, bound on one of the most daring flights in the history of aviation!