Air Wonder Stories, July 1929 — page 47: what you’re looking at

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

THE BEACON OF AIRPORT SEVEN beside the fuel hoses. “Here he comes staggering in from due south like he’s been out on a scouting expedition or a picnic. How we can make up the time he lost without a tail-wind is more than I can see.” His last words were lost as he approached the plane. “Come on, Tommy,” Tillotson invited. “Let’s see if he had trouble with the beacon too.” It was a bewildered chief pilot who stepped out into the radiance of work lights turned on by the ground crew. He was followed down the ship ladder by his relief and mechanic a moment later. “Boys, I'll swear I followed the beacon true as an arrow, but when I got close it suddenly switched around to my right and I found I was way to the south.” “You’re not the only one,” Boyer answered with heavy sarcasm. “Last night Royce had it jumping up and down and now you've got it wiggling side- ways. Of all the dizzy ideas! Here, climb in,” he continued to his relief man, “I’ll have to make up ten minutes that was lost by somebody playing tag with a fire-fly. Snap in to it, you ground men.” “All set.” “Fuel and oil O.K.” “Condition and controls O.K.” As the men gave their reports the Service Chief called, “Clear the props!” and then gave the start- ing signal to Boyer who was peering down from his high seat in the nose of the craft. The whine of the starters gave place to increasing roars of sound as each additional motor took hold. Locking his starboard wheel brake, the pilot gave full throttle to the port wing motors and whirled on the concrete service area. Under the response of wide throttles the plane moved forward with in- creasing momentum, showing Boyer’s intention of taking off with the wind in order to save time. After a quick run the lumbering craft left the ground in a gradual upward curve, quickly banking to the west in an effort to save precious minutes. The burden of sound lessened to a hutn and then ‘died away in the star-lit sky. CHAPTER II The Curse of the Airport URING the following ten days passenger, sealed express and freight planes came and went with all the regularity of clock-work. Superintendent McCrea, who had been more than a little worried by-a report from Alroyd, the freight plane pilot, that the beacon had ap- parently shifted, finally was able to convince him- self that it was nothing more than a case of over work and eye-strain with three of his flyers. The relief pilot of the freighter had been tnable to con- firm or to deny Alroyd’s report, having been busy at the time with a refractory fuel pump. Tommy, Tillotson and Alroyd were driven to- gether for mutual support in an effort to withstand the heavy barrage of witticisms from the other pilots during the first few days. Boyer was sure to take advantage of every opportunity of poking fun at the trio. As time went on they almost be- came convinced that the vagaries of the huge light had been hallucinations, 45 Then without warning, and as if possessed by an evil spirit, Number Seven beacon suddenly became a curse to be known from one end of the Trans- continental lines to the other as a siren, malicious and malevolent. Pilots who at first scoffed at the recurrent report, were soon forced to admit that something was wrong, they knew not what. McCrea, appealing for more and saner pilots, for electrical experts to put the beacon in order and for scientists to make tests of the light, bombarded the Pacific office with a barrage of radiograms, It started again on a dark, moonless night when the west bound passenger plane landed thirty minutes late, after flying in a zig-zag course from the pass to Seven. The irate superintendent was waiting at the loading area when the pilot emerged from the cockpit. Tommy was there, having been placed upon the reserve board for two weeks, be- fore resuming his disciplinary flights as second assistant under “Ace” Howard. Tillotson and Al- royd were handling their regular positions, as first relief and chief freight pilot, respectively. ‘What’s the matter, are you drunk?’ shouted McCrea above the muffled purr of idling motors. “No, sir, but the beacon would swing away to the north, and when I orientated the plane, it would turn back to the south, until I thought I had picked up the wrong light.” “Good gravy! And here I thought you men were through with all that nonsense. Don’t you realize that there is not another light like that beacon within a hundred miles?” “There’s not one like it anywhere in the world,” Tommy muttered from his position near the pair. McCrea, evidently having overheard the remark, whirled toward him opening his mouth to speak, then choked and grasped, After an inward struggle he sighed audibly, turned and strode toward his private hangar. The cry of “all aboard”, sent a number of in- terested passengers back to the machine, with an absorbing topic of conversation and discussion for the rest of the journey. McCrea had broken one of the first rules of the company when he found fault with a pilot in the presence of passengers. Scarcely had the huge plane left the field on its westward journey, when it was followed in the air by a tiny ship bearing the superintendent aloft. Still frowning and red of face, McCrea flew with wide open throttle directly toward the source of the circling beam, which dipped and rose from its vantage point on Sentinel Hill. The Accident EERE times he circled the light while gaining altitude, then the watchers at the airport saw his wing lights moving rapidly toward the east in the direction of the pass, until the hill hid them from view. Jameston phoned down the progress of the flight, kept in view in the field of his telescope, and the communications clerk relayed the messages to Tommy and members of the field crew. “He headed east for several miles, and then came back toward the beacon—now he’s flying toward the pass again, but very low—now he is coming back, climbing all the time—he’s turning toward the south—now back to the other side.” Then the comnlicloooks.com