Air Stories, April 1936 — page 46: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES to the city five hundred miles to the south. ‘You'll have to wait a few minutes for an answer,’’ he said. ‘‘ Say, did you hear Tommy’s bringing the bricks out on the Snowmobile ? ”’ * Don stiffened. ‘‘The Snowmobile—when did he leave ? ”’ ‘‘This morning, before daylight. should be near here now.’’ Don thought quickly. If Tommy had left at that hour he would now be about fifty miles out from Fraser. He leaned across and whispered to ‘‘ Bugs.’’ ‘“‘T’m going over to that train, ‘Bugs’! Ill have to make a dash for Pelican Lake as soon as the mail’s in. If the answer to that wire’s what I think it’ll be, have the Mounties follow the cat-trail. Have them come out in the Puss Moth. The R.C.A.F.f will bring them out.’’ Leaving the mystified ‘‘ Bugs ’’ star- ing after him, he raced from the shack. He ON watched the rear of the ‘‘ Muskeg Special ’’ vanish into the distance. An Indian boy was taking the mail- bags to his Fokker that stood with clouds of steam issuing from the canvas hood over the engine. As soon as the Indian boy got the mail-bags aboard, he would hop off for Pelican Lake Mines. He wished he had received an answer to his wire. He was about to wish some- thing else when a voice cut in on his thoughts. ‘‘ Pardon Carson P ”’ The pilot turned and inspected the owner of the voice. He was greatly surprised to see a presentable young girl. Without knowing why, he noted her hair was curly. It escaped from beneath a close-fitting beret. He also saw her eyes were dark. A quizzical smile played around the corners of her ridiculously small mouth. ‘Well, yes, I’m Don Carson.’’ ‘*And I’m Kitty Dawson. My father me, are you Donald * An ordinary Ford car with a traction tread on the rear wheels and a steerable sleigh device on the front wheels.—Author’s Note. R.C.A.F, ; Royal Canadian Air Force. told me to come in with you. I’m paying him a surprise visit. He doesn’t know I’m coming; neither does Tommy. You know Tommy, don’t you ? ”’ Don admitted he did know Tommy, and, picking up the girl’s suitcase, bade her follow him to the ’plane. So this was Mike’s daughter. The mine manager had mentioned her often enough, but Don was agreeably sur- prised on seeing her for the first time. He assisted her to a seat of honour in the cockpit beside him. The engine cover was whisked off, and the inertia starter sang its plaintive song. The squeal rose to a_ shrill crescendo as the clutch engaged, and the engine burst into a full-throated roar. The Fokker-Super lifted off the lake in a smother of snow. A steady flow of heat rolled from the exhaust heater into the cockpit and cabin. It was needed, too. The wing thermometer registered 76 degrees of frost. Don stole cautious glances at the girl beside him. She came of a fighting breed —that much was evident. He wondered why such a girl was leaving the comforts of the city to come to this barren place. He could see her eyes were fastened on the winding cat-trail, It dawned upon him that she had a greater interest in the cat-trail than anything else. Why should she watch it so intently p Far ahead, the flat surface of Moose- horn Lake appeared off the port wing. There were no signs of life on its barren surface. Where were the two trappers P Had they gone farther afield, or were they camped in the thick spruce along the shore? He felt a touch on his arm. He looked about. The girl was pointing. He saw a black dot on the cat- trail. It must be the Snowmobile, driven by Tommy. Perhaps Mike had changed his mind about the heavy cat. Of course he had. The Snow- mobile was the logical means to use. It travelled fast, almost twenty-five miles an hour on good trails. Don nosed down. Suddenly a tingling shock ran through him. Two men were racing behind a 22 comiclooolks (Cl QO)