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.