The Sky Pilot's Great Chase; Or, Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing. Newcomb Ambrose

decent time to cook up a fine fat game for us, a nut to crack that’ll be worth going after. I’ve a few little things on my list that I mean to carry out this morning when I’ll be ready for the call.”

      Perk seemed unusually slow that morning, though he did not complain about his lame muscles. Even when Jack asked about it he shrugged and with a grimace remarked indifferently:

      “Oh! that’s okay, buddy – turned out to be a false alarm – nothin’ the matter with me, I guess, except I need shakin’ up a wheen.”

      “You’ll get all you want of that I reckon before you’re many days older,” Jack told him, “somehow I’ve got a notion we’re going to be sent on a wild goose chase that may cover some thousands of miles and take us into a queer section of country – nothing but a surmise, or what you might call a hunch to back me up in that, remember, but I’ve known a hunch to come true more than a few times.”

      “I wonder,” Perk observed dreamily, eyeing his comrade as if he again felt the old suspicion arise with regard to Jack knowing more than he chose to tell just then.

      But unseen by either of the two pals, coming events were hurrying along and threatening to speedily engulf them in as dizzy a spin as either had ever encountered in all previous experiences.

      It was around eight when they arrived at the flying field, as usual a scene of considerable bustle with ships coming in and departing – air mail carriers, visiting boats taking off in a continuance of their prearranged flights east or west and several heavier bombing planes that were being taken to Los Angeles by naval pilots for some secret purpose of the War Department.

      Jack and his pal observed all this with grins of sheer enjoyment, so bred in the bone had their love for their profession grown to be that everything connected with flying drew them as the Polar star does the magnetic needle of a compass.

      “Times are getting right lively around these diggin’s,” remarked Perk, with a sparkle in his eyes and enthusiasm in his voice.

      “Seems like it,” replied Jack who chanced to be watching a novice just then starting out on what appeared to be his initial solo flight. “That boy shows fair promise of being due to break into the ranks of express pilots after he’s had another hundred miles or so of flying. I like the way he handles himself and the test pilot told me yesterday he was sure to be a comer.”

      “Ol’ Bob ought to know what’s what,” mentioned Perk taking a look for himself, “there, he’s off and see how he lifts the ol’ bus when he’s ready. I watched him make as neat a three-point landin’ yesterday as anybody could wish. A few o’ ’em seem to be born with wings – but not many, not many, I’m sorry to say. Well, let’s step over and get things started.”

      Perk stopped short as though some one had given him a blow – he seemed to be holding his breath while he stared and then commenced rubbing his eyes in a peculiar fashion, just as though he imagined he must be seeing things where they could not possibly exist.

      Jack realized that his chum must have had a shock of some kind, and turned upon him quickly.

      “What’s the matter – what ails you, Perk?” he demanded.

      “Gosh amighty! Jack, looky there will you – the hangar – Mister Gibbons; you know, where we parked our boat – it’s burned down last night!”

      VI

      A BLOW IN THE DARK

      Jack was naturally intensely shaken by this outburst from his companion. His first act was to whirl around and look hastily in the quarter indicated where he discovered quite a bunch of men clustered around some object from which wisps of smoke seemed to still be rising on the clear morning air.

      He and Perk exchanged startled looks as though the same sudden thought had gripped their hearts.

      “Queer I didn’t notice a thing before, Perk, though I saw a crowd gathered – but then that’s a common occurrence out here where so many interesting things keep on happening. Sure enough, the Gibbons’ hangar has gone up – such accidents don’t come along often in any modern aviation field.”

      “Accidents!” blurted out Perk steaming up – “lay off that stuff, ol’ hoss – ev’ry little movement has a meanin’ o’ its own – up to last afternoon it was our ship that snuggled in that hangar, don’t forgit that, my boy. Talk to me ’bout luck, we hit it sky-high that time. Let’s go see what’s happened, and how they talk ’bout it in the bargain.”

      This proposal Jack was only too willing to stamp with his approval so they hurried toward the bunch of men – pilots, mechanics, visitors and riffraff chancing to be at the field just then and now engaged in staring at the ruins of the new hangar, doubtless exchanging opinions as to how the conflagration had occurred in the dead of night.

      “Huh!” Jack heard his comrade saying as if to himself as they approached the cluster of men, “seems like we got up against a reg’lar roundup o’ fire – last night that tenement, an’ now today the hangar we been usin’ to shelter our boat. Hot ziggetty dog! but ain’t life queer though?”

      Everybody was turning to stare at them as they came along. Undoubtedly it was generally known that their ship had been stored in the destroyed shelter while Mr. Spencer Gibbons was away and that it was only on the preceding afternoon on coming back from a flight that they had transferred it to another hangar Jack had been able to hire since the owner of the one they had been using had wired he would be home shortly after dark.

      “When and how did this happen?” Jack asked one of the pilots as he took in the fact that the remains of a plane could be seen amidst the wreckage – apparently an explosion had taken place, for much of the charred material of which the hangar had consisted was scattered around the near vicinity.

      “They tell us around about midnight,” came the answer for the pilot knew Jack as a fellow craftsman, although a stranger to Salt Lake City aviation circles. “The alarm was given by the pilot of an incoming mail ship making port hours late on account of heavy fog in the mountains. Queer, too, they say, how quick it all came about – fire was blazing furious like when discovered, and nothing could be done to save Mr. Gibbons’ fine ship. There he is yonder, talking to some newspaper boys.”

      Jack went over to tell the other how he was shocked to see what had happened to his property and to ask if anything was known as to the origin of the conflagration.

      “Seems to be pretty much a mystery, they all tell me,” the genial sportsman informed him, not showing any signs of being at all worried although undoubtedly deeply mystified. “You fellows were in some luck to get your ship out before this nasty thing came along which I’m glad to know. Of course I’m well insured and can replace my Pitcairn Mailwing readily enough, only I’d gotten that one working like magic. I’m glad no other hangar caught when mine burned. I’ve offered five hundred dollars for any information that will prove that this was a set-up job for it happens that on one other occasion something similar to this came my way. You see, I was unlucky enough to make a few enemies in Wall Street who’ve never forgiven me for knocking them out on a big deal.”

      Mr. Gibbons laughed and seemed in no wise bothered by his recent loss, only Jack noticed how his eyes seemed to glint like sparks from steel when mentioning the fact that he had unscrupulous enemies in the commercial world.

      Jack hung around for some little time, talking to several of those present and asking numerous questions but learning next to nothing. If, as some of the ground attendants seemed to believe, it was an incendiary act, those who took big chances in carrying it out must have planned carefully and fixed matters not only to make a certainty of the ship sheltered within the hangar being destroyed, but also covering their tracks with great skill.

      Finally he started over to the other hangar and Perk, seeing him go pulled his freight, as he would have called it, to hasten after his chum.

      “Huh! looks like a fine sight for sore eyes,” Perk declared with glee, “to see our boat standin’ there safe an’ sound tho’ I’m sure sorry Mister Fitzgibbons – I mean Gibbons, had to lose his crate – no fault