Peril from the Sky
“It’s certainly great to have an airport so close to Barmet Bay,” said
Frank Hardy.
“I wish we could go up in an airplane some time,” returned Joe, his
brother.
“Wouldn’t you be scared?”
“Me? Would you?”
“No.”
“Then I wouldn’t be scared either. Look at the record holders! Where
would they be now if they’d been afraid to go up in an airplane?”
“That’s right,” said Frank. “Airplanes are pretty safe nowadays. Almost
as safe as this car of ours.”
The two Hardy brothers were driving on the Shore Road, leading out of
Bayport and skirting Barmet Bay, in their new roadster. It was
springtime. Snow had disappeared from the hillsides and the blue waters
of the bay sparkled in the sunlight. Their destination this afternoon
was the new airport, a few miles out of the city.
“I’m glad winter is over, even if we did have a lot of fun on Cabin
Island,” said Joe. “It won’t be long now before we’re through school.”
“If we pass our exams,” Frank reminded him, calmly.
“You’ll pass all right. I’m not so sure about myself. I had to work
mighty hard to catch up to you.”
“Yes, but I lost a term that year I was sick. Anyway, our marks have
been good this year. We should get through. Isn’t it funny—when we’re
going to high school we wish we were out of it and now that we are in
our last term I’m rather sorry to leave.”
“Me, too,” said Joe. “Wonder where we’ll be next fall?”
“College, I guess.”
“Mother has her mind set on a college course for both of us. So far as
I’m concerned I’d rather go into detective work with dad.”
“It would certainly be more exciting. Still, we’d have a good time at
college, I imagine,” observed Frank.
He turned the car into a road that branched off the main highway. This
road led toward the airport that had been constructed back of Bayport
the previous summer.
“Wonder why they built the airport so far out,” Joe said.
“They have to have plenty of ground. It was the only place available.
Then, there’s a railway siding near by and a train always meets the mail
planes,” Frank explained. “Dad was telling me all about it the other
evening. They use the port for commercial flying too, and I hear they do
a lot of business and hope to do more.”
“An airmail pilot must have lots of nerve. It’s marvelous that they
nearly always bring the mail through on time. And lots faster than
trains. I wish we knew one of the pilots. He might take us up for a
flight.”
“Chet Morton and the rest of the fellows would be green with envy,”
rejoined Frank.
The roadster bounced along the rutted road toward the airport. A
signpost near by conveyed the information that the flying field was
three miles away. A little later, as the car came over the brow of a
hill the Hardy boys could see the great flat field lying in the valley
below. In front of a hangar they could see a plane with silver wings.
“Chances are we’ll both have a plane of our own in about ten years,” Joe
said. “Everybody will be flying then, and think nothing of it.”
Frank applied the brakes as the roadster descended the steep grade. In a
few minutes they had reached the foot of the hill. The car raced along
the level road toward the airport.
The boys had often seen the airplanes flying over the city, but they had
never been in close proximity to one of the machines and now they were
excited over the prospect.
“Perhaps,” said Frank, “we’ll even meet one of the pilots and have a
chance to talk to him and hear about some of his adventures.”
Joe turned in his seat and looked back.
“Why, there’s a plane now!” he exclaimed. “We’ll be able to see it
land.”
Above the roar of the car the boys could hear the hum of an approaching
airplane. It came swooping down out of the sky beyond the hill.
“Seems to be flying mighty queerly,” commented Frank. “Usually they go
along as smoothly as a bird.”
“Nothing smooth about that one. Maybe the pilot’s in trouble.”
The flight of the plane was indeed erratic. It was going from side to
side in a jerky fashion and it seemed to be flying much closer to the
ground than safety warranted.
“He’ll never reach the airport at that rate,” said Frank, looking back
again. “He should be higher up than that. Look! He’s coming straight
down, and the airport is a couple of miles away!”
“I hope he doesn’t land on the road. He might hit us.”
“If he lands on the road he’s in for a nasty crash. A plane has to have
plenty of room to move around in.”
Between steering the roadster and eying the plane, Frank Hardy was well
occupied. Joe kept looking back and staring at the descending machine.
“I believe that fellow _is_ in trouble,” he said. “He’s coming down
right this way.”
They could see the airplane quite clearly now. They could even see the
figure of the pilot in the cockpit. The machine was descending at
terrific speed in a long glide that made it seem inevitable that the
plane would fall far short of the airport.
Frank stepped on the accelerator. The car leaped forward, raising a
cloud of dust. But the speed of the car was as nothing compared with the
speed of the plane. The distance between them diminished, and the plane
was steadily nearing the ground.
“Great Caesar! That fellow is coming down on top of us!” shouted Joe, in
alarm.
“Not if I can help it,” returned Frank grimly.
Joe looked up. He could even distinguish details of the understructure
of the airplane now. The roar of its engine was deafening. Lower and
lower it came.
For a moment the plane flew level. Its nose raised and it gained
altitude. Joe breathed a sigh of relief. Then the big machine dipped
again. He could see the propeller blades flashing in the sun.
The roadster was traveling at sixty miles an hour. Frank did not dare
raise his eyes from the road. He crouched over the wheel.
“Where is he now?” he snapped.
“Right behind us! And coming down every minute!”
Joe was really frightened. There was no hope that the plane would ever
reach the airport, for it was flying too close to the ground. He
wondered if the pilot was merely trying to scare them. But the plane was
diving toward them in such headlong fashion that he quickly abandoned
this explanation.
Powerful though the roadster was, the speed of the plane was much
greater. It was scarcely two hundred feet from the ground now and its
nose was pointing down at a dangerous angle. In a few more seconds there
would be a crash, and, from the angle of flight, it seemed almost
certain that the heavy machine would crash directly on top of the
roadster!
The car roared ahead, the noise of its engine drowned in the gigantic
throbbing of the airplane’s motor. The plane came nearer and nearer,
diving at almost incredible speed.
“We’re done for!” groaned Joe.
Unless a miracle intervened the plane would crash directly on top of the
Hardy boys’ car!
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