  Realizing that the watchman did not know what he meant by “the mystery crate,” Bob hurriedly told of the earlier experiences: all the while he talked his mind was busy, underneath, wondering why the pilot of the brown ship had flown over the plant, why he had appeared to lose control when the light flared up, why he had climbed to get away. “He’s gone!” said the watchman. “Anyhow, that’s clear!” “I hate to see him get away!” Bob said, sorrowfully. “Whyn’t you chase him?” “I?” Bob was startled by the idea. “Sure—you! Didn’t I see Lang giving you lessons, and Griff, too?” “Yes—but, at night—and Lang has the small ship.” The watchman seemed to have caught the excitement of a chase. “Look here, though!” he cried, beckoning as he ran. “In the hangar is a crate just like Griff’s model—belonged to Mr. Tredway. He—he won’t need it no more. Whyn’t you?——” “At night?” “Sure! Once you get off the ground, the air’s all the same, day or night, ain’t it?” Not exactly, Bob demurred, There were many considerations to be thought out, but his father had said “locate the brown ship.” Here it was, flying away! It seemed to be “up to him.” “Can we get the crate out? Can we get it started? Is there any fuel aboard?” Already the watchman had hold of the tail assembly of a trim, slender, dark fuselage. “Grab on!” answered the watchman, jockeying the fuselage so that a wingtip missed the span of the cabin ‘plane’s spreading airfoils. “Grab on! I know you lads is detectiffs, and here’s your chance for a medal or somethin’.” Bob “grabbed on!” with spirit. He had caught the enthusiasm of the older person. It took them only a short time to jockey the craft into the open, to get its gauges checked, to see that it had oil and at least a tank of gas three-quarters full. “Holler out!” The watchman stood by the “prop.” “Ready!” “Gas on?” “Gas on!” “Switch off?” “Switch off!” The watchman spun the propeller. “Contact!” he yelled, stepping swiftly beyond the range of those deadly sharp blade tips. There came the snap and bark of the motor. Cold! But Bob, feeling that for all the precious seconds it must waste, he ought to be safe before he might be sorry, allowed it to warm up, checked his instruments as he had observed Lang and Griff do, and then, as the watchman, obeying his signal, kicked away the chocks so the wheels could move forward, the amateur pilot, steady and cool all at once, glanced at the windsock, saw that he could take off straight down the short field, pulled open the throttle, tipped the “flippers” so the tail ceased to drag, as the propeller blast caught the elevators, and began to race down the field. As he went he tipped the elevators sharply, felt the ship sway a trifle, realized he was off the ground and moving steadily, climbing to the roar of the engine! He smiled a little. He had not forgotten to hold the ship level for the brief seconds that it needed to assume flying speed after the first hop from earth. He had not climbed her at too steep an angle, there was no indication, at least to his inexperienced hand, of any logginess of the controls presaging a stall. He was away! “Now,” he thought, with a sharp glance around the sky spaces, “I am in for it. If nothing goes wrong with the machinery or the prop I guess I can keep this crate level and get somewhere.” But where? In those precious moments the brown ship could have gone ten miles. “He was mightily interested in the aircraft plant,” Bob reflected, letting the ship “fly herself,” as most well balanced aircraft will do in steady air, as long as flying speed is held. “Now all that we have found out, so far, has centered about the aircraft plant and—and The Windsock! Could he be around there? Or——” As a new thought struck him he gripped the stick a tiny bit tighter. “—Or, maybe he’s brought the brown ship back for some new stunt! It might be hidden in that field again!” He pushed the stick a trifle to the side, thus operating the ailerons, while he used his rudder experimentally, meaning to swing in a circle. Whether a good Providence watches over amateurs, in sports or in professions, or whether Bob had actually learned from his lessons, the fact is that he did not overbank or use too much rudder, and neither felt the wind of a skid on one cheek nor the breeze of a slip on the other. Around went the ship, in a wide swing. Bob kept his eyes on the sky, with momentary glances at the instruments, not all of which were understandable to him yet; however, he knew the altimeter, the tachometer which records engine speed, the gas and oil pressure gauges and such important ones. They seemed all to record satisfactorily. His altitude was six hundred feet; a little low for safety, so he climbed to twice that. The revolutions were even and plenty for his need, as he watched the fluctuations of the tachometer when he eased the throttle forward in his climb, or backed it gently in the level-off. Gas and oil recorded without a hitch or a diminution of supply. But where was his quarry? Far ahead Bob saw a tiny flare of red in the sky. He nearly lost control in his excitement, but with the true air-sense he caught the tendency of the sideslip by opposite rudder and aileron and then banked and circled till his nose pointed straight for the dying flare. Someone in the sky was signaling for something! “I’ll get there soon! And see!” Bob told himself. He held the ship level, glancing at the “bubble” in the spirit level, as he gave the gun, opening the throttle steadily. To the roar of the engine, the sing of cool wind in taut wires, the sting of pulsing blood pounding a thrill-song in his temples, Bob took up his quest, and soon saw, ahead, the dim outline of a circling ship. It was dark. Was it brown? He dared not get too close. Rather, he preferred to climb, so as to be safely out of the other fellow’s way if he maneuvered. From above Bob planned to light a white flare, by whose light he could identify the ship. But the other fellow saw him too! Bob needed no flare to tell him that he had discovered the brown craft—its action was indication enough! The pilot dived, and then went into a barrel-roll, dangerous at a low altitude, Bob thought. The “stunt” enabled the ship to get to one side and out of his line of flight if he dived for it. Clearly this showed that the unseen pilot feared to be attacked, driven down. But Bob had no such intention, he merely followed as the small, brown craft, speedy and capable, went fleetly through the night. Bob, easing his throttle a little more open, as he got the line of flight, held his elevation and his level position; he did not try to overtake the other, he wanted to see where he went—nothing more! So the flight held, one about five hundred feet up, the other easily as high again. The speed was almost identical, the ships were well matched. But the other man had some tricks up his wings, in a way of speaking! He began to climb. Bob, fearing to be over-reached, climbed also. Higher, higher they both went, Bob still atop the other, for he had as much power, as well angled wings, as clever a ship as his adversary. But the battle of elevation was short. At fifteen hundred feet the brown ‘plane went into a wingover, and to Bob’s dismay it was, by that maneuver, in a reverse direction to the flight of his own, and he dared do no maneuvering, no stunting, at night and alone! Before he could swing in the easy circle which his inexperience compelled him to use, the other pilot was almost out of sight. He climbed, and thus Bob gained, but he saw that his pursuit was futile. The man was climbing into a cloud! In its misty vastness, surrounding a ship like a fog, an inexpert pilot could not know, without continually watching his spirit level and other instruments, if he flew level or on his back, if he was going sidewise or straight toward earth. To watch the instruments “to fly by the dashboard” was useless; he could not see to follow if he risked the feat. Disgusted, disappointed, he cut the gun and slowed his ship, and flew around toward The Windsock. Somebody on the ground was burning several land flares, he saw. It told him one thing! The other fellow had been expected! His signal had been seen. For an instant Bob was tempted to try a landing, to see if they would be startled, those people down there in the glare. Did they perhaps think he flew the craft they expected? It would be worth something to discover that. Or—would it? The danger, the risk, was considerable. It was strange territory to him. The people, seeing his craft markings, its different color, might extinguish the flares, leaving him, low, to “set down hot” or to climb, too late, and land in trees! No, it was not worth the risk. If his adversary had gotten away that was the end of the adventure. Only—it wasn’t. |
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