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The Sky Pilot's Great Chase; Or, Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing

The Sky Pilot's Great Chase Jack Ralston's Dead Stick Landing

CHAPTER I
THE CLANG OF THE FIRE BELL

“Well, I kinder guess now this here little ol’ ho-tel in Salt Lake City’s got our experience in Cheyenne knocked all to flinders. Good room, twin beds that keep you from hoggin’ all the covers on a cool night an’ as to eats, say it’s sure prime stuff, though mebbe I ain’t no judge ’long any line ’cept quantity. How ’bout it, Jack, ol’ hoss?”

The happy-go-lucky speaker was an old friend of ours, one Perk, and the companion to whom he addressed his question was his bosom pal, Jack Ralston of the U. S. Secret Service. Nevertheless, it seemed that Perk was now known as Gabe Smith, a woods guide of wide experience who in the course of his wanderings had managed to pick up a smattering of aviation, a particularly useful thing in these air-minded days.

And Jack, whenever there was a third party within hearing, was always referred to as Mr. John Jacob Astorbilt, a wideawake young millionaire sportsman always seeking novel thrills hunting big game by means of the latest type airship.

All this had a good and sufficient reason back of it, which will be placed before the reader ere we have gone deeply into this log covering the latest undertaking of the two redoubtable sky detectives.

“Oh! things suit me okay, Perk,” was Jack’s rather indifferent reply, as he smiled at his companion’s grinning, enthusiastic face. “Somehow I don’t seem to set quite as much store by my meals as you do but I’ll say the food is pretty decent – better than the restaurant stuff we used to eat three times a day over in old Cheyenne.”

“Hot ziggety dog! I should say so. But what tickles me most of all, partner, is the dandy ship Uncle Sam turned over to us after we climbed out o’ all that hot stuff down on the west coast o’ Florida. She’s a genuine cloud-chaser, boy, an’ don’t take any guy’s dust – am I right ’bout that, Boss?”

“I’ll admit she’s a prize boat and no mistake. Able to drop down on land or water and with skis in place could do the same on a frozen lake or the deepest snow the Northland ever saw. Yes, it would be hard to beat our ship, Perk.”

“Right up to date she is. Look at the shiny aluminum pontoons an’ rubber tired wheels peekin’ out from the bow ends. The Hamilton propeller that does its stuff to the dot; a real Hasler Telmot Flight Meter; aluminum oil tanks so light and yet so strong; earth-inducter compass next to infallible; Eclipse Starter – gosh amighty, if there’s a single thing worth its salt that our ship ain’t got I’d like to hear ’bout it.”

Jack laughed. He had a whole-souled laugh that did any one good just to hear it – kind of gave you a warm feeling and seemed to draw you into friendly relations with the clear-eyed young aviator.

“Just one thing lacking, partner, in the round-up if you stop to think of it. We felt the need of it on our last jaunt¹ when in the midst of the most dreadful fog-belt either of us had ever struck, we climbed to a ten thousand foot ceiling only to have ice begin to form on our wings. Haven’t forgotten that, eh, Perk old fellow?”