THE ONRUSHING TRAIN

A chorus of these and similar good wishes came from a host of throats as Slim Tyler, with an embarrassed grin on his freckled face, made his way toward his plane through the crowd of people on the North Elmwood flying field. The crowd had gathered to witness the take-off on the great refueling endurance flight, in which Slim Tyler was a competitor and which, it was hoped, would establish a new world's record.

The interest in the contest was intense and had attracted spectators from all over the country. Four teams of the most celebrated aviators in America had entered for the prize, and their machines, groomed to the minute and gleaming in the sun, stood quivering on the field, as eager, apparently, to go aloft as were their masters.

As Slim Tyler reached his plane in which Jerry Marbury, his assistant pilot, was already seated, the famous aviator, Dave Boyd, the ace of all the world's flyers, came up to him for a final word.

"Go to it, my boy," said Dave, as he wrung Slim's hand. "I'm backing you to the limit. I've been bragging to everyone that you're the finest airman of your age in America and I'm depending on you to make my boast good."

"I'll do my best, both for your sake and my own," promised Slim. "But it isn't going to be any cinch, considering the fellows I'll be against."

"Righto," agreed Dave Boyd. "But there'll be all the more glory in winning. It wouldn't be any fun if you were fighting against dubs. They'll give you a run for your money, all right. All the same, you're going to lick them. You have the stamina, you have the skill, and, above all, you have the bulldog stick-to-itiveness that's going to count."

"I hope you're a true prophet," said Slim, as he drew on his helmet, adjusted his goggles, and jumped into the plane.

The luck of the draw had placed him last in the order of ascent, and he and Jerry Marbury watched with keen interest as one after another the competing planes were drawn to the head of the runway and soared into the air.

"Those boys know their business," murmured Jerry, as he noted the grace and celerity of the three take-offs.

"They sure do," agreed Slim. "It won't be an easy job to pluck their feathers. But if we don't do it, it won't be for lack of trying."

Generous applause greeted all the pilots as they mounted into the air. But it was nothing compared to the thunderous shout that rose when the Lightning Flash, the plane of Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury, roared down the runway and darted up into the sky.

"Seems as though they rather like us down there," remarked Slim to Jerry, as he brought the plane to an even keel at an altitude of about fifteen hundred feet.

"Sure does," agreed Jerry. "Of course, it's our home crowd and they want to see us win just as a matter of local pride. Then, too, they know that Dave Boyd is backing us, and anything that Dave wants everybody else in this burg wants."

"That's my own chief reason for wanting to win," declared Slim. "I'd far rather please Dave Boyd that win the two thousand dollars they've hung up as a prize."

"Same here," assented Jerry. "But, oh boy, those two thousand berries look awfully good to me! A thousand apiece for a few days in the air! Not bad, is it?"

"Not to mention the five thousand dollars we'll divide between us if, in addition to beating these fellows, we make a new world's record," added Slim.

Faintly to their ears came the music of the band, which regaled the ears of the spectators with a medley of popular tunes, though without diverting their attention from the four planes that circled about the field in a variety of graceful evolutions, occasionally indulging in stunts that made the spectators gasp.

"Whom do you think we have to beat?" asked Jerry, as he watched the movements of their three rivals.

"All three of them," replied Slim, grinning.

"Of course," rejoined Jerry. "What I mean is, which of these bozos is likely to give us the most trouble?"

"Hard to tell," judged Slim. "They're all good. Ellison and McCarthy in the Comet, Braxton and Deimer in the Scout, Axtell and Wilson in the Speed King. None of them's to be sneezed at. If I were picking any of them, though, I'd fix on Braxton and Deimer as the most dangerous. They won a flight of this kind out in California, you know, and they're veterans."

He pulled the stick and the Lightning Flash darted up to an altitude of three thousand feet. At the same time he reduced his speed from sixty to about fifty miles an hour.

Gradually the crowd below thinned out, although some of the most enthusiastic of the flying fans camped there permanently for the whole duration of the flight. There was always the chance of something sensational happening to one or more of the four competing planes.

Soon the time came for refueling. The supply of gas was running low and the aviators, too, were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger.

Slim gave the preconcerted signal, and their supply plane, manned by Biff Donovan and Tom Ellsworth, rose swiftly from the ground.

"Here comes our flying wagon," murmured Jerry with satisfaction.

"And here's the crucial test of the whole thing," added Slim Tyler as he watched keenly the approaching plane. "I'll tend to the controls while you show me what a perfect contact you can make."

He gradually went lower as the other plane came higher, and the two planes maneuvered until the supply ship was almost directly over the Lightning Flash.

"Let her go, Tom!" shouted and signaled Jerry.

"Here she comes!" called Tom, and a long hose, like a great serpent, came shooting down directly behind the propeller.

Jerry grabbed it deftly before it had time to touch the plane and connected it with the main tank, which immediately began to fill.

"Smart work, Jerry!" exclaimed the young pilot. "Cut her off when we've taken on about seventy gallons."

Jerry Marbury complied and then unscrewed the hose and cast it off.

Aluminum cans, three feet long, containing sandwiches, fruit, and coffee, in addition to a bottle of distilled water, were then swung down to them by Tom Ellsworth.

Jerry received them with marked enthusiasm, which was fully shared by Slim.

"They've sent us plenty, I hope," remarked Slim Tyler.

"They have," declared Jerry, as an avalanche of good things slid from the container that he turned upside down. "If we fail in this flight, it won't be because they've let us starve to death. Sink your teeth into that," and he flipped a lettuce and egg sandwich to his companion, who caught it deftly in his left hand and ate it eagerly. The supply plane slid down in long spirals to the ground, and Jerry, after a copious meal, relieved Slim at the controls so that the latter could follow his example.

They ate with appetite, for it was now nearly night, and in the feverish excitement of the preparations for the flight neither had tasted food since early morning.

The sun went down, dusk deepened into night, and gradually the heavens were studded with stars. The moon would not rise till late, but with the brightly lighted field beneath them and the searchlights that kept sweeping the skies, there was no difficulty in avoiding contact with the rival planes.

Slim had throttled the motor down to about twelve hundred revolutions, and the Lightning Flash maintained a pace which, while it would have been fast for an express train, was slow for an airplane. They were not going anywhere, and it did not matter whether they loafed or sped, as long as they remained aloft.

"We'll work this thing on three-hour spells," decided Slim. "Suppose you get some sleep now, Jerry, and I'll call you three hours from now."

"Suits me all right," acceded Jerry. "Talk about an outdoor sleeping porch! This lies all over that. All the ventilation you want and then some."

He stretched out on his narrow mattress and in a few minutes was fast asleep. At the appointed time Slim Tyler woke him and took his place, and thus they alternated through the night.

A slight haze lay low on the ground when morning broke and shut out the sight of the field. It made flying hazardous, also, and had the rival planes been flying at the same altitude, there would have been great danger of collision.

But it had been previously arranged that in case of bad weather conditions they should fly at different heights, so that the pilots had little worry on that account.

About ten o'clock the haze lifted and the circling planes were bathed in sunlight.

Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury cast a glance about for their rivals.

"Look at the Scout!" exclaimed Jerry. "She seems to be coming down."

"Wonder what the trouble is," said Slim, with quickened interest.

Braxton could be seen at the controls while Deimer was on the narrow catwalk working desperately to adjust some trouble with the motor.

"Seem to be making heavy weather of it," remarked Jerry. "Something gone wrong with the engine."

Whatever the difficulty was, it seemed unconquerable, for Deimer at last threw up his hands in a gesture of despair, got into his seat, where he sat with drooping head, and Braxton in long spirals brought the plane to the ground. The Scout was definitely out of the race.

Slim Tyler and Jerry Marbury looked at each other, the same thought in the mind of each. The dropping out of one of the contestants marked a step toward their own final triumph. They had only two to beat now, instead of three. They could not help a feeling of elation, but blended with this was a feeling of sympathy for the discomfited aviators. They knew how they would have felt in a similar position.

There were no more casualties on that day. But on the following morning, Ellison and McCarthy in the Comet were forced to quit because of a split in the propeller that had developed during the night.

"Falling like autumn leaves," murmured Jerry. "I can see those two thousand berries coming nearer. We have now only the Speed King to beat and the race is ours."

"They're saying the same thing about us," observed Slim. "Everything seems to be all serene with them so far. Listen to their motors. They're working like a dream."

A little later Slim Tyler himself had a scare. His own motors began to miss.

Jerry's face paled when he heard the ominous knocking.

"Gas giving out?" he asked in alarm.

"No, we have plenty," replied Slim, as he tapped the tank. "It must be that the feed pipe is clogged. Hustle, Jerry, and get it cleared."

Jerry worked like a madman and adjusted the trouble while Slim, with consummate skill, so maneuvered the plane, which for the time was practically motorless, as to keep it from descending.

Even at that, it was dangerously near the ground before the engines resumed their usual hum and Slim Tyler gave her the gun and mounted to a realm of safety.

"Close call that!" exclaimed Jerry, with a gasp of relief as he wiped his streaming brow.

"Sure was," agreed Slim. "It simply shows what an assortment of chances there is in this game."

This was illustrated an hour later when the Speed King was seen to falter and go into a tail spin.

"She's going down!" cried Jerry excitedly. "Here's where we win."

But his excitement was premature, for by a herculean effort the Speed King was brought out of her spin and to a level keel.

"Now where's your two thousand?" chaffed Slim.

"Only postponed a little while," replied Jerry. "Be all the more fun counting it when it comes."

Slim Tyler in his moments of leisure was thinking of far more than two thousand dollars. He was mulling over in his mind the twenty thousand dollars out of which he believed his father had been swindled by the old skinflint, Nat Shaley.

Would he ever get it? Could he ever pin the crime on Shaley and compel him to make restitution?

His last interview with the miserly old lumber dealer had convinced Slim of the man's guilt. But moral certainty was one thing and legal proof was quite another. He had not a shred of real evidence that would stand up for a moment in a court of law.

If the tramp, High Hat Frank, who knew so much about the matter had not died so soon! If——

But what was the use of "ifs?" Slim Tyler put the matter in the back of his mind and devoted himself to the task in hand.

In the afternoon, to vary the scene of action a little, Slim Tyler sailed in a wider circle that carried his plane over the railroad tracks skirting the mountains.

A long whistle came faintly to the ears of the two airmen, and, looking up the tracks, they saw a freight train winding its way down the grade.

Jerry touched Slim's arm.

"Look at the auto coming down that mountain road!" he exclaimed, pointing to the right. "Looks as if the driver had lost control. And that road crosses the railroad tracks!"

"Brakes won't work, I guess," cried Slim in alarm. "Looks as if he were heading for a smashup."

The auto went plunging crazily along, made a wild skid as it approached the roadbed, and turned over on its side on the track, throwing out the driver, who lay stunned across the rails.

"And the train's coming!" cried Slim, with blanched face. "Because of the curve, they won't see him until it's too late to stop. We'll have to go down and save him, contest or not!"

"But the money—" began Jerry, and then added hastily: "All right. I'm with you."

There was an open field near by, and Slim Tyler made the quickest landing of his life. Before the plane stopped, Slim and Jerry had jumped from the cockpit and were racing at full speed toward the wrecked car.

As they neared the track the prostrate man rose and staggered toward them. A shock ran through Slim Tyler as he saw the man's face.

It was the face of Nat Shaley!