The Hardin tribune-herald. [volume] (Hardin, Mont.) 1925-1973, 1935-08-30
Pride Goeth Before and Forced Landing B, jimmy Collins

is not old at forty-five. But sometimes
men are extremely successful at forty
five, and the old man was. He wa q
big shot down town in New York. He
had moved to Mercer because he hated
the city and the fashionable suburbs.
He had bought the airplane because he
hated trains and had to go to town to
business every day. It was about an
80 mile trip. and the airplane really
It made life much p~leasanter for
all summer and fall. He had done odd
flying and some of it for the old man.
He had finally persuaded the old man
that he ought to buy an airplane and
commute, hiring him as pilot, of course,
Yes, that airplane certainly made life
pleasanter for Russ, too. He Shuddered
to think of the spot he and Mabel
would be in now, in the dead of win
ter, if it were not for that ship. And
with the kid now, too. He shuddered
again. It was good to have a job.
The old man came up and sat along:
side of Russ. The old woman huddled
in a seat and looked c%ringingly out OF
the window.
Russ turned the motor up once more,
released the brakes, and TAXED out on
w AAC ASA l 4oNCo l11UO I'LL AAAN
on the runway and opened the throttle.
He felt the soft hindrance Of the SNOW
as he gathered speed. He felt the in
creasing lightness of the ship as he
neared the takeoff. He eased back on
the wheel and felt the buoyant re-
Spouse, somehow always joyful, as the
ship lifted into the cold, rough air. He
Strengthened the rocking with the allie
rons and held the ship in a climb,
wide open. until he had gotten a few
hundred feet of altitude. Then he
throttled the motor and started a gentle
swing to the right back toward the air
port.
He passed over the airport lined up
ON a course for New York. He checked
his drift and his compass. He didn't
have to bother much with them. The
route and the conditions over it were an
old story to him by now. He had
made this same flight four or five times
a week now for several months. He
checked his instruments and then lit a
cigaret and settled back for the boring
as minutes to town.
He saw the low range of mountains
looming under him, not far from the
field.
He still thought the motor was rough.
He knew he would think it was still
rougher as soon as he got over the
mountains where there was no place
to sit down. Well, it's still running,
anyway, he told himself.
Suddenly a dead, enormous silence,
louder than the roar of any running
motor, burst upon him, and sat him
bolt upright in his seat. Fear, like a
clutching monster, gripped him and
squeezed adrenaline into his blood
stream from a small gland near his
liver. Quickly his heart leaped to a
faster beat, and his mind whirled in a
blur while all his vital powers leaped
with it to a higher speed. He blindly
and ~instinctively wheeled the ship
sharply to the right, and as he rolled
out, heading in the opposite direction
and facing the airport again, his mind
was clear and cold and fast, his heart
beat pounding, racing. his body tense,
alert. Everything had slowed down,
he thought, and he got the distinct i'm
preston of viewing a slow motion
movie. Really, of course, it was only
that he had speeded up.
He studied the airport intently, took
a sweeping glance beneath him and
picked a possible alternative field and
studied the airport again. He had
never seen it look so small, although
it had always been a lousy little air
port. He decided he could make it.
What if he didn't? He studied it
again. while thoughts and half thoughts
and half formed pictures came and