Chapter Eight

Winning Their Wings

The crew from the Kearney field arrived in a large truck and trailing them was an ambulance with a doctor and two nurses. The farmer joined the party and helped guide them to the shivering group on the hilltop north of the Platte.

The wreckage of the tri-motor had long since ceased to glow and the wind whined dismally through a low growth of underbrush. Sue was the first to reach the truck and Miss Comstock fairly leaped after her.

"How's the pilot and co-pilot?" she asked, anxiety making her voice sound unnatural.

"They'll come through all right," said Sue. "I think the pilot has a slight concussion and his right arm is broken. The co-pilot is only suffering from shock and bruises."

"And the girls?"

"They're all right. When the fire died down a bit, several of them even tried to get close enough to salvage some of the mail, but the flames leaped up again and forced them back."

The flyers were carried to the waiting ambulance and that vehicle soon lurched away over the uneven ground.

The crew from the Kearney field had brought powerful electric torches and with these they made a thorough survey of the tri-motor. It was a charred mass of twisted steel tubing, little resembling the proud ship which had bucked the storm a few hours before.

"The company can write about $80,000 off the books," growled the manager of the Kearney field. "I wonder how it happened?"

"The left wing started to flutter," said Miss Comstock. "I could tell from the vibration of the ship something was wrong and when I went up into the cockpit Slim Bollei told me we were in a jam. He was afraid the wing was going to tear loose so he cut the left motor. With the wind bad and the wing loosening up more every second we were in the air he had to hunt a place to set down quick."

"Well, he sure put this crate down for keeps," grunted the manager. "Guess we might as well start back to the field and I'll write up a report of the accident."

The girls piled into the big truck, Jane and Sue sitting at the very end with their feet hanging over.

"What a night," said Sue as the truck moved away from the scene of the accident. "For a while I was afraid I wasn't going to live through it."

"I'm still shaky," confessed Grace Huston, who was just behind them.

"It wasn't pleasant," admitted Jane, "but we're all lucky to be out alive and with the pilots only slightly injured. However, as Miss Comstock says, this will probably be our first and last crash and it might as well come early."

When they reached the Kearney field, Miss Comstock got in touch with the operations manager at Cheyenne and informed him that another plane would be needed to take her charges to Cheyenne.

It was daylight when Cheyenne finally came back with flying orders. A special plane was being ordered out of Omaha to take the girls the remainder of the distance.

"We'll have several hours here," Miss Comstock informed them, "so I've chartered several cabs to take us uptown for breakfast. We'll go to the hotel, clean up and relax. Lunch will be in Cheyenne."

They were about to leave the field when a young man hurried up.

"I'm the Associated Press correspondent here," he explained, "and I'm looking for the stewardess in charge."

Miss Comstock stepped forward. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

The reporter grinned. "Just tell me all about the accident. I've got the pilots' names from the hospital and a few details, but I'd like to have all of the facts."

Jane was surprised when Miss Comstock told him everything about the accident.

"Please say that the new girls were especially calm and cool-headed in their first emergency," she said. "If it had not been for the assistance of one of them I fear the pilot would never have been pulled out of the wreckage before the plane caught fire."

The reporter insisted on having Jane's name.

"This will make a great human-interest story," he exclaimed as he hurried away.

Miss Comstock turned to the girls.

"That's a little lesson in public relations," she said. "The policy of the line is to tell the newspaper people the truth. If you try to hide or distort facts, the reporters will learn part of them in some other way and it is much better to have the truth sent out in the first place."

After breakfast at the hotel, Jane and Sue went into the writing room.

"I'm going to write my parents about everything that happened last night," said Sue. "Then they won't worry when they read the newspaper stories."

Jane agreed that it was a splendid idea and they passed half an hour at their letter writing before Miss Comstock came in to inform them that it was time to return to the field.

As they reached the airport a tri-motor swung in from the east. It swooped low over the field and an arm was flung out of the cockpit in a friendly greeting to the girls who were standing beside the hangar. The tri-motor nosed around into the wind and dropped down to an easy landing.

When it stopped in the hangar, the pilot stuck his head out of the cockpit.

"Hi, there," he called to Jane and Sue. "I hear you won your wings last night." It was Charlie Fischer, who had flown them from Chicago to Omaha the night before.

"You mean we had them clipped and singed," retorted Jane.

Charlie climbed down from the cockpit.

"How's Slim Bollei?" he asked.

"Just a slight crack on his head," said Sue. "I hear that they select men with hard heads for pilots."

"Ouch!" grinned Charlie. "I'm going to wear armor the next time I talk to you."

"You needn't. I don't even bite."

The pilot turned to Miss Comstock.

"Get your cargo aboard," he said, "and we'll take off in about five minutes. They routed me out at Omaha and started me west before I had time to get anything to eat. We'll start as soon as I can rustle a cup of coffee and a sandwich at the shanty across the road."

By this time the girls had become fairly well acquainted and already little groups were being formed. Jane was pleased that Alice and Grace had personalities that fitted in so smoothly with her own and Sue's. There would be much to learn and much to do in the coming weeks and it would be much pleasanter getting accustomed to the new environment if friends were nearby.

The air was cool and sweet. The wind had subsided and there was no trace of the terror it had wrought the night before as the girls took their places and fastened the safety belts around their bodies.

Charlie Fischer, still munching a sandwich, hurried into the hangar, signed the gas and oil record book, climbed into his cockpit and gunned the motors. The big biplane rolled smoothly ahead, turned its nose into the wind, and started climbing skyward. They were off on the last lap of their trip to Cheyenne.