by Joan Clark
CHAPTER VI
ON THE WING
Hal Dane's blond head was in a whirl. In sixty brief minutes Maben hadtried to cram into his cranium all the vast maze of desperatelyimportant facts that one needs must master prior to stunting andparachuting.
They were up in the air now, zooming over the city. Young Dane had onhis first real flying suit. He leaned back awkwardly against the pack ofhis parachute. He had never had on one of the things before. There wassomething else new, the speaking tube with earpieces that fitted upunder the helmet. Maben was talking through it now.
"City looks pretty down there--trees and houses all flattened out likepictures on a rug. I'll circle you over the Fairgrounds next, so you cansee the clear space you're to come down in. Got a mob to watch us, ain'twe?"
Hal felt grateful to Maben. He knew all this kindly rambling talk wasindulged in to keep a raw new amateur stunter's mind off the comingcrisis.
Above them the sky was bright and beautiful; scarcely a cloud fleckedit. Below them little black dots milled around in every direction. Thatwould be the crowd swarming out to enjoy the vicarious thrill of seeingsomeone else in the air. There were tiny waving threads that must beflags, and a decorated stand where a band was probably blaring.
"Feel your strap--good and tight--for sure?" Maben's voice rumbled tohim. "Got to do my part of the stunting now."
There came a sudden change in the behavior of the plane. Instead ofstraight flying, Maben began to put it through an intricate series ofstunts. He went into nose spins, tail spins, falling leaves, and loopthe loops. It was a breath-taking exhibit, at times seemingly recklessbeyond all warrant. Yet there was never a slip nor careen to the ship.For perhaps half an hour this continued, then the plane straightened outin a long graceful glide.
"Your time next, kid," muttered Maben, "and for Scott's sake, hold onand be careful. Don't try to give 'em too much for their money."
Hal pulled the earpieces of the speaking tube from under his helmet andclimbed out of the cockpit.
He stood on the lower wing surface, holding on by a strut, waiting. Overhis left shoulder he had a glimpse of the pilot's strained face.
Maben was circling the plane lower and lower, flying just above thetrees and the grandstand to catch the eye of the crowd.
Ready, go! It was the time. Hal, clinging to the strut, poised to walkout on that wing piece of fragile wood strips and cloth, had the ghastlyfeeling that his heart had stopped beating. Then its pounding sent theblood roaring to his ears.
No treat, this wing walking business! Suppose the pilot shoved the stickor jazzed the engine!
But Max Maben held his speed to a level; no dropping, no high-riding.Nice work! The ship steady on all axes, calm as a rocking chair in aparlor!
Hal's terror wave passed. He stood free of the strut, walked, bowed, cuta step or two. With a man like Maben at the stick to hold her steady,this was nothing. No more than walking the boards of some earth-boundfloor. All you had to do was to keep your mind on your feet, and notlook over the edge. Through Hal shot a sudden daring desire to climb astrut to the top wing of the biplane, to stand there erect, outlinedagainst the sky. He gripped a support preparatory to a climb.
Maben's signal stopped him. It came sharply, the signal they hadarranged upon, two quick taps on the fuselage. Hal turned. The pilot wasglaring at him from under fiercely drawn brows, and his mouth was in aset line. Swiftly Maben gave the next signal, three taps. That meant theship was going to climb for altitude for the parachute jump.
The altimeter began to mark up--fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, twothousand. Maben made a level movement with one hand. That meant all wasready. In slow reversements, Maben held the ship over the center of thefield below.
"Go!" tapped the four beats of the signal.
Hal was out on the wing tip. He made a movement towards space, frozeback into a crouch and felt frenziedly back at his parachute. Suppose itwere not there! Suppose he had never put it on! His fingers touched thecompact bulk of the 'chute that dangled gawkily from shoulder straps andbelt straps. Hal braced himself, shamed at his childishness. No morefooling. He must go this time.
Steady, go!
Hal Dane stepped off the wing edge and dropped into space.
The pull-off swung him like a toy. Everything went black. He shut hiseyes, opened them again. The earth seemed to gyrate below him. Abovehim, the zoom of the ship.
He must pull the rip cord of the 'chute. No, no--not yet! Must wait,must be no danger of tearing silken fabric against a whirl of the plane.
Down, down. Top speed. Heart in throat. Ghastly shriek of air in hisface. His head was going down. He must kick, keep the slant. Maben hadsaid, "Keep your head up--head down gives you one bustin' yank in themiddle when she opens up!"
One, two, four, six,--twenty--no use to count heartbeats--heart musthave thumped a thousand times by now. No time to waste. Earth lookedlike it was coming up. Now! Now! He must pull the rip cord!
Down, down. The thing hadn't opened! Suppose--
The great silk lobe opened out with a "pow-a" like a cannon shot.
The lightning speed drop was checked suddenly, and the parachute harnesstightened about him at the pull. He seemed to drop no more. He felt thathe was only floating, a mere dot against the immensity of the skies. Heseemed an unreality, a swaying atom drifting in the gulfs of space. Theearth that a moment ago had seemed coming up to meet him now seemed athousand miles away. Would he ever come down, touch foot on that earthagain?
As the great inverted chalice of the silken parachute ceased itsoscillations, the earth also ceased its tremendous rise and fall. Itseemed to stand steady below Hal Dane, and he was approaching it fasterthan he had thought.
The boy suddenly remembered to cross his legs (Max Maben's orders), lesthe straddle a telephone wire, a church steeple or something equallydisastrous.
A feeling of terrible helplessness was upon him. Nothing that he coulddo could change his direction. The wind could do that though. A suddengust could blow him out over water, ram him against a stone building,hurl him before a rushing train.
But no wind arose. He was coming straight down. The crowd below seemedscattering to give him room. He looked up, saw Maben climbing down fromthe skies to meet him.
On the field, men were running forward to catch his heels as he touchedearth. Many hands helped him hold down against the tug of the parachute,while he worked at the clips of the harness. As the straps fell away andhe stepped free, Maben landed and taxied towards him.
"Kid, you did it!" Maben's brown hands gripped his shoulder and turnedhim about to face the applause of the crowd that had gone crazy withclapping and shouting. Swept away by relaxation of the tense excitement,those near him pounded him, tried to hoist him on shoulders for aparade.
It was Hal's first taste of glory. It thrilled him, but he soon longedto get away from it all. As soon as he could he ducked and escaped andfollowed in the direction of Maben, whom he had seen trundling the planeinto seclusion behind the grandstand.
"Say!" Maben turned on him in mock fierceness, "I'm of a mind to kickyou for overstunting on that plane wing. No use being too risky--justplain foolishness, that. But, kid," the aviator's habitually tense facerelaxed into a boyish grin. "I'll say you made that come downO. K.,--all jake! An old-timer couldn't have done it prettier. Listen, Igot a proposition I want to make you!"
