Thomson Burtis

“ They pulled the wheelblocks, and he taxied to the northern end of the field. He turned safely, and gave it the gun. He knew he could take off all right. Pressing forward on the stick, feet braced against the rudder, he sent his ship roaring across the field, nose low to the ground. It took the air by itself, almost, and he swept across the buildings with twenty-five feet to spare.
In the cool, smooth morning air he felt some of his confidence return, and when he felt his way down across the fence at a mere seventy-five miles an hour he was sure he was going to make the field. ”

“ A moment later stunned mechanics were warming up the ships in the flooding illumination of the huge landing lights, set on top of the hangars. Moran got into his cockpit in a daze, and was the first to taxi out. Mechanics stayed at each wingtip to help him in the wind. Certain that he was going to his death, and scarcely caring, he gave the motor the gun, and fought his ship into the air. ”

“ It was flying level now, at fifteen fifty r.p.m. If he cut down the speed of the propeller, it would start diving. The point was that if he sent it into a dive, could he pull it out by turning on full power? Or would the weight of that thousand-pound motor hold it in the dive?
There was but one way to find out. Funny, how little he really felt as his steady hand eased the throttle back to twelve hundred. He seemed to be experimenting for some one else, to be off in another ship, watching a man fight for life. ”

“ Kennard told him. “But it’s pretty plain that they’re watching a gang in Mexico who’ve been running chinks and other immigrants over. The runners get around a thousand per man, delivered in San Antone. Army of ’em. Anyway, it’s patrol all day, and be on the alert all night, with a dozen false alarms every hour. Must be good and big and tough, this gang, or Washington wouldn’t be acting as though there was a war on.
“Attention, boys and girls. Here’s the latest victim. Moran, shake hands with Tex MacDowell, Slim Evans, Pop Cravath, George Hickman, and last, but not least, Dumpy Scarth.” ”

“ Moran was in his shell, like a turtle. His eyes met Cravath’s squarely as he stumbled on.
“Every man knows what to expect—it’s just an incident—”
“You don’t say! We’ll give a dance in honor of it, I suppose, to let the world know that a few deaths here and there don’t faze our nervy pilots!” Cravath spat bitterly. “I’m ⸺ if I’m not sick of these guys that shoot off their mouths about how little danger means to them—when hard luck hits somebody else! ”

“ He ran for his helmet and goggles as Moran watched the incoming patrolship enter the field. He knew who Jimmy Jennings was. A border veteran, and an ace.
The big D.H. roared across the airdrome, from the east, circled a hundred feet north of the field, and suddenly tilted on one wing. Down it came in a terrific sideslip, its nose parallel to the fence. Thirty feet above the ground it dived out of the slip, nose coming around toward the field, and as it came across the fence the pilot skidded it sidewise to kill speed. ”

“ Hate was in the air. The indomitable Scarth held his ground, for the moment, before the dark, grim giant whose face reflected black fury and tortured, helpless wrath.
For a long moment their eyes cocked. Suddenly it seemed that Dumpy realized that Moran could have picked him up and broken him in two, and was about to do it. There was a semi-madness in the bigger man’s gaze, the fruit of strained days and sleepless nights.
Dumpy’s eyes dropped, and he turned toward the door.
“⸺ foolishness to stay at the phone at that,” he mumbled uncertainly. “Wind’s getting worse every minute. ”

“ Those tanned faces were set, and the eyes somehow old. Kennard directed his gaze to Moran.
“Know either one of ’em?” he inquired. “Marfa flight. They were great eggs.”
Moran shook his head. The death toll of the border flyers totaled one out of eight, every year, he knew, and that very afternoon two of them had gone. In the mountains of the Big Bend.
He cleared his throat as he helped himself to bread. Because the simply told news affected him, he said bruskly—
“Well, that’s what any man in this business has got to expect, and he can’t kick when he kicks off.” ”

“ Every man of them was laboring under a strain. Five, sometimes six, hours of nerve-racking flying each day was their portion, and the waiting for something to break along the Border put the finishing touches on their overwrought condition. Moran, a veritable skeleton at the feast, was relegated to the role of “sorehead,” and he knew it. ”

“ He was calling himself a murderer as he leveled his ship above the water. He was a hundred feet back of that sinister mass, floating so peacefully. He was possessed of a great calm, and he handled his great ship with a sureness he had never known before.
He cut the throttle, and nosed the D.H. upward. It lost speed, and as the stalling point came he threw it into a steep bank, left wing down. He jammed on right rudder at the instant when flying speed was about to disappear, and the De Haviland shot downward on one wing, with scarcely a mile of forward speed. ”

“ One final rush across the field, another zoom in which the ship stood on its tail and appeared to climb up the side of the recreation building, and he was off.
“That’s him, himself,” grinned Hickman, who was almost as big as Moran. “You gave him an opening by springing those alibies.”
“They weren’t alibies—”
“The ⸺ they weren’t,” Kennard advised him. “We listen to too many of ’em down here. This field’s tough the first few times, and good flyers’ve ⸺ near starved to death, they had to go around so many times. And every ⸺ one with an alibi, instead of admitting it. Like you.” ”

“ Listen to that wind.”
Moran’s eyes glittered suddenly.
“He says there’s a field down there we’ve landed in before—”
“Sure there is. But we can’t go. Are you crazy? I—”
Moran’s contempt for Scarth, his utter contempt for his own yellowness, the fact that life was a hateful thing, all combined to force the words from his lips:
“We could make it. It’s our business to. Scared, are you? The famous Dumpy Scarth, who can do so much showing off when there’s somebody watching, is scared to death when the real pinch comes, huh? A ⸺ good fair-weather pilot, eh?” ”

“ It was just before dawn of the fifth day following his wreck that he awakened to find the light on in his tent and Captain Kennard shaking him by the shoulder.
“Listen, Moran,” Kennard barked rapidly. “We just got a call, and I’m taking five ships down toward Laralia. Big gang reported coming over the river an hour ago. I’m leaving you and Dumpy Scarth here and taking all the others. Patrol in turn, one of you at the phone all the time. Get up—we’re taking off, pronto!”
Moran shivered as he dressed. A norther had been brewing for twenty-four hours, and now the wind was strong and chill. ”

“ Slim Evans advised him spaciously. “Dumpy firmly believes he’s the world’s best flyer, frankly admits it on every provocation, and the ⸺ of it is that he’s ⸺ near right!”
“What are you going to do with a man that brags all night, and then goes out and proves the next day that he can live up to his bragging?” grinned Kennard.
“Every new man is a prospective rival to him,” Slim went on, “and he tries to put said rookie in his place. But he’s a great little cuss when you get to know him—”
“Watch him prove something now.”
Moran watched, and held his breath. ”

“ The wheels hit the ground hard, and the big ship bounced high in the air. His hand automatically found the throttle as the plane hung, nose in the air, and jammed it all the way forward.
He’d have to go around again. Cursing himself for a clumsy fool, he raved—
“I thought I was flying a Jenny, ⸺ it! I ought to be pushing baby carriages.”
Those veterans down there were laughing at him, doubtlessly. Having to go around twice to make a field—an airdrome—with a perfectly good motor. ”

“ The northern boundary of it was a fence. He prayed that the wind would be from the south, so that he could land in from the north. It would be impossible for him to bring that big plane down over the obstacles on the other three sides.
The altimeter read a thousand feet when he pulled the ship up and shoved the gun all the way on. He was a half mile back of the field as he flew level toward it. He circled it once, and saw that the wind-sausage on top of one of the corrugated iron hangars indicated a south-east wind. Some one had said that the wind was usually southeast—the Gulf breeze. ”

“ This is no time for your grandstanding, either. Couldn’t resist raising ⸺ with a new man, eh? What do you know about his flying, or what might have happened up there? You save your flying for patrol, understand, and mind your own business in the air and on the ground!”
Scarth flushed, and his mouth opened, but one look into the C.O.'s steely eyes was enough. Kennard took a last shot at Moran.
“A few crashes mean nothing to you, eh? Well, they mean something to me, right now. Hard-boiled egg, are you? Well, I’ve got no time to take that out of you down here. ”

“ Kennard slid in, “that we can’t even go over into Mexico tonight, ⸺ it!”
The object of his words had been to cut off the hot-tempered Cravath, Moran knew, and to ease the tension which had fallen over the depressed table.
The C.O.’s eyes were very keen and very cold as they rested on his newest flyer. He went on gruffly:
“It’s the custom to go on a howling drunk every time a man gets knocked off and sort of forget it. Now we’ve got to stay on duty.”
“They might have picked a better time to get killed, at that,” Dumpy Scarth remarked. ”

“ Think you’re smart because you got out by a miracle, do you? You’re a De Haviland stunt man, are you? What the ⸺ do you mean, diving a D.H. like you did up there, against my orders and against good sense? By ⸺ I don’t care whether you kill yourself or not, but ships are ⸺ valuable down here! ”