Primal Spillane Page 11

  WELL pleased at his performance, Bobby banked and headed back for the field. He saw that other planes were coming in, and he cast a look around to see that his particular section of the sky was clear. Then his heart stood still! Coming at them under full “gun” was another training plane! Bobby could see the mask of fear over the student pilot’s face who had frozen solidly to the controls. He reached for the stick and shoved it down. But at that moment the other ship passed overhead. The instructor in front of Bobby looked up, about to yell, when the wheel of the wild plane hit him a blow in the head!

  A freak accident! The chances were one in a million that it would ever happen again, yet the once it did, it had to happen to him. The other plane straightened out, once again, with the instructor at the controls. But, in the front seat of his own plane, Bobby could see only the slumped-over form! He could not tell how seriously the man was hurt. If it was bad he’d have to get to a doctor at once … but how? He had never landed a plane before!

  Of all the maneuvers, this was perhaps the most difficult for the student. He had learned how to make a landing in the ground school, but only on paper! Now he was here, alone, his first time in the air, and with a problem facing him that loomed as large as the Empire State building. It was surprising, he thought, how much confidence one had when someone else was in the plane. He never felt more alone in his whole life, than he did at this moment.

  HE shot a glance at his gas gauge. There was enough fuel left for another hour’s flight. But, he could not remain aloft! The man in the front seat needed attention badly. If he circled about until he ran out of gas his instructor might die! He had to land sometime, so the sooner the better! Bobby shoved his head over the side. On the field the planes were lined up neatly. A knot of men gathered around one fellow. That probably was the cadet who froze his controls.

  Then someone pointed up to his plane. The rest glanced up queerly, but evidently thought that the instructor wanted to give the student a little more training. Bobby scanned the skies. Spotted around were a few dozen planes. If they were to follow him in, there would be no telling what might happen. If he got rattled at all, it might mean a ground loop. The officers had shown them vivid examples of crates that cracked up coming in. And now Bobby wished desperately that he had listened more closely how to avoid such things.

  Hoping that the instructor might revive, Sutter leaned forward. The man was still bent over, but now a faint trickle of blood seeped out from under his helmet. Luckily, his body did not interfere with the controls. Bobby was frantic. He looked down again. Still no one noticed anything wrong.

  Then he got it. Knowing that no instructor would attempt acrobatics with a new student, he sent the ship up. At two thousand feet he leveled off, held his breath, then pulled the stick back into his stomach. The ground and the sky got all mixed up. Everything whirled around dizzily. With a silent prayer that he was right side up, the cadet centered the controls. He let out a deep sigh of relief. The ground was beneath him!

  AGAIN he looked over. They noticed him now, all right! Captain Seeley guessed at once what was wrong, and asked all the others whether or not theirs was the plane in the near crash. Nobody answered, so it must be the one “upstairs!” Quickly, the call went out. Fire trucks and an ambulance dashed from the hangers below. Not a very comforting thought, to have a “meat wagon” waiting for you to land! It took a few minutes for Bobby to get his courage up, but thinking of the officer in the front, and the code of the airmen, he knew he had to do it. He might have taken the coward’s way out, and flown to a higher altitude and jumped, but when he saw the men running around below, he knew at once that they didn’t believe him to be afraid. They had more confidence in his courage than he had himself!

  Steeling himself for the strain to come, Bobby cut the gun and came in. He lost altitude too fast, and he saw Seeley frantically waving him back up. He shoved the throttle forward and hauled gently on the stick. The prop caught, and the plane skimmed the end of the field reaching for height. Bobby muttered to himself. “If I expect to land this crate, I’m gonna have to get some practice first! Hold tight, down there!”

  Once more he started down. This time he cut the gun but slightly, and measured his distance as he went in. Not knowing what he was doing, Seeley waved a red flag. “Up!” he motioned in the ground man’s signals. Bobby let the wheels touch, power still on, then he fed it more gas, and went back on the stick. Gracefully, the plane rose over the other end of the apron.

  Now those on the ground saw his plan. Every one of them had fingers crossed, wishing him all the luck they could. Captain Seeley had worry lines on his face, for the unconscious instructor had been his friend. The training ship circled sharply.

  “One more practice shot and I’ll come in!”

  Bobby said to the skies. All eyes were on the flash of yellow coming in under power.

  HEADS were hanging out of the control room window, while mechanics and pilots streamed onto the field. Everyone in the locality was present. The firemen had their hoses out, and the doctors were ready with their kits. This had to be good, for two lives were at stake!

  Bobby came in slowly, feeding the motor just enough gas to keep the plane up. At the far end, he swooped over, touched the wheels, ran along a few yards and shot skyward. Now, the time had come! This would be no practice attempt. He would come in under power, throttle down until he lost flying speed, touch his wheels and guide her in. That was all, but it was the biggest job in the world at present!

  With his upper lip clenched between his teeth, Bobby Sutter banked. He circled again until he was running upwind on the apron. Five hundred, two hundred, one, then fifty feet above the ground. The white concrete runway was coming up fast. He pushed the stick slightly forward and cut the gun a little more … then, slowly, like a great bird, the plane began to settle. The beginning of the apron flashed under him, and a moment later he felt his wheels touch.

  He bounced up! But he let her down gently and threw off the switch. He was rolling fast now. The stick came back, the tailskid dug in, and the ship slowed down. Bobby let his breath out all at once. Sweat poured from his face.

  IN an instant the plane was surrounded by the mob. They removed the instructor, and when it was found that he was only knocked out, and had suffered a slight scalp wound, a tremendous yell went up. The mob hoisted Bobby from the cockpit and paraded him around on their shoulders. This was his day. But had they known it, Bobby would have preferred to be standing with them - not riding on their shoulders … for nothing seemed sweeter right now, than to have his two feet settin’ on the good old solid ground!

  ***

  Lumps of Death

  THE KID walking along the train tracks picking up coal shivered in the night air. He was poorly dressed, and his arms and legs were thinner than they should be. Sometimes he would stop and stretch, but it was too cold to stand still, so he went back to shoving the black lumps in a sack. When he heard the whistle of the 10:15, he stepped from the tracks into the lots to go home.

  Jack Billings, the yard watchman was cooking coffee over an open fire when the kid came along. “Hi,” he called out.

  The kid jumped, dropped the sack and turned to run.

  “Hey, what’s the matter, kiddo?”

  The boy stopped. Somehow the voice sounded friendly enough and he came back a way. He looked the watchman over carefully; the good-looking face and the well-knit frame. Evidently he was satisfied by what he saw, and walked over.

  “You’re new here, aren’t you?” the boy asked.

  “Yep. Just came on last night. Have some coffee?”

  The kid nodded. The smell of the cooking made him remember he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Jack brought out some sandwiches and handed him one.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “George. What’s yours?”

  Jack told him, and they settled down to eating and gabbing. George was curious as to why a watchman of the great coal yard should be out in the lots, and
Jack explained that he was just an extra precaution against sabotage efforts.

  THE FIRE Jack had built was beginning to burn down. “Wish I had some coal,” he remarked.

  George gave a little laugh and ran over to where he had dropped the sack and dragged it over to the fire. He threw a few lumps on the blazing embers and sat down again.

  Jack got up and took his hand. “You’re out late enough, young fellow. It’s home to bed for you! Come on, I’ll carry your bag out to the end of the fields.”

  They stepped along through the weeds and grass chatting merrily. Suddenly, from behind them came a deafening blast! Dirt and rocks flew through the air blinding them. Jack dropped the sack, and dashed back with George on his heels. The spot where the fire had been was a huge, gaping crater!

  A MOMENT later they were surrounded by company cops and yard workers, all seeking an explanation. There was none to give. The blast was not in the yard, so no damage was done. Wilson, the yard manager came over to Jack.

  “You mean you saw nothing, or heard nothing?”

  Jack told him that was it.

  “Well, that’s not what I call being a watchman. You’re fired!”

  He picked up his dinner pail and walked away, but George caught his arm.

  “Jack, I was thinking — remember that coal I threw on the fire? Well — ”

  Jack’s eyes grew wide with amazement.

  “That’s it! Somebody knows that there is a load of coal slated for the new U. S. battleships going out tonight, and is going to toss in some explosive chunks. They must’ve dropped a piece and you picked it up. It still isn’t too late to do something. The load hasn’t come down the chutes yet, and they must figure to plant the stuff as it does. They couldn’t afford to throw it on top of a load for fear it might get tossed off. We have to do something — and quick, let’s go!”

  They went a roundabout way to the back fence, and Jack boosted the kid over, then went over himself. Together they inched along, freezing to the spot whenever a yard cop went by. The moon was up, lighting the runways and huge coal piles with its evil eye. There weren’t many places to hide, so they darted quickly from shadow to shadow.

  AT LAST they stood at the foot of an enormous hopper, crouching under the loading platform. Jack took stock of the place. He knew the set-up only from talking to one of the cops. It was quite evident that they couldn’t hide any explosive from down here since the chutes were enclosed on the sides. That meant they had to throw it in from the top, and they might be there now!

  He turned to George. “You wait here, if any suspicious persons come around shake this dump rope and slap it against the side of the hopper. It’ll sound like the wind’s doing it.”

  Jack ducked out and scrambled up the outside of the bin on the narrow iron ladder; careful not to make any noise, he finally reached the top. He poked his head over the smooth rim and looked around. No one was there! Good, then they hadn’t arrived but were due any minute.

  He tried the hatchway in the center of the top, and it came up. There was a ladder descending into the pitch-black interior, and he climbed down until he hit the runway. Groping along with his hands in front of him like a sleepwalker was tough, but he dared not light a match. A dust explosion would blow the whole works to smithereens. He had placed the loading chute in his mind before he came down.

  Luckily, Jack had a good sense of direction, for he hit the wooden slide without much trouble. He wrenched off a piece of sideboard planking and jammed it under the release catch. There would be no coal pouring down that chute for a while! Now, back to George.

  JACK was about to go down when the gentle slapping of a rope came to him. The signal! Someone was prowling about below. Taking the chance on being seen he jumped to the ladder. Halfway down there was a wooden ledge running around the circular structure that connected the chute boxes. Ordinarily, it was used to help release coal jams in the chutes, but now it provided a refuge for the ex-watchman. He ran around the side to the number four chute, grabbed hold, and slid in.

  It was thick with dust, and made breathing difficult. Slowly, so not to attract attention, he eased himself down the gigantic inclined plane. At the bottom he hopped out and ducked under the platform. George was waiting for him.

  “What’s up, kid?”

  “Three guys just went by, and the way they were talking they didn’t belong here. One of them had a sack of something. Shhhh. There they are!”

  True enough, three huddled figures keeping to the shadows came into view. One had a burlap sack, and Jack knew well enough what it held! He had to get that bag!

  Taking a desperate chance he slipped into the night. A few minutes later he was back holding a burlap bag. Silently, George and he filled the bag with chunks of coal that had filtered through the platform. Jack crawled over to George and whispered to him.

  “I’m going to go after them, kiddo. If I can draw them away for a minute, switch bags, but don’t let them see you. These men are dangerous. Now be careful.”

  George nodded, shaking with excitement.

  THE MEN were deciding on a plan of approach, Jack saw, and surely enough they were planning what he had anticipated. He waited until they were bunched together, then let loose with a driving tackle that piled them all up. He swung wildly, throwing punches right and left as fast as he could. Something caught him alongside the temple, and he crumpled. During the melee, nobody noticed the figure that slipped out and switched bags. The leader motioned to the ladder, shouldered the bag and went up.

  The midnight shift came to the hopper on the coal cars that were to be loaded. The train pulled in under the chute and jerked to a stop. The foreman shouted orders until the chute was lowered, then pulled the release cord. Nothing happened. Jack did his work well. Just then somebody spied his prone figure in the dirt, and the foreman came over.

  “Well, that dirty dog. Because he was fired, he tried to jam up the load.”

  The men were muttering under their breaths. They were all for lynching him.

  A barelegged boy fought his way into the mob. “Let him alone,” he shouted. “He tried to stop the guys that were going to blow up the battleships!”

  “WHAT!”

  Briefly he told the story, and when he pointed to the roof of the hopper and told the men that the criminals were up there; they howled with joy. They’d show them what happened to guys who stepped in on Uncle Sam!

  Some went up the ladder, others, like monkeys, climbed the chute. The three men certainly didn’t expect an attack, and before they knew it were being battered all over the place. Hard knuckles dug into them, and eager men took over when the others got tired. They were a sorry looking trio when they were hauled down.

  THE NEXT morning Jack sat in the manager’s office grinning widely.

  “Well, Mr. Billing, you have certainly done things up fine. There’s always a place in our organization for you. Your friend, George, is getting a check of appreciation from us in the mail.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jack stood up and yawned. “Now back to work.”

  ***

  Satan Himself

  Joe Cleerey was a curious fellow. For six years he had lived under the bracing sun of the Arizona desert, walking the hot sands with his pack mule in his search for gold. About once a month he ran across another person, that being the only time he got any news about outside. So naturally he had to spend his time doing something when he wasn’t panning or digging for the yellow dust, so he spent it being curious.

  Everything attracted his attention, from bugs crawling across rocks, to buzzards wheeling in the sky. He investigated anything out of place that crossed his path, and spoke to it like it was another person. The way he figured, if he didn’t he’d forget how to speak altogether! Oft times, Joe would go miles out of his way to see what it was that glinted in the sun so brightly! Usually, it turned out to be a piece of quartz, or a discarded chunk of metal that the dry atmosphere never gave a chance to rust.

  So when Joe Clee
rey saw the thing he thought was a bird flapping aimlessly about not far overhead, he got curious. The thing flapped closer, doing flip-flops in the air like a crazy thing. Finally it fluttered to the sand, exhausted. Joe stopped and went over to it. He sucked in air at the sight.

  “Bird nothing,” he hissed. “T’were a bat! Now what the dickens would a bat be doing out in broad daylight in this part of the country!”

  Scratching his head in puzzlement, Joe stuck the bat in a sack. It couldn’t have come from far off. Well, the only thing to do was investigate. Curiosity was crawling on Joe like rabbits in a wheat field. He spied a little hillock about a half mile north. “Might, have come from over there. Hmmmmmmm. I’ll have a look-see, anyway,” he mused.

  With the burro plodding along beside him, the prospector trudged through the loose sandy dirt. The sun overhead beat mercilessly down, and sweat ran in little rivulets from under his hat. Finally the pair, man and mule, reached the hillock. It was a very ordinary looking thing from the south side, and Joe was very disappointed, indeed. He dropped the burro’s reins and walked around to the north side. And there it was! A six foot wide crevice in solid rock!

  The sandhawk’s nose wrinkled with unbounded curiosity. This called for a bit of exploration, and it was right up his alley. Out of his kit bag he took a lantern, lit it, and slipped into the natural cave. Suddenly, there was a wild whirring of thousands of wings! They beat at the lantern, while little claws hooked into his clothes. More bats! They swarmed out of the cave in a mad frenzy, and flapped aimlessly in the bright light.

  Joe flattened against the rock wall and waited for them to get out. He shook loose those stuck to his raggedy jacket, and when they followed the rest, poked ahead. For a few yards the place was level, then it took a sharp angle downward. It was easy going. Projecting rocks stuck out all over, and provided good foot and hand holds. Gradually the place took on weird colors. Small animals scurried about under foot.