CHAPTER FIVE Death Rides the Air McDowell was making a game fight, attempting to nurse the old craft over the rough country to the more level reaches ahead. Tim eased up on the throttle of the Jupiter, like the eagle giving its prey a moment's respite before the last swoop. The left wing of the old trainer was wobbling uncertainly now. The end was near and still they were over the rough country. Fascinated, Tim and Prentiss watched the drama ahead of them. The biplane was weaving from side to side, the right upper wing now almost touching the lower one. With a rending of linen and wood, the wing tore loose and floated away in the backwash of the propeller. Then the lower right wing collapsed under the strain and the ship started to fall away rapidly. McDowell, game to the last, methodically prepared to go over the side. "He'd better hurry," shouted Prentiss. Tim glanced at the altimeter. They were still up 2,500 feet. There was plenty of time for McDowell to bail out and float down safely. The dope smuggler poised himself on the edge of the cockpit as the ship started to spin. He waved at them in sheer bravado and then dived headlong from the plane. McDowell somersaulted once, then jerked the rip-cord. The chute pack unfolded and Tim and Prentiss saw the silken umbrella billow out. It caught the wind and unfolded. Then, before startled eyes, they saw the chute collapse and McDowell plummeted from their sight. "Don't look!" Tim shouted at Prentiss. He closed his own eyes, but even then the image danced in his mind. In the single second in which the chute had opened he had seen the long slit in the silk. In some unexplained manner McDowell had knifed his own chute instead of Tommy Larkin's when he had plotted the death of Larkin at the Atkinson airport. It was a just vengeance but a merciless one. Tim opened his eyes. Prentiss, white-faced and shaking, looked at him. "Is there anything we can do?" "Not a thing. We'll find out where the county seat is and notify the sheriff. That's about all that can be done." Tim checked their position. The county seat was about fifteen miles back on their return to Atkinson. The afternoon shadows were lengthening when they dropped down on the tiny airport on the outskirts of Walford. Inspector Prentiss climbed stiffly from the plane. "I'll find a phone," he said. "You might as well wait here." Tim nodded and cut the motor. There were no attendants at the field and he was glad that there was plenty of fuel left in the Jupiter's tanks to take them back to Atkinson. Half an hour later the inspector returned. "I located the sheriff and explained what had happened," he said. "Everything will be taken care of. A party will leave at once to hunt for McDowell so we might as well go on back to Atkinson."