Adventure Magazine Cover — page 169: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Direct Methods back approvingly, and then turned to watch the group of men nearing the plane. The ship almost stopped, and had started to swing, before the grinning flyers caught the left hand motor again. Its progress up the slope was spasmodic, and it would not have been a surety to the most expert of observers that the left hand motor was not suffering from a plugged gas line or an . intermittent short circuit in the ignition. With the walking men close alongside, Jim brought the Martin to the top of the hill. There was just barely clearance enough for the wings. As soon as the wheels were slightly over the top, enough so that the Bomber could not roll backwards, he turned off the gas. Soon the motors began to spit and miss, and then the propellers stopped. Broughton snapped off the switches. “Now for the fun,” Hinklev. remarked Larry V IT WAS a miscellaneous collection of men who stood around the ship. u(t Three of them were very well dressed and looked like business men. Others, most- ly in flannel shirts, were slim, hard-faced, youngish fellows. Several were foreigners. The rougher-looking element paid most attention to the great ship, but it was a noticeable fact that ail of them spent more time appraising the flyers than they did in satisfying their curiosity regarding the bomber. “How do you do, gentlemen, and just where are we?” inquired Graves calmly as he removed his coveralls. There was a few seconds pause as every- body took in his uniform. It was garnished with several rows of ribbons across the front of the blouse, the flyers noticed. “This is in Farran County—nearest town Elm Hill,” returned a burly, hard-faced man who was wearing a coat over his flannel shirt, and loosely tied necktie. He. was somewhat older than any one else there except the three men who were dressed so meticulously. ‘How far is Elm Hill from here?”’ It was Broughton who asked that ques- tion. “Twenty miles. have trouble?” It was the hard-faced man again, and he glanced from face to face quickly as he asked What’s the matter— 163 the question. Two of the other men had walked to the end of a wing, inspecting the ship. The eyes of the others were con- stantly flitting from the ship to its pas- sengers, and they listened closely. “Yes, This engine here went flooey on us. We’re lucky to get down alive,” replied Hinkley. Both flyers were trying to pick Hayden out of the dozen men who surrounded them, but somehow none of them seemed exactly to fit their mental pictures of the noted criminal. Several of the crowd were con- versing in low voices. ‘Where were you going?” inquired one of the well-dressed men on the edge of the circle. He was small, wore glasses, and his thin face had a fox-like look about it that gave him a subtly untrustworthy appear- ance. ‘Inasmuch as it seems necessary to throw ourselves on your hospitality for a while, it may be well to introduce ourselves,” Graves said quietly. In some uncanny way his dignity and competence seemed to radiate from him, increased by the prestige of his uniform. Both the airmen felt its influence. “fT am Colonel Graves, of the United States Army Air Service. These are Lieu- tenants Broughton and Hinkley. We are flying from Langham Field, Virginia, to Dayton, Ohio, on important army business. I trust that we will not trespass on your hospitality too long, but I fear we will have to dismantle the ship and send it home by rail. We can’t take off out of this field. We are lucky to have had such an experi- enced pilot as Lieutenant Broughton to land us. We did not expect to find so many people in this deserted place.” A portly, fleshy-faced man with small eyes set in rolls of fat shoved his way forward. He had been talking to the fox-faced little man. “Just a little fishing party up here,” he said with an attempt of heartiness. He was dressed in a rich-looking brown suit, and a huge sparkler gleamed from his elaborate silk cravat. He was smoking a big cigar. He darted a warning look from his small eyes as two younger, roughly dressed men in the background allowed their heretofore guarded voices to become a bit too loud. One man caught the look, and ceased abruptly. “Tt certainly is a good country for it,” CORMICLOO© S (C@