A DESPERATE DILEMMA
“Well, here we are safe and sound once more in the United States!”
exclaimed Walter Hapworth, as he looked below from the plane in which he
was flying and saw the rolling waters of the Rio Grande that marked the
borders of the two republics.
“That’s what,” replied Ted Scott, the famous aviator, who was sitting at
the controls of the _Silver Streak_, the plane that was so closely
associated with his own renown, “and mighty glad I am to be again in our
country.”
“You certainly did have a rather lively time while you were down in
Mexico,” laughed Hapworth.
“Lively and deadly at the same time,” replied Ted. “It was the first
country in which I ever had a rope about my neck. Gee, I can feel the
clutch of it yet! I wake up sometimes at night with the sensation of
strangling.”
“It sure was a case of touch and go,” rejoined Hapworth. “If that little
Conchita hadn’t come along just then, they’d have strung you up. About
the closest call you ever had, I guess, and that’s saying a lot. But I
just happened to think, Ted, how is it that we’re able to talk together
as easily as we’re doing? In all our other trips the engine was roaring
so that we had to scribble notes to each other and send them through the
tube. What’s the answer? I can hear you now with hardly any trouble at
all.”
“I was wondering how long it would be before you tumbled,” smiled Ted.
“I’ve added a silencer that does away with most of the noise. As a
matter of fact, I had the thing on board before we left Bromville on our
trip to Mexico City, but you were in such a hurry to get away that I
hadn’t made all the connections. Since I’ve been in Mexico I’ve fixed it
up to the queen’s taste, and now it’s working perfectly.”
“It’s an immense improvement,” commented Hapworth. “It used to get my
goat to have to write a note when time was pressing and I needed to
speak to you at once. What is the contrivance that you’re using?”
“It’s a muffler that moderates the noise from the exhaust,” explained
Ted. “It consists of a metal cylinder with the exhaust manifold pipe
welded to one side. Inside the cylinder is a tube with the back portion
perforated with small holes or gills. The ends are open to the air, so
that when the plane is in flight the air passes through the tube
creating a negative pressure in the rear walls where the gills are
located. This increases the velocity of the exhaust gases inside the
device and the gases leave through the small gills and mix with the air
that has entered the front end. And you see for yourself how much that
reduces the noise from the engine.”
“It sure does,” agreed Hapworth, “but doesn’t it reduce the speed?”
“Just a trifle,” replied Ted. “But the effect on the climb and the speed
is almost negligible. Now all that remains is for some one to invent a
device that will do away with the noise of the propeller and the valve
gears, and then there won’t be any sound at all worth speaking of.”
“What a boon that would have been on our Pacific trip,” observed
Hapworth. “By the way, Ted, speaking of the Pacific, did you read, of
those fellows that are planning to make a flight from California to
Australia?”
“I read something about it,” said Ted. “But so many of those schemes go
up in smoke that I haven’t paid much attention to it. California to
Australia! Gee, that will be some hop, especially if they make it a
non-stop flight!”
“I don’t think they’re quite so ambitious as that,” said Hapworth.
“They’ll probably stop at Hawaii and Fiji on the way. But even at that,
some of the stretches will be three thousand miles or more.”
“I wish them luck,” said Ted. “But just now I’ve got something nearer
than Australia to think of. I don’t like the looks of that cloud bank,”
pointing to a black and menacing mass on the horizon. “Looks as though
we were in for a spell of weather.”
“Any flying field where we could land, if necessary?” asked Hapworth.
“I’d hate to be caught in a Texas norther.”
“No airport within a couple of hundred miles,” replied Ted. “Of course
the country is pretty level here and I could probably make a landing,
though I’d hate to like the mischief.”
Gradually the cloud bank extended until it covered the greater part of
the sky. The sun was blotted out and a twilight sombreness enveloped the
plane and its occupants. Landmarks were no longer distinguishable and
Ted Scott was reduced to depending altogether upon his instruments.
On through the gathering darkness the _Silver Streak_ whizzed at the
rate of over a hundred miles an hour.
But any hope that Ted might have cherished of outspeeding the storm
proved futile. It was gathering now with great rapidity.
From the dense banks of clouds jagged sheets of lightning shot athwart
the sky. The crash of thunder became deafening and almost continuous.
The rain still held off, but the wind was steadily rising and its
ominous growl was like that of a wild beast at its kill.
It came at first in fitful gusts, each one stronger than the last. Then
it burst upon the aviators almost with the fury of a hurricane.
It struck the _Silver Streak_ on the quarter with a violence that almost
made the plane turn turtle. It was all that Ted could do to get her on
an even keel. By skilful jockeying he got her in a position where the
wind beat directly from the back and then he let her drive.
Had the wind continued in one direction, his task would have been
comparatively easy. But every few minutes it veered and at times
appeared to be coming from all quarters at once, so that the plane
seemed to be in the very vortex of a cyclone.
Ted had been in many storms but none worse than this. The unchained
demons of the tempest tugged at the plane as though they would tear it
to pieces. Once it turned completely over, so that the occupants were
flying with their heads down, and only the straps by which they were
held prevented them from being hurled to the earth below.
When, after a struggle, Ted had brought the machine right side up, he
pulled the joy stick and began to climb for altitude, hoping to find a
quieter stratum of air. He had been flying at an altitude of about five
thousand feet. Now he mounted to eight thousand, ten, twelve and
fifteen. But the higher he got the fiercer the gale seemed to become,
and he again descended to a lower level.
The rain was now falling in torrents, as though all the windows of
heaven had been opened. It crashed against the window of the cockpit,
obscuring Ted’s sight and making it impossible to see twenty feet ahead
of him.
Still, as long as he maintained his present altitude, he knew that he
could not come into collision with anything, unless indeed some other
plane should come zooming through the darkness and strike him head on.
With every moment the storm increased in fury. At times the _Silver
Streak_ was tossed about like a chip on the surface of a torrent. A
lesser pilot would have got rattled by the terrific power of the
elements and lost control of the plane. Then would have come an awful
downward rush and—death!
Ted jockeyed the plane as a skilful rider manages a spirited steed,
yielding here, stiffening there, now rising, now descending, seeking to
outwit the wind and ever get the violence of its blow on the quarter of
the plane that could stand it best.
A thrill went through him, however, when he found that one of the wings
failed to respond as it should to a move of his controls.
“What is it, Ted?” Hapworth shouted in his ear, noting the worried look
on his companion’s face.
“This right wing,” replied Ted. “It isn’t working just right. Perhaps
it’s been strained by the storm or, worse still, it may be cracked.”
If the latter were the case, they were indeed in a precarious situation,
for the crack would be apt to widen under the beating of the gale, and
if the wing once gave way they were done for. No human skill could in
that case keep the plane from falling to the earth like a bird with a
broken wing.
Now Ted’s task was doubled, for he had to manipulate the plane in such a
way that most of the strain would come upon the uninjured left wing. He
had to summon all his resources to accomplish it in the face of the fury
of the elements.
He did it, however, to a great degree in the hour of stress and strain
that followed. Every moment he dreaded to hear a snap that would tell
him that he and his companion were doomed.
Then at length the storm began to abate. The lightning flashes became
less frequent. The rolling of the thunder subsided to a dull muttering
and finally ceased. The torrential rain dwindled to a drizzle and above
them rifts of light began to appear through the darkness of the clouds.
Ted was drenched with perspiration from his tremendous efforts, and
every sinew and muscle felt as though it had been beaten. But a great
load had been lifted from his mind now that the wind had died down and
he discovered that he could keep the plane on an even keel.
But now a landing had become imperative so that he could repair the
injured wing. He could see clearly that it was drooping and at any
moment might give way.
He looked downward to see if any suitable spot offered itself. But here
he found himself baffled. The hot earth was steaming from the rain that
had drenched it and was enveloped in haze. He did not know whether he
was over a city or the open plain, woodland or river.
“Doesn’t look any too good, eh, Ted?” said Hapworth.
“It sure doesn’t,” replied Ted. “Do you notice how the plane is
wobbling? And this haze is so thick that you could cut it with a knife.”
He pushed the joy stick and the plane gradually descended until it was
flying at a height of three hundred feet. Ted did not dare to go farther
for fear that he might hit a tree or a steeple.
Even at this lower altitude, however, he could not discern the earth,
and his anxiety grew with every passing moment.
He thought of climbing out on the wing and attempting to repair it while
the plane was in motion. But he could not tell just how far the crack,
if any existed, was from the body of the plane, and there was the danger
that his added weight might bring on the catastrophe he dreaded.
Just then a shout came from Hapworth.
“I think the haze is scattering, Ted!” he cried. “I caught a glimpse
just now of the ground.”
“Good!” exclaimed Ted. “What did it look like? Open and level?”
“Couldn’t say,” replied his companion, “but it must be fairly level, for
I thought I caught sight of a railway track. Perhaps I’ll have another
chance in a minute.”
But the minute was multiplied by five, by ten, before their eagerly
searching eyes were rewarded.
“I see it,” shouted Ted. “A railway track, sure enough. I’m going down.
The plane won’t keep afloat ten minutes longer and we’ve got to take a
chance.”
The haze was shredding rapidly now, and Ted could plainly see the
railway tracks stretching beneath him, although he could not see far in
any direction.
On the other side of the tracks was what appeared to be an open field
and this Ted chose as his objective.
Laboring painfully now, the plane, which had come down to within a few
feet of the ground, was moving slowly toward the tracks when Ted’s ears
caught the whistle of a train and a moment later a rush and roar that
told him it was near at hand.
His blood froze in his veins. He could not stop at that short notice. He
tried to rise, but the plane failed to respond.
He _must_ cross the tracks!
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