Nick stepped into the front cockpit and settled himself in the seat. He did not bother with a test of his motor; he waved the blocks away, and when the mechanics did not see his hand because of the darkness he bawled at them vociferously: “Pull ’em! What’re you waitin’ on?” The mechanics jumped forward behind the whirling propeller and yanked the chocks away. Nick buckled his belt as he was taxying down the field. He whirled the plane around in the darkness and gunned the motor, lifted the tail on the take-off, and was gone into the night, the blue and red of the motor’s exhaust flickering away to the northwest. It was so dark that he could not see the ground when he got into the air. The ground fog that he had feared had not materialized, for here and there, sprinkled out over a wide area, were a few lone lights; far off to the right, dwindling rapidly, was a bright cluster that marked the location of San Antonio. Nick did not discover that the clouds were at a thousand feet until he climbed into them unwittingly--and simultaneously felt the wet mist on his face and saw the lights wink out below him. That wasn’t so good! There were hills ahead of him that reared rocky summits into the base of that thick mat of mist! He changed his course a little, swinging to the southward to stay away from the highest peaks. Now and again he held his hand out one side of the cockpit or the other, his glove removed so that he might feel the stinging spray of water that whipped up in the propeller blast and spewed back beside the cockpit. The radiator was leaking more than at first he had suspected! He would have to land at least twice for water. As he felt the constant, undiminishing spray come back and wet his hand he knew that he would be forced down, the first time, within twenty minutes. The ship wouldn’t stay in the air, from the time of the take-off, more than twenty-five or thirty. And the thing that worried him was that it would not be light enough to land for at least forty-five minutes! He wished, now, that he had gone ahead with his plans to have wing-lights installed on this ship. But he hadn’t--he hadn’t thought it necessary. If he had had landing lights he wouldn’t have given a forced landing a second thought. But as it was, he did--several thoughts. He had had a forced landing once when he couldn’t see the ground well enough to pick out a field. Some of the pieces were still there. * * * * * Nick wasn’t greatly concerned about himself. He didn’t care particularly, for he had been subjected to so many dangers in the air during the past ten years that he had grown almost immune to fear for his own life. But he was worried about Doctor Wilson. He had promised to get the doctor through.