Adventure Magazine Cover — page 131: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AERIAL BLUE That plane, with full gas-tank, could stay in the air for about an hour and a half. At least half of that time was down before Aerial made her try; less than three-quar- ters of an hour now remained for somebody to guess a way out of this mess. Somebody, while Cole and I gaped and stared like asses, had made the right guess. That somebody was Bugs. Our attention turned to a car that bolted into the hospital yard on its two off-wheels. Bugs quit that car on the fly, leaped the veranda rail in a flash, and dived in through an open window. “You, Mace—” he was pulling me toward the door—‘don’t wait to get clothes— She’s up against it!— Youcan fly our other plane with one hand— Let’s go—come!”’ The deputy said “Let’s go!” too. Five minutes brought us to the flying field. Ten more valuable minutes were spent when the old motor refused to start, and more than an hour’s supply of Loop’s gas was gone before we left the ground— Time’s never slow when you need it bad. And motors never cause any trouble unless they can cause a lot. Because of the great desert heat, the cylinders got “loaded”; finally we cleared them, the old crock barked a few mild explosions, coughed some more, then picked it up and hit on all elght. Then, for the next five minutes, the thou- sands of excited spectators, rushing across the flying field, obstructed my take-off. And time—minutes of that last half-hour of Loop’s gasoline—was wasted. Oh Lord! People are dumb when they shouldn’t be—sheep! Nothing but rushing, bungling sheep! And a girl’s life hanging by silken threads—thin, silken shroud- lines! People!—who said they thought? Here and there, right out on the field, separately or in small groups of two or three, women and girls had chosen this as the time to faint or wring their hands and wail. Some of the men were as bad or worse, and the kids, hundreds of them, were out of control. It was a bedlam! In that confusion, as I tried to taxi the plane to a starting position, I saw young Bugs beating an opening through that mob. He had run amuck, flayed them, threw kids head over heels, mopped up on young and old alike. When the police had broken out a run- yay to the open country beyond the actual 129 flying field, I got under way. Bugs came aboard and into the front cockpit as the plane moved across the field. The kid was fine-drawn, rabid! Then, flying awkwardly—trying to han- dle throttle and control-stick with my right hand alone—I crowded the ship’s climb and strove to reach Loop’s level. Loop, in the meantime, had glided and, seeing that we were taking-off, circled the field at about the three thousand altitude where he now loafed and waited. Aerial, hanging limp and still wildly dangling be- low the plane, had evidentally spent her strength in struggling and, likely, resigned hope. The first time I passed under Loop’s plane, after getting well into the air, she waved at us and smiled. It was a game smile. She was always a game kid. Crouched and half-standing in the front cockpit, Bugs studied his wrist-watch. We had an altimeter reading of two thousand feet at the time. He crawled over the cowl- ing and spoke: ‘‘He’s been in the air for an hour and twenty minutes; if the tank was chock full when he took-off—we have only ten min- utes more. Crowd it! Crowd it, and we’ll make it!” “Just what are we going to do?” I asked. ‘“How are you going to work this thing?” “Leave it to Loop and me. When we get up to him—you just fly straight ahead and out front.” Within the next five minutes, the other plane had lost a little altitude and we had gained the difference. Then, heading straight into the slight west wind, I set a straight course back toward town and the desert beyond. Over my shoulder I watched Loop coming up from the rear. Bugs had left his cockpit and stepped to the lower left wing. Then working his way from wire to wire, and strut to strut, he reached the outer end of the panel. Loop’s left wing was hovering only a few feet above and behind my rudder by then and I was beginning to tighten up— But just obeyed orders—straight ahead and out front. On my left wing, Bugs was making his next move. Climbing the outer front strut, he reached the top of the upper wing. On the top wings of that type of plane, you’ll no- tice two small struts and a tangle of slanting brace-wires. This cabane-strut assembly COMICOOoKS Cc (C@