CHAPTER II

DEADLY PERIL

As this necessity burst upon him, Ted Scott heard the rumble of another
train approaching from a different direction.

The first train he knew from the sound was an express. The second by the
same token he sensed to be a freight.

The express would consist of only a few cars and at the rate it was
traveling would be past in a flash. The freight was apt to be a long
train and would be proceeding slowly. If luck helped him to avoid the
first, he would be almost sure to hit the second.

These thoughts passed through his mind like lightning.

Out of the haze burst the express like a snorting monster and
disappeared into the mists ahead. That peril at least was averted.

But even as it vanished the locomotive of the freight appeared on the
further track not more than thirty feet away and directly in the path of
the plane.

“Jump, Walter!” shouted Ted.

Hapworth obeyed instantly and came to the ground ten feet below without
injury.

“Jump yourself!” he yelled back, as he scrambled to his feet.

Ted did not answer.

His shout to Hapworth had been prompted by two reasons. The first was to
save his comrade’s life, even though he himself should die at his post.
The second was to lighten the plane.

He tugged desperately at the joy stick and this time the plane, relieved
of Hapworth’s weight, responded. Slowly it mounted, mounted.

Ted’s heart was in his mouth.

Would he clear the freight?

And while his eyes are seeking an answer to this question, it may be
well, for the benefit of those who have not read the preceding volumes
of this series, to tell who Ted was and what had been his adventures up
to the time this story opens.

Ted Scott could not recall ever having known his parents. As far back as
he could remember he had been in the care of James and Miranda Wilson, a
worthy couple who had migrated from New England and settled in
Bromville, a little town in the Mid-West. They had treated the little
waif kindly and sent him to school. But when the lad was about ten years
old they had died within a few months of each other and the little
fellow was again at the mercy of the world.

His forlorn condition appealed to Eben and Charity Browning, themselves
childless, who took the boy into their hearts and home and henceforth
regarded him as their own. Ted on his part was as devoted to them as
though they had been his own parents.

Eben Browning was a genial, kindly man and owned the Bromville House,
which at that time was the only hotel in the little town. Eben’s
friendliness and Charity’s cooking secured for them a large patronage
from traveling men and also from fishermen who visited the place in
search of sport in the Rappock River that ran through the village. For a
long time the hotel was prosperous.

Then, however, came a change in fortune. The Devally-Hipson Corporation
established a mammoth Aero plant on the outskirts of Bromville, and the
place began to grow with magical rapidity. There was a vast army of
workmen and a host of officials to be provided with homes and temporary
lodgings, and several new hotels sprang up to meet the need. These were
provided with all the new equipment and facilities and the old Bromville
House looked shabby by contrast. The fishing contingent clung in large
measure to Eben, but the traveling men naturally went to the new hotels
for the luxuries they furnished and also to maintain the prestige of
their firms.

To cap the climax, the Hotel Excelsior, a mammoth structure, came into
being under the ownership of Brewster Gale, a domineering, purse-proud
individual, who had accumulated a fortune by means, it was whispered
about, that would not stand close inspection. The hotel far outclassed
anything in town and would have stood favorable comparison with many in
the large cities. An additional drawing card was a superb golf links
attached to the hotel that soon became a favorite place for tournaments
and drew devotees of the royal game from all parts of the country.

This competition that he could not hope to meet was naturally a sore
blow to Eben. But what made it exceptionally exasperating was that
Brewster Gale’s prosperity was largely based on a fraud he had
perpetrated on Eben. The latter had at one time owned all the property
on which the Hotel Excelsior and the golf links were located. Gale had
come to him and bargained to buy it, and as he offered what Eben
regarded as a fair price the latter had agreed to sell.

A few hundred dollars were paid down to bind the bargain. But that was
all the money Eben received. By the aid of cunning and unscrupulous
lawyers and a lot of legal jugglery—forced sales, reorganizations—Eben
found himself frozen out, while Gale had apparently achieved a clear
title to the property. It was a swindle, pure and simple, and Eben,
bewildered, enraged, but without money to prosecute his case in the
courts, where Gale could have dragged the matter along for years, was
forced to submit to fate.

As Ted grew older he did all he could to help the old folks along,
running errands, painting, repairing, assisting in the dining room and
the kitchen in all the time he had from school hours. Then, when the
Aero plant came to Bromville, he secured a job there, turning all his
money over to Eben and Charity.

The work was very congenial, for he had a keen interest in the making of
airplanes and in all that concerned flying. He rapidly rose from one
position to a higher until there was nothing about plane construction
that he did not know. More and more he longed to become an airman. But
hundreds of dollars would be required to go to a flying school, and the
old folks needed every dollar he could earn in order to keep afloat.

One morning Walter Hapworth visited the airplane works. He was in town
participating in a golf tournament at the time and wondered whether he
could not perhaps get a new thrill out of flying. He was a young and
wealthy business man and was anxious to learn at first hand all about
airplane construction. Ted was assigned to show him through the works
and, mere boy that he was, answered every question that Hapworth put so
promptly and intelligently that the latter became interested in the lad.
Learning how keen he was about flying, he offered to give Ted money
enough to go to a flying school.

Ted was astounded and delighted. He finally accepted the money as a loan
and went to the school. Here it became apparent at once that he was a
born flyer. His courage, nerve and judgment were of the highest order,
and when he left the school he had no difficulty in obtaining a job in
the Air Mail Service.

In that work he soon became preëminent among his fellows. He was
assigned to a night route between St. Louis and Chicago and it became
proverbial that under any conditions of fog and storm Ted Scott would
“get there.”

About that time a wealthy New York man had offered a prize of
twenty-five thousand dollars to the first man who should make a non-stop
air flight from New York to Paris. Some of the most famous flyers in the
country were preparing to compete. Ted longed to enter the competition,
but had no plane and no backing.

Hapworth learned of his ambition and offered to finance the venture. Ted
got leave of absence from the Air Service and went to San Francisco to
supervise the building of his plane, the _Hapworth_, named after his
benefactor. When it was completed Ted jumped in for his hop to New York.

Rumors were abroad that an unknown youngster named Scott was planning to
compete with the famous veterans already enlisted. The country shrugged
its shoulders and laughed. It seemed to some ludicrous, to others
suicidal.

But the nation stopped laughing when Ted flew from San Francisco to St.
Louis in a single hop in the fastest time that had ever been made for
the distance by a flyer traveling alone. And when, scarcely pausing to
take breath, he made one more hop from St. Louis to New York the whole
country was agog with interest.

Then one misty morning Ted mounted into the skies and turned the nose of
his plane toward Europe. What breathless excitement in America followed
his flight—how he battled with storm and fog over the yeasty surges of
the Atlantic—the hairbreadth escapes he had from disaster—is told in
the first volume of this series entitled: “Over the Ocean to Paris.”

The day after his flight Ted woke to find himself the most famous person
in the world. America went mad over him. Scarcely anything else was
thought or spoken of. Honors and gifts were showered upon him. Kings and
presidents of European countries received him with the honors given to a
potentate. His return home was a triumph, and the tremendous ovations
accorded him in New York, Washington and other cities had no parallel in
American history. But through it all he kept his head, and his lack of
egotism and his irresistible smile enshrined him still more deeply in
the hearts of his people.

Shortly after his return came the tragedy of the Mississippi flood, and
Ted at once enlisted in the aviation corps of the Red Cross and achieved
wonders in bringing aid and comfort to the stricken inhabitants of that
section. Following this, he reentered the Air Mail Service in the
dangerous region of the Rockies and had many stirring adventures. He
entered the contest for the flight over the Pacific from San Francisco
to Hawaii and again carried off the victory. And in the course of these
achievements he was able to bring Gale to book and compel restitution to
Eben and also to unravel the mystery that clung about his parentage.

Still later, he made a perilous flight over the West Indies, rescuing a
pair of lost airmen and incidentally making the find of a treasure of
pearls. On his return he found that Hapworth at Bromville was especially
anxious to make a quick trip to Mexico to thwart some rascals who were
raiding his oil-well property there and Ted offered to take him in his
plane.

How eventful that journey proved—how Ted helped his friend to achieve
his object—how he entered upon a perilous mission to a rebel
stronghold—his fights with bandits—the conspiracy against his
life—his capture and imprisonment—and how he was saved at the last
moment when his enemies had planned to hang him—is told in the
preceding volume of this series, entitled: “South of the Rio Grande.”

At first Ted had thought to return to the United States alone. But there
had been an unexpected delay and after that Walter Hapworth had
concluded to go with him.

And now to return to Ted, as his plane drove toward the freight train
now only a few yards away.

Could he clear it? If he came in collision with it, the plane would be
crushed like an eggshell and he himself would be almost certainly
killed.

Slowly, painfully the crippled plane went higher. The wheels struck the
top of one of the cars, rebounded, lifting the plane a trifle higher,
and the _Silver Streak_ passed over the car into the field beyond!

Death had stretched out its skeleton hand, but once more Ted Scott had
eluded its clutch!

Ted brought the plane to a landing, unfastened his straps and climbed
out. He had been under a fearful strain and it had left him a little
shaken.

From the platforms and tops of the train came shouts from the train
hands and waving of lanterns. They had seen the impending tragedy and
were delighted at the daring airman’s escape.

Ted smiled and waved back and then threw himself on the ground. And
there he was when Hapworth, after the train had passed, came rushing
across the tracks to him.

“Thank fortune!” ejaculated Hapworth fervently. “I thought it was all up
with you, Ted, that time.”

“Thought so myself,” returned Ted, “and it surely would have been for us
both, if you hadn’t lightened the plane by jumping. As it was, I grazed
the top of a car.”

They looked about them. They were in a large field many acres in extent.
There was no village in sight, but at some distance was a substantial
ranch house with a number of out-buildings.

“I guess that’s where the owner of this field lives,” remarked Ted. “If
I find there is a good deal of repairing to do on the plane, we may have
to ask shelter there for the night. Let’s take a look at that wing and
see how badly it is damaged.”

They inspected it closely and found that the break was bad and would
require a lot of time and work to put it again in condition.

“Look at that,” said Ted. “More than half way through! It’s almost a
miracle that it lasted as long as it did. We were sure at our last gasp
when we cleared that freight.”

“Can you fix it up so that it will carry us to Bromville?” asked
Hapworth with some concern.

“Sure thing,” replied Ted, who, from his experience in making planes,
was as skilful a mechanic as he was an airman. “But it will take time
and we’ll have to stay here overnight. I think, though, that we’ll be
able to get away the first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Here comes the owner of the place now, I imagine,” said Hapworth, as
two figures emerged from the house, “and that’s probably his kid with
him.”

A stalwart man, accompanied by a boy of about twelve, came up to them
with a genial smile upon his face.

“Hello, strangers,” he hailed them when within speaking distance.
“’Tisn’t often that we see anything of an airplane in these parts.
Having trouble?”

“Yes,” replied Ted and went on briefly to relate the events that had
compelled him to land. “We’ve got a pretty big job on hand and we may
have to ask you to put us up for the night,” he concluded.

“Only too glad to,” said the ranchman heartily. “My name’s Burton.”

“And mine is Scott,” returned Ted, “and this is my friend, Mr.
Hapworth.”

The men exchanged hand clasps. The boy tugged eagerly at his father’s
coat and whispered something to him.

The ranchman smiled.

“This youngster of mine wants to know if your first name is Ted,” he
said. “He’s just crazy over that fellow that flew the Atlantic, and
every time he hears the name of Scott he gets het up. He thinks he’s the
greatest thing that ever happened. And so do I for that matter.”

“My name happens to be Ted,” was the answer, “but of course there are
lots of Ted Scotts in the world.”

“Yes,” agreed Burton, looking at him keenly, “but not so many in the
flying line.”

Hapworth interposed.

“My friend here is as modest as he is famous,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll tell you now that he is the Ted Scott that all the world knows
about, the man who not only flew the Atlantic but the Pacific as well.”

The effect was electric.

“Glory hallelujah!” shouted Burton. “This is my lucky day. I never
dreamed that I’d meet Ted Scott in the flesh. And on my own farm too!
Won’t Mandy be tickled when she hears of it? Put it there again, Mr.
Scott.”

Ted smilingly extended his hand and Burton shook it as though he would
wrench the arm from the socket.

The boy was gazing at his idol in rapt adoration. Again he whispered to
his father.

“I guess so, Billy,” his father laughed. “My kid wants to know if you
will shake hands with him, too. It will give him something to talk about
all his life.”

Ted laughingly complied and the boy’s freckled face shone with delight
and gratification.

“Now run up and tell your mother that Ted Scott is going to be with us
for supper and to spend the night,” laughed his father. “Gee, but maybe
she won’t be flustered! And the meal she’ll fix up for you will make
your hair curl.”

The boy, bursting with the news, darted off, and Burton turned to Ted.

“This ranch is yours while you stay here,” he declared. “Just tell me
what you want, material or men to help you, and you shall have it on the
jump.”

“It’s mighty good of you,” replied Ted. “I’m learning now what Texas
hospitality is like. I’ll call on you for anything I need. I’ve got all
the tools I need, but I may have to have some boards. As to men, my
friend here will be help enough.”

He accompanied Burton to one of the out-buildings where he found the
material he required and then went back to the plane, where he and
Hapworth worked busily until Billy came down to where they were and
summoned them to supper.

Mrs. Burton, a buxom, motherly woman, received them, fluttering with
agitation, and gave them the heartiest kind of a welcome. Her husband
had made no mistake about that supper, which was fit for a king, and
both Ted and Hapworth enjoyed it hugely.

After supper they sat in the homely but comfortable living room and Ted
had to answer a host of questions about his Atlantic and Pacific
flights. He glossed over his exploits as carelessly as he could and gave
full measure of credit for his success to Hapworth, who had accompanied
him in his Pacific flight and whose backing had made his Atlantic
venture possible.

His hosts listened breathlessly, and Billy, who had been permitted to
sit up beyond his usual bedtime on this special occasion, was simply in
a trance. It was far and away the greatest day of his life. And the same
might almost be said of his hosts and the ranch hands who had been
invited to share the party. These were brawny, hardy men who knew
courage when they saw it, and their admiration of Ted was as limitless
as that of Burton and his wife.

It was late when the aviators retired, and after an early breakfast the
next morning Ted excused himself and hurried out to his plane.

Hapworth, who had tarried in conversation with his hosts, came out of
the house hurriedly a few minutes later and rushed toward Ted waving a
newspaper.

“What is it?” asked Ted, a bit startled by his friend’s excitement.

“Look at this!” cried Hapworth, thrusting the paper in front of Ted’s
face.