“Let’s go!” he called. “I’ll have you there a few minutes after daylight--if that ship will fly at all.” “What is it?” Wilson asked nervously. “What’s wrong with your ship?” “Nothing that’ll stop us!” But the physician was not satisfied. “This is important, Wentworth,” he warned; “if you have any doubts about getting me through, say so, and I’ll drive my car. It would be better to take a little longer and be sure about it. Those people must have medical aid--and my mother--I tell you, I’ve got to get there! ” “You’ll get there!” Nick declared. * * * * * In the Patrol pilot’s car they raced through the dark of early morning toward the flying-field. Overhead it was cloudy, and the moon, although almost full, did not show through the bank of heavy vapor. On the road, as they shot through the darkness at nearly sixty miles an hour, they ran into a light ground fog, and Nick had misgivings. That light scum of mist might be the forerunner of a heavier fog as dawn approached. Twelve minutes after they left the apartment they stopped by the side of the Vought, on the flying line. In the dim light the mechanics looked like ghosts crawling up around the motor. The ship had not been started. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Nick snapped at Barnes. “Let’s get out of here!” “You’ll have trouble if you take this ship out without gittin’ that radiator fixed,” Barnes predicted. “That leak’s considerable. I wouldn’t try it, if I were you!” In the pale yellow light of the hangar beacon Wilson looked at Nick inquiringly. “I promised you I’d get you through,” Nick reassured him. “What if we do have to land for water once or twice--I can beat driving time by two hours! ” Wilson nodded, satisfied. He took his medical supplies and instruments from the car and passed them up to the mechanic in the cockpit, who stowed them away in the baggage compartment behind the rear seat. He was nervous and agitated, despite Nick’s assurance that they would get through all right. Nick examined the radiator leak carefully. He was surprised that it was so large, but felt certain that the plane would stay in the air nearly an hour before a landing for water would be necessary. He nodded to Barnes to start the motor. “Damn a storm like that one!” Wilson suddenly muttered. “You know, Wentworth, Nature’s a cruel thing sometimes. No telling--” The motor blurped into a roar, red flame spurting from the short exhaust stacks and turning blue as it struck the air. Barnes gunned it up to twelve hundred revs and warmed it quickly. “What will happen, Wentworth?” Wilson yelled. “What will we do when the radiator runs dry?” “You spit on the motor--keep it cool!” Nick smiled grimly. He saw the look of blank dismay that Wilson shot at him. Wilson had never been up in an airplane before, much less at night in a ship that apparently was not entirely safe. But he made no comment when Nick told him to climb into the rear cockpit.