CHAPTER XIII

Jimmy Has an Adventure with a Bootlegger

It was nearly ten o’clock that night when the two young fliers walked into the _Morning Press_ office in New York, tired but happy. Jimmy had filed his story as soon as he could get away from the crowd and write it. A hasty bite to eat had followed, and then the two young reporters had hopped off for Long Island, which they reached quickly and without incident. Now Jimmy was waiting to see the managing editor.

He did not have to wait long. Mr. Johnson soon sent for him. Jimmy took Johnnie with him, and the two stepped into the managing editor’s office.

“Well, Jimmy, I’m glad to see you back safe and sound,” said Mr. Johnson. “Sit down and tell me about your trip. I have about come to the conclusion that any time news is scarce hereafter I shall send you out on an assignment. You seem to have more adventures than any reporter I ever heard of. When I hired you, it was to _get_ the news. I never dreamed that you would also _provide_ the news. As I recall it, I paid you a certain sum to act as pilot, and I had to increase your pay considerably when you blossomed out into a reporter as well as a pilot. Now I suppose you’ll be asking for still more money because you _make_ the news as well as report it.”

Jimmy laughed with the managing editor, who was evidently feeling well pleased. “I’ll be glad to tell you about my trip, Mr. Johnson,” he said, “but first I want to introduce my friend Johnnie Lee. He’s your new reporter and he helped to make the news to-day.”

“Johnnie, I’m glad to know you,” said Mr. Johnson, shaking the lad’s hand warmly. “You certainly made a fine start with the _Press_. It was my idea that you were to come here as a cub, and start at the very bottom of the ladder. But it looks as though you have been learning some tricks from Jimmy. I suppose you’ll want a raise right away.” And the managing editor laughed heartily.

“No, sir,” said Johnnie. “I don’t want anything more just now than a chance and enough to live on.” Then he added, “But I’ll try to deserve the raise before very long.”

“You had better borrow a rabbit’s foot from Jimmy,” chuckled Mr. Johnson. “He carries them in every pocket. He has—excuse me, until I look at these.”

A copy boy had just brought him proofs of Jimmy’s photographs.

“Jimmy,” said the managing editor, after looking at the proofs, “just what breed of rabbit is it that you get your rabbit feet from? You have the greatest luck of any fellow I ever knew. You’ve got the most remarkable picture here that’s been taken since—since—well, since Clint Murphy snapped Forest O’Brine working on the engine of the endurance plane, the _St. Louis Robin_, 3,000 feet above the ground. That picture was a wonder. But you’ve got one here to equal it. It’s a close-up snap of that woman parachute jumper dangling from her plane.”

“I’m mighty glad it came out good,” said Jimmy, “but I didn’t take it. Johnnie snapped all the photos while I flew the ship. It’s his picture, Mr. Johnson.”

“It doesn’t matter who snapped the camera,” said the managing editor. “It took two of you to get it. We’ll surely beat the town on this.”

“Yes, we shall,” replied Jimmy. “There wasn’t another plane in the air when she was performing except our two ships. Nobody else could have gotten a close-up of the thing.”

“I’d just like to know, Jimmy,” grinned the managing editor, “exactly what breed of rabbit you cultivate. You take a tip from me, Johnnie, and get some feet from this same breed. Now you boys run along. I’ve got to get to work.”

Jimmy introduced his friend to Mr. Davis, the city editor, who would henceforth be Johnnie’s boss. Then he made Johnnie known to several of the reporters. Finally the two young men left the office and went to Jimmy’s boarding house, for they had decided that they would room together. In a little while they were both asleep, but at intervals through the night Jimmy dreamed about the accident to the parachute jumper that he had witnessed.

He saw little of Johnnie thereafter, for their hours did not synchronize. Most of the time Jimmy’s work was done in daylight hours, whereas Johnnie went to work early in the afternoon and worked until late at night. But they roomed together, sleeping in separate beds, and left notes for each other, and could of course see each other when occasion demanded.

The days passed quickly. Johnnie learned rapidly. Jimmy had few assignments of an exciting nature. His luck seemed to have deserted him. He carried pictures, transported reporters, covered a few unimportant stories. Time hung heavy on his hands. Meantime the autumn passed and winter came. It came with a rush and it came early. Almost over night the balmy days of Indian summer changed into days of fierce winds and icy chill. From all parts of the country came reports of intense cold. Almost in a twinkling navigation in the north was tied up. The lakes and streams were frostbound and frozen. Steamers were caught in the ice, far from land. Suffering was intense. Deaths were reported in many quarters, due to the cold. Isolated lighthouse keepers and the dwellers on remote islands were cut off from communication. In many of these isolated places food and medicine ran low. The weather itself, with the attendant difficulties of travel, the deaths, the hardships, all consequent upon the intense cold and the deep snow and ice, became a leading story.

Day after day, belated tales of freezing, hardship, death, heroic rescues, blizzards, storms, and other phases of the weather, or stories incident to the abnormal cold, came trickling belatedly into the office. The managing editor watched this news with growing interest. He had lived, in his younger days, on the very northern border of the country and even in Canada. He knew what these periods of cold and storm meant to the people living in isolated places. And so, when one day there came a belated despatch to the _Press_, saying that a feeble wireless message had been received by a boy wireless operator in Smithville, in northern New York, telling of the plight of people on a neighboring island, in Lake Ontario, the managing editor was filled with both interest and sympathy. The island was absolutely cut off from communication with the mainland by the terrible ice, food was running low, and a whole family was dying of pneumonia because of the lack of certain medicines.

“It’s really a story for the Montreal or Rochester papers to cover,” thought Mr. Johnson, “but up to this time they haven’t done it. If we could slip in there ahead of them, we’d not only do some real good, but we’d bring a lot of credit to the _Morning Press_. I believe I’ll see how it looks to Donnelly.”

He called Jimmy on the telephone and told him about the situation. “Do you think you could reach the place safely with your plane?” he asked.

“Let me look at my maps before I answer you,” said Jimmy.

Jimmy studied them a moment. “If I flew to Smithville, which is only six or seven miles south of Sackett’s Harbor,” he said, “and hopped off from there, I should not have to fly over more than a few miles of water. There are several islands in a straight line close to Smithville. In case of a forced landing, I could probably make one of those islands. I think I can do it all right, and I’ll be glad to go. It won’t take so very long to make it, either.”

“Then get your ship ready at once. I will have a physician make up a package of medicines and write down some directions to be followed in caring for patients with pneumonia. You take the stuff out to the island and find out how many are ill and how ill they are. Leave the drugs and the directions. Fly back to Smithville and communicate with me from there. Then we can determine what should be done further. Perhaps you will have to take a physician to the island. We’ll do all we can to help these poor people on the island.”

When all was ready, and Jimmy had his medicines aboard, he hopped off and headed straight for the Hudson, up which river he flew as far as Albany, where he swung to the left and followed the Mohawk River to Rome. Thence he followed the railway tracks direct to Smithville, where he landed in a great snow-covered field. He had had his plane equipped with skis, and the snow did not bother him at all.

Jimmy climbed out of his plane and walked into the village to ask some questions. He wanted to know about the possibility of making a safe landing at the island, whether or not he had selected the safest route, and what was known in Smithville concerning the condition of the people on the island. He found the lad who had heard the wireless message, and he got information on all these points. He was soon satisfied that the islanders needed help, and that he had chosen the very best way to get there. The villagers told him he had estimated the distance correctly and would have to cross only a few miles of the lake. But there was little open water, they said, and the chances were that in case of a forced landing he could get down safely on the ice, which was very thick, and also rough. Jimmy said he had a radio sending set and asked some of the radio fans to listen in for him during the next half hour. Then he prepared to hop off.

To his surprise, another plane soared into the sky from a point near the lake shore on the other side of the village, just as Jimmy was about ready to take off. He looked at the plane with dismay. Another newspaper was going to beat him, he thought, and beat him by the tiniest of margins. But when he suggested as much to the townsfolk who had gathered about his plane, they laughed. Also they winked their eyes.

“Never mind about him,” they said. “The only medicine he carries is for snakebites. He flies back and forth between Canada and points along the shore hereabout. Just what he carries we don’t know for sure, but we can all guess. He’ll go right on over to Canada.”

Relieved, Jimmy hopped off, headed straight out over the frozen lake toward the first island, and opened his throttle. He did not like the looks of the rough ice beneath him, and he meant to reach the island as speedily as possible. Soon he saw that he was flying faster than the bootlegger ahead of him. But as he had only a few miles to go, he thought he should hardly overtake the man.

On they flew, Jimmy following straight after the other plane, and all the time creeping up on it. To fly to the island took less than ten minutes. Yet Jimmy was glad enough when he neared the shore, for he did not like the looks of the rough pack ice beneath him. He had just started to circle over the island, in order to search out a landing place, when he noticed the bootlegger’s plane acting crazily. Jimmy saw at once that something was wrong with the craft. Also, he saw that the pilot, who was already at the farther end of the island, was making a desperate effort to turn and effect a landing. The ship came down fast, landing on ground that was none too smooth, but was apparently not harmed, though the running gear might have been broken. About that, Jimmy could not be sure without a close inspection.

Sweeping completely around the island, Jimmy saw that there was no better place to land than the open space in which the bootlegger had been forced down. So he came down cautiously, in as easy a glide as he could make, ready to give her the gun instantly, should the place prove impossible. But he found a long, fairly smooth stretch before him, and set his ship down neatly in the snow. She slid for some distance, then came to rest in perfect safety.

Jimmy hopped from his plane and looked about him. On one side was the other flying machine, and the pilot of it was walking toward him with great speed. On the other hand, at a considerable distance, was a little group of houses, doubtless the residences of the stricken islanders. But they were evidently not all stricken, for several men could be seen coming toward him.

For a moment Jimmy stood looking at them, trying to count them. He was curious about these isolated islanders, and not a little sympathetic toward them. He wondered what sort of people they would prove to be. And he was eager to get their story, and to deliver the medicines. He was also curious to know what manner of man the bootlegger would prove to be. And presently, hearing the latter’s step at hand, he spun about to face him, and found himself looking into the barrel of a revolver that the approaching bootlegger had leveled at him.

Jimmy’s heart began to beat violently. He was so utterly taken by surprise that he did not know what to do or say. For a moment he was silent. The bootlegger did the talking.

“Get back into your plane,” he said sharply.

Jimmy did as ordered. There was nothing else to do. To his astonishment the bootlegger climbed into the plane after him, shut the door, and sat down in one of the seats. The revolver he still held in his hand menacingly.

“Take off as quick as you can,” he said gruffly.

Jimmy glanced at the advancing islanders and played for time.

“What’s the big idea?” he asked, trying to appear calm, though his heart was beating a tattoo against his ribs.

“I just put a connecting-rod through my crankcase,” growled the man.

“Then you want to be ferried ashore,” said Jimmy. “Just as soon as I speak to these men I’ll take you. I’ve got a package for them.”

The man raised his pistol. His face was black as a thunder cloud. “If you know when you’re well off, kid,” he snarled, “you’ll do what I tell you. Hop off and hop off quick, or I’ll drill you full of holes and fly your old crate myself.” Jimmy saw that he was in a tight place. He swung about and hopped off. He headed straight back for Smithville.

“Turn her in the opposite direction,” growled the man, “and just keep going.”