CHAPTER VII

THE JAWS OF DEATH Ted Scott’s knuckles were white as his hand gripped the controls, ready to move with the swiftness of lightning. His ears were strained to the utmost to gauge the direction and speed of the onrushing plane. But the roar of his own motor, combined with that of the unknown plane, made calculation difficult. As nearly as he could, he figured out that the other plane was directly in his path. He swerved sharply to the left. He had scarcely done so when he became conscious from the difference in the so…