Tim and Ralph returned to the News office where Tim busied himself writing copy for his aviation column in the next day’s paper.

Among the letters he found on his desk was one from the news director of the Transcontinental Air Mail Company at San Francisco. The letter contained an announcement of the company plans to increase their passenger and air mail service to three trips a day each way across country. It would mean the inauguration of the most auspicious air transport program in the country.

The letter went on to say that giant tri-motored biplanes, capable of carrying 18 passengers and half a ton of mail or express, were being completed in the Transcontinental’s shops. A half dozen of the new planes would be put in service with the opening of the new schedule and a dozen more would be completed as rapidly as possible.

The letter indicated that all of the planes would stop at Atkinson, which meant Tim’s home city would have the best transcontinental air service in the country. The story was news, big news, and he devoted the remainder of the afternoon to writing it. He got in touch with Carl Hunter at the field and learned that Hunter had just received instructions to put on an extra ground crew. The postmaster supplied information on the value of the increased air mail service to bankers and business men and when Tim had finished gathering his material he had enough for a two column story.

The young aviation editor of the News worked until six o’clock, went out for a hasty dinner, and returned to the office to complete his story. The aviation copy must be ready the first thing in the morning to send to the waiting Linotypes.

Tim checked the facts in his story carefully. When he finished reading it over he felt that it was a creditable news story, certainly it was interesting and he thought it fairly well written.

Ralph, who had been sent out late in the afternoon to cover a service club dinner, came stamping into the office.

“Of all the hot air,” he exploded, “I’ve listened to a prize assortment in the last hour and a half. I’m always getting stuck for some assignment like this.”

Tim had little sympathy to offer and Ralph went over to his typewriter and banged savagely at the keys.

At nine o’clock the boys decided to call it a day. Tim had written the last line of copy for his aviation department and Ralph had managed to finish his story on the dinner.

The air was raw and bitter when they reached the street and heavy clouds obscured the stars.

“Nasty night for the air mail,” commented Tim as he turned up the collar of his coat.

“Going to snow before morning,” predicted Ralph.

“Hope you’re wrong,” replied Tim. “We’ve had enough winter. I’m ready for spring.”

The young reporters walked to the corner where they boarded different street cars. Ralph started home and Tim went to his room.

Tim undressed when he reached his room, selected an interesting adventure novel, and stretched out on his bed to read. Lost in the thrilling exploits of the hero of the novel, he did not notice the passage of time. The coolness of the room finally aroused him and when he looked at the clock it was nearly midnight.

Tim got up and felt the radiator. It was cold and the wind was whistling in the eaves outside his window. He looked down into the street. Faint swirls of snow danced along the paving and while he watched the air became thick with snowflakes.

The wind was increasing, whipping the snow into a blizzard. Tim could hardly see beyond the first street light. He looked at the clock again. It would be tough on the air mail flyers if they were between landing fields or in the Great Smokies when the storm broke. The rugged peaks of the mountains would be merciless on such a night.

Tim turned to the telephone and called the municipal airport. After an interval Carl Hunter answered.

“How is the mail?” asked Tim.

“Getting a bad break,” snapped Hunter. “The storm dropped like a blanket and two of the ships were caught in the Great Smokies. We haven’t heard from either the eastbound or the westbound for more than half an hour.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing until the storm breaks.”

“And then?”

“Send out rescue planes if I can find anyone to fly them. All of the mail pilots are on the east end of the division and even if the storm lets up at daybreak it will be noon before they can get here.”

“You can count Ralph and me for anything we can do,” promised Tim.

“Thanks a lot,” replied the field manager. “I’d appreciate it if you would come out now. I’m here all alone and my nerves are getting jumpy in the storm. Bring plenty of heavy clothes for the temperature is dropping fast. May be near zero by morning.”

Tim promised to go to the field at once and after Hunter had hung up the receiver telephoned for Ralph. A sleepy-sounding voice finally answered his summons and in a few words Tim explained what was needed.

“I’ll throw on some clothes and hop a cab for the field,” said Ralph, all thought of sleep having vanished.

Tim dressed carefully and warmly for he had a hunch it would be a good many hours before he saw bed again and from past experiences he was wise enough to follow his hunch.

The flying reporter phoned for a cab and then went downstairs to await its arrival. He stopped at the door of his landlady’s room and slipped a note under to tell of his sudden departure. Then he went into the front hallway. The lights of a cab gleamed dimly through the snow and Tim hastened out into the storm.

The taxi driver, heavily bundled, grunted as Tim gave his destination.

“Sure you want to get to the airport?” demanded the driver.

“Can’t you make it?” asked Tim.

“Don’t know,” replied the taxi man. “The snow is drifting fast and that road is bad on a night like this.”

“See how far you can get,” said Tim as he climbed into the cab.

With a grinding of gears the cab moved into the storm. The snow was falling in a solid blanket that obscured even the buildings flanking the street. Lights were visible for only a few feet and Tim and the driver felt as though they were in a world of their own.

Once or twice the cab slid into the curb but each time the driver managed to keep it under way and they finally pulled through the gate at the airport. Tim told the driver to charge the trip to the News and was about to enter the administration building when another cab jolted to a stop.

Ralph, bundled in a heavy coat, hopped out and followed Tim into the field manager’s office.

Hunter, a radiophone headset at his ears, was listening intently to an air mail report. He motioned for the boys to take chairs and went on with his work.

The reporters waited until Hunter had finished taking the message.

“What news now?” asked Tim.

“Bad news,” replied the field manager. “Two planes lost somewhere in the Great Smokies. It’s a cinch that the storm forced them down and you know how much chance there is of making a safe set-down on a night like this.”

“Who were on the ships?” Ralph wanted to know.

“Tiny Lewis was coming east and George Mitchell was on the westbound,” replied Hunter.

“They don’t make any better flyers than those two,” commented Tim.

“But they can’t buck a storm like this,” Hunter reminded. “Why, man alive, you can’t see ten feet ahead of you.”

“Maybe they had a break and landed when the first flakes started down,” suggested Ralph.

“You’re too optimistic,” replied the field manager. “This storm wasn’t on the weather charts. It just dropped down from nowhere. I don’t believe those ships could have stayed up two minutes after they nosed into the storm and neither one of the pilots had time to use their radio-phones.”

“Good thing they had parachutes,” said Ralph.

“I’m afraid chutes wouldn’t do them much good,” said Tim. “They wouldn’t have time to use them and wouldn’t know where they were going if they did. We’ll find Lewis and Mitchell with the planes.”

Conversation stopped. There was no use to say anything more. They knew the air mail pilots had stuck by their ships. When the storm cleared they would find the ships and the pilots and they only hoped that in some miraculous fashion the ships had not crashed too hard.

At four o’clock the storm lessened and the wind abated. At five o’clock there was only a trace of snow in the air and at six o’clock the mechanics had struggled through the drifts from town and were warming up two reserve mail planes. The Good News, its fuselage damp from the coat of paint, was in no condition to take the air and Hunter had placed two of the Transcontinental’s planes at the disposal of the flying reporters.

Tim and Ralph loaded thermos bottles of hot chocolate into the cockpits of their planes, put in first aid kits, ropes and hand axes and generally prepared for any emergency that might confront them.

Abundant supplies of extra blankets were tossed into the mail compartment ahead of the pilot’s cockpit and the hood was strapped down.

The motors of the great green and silver biplanes droned steadily as Tim and Ralph seated themselves at the controls.

“Locate them first,” Hunter shouted to the reporters. “If you can’t land and bring them out yourselves, come back and get help. Good luck and—hurry!”

Tim and Ralph fully understood the urgency of their mission and they swung the tails of their planes around, opened the throttles and bounced over the field in a smother of snow.

The mail planes, their 525 horsepower motors barking in the near zero weather, lifted off the field and sailed away toward the Great Smokies. Somewhere hidden in the dim peaks to the west were the air mail planes and their pilots.