Air Stories, April 1936 — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

AIR STORIES would be ! He braced his paws, wagged his tail and made noises in his throat. Prop-Wash didn’t see the booted foot lash out. It sank into his ribs. He yelped with pain and collapsed. The coat-sleeve was wrenched savagely from his mouth. Unable to move, he looked with hurt, puzzled eyes up into the dis- torted face bending over him. _ At that moment a shadow appeared in the doorway. Prop-Wash whimpered weakly as his master leaped at Corbin and spun him around. ‘* Here, what the devil ? ’’ Corbin shook off the hands that held him. ‘‘T’ll break every bone in his body if he doesn’t leave my stuff alone! ”’ he shouted. ‘* Corbin, if you ever hit that dog again, I’ll give you the worst beating of your life ! And you can kiss the book on it, too. Come here, old fellow. Hurt you much, eh ? ’”’ Trembling with blind rage, Corbin swung his clenched fist. But his fist only fanned thin air; Jackson had struck first. From the floor and through a haze of spinning stars and comets, he saw Jackson and Prop-Wash go out the dressing-room door. T was when the stars and comets stopped spinning that the idea of murder occurred to him. It didn’t have to be murder exactly. He could do it in such a way that it wouldn’t even look like murder. A stunt pilot’s life was a dangerous one ; accidents were always happening. Take the case of Brady, last week. No reason in the world why his wings should have come off. But they did. And Brady’s para- chute hadn’t helped him at all. Now if Jackson’s wings came off during that final take to-morrow. No —that wouldn’t be sure enough. For one thing it was problematical if he’d have the chance to doctor the ’plane. There were always one or two mechanics in the hangar. Another thing, too, Jackson might notice something was wrong and have the ’plane re-checked. And, lastly, there was always the chance that Jackson might jump free. No, it had to be some way that was sure. Absolutely sure, and not the slightest suspicion cast in his direction. Perhaps he’d better wait. <A perfect opportunity might present itself in time. But, no. He couldn’t afford to wait. Jackson would have his job before ‘Golden Eagles ’’ was finished. He’d be another has-been. Prouty, damn him, would see to it that he wouldn’t get a job on any of the lots. Prouty had said that he was getting yellow. And when a stunt pilot got the reputa- tion of being yellow, well No, he couldn’t afford to wait. He had to get Jackson out of the way. He—wait a minute ! The perfect oppor- tunity was staring him right in the face. Over there on the wall hook. Jackson’s parachute, hanging beside his own. Why, certainly ! They were both due to jump at the end of that final take to- morrow. Perfect! He had only to slip back here to-night, open the flap of the ’chute just enough to allow him to get at the shroud lines. A sharp knife blade would fray them just enough, but not noticeably so, even if the unex- pected should happen and Jackson re- folded his ’chute before he went up. He’d never done it before, though. But, even if he did, he certainly wouldn’t notice the weakened shrouds. And when he jumped out “ ALL right, you two,’’ Director Prouty’s voice came crisply. ‘‘I don’t want to spoil a single foot of film, so listen carefully, as I go over it for the last time. You two go up to eight thousand. You, Jackson, to the east side of the aerodrome. And you, Corbin, to the west. Wait until you see me fire the green Verey light from the camera ’plane. Then head for each other and start mixing it up. This is World War stuff, and I mean, mixing it up! No cream-puff stuff to-day. Corbin, you understand P Now when I fire the red Verey light, you are both to yank the smoke release lever, see ? In the deadly combat you’ve each got your man, see P 364 1IdOO S (Cl Q)