"Would it, oh, but would it?" Hal Dane's heart beat ice cold against his leather shirt. This same type motor had done its duty down there in the danger of the great Three-River Flood. It had risen from a tiny knoll, risen from a crumbling, flood-washed island. Even though over-burdened with human freight, it had risen almost straight into the air. But Hal Dane had been superman, then. Guided by superpower, he had hurled himself recklessly into the jaws of death to save life. In that time of thrilling awfulness, the great plane had answered to his every touch. Like some superhuman creation it had shot up from crumbling death, water death, swamp death.