by Van Powell
CHAPTER IV
TEMPEST AND TREACHERY
Seeing the direction taken by Don, Garry, using the light of the everincreasing flashes in the North, scribbled rapidly and sent a bit ofpaper forward.
"Going back?" he asked Don in that fashion.
As a vivid blaze of forked lightning leaped across the sky, Don nodded.
For answer Garry extended his arm, outward and downward.
The green flare, floating slowly downward, lit up the swamp beneath theDragonfly.
Looking down, Don saw what Garry meant. The mail 'plane lay in atangled heap of marsh grass at the edge of the lighted space. A flashof lightning picked it out more sharply.
In that more accented glimpse Don made out the twisted wings and warpedoutlines. For a moment the more sinister apparition which had menacedthe three chums had driven the pilot of the mail ship out of Don's mind.
He felt ashamed of his lack of consideration for a man whose airplanehad gone down so swiftly. He swung back and began to drop the nose.
The floating flare died out.
Chick, still searching the skies for that dreadful phantom whose adventhad robbed him of all self-control and whose unexplainabledisappearance had added to, rather than diminished his terror, criedout in dismay. He wanted very much to get among people, to feel thesecurity of human companionship among older people.
Almost at once, however, Chick's sense of decency came to his rescue.He was glad that his remonstrating call had not been heard because ofthe noise made by the engine. At heart Chick had, like most impulsiveyouths, one of the kindest, most chivalrous, natures.
Resolutely he drove out his own selfish timidity, braced himself toignore the shaking of his nerves and muscles.
In the glare of a bright stream of heavenly fire, Don turned a facethat showed great concern.
Garry guessed the reason.
The Summer tempest, that had been prophesied by heat, humidity and thegathering thunder heads, was bearing down swiftly from the North,racing along the shore of the Sound.
Its rapid approach gave Don much uneasiness.
Wind, rain and turbulent wrench of storm could be avoided by going atonce to the airport. They could set down, get the Dragonfly in thehangar, and get help to proceed by safer ways to the rescue of thepilot.
If they tried to set down in the water of the marsh, the storm mightbreak upon them before they could rescue the fallen pilot, alwayssupposing that they could get him out of his ship.
Garry, scribbling another note, passed it up.
Don read it in the next flicker of the intermittent lightning.
"It is dangerous to try to go down. But his life may hang on quick aid."
Don, reading what Garry had written, nodded, kept the nose down, addeda spurt of the gun to be sure of clear cylinders, and then side-slippedto lose altitude as quickly as he could. He brought the ship to a levelonce more, and, while Chick sent over white landing flares to help himchose his landing without risk, made contact with the water.
While the Dragonfly sped with diminishing momentum across the widestretch of water they had formerly used, Chick and Garry were busy.
From a conveniently located small locker Chick drew out and uncoiledrope with which to secure the Dragonfly if they were not able to goaloft and escape the storm. If they had to "ride it out" he wished tobe able to stake down the wings and tail, to prepare the ship as wellas possible against the tear and stress of high winds. He hoped thatthe airplane would run close to the edge of the open water. There, heknew, was a small dock, on the widened end of which stood a small,two-room shack used by a boatman who rented his small dories forcrabbing excursions into the channels of the swamp.
Garry, with quick hands, drew out a first aid kit from a pocket in hiscockpit, glancing into its box to assure himself that it contained theliniments, bandages and adhesives he might need. Garry had taken anumber of lessons in first aid and instinctively thought of the work ofmercy he might be called upon to do.
Don, maneuvering the Dragonfly up to as close proximity to the old dockas the safety of wings and propeller would allow, signaled to Chick andcalled for one more white flare.
Dropping the floating light into the water, to augment for them theillumination provided by the almost incessant flickers of lightning,Chick sprang up, and began to climb out on a brace and the wing-step atone side while Don balanced him on the other.
Expertly Don caught the rope end.
It was plainly to be seen that the storm would be down upon them beforethey could take off safely and get high enough to avoid the moilingcurrents of the stormy area. Bringing the ship as close to the dock ashe could, by flinging a bight of the rope over a dock piling, Don letthe wind drift its tail outward. Chick, on his side, clamberedcarefully forward across the lower wing until he could fling his partof the rope over another wooden upright.
Quickly, but carefully, they worked the ship around so that it wassheltered somewhat by the dock planking and to the leeward of the oldhouse.
By climbing out to the wingtip, gingerly so as not to injure the fabricand with each movement setting his weight on the supporting framework,Chick, his terrors forgotten in action, held a flying wire with onehand, bent far outward, and managed to get his fingers over the gunwaleof a dory tied under the wharf.
He drew against the pull of the wind until he could get the dory andthe low wingtip close enough together to enable him to step across.
Swiftly he untied the painter of the boat while Garry aided Don to useevery available inch of their rope in securing the Dragonfly againstthe pull and thrust of wind, the tossing waves that must soon fling theship to and fro.
Their tasks completed, Don and Garry, one on the wharf planks, theother balancing the light flying craft, waited until Chick could scullthe dory close alongside the fuselage.
There he stepped back onto the wing bracing, steadying the dory asGarry and Don entered it.
"Hang on!" he urged, as Don caught a bracing wire to keep the two crafttogether, using his hand to fend off the rub of wood against theDragonfly's fabric body. "I'll break into the shack and get oars."
Agile, supple, quick, Chick clambered to the planks.
He ran around the small building, old, dilapidated, weather-worn.
The door, he recalled from earlier visits, was toward the more solidshore a hundred yards beyond, from which a narrow runway enabledvisitors to cross deep, mud-bottomed channels.
To Chick's surprise, the door stood ajar!
He dashed in, waited until a flash of the swiftly coming electricalstorm gave him light, located the racks of oars at one side, secured apair and hurried out.
"Take flares!" he urged. "You might need to signal. I'll stay here!" Hewas anxious to make amends for his earlier weakness by braving thestorm, guarding the Dragonfly as best he could, in spite of the spookylook of that open door of the deserted interior of the shack.
Agreeing, as soon as they had secured the signal lights, Don and Garrysculled for all they were worth, got the dory away from the airplane,and then took their places, rowing hard for the stricken shape of themail 'plane half way down the Southern shore.
Chick hastily went from post to post, making certain that their knottedropes were secure.
Then he turned back to the old hovel.
Hoarse and angry, the thunder rumbled, ever louder.
Across the water, in the dying light of the last flare they hadignited, he could see Don and Garry, their bodies rising and bending inrapid rhythms as they put all their strength behind the oars on theirrescue errand.
The door of the shack, when Chick came to it again, stood as before.
He hurried in.
The wind began to blow in short, sharp puffs. A vivid fork of lightthrust its fire from cloud to earth. A crash and rumble followed.
Chick shivered; but it was not from fear of the storm.
Somewhere within that small boathouse came a low moan!
Hollow, hard tolocate, it chilled Chick's very marrow.
He braced his shaken nerves, standing just inside the doorway, hispresence hidden from peering eyes by some old oilskins behind which hehad hurriedly dodged.
A glare of burning air, a blue-white bolt of fire, threw the inside ofthe place into brightness akin to day.
In that flash Chick's eyes caught the huddle of a body in a corner.
At first terrified, then made calm by the thought that it must be themail 'plane pilot who had managed to crawl along the swamp edge toshelter in the old place and needed instant attention, Chick crossedthe room.
As he did so a glare of light more vivid than the others showed him fora fleeting instant the face of the man lying in a heap.
"Doc Morgan!" Chick cried out in amazement. "Doc"----
The man was a sort of general helper around the airport, not very keenof wit, nor deft of hand; he aided when ships had to be trundled out ofthe hangar, and swept up the yards, and did other odd jobs.
"Doc" had earned his nickname because he was always gathering herbswhich he maintained were of great medicinal value. Curiously enough,the concoctions he administered to the amused airport personnel oftenproved to be very helpful. Therefore "Doc" was forgiven his dull witand liked for his good nature.
But what was he doing there, in the supposably untenanted boat shack?
Morgan stirred, groaned. Chick bent down, "'Doc'--are you hurt?"
The man stirred again, and then Chick, with a stare, moved back a step.The man was muttering. An empty bottle, reeking as did his breath withthe odor of cheap alcohol, gave the clue to his condition.
A fierce gust of wind swept through the place before it banged the dooragainst its frame with a crash that made Chick jump. Before the slam ofthe door shut out the fire of a bolt that came close, Chick saw a bitof paper caught up by the draft and sent through the air. He ran to thedoor, threw it wide, turned, and, waiting for the next gust, and itsaccompanying flash, he located the paper--secured it--caught sight ofits marked surface, thin, inked lines on light tracing paper--and criedout, in disgust.
"You traitor! You've taken some of the plans for the new all-metalship! This is one! Where are the others?"
