Читать книгу Mark Gilmore's Lucky Landing - Percy Keese Fitzhugh - Страница 5

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Mark Gilmore ended a triumphant visit to his parents at Kent’s Falls, New York, and turned a radiant face toward Jersey. There at the East Coast Airlines office he had an inspiring interview with Mr. Summers, the manager, and before it had ended he was feeling more than ever the spirit of the pioneer missionary.

“You are to have full charge of the school, Gilmore, because you will be the only instructor,” Mr. Summers told him. “We have a few mechanics and our regular manager there, but in you the East Coast Airlines repose the full responsibility of their flying school. Your failure or success will determine whether or not my confidence in these hill people is justified, for it was upon my request that my superiors agreed to this project. They are an uneducated, ignorant and suspicious people for the most part, these mountaineers—they have little or no means of transportation into civilized communities and in my opinion, flying will be a salvation to them. It will bring them into immediate contact with the whole world.”

Mark was proud that he had felt the same way about it. “It’s sort of going to be like changing a whole century of customs and habits overnight, huh?” he interrupted smilingly.

“Exactly,” the kindly manager agreed. “And Greeley’s such an excellent spot, Gilmore. Fine field in the heart of the mountain country and yet accessible to twenty or more of those remote districts. That’s the kind of base needed and I hope they’ll take to our plans for them and keep it permanently. Well, son, it’s up to you to go there and recruit with a Daniel Boone enthusiasm. Make, them air-minded! You can do it, if anyone can. That’s why I jumped at Lieutenant Hammil’s recommendation of you. Aside from your merit he said you had sympathy for his people. Well, that’s the prime factor needed in this rather unique project. Go to it, Gilmore, and good luck!”

Mark left the building with a light step and crossed the sunny field, whistling. His trim little cabin plane, the Kent D-2, spread its gleaming wings across the runway and inside he found Lieutenant Hammil warming up the motor for him.

The lieutenant looked up and smiled. “Yer two days ahead of time, Brother Mark,” he said. “Aimin’ ter sort o’ look around Greeley before gettin’ down ter actual business?”

“You guessed it, Hammil. I want to see what kind of a country I’m going to teach in. Besides, I have to look around and see where I’m going to eat and sleep.”

“Yer don’t have ter look around fer that, Brother Mark,” Hammil chuckled. “My mother and father would disown me completely ef I didn’t bring yer home. It’s settled fer yer ter stay with ’em while yer in Greeley. We only live ’bout eighteen mile from town—Horse Run’s where ’tis, and there’s my Lizzie ter drive back and forth in even after my vacation’s over an’ I come back here. Pap don’t drive it much. He’d rather plug inter town on one o’ the mules any time.”

Mark smiled. “That’s great, Hammil, and gosh, I appreciate it, but I can’t expect to be a non-paying guest all the time I’m in Greeley. I don’t even know how long I’m going to be there!”

“Yer terrible ignorant o’ hill folks an’ our ways,” Hammil said chuckling. “Yer see, my folks know how yer saved me last month, and thar ain’t any two ways about our gratitude. ’Nother thing, Brother Mark,” he added smiling, “it’s a downright insult to protest against a hillman’s hospitality whether it’s fer one night or one year—see?”

“In other words, I’m squelched,” Mark laughed. “Well, you win, Hammil, and I’ll stay, but I give you fair warning that I’ll find some way to square myself with your people.”

Hammil waved a large, lean hand deprecatingly. “Yer not puttin’ my folks out ’tall, whether yer stay forever, Brother Mark. Pap’s doin’ well with mule raisin’ an’ the folks are right comfortable. Now with the Riggses it’s different—dependin’ on their stills fer a livin’.”

Mark eased himself into his seat. “Oh yes, they’re your enemies, huh?”

“We-all are their enemies,” Hammil corrected gently. “Back fifty years they started and kep’ it up. ’Cause the Hammils don’t keep stills they think we’re gov’ment informers, but we ain’t. ‘Live an’ let live’ is what my pap says about ’em, but they jest laugh an’ wait ter git us pinned down ter somethin’ actual. An’ they’ll do it!”

“Well, they can’t do that when none of you are guilty of anything.”

“Yer don’t know the Riggses,” was Hammil’s quiet reply.

Mark agreed that he did not and after a moment’s assurance that the gauges were all in perfect order, he took off under Hammil’s critical supervision. They roared up the runway and climbed toward an azure blue horizon. Fleecy clouds enveloped them and soon they were part of that vast nothingness—space.

Sublimely happy, Mark felt that the world was centered in Greeley, Kentucky. A roseate stretch of blue grass country nestling against the green mountains. June, eighteen and a good job—what more could he ask! His air career had started, despite his father’s declaration that he would never make good in flying. Well, he had shown them already and he would show them still more at Greeley. Why, it was going to be a cinch, this teaching flying to mountaineers! Hammil’s voice brought him out of his brown study.

“Did yer know ’twas Friday, the thirteenth, Brother Mark?” he asked soberly.

“Sure. What of it?”

“Nothin’, ’cept that I don’t much like startin’ something new when the thirteenth falls on Friday. Mebbe yer don’t feel that way, hey?”

Mark decidedly did not. Friday the thirteenth, was a day just like any other day. Superstition hadn’t any place in his scheme of things. In fact, nothing could daunt him that day. Good fortune had smiled on him enough to lift him from the status of modest student to that of instructor within a few months’ time. What then, had one mere day to do with the continuation of his present success?

Hammil, however, was still debating that it had, when they reached Greeley.