The Treasure Hunt of the S-18

by Graham M. Dean

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Mad Pursuit

  Something was radically wrong and Tim, forgetting for the moment thedrama soon to be enacted in the sky, ran toward Ralph. He caught hisfriend in his arms as he stumbled. Blood was flowing freely from a longgash on the right side of Ralph's head.

  Ralph was on the verge of unconsciousness but he made a heroic effortto speak.

  "It's Tommy," he whispered. "McDowell's slashed his chute. If he eversteps over the side he's gone."

  Tim's face whitened at Ralph's alarming words. Tommy's chute slashed!He glanced aloft. The planes were almost up to 2,000 feet. In a fewmore minutes they would be rushing headlong toward each other and Tommywould step over the side to hurl like a falling star to the ground.Tim's eyes closed to shut out the image which flashed across his mind.

  Prentiss reached his side.

  "What's happened?"

  "I don't know exactly," said Tim, "but McDowell's slashed Tommy's chutewith a knife. Take care of Ralph. I'm going up to stop Tommy."

  "Take him into my office," directed Carl Hunter, who had arrived on therun and overheard Tim's words.

  Prentiss gathered Ralph in his arms and stalked toward theadministration building while Tim and Hunter ran down the ramp.

  Tim scanned the field. It would be impossible to get the fast Jupiterwhich the _News_ owned or the American Ace which he and Ralph operatedout of their hangars. He turned toward the other planes on the field.It would take a fast ship to get up there in time to stop the crash ofthe two planes. His eyes rested on McDowell's own monoplane. It wastrim and fast and the 300 horsepower motor was capable of pulling italmost vertically skyward.

  "I'll take McDowell's plane," he told Hunter. The field manager gavehim a hand and between them they whipped the ship around and headed ittoward the open field.

  Tim climbed inside, stumbled over the smashed boards which had hiddenthe secret compartment, and sat down in the pilot's seat. The controlswere slightly different from the ships he had been accustomed to flyingbut he knew he could handle the plane without trouble. He glanced atthe gas gauge. The tank was a quarter full.

  One of the High Flyers ran toward him, protesting on the use of themonoplane, but Hunter waved him back with a curt explanation. Timturned on the starter and the motor, still warm, caught on the firstturn.

  He was about to give the ship the gun when Prentiss ran toward him, arifle in hand. The narcotics inspector clambered into the cabin andslammed the door.

  "Let's go," he shouted. Tim nodded and opened the throttle. The fieldhad been cleared for the stunt and he sped out of the hanger androcketed into the air. With the motor taking a full flow of gas, heshot the speedy monoplane into the air. They danced skyward in a crazy,climbing turn that saw the earth dropping away from them.

  "How's Ralph?" Tim shouted.

  "He'll be all right. Got a nasty bump on his head but there's a doctorpatching him up now. He's weak from loss of blood more than anythingelse."

  Tim, with the stick jammed back between his knees, was watching thedrama of the circling planes. He was careful to keep behind McDowell asmuch as possible.

  The old trainers had levelled off and were jockeying for the first dashtoward each other. Tim's hands gripped the stick hard as he saw themstart. Then he relaxed a little. Ace hadn't waggled his wings. Therewould be no crash this time.

  The old ships soared past each other with little room to spare and Timalmost pulled his own ship higher by the sheer tension he was on.

  Tommy was circling slowly for another dash toward Ace when Tim flashedpast him waving frantically. In pantomime he went through the motionsof jumping and then shook his head vigorously while Prentiss attemptedto indicate to Tommy that his chute was damaged.

  As he flashed by a second time Tim caught the look of alarm in Tommy'seyes and saw the other examining the chute pack. There was the suddenroar of another motor and McDowell, forgotten for the moment, shot downtoward them.

  "He's after us!" cried Prentiss.

  Without looking Tim sent the monoplane into a tight roll and the wingsof the old trainer almost brushed their landing gear as they floppedover. A bullet crashed through the bottom of the cabin.

  "He's on to us," said Tim grimly, "but we'll keep him busy until Tommycan land that crate of his."

  Tim whipped the monoplane out of the roll. Below him McDowell was hardafter Larkin's plane. It was evident that he was out to destroy theother flyer if at all possible. He was going at Tommy head-on again.This time there seemed little doubt but what the ships would crash inspite of all that Tommy could do to escape the trap. McDowell's planewas too fast. He met every maneuver of Tommy's and played him onebetter.

  For the moment he had forgotten Tim in his terrible concentration ofdestroying the flyer he felt sure had turned in the evidence whichwould lead to his arrest. If he had not forgotten Tim, he had sadlyunderrated the flying ability and nerve of the reporter.

  With wind screaming past the struts and motor on full, Tim doveheadlong toward McDowell. Some sixth sense must have warned his preyfor McDowell threw a startled glance over his shoulder. Instantly hechanged tactics and left Tommy to make a hurried landing with the oldtrainer while he took up the new feud with his unforeseen foe.

  Prentiss opened the windows on the right side of the cabin and steadiedthe rifle. There was a grim purpose written on the tensed lips. If hecould line his sights on McDowell, the rifle would spit flame anddeath. Crouched on the floor of the cabin, finger crooked on thetrigger, cheek resting on the gunstock, he waited for the chance hefelt was sure to come.

  Below them the startled thousands watched the deadly duel, craned theirnecks as the planes twisted and darted through the air, and at timesseemed almost to crash before one of them flipped this way or that justin time to avert a catastrophe.

  Tim and Prentiss had the advantage of a slightly faster plane butMcDowell had a chute. If they crashed he would have a chance ofescaping while the flying reporter and the narcotics inspector would bepinned in the falling wreckage of their ship.

  McDowell was playing the game for his life. In spite of their dangerTim thrilled to the masterful flying which it required to escape themad rushes of the other.

  For half an hour the grim battle went on. Then it ceased as suddenly asit had started. McDowell, giving his plane a full gun, darted awaysouthwest. He was making a break for safety. With a heavy bank ofclouds rolling up in the west, night would drop its mantle early. Therewas just a chance that he might remain aloft until he could findshelter in the darkness. Tim saw through McDowell's strategy at once.Undoubtedly the other had a full tank of gas and since the old trainersusually had large tanks, sufficient to keep the ancient craft aloftuntil after nightfall. The flying reporter glanced again at the gaugeon the instrument board of the monoplane. He didn't need to. He knewwhat the needle indicated without looking but perhaps there had beensome mistake.

  The gauge showed only an eighth of a tank of gas. Another half hour inthe air; perhaps a little more. Then they would be forced down andMcDowell would wing on alone.

  Tom leaned back and shouted to the inspector.

  "We've got only enough gas for another half hour. Want to land now,fill up the tank, and then try to overtake McDowell, or keep after himuntil our fuel gives out?"

  "Something might happen to his ship before our gas gives out. We'llkeep going as long as we can," Prentiss shouted back.

  Tim nodded and set out in full pursuit. In three minutes he was onMcDowell's tail and he throttled down. No use to push the motor anyharder than necessary.

  The minutes droned on. Tim checked their direction. It was obvious thatMcDowell was heading for the border. It was a long hop; impossible inone jump, and he wondered where the pilot ahead of him intended torefuel. He probably had some out-of-the-way airport where he could comedown, replenish his supply of gas and oil, and get away without beingreported.

  Fifteen minutes went by the clock.
The needle on the gas gauge droppedlower. Probably McDowell, up ahead, was chuckling for he certainly knewthe amount of fuel in the monoplane he had left behind.

  Prentiss tapped Tim on the shoulder.

  "How much longer?"

  "Not more than 15 minutes."

  "Close in on him and I'll see if this rifle can't convince him thatit's time to come down."

  Tim's right hand jammed the throttle on full and the trim monoplaneleaped ahead, overhauling the old trainer rapidly.

  McDowell, hearing the deeper drone of the motor behind him, looked backat them. Tim banked to give Prentiss a clear shot and the federal agentpressed the trigger. Tim could hear the sharp spats of the gun as thebullets sped on their way. Holes appeared in the fuselage of McDowell'sship. Prentiss was shooting better. McDowell, pointing an automatic atthem, emptied the magazine. His aim was wild and not a bullet struckthe monoplane.

  McDowell put the old biplane into a dive and Tim promptly followed.Twisting and turning, they resumed the battle they had waged over theAtkinson airport. Tim was flying rings around McDowell now and Prentisspumped shot after shot toward the biplane but the air was rough and itwas hard to gauge the distance accurately.

  "Concentrate on his motor," Tim shouted. "We can't stay up more thanfive minutes more and you may be able to put his ship out ofcommission."

  Prentiss filled the magazine of the rifle again and, firing steadily,directed his bullets toward the motor of the biplane. Tim could see theblack splashes as the bullets struck the cowling. There was just achance that he might be able to disable McDowell's motor.

  The motor of their own ship coughed. Tim switched on the emergency tankand it barked steadily again. Their minutes in the air were numberedfor he had no way of knowing whether the emergency tank was full or howmuch it held.

  "I'm going to try to bring him down," Tim yelled at Prentiss.

  "What are you going to do?"

  "See if I can't run my wheels through his prop. Hang on."

  "Won't that wreck your landing gear?"

  "We'll have to take a chance on that. If it does we'll get downsomeway. Are you game?"

  "Go ahead," said the inspector grimly. "I'll try it once. There may notbe a second time."

  "I'll get you down all in one piece," grinned Tim. Then he turned tothe job at hand.

  McDowell was just a little above them and about a thousand feet ahead.Gunning the motor hard, Tim climbed above their quarry and with themotor on full, dove headlong for the biplane. McDowell must have sensedwhat was in Tim's mind for he stood up in his cockpit and tookdeliberate aim with the automatic. Bullets plunked into the wing of themonoplane, but Tim kept on. Prentiss's rifle was silent for the momentfor at that angle he was unable to fire.

  Down they dropped like an eagle after its prey. McDowell dove back intothe cockpit just as the monoplane crashed down on him, the wheels ofthe ship above almost raking his head. Tim steeled himself for theexpected crash as the propeller of the biplane bit into the landinggear but it did not come. By some trick of magic which Tim would neverknow McDowell dropped the biplane down almost ten feet at the lastmoment. Or perhaps fate had taken a hand and the ship had struck an airpocket. At any rate the monoplane sped on overhead and McDowell wassafe again.

  "What happened?" asked Prentiss.

  Tim shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe the biplane hit rough air anddropped. I thought surely we had him that time."

  The motor coughed, rapped out a few more revolutions, and then died.

  "That's about all for us," said Tim bitterly.

  "And there goes McDowell," said the inspector.

  The flying reporter scanned the ground for a safe landing place. Theywere up a little better than 4,000 feet. To their right was a smalltown and a fair-sized pasture at one edge, flanked by a white highway.Tim nosed the monoplane down. As they glided toward the field he caughtthe sound of another airplane motor. He glanced up. Perhaps McDowellwas coming back. But McDowell's ship was winging steadily along on the1,200-mile hop to the border.

  "Someone back of us," said Prentiss. There was no need to shout now andthe inspector's voice sounded unnatural.

  Tim glanced back. The ship was familiar. His heart leaped. It was thefast Jupiter owned by the _News_. Someone had managed to get it out ofthe hangar and was coming to help them.

  The flying reporter opened the window on his left and waved wildly,pointing downward. The pilot of the other plane waggled his wings inunderstanding and dropped toward the pasture with Tim following himdown.

  "Looks like Tommy Larkin in the other plane," said the inspector.

  "That's the _News_' ship and I don't care who's flying it," said Tim,"just as long as it's got a full tank of gas. McDowell is going to bein for a surprise when we shoot up in the Jupiter. That's an airplane."

  The pasture proved surprisingly smooth and they rolled across thefield. The pilot who had brought in the Jupiter had it swung around andhad it ready for them when they tumbled from the cabin of the monoplane.

  "Tommy!" cried the inspector. "Great work, boy!"

  "I couldn't stay out of this shindig," grinned the flyer McDowell hadplanned to destroy.

  "What a break," chuckled Tim. "Plenty of gas?"

  "The tank's full to overflowing. That's some plane; fast and easy tohandle."

  "We'll have to leave you here, Tommy," said the inspector. "Maybe youcan get gas in this town and fly back to Atkinson."

  "I'll make out all right," grinned Tommy. "You fellows get afterMcDowell. Gosh, I'd like to see his face when you come barging down onhim again."

  "He's heading for the border," said Tim.

  "Yeah. That old tub carried about a ton of fuel and he's got a fieldway over in western Kansas where he can land and refuel withouttrouble. He knows it so well he can even land at night but unless Imiss my guess he won't be in the air by nightfall."

  Tim climbed into the Jupiter and the inspector scrambled in after him.Tim checked the gauges, tank nearly full of gas, motor temp right, oilpressure up. He released the brakes, opened the throttle, and waved toTommy as the plane shot down the field and rocketed away in pursuit ofMcDowell, whose plane now was only the tiniest of dots in thesouthwestern sky.

  The Jupiter was fast and Tim cruised along at an easy, mile-consuming150 miles an hour.

  "We'll overtake McDowell in no time," he told the inspector, who wasbusy refilling the magazine of the rifle.

  "I've only about twenty rounds of ammunition left," shouted Prentiss."My shooting will have to improve."

  The dot in the sky ahead grew in size and took on the shape of anairplane. Tim was flying high and there was little chance that McDowellwould see them until they were on top of him.

  The flying reporter's thoughts went back to Atkinson. He wondered aboutRalph and the wound on his head, and there was no mercy in his heart ashe guided the Jupiter on the now relentless chase after the fleeingMcDowell.

  The outline of the old biplane grew larger and larger as thefast-flying Jupiter cut down the distance. Tim had planned a newcampaign of action. In the Jupiter, knowing every movement andcapability of the ship, he felt confident that he could ride McDowellinto the ground, out-maneuver and out-speed him until the other wouldwelcome the chance to fight it out below.

  The Jupiter was flying a thousand feet above the old trainer when Timdropped the nose down and opened the throttle for a power dive. As theyswooped down, he saw McDowell look up, saw the surprise and alarm onthe other's face. Then they were by with less than ten feet to sparebetween the ships. Tim climbed the Jupiter dizzily until he was back onMcDowell's tail, riding it hard and close. The flyer ahead emptiedanother magazine at them and then threw his automatic away in disgust.He was out of ammunition. Now it was a case of plane against plane,pilot against pilot, and nerve pitted against nerve for Prentiss wasunable to shoot now.

  Closer and closer Tim drove the Jupiter. He was just above and behindthe biplane, riding it down, relentlessly and with grim intent.McDowell twisted and turne
d, but always the cream and green biplanerode his tail. He dodged to the right and then to the left, looped,barrel-rolled, but it was all in vain. Tim guessed his every maneuverand went him one better.

  "Country's getting rougher," cried Prentiss.

  "Bad place for a forced landing," agreed Tim.

  They were flying at a little under 3,000 feet and Tim was ridingMcDowell's plane down, foot by foot. It was a slow and nerve-wrackingprocess but it seemed destined for success. Once in a while he wouldveer his ship enough to let Prentiss get in a shot, but none of themfound their mark.

  The air was getting rougher. Even the steady, easy-flying Jupiter wasrocking and pitching and Tim could see that the old biplane ahead ofthem was bucking hard.

  Prentiss turned around.

  "Look at the biplane's wings," he cried.

  Tim watched closely. The wings were flapping, threatening to breakloose from the ship at any moment. The chase was nearly over. McDowellwould be forced down. Tim glanced at the country below. It was roughand broken, almost impossible for a safe landing.

  A startled cry from Prentiss drew his attention back to the biplane.The old ship was breaking up! McDowell had been pushing it too hard,the spins and rolls and loops had been more than the ancient sprucecould stand. The right wing was giving way, the top section droopingdown in the lower one.