The earth was bobbin’ below the planes, slidin’ by gentle but fast; one town and another came into view and disappeared. And then the Alton began to wobble. The motor roared up and down. Ned was actin’ funny with the controls. Jane watched him close; and then she saw Ned’s head bob, and his shoulders slide forward. Just then the ship began to dive and lose speed. “Ned!” Jane screeched, grabbing his shoulder and shakin’ him. “What’s the matter?” He pulled himself together some, looked around; and in his eyes was a dreamy, sick look. Jane shook him again; but he acted almost drunk. His lips mumbled words that were lost in the motor’s roar; but Jane knew that something was very much wrong with him. The ship was losin’ speed; the Stormbird was leading by a long distance; and even the Imp was drawing close again. Jane didn’t wait for any more trouble. She unsnapped her safety belt and, calm as you please, put one leg across and into the fore pit. Then she pulled forward, and came into the pit with Ned. She crammed herself down into and on him, and grabbed the stick. Ned’s feet were loose on the rudder-bars, but the stabilizer kept the plane on an even keel without much help from the controls. Jane shook Ned again; and he was conkin’ out fast. He pulled off one glove and looked at his right hand. It was red and swole up, and across it was a red streak, a scratch. He looked up with eyes full of pitiful request for help, and tried to talk. Jane was desperate; she cut the switch to hear him. “Sick,” he mumbled. “Scratch--somebody on field. Bumped against me. Must be--poisoned. Oh,--I can’t--go on----” And he slumped forward in the pit. Jane snapped on the ignition, kept the stick steady, pulled Ned back up, and pleaded in his ear. “Try, Ned! Try to get up! Try to get back into the other pit. I’ll handle the stick. You get back--try! Please try!” Sick as he was, he tried. He dragged himself up and tottered in the air, while Jane assisted all she could. Then Ned tumbled into the rear pit, half on the seat, and without makin’ a move to get up, passed out completely. Jane settled to the controls with all the fire she had--which was plenty! She snapped on the ignition and opened the throttle wide as she could. The motor blasted. The plane almost jumped ahead. The Imp, which was almost nose to nose with the Alton again, gradually dropped back. There was the Stormbird, far ahead. Jane fixed her blue eyes on that plane, and kept the throttle open, and prayed.