TROUBLE AHEAD AND BELOW.

We wasted about five minutes talking the thing over. Al Rodgers and Dave Simmons joined us. Charlie Ryan and Duke Conroy came up. It was Conroy who hit on the idea.

“Russ is a good guy, boss,” he said. “He gets heated up easily—but he’s all right. I’m not going to stick over here and see him kill himself for the chance of showing you up, and getting fifty bucks. I know this fellow Conant. As long as he shoots the crash—he won’t care about Russ. When that fellow Donnelly, who made a living by pulling off crashes for the film gang, got his, did they do any prolonged weeping? They did not. Just business—and he’d signed a paper releasing them from any responsibility, of course. I won’t let Russ get hot-headed and bump himself off that way!”

“How,” I asked, “are you going to stop it?”

“Not me,” Conroy said. “Us! I could lick Russ if I hadn’t just come out of the hospital, maybe—but there would still be the movie gang. There’s only one thing to do. We’ll all fly over there—and raise merry——”

“Great!” I interrupted, and grabbed Bob Brooks by the arm. “But first let’s call the Mammoth Film Company—and make sure they’re working on air stuff today. They’ve been shooting some mild flying, even if they couldn’t get the crash stuff.”

Bob nodded excitedly. “Get the ships out! You call up, Mac. We’ll fly five ships over—I’ll ride with you, Mac. Hurry it up! They might just happen to be set for the stuff.”

There was a gas station about a half mile down the road which ran past the field, and I trotted toward it. The other boys were moving toward the hangars. I chuckled. Russ would be sore, furious—when we flew in and busted things up. And six of us could do it.

It was the only thing to do. I’d heard about Conant. He was an aggressive chap, and he knew his air. He’d flown during the war, and then he’d quit, which showed me that he had brains. It was his job now to get crash scenes for “War Aces”—and he was up against it. It isn’t easy to crash a ship, and get away cheerfully.

Donnelly had done it—for about three crashes, wing-overs and stalls. And then the engine had come back on his chest—and he was through.

“War Aces” was a thriller—I knew, because I’d read it. It wasn’t exactly highbrow, and it wouldn’t take much acting, but it would take some crashing, and some bang-up air stuff. If the movie bunch were working—and I had a hunch that they were—Conant would grab Russ and the Old Lady. And Russ was so sore that he’d forgotten all about himself. That was a cinch. He was like that.

It took me five minutes to get somebody at the picture outfit that knew about the shoot. And they gave me a straight answer. Conant had five cameras out at the field, in the hills back of Hollywood. He had two ships. He was shooting stuff. And the company was still looking for a thrill-man. Did I know of one?

I groaned and hung up. When I got back to the dead-line the ships were out, and being tested at the blocks. I gave Bob the cheerful news. He swore a couple of times.

“When we hit the field we’ll set our ship down,” he explained. “Look out for holes—they may have been doing some war-time shell-hole stuff. Mac and I will go after Russ—and hang on to him. You fellows get down as soon after us as you can, in case this fellow Conant gets rough with us for breaking up the party. I’ll do the talking. If things look tough, you ease up to the Old Lady—and break a connection, Duke.”

Duke Conroy grinned. “I’d rather talk with this Conant, but you’re the boss.”

“Well—let’s get up and over there!” Bob said. “I started this mess and I’ll finish it! And believe me, when I get Russ Healy back here——”

“I’ll feel a lot better!” I interrupted—and meant it.

Then we climbed the five ships, and taxied out. Sixty seconds later we were off the earth—and heading for the field from which they were shooting the “War Aces” stuff. As the D.H. climbed, and I held the joy-stick back a bit from the neutral position, I shook my head slowly. Knowing Russ Healy as well as I did, I could figure trouble ahead and below.

“Unless we wreck things generally,” I thought to myself, “the Old Lady flies!”