A carrier pigeon on a passage can achieve a high rate of speed, and Winn reefed again.And again, to his satisfaction, be found that he was beating the pigeon.But this time he quickly shook out a portion of his reefed sustaining surface and slowed down in time.From then on he knew he had the chase safely in hand, and from then on a chant rose to his lips which he continued to sing at intervals, and unconsciously, for the rest of the passage.It was: "Going some; going some; what did I tell you!--going some."Even so, it was not all plain sailing.The air is an unstable medium at best, and quite without warning, at an acute angle, he entered an aerial tide which he recognized as the gulf stream of wind that poured through the drafty-mouthed Golden Gate.His right wing caught it first--a sudden, sharp puff that lifted and tilted the monoplane and threatened to capsize it.
But he rode with a sensitive "loose curb," and quickly, but not too quickly, he shifted the angles of his wing-tips, depressed the front horizontal rudder, and swung over the rear vertical rudder to meet the tilting thrust of the wind.As the machine came back to an even keel, and he knew that he was now wholly in the invisible stream, he readjusted the wing-tips, rapidly away from him during the several moments of his discomfiture.
The pigeon drove straight on for the Alameda County shore, and it was near this shore that Winn had another experience.He fell into an air-hole.He had fallen into air-holes before, in previous flights, but this was a far larger one than he had ever encountered.With his eyes strained on the ribbon attached to the pigeon, by that fluttering bit of color he marked his fall.Down he went, at the pit of his stomach that old sink sensation which he had known as a boy he first negotiated quick-starting elevators.But Winn, among other secrets of aviation, had learned that to go up it was sometimes necessary first to go down.The air had refused to hold him.Instead of struggling futilely and perilously against this lack of sustension, he yielded to it.With steady head and hand, he depressed the forward horizontal rudder--just recklessly enough and not a fraction more--and the monoplane dived head foremost and sharply down the void.It was falling with the keenness of a knife-blade.Every instant the speed accelerated frightfully.
Thus he accumulated the momentum that would save him.But few instants were required, when, abruptly shifting the double horizontal rudders forward and astern, he shot upward on the tense and straining plane and out of the pit.
At an altitude of five hundred feet, the pigeon drove on over the town of Berkeley and lifted its flight to the Contra Costa hills.Young Winn noted the campus and buildings of the University of California--his university--as he rose after the pigeon.
Once more, on these Contra Costa hills, he early came to grief.
The pigeon was now flying low, and where a grove of eucalyptus presented a solid front to the wind, the bird was suddenly sent fluttering wildly upward for a distance of a hundred feet.Winn knew what it meant.It had been caught in an air-surf that beat upward hundreds of feet where the fresh west wind smote the upstanding wall of the grove.He reefed hastily to the uttermost, and at the same time depressed the angle of his flight to meet that upward surge.Nevertheless, the monoplane was tossed fully three hundred feet before the danger was left astern.
Two or more ranges of hills the pigeon crossed, and then Winn saw it dropping down to a landing where a small cabin stood in a hillside clearing.He blessed that clearing.Not only was it good for alighting, but, on account of the steepness of the slope, it was just the thing for rising again into the air.
A man, reading a newspaper, had just started up at the sight of the returning pigeon, when be heard the burr of Winn's engine and saw the huge monoplane, with all surfaces set, drop down upon him, stop suddenly on an air-cushion manufactured on the spur of the moment by a shift of the horizontal rudders, glide a few yards, strike ground, and come to rest not a score of feet away from him.But when he saw a young man, calmly sitting in the machine and leveling a pistol at him, the man turned to run.Before he could make the comer of the cabin, a bullet through the leg brought him down in a sprawling fall.
"What do you want!" he demanded sullenly, as the other stood over him.
"I want to take you for a ride in my new machine," Winn answered."Believe me, she is a loo-loo."The man did not argue long, for this strange visitor had most convincing ways.Under Winn's instructions, covered all the time by the pistol, the man improvised a tourniquet and applied it to his wounded leg.Winn helped him to a seat in the machine, then went to the pigeon-loft and took possession of the bird with the ribbon still fast to its leg.
A very tractable prisoner, the man proved.Once up in the air, he sat close, in an ecstasy of fear.An adept at winged blackmail, he had no aptitude for wings himself, and when he gazed down at the flying land and water far beneath him, he did not feel moved to attack his captor, now defenseless, both hands occupied with flight.
Instead, the only way the man felt moved was to sit closer.
......
Peter Winn, Senior, scanning the heavens with powerful glasses, saw the monoplane leap into view and grow large over the rugged backbone of Angel Island.Several minutes later he cried out to the waiting detectives that the machine carried a passenger.
Dropping swiftly and piling up an abrupt air-cushion, the monoplane landed.
"That reefing device is a winner!" young Winn cried, as he climbed out."Did you see me at the start? I almost ran over the pigeon.Going some, dad! Going some! What did I tell you?
Going some!"
"But who is that with you?" his father demanded.
The young man looked back at his prisoner and remembered.
"Why, that's the pigeon-fancier," he said."I guess the officers can take care of him."Peter Winn gripped his son's hand in grim silence, and fondled the pigeon which his son had passed to him.Again he fondled the pretty creature.Then he spoke.
"Exhibit A, for the People," he said.
