CHAPTER VII

IN THE FALLING ’PLANE

In an emergency, thoughts leap through some minds quicker than lightning crosses the sky.

Bob’s mentality was of that type. Whether his mind worked through what is called instinct, or whether he put together many things he had learned about airplanes, or whether he worked through a chain of reasoning from beginning to end in a fraction of a second does not matter.

The important thing was his action.

In an airplane which is falling with wingtips toward sky and earth, the ailerons which usually tilt it are practically useless, because it has no forward movement sufficient to bring the air against the leading edges of the wings for lift, or to press against the ailerons to cause them to function properly.

Furthermore, when the ship is falling “on its side” the elevators which in level flight serve to lift or to drop the nose, are no longer elevators; they, because of the position of the ship, are really the rudders, while the rudder, because it is then parallel to the ground, assumes the position and functions of the elevators.

But Bob knew, in a flash, from the action of the ship, from the free movement of the rudder bar, that the rudder cable had come loose or had snapped.

Bob knew, furthermore, that unless he could drop the nose, “give her the gun,” and thus—by partly diving instead of falling sideways, and by partly using the propeller pull—could regain flying speed, Lang could not get the craft under control and save them from a crash.

There were seconds, not more, between them and eternity!

That rudder must be operated.

It must be done before they came too close to earth to make the maneuvers, necessary to a safe landing, possible.

Even as he called to Lang, “Give her the gun!” his hand smashed through the thin side of the cabin wall, down where it came together with the sturdy, but light plates of the flooring.

Because the airplane fell on its side, the side he smashed was under him, the flooring was at his side, acting as the sidewall.

He knew that if the lower of rudder cables in the ship’s present position was broken he could get it there; if the upper one was severed its end would have dropped down, perhaps caught on a longeron or on a longitudinal fuselage brace; he might be able to catch hold of it.

It took but a second to thrust his hand through the cabin wall, to grip the edge of a floor plate, to rip it from its temporary fastenings which were not completed until the tests made it sure that no further adjustments under the flooring would be necessary.

Thus disclosed, he could see the under framework of that part of the fuselage.

Braced so that his body would not crash down through a window, he looked, and grappled for the cable end. His fingers touched cable!

For all the exigency of their desperate situation he tugged very gently and was glad. That cable was fast! It might lead to the elevators, the ailerons. Anyway it was not the right strand.

Again he felt under the edge of what was in the ship’s position, the plate above the one ripped away. His fingers touched a loose strand.

“We’re all right!” he panted, grasping the plate and tugging it partly free so that his arm could go further in and secure in his gripping fingers the loose cable end.

In the brief time that this had taken, Lang had obeyed the call for gas to be fed to the engine. Idling, it roared into its power pulsations.

There was an instant of fear in Bob’s mind.

If the cable he held were pulled and it depressed the rudder, which would act in their position as an elevator or “flipper” acts, all would be well. In that case, the propeller blast striking the rudder airfoil would push the nose downward, and the ship would begin to dive; then the air, rushing against the leading edge of the wings, would cause them to be operative, even in their sidewise position, and with the dive and the engine pull giving flying speed, they could then maneuver.

But if the rudder went upward, it would lift the nose. Already deprived of all but the little speed the engine had picked up, the blast on the rudder, lifting the nose, would cause another stall, and they would perhaps fall too far to get the other side of the rudder cable before he could help it.

“I’ve got the end of the cable,” he cried. “Set yourself, Lang!”

Lang, with a swift glance toward the windows, which faced the earth, saw the ground seeming to leap upward toward them. Above was the silent sky. There was a little margin of time—if——

“Pull easy!” Lang shouted.

“Pull easy!” Instantly Curt relayed the message.

“Easy!” cried Al.

Bob tensed his muscles, braced himself, gave a gentle tug and held it.

The nose lowered.

“Hold it!” shrilled Al, relaying Lang’s relieved cry.

The rudder had sent the nose a little downward, the drop changed into a dive.

“Can you pull the rudder further?” The message came swiftly from Lang, through Curt and Al, to Bob, almost out of one mouth before the other said it, so quick was the response.

“Yes!” Bob did so.

Slowly the ship swung onto a more level keel, and while Bob clung with fingers that were growing numb from his excitement, the ship got flying speed, in a sort of descending spiral, the elevators could again be made to lift the nose as flying speed was attained, and the ship was in control.

The signal to ease off did not come at once. Lang preferred to hold his present bank and circle, while he looked over through the lower cabin windows to sight their position.

In that brief time Curt, also keyed up, had located the loose end of the cable that led from the rudder bar; with a piece of strong twine he made a splice, securely reaved onto the loose end, led it to the free end in Bob’s fingers, and, since the rudder was hard down and could be held there by grasping further along the cable, Bob shifted his grip until Curt was able to get his twine, doubled, fast on that part of the cable also. Then, while Lang held his rudder bar steady, Curt tightened gently until the ends of the severed strand were almost touching, made several knots that could not slip—and the entire control of the ship was in Lang’s hands again!

They did not feel like going on to the airport, but Curt, always cool, generally far-seeing, urged that they do so.

“If we go back, we’ll have to tell about this, and create new excitement and talk,” he counseled, and Lang saw the good sense of the idea.

“We’ll go on, and land at the airport,” he agreed, above the sound of his motor. “After we get over our excitement we can think better.”

When they got there, and Lang telephoned the aircraft plant, the trio, outside the booth, heard him ask for Griff.

Moodily, sorrowfully, with common consent, they moved away.

One and all they linked Griff’s uneasiness and Lang’s curious anger and immediate call to the one he called “a very good friend.”

It was bad enough to suspect Griff. But Lang—Bob’s cousin——

That was dreadful!