Suddenly he noticed that his engine was beginning to heat. He glanced at his oil gauge and found that it was no longer working. Instantly he looked at his tachometer. His engine speed was falling rapidly. Jimmy opened his throttle. There was no answering response from the engine. Instead, it beat slower and slower. It was making twelve hundred revolutions per minute. It fell to nine, then seven hundred. His ship slowed dangerously. He began to lose altitude. There was nothing to do but come down. Otherwise he would soon fall. He decided to try to make the landing field at Numidia. Then he saw that he could not do it. The wind at his back would prevent it. His engine was too weak to fight the breeze. It would blow him far to one side of the little landing field. An icy feeling grew about Jimmy’s heart. He knew what was coming—a forced landing among the mountains, in the densest sort of fog. Already he was far down in the mist clouds. Vision was absolutely cut off. For a single instant he felt numb, almost paralyzed. Then he rallied all the skill he had, to fight for his life. The next landing field was at Ringtown. It was only eleven miles from Numidia to Ringtown, and he had already passed over part of the distance. He must make the landing field at Ringtown. He must keep his ship in the air until he could reach that field. If only his trouble had occurred a bit sooner, he could have made the field at Numidia. The marker beacon would have helped him to get down to the right spot. How he was going to tell where the Ringtown field was, in this awful fog, Jimmy did not know. He could not even guess. Between him and Ringtown were those stern and beetling hilltops—those mountains that towered heavenward for two thousand feet. Could he get over them? With his face drawn and serious Jimmy glanced at his altimeter. He was still well above that height, but he was losing elevation steadily. Could he get over those mountain crests? Could he find the landing field if he did get over? Suddenly he thought of his radio. He put the mouthpiece to his lips. “This is Donnelly of the _New York Press_,” he said firmly and evenly. “I am between Numidia and Ringtown. My oil line has gone bad. My engine is failing. I am losing altitude fast. I am trying to get over the mountains west of Ringtown and land at that field. May need help.” Jimmy had no idea whether or not any one would hear his call. Ordinarily the radio men would not be listening in for messages. Yet there was a chance that they might be listening to-night, because of the very bad weather. But Jimmy was reckoning without Beverly Graham. The moment he found that Jimmy had a sending set, the latter had issued orders that a constant watch be kept on the air. Hence Jimmy’s message came to waiting ears. The Bellefonte radio man caught it.