10936	----	[Illustration: "What are you doing to this child?" demanded Roy indignantly.] THE GIRL AVIATORS' MOTOR BUTTERFLY BY MARGARET BURNHAM 1912 AUTHOR OF "THE GIRL AVIATORS AND THE PHANTOM AIRSHIP," "THE GIRL AVIATORS ON GOLDEN WINGS," "THE GIRL AVIATORS' SKY CRUISE," ETC. _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES L. WRENN_ CONTENTS I. Preparations and Plans. II. Off on the Flight. III. Little Wren and the Gipsies. IV. The Approach of the Storm. V. Peggy's Thoughtfulness Saves the Farm. VI. The Girl Aviators in Deadly Peril. VII. A Stop for the Night. VIII. Roy Makes an Enemy. IX. Jimsy Falls Asleep. X. Peggy's Intuition. XI. A Mean Revenge! XII. The Finding of the "Butterfly" XIII. Prisoners in the Hut. XIV. What's To Be Done with The Wren? XV. A Rambunctious Ram. XVI. An Invitation to Race. XVII. The Twisted Spark Plug. XVIII. In Search of a New Plug. XIX. The Trap. XX. An Attack in the Air. XXI. Peggy's Splendid Race. XXII. Peggy's Generosity. XXIII. The Moonshiners and the Aëroplane. XXIV. Mr. Parker's Story. XXV. The Wren Disappears. XXVI. Captured by Gipsies. XXVII. Deliverance. The Girl Aviators' Motor Butterfly CHAPTER I. PREPARATIONS AND PLANS. "It will be another 'sky cruise,' longer and daintier and lovelier!" exclaimed Jess Bancroft, clapping her hands. "Peggy, you're nothing if not original." "Well, there are automobile tours and sailing trips, and driving parties--" "And railroad journeys and mountain tramps--" interrupted Jess, laughing. "Yes, and there are wonderful, long-distance migrations of birds, so why not a cross-country flight of motor butterflies?" "It would be splendid fun," agreed Jess eagerly; "we could take the _Golden Butterfly_ and the _Red Dragon_ and----" "Don't forget that Bess Marshall has a small monoplane, too, now. I guess she would go in with us." "Not a doubt of it. Let's go and find the boys and see what they say to it." "No need to go after them, here they come now." As the golden-haired Peggy spoke, two good-looking youths came round the corner of the old-fashioned house at Sandy Bay, Long Island, where the two young Prescotts made their home with their maiden aunt, Miss Sally Prescott. One of the lads was Roy Prescott, Peggy's brother, and the other was Jimsy Bancroft. "Well, girls, what's up now?" inquired Roy, as both girls sprang to their feet, their faces flushed and eyes shining. "Oh, nothing particular," rejoined Peggy, with assumed indifference, "except that we've just solved the problem of what to do with the rest of the summer." "And what's that,--lie in hammocks and indulge in ice-cream sodas and chocolates?" asked Jimsy mockingly. "No, indeed, you impertinent person; the young lady of the twentieth century has left all that far behind her," was Jess's Parthian shot, "for proof I refer you to our adventures on the Great Alkali." "Hello! what's this?" asked Roy, holding up a dainty cardboard box, and giving vent to a mischievous smile. "Chocolates!" cried Jimsy. "It _was_ chocolates," corrected Peggy reproachfully. "And yet shall be," declared Jimsy, producing from some mysterious place in a long auto coat another box, beribboned and decorated like the first. "Jimsy, you're an angel!" cried both girls at once. "So I've been told before," responded the imperturbable Jimsy, "but I never really believed it till now." Peggy rewarded him for the compliment by popping a chocolate into his mouth. Gravely munching it, Jimsy proceeded to interrogation. "And how did you solve the problem of what to do with the rest of the summer?" he asked. For answer Peggy pointed to the sky, a delicate blue dome flecked with tiny cloudlets like cherub's wings. "By circling way up yonder in the cloudfields," she laughed. "But that's no novelty," objected Roy, "we've been up 5,000 feet already, and----" "But we're talking about a tour through cloudland," burst out Jess, unable to retain the secret any longer, "a sort of Cook's tour above the earth." "Wow!" gasped both boys. "There's nothing slow," added Roy, "in that or about you two. And, incidentally, just read this letter I got this morning, or rather I'll read it for you." So saying Roy produced from his coat a letter closely written in an old-fashioned handwriting. It was as follows: "My Dear Niece and Nephew: No doubt you will be surprised to hear from your Uncle Jack. Possibly you will hardly recall him. This has, in a great measure, been his own fault as, since your poor father's death, I have not paid the attention I should to my correspondence. "This letter, then, is to offer what compensation lies in my power for my neglect. Having read in the papers of your wonderful flying feats in Nevada it struck me that you and your young friends might like to pay me a 'flying trip,' making the excursion via aëroplane. "We are to have some flying contests in Marysville during the latter part of the month, and you might care to participate in them. Of course I expect your Aunt Sallie to accompany you. Hoping sincerely to see you, I am "Your affectionate uncle, "James Parker. "Marysville, North Carolina." As Roy concluded the reading the quartet of merry youngsters exchanged delighted glances. As if by magic here was an objective point descried for their projected motor flight. "Well, that's what I call modern magic," declared Jimsy glowingly; "consider me as having accepted the invitation." "Accepting likewise for me, of course," said Jess, shaking her black locks and blinking round, expectant eyes. "Of course," struck in Peggy affectionately, "the Girl Aviators cannot be parted." Just at this moment came a whirring sound from high in the air above them. Looking up, they saw a dainty green monoplane, with widespread wings and whirring propeller, descending to earth. An instant later the machine had come to a halt on the lawn, alighting as lightly as wind-blown gossamer. In the machine was seated a pretty girl of about Peggy's age, though rather stouter. In harmony with the color of the machine she drove, the newly arrived girl aviator wore a green aviation costume, with a close-fitting motor bonnet. From the beruffled edge of this some golden strands of hair had escaped, and waved above two laughing blue eyes. "Hello, people!" she hailed, as the porch party hastily adjourned and ran to welcome her, "how's that for a novice only recently out of the Mineola School?" "Bess Marshall, you're a wonder!" cried Peggy, embracing her; "the _Dart_ is the prettiest little machine I've seen for a long time." "Isn't it a darling," agreed Bess warmly, "but, my! how I had to beg and pray dad before he would buy it for me. He said that no daughter of his should ever go up in an aëroplane, much less drive one. It wasn't till I got him down at Mineola and persuaded him to take a ride himself that he consented to buying me my dear little _Dart_." She laid one daintily gloved hand on the steering wheel of the little monoplane and patted it affectionately. "It's pretty enough, but it wouldn't fly very far," commented Roy teasingly, "sort of aërial taxicab, I'd call it." "Is that so, Mr. Roy Prescott? Well, I'd like you to know that the _Dart_ could fly just as far and as fast as the _Red Dragon_ or the _Golden Butterfly_." "Well, if you wanted to take a trip to North Carolina with us you'd have an opportunity to test that idea out," laughed Peggy. "A trip to North Carolina? What do you mean? Are you dreaming?" "No, not even day-dreaming." Just then Miss Prescott, her gentle face wreathed in smiles, appeared at the door. "Children! children!" she exclaimed, "what is all this? Adjourn your discussion for a while and come in and have tea." While the happy group of young fliers are entering the pretty, old-fashioned house with its clustering roses and green-shuttered casements, let us relate a little more about the young personages to whose enthusiastic talk the reader has just listened. Roy and Peggy Prescott were orphans living in the care of their aunt, Miss Prescott, the location of whose home on Long Island has already been described. At school Roy had imbibed the aërial fever, and after many vicissitudes had built a fine monoplane, the _Golden Butterfly_, with which he had won a big money prize, besides encountering a series of extraordinary aërial adventures. In these Peggy participated, and on more than one occasion was the means of materially aiding her brother out of difficulties. All this part of their experiences was related in the first volume of this series, "The Girl Aviators and the Phantom Airship." In the second volume, "The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings," a combination of strange circumstances took our friends out to the Great Alkali of the Nevada desert. Here intrigues concerning a hidden gold mine provided much excitement and peril, and the girls proved that, after all, a fellow's sisters can be splendid companions in fun and hardship. An exciting race with an express train, and the adventure of the "Human Coyote," provided stirring times in this story, which also related the queer antics of Professor Wandering William, an odd character indeed. Space does not permit to relate their previous adventures in more detail, but in "The Girl Aviators' Sky Cruise" still other interesting and unusual experiences are described,--experiences that tested both themselves and their machines in endurance flights. Of Roy and Peggy's devoted friends, Jess and Jimsy Bancroft, it is enough to say that both were children of Mr. Bancroft, a wealthy banker, who had a palatial summer home near to the Prescotts' less pretentious dwelling. Since we last met Jess and Jimsy their father had allowed them to purchase an aëroplane known as the _White Flier_. It was in this craft that Jimsy and Roy had flown over for mail when they made their entrance at the beginning of this chapter. Of the letter they found awaiting them we already know. Jolly, good-natured Bess Marshall had taken up aviation as a lark. She was a typical specimen of an American girl. Light-hearted, wholesome and devoted to all sorts of sports, tennis, swimming, golf, motoring and finally aviation had, in turn, claimed her attention. And now, having introduced our heroes and heroines of the sky to those who have not already met them, we will proceed to see how Miss Prescott receives the startling plans that her young charges are about to lay before her. CHAPTER II. OFF ON THE FLIGHT. "But, my dear children, do you realize what such a trip means?" The gentle-voiced Miss Prescott leaned back in her easy-chair and gazed at Peggy and Roy with an approach to consternation. "It means fun, adventure, and--oh, everything!" cried Peggy, clapping her hands. "You can't have the heart to refuse us," sighed Jess. "If it were only the boys it might be different, but two young ladies--" "Three," corrected Bess. "Three, then. For three young ladies, supposedly of sound mind, to go flying across country like, like--" "Butterflies," struck in Jimsy. "Wait a minute," cried Jess, "there'd have to be four ladies--" "Of course; a chaperon," breathed Peggy, with a mischievous glance. Miss Prescott dropped her knitting. "Peggy Prescott, you mean me?" "Of course; who else could go?" "My dear child, do you actually contemplate taking me flying through the air at my time of life?" "Why not? It isn't as if you'd never been up," urged Peggy. "You said you liked it, too," struck in Jess. "Um--well, I may have said so," admitted Miss Prescott, visibly weakening from the stand she had taken, and she went on: "I would like to see James again." "And here is your opportunity ready to hand, as the advertisements say," declared Bess, her blue eyes shining. "But how could I go?" The question was an outward and visible sign of capitulation on Miss Prescott's part. "Why, I was thinking we could use that big biplane I was building for Mr. Bell's use out in Nevada," spoke up Roy; "it will seat three, and is as steady as a church, thanks to that balancing device Jimsy and I figured out." "I'd fly my little _Dart_," declared Bess. "And you and I would take the _Golden Butterfly_," cried Peggy, crossing to Jessie and placing her arm round the dark-haired girl's neck. "Jimsy can fly the _Red Dragon_, and that leaves Roy and auntie for the biplane," she went on, bubbling over with enthusiasm as her plans matured and took form. "Goodness gracious, an aërial circus!" cried Miss Prescott. "We would attract crowds, and that wouldn't be pleasant." "I was planning to make it a sort of picnic," declared Peggy, who appeared to have an answer for every objection that could be interposed to her project. "What, camp out every night? Well, you are a wonder," exclaimed Jimsy, "if there's one thing I love it's camping out." "How long would it take us to get to Marysville?" asked Bess. "I'll get the atlas," cried Peggy, "but if we have good weather not more than three or four days." "I hardly think it would take as long as that," declared Roy, as five eager heads were bent over the atlas. "But camping out!" exclaimed Miss Prescott, "think of colds and rheumatism, not to mention snakes and robbers." "Tell you what," cried Jimsy suddenly, "what's the matter with Miss Prescott going along in an automobile? We can map out the route, arrange our stops and meet every evening at some small town where we won't attract too much of a crowd." "Jimsy, I always said you were a genius," cried Peggy. "Behold the last objection swept away," struck in Bess. "Surely you can't refuse now?" urged Jess. "Please say yes," came from them all. "But--but who would drive the car?" asked Miss Prescott, in the voice of one who is thinking up a feeble last objection. "Why, Jake Rickets, of course," declared Roy, referring to the man who helped the boys in the machine shop in which the aëroplanes for the desert mines were manufactured. After this Miss Prescott could make but a poor stand against the united urgings of five impetuous, enthusiastic young people. The air was filled with plans of all sorts. Jimsy was for going at once, but it was finally decided to meet again and set a definite date for a start. In the meantime there were parents' consents to be obtained, plans laid for the route to be followed, and various things purchased for the aërial trip. All this occupied some time, and it was not till a week later that the last difficulty in connection with the motor flight had been straightened out and the three aëroplanes stood ready, in Roy's hangar, for a tour that was to prove eventful in more ways than one. It was just after dawn on the day of the start that Roy and Jimsy for the last time went over every nut and bolt on the machines and declared everything in perfect readiness for the trip. Breakfast was a mere pretence at a meal; excitement got the better of appetites that morning. Beside the winged machines sputtering and coughing as if impatient at the delay, was a large and comfortable red touring car. At the driver's wheel of this vehicle was seated a small, "under-done"-looking man, in a chauffeur's uniform of black leather. This was Jake Rickets. "Well, Jake, we're all ready for a start," announced Roy, at last. The small man, whose hair was fair, not to say pale, glanced at the glowing boy with an expression of deep melancholy. "Yes, if something don't happen," he declared, in tones of deep pessimism. "Jake's never happy unless he's foreboding some disaster," explained Roy to Bess, who happened to be standing by drawing on her gloves. "It don't never do to be too sure," murmured the melancholy Jake, "'cos why? Well, you can't most generally always tell." "Everything ready?" cried Peggy at last, as Miss Prescott got into the car. "As ready as it ever will be," merrily called back Bess, who was already seated in the little green _Dart_. The chorus of engine pantings and explosions was swelled by the roar of Roy's big biplane and the rattling exhaust of Jimsy's fierce-looking _Red Dragon_. The _Golden Butterfly_, which was equipped with a silencing device, ran smoothly and silently as a sewing machine. Peggy sat at the wheel, while Jess reclined on the padded seat placed tandemwise behind her. It made a wonderful picture, the big white biplane with its boy driver, the scarlet and silver machine of Jimsy Bancroft and the delicate green and gold color schemes of the other two flying machines. "The first stop will be Palenville," announced Roy, "the biplane will be the pathfinder." Despite the earliness of the hour and the efforts that had been made to keep the motor flight a secret, the information of the novel experiment had, in some way, leaked out. Quite a small crowd gave a loud cheer as Roy cried: "Go!" "We're off!" cried Peggy, athrill with excitement. Propellers flashed in the sunlight and the next instant the biplane, after a short run, soared aloft toward a sky of cloudless, clean-swept blue. In rapid succession the _Dart, Golden Butterfly_ and _Red Dragon_ followed. "Come on," cried Bess to Jimsy, waving her hand challengingly. "Ladies first, even off the earth," came back from Jimsy gallantly, as he skillfully "banked" his machine in an upward spiral. Then upward and outward soared the gayly colored sky racers, like a flock of wonderful birds. It was the greatest sight that the crowd left behind and below had ever witnessed, although one or two shook their heads and prophesied dire results from young ladies tampering with them blamed "sky buggies." But not a thought of this entered the heads of the aërial adventurers. With sparkling eyes, and bounding pulses they flew steadily southward, from time to time glancing below at the touring car. Even though they were flying slowly it was plain that the big auto had hard work to keep up with them. The unique motor flight was on, and was about to develop experiences of which none of them at the moment dreamed. CHAPTER III. LITTLE WREN AND THE GIPSIES. They flew on, keeping the motor car beneath them in constant sight till about noon. Then, from the tonneau of the machine, came the waving of a red square of silk. This had been agreed upon as a signal to halt for a brief lunch. Shouting joyously, the young adventurers of the air began circling their machines about, dropping closer earthward with every sweep. Beneath them was a green meadow, bordered on one side by a country road and on the other by a small brook of clear water and a patch of dark woods. It was an ideal place to halt for a roadside lunch, and as one after the other the machines dropped to earth Miss Prescott was warmly congratulated on her choice of a halting place. The car was left in the road, and the melancholy Jake Rickets set to work getting wood for a fire, for it was not to be thought of that Miss Prescott could go without her cup of tea. In the meantime the girls spread a cloth and set out their fare. There were dainty chicken sandwiches with crisp lettuce leaves lurking between the thin white "wrappers," cold meat and half a dozen other little picnic delicacies, which all the girls, despite their aërial craze, had not forgotten how to make. The boys set up a shout as, returning from attending to the aëroplanes, they beheld the inviting table. "This beats camping out by ourselves," declared Roy, "girls, we're glad we brought you." "Thank you for the compliment," laughed Jess. "I suppose you mean that you are glad _we_ brought all this." She waved her hand at the "spread" dramatically. "Both," rejoined Jimsy, throwing himself on the grass. By this time Jake's kettle was bubbling merrily, and soon the refreshing aroma of Miss Prescott's own particular kind of tea was in the air. The boys preferred to try the water from the brook, despite Jake's dire hints at typhoid and other germs holding a convention in it. It was sweet and cool, and the girls voted it as good as ice-cream soda. "At any rate as we can't get any we might as well pretend it is," declared Bess. So the meal passed merrily. After it had been concluded, amid gay chatter and fun, Peggy proposed an excursion to the woods for wild flowers which grew in great profusion on the opposite side of the stream. Crossing it by a plank bridge, the young people plunged into the cool woods, dark and green, and carpeted with flowering shrubs and vines. For some time they gathered the blossoms, and were just about to return to the aëroplanes and resume their journey when Peggy uttered a sudden sharp exclamation: "Hark! What's that?" she cried. They all listened. Again came the sound that had arrested her attention; a sharp cry, as if some one was in pain or fright. Then came definite words: "Don't! Please; don't hit me again!" "It's a child!" exclaimed Jimsy. "A girl!" cried Peggy, "some one is ill-treating her." "We'll soon find out!" cried Roy hotly. It infuriated the boy to think that a child was being subjected to ill-treatment, and the nature of the cries left no doubt that such was the case. "Stand back here, girls, while we see what's up!" struck in Jimsy. "Indeed we'll do no such thing!" rejoined the plucky Bess, bridling indignantly. "At any rate let us go in advance," advised Roy; "we don't know just what we may run up against." This appeared reasonable even to Bess, and with the boys slightly in advance the little group pressed rapidly forward. After traveling about two hundred yards they found themselves in a small clearing where a most unusual sight presented itself; a sight that brought a quick flash of indignation to the face of every one of them. Cowering under the blows of a tall, swarthy woman was a small girl, so fragile as to appear almost elfin. The woman wore the garb of a gipsy, and the presence of some squalid tents and tethered horses showed our young friends at once that it was a gipsy encampment upon which they had happened. The woman was so intent on belaboring the shrieking child that at first she did not see the newcomers. It was not till Roy stepped up to her, in fact, that she became aware of their presence. "What are you doing to this child?" demanded Roy indignantly. "That's none of your business," was the retort, as the woman for an instant released her hold on the child. Instantly the little creature darted to the sheltering arms of Peggy, sobbing piteously. "Oh! Save me from her, she will kill me," the child cried, in a broken voice. "There! there!" soothed Peggy tenderly, "don't cry. We won't let her harm you any more." But like a fury the woman flew at the girls. Before she could lay hands on them, however, Roy and Jimsy had seized her arms and held them. At this the crone set up a hideous shriek and, as if it had been a signal, two swarthy men, with dark skins and big earrings in their ears, came running from behind the tents. "What's the trouble?" they cried, as they ran up, regarding the boys malevolently. "It's the Wren; they're trying to steal the Wren!" shrilled out the woman. At this the men rushed at the boys, one of them waving a thick cudgel he carried. "Let go of that woman," they shouted furiously. Another instant and the boys would have been in a bad position, for both the gipsies were powerful fellows, and appeared determined to commit violence. But Roy, releasing his hold of the struggling gipsy woman, put up his fists in such a scientific manner that, for an instant, the attack paused. This gave Jimsy time to rush to his side. The instant she was released the woman darted to the side of the men. "Beat them! Kill them!" she cried frantically. The men resumed their rush, and the next moment the boys found themselves fighting to escape a furious assault. Neither of the lads was a weakling, and good habits and constant athletic exercise had placed them in the pink of condition. But the two gipsies were no mean antagonists. Then, too, the one with the cudgel wielded it skillfully. Time and again Jimsy avoided a heavy blow which, if successful, must have injured him seriously. The girls, screaming, rushed off, carrying "the Wren," as the woman called her, with them. They dashed at top speed back to the spot where the aëroplanes had been left, and summoned Jake. "I knew something would happen," declared that worthy, as he picked up a monkey wrench, the only weapon at hand, and started off for the woods. The girls followed him, Miss Prescott not having been vouchsafed anything but a most hurried explanation of what was going on. Just as Jake appeared on the scene Jimsy had received a terrific blow on the arm from one of the gipsy's cudgels. The boy's arm dropped as if paralyzed. With a howl of triumph the ruffian who had dealt him the blow rushed in on the injured lad. In another instant it would have looked bad indeed for Jimsy, but Roy, landing a hard blow against his assailant, hastened to his chum's rescue. "You look after that fellow. I'll take care of this one," cried Jake, rushing into the mêlée, whirling his monkey wrench in a formidable manner. The girls, huddled in a group, gazed on in frank alarm. "Oh, they'll be killed!" shrilled Jess. "Roy! Roy! Be careful!" cried Peggy. "Oh, I wish we could get a policeman," cried Bess, clasping her hands nervously. But as it happened a policeman, even if such a personage had been within a dozen miles, was not needed. A clever blow from Roy laid the cudgel wielder low, and the other man, not liking the look of Jake's monkey wrench, capitulated by taking to his heels. The woman cowered back among the tents. "Come on, let's be going," cried Roy, as he saw that the battle was over. "Ouch! my wrist!" exclaimed Jimsy, wringing his left hand; "I believe that fellow has broken it." "Let's have a look," said Roy, as the two boys made their way to the huddled group of girls. "Nothing but a nasty whack," he pronounced, after an examination. "Well, girls, was it an exciting battle?" "Oh, it was terrible," cried Jess; "we thought you'd be badly beaten." "But as it is we appear to be future 'white hopes,' not forgetting Jake," smiled Roy, who was still panting from his exertions. "You were awfully brave, I think," cried Bess admiringly, giving the three "heroes" a warm glance. "Well, there wasn't anything to do but fight, unless we'd run away," laughed Roy, "and now what about the cause of all the trouble?" He glanced at the little girl clinging to Peggy's hand. The child was pitifully emaciated, with drawn features and large, dark eyes that gazed about her bewilderedly. Her clothing was a red gingham dress that fitted her like a sack. She was shoeless and stockingless. Her brown hair, unkempt and ragged, hung in elf locks about her sad little face. Certainly, as regarded size and general appearance, her name, "The Wren," fitted her admirably. "I don't know what to do about her," admitted Peggy; "suppose we ask Aunt Sally? I don't want to let the gipsies have her again, and yet I don't see how we can take her." At the words the little creature burst into a frantic outbreak. "Don't let those people have me back; don't," she begged; "they'll kill me if you do." She clung passionately to Peggy's dress. Tears came to the girl's eyes at the pitiful manifestation of fear. "There! there, dear," soothed Peggy, stroking the child's head, "you shan't go back if we can help it. Come with us for the time being, anyway." "But we have no legal right to take her," objected Roy. "Don't say another word," snapped the usually gentle Peggy, whose indignation had been fully aroused, "come on. Let's get back to where we left Aunt Sally, then we can decide what to do." "Incidentally, we'll do well to get out of this vicinity before any more of those fellows come up. There must be several more somewhere close at hand," exclaimed Jimsy. "Yes; and I'll bet the others, the two who ran off, have gone to call them," put in Roy; "that woman has disappeared, too." No time was lost in getting back to the aëroplanes, "The Wren," as the gipsies called her, keeping tight hold of Peggy's hand. The boys walked behind and, with Jake, formed a sort of rear guard to ward off any possible attack. But either the other members of the band were far off, or else they did not care to attempt an assault, for the party reached the aëroplanes without further incident or molestation. Miss Prescott's consternation may be imagined as she listened to the tale they had to tell. From time to time during its relation she glanced pityingly at the Wren. "Poor child!" she exclaimed, gazing at the wizened little creature's bruised arms. They were black and blue from rough handling, and bore painful testimony to the life she had lived among the gipsies. "What is your name, dear?" she asked, motioning to the child as Peggy finished her story. "The Wren, that's what they always called me," was the response, in a thin little wisp of a voice. "Have you no other name?" asked Miss Prescott kindly. The child shook her head. "I don't know. Perhaps I did once. I wasn't always with the tribe. I remember a home and my mother, but that was all so long ago that it isn't clear." "Then she's not a gipsy," declared Peggy emphatically. "I'll bet they kidnapped her some place," exclaimed Roy. "That doesn't solve the problem of what to do with her," struck in Jess. "We can't send her back to those people," declared Bess, with some warmth. "On the other hand, how are we to look after her?" said Jimsy. "It's a problem that will have to solve itself," said Miss Prescott, after a few moments of deep thinking. "How is that?" asked Peggy. "Because she goes with us no matter what happens. It may not be legal, but humanity comes above the law sometimes," declared Miss Prescott, with emphasis. "Hurrah for Aunt Sally!" cried the boys, "she's as militant as a newly blossomed suffragette. Cheer up, Wren, you're all right now." "Then I'm to stay with you?" questioned the child. "Of course," came from Aunt Sally. The child buried her head on the kind-hearted lady's lap and burst into a passion of weeping that fairly shook her frail frame. It was at this juncture that Jake set up a shout and pointed toward the woods. From them a group of men had burst, armed with sticks and stones. They came rushing straight at the little group, uttering ferocious shouts. "We're in for it now," exclaimed Roy; "girls, you had better get in the machine and drive a safe distance. Those fellows mean mischief." CHAPTER IV. APPROACH OF THE STORM. It was apparent enough that mean mischief they did. Their dark eyes gleamed fiercely out of their swarthy faces. One or two wore a vivid red or blue handkerchief knotted about sinewy necks, this means of adornment only adding to their generally sinister look. "I knew we wouldn't get far without running into trouble," moaned Jake dejectedly. Roy turned on him sharply, almost angrily. "You get the ladies in that machine and drive off down the road a bit," he said; "I'll attend to this thing. Jimsy, come here." Jake hesitated a moment and then strode off to the auto. "Can't we stay and help?" asked Bess. "No; we can help Roy best by doing what he; wants us to. He's got some plan in his head," rejoined Peggy firmly, "come along, Wren; Jess, help me with her, she's terrified to death." This was no exaggeration. At sight of the gipsy band, the child so recently taken from their clutches shrank and cowered against her young protectress. "Don't let them take me--don't!" she kept wailing. "Never mind; don't be scared, Wren," Peggy comforted, "they won't get you." A flash of determined fire came into Peggy's eyes as she spoke. "Peg! You're magnificent," exclaimed Jess, as, headed by Miss Prescott, they hastened toward the car which Jake had already cranked. The gipsies had paused for an instant. Evidently the sight of the aëroplanes bewildered and amazed them. Expecting to come on a camp of young folks they had suddenly encountered a group of machines which, to them, must have savored of the supernatural. But as the auto drove off they were due for an even greater surprise. Following a swift whisper from Roy both boys had jumped into the _Red Dragon_. In an instant came the sharp barking of the engine. The flying machine dashed forward almost simultaneously. Straight at the angry nomads Roy headed it. It was as if a war chariot of old was charging into a group of defiant barbarians. For a few moments the gipsies stood their ground. But as the machine rose from the ground, skimmed it, as it were, Roy thrust on full power. The machine darted over the spot where the gipsies had stood but an instant before; but they had gone. Scattering with wild cries of fear, they could be seen running for their lives toward the wood. "I don't think they'll trouble us again in a hurry," declared Roy grimly, as he brought the _Red Dragon_ round in a circle and headed back for the rest. From the machine came a cheer, Miss Prescott's voice ringing out as loudly as any. "The idea just came to me in a second," explained Roy modestly, in answer to the ladies' congratulations and praise, "it worked, though, didn't it?" "Like a charm," they all agreed. "Hadn't we better be getting on?" asked Jimsy, a minute later. "Yes; there's no knowing if those fellows won't try a flank attack, although I think they've had a big enough scare thrown into them to last them quite a while with economy," laughed Roy. "Who is going to take care of Wren?" asked Bess. "She'll ride right in the car with me," declared Miss Prescott positively, "you don't think I'm going to risk her in one of those things of yours, do you?" They all laughed. As a matter of fact, there was not one of the party that was not more at home in the air than on a road. Then, too, Roy's balancing device had about removed the last peril of air traveling. It was agreed to stop at Meadville, which the map showed was about thirty miles to the southeast, and purchase a dress and other necessities for their new ward. As to what was to be done with her after that nobody had any very definite plans. And so the journey was resumed, with congratulations flying over the way in which they came out of what, for a time, looked like a really serious scrape. The weather had held fair till a short time after the start was made from the scene of the encounter with the gipsies. It was Peggy who first observed a change in the sky. From the southwest billowy masses of slate-colored clouds came rolling on, obscuring the sunlit landscape beneath with an effect of lights turned down on a stage. Turning to Jess, who occupied the seat behind her, she remarked: "We're going to have some bad kind of a storm, girlie." Jess nodded. "Wonder how far we are from Meadville?" she asked. "Quite a way yet. I'm afraid that we can't make it before the storm breaks." "Look, there's Roy coming back, and Jimsy, too. I guess they want to talk about it." This turned out to be the case. As Roy came swinging by he held a small megaphone to his mouth with one hand, while the other gripped the steering wheel tightly. "We're in for a storm, girls, and a hummer, too, from the look of it." "Better drop down," counseled Jimsy. Jess nodded, and, as at this moment Bess, who had seen the boy's maneuver, came by, the news was communicated to her. The next thing to do was to look about for a suitable place to land. The country over which they were passing was heavily wooded, and seemingly sparsely populated. Beneath them wound a road, along which, but at some distance behind, the touring car could be seen coming in a cloud of yellow dust. The wind began to grow puffy, and it required all the skill of the young aviators to keep their flock of motor-driven birds on even wings. Before long, just as the distant, but fast approaching, cloud curtain began to be ripped and slashed by vivid scimitars of lightning, Roy espied, beneath them, a field, at one end of which stood a prosperous-looking farmhouse, surrounded by buildings and hay stacks. It was an ideal spot in which to land, and as the road was near by they would have no difficulty in attracting the attention of Miss Prescott when she went by. In graceful volplanes the aëroplanes lit in the field like an alighting flight of carrier pigeons. But hardly had they touched the ground when from the farmhouse a man came running in his shirtsleeves, his lower limbs being garbed in overalls and knee-boots. On his chin was a goatee, and as he drew closer they saw that his face was thin and hatchet shaped and anything but agreeable. "You git out of thar! You git out of thar!" he kept shouting as he came along, stumbling over the stubble, for the field had been newly reaped. "Why, what's the matter? We're not hurting anything," objected Roy; "surely you don't mind our occupying the field for an hour or so till the storm blows over?" "I daon't, hey? Wa'al, I do, by heck. I own all the way daown and all the way up frum this farm, and thet's ther law." "If we didn't have these ladies with us we'd be only too glad to leave your field," rejoined Jimsy, "but you can see for yourself a nasty storm is coming up." "What bizness hes gals riding round in them sky-buggies," stormed the farmer; "ef any darter uv mine did it I'd lock her up on bread an' water, by Jim Hill." "I don't doubt it in the least," smiled Peggy sweetly. "Humph!" grunted the cantankerous old agriculturist, not quite sure if he was being made fun of or if his resolution was being admired; "all I got to say is thet ef you want to stay here you gotter pay." "That can be arranged," spoke Jimsy, with quiet sarcasm. "An' pay wa'al, too," resumed the farmer tenaciously. "How much do you think the lease of your field for an hour or so is worth?" asked Roy. The farmer considered an instant, and then, with an avaricious look in his pin-point blue eyes, he looked up. "'Bout ten dollars," he said, at length. "We don't want to buy it, we just want to rent it for a very short time," struck in Bess, with her most innocent expression. "Wa'al, it's ten or git off!" snapped the farmer. "I'll pay you a fair price for it," spoke up Roy, "and not a cent more." "Then I'll drive you off with a shot-gun, by chowder." "Oh, no, you won't." "Won't, hey? What'll stop me?" "The law." "Ther law? Thet's a good one." "I think it is, a very good one," struck in Jimsy, who now saw what Roy was driving at. "Humph! wa'al, if yer a'goin' te talk law I'll jes' tell yer quick thet this is my land and thet you're all a-trespassing." "You are not very well up on aërial law, it seems," replied Roy, in an absolutely unruffled tone. "Don't know nuthin' 'bout this air-ile law," grumbled the fellow, but somewhat impressed by Roy's calm, deliberate exterior. "Well, then, for your information I'll tell you that under the laws of the country recently enacted aviators are entitled to land in any safe landing place in times of emergency. If they do any damage they must pay for it. If not the owner of the land is not entitled to anything for the temporary use of his place." "Five dollars or nothing," spoke Jimsy, "and if you try to put us off you'll get into serious trouble." "Wa'al, yer a-robbin' me," muttered the man, much impressed by Roy's oratory, "gimme ther five." It was quickly forthcoming. The old fellow took it without a word and shuffled off. As he did so there was a vivid flash of lightning and the growl of a big crash of thunder. While it was still resounding the auto came puffing up. Jake had put up the storm top and made it as snug and comfortable as a house. "Come on, boys and girls," urged Roy, "let's get the engines covered up and then beat it for the car. The rain will hit in in torrents in a few minutes." Indeed they were still making fast the waterproof covers constructed to throw over the motors in just such emergencies when the big drops began to fall. There was a helter-skelter race for the car. In they all crowded, and none too soon. The air was almost as dark as at dusk, and there was a heavy sulphurous feeling in the atmosphere. But within the curtains of the car all was fun and merriment. The case of the old farmer was discussed at length, and Jimsy convulsed them all by his clever imitation of the way the bargain was driven. He was in the midst of his description when a fearfully vivid flash lit up the interior of the car as brightly as day. As it did so The Wren uttered a sharp cry. "What is it, dear? Afraid of the lightning?" asked Miss Prescott, while a thunder volley boomed and reverberated. "No, no," shivered the child, drawing closer to her, "but when I see a flash like that I sometimes remember." "Remember what?" asked Miss Prescott tenderly. "Oh, I don't know," wailed the child, "people and places. They come for a moment and then disappear again as quickly as they came." CHAPTER V. PEGGY'S THOUGHTFULNESS SAVES THE FARM. Flash after flash, roar after roar, the lightning and thunder crashed and blazed as the full fury of the storm struck in. Miss Prescott, who was in deadly fear of lightning, covered her eyes with a thick veil and sank back in the cushions of the tonneau. But the rest of the party regarded the furious storm with interest. The rain was coming down in sheets, but not one drop penetrated the water-proof top of the big touring car. "It's grand, isn't it?" asked Peggy, after a particularly brilliant flash. "Um--ah, I don't just know," rejoined Jess, "it's rather too grand if anything. I----" Bang! There was a sharp report, like that of a large cannon. The air was filled with an eye-blistering blaze of blue fire. Stunned for an instant, and half blinded, not one of the young folks in the touring car uttered a word. The storm, too, appeared to be "holding its breath" after that terrific bombardment. "That struck close by," declared Roy, the first to recover his speech. "Oh! oh!" moaned Miss Prescott, "then the next will hit us!" "Don't be a goose, Aunt Sally," comforted Peggy; "don't you know that lightning never strikes twice in the same place?" Miss Prescott made no answer. In fact she had no opportunity to do so. From close at hand shouts were coming. Loud, frightened shouts. "Fire! fire!" "Gracious! something's on fire at that farmhouse!" cried Peggy. "That's what!" came in excited tones from Roy as he peered out through the rain. "Look at them running about," chimed in Jimsy. "It's from that haystack! See the smoke roll up!" cried Bess. "The lightning must have struck it. Say, we'd better go and help," exclaimed Roy anxiously. "I don't see that the old man who was so mean to us deserves any help," murmured Bess, rather angrily. "Why, Bess, for shame!" reproved Peggy. "Go on, boys, the rain's letting up, maybe you can help them." "All right, sis. Come on, Jimsy!" The boys dived out of the car and set off running at top speed for the scene of the blaze, which was in a haystack back of the main barn of the farmhouse. Several farm hands, under the direction of the disagreeable old man, whose name was Zenas Hutchings, were running about with buckets of water, which were about as effective as trying to sweep the sea back with a broom, so far as gaining any headway against the flames was concerned. Had the rain continued it might have been possible for the farm hands to quell the blaze with the assistance of the elements; but the storm had ceased almost as suddenly as it began, and only a few scattering drops were now falling. Off to the southwest the sky was blue once more. The farmer turned despairingly to the boys as they came running up. "'Clare ter goodness if it ain't them kids ag'in," he exclaimed; "wa'al, you ain't brought me nuthin' but bad luck so far as I kin see. Hyars a hundred dollars' worth of hay goin' up in smoke an'--" A farm hand came bustling up. His face was pale under the grime of soot that overlaid it. "Ef we don't git ther fire under control purty soon," he cried, "ther whole place 'ull go." "What's thet, Jed?" snapped old Hutchings anxiously. "I said that ther sparks is beginning ter fly. If ther fire gits much hotter it'll set suthin' else ablaze." "By heck! That's so!" cried old Hutchings, in an alarmed voice. He gazed about him perplexedly. "Isn't there any fire apparatus near here?" asked Roy. "Yep; at Topman's Corners. But that's five miles off." "Have you telephoned them?" asked Jimsy, who had noticed that the Hutchings farm, like most up-to-date ones, was equipped with a telephone; at least there were wires running into the place which appeared to be of that nature. "Ain't no use telephoning" was the disconsolate rejoinder. "Why?" "Wire's busted. Reckon ther storm put it out of business. I guess it's all up with me now. I hoped ter pay off ther part of ther mortgage with ther hay and grain in thet barn yonder, an' now----" He broke off in a half sob. Cantankerous as the old man had shown himself to be, and grasping withal, the boys could not help but feel sorry for the stricken old fellow. He looked pitifully bowed and old and wretched in the midst of his distracted farm hands, who were running about and shouting and not doing much of anything else. "Wa'al," he said, at length, pulling himself together with a visible effort, "thar's no chance of gitting ther fire ingines, so it'll hev ter go, I guess." "Yes there is a chance of getting the engines, and a good one, too." They all turned at the sound of a girlish voice, and there stood Peggy with Jess by her side. The two girls had stolen up unnoticed in the excitement. "Bravo, Peg!" exclaimed Roy heartily, glancing approvingly at his sister, "what's your idea?" "Fly over and get help." "Fly over! Wa'al, I'll be switched!" gasped old Hutchings. "I don't see why not," struck in Jimsy, "it's five miles, you say. Well, we ought to make that in ten minutes or so, or even quicker." "How fast can the engines get back?" asked Roy practically. "Wa'al, ther roads be good and Bob Shields hez a right smart team," was the rejoinder. "They ought ter make it in half an hour." "Good. Then if you can hold the flames in check for a short time longer we can save your place yet." Beckoning to Jimsy, the boy darted off for the _Red Dragon_. This machine he selected because, with the exception of the _Dart_, it was the fastest and lightest of the aëroplanes they had with them. Farmer Hutchings had hardly closed his mouth from its gaping expression of surprise when a whirr of the motor announced that the _Red Dragon_ was off. Its lithe body shot into the air with tremendous impetus. "Ther Corners is off thar to ther westward," shouted up the farmer, "you can't miss it. It's got a red brick church with a high tower on it right in the middle of a clump of elms." Speeding above fields and woodland the red messenger of pending disaster raced through the air. Five minutes after taking flight Jimsy espied a high red tower. Eight and one half minutes after the _Dragon_ had shot aloft it fluttered to earth on the village street of Topman's Corners, amid an amazed group of citizens who had seen it approaching. It was the first aëroplane ever seen in the remote Pennsylvanian hamlet, and it created commensurate excitement. But the boys had no time to answer the scores of questions, foolish and otherwise, that were volleyed at them from all sides. "There's a fire!" exclaimed Jimsy breathlessly, "a fire at Hutchings's farm. How soon can you get the engines there?" A stalwart-looking young fellow stepped up. "I'm chief of the department," he said, "we're the 'Valiants.' I'll be there in twenty-five minutes if I have to kill the horses. It's downhill most of the way, anyhow. Jim, you run off and ring ther bell." A second later the fire bell was loudly clanging and several of the crowd melted away to don their helmets and coats. In less time than the boys would have thought it possible a good-looking engine came rumbling out of the fire house half a block down the street. Behind it came a hook and ladder truck. Fine horses were attached to each, and from the way they leaped off the boys saw that the "Chief" meant to make good his promise. "Race you to ther fire!" shouted the latter functionary, as, in a storm of cheers, his apparatus swept out of sight down the elm-bordered street. "You're on," laughed Roy, whisking aloft while the Topman's Cornerites were still wondering within themselves if they were waking or dreaming. CHAPTER VI. THE GIRL AVIATORS IN DEADLY PERIL. The fire was out. A smoldering, blackened hillock was all that remained of the stack ignited by the lightning bolt; but the others and the main buildings of the farm had been saved. Such work was a new task for aëroplanes--but there is no doubt that, had it not been for Peggy's suggestion, the Hutchings farm would have been burned to the ground. As it was, when the firemen, their horses in a lather, arrived at the scene, the farm hands, who had been fighting the flames, were almost exhausted. Had they possessed the time, the young folks would have been glad to tell the curious firemen something about their aëroplanes. But it was well into the afternoon, and if they intended to keep up their itinerary it was necessary for them to be hurrying on. A short time after the blaze had been declared "out" the aëroplanes once more soared aloft, and the auto chugged off in the direction of Meadville. The afternoon sun shone sparklingly on the trees and fields below, all freshened by the downpour of the early afternoon. The spirits of all rose as did their machines as they raced along. Before leaving the Hutchings farm the old man had been so moved to generosity by the novel manner in which his farm had been saved from destruction that he had offered to give back $2.50 of the $5 he had demanded for the rent of his field. Of course they had not taken it, but the evident anguish with which the offer was made afforded much amusement to the young aviators as they soared along. In Peggy's machine the talk between herself and Jess was of the strange finding of The Wren, and of the child's curious ways. Both girls recalled her odd conduct during the storm and what she had said about the peculiar influence of lightning on her memory. "Depend on it, Jess," declared Peggy, with conviction, "that child is no more a gipsy than you or I." "Do you think she was stolen from somewhere?" asked Jess, readily guessing the drift of her friend's thoughts. "I don't know, but I'm sure they had no legal right to her," was the reply. "Oh, Peg! Suppose she should turn out to be a missing heiress!" Jess, who loved a romance, clasped her gauntleted hands. Peggy laughed. "Missing heiresses are not so common as you might suppose," she said; "I never met any one who had encountered any, except in story books." "Still, it would be great if we had really found a long missing child, or--or something like that," concluded Jess, rather lamely. "I can't see how we would be benefiting the child or its parents, either, since we have no way of knowing who the latter are," rejoined the practical Peggy, which remark closed the discussion for the time being. It was not more than half an hour later when Jess uttered a sharp cry of alarm. From the forward part of the aëroplane a wisp of smoke had suddenly curled upward. Like a blue serpent of vapor it dissolved in the air almost so quickly as to make Jess believe, for an instant, that she had been the victim of an hallucination. But that it was no figment of the imagination was evidenced a few moments later by Peggy herself. Aroused by Jess's cry, she had made an inspection of the machine, with alarming results. What these were speedily became manifest. "Jess! The machine is on fire!" she cried afrightedly. As if in verification of her words there came a puff of flame and a strong reek of gasoline. It was just then that both girls recalled that the _Golden Butterfly_ carried twenty-five gallons of gasoline, without counting the reserve supply. Fire on an aëroplane is even more terrifying than a similar casualty on any other type of machine. Hardly had Peggy's words confirming the alarming news left her lips when there came a cry from Jess. The girl had just glanced at the barograph. It showed that they were then 1,500 feet above the surface of the earth. The girl had hardly made this discovery before, from beneath the "bow" of the monoplane, came a wave of flame; driven from the steering wheel by the heat, Peggy drew back toward her companion. Her face was ashen white. Left to itself the aëroplane "yawed" wildly, like a craft without a rudder. Then suddenly it dashed down toward the earth, smoke and flames leaping from its front part. Both girls uttered a cry of terror as the aircraft fell like a stone hurled into space. Faster and faster it dashed earthward without a controlling hand to guide it. It was at this instant that Roy and Jimsy became aware of what had happened. [Illustration: Both girls uttered a cry of terror as the air craft fell like a stone hurled into space.] Instantly they swung their machine around in time to see the _Golden Butterfly_ make her sickening downward swoop. Both lads uttered a cry of fear as they saw what appeared to mean certain death for the two Girl Aviators. Roy's fingers scarcely grasped the wheel of his machine as he saw the downward drop. Jimsy was as badly affected. But almost before they could grasp a full realization of the accident the _Golden Butterfly_ was almost on the ground. It was in a hilly bit of country, interspersed by small lakes or ponds. A freak of the wind caught the blazing aëroplane as it fell and drove it right over one of these small bodies of water. The _Golden Butterfly_ appeared to hesitate for one instant and then plunged right into the water, flinging the two girls out. Both were expert swimmers, but the shock of the sudden descent, and the abrupt manner in which they had been flung into the water had badly unstrung their nerves. Jess struck out valiantly, but the next instant uttered a cry: "Peg! Peg! I'm sinking!" Peggy pluckily struck out for her chum and succeeded in seizing her. Then with brisk strokes she made for the shore, luckily only a few yards distant. It was at this juncture that the boys' machines came to earth almost simultaneously. High above Bess's _Dart_ hovered, and presently it, too, began to drop downward. Apparently the accident had not been seen from the auto, at any rate the car was not turned back toward the scene of the accident. As the boys' aëroplanes struck the earth not far from the bank of the pond toward which Peggy was at that moment valiantly struggling, the two young aviators leaped out and set out at a run to the rescue. They reached the bank in the nick of time to pull out the two drenched, half-exhausted girls. "At any rate the fall was a lucky one in a way!" gasped the optimistic Peggy, as soon as she caught her breath, "it put out the fire." And so it had. Not only that, but the aëroplane, buoyed up by its broad wings, was still floating. On board the _Red Dragon_ was a long bit of rope. Jimsy produced this and then swam out to the drifting _Butterfly_. The rope was made fast to it and the craft dragged ashore. But when they got it to the bank the problem arose as to how they were going to drag it up the steep acclivity. Again and again they tried; Bess, who had by this time alighted, aiding them. But it was all to no purpose. Even their united strength failed to move the heavy apparatus. "I've got an idea!" shouted Jimsy suddenly, during a pause in their laborious operations. "Good! Don't let it get away, I beg of you!" implored Peggy. "Oh, Peg! Don't tease, besides, you don't look a bit cute with your hair all wet and draggled, and as for your dress--goodness!" This came from Jess, herself sadly "rumpled" and in addition wet through. Before Peggy could reply to her chum's half rallying remark Jimsy, unabashed, continued: "We'll hitch this rope to the _Red Dragon_ and then start her up for all she's worth." "Jimsy, you're a genius!" "A modern marvel!" "A solid promontory of pure gray matter!" In turn the remarks came from each of the party. But Jimsy, bothering not at all at the laughing encomiums, proceeded to secure the rope to the _Red Dragon_. This done, he started up the engine and clambered into his seat. "All ashore that's going ashore!" he yelled, in mocking imitation of the stewards of an ocean liner. There wasn't an instant's hesitation as he threw the load upon the engine. Then the rope tautened. It grew tight as a fiddle string. "Goodness! It'll snap and the _Dragon_ will be broken!" cried Jess, in alarm. But no such thing happened. Instead, as the _Dragon's_ powerful propeller blades "bit" into the air, the _Golden Butterfly_ obediently mounted the steep bank of the pond. Five minutes later the pretty craft stood on dry land and the party of young aviators were eagerly making an investigation of the damage done. The cause of the fire was soon found. A tiny leak in the tank had allowed some gasoline to drip into the bottom of the chassis, or passenger carrier. Collecting here, it was plain that a back fire from the carburetor had ignited it. Neither of the girls could repress a shudder as they thought of what might have occurred had they been higher in the air and no convenient pond handy for them to drop into. In such a case the flames might have reached the gasoline tank before they could be extinguished and inevitably a fearful explosion would have followed. "I think you are the two luckiest girls in the world," declared Roy solemnly, as he concluded his examination and announced his conclusions. Naturally they fully agreed with him. CHAPTER VII. A STOP FOR THE NIGHT. It was some two hours later that Meadville received the greatest excitement of its career. People rushed out of stores and houses as the "flock" of aëroplanes came into sight. As they gazed down the young aviators felt a momentary regret that they had chosen a town in which to pass the first night of their motor flight. It appeared that they would get into difficulties when they attempted to make a landing. But almost simultaneously they spied a public park, which appeared to offer a favorable landing place. As soon as their intention of descending there became manifest, however, the crowd made a headlong rush for the spot. It was too late to seek some other location to alight even had there been one available. Trusting to luck that the eager spectators would get out of their way the four aëroplanes began their spiraling descent. Roy was first in his big biplane. As the ponderous, white machine ranged down close to the park the crowd became well-nigh uncontrollable. They swarmed beneath the big machine, despite Roy's shouts of warning. Skillfully as the boy manipulated the aircraft he could not check its descent once begun. "Out of the way! I don't want to hurt you!" he shouted, as he dashed down. But the crowd, sheeplike in their stupidity, refused to budge. Into the midst of them Roy, perforce, was compelled to drive. Once the throng perceived his intention, however, they scattered wildly. That is, all sought positions of safety but one man, a stout, red-faced individual, who appeared dazed or befuddled. He stood his ground, glaring foolishly at the sky ship. With a quick turn of his wrist Roy swept the big biplane aside, but a wing tip brushed the stout man, toppling him over in a twinkling. By the time Roy had stopped his machine the man was on his feet again, bellowing furiously. He was not hurt, but his face was contorted with anger. He pushed his way through the crowd toward the young aviator. "You young scoundrel!" he yelled, "I'll fix you for that! I'll--" "Look out, here come the rest of them!" shouted the crowd at this juncture. Nobody needed any warning this time. They fled in all directions as one after the other the _Golden Butterfly_, the _Red Dragon_ and the pretty, graceful _Dart_ dropped to earth. "Wa'al, look at them gals, will yer!" shouted a voice in the crowd. "What's the country coming to?" demanded another man. "Gals gallivanting around like gol-dinged birds!" But the majority of the crowd took the pretty girl aviators to its heart. Somebody set up a cheer. It was still ringing out when, to the huge relief of the embarrassed girls, the auto came rolling up with Miss Prescott and "The Wren," as they still called the latter. The girls, leaving the boys to look after the aëroplanes, ran to the side of the car and were speedily ensconced in its roomy tonneau. "We'll see you at the hotel!" cried Roy, as the car rolled off again, much to the disappointment of the crowd. Two local constables came up at this juncture and helped the boys keep the crowd back from the machines. The throng seemed souvenir mad. Many of them insisted on writing their names with pencils on the wings of the air craft. Others would have gone further and actually stripped the aëroplanes of odd parts had they not been held back. "This is the last time we'll land in a town of this size," declared Roy indignantly, as he helped the constables shove back an obstreperous individual who insisted on examining the motor of the _Dart_. With the help of the constables a sheltering place for the machines was finally found. A livery stable that had gone out of business the week before was located across the street from the small park in which they had alighted. The owner of the property happened to be in the crowd and a bargain with him was soon struck. The aëroplanes were then trundled on their landing wheels into this shelter and the doors closed. Roy, for a small sum, engaged a tall, gangling-looking youth, whose name was Tam Tammas, to guard the doors and keep off the inquisitive. This done, thoroughly tired out, the boys sought the hotel. Like most towns of its size and importance Meadville only boasted one hostelry worthy of the name. This place, the Fountain House, as it was called, was a decent enough looking hotel and the young aviators were warmly welcomed. After supper, for in Meadville nobody "dined," Miss Prescott and the girls sauntered out with The Wren to obtain some clothing for the waif who had so strangely come into their possession. It was odd, but somehow they none of them even suggested giving up the queer little foundling to the authorities as had originally been their intention. Instead, although none of them actually voiced it, it appeared that tacitly they had decided to keep the child with them. While they were gone on their errand of helpfulness Roy and Jimsy were seated on the porch of the hotel watching, with more or less languid interest, the inhabitants of the town passing back and forth. Many of them lingered in front of the hotel, for aviators were not common objects in that part of the country, and already the party had become local celebrities. "I guess we'll go inside," said Roy, at length, "I'm getting sick of being looked at as if I was some sort of natural curiosity." "Same here," rejoined Jimsy, "we'll go in and I'll play you a game of checkers." "You're on," was the response. But as the boys rose to go, or rather the instant before they left their seats, there came a heavy step behind Roy and a gruff voice snarled: "What are you doing in that chair?" "Sitting in it," responded Roy, in not too pleasant a voice. The tone in which he had been addressed had aroused a hot resentment in him toward the speaker. Turning he saw the same red-faced man whom he had been unfortunate enough to knock down. Instantly his manner changed. He felt genuinely sorry for the accident and hastened to explain that such was the case. But a glowering glance was the only response he received. "You done it a-purpose. Don't tell me," snarled the red-faced individual, "an' now you git right out uv that chair or--or I'll make you!" Both boys stared at the man in amazement. His tone was coarse and bullying to a degree. "We are not occupying these chairs to your inconvenience," declared Roy stoutly, "there are lots of others." He indicated several rockers placed at intervals along the hotel porch, and all empty. "That chair you're sitting in is mine," snapped the man, in response. "Got a mortgage on it, eh?" smiled Jimsy amiably. "I'll show you kids how much of a mortgage I've got on it," was the reply. It was just then that a lad of about Roy's own age, but with a surly, hang-dog sort of look, emerged from the smoking-room of the hotel. "What's up, father?" he demanded, addressing the red-faced man. "Why, Dan, the kids have appropriated my chair." "Oh, those flying kids. Well, they'll see that they ain't everything around here," responded the lad; "I reckon Jim Cassell has some say here, eh, dad?" "I reckon so, son," grinned the red-faced man, in response to this elegant speech; "now, then, are you going to give up that chair or not?" "I was just leaving it when you came out," rejoined Roy, who, by this time, was fairly boiling over. "Under the present conditions, however, I think I shall continue to occupy it." "You will, eh?" snarled out Dan Cassell, "then I'll show you how to vacate it--so!" With the words he laid hands on the back of the chair and jerked it from under the young aviator. Roy, caught entirely off his guard, was flung to the floor of the porch. He was up in a flash, but as he rose to his feet Dan Cassell, evidently excited by what he deemed a great triumph, aimed a savage blow at him. Jimsy was rushing to his assistance but the red-faced man suddenly blocked his path. "Hold off, son! hold off!" he warned, "unless you want to get the same dose." CHAPTER VIII. ROY MAKES AN ENEMY. In the meantime Roy had skillfully avoided Dan Cassell's blow, and was aggressively on the defensive. He was a lad who did not care for fighting, but notwithstanding was a trained boxer. Something of this seemed to dawn on Dan Cassell as the boy he sought to pummel dodged his attack with such cleverness. For a moment Dan stood stock-still with doubled up fists and a scowl on his not unhandsome, though weak and vicious features. Then, with a bellow, he rushed upon Roy, who contented himself by sidestepping the furious onslaught. This appeared to enrage Dan Cassell the more. Either he interpreted it as portraying cowardice, or else he deemed that he had his opponent at his mercy. At any rate, after an instant's pause he rushed at Roy with both fists. It was the young aviator's opportunity. "Look out!" he warned. The next instant the pugnacious Dan Cassell found himself upon his back, regarding a multitude of constellations. At almost precisely the same time Jimsy's fist happened to collide with the point of the jaw of the fallen battler's father. "Sorry; but I simply had to, you know," remarked the nonchalant Jimsy, as the red-faced man found himself occupying a position not dissimilar to that of his son. Both boys were heartily sorry for what had happened, the more so for the reason that at the very instant that both crestfallen bullies were scrambling to their feet the hotel door opened and several of the guests came out to ascertain the cause of the trouble. Among them was Jonas Hardcastle, the proprietor of the place. "What's up? What's the trouble?" he demanded, in dismay, as he viewed the scene of the confusion. "It's those brats of aviators, or whatever they call themselves," bellowed Cassell, who was purple with fury; "they attacked Dan and me and assaulted us brutally." The landlord looked doubtingly at the man. Then he turned to Roy. "What are the facts?" he asked. Roy told him unhesitatingly the whole truth. When he had concluded Jonas Hardcastle spoke. "You've been hanging around here too long, Jim Cassell," he said, in a voice that quivered with indignation; "now make yourself scarce, both you and your son. Don't annoy my guests any more." Cassell, nursing a spot on his jaw which was rapidly growing a beautiful plum color, lurched off without a word. His son followed. It was not until he reached the street that he spoke. Then, in a voice that trembled from suppressed fury, he hissed out: "All right for you kids. You think you've played a smart trick on Dan and me; but I'll fix you! Just watch!" Without uttering another syllable he slouched off into the gathering darkness, followed by his son, who bestowed a parting scowl on Roy and Jimsy. "I'm sorry that you had a row with them," remarked Jonas Hardcastle, as the pair vanished. "How's that?" inquired Roy. "They forced it on us, and--" "I know. I know all about that," was the rejoinder, "but Cassell is quite by way of being a politician hereabouts, and he might try to make it uncomfortable for you." "In what way?" demanded Jimsy. "Oh, many ways. Those fellows have no scruples. To tell you the truth, boys, I guess you haven't heard the last of this." With this he left them, a prey to no very comfortable thoughts. "I'm half inclined to believe what he said," declared Jimsy. "In just what way?" "Why, about the harm this fellow Cassell can do us. In every community like this you'll find one local 'Pooh-bah' who runs things pretty much as he likes. They have satellites who will do just about as they're told." "You mean--" "That we'd better keep a good lookout on the aëroplanes. From my judgment of Cassell I don't think he's got nerve enough to attack us directly, but he can wreak his vengeance on our machines if we don't watch pretty closely." "I'm inclined to think you're right. But don't say a word of all this to the girls. It might upset them. You and I will decide on a plan of action later on. To tell you the truth, I'm not any too sure of our newly acquired watchman, Tam Tammas." "Nor I. We'll wait till the rest get back and then take a stroll down to that livery stable. Seems funny, doesn't it, to stable aëroplanes in a livery stable?" "Well, why not? Wasn't Pegasus, the first flying machine on record, a horse?" "Humph; that's so," agreed Jimsy, whose supply of classical knowledge was none too plentiful. It was not long after this that the girls returned. With them came The Wren in a neat dress and new shoes, an altogether different looking little personage from the waif of the woods whom they had rescued at noon. "Why, Wren," cried Peggy, "you are positively pretty. In a month's time we won't know you." "A month's time?" sighed the child; "am I going to stay with you as long as that?" Miss Prescott caught the wan little figure in her arms. "Yes, and many months after that," she cried. Roy and Jimsy exchanged glances. "Another member of the family," exclaimed Roy; "if we go at this rate we'll have acquired an entire set of new sisters by the time we reach the Big Smokies." CHAPTER IX. JIMSY FALLS ASLEEP. "Anybody been around, Tam?" Roy asked the question, as later on that evening he and Jimsy dropped around to the disused livery stable in accordance with their plan. Tam shook his head. "Nobody bane round," he rejoined, and then, after a moment's pause, "'cept Yim Cassell and his boy Dan." "Jim Cassell and his son," echoed Roy, "the very people we don't want around here. What did they want?" "They want know where you bane," rejoined the Norwegian youth. "Yes; and what did you tell them?" "I bane tell them I skall not know," responded Tam. "And then?" "They bane ask me if ay have key by door." "Oh, they did, eh? What did you say?" "I say I bane not have key." "Then what did they do?" "They bane go 'way." "Didn't say anything else?" "No, they must go." "Said nothing about coming back?" "No." "All right, Tarn, you can go home now. Here's your money." "You bane want me no more?" "No; we'll watch here ourselves to-night. Good night." "Good night," rejoined Tam, pocketing his money and shuffling off down the street. He had hardly gone two blocks when from the shadow of an elm-shaded yard the figure of Dan Cassell slipped out and intercepted him. "So you've been fired, eh?" He shot the question at the simple-minded Norwegian lad with vicious emphasis. "No, I no bane fired; they bane tell me no want me more." "Well, isn't that being fired? Moreover, I can tell you that they've hired another fellow in your place." The Norwegian youth's light blue eyes lit up with indignant fire. Like most of his race he was keenly sensitive once aroused, and while he was quite agreeable to being dropped from his temporary job, he hated to think of being supplanted in it. Crafty Dan Cassell was playing his cards well, for a purpose that will be seen ere long. "So they bane fire me," ejaculated Tam. "That's the size of it. I guess you feel pretty sore, Tam, don't you?" "No, they bane pay me wale; but I no like being fired." "I should think not. The idea of a man like you being dropped. What did they tell you when they let you go?" "That they bane watch place themselves." Dan Cassell smiled. His crafty methods had elicited something of real value after all. "Did they say they were going to watch all night?" he asked. "Yes," rejoined the Norwegian, "they ask about you, too." "Humph! What did they want to know?" "If you'd been round by stable and what I bane tale you." "What did you say?" "I tale them the truth. I say that you and your father bane by stable this evening." Dan's face darkened. "You had no business to tell them anything," he snarled. Then, with a sudden change of front: "See here, Tam, do you want to make some money?" "Sure, I bane like make money." "Then come into the house a minute. Dad and I want to talk to you." So saying Dan took the Norwegian by the arm and led him in through a gate in a whitewashed picket fence. Beyond the fence was a fairly prosperous looking house, on the piazza of which lounged Jim Cassell smoking a cigar. "Well, Tam," he said, "lost your job?" The Norwegian replied in the affirmative. "Well, never mind, I've got another for you," replied Jim Cassell, in what was for him an unwontedly amiable tone; "can you go to work at once?" "Ay bane work any time skol be," spoke the Norwegian, and a puzzled expression flitted over his face as both Cassells broke into what was to him an inexplicable fit of laughter at his words. In the meantime the boys had telephoned to the hotel that work on the aëroplanes would detain them till late. They did not wish to inform the girls that they were undertaking a night watch, as that would have led to all sorts of questions, and if their fears proved ungrounded they felt pretty sure of coming in for a lot of "joshing." They agreed to divide the night into two parts, Jimsy watching till midnight and then awakening Roy who would take up the vigil till dawn. This arrangement having been made they secured a light lantern from an adjacent hardware store and, entering the deserted livery stable, prepared to carry out their plans. With the canvas covers of the aëroplanes Roy managed to fix up quite a comfortable bed on a pile of hay left in a sort of loft over the abandoned stable. As for Jimsy, he made himself as comfortable as possible in the chassis of the _Golden Butterfly_, the seats of which were padded as luxuriously as those of a touring car. He had a book dealing with aeronautic subjects with him, and, drawing the lantern close to the aëroplane, he buried himself in the volume. In the meantime Roy had rolled himself up in his canvas coverings and was sound asleep. For a long time Jimsy read on. At first frequent footsteps passed the door of the stable, but as it grew later these ceased. Folks went to bed early in Meadville. Long before midnight there was not a sound on the streets. Jimsy read doggedly on. But he was painfully conscious of an almost irresistible desire to lie back and doze off, if only for a few seconds. The exciting events of the day had tired him out, nor was the book he was reading one calculated to keep his wits stirring. It was a technical work of abstruse character. Jimsy's head began to nod. With a sharp effort he aroused himself only to catch himself dozing off once more. "See here, Jim Bancroft, this won't do," he sharply admonished himself, "you're on duty, understand? On duty! Wake up and keep your eyes open." But try as he would tired Nature finally asserted herself. Jimsy's head fell forward, his eyes closed for good and he snored in right good earnest. He was sound asleep. It was about half an hour after he dozed off that a window in the rear of the stable framed a face. A crafty, eager face it was, as the yellow light of the lantern revealed its outlines. Dan Cassell, for it was he, gazed sharply about him. He swiftly took in the posture of the sleeping boy and a smile spread over his countenance. Dropping from the ladder he had raised outside, he joined two figures waiting for him in the shadow of the livery barn. "It's too easy," he chuckled, "only one kid there and he's sound asleep. Got everything ready?" "Dey all bane ready, Maister Cassell," rejoined the slow, drawling voice of the Norwegian Tam. "Now don't botch the job," warned the elder Cassell, who was the third member of the party; "remember it means a lot of trouble for us if we're caught." "No danger of that, dad. Come on, I'll go first and you and Tam follow." "Is the window open?" "No, but it slides back. It's an easy drop to the floor from it." "All right, go ahead. I'll be glad when the job's over. I'm almost inclined to drop out of it." "And let those kids get away with what they did? Not much, dad. We'll give them a lesson they won't forget in a hurry. Come on." He began climbing the ladder. Behind him came his worthy parent, and Tam formed the last member of the now silent procession. The Norwegian carried a bulky package of some kind, the contents of which it would have been impossible to guess save that it gave out a metallic sound as Tam moved with it. Dan Cassell reached the window, slid it noiselessly back in its grooves and then, crawling through, dropped lightly to the floor within. He was followed by his father and Tam. But Jimsy slept on. Slept heavily and dreamlessly, while deadly peril crept upon him. CHAPTER X. PEGGY'S INTUITION. The movements of the invaders of the stable, which now housed the "winged steeds" of the young aviators, were mysterious in the extreme. The Norwegian carried a tin can containing some sort of liquid which he was ordered to pour about the floor in the neighborhood of the aëroplanes. This done, Dan Cassell collected several scraps of litter and made quite a pile of it. "All ready now, I guess," he said, with what was meant as an attempt at a grin. But his lips were pale, and his forced jollity was a dismal failure. As for his father, he made no attempt to conceal his agitation. "Dan, they may be burned alive," he faltered; "better call it all off." "Not when we've gone as far as this with it," was the rejoinder; "give me a match." "Dan!" "It's all right, dad. They'll wake in time." "But if not?" "Then they'll have to take their medicine." With fingers that trembled as if their owner was palsied, Jim Cassell handed his son some matches. The latter took one, bent low over the pile he had collected and struck the lucifer. A yellow sputter of flame followed, and the next instant he was holding it to the pile of litter which had been previously soaked by the contents of the Norwegian's can. But before he could accomplish his purpose and set fire to the pile of odds and ends saturated to double inflammability by the kerosene the Norwegian had carried, there came a startling interruption. There was a knock at the door and a girlish voice cried: "Roy! Roy, let me in!" "Furies!" exclaimed Dan Cassell under his breath. "It's one of those girls." "Come on. Let's get away quick!" exclaimed his father, trembling from nervous agitation. "Not before I set a match to this," exclaimed Dan Cassell viciously. He touched the match to the pile and the flames leaped up. "Now for our getaway," he cried, and the three fire-bugs ran for the window by which they had made their entrance. In the meantime a perfect fusillade of blows had been showered on the door outside. Jimsy awoke just as the last of the three midnight intruders vanished through the window. His first instinct was a hot flush of shame over the feeling that he had betrayed his trust. Then to his ears came the voice that had alarmed the Cassells and their tool. "Roy! Jimsy! Are you there?" "It's Peggy!" gasped Jimsy. "And Jess," he added the next instant, and simultaneously there came the pounding of a stick on the door. "This is an officer of the law. Open up at once." Jimsy, dazed by his sleep, had not till then noticed the blazing pile of litter. Now he did so with a quick cry of horror. The stuff was blazing up fiercely. Already there was an acrid reek in the air. "The place is on fire!" he shouted. The next moment there came a violent assault on the door and the crazy lock parted from its rotten fastenings as a man attired in a police officer's uniform burst into the place. Behind him came two wide-eyed frightened girls. The leaping flames lit up their faces vividly. "It's fire sure enough!" cried the police officer. "Great Scot, what's happening?" It was Roy who shouted the question. He was peering down from the loft where he had been sleeping. The uproar had awakened him and in a jiffy he was among them. "Quick! the fire extinguishers!" he cried, and Jimsy, readily understanding, secured the flame-killing apparatus from the biplane and from the _Red Dragon_. He and Roy, aided by the officer, fought the flames vigorously, and, luckily, were able to subdue them, though if it had not been for the as yet unexplained arrival of Peggy and Jess it is doubtful if they could have coped with the blaze. When it was all out Peggy rushed into explanations. "Something warned me that you were in danger," she exclaimed, "and I woke up Jess and we found this officer and came down here." "What gift of second sight have you?" demanded Roy, gazing at the smoking, blackened pile that had threatened the destruction of the inflammable premises. "I don't know. Womanly intuition, perhaps. Oh, Roy!" The girl burst into a half-hysterical sob and threw her arms about her brother's neck. "You arrived in the nick of time, sis," he said, gently disengaging himself from her clasp, "a little more and--" He did not finish the sentence. There was no need for him to. "Begorry, the ould place 'ud hev bin a pile of cinders in an hour's time," declared the policeman. It was Jess's turn to give an hysterical little sob. Roy turned to Jimsy. "Did you see anything? The place is reeking with kerosene. It was a plot to destroy the aëroplanes and perhaps ourselves." "I--I--" Jimsy stammered. The words seemed to choke up in his throat. How was he to confess that he had failed in his trust--had slept while danger threatened? "Well?" Roy waited, plainly surprised. It was not like Jimsy to hesitate and stammer in this way. At last it came out with a rush. "I--I--you'll never forgive me, any of you--I was asleep." "Asleep! Oh, Jimsy!" There was a world of reproach in Jess's voice. But Peggy interrupted her. "How was it, Jimsy?" she asked softly. "I don't know. I give you my word I don't know." Jimsy's voice held a world of self-reproach. "I was reading," he went on, hurrying over the words as if anxious to get his confession over with, "that book of Grotz's on monoplane navigation. I felt sleepy and--and the next thing I knew I woke up to hear you pounding on the door and shouting." "A good thing the young ladies found me," put in the policeman; "shure I was after laughing at them at first, but then, begorry, I decided to come along with them. It's glad I am that I did." "Who can have done this?" asked Roy, who had not a word of reproach for his chum, although Jimsy had failed dismally in a position of trust. "Begorry, they might have burned you alive!" cried the policeman indignantly. "No question about that," rejoined Roy; "it was a diabolical plot. Who could have attempted such a thing?" "Wait till I call up and have detectives sent down here," said Officer McCarthy. "I'm after thinking this is too deep for us to solve." Nevertheless, each of that little group but the policeman had his or her own idea on the matter. CHAPTER XI. A MEAN REVENGE! The result of the telephone call was a request to call at the Police Headquarters of the little town and give a detailed account of the affair. "Gracious! I should think that the only way to get a clue would be to send a detective down here," exclaimed Peggy, on receipt of this information. "We have our own ways of doing them things, miss," rejoined the policeman with dignity. Then there being nothing for it but to obey instructions of the authorities, they all set out for the police station. They were half way there when Jimsy recollected that they had left the aëroplanes unguarded. "'Twill make no difference at all at all," declared the policeman; "shure it's too late for anyone to be about." "It wasn't too late for them to set that fire though," rejoined Roy in a low voice. At police headquarters they were received by two sleepy-looking officials who questioned them at length and said they would be at the stable in the morning to hunt for clews. "Why not go after them now, while the trail is hot?" inquired Jimsy. "We have our own ways of doing these things, young man," was the reply, delivered with ponderous dignity. "Well, we might as well go to bed and get a few hours' sleep anyhow," suggested Roy; "I can hardly keep my eyes open. How about you, Jimsy?" "I--I--I've had some sleep already you know," rejoined Jimsy, reddening. Thoroughly tired out from their long day and excitement, the party slept till late the next day. The first thing after breakfast plans for the continuance of the trip were discussed, and the day's program mapped out. This done, the girls and boys set out for the stable to look over the machines. They found a pompous-looking policeman on guard in front of the place, ostentatiously pacing up and down. On identifying themselves they were at once admitted however. The man explained that he had only been on guard for an hour or two, and that during that time nothing worthy of mention had occurred. While Jimsy was talking to him Roy and the others entered the stable. An instant later Roy, too excited to talk, came rushing out of the dis-used livery barn. "What's up now, Roy?" demanded Jimsy, gazing at his chum, who for his part appeared to be too excited to get his words out. "There's only three!" gasped Roy. "Three what?" cried Jimsy. "Three aëroplanes," returned Roy. "Rubbish, you haven't got your eyes open yet." "I'm right, I tell you; come in and count them if you don't believe me." "Roy is right," cried Peggy, running up to the group; "the _Golden Butterfly_ has been stolen!" "Stolen!" interjected Jimsy. "That's right!" cried Jess; "those stupid police people left the barn unguarded. Whoever tried to set it on fire must have returned and stolen the _Butterfly_." They regarded each other blankly. Was this Sky Cruise that they had looked forward to with such eager anticipation to be nothing but a series of mishaps? "It's awful!" gasped Peggy; "nothing but trouble since we started out." "D'ye think it was stolen?" asked the policeman with startling intelligence. "Well, it didn't fly of its own accord," was Peggy's rejoinder, delivered with blighting sarcasm. The patrolman subsided. "Maybe we can find it yet," suggested Jess. "I'd like to know how," put in Jimsy disgustedly. "Perhaps we can trace it. It must have been wheeled away." "Ginger! That's so," cried Roy, snapping his fingers; "it would leave an odd track too, wouldn't it?" "Well there's no harm in trying to trace it," admitted Jimsy, who appeared rather skeptical. "Come on, then; get busy," urged Roy eagerly. The next instant there came a cry from Peggy. "I've struck the trail!" she cried. "Where?" The word came in chorus. "Here! Look; you know the _Butterfly_ had peculiar kind of tires. See, it was wheeled up the street in that direction." She pointed to where the village main thoroughfare ended in a country road. "I'm not after takin' much stock in that," remarked the policeman. "We won't bother you," rejoined Roy rather heatedly; "I guess we won't wait till your local Sherlock Holmes gets on the trail, we'll follow it ourselves." "But who'll go?" The question came from Jimsy. "We can't all go, that's certain," exclaimed Bess. "Tell you what we'll do, we'll count out," declared Jess, her eyes dancing. "A good idea," hailed the others. "Roy, you start it; but remember, not more than three can go." "Why?" inquired Peggy point blank. "Because we'll have to take the car, and someone must be left to look after Aunt Sally and the aëroplanes," spoke Roy, falling in with Jimsy's plans. "Well, come on and count out," urged Jess. "Yes, that's it. Let's see who will be it," cried the others. "Very well, if I can remember the rhyme," responded Roy. "How does it go anyway?" "Inte, minte," suggested Jimsy. "Oh, yes! That's it," responded Roy. "I've got it now. Inte, minte, cute corn, apple seeds and briar thorn, briar thorn and limber lock, three geese in a flock, one flew east and one flew west, one flew into a cuckoo's nest, O-U-T out, with a ragged dish clout, out!" ending with Bess. "Sorry for you, Bess!" cried the lad, "but you're the first victim to be offered up." "Oh, well, it's too hot to go chasing all over dusty country roads," declared Bess bravely, although she would dearly have loved to go on the adventurous search for the missing aëroplane. One after another they were counted out till only Roy, Peggy and Jimsy remained. "Hurry up and let's get off," urged Jimsy as the "elimination trials," as they might be termed, were concluded. "Very well. We'll get the car--it's in the garage at the hotel--and incidentally, we might get a lunch put up also. It may be a long chase." The officer regarded them with frank amazement. "My! but you city folks rush things," he exclaimed. "I suppose they'll get busy on this case day after to-morrow," exclaimed Roy disgustedly, as they hastened away. It was half an hour later that the big touring car, with Roy at the wheel, rolled out of the hotel yard. Jake had been told off to guard the livery stable and the aëroplanes while the rest remained with Miss Prescott, who was seriously agitated at the accumulation of troubles her party had met with since setting out. "I declare," she said, "I wish I was back at home where I could get a decent cup of tea and be free of worries." The trail of the aëroplane was not difficult to follow. It led down the village main street and thence along a country road till it came to a sort of cross roads. Here it branched off and followed a by-road for a mile or so. At a gate in a hedge all signs failed however, although it was plain that the machine had been wheeled through the gap and taken across a field. Beyond this field lay what appeared to be a wilderness of woods and bushes. "Stumped!" exclaimed Roy, as he brought the auto to a stop. CHAPTER XII. THE FINDING OF THE "BUTTERFLY." "Well, what next?" asked Jimsy. "Make a search of those woods, I suppose," replied Roy; "there's nothing else to do." "No, the trail has brought us here," replied Peggy energetically; "we must make a determined effort to find the _Butterfly_." "Maybe they've damaged it so that we won't be able to do anything with it when we do get it," spoke Jimsy presently. "Whom do you mean by they?" asked Roy. "As if you didn't know. Is there any doubt in your mind that that fellow Cassell is at the bottom of all this?" "Not very much, I'll admit," replied Roy; "I wonder if that accounts for the inactivity of the police." "In just what way?" "Well, the fellow's a local politician and has a lot of 'pull'." "He _must_ have, to get away with anything like this," was Jimsy's indignant outburst. "Well, don't let us waste time speculating," put in Peggy, in her brisk manner; "the thing to do now is to get back the _Golden Butterfly_." "You're right, Peg," came from both boys. By this time they were out of the car, which they left standing at the roadside while they examined the vicinity for tracks. But the grass in the field was fairly long and no traces remained. Yet, inasmuch as the tracks of the _Butterfly_ ended at the gap in the hedge, it was manifest that that was the point at which it had been wheeled off the road. "What next?" asked Jimsy, as it became certain that there was little use in searching for a trail in the meadow. "It's like looking for a needle in that proverbial haystack," struck in Peggy. "In my opinion we need the patience of Job and the years of old Methuselah," opined Jimsy. Roy alone was not discouraged. "It can't be so very far off," he urged; "it stands to reason that they can't have come much further than this since midnight, supposing the machine to have been stolen about that hour." The others agreed with him. "We'll search all around here, including those woods," declared Peggy. "Well, they can't have taken it very far into the woods," declared Jimsy; "the spread of its wings would prevent that." "That's so," agreed Roy; "I think we are getting pretty 'warm' right now." "All I am afraid of is that they may have damaged it," breathed Peggy anxiously. "It would be in line with their other tactics," agreed Roy; "men who would try to burn down a stable with two boys in it, just to obtain revenge for a fancied insult or injury, are capable of anything." Without further waste of time they crossed the meadow and came to the edge of the wood. At the outskirts of the woods the trees grew thinly and it was plain that it would have been possible to wheel an aëroplane into their shadow, despite the breadth of its wing-spread. They passed under the outlying trees and presently emerged into a small, open space, in the midst of which was a hut. Just beyond this hut was a sight that caused them to shout aloud with joy. There, apparently unharmed, stood the missing aëroplane. "Hurray!" shouted Roy, dashing forward. The others were close on his heels. In their excitement they paid little or no attention to the surroundings. It might have been better for them had they done so. As they dashed across the clearing two male figures slipped off among the thicker trees that lay beyond the open space and the hut. A brief examination showed them that the aëroplane was undamaged. There were a few scratches on it, but beyond that it appeared in perfect condition. "We'll fly back," declared Jimsy to Peggy; "Roy can run the auto home." "That's agreeable to me," responded Roy; "but suppose we examine the vicinity first. We might get a clew as to the rascals who are responsible for this." "That's true," agreed Jimsy. "Then suppose we start with the hut first." They accepted this proposition eagerly. The hut was a substantial looking building with a padlock on the door. But the portal stood wide open, the padlock hanging in a hasp. "What if anyone pounces on us?" asked Peggy in rather a scared tone. "No fear of that," replied Roy, "the place is plainly unoccupied." They entered the hut and found it to be as primitive inside as its exterior would indicate. A table and two rude chairs stood within. These, with the exception of a rusty cook stove in one corner, formed the sole furnishings. There was not even a window in the place. "Nothing much to be found here," declared Roy after a cursory examination; "I guess this shack was put up by lumbermen or hunters. It doesn't seem to have been occupied for a long time." "I guess the men who took the aëroplane must have been pretty familiar with the place though," opined Jimsy. "No doubt of that," replied Roy, "but that doesn't give us any clew to their identity beyond bare suspicions." "Yes, and suspicions aren't much good in law," chimed in Peggy, "they--Good gracious!" The door closed suddenly with a bang. Before Jimsy could spring across the room to open it there came a sharp click. "Somebody's padlocked it on the outside!" he cried. "And we're prisoners!" gasped Peggy. "Yes, and without any chance of getting out, either," declared Jimsy; "there's not even a window in the place." "Well this is worse and more of it," cried Roy. "Who can have done that?" "The same people that stole the _Golden Butterfly,"_ declared Peggy. "Hark!" Outside they heard rapidly retreating footsteps, followed by a harsh laugh. "Let us out!" shouted Roy. "You can stay there till judgment day, for all I care," came back a hoarse, rasping voice; "you kids were too fresh, and now you're getting what's coming to you." CHAPTER XIII. PRISONERS IN THE HUT. It was almost pitch dark within the hut. Only from a crack under the door could any light enter. For an instant after the taunting of the voices of the men who had locked them in reached their ears, the trio of youthful prisoners remained silent. Peggy it was who spoke first. "Well, what's to be done now?" she demanded. "We've got to get out of here," responded Jimsy, with embarrassing candor. "That's plain enough," struck in Roy; "but how do you propose to do it?" "I don't know; let's look about. Maybe there's a chimney or something." "There's no opening larger than that one where the stove pipe goes through. I've noticed that already," responded Roy. "Phew! This _is_ a fix for fair." "I should say so; but kicking about it won't help us at all. Let's make a thorough investigation." In the darkness they groped about, but could discover nothing that appeared to hold out a promise of escape. The two boys shook the door violently; but it was firm on its hinges. Next Roy proposed to cut a way through it with his pocket knife. "We'd be starved to death by the time you cut through that stuff," declared Jimsy. In proof of this he kicked the door, and the resulting sound showed that it was built of solid wood without any thin panels which might be cut through. "What next?" Peggy asked the question as the two perspiring lads stood perplexed without speaking or moving. "Jiggered if I know," spoke Jimsy; "can't you or Roy think of anything?" "We might try to batter the door down with that table," suggested Roy. "It's worth trying. We've got to get out of here somehow." The two boys picked up the heavy, roughly made table and commenced a violent assault on the door. But although they dented it heavily, and sent some splinters flying, the portal held its own. At length they desisted from pure weariness. The situation looked hopeless. "It looks pretty bad," spoke Jimsy. "It does indeed," agreed Roy. "Peggy, I wish we hadn't brought you along." "And why, pray, Roy Prescott?" "Oh, because--because, well, this isn't the sort of thing for a girl." "Well, I guess if my brother can stand it I can," rejoined the girl, pluckily and in a firm voice. "Well, there's no use minimizing the fix we're in," declared Roy. "This is a lonesome bit of country. It may be a week before anyone will come around. We've just got to get out, that's all there is to it." "I wish you'd solve the problem then," sighed Jimsy; "it's too much for me." "I'll make another search of the premises, maybe we can stumble across something that may aid us. At any rate, it will give us something to do and keep our minds off the predicament we are in." Roy struck a match, of which he had a plentiful supply in his pockets. As the yellow flame sputtered up in the semi-gloom it showed every corner of the small hut. But it did not reveal anything that promised a chance to gain their liberty. All at once, just as the light was sputtering out, Peggy gave a cry. Her eye had been caught by a glistening metal object in one corner of the hut. "What is it?" asked Roy. "A gun--a shot-gun standing in that corner over there." "Huh!" sniffed Jimsy, "a lot of good that does us." "On the contrary," declared Peggy stoutly, "if it's loaded it may serve to get us free." "I'm from Missouri," declared Jimsy enigmatically. "What's your idea, sis?" asked Roy, who knew that Peggy's ideas were usually worth following up. "I remember reading only a short time ago of a man trapped much as we are who escaped by blowing off the lock of his prison with a gun he carried," replied Peggy; "maybe it would work in our case." "Maybe it would if--" rejoined Roy. "If what?" "If the gun was loaded, which is most unlikely." "Well, try it and see," urged Peggy. "Yes, do," echoed Jimsy; "Peggy's plan sounds like a good idea. Maybe some hunter left it here and the shells are still in it." "No harm in finding out anyway," declared Roy. He struck another match and picked up the gun. It was an antique looking weapon badly-rusted. But on opening the breech he uttered a cry of joy. "Good luck!" he exclaimed, "two shells,--one in each barrel." "Well, put it to the test," urged Jimsy. "All right. If this fails, though, I don't know what we'll do." "Don't worry about that now. Try it." "I'm going to. Don't get peevish." Roy crossed the room to the door. Raising the gun to his shoulder he placed the muzzle about opposite to where he thought the padlock must be located. "Look out for a big noise, sis," he warned. Peggy gave a little scream and raised her hands to her ears. She disliked firearms. "Ready?" sang out Jimsy. "All ready," came the reply. "Then fire!" Simultaneously with Jimsy's order came a deafening report. In that confined space it sounded as if a huge cannon had been fired. Roy staggered back under the "kick" of the heavy charge. "Once more," he announced. Again a sonorous report sounded, but this time a section of the door was blown right out of the framework. The daylight streamed in through it. "Now then for the test," cried Roy. "Come on, Jimsy." The two boys placed their shoulders to the door. With a suddenness that was startling, it burst open, and they faced freedom. The lock had been fairly driven from its hold by the twice repeated charge of shot. The young aviators were free once more. But it remained to be seen if the men who wished them harm had wrought their vengeance on the _Golden Butterfly_. CHAPTER XIV. WHAT'S TO BE DONE WITH THE WREN? The _Golden Butterfly_, as an examination proved, had not been damaged during their imprisonment in the hut. Evidently, the men who had slammed the door and padlocked it had made off at top speed as soon as they had completed what they hoped would be a source of sore trouble to the young aviators. "And now we'll fly back as agreed," declared Peggy merrily. Her spirits, almost down to zero in the hut, had recovered themselves marvellously in the fresh open air. She was radiant. "I declare that the stay in the hut has done you good," declared Jimsy, looking at her admiringly. "Maybe it has--by contrast," returned Peggy. "Like a sea trip," put in Roy. "I've heard that people who suffer from sea sickness are so much relieved when they get ashore that they imagine their good spirits are due to a change in their condition." "Well, that applies to me," returned Peggy; "I didn't think we'd get out of that hut so easily. How do you suppose that gun came to be there?" "The hunters who use the hut must have left it there," rejoined Roy; "I wonder if they'll ever know how useful it was to us." "More likely they'll be mad when they find that the lock is blown off the door," laughed Jimsy. "Well, so-long, folks, I'm going to start back in the auto," declared Roy. "We'll beat you into town," challenged Jimsy. "More than likely, if the _Golden Butterfly_ is doing her best," was the rejoinder. Ten minutes later the two machines were racing back to Meadville at almost top speed. Of course the speedy _Golden Butterfly_ won, but then a vehicle of the air does not have to contend with the obstacles that a land conveyance does. They found Miss Prescott almost on the verge of hysterics. A garbled version of the events of the night had been brought to her and this, coupled with the long absence of the three young folks, had made her extremely nervous. "I declare, it seems as if you just can't keep out of trouble," she said. "Well, it actually does seem so, I admit," confessed Peggy; "but we promise to be very good for the rest of the trip." "And never trouble trouble till trouble troubles us," chanted Jimsy airily. "That's all very well, but you keep me continually in suspense as to what you'll do next," almost wailed Miss Prescott. "We set out for a quiet trip and encounter nothing but troubles--" "Adventures, Aunt Sally," laughingly corrected Roy; "what is life without adventures?" "Well, I'm sure I don't know what young people are coming to," sighed Miss Prescott with resignation. "There's another thing, what are we to do with this little Wren?" "We can't leave her here, that's certain," declared Peggy with vehemence. "No, indeed," echoed Jess and Bess, who were of the council. "Then what are we to do with her?" "Just tote her along, I suppose," rejoined Peggy; "poor little thing, she doesn't take up much room; besides, Jess thinks she's an heiress." They all laughed. "You must have had an overdose of Laura Jean Libby," declared Roy. "Roy Prescott, you behave yourself," cried Jess, flushing up; "besides, she has a strawberry mark on her left arm." "My gracious, then she surely is a missing heiress," exclaimed Jimsy teasingly; "all well-regulated missing heiresses have strawberry marks and almost always on their left arm." It was at this juncture that a knock came at the door. A bell boy stood outside. "A gentleman to see you, sir," he said, handing Roy a card. On it was printed: "Mr. James Kennedy, Detective, Meadville Police Station." "Goodness, a real detective!" exclaimed Jess excitedly; "let's see him." "You won't be much impressed I'm afraid," rejoined Roy with a smile at his recollection of the Meadville sleuths. "Why, doesn't he wear glasses, have a hawk-like nose and smoke a pipe?" inquired Bess. "And hunt up missing heiresses?" teasingly struck in Jimsy. "No, he's a very different sort of person. But hush! he's coming now." A heavy tread sounded in the hall and Mr. James Kennedy, Detective of the Meadville Police Force, stood before them. As Jimsy had said, he was not impressive as to outward appearance, although his fat, heavy face, and rather vacant eyes, might have concealed a giant intellect. "I've investigated the case of the attempted burning of the stable last night," he began. "Yes," exclaimed Roy eagerly. "Have you any suspicions as to who did it?" The man shook his head. "As yet we have no clews," he declared, "and I don't think we'll get any." "That's too bad," replied Roy, "but let me tell you something that may help you." The lad launched into a description of their adventures of the morning. "That hut belongs to Luke Higgins, a respectable man who is out West at present," said the detective when Roy had finished. "He uses it as a sort of hunting box in the rabbit shooting season. He couldn't have had anything to do with it." "I'd like to know his address so that I could write and thank him for leaving that gun there," declared Peggy warmly. The detective shook his head solemnly. "I reckon you young folks had better stop skee-daddling round the country this way," he said with heavy conviction; "you'll only get into more trouble. Flying ain't natural no more than crowing hens is." With this he picked up his hat, and, after assuring them that he would find a clew within a short time, he departed, leaving behind him a company in which amusement mingled with indignation. In fact, so angry was Roy over the stupidity or ignorance of the Meadville police, that he himself set out on a hunt to detect the authors of the outrages upon the young aviators. The sole result of his inquiry however was to establish the fact that both Cassells had left town, closing their house and announcing that they would be gone for some time. As there was nothing further to be gained by remaining in Meadville, the entire party, after lunch, set out once more, a big crowd witnessing the departure of the aërial tourists. They flew fast, and as the roads were excellent the auto had no difficulty in keeping up with them. On through the afternoon they soared along, sometimes swooping low above an alluring bit of scenery and again heading their machines skyward in pure exuberance of spirits. Their troubles at Meadville forgotten, they flew their machines like sportive birds; never had any of them experienced more fully the joy of flight, the sense of freedom that comes from traveling untrammeled into the ether. They had passed above a small village and were flying low, those in the auto waving to them, when Peggy, in the _Golden Butterfly_, gave a sudden exclamation. "Oh, look," she shouted, "a flock of sheep, and right in the path of the auto." At that moment all of them saw the sheep, a large flock, headed by a belligerent looking ram with immense horns. Jake, who was driving the car, slowed up as he approached the flock. The woolly herd, huddled together helplessly, made no effort to get out of the road. Behind them a man and a boy shouted and yelled vigorously, but with no more effect than to bunch the animals more squarely in the path of the advancing car. All at once, just as the car was slowed down to almost a walking pace, a big ram separated himself from the flock and actually rushed for the front seat of the car. Jake uttered a yell as the woolly creature gave him a hard butt, knocking him out of his seat. But this wasn't all. By some strange freak the animal had landed in the car in a sitting posture. Now the young aviators roared with laughter to behold the creature seated in Jake's forcibly vacated place. Its hoofs rested on the driving wheel. Forward plunged the car, its queer driver with his feet wedged in the spokes of the steering wheel. Aloft the flock of young aviators roared with laughter at the sight. It was the oddest experience they had yet had--this spectacle of a grave-looking, long-horned ram driving an auto, while Jake prudently kept out of reach of those horns. As for Miss Prescott and The Wren, they cowered back in the tonneau in keen alarm. "Oh!" cried Peggy suddenly, "there comes a runabout; that ram will surely collide with it!" A runabout coming in the opposite direction dashed round a corner of the country road at this juncture. The driver was a young girl, but she was veiled and her features could not be seen under the thick face covering. Apparently the ram saw the other car coming, for the animal actually appeared to make a halfway intelligent effort to steer the car out of the road. For her part the girl in the runabout swerved her car from side to side in a struggle to avoid a collision, which appeared inevitable. "Stop it!" shrieked Bess; "she'll be killed." CHAPTER XV. A RAMBUNCTIOUS RAM. The ram evidently saw the other car coming; it tried to leap out but its hoofs were jammed in the spokes of the steering wheel. Before Jake could pick himself up from the floor of the front part of the car there came a loud shriek from the runabout. It was echoed by Miss Prescott and The Wren. Crash! The two cars came together with a fearful jolt. The eyes of the young aviators aloft were fixed on the scene. They saw the large car strike the runabout and crumple its engine hood. Peggy gave a scream. The ram, jolted out of its seat by the force of the collision, fell out to one side, allowing Jake to resume control of the wheel. But the runabout! It was ditched, its unfortunate occupant being pitched headlong into a ditch at the side of the road. Down swept the aëroplanes, and there was a wild rush to the rescue. Peggy, Jess and Bess ran to the side of the injured occupant of the strange runabout. The boys divided themselves, attending to everything. "Roy! Roy! hurry, she's unconscious!" The cry came from Peggy as she rushed to the side of the young motorist. Roy was not far off, and, at his sister's cry, he hastened to her side. Peggy had the girl's head in her lap. "Get water!" she cried. But Jimsy was already on hand with a collapsible aluminum cup full of water from a near by spring. "Oh, the poor dear," sighed Peggy, "to think that our fun should have--" The strange girl opened her eyes. "Who are you?" she exclaimed. "Where is my machine?" "Never mind for a minute," spoke Peggy, seeing that Jimsy and Jake were trying to drag the machine out of the ditch, "we'll fix it, never fear." "Oh, my head!" groaned the girl. "That pesky ram," exploded Roy angrily; "let me help you up into the road, you'll be more comfortable." "Oh, thank you, I can stand," came faintly from the injured girl. "I--am--much better now. What happened?" "Why a sort of volunteer driver was experimenting with our car, and I guess he made a mistake in driving," smilingly explained Roy. "Oh, that ram!" cried the girl half hysterically. "I thought I had a nightmare at first." "I don't blame you," smiled Peggy, "seeing a ram driving a motor car is apt to give one such ideas." "Are you really better?" asked Jess sympathetically as she came up. "Peggy, get my smelling salts out of the traveling bag!" cried Miss Prescott anxiously. The accident had disturbed her sadly. The only unperturbed one in the party was Jake. He took things with philosophical calm. "Knew more trouble was comin'," said he, and contented himself by dismissing the situation with that. "I've got good news for you," said Jimsy, coming up; "your car isn't hurt a bit." "Oh, good!" cried the girl, clasping her hands and flushing. Her veil was raised now and they saw that she was very blonde, very pretty and just now very pale. "My, what a rambunctious ram!" punned Roy; "he ramified all over, didn't he?" "Gracious, for a time I thought I was seeing things!" gasped the girl, who was seated on a tufted hummock of grass at the side of the road. "And then you felt them," laughed Jimsy. "That's the way such things run." They all laughed. Soon after, Roy, Jimsy and Jake dragged the small runabout out of the ditch. In the meantime Peggy had introduced herself and Jess to the young girl. The latter's name was Lavinia Nesbitt. She lived not far from the scene of the accident, and had been taking a jaunt in her machine. The runabout had been rescued, and the whole party introduced and talking merrily when Jess set up a cry. "Goodness! here comes that ram again!" Down the road, with the two sheep drivers at its heels, the beast was indeed coming. It advanced at a hard gallop, with head lowered and formidable horns ready for a charge, into the midst of the group. "Look out for him!" yelled the sheep herders. They needed no second injunction. All skipped adroitly out of the path of the oncoming beast, which was rushing on like a whirlwind. Jimsy proved equal to the emergency. From his aëroplane he took the rope which had already done good service in rescuing the _Golden Butterfly_ from the pond. He formed it into a loop--the lariat of the Western plains. "Now we've got him!" he exclaimed; "that is, if we are careful. But watch out!" "No danger of that," responded Peggy, from the vantage of the tonneau of the car; "but how are you going to rope him?" "Watch!" Jimsy began swinging his loop in ever widening circles. The ram was now within a few feet of him. "Oh, the _Dart_!" shrieked Bess; "he'll go right through it!" Indeed it did appear as if the maddened animal would. But just as there are many slips between cup and lip so there are many slips between the ram and the aëroplane. Just as it appeared that he would plow his way right through the delicate fabric, Jimsy hurled his loop. It settled round the animal's horns. Planting his heels in the ground Jimsy held tight to the rope. The next minute he "snubbed" it tight and the ram lost its feet and rolled over and over in the dust. Jake and Roy rushed in and completed the job of tying the creature. "Goodness, Jimsy, you're a regular broncho buster!" cried Peggy admiringly. "Oh, I learned to do some tricks with a rope with the horse hunters out in Nevada," was the response. But careless as his manner was, Jimsy's eyes glowed with triumph. It was plainly to be seen that he was delighted with his success. Just then the two sheep drivers came running up. The girls looked rather alarmed. Suppose they should blame them for trying to kidnap the ram. "I'll do the talking," declared Roy; "if you said anything, Jimsy, there might be a row." "All right," laughed Jimsy, regarding his "roped and tied captive." "I suppose you are an expert on dealing with ram owners." "Well, I'm on to their mental ramifications," laughed Roy. The sheep driver, an elderly man, accompanied by a youth, came up to them now. He touched his hat civilly as he approached. "Good afternoon. No one hurt, I hope," he said. The girls looked greatly relieved. After all, the man was not rude or angry as they had feared. "Oh, no, thank you," cried Jess, before Roy or Jimsy could open their mouths. "I hope he isn't though." "Hurt!" exclaimed the ram's owner, "why you couldn't hurt him with a steam hammer. Why, day 'afore yesterday the blame thing went for my wife. Hoofs and horns--yes, sir! Most knocked her down, he did. I'll fix him." "What's his name?" asked Bess. "Hannibal," said the man, without the flicker of a facial muscle. "I should think Cannonball would be a better name for him," struck in Jimsy, with that funny, serious face he always assumed when 'joshing'. "Yes, sir, I guess it _would_ be more appropriate at that," assented the man. He looked at the disabled machine. "Busted?" he asked with apparent concern. "To some extent," rejoined Roy, "only, except for that engine hood being dented there doesn't appear to be much the matter with it." "Glad to pay if there be," said the sheep driver. "I'm going ter git rid of ther pesky critter. He's cost me a lot in damage suits already." "Why don't you put him on the stage as the boxing ram, or something like that?" inquired Jimsy. "Might be a good scheme," said the man, as if considering the proposal seriously. "Mary had a little ram--" laughed Jimsy; who was thereupon told not to be "horrid." "Why don't you box the nasty thing's ears for riding in our car?" asked Roy of Peggy. "I'd like to do something, the saucy thing," declared Peggy with vehemence. "Tell you what! Let's buy him." The suggestion came from Jimsy. "Yes, and have his skin made up into an auto robe," suggested Roy. "If you boys aren't ridiculous," cried Peggy; "I want to forget the incident, and so I'm sure does Lavinia," the name of the girl who had been spilled out of her machine. "You may be sure I do," she declared with emphasis. "I was never so scared in my life." "Want to buy him?" asked the man, grasping at a chance of selling an animal that had already placed him in some embarrassing positions. "How much do you want?" asked Roy, more as a joke than anything else. "Three dollars," said the man. "There you are, girls! Who'll bid? Who'll bid? This fine young ram going at a sacrifice." Jimsy imitated an auctioneer, raising his voice to a sharp pitch. CHAPTER XVI. AN INVITATION TO RACE. It is almost needless to say that the purchase was not consummated. The girls raised a chorus of protest. The "nasty thing" was the mildest of the epithets they applied to the beast. "Well, I don't know. I thought we might have his skin done into a robe. We could give it as a prize to the girl that makes the best record on this motor flight," suggested Jimsy. "I wish you'd take him up a thousand feet and drop him," declared the unfortunate ram's owner. "Poor thing! he only acted according to his nature," defended Peggy; "let him loose and he'll go back to the flock." "Not him," declared his owner; "he'd only raise more Cain. Better let him be." But the girls raised a chorus of protest. It was a shame to leave the poor thing tied up, and they insisted that he be let loose. "All right, if you kin stand it I kin," grinned the man. He and the boy bent over the captive ram and cast him loose. The beast struggled to his feet, and for an instant stood glaring about him out of his yellowish eyes that gleamed like agates. But it was only for an instant that he remained thus. Suddenly he lowered his head and without more preliminaries dashed right at the _Golden Butterfly_. "Gracious, he's a game old sport!" yelled Jimsy; "Hasn't had enough of it yet, eh?" Right at the _Butterfly_ the ram rushed. Reaching it, with one bound he was in the chassis. "Now we'll get him," whispered the owner of the ram. "I told you if he was let go he'd start cutting up rough." "Well, you surely proved a good prophet," laughed Jimsy. "Now we've got to catch him," said the man. "How?" whispered Jimsy. "Someone must lasso him as you did before. Easy now. Don't scare him or he might do damage." The ram was seated in the aëroplane for all the world as if he was a scientific investigator of some sort. He paid no attention whatever to those who were creeping up on him, Jimsy with his rope in his hand, the loop trailing behind him all ready for action. "This is more fun than a deer hunt!" declared Roy. "Than a bull fight, you mean," retorted Jimsy; "this creature gives the best imitation of a wild bull I ever saw." They all laughed. The ram certainly had given a realistic interpretation of a savage Andalusian fighter. "Now then," whispered the sheep driver as they drew near. Jimsy's rope swirled and settled about the ram's horns. But the startled beast was due to give them another surprise. Hardly had Jimsy's rope fallen about it when with a snort it leaped clean in the air and out of the aëroplane. It tore like an express train straight at Jimsy. Before the boy could get out of its path "Biff!" the impact had come. Jimsy arose into the atmosphere and described a distinct parabola. He landed with a bump in a clump of bushes, while Mr. Ram rushed off down the road to join his flock. "Haw! haw! haw!" roared the sheep man; "ain't hurt, be you?" "No; but I've a good mind to sue you for damages," rejoined Jimsy, picking himself out of the clump of brush; "you've no right to drive an animal like that around the country without labeling him 'Dynamite. Dangerous'." "Guess I will, too," said the man, who appeared to think well of the suggestion; "he sure will get me in a pile of trouble one of these days." He raised his hat and strode off, followed by the boy. In the distance the ram was capering about among the other sheep. Jimsy brushed the dust off himself and then looked about him. "Anybody laughing?" he demanded suspiciously. They all shook their heads, the girls biting their lips to avoid smiling. "All right then, I suggest that we get out of here right away; a tiger's liable to come striding out of those woods next." "Yes; we'd better be getting along; Millbrook, our next stop, is several miles off," said Peggy, consulting the map. No further time was lost in resuming their rapid flight. In the distance, as the flock of aëroplanes arose, the sheep man waved his hat and shouted his adieus. Millbrook was reached that evening just at dusk. It proved to be a fair-sized town, and the aëroplanes excited as much curiosity there as they had in Meadville--more so, in fact, for, from some flaring posters, it appeared that an aëroplane exhibition and race had been arranged for the next day by a traveling company of aviators. That evening, at the hotel, a deputation of citizens waited on the boys and asked them if they would not prolong their stay and take part in the air sports. The mayor, whose name was Jasper Hanks, mentioned a prize of five hundred dollars for an endurance flight as a special inducement. The lads said they would think things over and report in the morning. Their real object in delaying their decision was, of course, to consult the girls about appearing. Peggy, Jess and Bess went into raptures over the idea, and Miss Prescott's consent was readily obtained. "I'll be glad to rest for a day after all our exciting times," she declared, "and I mean to add to Wren's outfit too." "Oh, how good you are to me," sighed the odd little figure, nestling close to her benefactress. "Tush! tush, my dear! I'm going to make a wonderful girl out of you," beamed the kindly lady. Descending to the office to buy some postcards, the boys found, lounging about the desk, a stoutish man with a rather dissipated face, puffy under the eyes and heavy about the jaws. A bright red necktie and patent-leather boots with cloth tops accentuated the decidedly "noisy" impression he conveyed. As the boys came down he eyed them sharply. Then he addressed them. "My name's Lish Kelly," he said. "I'm manager of the United Aviators' Exhibition Company. We're showing out at the City Park tomorrow. I understand that you kids have been asked to butt in." "We've been asked to participate, if that's what you mean," rejoined Roy rather sharply. The fellow's manner was offensive and overbearing. "Well, see here, you stay out," rejoined the man, shaking a fat forefinger on which glistened a diamond ring of such proportions as to make it dubious if it boasted a genuine stone. "You stay out of it," he repeated. Roy and Jimsy were almost dumfounded. The man's tone was one of actual command. "Why? Why should we stay out of it?" demanded Roy. "The mayor of the town has asked us to take part," came from Jimsy; "what have you got to do with it?" "It's this way," said the man in rather a less overbearing way than he had hitherto adopted; "we're going about the country giving flights. The city gives us the park in this town and we get so much of the receipts. But we rely on winning the prizes, see. Now if you kids butt in, why you might win some of them and that knocks my profit out. Get me?" "I understand you, if that's what you mean," rejoined Roy; "but I still fail to see why we should not compete if we want to." The man placed his hand on the boy's shoulder impressively. "'Cos if you do it'll make trouble for you, sonny." "Who'll make it?" flashed back Roy indignantly. "I will, son, and I'm some trouble maker when I start anything along them lines, take it from me." He turned on his heel, stuck his cigar at a more acute angle in the side of his mouth, and strode off, leaving the two boys dumfounded. "Well, what do you make of that?" demanded Roy, as soon as his astonishment had subsided a trifle. "Just this, that Mr. Lish Kelly thinks he can run this thing to suit himself." "What will we do about it?" "For my part I wanted to compete before. I desire to more than ever now." "Same here." "Maybe he was only bluffing after all." "Maybe; but just the same I wouldn't trust him not to try to do us some harm. As he says, his main profits come from winning the prizes offered by the different communities." "Humph! well, so far as that goes, I don't see why that need keep us out of it." "Nor I; but we've had troubles enough, and I don't want willingly to run into any more." "Nor I. Well, let's sleep on it. We'll decide in the morning." "That's a good idea." The two lads went up to bed and slept as only healthy lads can. The next morning dawned bright and clear. There was hardly any wind. It was real "flying" weather. The aëroplanes had been sheltered in a big shed belonging to the hotel. Before breakfast the boys went out and looked them over. All were in good shape. As they were coming out of the shed they were hailed by no less a personage than Mayor Hanks. "Well," said he, "are you going to fly?" "We think of doing so," said Roy, hesitating a little. He wanted to speak of the conduct of Lish Kelly, but on second thought he decided not to; the man might merely have had a fit of bad temper on him. His threats might have been only empty ones. "If you're going to fly I have got some entry blanks with me," said the mayor. "I wish you'd sign 'em." He drew out a bunch of blue papers with blanks for describing the name of the machine, its power, driver and other details. This decided the boys. "All right, we'll enter all our machines," said Roy; "let us go into the writing room and we'll sign the entry blanks." "Good for you," cried the mayor delightedly; "you'll be a big drawing card, especially the young ladies. I never heard of gals flyin', although, come to think of it, why shouldn't they?" In the writing room they concluded the business. When it was done all the machines had been entered in every contest, including an altitude one. "We start at ten sharp, so be there," admonished the mayor as he departed, highly pleased at having secured quite a flock of young aviators at no cost at all. It was as his figure vanished, that Lish Kelly crossed the writing room. He had been sitting in a telephone booth, and leaving the door a crack open had heard every word that had passed. He greeted the boys with an angry scowl. "So you ain't going to stay out?" he said gruffly, as he passed. "All right; look out for squalls!" CHAPTER XVII. THE TWISTED SPARK PLUG. "Gracious, are we in for more trouble?" Jimsy looked blankly at Roy; but the latter only laughed at his chum's serious face. Somehow, viewed in the bright light of early day, Lish Kelly's threats did not appear nearly as formidable as they had over night. "Nonsense; what harm can he do us anyhow? We're going to go into this race, and we're going to win too. Just watch us." "Going to tell the girls anything about Kelly and his remarks?" "No; what good would that do? It would only scare them." "That's so, too; but just the same I didn't like the look of Kelly's face when he came through." "He looked to me like a bulldog that had swallowed a baby's boot and didn't like the taste of the blacking on it," laughed Roy. At this juncture the girls came into the room. All were radiant and smiling in anticipation of the day's sport. "Well, we've been and gone and done it," announced Roy. "Done what?" demanded Peggy. "Signed the paperrr-r-r-s," was the rejoinder, rendered with great dramatic effect. He waved the duplicate entry blanks above his head. "Let's see them," begged Jess. "All right. Look what I've let us in for!" "Why--why--good gracious, Roy, you've got us down for everything," gasped Peggy. "That's right, all the way across from soup to nuts," struck in the slangy Jimsy. They all laughed. The color rose in the girls' faces. "If only we can win some of them," cried Jess. "Well, the machines are all in fine shape. If we don't win it will be because the other fellows have better machines." "Where are the aviation grounds?" inquired Bess. "At the City Park, about a mile out of town to the south. We can get to it by looking down at the trolley tracks," said Roy, who had consulted the mayor on this point. "Then you are going to fly out there?" asked Miss Prescott, who was also by this time a party to the conference. "Of course; and, by the way, we ought to be getting out there pretty soon; I want to be looking over the grounds and selecting the best places for landing and so on," said Roy. "Well, please don't get into any more scrapes," sighed Miss Prescott; "what with gipsies, firebugs and rams, our trip has been quite exciting enough for me." The boys exchanged glances. If the man Kelly tried to carry out his threats things might be more exciting yet, they thought. But both kept their knowledge to themselves. It was arranged that Miss Prescott should motor out to the City Park. Soon thereafter the young aviators placed finishing touches on their machines, and while a curious crowd gathered they took to the air. "Looks just like a flock of pigeons," said a man in the crowd, as they climbed skyward quite closely bunched. "It sure does," agreed his companion, "but them things is prettier than any flock of pigeons I ever see." And this opinion was echoed by many of the throng. At any rate everyone who saw the aëroplanes start made up his or her mind to pay a visit to the park and see some more extended flights, so that Mayor Hanks' prediction was verified. As the young aviators hovered above City Park for a short space of time, and then dropped earthward, a veritable sensation was created. From a row of "hangars" mechanicians and aviators came running. One or two aviators who were aloft practicing "stunts," dropped swiftly to earth. Lish Kelly's troupe was a large one, consisting of five men and one woman flyer, the wife of Carlos Le Roy, a Cuban aviator. Outside the grounds several of the frugal individuals who desired to see the flights without paying admission also watched as the quintette of strange aëroplanes dropped to earth. One by one the graceful craft of the air settled to the ground, and the young aviators alighted. Members of the Arrangement Committee hastened to their sides, shaking hands warmly and thanking them for their interest in the coming contests. The Kelly aviators gazed curiously, some of them resentfully, at the newcomers. They had all the professional's antipathy and jealousy of amateur performers. As the Arrangement Committee bustled off after telling our friends to make themselves perfectly at home, Pepita Le Roy came up to them. She was a handsome woman, in a foreign way, with large, dark eyes and an abundance of raven black hair. She was rather flashily dressed and walked with a sort of swagger that in a vague way reminded Peggy of "Carmen." "So you are zee girl aviators," she remarked, as she came up. "Yes; I guess that's what they call us," rejoined Peggy; "we enjoy flying and have done a lot of it." "So! I have read your names in zee papers." "Oh, those awful papers!" cried Jess, who hated publicity; "they are always printing things about us." "What! You do not like it?" "Oh, no! You see, we only fly for fun. Not as a business and--" Peggy stopped short. She felt she had committed a grave breach of tactfulness. It was not the thing, she felt, to boast to a professional woman flyer of their standing as amateurs. Nor was the Cuban woman slow to take umbrage at what she considered an insult. Her eyes flashed indignantly as she regarded the fair-haired, slender girl before her. "So you fly only for fun," she said vehemently; "very well, you have all zee fun you want before to-day is ovaire." Without another word she walked off, with the swinging walk of her race. The girls looked at each other with a sort of amused dismay. "Goodness, Peggy; you should be more careful," cried Bess; "you've hurt her feelings dreadfully." "I'm sure I didn't mean to," declared Peggy remorsefully. "I--I had no idea that she would flare up like that." "Well, after all, it doesn't matter much," soothed Jess, pouring oil on the troubled waters, so to speak. "I'm glad the boys didn't hear it though." "So am I. See, they're busy on Roy's machine," exclaimed Bess. "Yes; the lower left wing is rather warped," explained Peggy; "they are fixing it." "Wonder who that man is who is monkeying with the _Red Dragon_?" said Peggy, the next instant. "I mean that horrid looking man in the check suit." "I don't know. See, he has a monkey wrench in his hand, too," exclaimed Bess. Almost simultaneously the boys looked round from their work on the biplane and saw the man. It was Lish Kelly. He was bending over the engine and doing something to it with his wrench. "Hey! What are you doing there?" yelled Roy. "Just looking at your machine. No harm in that, is there?" demanded Kelly, with a red face. "None at all, except that we don't want our machines touched. How comes it you have that monkey wrench in your hands if you weren't tampering with the machinery?" Jimsy spoke in a voice that fairly bubbled over with indignation. "Don't get sore, kid; I wouldn't harm your old mowing machine. There isn't one of mine but could beat it the fastest day it ever flew." As he spoke Kelly slouched off. They saw him go up to a group of his aviators and begin talking earnestly to them. Once or twice he motioned with his head in their direction. "So he _does_ mean mischief, after all," said Roy; "let's take a good look at the _Dragon's_ engine. He may have injured it, although I don't think he'd have had time to hurt it seriously." They strolled over to the _Dragon_, with the girls trailing behind. "Oh!" cried Peggy, as they came up, "look at that spark plug." "What's the matter with it?" demanded Jimsy, "Look, it's all bent and twisted out of shape." "Jove, sis, so it is. Your eyes are as sharp as they are pretty!" cried Roy. "No compliments, please. Oh, that horrid man!" "Who is he?" asked Jess. "You appeared to know him." "Yes, we had some conversation with him this morning," laughed Roy; "but to return to the spark plug; it's a good thing we carry extra ones." "But we don't!" cried Jimsy, in a dismayed tone. "What! you had a supply in a locker on your machine." Jimsy looked confused. "I've got to make a confession," he said. "You didn't bring them!" cried Peggy. "No, the fact is I--I forgot." Jimsy looked miserably from one to the other. Here was a quandary indeed. It might prove hard to get such a commodity as a spark plug in Millbrook. CHAPTER XVIII. IN SEARCH OF A NEW PLUG. It was while they were still discussing the situation that the automobile with Jake at the wheel and Miss Prescott and The Wren in the tonneau, drove into the grounds. What a difference there was in the child since her benefactors had fitted her out! She looked like a dainty, ethereal little princess instead of the ragged little waif that had been rescued from the gipsy camp. But the minds of our young friends were now intent on different matters. Time pressed. The altitude flight, in which Jimsy had planned to take part, was to be the first thing on the program. If anything was to be done about reequipping the _Dragon_ it must be done quickly. "Tell you what," said Roy suddenly, "we'll get into the car and drive back to town. It won't take long and maybe we can dig up an extra one some place." "If we don't I'm out of it for keeps," groaned Jimsy; "oh, that Kelly. I'd like to punch his head." He doubled up his fists aggressively; but, after all, what chance had he to prove that Kelly had actually damaged the plug. If confronted the man would have probably denied all knowledge of it. Nobody had actually seen him do it, so that positive proof was out of the question. No, they must repair the damage as best they could. But Roy determined to have the machines closely guarded. The situation was explained to Miss Prescott, and while she and her small protégé took seats in the grand stand Jake was detailed to guard the aëroplanes. This done, the boys got into the machine and prepared to start for town. But the girls interfered. "Aren't you going to take us along, you impolite youths!" cried Bess. "Oh, certainly, your company is always charming," returned Jimsy, with a low bow. "Of course it is, but you wouldn't have asked us to come if we had not invited ourselves," declared Peggy vehemently. "How can you say so? Our lives would be a dry desert without the girl aviators to liven things up," declared Jimsy. "Jimsy Bancroft, if you are going to get poetical you'll leave this car," cried Jess. "That's just it," declared Jimsy, "girls can cry their eyes out over romantic heroes, but when a regular fellow starts to get 'mushy' they go up in the air." Amidst the chorus of protestations aroused by this ungallant speech Roy started the car. Swiftly it sped out of the grounds; but not so swiftly that the keen eyes of Lish Kelly did not see it. He called Herman Le Roy, the Cuban aviator, to him. "Le Roy, you are not in the altitude contest," he said, "hop in my car with me and we'll follow those kids. They're up to something." The Cuban looked at him and smiled, showing two rows of white teeth under his small, dapperly curled mustache. "I think, Señor Kelly, you have been up to something yourself." "Well, you know what I told you. We want that five-hundred-dollar prize, Carlos, and by the looks of things if we don't do something those kids are likely to get it." "They have fine machines," agreed the other. "Yes; and they are equipped with a balancing device that makes them much more reliable than ours." "A balancing device!" exclaimed the Cuban, as the two men got into the car, a small yellow runabout of racy appearance. "That's what I said, and it's a good one, too. I read an account of it in an aviation paper; but the description was too sketchy for me to see how the thing was worked." "Those boys must be wonders." "I'm afraid they are. That's why we've got to be careful of them. But I've got a plan to fix them, the whole lot of them." "What is it?" "I'll tell you as we go along." As the car rolled past the group of aëroplanes with Jake faithfully standing guard over them, Kelly hailed him in a suave voice. "Any idea where the young folks have gone?" Jake, who had no idea that Kelly had a sinister motive in asking the question, replied readily enough. "Yes, they've gone into Millbrook to get another spark plug. Something happened to one of the plugs of that red machine yonder." "All right. Thanks." Kelly drove on. "Do you know what happened to that plug, Carlos?" he asked, as they reached the open road and bowled forward at a good speed. "I've got a pretty good guess. It was not altogether an accident, eh?" "An accident, well, it was, in a sense. I happened to be near that machine with a monkey wrench and in some way was careless enough to let it put that plug out of business." Both men laughed heartily, as if Kelly's rascally act had been the most amusing thing in the world. "You are a genius," declared Le Roy. "Well, I reckon I know a thing or two," was the modest response; "besides, I need that money." "But what is your plan?" "I'll tell you as we go along. Drive fast, but don't keep so close to that other car that they can get sight of us." "Not much fear of that. They had a long start of us and are out of sight now." "So much the better. It doesn't interfere with my plans a bit, provided they take the same road back." "What do you mean to do?" "Are you good with a shovel?" was the cryptic reply. "I don't understand you, I must say." "You will later on. We'll drive up to that farmhouse yonder." "Yes, and what then?" "We'll borrow two shovels." "Two shovels!" "That's what I said." "But what on earth have two shovels to do with stopping a bunch of kids from entering in an aëroplane race?" "Carlos, your brain is dull to-day." "It would take a wizard to understand what you intend to do." "Well, you will see later on. Drive in this gate. That's it, and now for the shovels." CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAP. For more than half an hour eager inquiries were made in Millbrook for a spark plug such as they wanted. But all their search was to no avail. But suddenly, just as they were about to give up in despair, a man, of whom they had made inquiries, recalled that not far out of town there was a small garage. "We'll try there," determined Jimsy. Finding out the road, they speeded to the place. It did not look very promising, a small, badly fitted up auto station, run by an elderly man with red-rimmed, watery eyes, looking out from behind a pair of horn spectacles that somehow gave him the odd look of a frog. "Got any spark plugs?" asked Jimsy, as the machine came to a halt. "Yes, all kinds," said the man, in a wheezy, asthmatic voice that sounded like the exhaust of a dying-down engine. "Good!" cried Jimsy, hopping out of the car. "That is, we will have all kinds next week," went on the man; "I've ordered 'em." "Goodness, then you haven't any right now?" "I've got a few. Possibly you might find what you want among them." "I'll try, anyway," declared Jimsy. The man led the way into a dingy sort of shed. On a shelf in a dusty corner was a box. "You can hunt through that," said the man wearily; "if you find what you want wake me up." "Wake you up?" "Yes, I always take a sleep at this time of day. You woke me up when you came in. Now I'm going to doze off again." So saying he sank into a chair, closed his eyes and presently was snoring. "Dead to the world!" gasped Jimsy; "well, that's the quickest thing in the sleep line I ever saw!" As it was no use to waste further time the boy began rummaging in the box. It contained all sorts of odds and ends, among them several plugs. "I'll bet there isn't one here that will fit my engine!" grumbled Jimsy; "I don't--what! Yes! By Jiminy! Eureka! Hurray, I've found one!" The man woke up with a start. "What's the matter?" he demanded drowsily. "Nothing! That is, everything!" cried Jimsy. "I've found just what I want." "All right. Leave the money on that shelf there. It's a dollar." So saying, off he went to sleep again, while Jimsy, overjoyed, hastily peeled a dollar from his "roll" and departed. The last sound he heard was the steady snoring of the garage man. "Well, there's one fellow that money can't keep awake, even if it does talk," said Jimsy laughingly to himself as, with a cry of triumph, he rejoined the party, waving the plug like a banner or an emblem of victory. No time was lost in starting the auto up again and they whirled back through Millbrook in a cloud of dust. Passing through the village they retraced their way along the road by which they had come. "Just half an hour before that altitude flight," remarked Jimsy to Roy, who was driving, as they sped through the town. "Fine; we'll make it all right," was the rejoinder. Roy turned on more power and the auto shot ahead like some scared wild thing. "We'll only hit the high spots this trip," declared Roy, as the machine plunged and rolled along at top speed. All at once, as they turned a corner, they received a sudden check. Right ahead of them a man was driving some cows. Roy jammed down the emergency brake, causing them all to hold on for dear life to avoid being pitched out by the sudden change of speed. "Wow! what a jolt!" exclaimed Jimsy; "it sure did----" The sentence was never completed. The auto gave a pitch sideways and then plunged into a pit that had been dug across the road and covered with leaves and dust placed on a framework of branches. Down into this pit crashed the machine with a sickening jolt. The girls screamed aloud in fear. It appeared as if the machine would be a total wreck. But that was not the worst of it. In the sudden fall into the pit Roy had been pitched out and now lay quite still at the roadside. Jimsy had saved himself from being thrown by clutching tight hold of the seat. He stopped the engine and then clambering out of the car hastened to Roy's side. To his delight, just as he reached him, Roy sat up, and although his face was drawn with pain he declared that his injuries consisted of nothing more serious than a sprained ankle. "But look at the machine!" cried Jimsy; "it's smashed, I'm sure of it." The pit which had been dug across the road was about three feet deep and the front wheels of the auto rested in it. The hind wheels had not entered, as the excavation was not a wide one. Both boys hastened to examine the car. To their satisfaction they found that not much damage had been done beyond a slight wrenching of the steering gear. This was due to the fact that they had been going at reduced speed. "Gracious! Suppose we had been coming along at the same pace we'd been hitting up right along," exclaimed Jimsy. "We wouldn't be here now," declared Roy; "we'd be in the next county or thereabouts." "Yes, we'd have kept right on going," agreed Jimsy; "talk about flying! But, say, who can have done this?" "Not much doubt in my mind it's the work of that outfit of Kelly's. He told us to look out for trouble, and he appears to be making it for us." "The precious rascal; he might have broken all our necks." "That's true, if we'd been hitting up high speed." "How are we going to get out of this?" Peggy asked the question just as the man who had been driving the cattle came running up. "What's the trouble?" he asked, gazing at the odd scene. "You can see for yourself," rejoined Roy; "some rascals dug a trench across the road so as to wreck our machine if possible." "Humph! So I see," was the rejoinder; "how be you goin' ter git out of thar?" "That's a problem. If we could get a team of horses----" The man interrupted Roy, who was acting as spokesman. "Tell you what, two of my cattle back thar are plow oxen. I'll go back to ther farm, git their yokes on 'em and yank you out of here. That is pervidin' you pay me, uv course." "Don't worry about that. We're willing to pay anything in reason." "All right, then, I'll hook up Jeb and Jewel." The man walked back toward his cattle, which were contentedly browsing at the side of the road. Clucking in an odd manner, he drove two of them out of the herd and started back toward a farmhouse which was not far distant. In a wonderfully short time he was back with his oxen in harness. "Gee, Jeb! Haw, Jewel!" he cried, as he came up. The oxen swung round and the heavy chain attached to their yoke was hitched to the front axle of the car. "Now for it!" cried Roy, when this had been done. "Git ap!" shouted the man. The slow but powerful oxen strained their muscular backs. The chain tightened and the next moment the car, from which Peggy and Jess and Bess had alighted, rose from the pit. Then the hind wheels dropped into it with a bump, but the shock absorbers prevented serious damage. With the oxen straining and pulling it was finally hauled into the road and they were ready to resume the trip. Roy rewarded their helper with a substantial bill, and they were all warm in their thanks. "'Twasn't nuthin'," declared the man, "an' now I guess I'll go to ther house and have my hired man fill in this road. Things is come to a fine pass when such things kin happen." As the rescued party sped on toward the aviation field they fully agreed with the rustic's opinion. Had it not been for sheer luck they would have suffered extremely serious consequences as the result of a rascal's device. But as it was Kelly's plot against them appeared to have failed. CHAPTER XX. AN ATTACK IN THE AIR. "B-o-o-m!" The sound of a gun crashed out as the auto sped through the gates of the aviation field and rapidly skimmed across to where the aëroplanes had been parked. "Just in time!" cried Peggy; "that's the five-minute warning gun." By this time the grandstand was well filled and a band was playing lively airs. At the starting line three of the Kelly aëroplanes were gathered ready for the signal for the start of the altitude flight. The instant the car came to a standstill Jimsy was out and in a jiffy had the new spark plug adjusted. There was no time to test it, but he felt pretty confident that it would work all right. "All ready!" shouted the official in charge of the starting arrangements. "Ready!" rejoined Jimsy heartily, as he adjusted his leather helmet and Jake and Roy started the engine. Kelly, whose back had been turned while he talked to some of his troup, faced round at the sound of the boy's voice. "What, you here!" he choked out, his face purple. "Yes; do you know any reason why I shouldn't be?" asked Jimsy, with meaning emphasis. Under the lad's direct gaze Kelly's eyes fell. He couldn't face the lad, but turned away. "There, if that isn't proof of his guilt I'd like to know what is," declared Jimsy to Roy. "But the rascal covered up his tracks so cleverly that we can't prove anything on him," muttered Roy disgustedly. At the same instant the starting bomb boomed out. The crowd yelled, and the drummer of the band pounded his instrument furiously. Above the uproar sounded the sharp, crackerlike report of the motors. As more power was applied they roared like batteries of Gatling guns. Into the air shot one of them, a black biplane. It was followed by the others, two monoplanes and a triplane. Jimsy ascended last, but as this was not a race, but a cloud-climbing contest, he was in no hurry. He was anxious to see what the other air craft could do. Up they climbed, ascending the aërial stairway, while the crowd below stared up, at the risk of stiff necks in the immediate future. Jimsy chose spiraling as his method of rising. But the others went upward in curious zigzags. This was because their machines were not equipped with the stability device, and they could not attempt the same tactics. Before long Jimsy was high above the others. From below he appeared a mere dot in the blue. But still he flew on. Once he glanced at his barograph. It showed he had ascended 5,000 feet. It was higher than the boy had ever been before, but he kept perseveringly on. It was cold up there in the regions of the upper air, and Jimsy found himself wishing he had put on a sweater. "It's too long a drop to go down and get one," he remarked to himself, with grim humor. Beneath him he could see the other aëroplanes; but the black one was the only one that appeared to be a serious rival. The rest did not seem to be trying very hard to reach a superlative height. The black machine, however, was steadily rising. After a while Jimsy could see the face of its occupant. It was the Cuban, Le Roy. "Now, what's he trying to do, I wonder?" thought Jimsy, as the black biplane rose to the same level as himself and appeared to be going through some odd maneuvering. "That's mighty funny," mused the boy, watching his rival; "I can't make out what he's up to." Indeed the black biplane was behaving queerly. Now it would swoop toward Jimsy and then would dart, only to return. Suddenly it came driving straight at him. It was then that Jimsy suddenly realized what his rival was trying to do. To use a slangy but expressive phrase, Le Roy, the veteran aviator, was trying to rattle the boy. "So that's his game, is it," thought Jimsy; "well, I'll give him a surprise." Manipulating his spark and gas levers the boy gave his graceful red craft full power. The Dragon shot sharply upward, crossing Le Roy's machine about twenty feet above its upper plane. Jimsy laughed aloud at the astonished expression on the man's face as he skimmed above him. "I reckon he'll think that I do know something about driving an aëroplane, after all," he chuckled as he rose till his barograph recorded 6,000 feet. Beneath him he could see Le Roy starting to descend. Something appeared to be wrong with the black biplane's motor. It acted sluggishly. "Well, as he's going down I guess I will, too," said Jimsy to himself; "6,000 feet is by no means a record, but it's high enough for me." Suddenly he was plunged into what appeared to be a wet and chilly fog. In reality it was a cloud that had drifted in on him. It grew suddenly cold with an almost frosty chill. The moisture of the cloud drenched him to the skin. The lad shivered and his teeth chattered, but he kept pluckily to his task. Before long he emerged into the sunlight once more. The crowd which had thrilled when the young aviator vanished into the vapor set up a yell when he reappeared. But at the height he was Jimsy, of course, did not hear it. But as he dropped lower the shouts and cheers became plainly audible. The lad waved his hand in acknowledgment. Then, as he neared the ground, he put his machine through a series of graceful evolutions that set the crowd wild. "The altitude flight is won by Number Four," announced the officials after they had examined the barograph; "with a height of 6,000 feet. Number Four is Mr. James Bancroft." "Gee; that sounds real dignified," laughed Jimsy; "it's a treat to be treated with becoming dignity once in a while." The next flight was a race six times round the course. This was won by one of the Kelly flyers. Then came an endurance contest which Roy captured handily and some exhibition flying in which Bess did some clever work and was delighted to find herself a winner. It was soon after this that the gun was fired as a note of warning that the big race was about to begin. Peggy's _Golden Butterfly_ and Roy's entry, the _Red Dragon_, borrowed for this race because the biplane was too heavy and clumsy for such fast work, were wheeled to the starting line. Already three of Kelly's machines were there, among them being that of Señora Le Roy, or, as she was billed, the Cuban Skylark, the Only Woman Flyer in the World. It appeared now that she had small claim to the title. The crowd set up a cheer for her as she took her seat in a neat-looking monoplane of the Bleriot type. But when Peggy's dapper figure, smartly attired in her aviation costume, appeared a still louder shout went up. Kelly scowled blackly. He stepped up to his flyers. "You've got to win this race or get fired," he snarled. CHAPTER XXI. PEGGY'S SPLENDID RACE. "They're off!" "Hurrah!" "There they go!" These and hundreds of other cries and exclamations followed the report of the starting gun. The Cuban woman flyer was off first, then came two other of the professional flyers, while Roy and Peggy got away last. The race was to be sixty miles out to a small body of water called Lake Loon and return. A trolley line ran past the aviation grounds and out to the lake. For the guidance of the flyers a car with a huge American flag flying from it blazed a trail below them, as it were. Roy's craft gained a slight lead on the _Golden Butterfly_ and two of the Kelly flyers were soon passed by both the boy and his sister. But the professional woman flyer still maintained her lead. Second came another of Lish Kelly's aviators in a blue machine. This was Ben Speedwell, who enjoyed quite a reputation as a skillful and daring air driver. The flyers had all struck a level about 1,500 feet in the air. There was a light head wind, but not enough to deter any of the powerfully engined craft. Glancing back for an instant Roy saw one of the contesting aviators dropping to earth. His companion soon followed. "Overheated engines probably," thought the boy; "I must be careful the same thing doesn't happen to me going at this pace." Suddenly another aëroplane loomed up beside him. It was the _Golden Butterfly_. "Good for you, sis!" cried Roy, as Peggy, waving her hand, roared past. In another minute she had shot past Speedwell, but the leader, the woman flyer, was still some distance ahead, and appeared to steadily maintain the lead she had. At last Lake Loon came into view. It was a more or less shallow body of water with a small island in the middle of it. As they neared it Speedwell and Roy were flying almost abreast, with Speedwell just a shade in the lead. Suddenly Speedwell made a spurt and shot ahead of the _Dragon_. At a distance of half a mile from Roy, who was now last, Speedwell was above the lake. Peggy and the woman flyer had already turned and were on their way back, with the latter still in the lead. Roy was watching Speedwell intently. He saw the man bank his machine to take the curve in order to round the lake. An appalling climax followed. "He's turned too sharp. He'll never make it," exclaimed Roy, holding his breath. The aëroplane swayed madly. Then began a fierce fight on Speedwell's part to settle it on an even keel. But skillful as he was he could not master the overbalanced machine. "He is lost!" breathed Roy, every nerve athrill. And then the next minute: "Cracky! He's got it. No, he's falling again--ah!" There was a note of horror in the exclamation. The aëroplane in front of Roy dived wildly, then fairly somersaulted. The strain was too great. A wing parted. "It's the end of him!" exclaimed Roy, in a whisper. Down shot the broken aëroplane with the velocity of lightning. It just dodged the trees on the little island and then it plunged into the lake, first spilling Speedwell out. Then down on top of him came the smother of canvas, wood and wires. "He'll be suffocated if I don't go to his rescue," murmured Roy; "it will put me out of the race, but I must save him." There was a clear spot on the island, and toward this the boy dived. In the meantime men were putting out from shore in a small boat. But the boy knew that they could not reach the unfortunate Speedwell in time to save his life. Roy made a clever landing on the island and then lost no time in wading out to the half floating, half submerged wreckage. In the midst of it lay Speedwell. Roy dragged him ashore. The man's face was purple, his limbs limp and lifeless and he choked gaspingly. Another minute in the water would have been his last, as Roy realized. He did what he could for the man, rolling him on his face to get out the water he had swallowed. By this time the boat from the shore landed on the island. The two men got out. "Is he alive?" they asked of Roy. "Yes, and he'll get better, too, I guess. Lucky he fell in the water. No limbs are broken." "Well, you're a pretty decent sort of fellow to get out of the race to help an injured man," said one of the men. "Well, I'll leave him to you now," rejoined Roy; "is there a hospital near here?" "There's one 'bout a mile away. We can phone for an ambulance." "Good! Well, good-bye." With a whirr and a buzz the boy was gone, and speedily became a speck in the sky. In the meantime the aviation field was in an uproar. Dashing toward it had come the two leading aëroplanes. From dots in the sky no bigger than shoe buttons they speedily became manifest as two aëroplanes aquiver with speed. Blue smoke poured from their exhausts. Evidently the two aviators were straining their craft to the utmost. "It's that Cuban woman and the young girl flyer!" yelled a man who had a pair of field glasses. The uproar redoubled. The two aëroplanes were almost side by side as they rushed onward. Which would win the $500 race? It was a struggle that had begun some miles back. After leaving the lake Peggy, who had held some speed in reserve while her opponent had keyed her machine to its top pitch, had gradually gained on her. But still there was a gap between the two aëroplanes. On the return trip no car blazed the way. The speed was too great for that. For this reason smudges, or smoky fires, had been lighted to guide the flyers. At a place where it was necessary to make a slight turn Peggy made the gain that brought her almost alongside her competitor. In making the turn the monoplane flown by the Cuban aviatrix could not negotiate it at as sharp an angle as Peggy's machine, owing to its not being equipped with an equalizing, or stability device. Now it was that Peggy tensioned up the _Golden Butterfly_ to its full power. The engine fairly roared as the propeller blurred round. The whole fabric trembled under the strain. It seemed as if nothing made by man could stand the pressure. But the _Golden Butterfly_ had been built by one of the foremost young aviators in the country, and it was sound and true in every part. Peggy felt no fear of anything giving out under the strain. And now the aviation park appeared in the distance. Peggy headed straight for it, hoping devoutly that her motor would not heat up and jam under the terrific speed it was being forced to. The Cuban woman glanced round anxiously. It was a bad move for her. Like a flash the _Golden Butterfly_ shot by the other machine as the latter wobbled badly. Peggy's delight was mixed with apprehension. The motor was beginning to smoke. Plainly it was heating up. "Will it last five minutes longer?" That was the thought in Peggy's mind. The _Golden Butterfly_ was hardly an airship any longer. It was a thunderbolt--a flying arrow. Before Peggy's eyes there was nothing now but the tall red and white "pylon" that marked the winning post. Could she make it ahead of her rival? Close behind her she could hear the roar of the other motor, but she did not dare to look round for fear of losing ground. Swiftly she mentally selected the spot where she would land, and then down shot the _Golden Butterfly_ like a pouncing fish hawk. The speed of the descent fairly took Peggy's breath away. Her cap had come off and her golden hair streamed out in the breeze wildly. There was a blur of flying trees, then came the grandstand, a mere smudge of color, a sea of dimly seen faces and a roar that was like that of a hundred waterfalls. Down shot the _Golden Butterfly_ just inside the "pylon." It ran for about a hundred yards and was then brought to a stop. Peggy Prescott had won the great race. CHAPTER XXII. PEGGY'S GENEROSITY. "Oh, Peggy, it's the proudest moment of my life!" cried Jimsy, as a shouting, excited crowd surrounded the aëroplane in which Peggy still sat, feeling dazed and a little dizzy. "Oh, you wonderful girl!" cried out Bess, half laughing and half crying; "gracious, what an exciting finish. I thought I'd go wild when it looked as if you weren't going to win." They helped her from the aëroplane while policemen pushed the crowd back. Somebody brought a tray with steaming hot tea and crackers on it. But Peggy could not eat. She felt faint and dreamy. "Brace up!" urged Jimsy. "I'll be all right in a minute. It's the strain of those last few minutes. I never thought I'd win." "And I never doubted it," declared Jess stoutly. "I wonder where Roy is?" asked Peggy anxiously, as they entered a box in the grandstand where they could be secluded from the shoving, curious, staring crowd. "Don't know; but he's all right, depend upon it," said Jimsy cheerfully; "hello, what's that coming now?" "It's a homing aëroplane." Then, a minute later: "It's Roy. Look at him come. I didn't think the _Red Dragon_ could go as fast." Roy it was, sure enough. He was coming at a pace that might have landed him as winner of the race if he had not been delayed by his errand of mercy. Ten minutes later he had joined them. First he explained what had happened to the judges of the course. Kelly, crest-fallen and wretched-looking, thanked him half heartedly for what he had done and said that he would care for Speedwell till he got better, which, by the way, was a promise that he did not perform. A sudden stir in the crowd caused the little party in the box to look up. A man was hastily chalking up some legend on the big black bulletin board. It ran thus: Long-distance Race for $500 prize. Start of Flight--11:01:2. Finish of Flight--12:02:0. Maximum Height--1,500 feet. Wind Velocity--10 miles from southeast. Winner--_Golden Butterfly_. Winning Aviator--Miss Margaret Prescott. What a cheer went up then. It seemed as if the roof would be raised off the grandstand by it. "It's like a dream!" sighed Peggy, "just like a dream." "Now, don't get fainty, Peggy, or Miss Margaret Prescott," admonished Jess; "as Jimsy says, 'brace up,' the best is yet to come." A man came up to where they were sitting. In his hand he had a slip of pink paper. Roy reached out for it, but the man said that he had instructions to hand it only to Peggy. "It's the check for the prize-winning money," he explained. Peggy took it and sat gazing at it for a minute. "Oh, Peggy, what are you going to do with it?" asked Bess. "Buy some dresses or hats or----" "None of those things," said Peggy; "I made up my mind before I went into the race as to what I would do with the money if I won." "And what's that?" asked Miss Prescott. "Why, it must go toward The Wren's education," rejoined the girl. "Oh, Peggy, you darling!" cried Jess, flinging her arms round her chum, in full view of the grandstand and the crowd below. As for The Wren, she gazed up at the girl with wide-open brown eyes. "You are too good to me--too good," she said simply; but there was a plaintive quiver in her voice. Mr. James Parker sat on the porch of his home, in the foothills of the Big Smokies, gazing out over the landscape. Seemingly he was watching for something. "He done watch de sky lak he 'spected de bottom drap clean out uv it pretty soon," said Uncle Jupe, his factotum, to his wife Mandy. "'Gwan, you fool nigger, don' you know dat dem flying boys an' gals is to be hayr ter-day?" "Oh, dat's jes a joke, dat is," rejoined Uncle Jupe; "how's they all goin' ter fly ah'd lak to know." "I don' know, but dat's what Marse Parker says." "Den he's been grocersly imposed upon by somebody. Ain't likely dat ef de Lawd had meant us ter fly he'd have give us wings, wouldn't he?" "Go 'long, now, Don' flossyfying roun' hyar. You git out an' hoe dat cohn. Look libely, now. You git it done fo' dinner or dere'll be trouble." Uncle Jupe shuffled out of the kitchen, but in a minute he came rushing back. "Wha' de matter?" demanded his wife, noticing his wildly staring eyes and open mouth; "you gone fool crazy?" "M-m-m-m-mandy, it's true! It's true!" gasped Uncle Jupe. "Wha's true,--dat you all's crazy?" "Yes--no, it's 'bout dem flyin' things. Dey's comin'. Come and look wid your own eyes." Mandy shuffled out. There, sure enough, coming toward them, was a flock of what at first sight appeared to be immense birds. But it was the young sky cruisers nearing their destination. On the porch Mr. Parker stood up and waved his newspaper. Ten minutes later the aëroplanes came to earth in the smooth front lawn, while Uncle Jupe restrained a strong inclination to run away. "Dey ain't canny, dem things," he declared; "ef de Lord had wanted us to fly he'd have given us wings, I guess. "Yes, sir, he'd sure have given us wings des de same as angels hev," he repeated musingly. CHAPTER XXIII. THE MOONSHINERS AND THE AËROPLANE. "This is a beautiful country, sis." "Yes, indeed," agreed Peggy warmly. The two were flying high above the romantic scenery of the Big Smoke Mountains of North Carolina in the _Golden Butterfly_. Beneath them lay a wild-looking expanse of country,--peaks, deep cañons and cliffs heavily wooded and here and there bare patches cropping out. "Let's drop down on one of those patches and do some exploring," suggested Peggy. "All right," agreed Roy, nothing loath. The _Golden Butterfly_ was headed downward. In a few minutes they landed on a smooth spot surrounded by trees. Leaving the aëroplane, they struck off on a path through the woods. "Wonder if we can't find some huckleberries hereabouts," suggested Roy. "Oh, yes, lots. Wouldn't it be dandy to take home a bucketful by aëroplane!" "There's a little hut off yonder, maybe we could get a bucket or something there." "Let's see if there are any berries first," said the practical Peggy. From out of the hut shuffled an old woman. She was a wrinkled and hideous old hag, brown as a seasoned meerschaum pipe and in her mouth was a reeking corn cob. Her feet were bare, and altogether she was a most repulsive old crone. She saw Roy and Peggy almost as soon as they saw her. For an instant she stood looking at them and then raised her voice in a sort of shrill shriek. Instantly from the woods around several men appeared--wild-looking, bearded fellows, each of whom carried a rifle. "What you alls want hyar?" demanded one who seemed to be the leader. "We were just taking a walk," explained Roy. "Wa'al, we all don't like strangers particlar." "So it would seem," rejoined Roy, with a bold voice, although his heart was beating rather fast. "How'd you alls get hyar?" was the next question from the inquisitor. "We flew here," rejoined Roy truthfully. But the man's face grew black with wrath. "Don' you alls lie to me; it ain't healthy," he said. "I'm not in the habit of doing so." "But you said you flew hyar." "Well, we did." "See hyar, young stranger, you jes' tell me the truth 'bout how you came or by the eternal I'll make it hot fer you." "I can only show you that I'm speaking nothing but the truth," rejoined the boy; "if you'll come with me I'll show you what we flew here in." The man glanced at him suspiciously. It was plain that he feared a trap of some sort. His eyes were wild and shifty as a wolf's. "Ain't you frum the guv-ment?" he asked. "I don't know just what you mean." "I reckin that's jus' more dum' lyin'." "Thank you." "Don' get sassy, young feller, it won't do you no good. But I'll come with you. Come on, boys, we'll take a look at this flyin' thing. I reckon that even if it is a trap there's enough of us to take care of a pack of them." "That's right, Jeb," agreed the men. Some of them, who had been hanging back in the bushes, now came forward. They were all as wild-looking as their leader, Jeb. The old woman mumbled and talked to herself as they strode off behind Roy and Peggy. It was one of the strangest adventures of their lives and neither one of them could hit on any explanation of the hillmen's conduct. It did not take long to reach the aëroplane, and Roy turned triumphantly to Jeb. "Well," he said, "what do you think now?" "Wa'al, it ain't flyin', is it?" "Of course not, but I can make it." "You kin?" "Certainly." "Flap its wings and all that like a burd?" "No, it doesn't flap its wings." "Then how kin it fly?" propounded Jeb. A murmur of approval ran through the throng. Jeb's logic appealed to their primitive intellects. "Nothing can't fly that don't flap its wings," said one of them. "But if it didn't fly, how in tarnation did it git here?" asked an old man with a grizzled beard and blackened stumps of teeth projecting from shrunken gums. This appeared to be a poser for even Jeb. He had nothing to say. "If you like I'll give you a ride in it," proffered Roy to Jeb. "All right; only no monkey tricks now." "What do you mean?" "Wa'al, in course I know it won't fly, but if it does you'll hev to let me out." With this sage remark Jeb stepped gingerly into the chassis of the aëroplane. He sat down where he was told and Roy took the wheel. Jeb's companions gazed on in awed silence. "Look out, Jeb," cried one. "Don't hit the sky," yelled another. "Bring me back a star," howled the facetious old man. "Me a bit of the moon," called another. Jeb said nothing to this raillery. Instead, he looked uneasily about him and held his rifle, which he had insisted on bringing with him, between his knees. "All right?" asked Roy, looking back at him. "As right as I ever will be," rejoined Jeb, with a rather sickly grin. "You must hold tight," warned Peggy. "I'm doing that," said Jeb. And then with the same sickly grin: "Say, miss, does it really fly?" "Of course it does. As that old man said, how could it have got here if it didn't." "I guess I'd better go home and git my coat," said Jeb, trying to climb out. His demeanor had completely changed since he had climbed into the chassis. Something in its well-cushioned seats and the sight of the powerful engine and propeller seemed to have changed his mind about the capabilities of the _Golden Butterfly_. But it was too late. With a roar the engine started. Instantly the little plateau was deserted. The mountaineers were all behind trees. Jeb rushed for the side of the car. "Sit down!" screeched Peggy, really fearing he would fall over. But if Jeb's intention had been to climb out it was foiled. [Illustration: "Take me back to earth er I'll shoot," said a voice in his ear.] "Wow!" he yelled, and again, "Wow-ow-ow! Lemme out." "Too late now," shouted Roy. The aëroplane shot upward, carrying as a passenger a man temporarily crazy from fright. Suddenly Roy felt the muzzle of a rifle press against the back of his neck. "Take me back to earth er I'll shoot," said a voice in his ear. Roy obeyed, and so ended Jeb's first aëroplane ride. It may be added that it was also his last. CHAPTER XXIV. MR. PARKER'S STORY. "It was a gang of moonshiners that you stumbled across," said Mr. Parker, when they told him of their adventure; "you were fortunate to escape as you did." "I guess we have that aëroplane ride we gave to Jeb to thank for that," laughed Roy. "It wasn't so laughable, though, when he pressed that rifle to your neck," declared Peggy. "No, indeed. That was a mighty uncomfortable feeling, I can tell you." "It reminds me of an experience I had with moonshiners once," said Mr. Parker. "Would you care to hear about it?" Of course they would. They were sitting on the porch in the twilight after dinner. It was a happy group and they had been exploding with laughter over Roy's account of Jeb's ride. "It was a good many years ago, when I was in the employ of the government," said Mr. Parker, "that what I am going to tell you about happened. I was a young fellow then, and a good bit of a dare-devil, so I was sent at the head of a body of men to rout out moonshiners. "As you may know from your experience this morning, it is mighty dangerous to be suspected of being in the employ of the government, and so we posed as drummers and peddlers, scattering through the mountains. "Each of us worked alone so as not to attract attention. Our job was merely to locate the illicit stills and then militia would be sent to raid and destroy them, and the vile stuff they concoct. "I had been on the job about a week when I came one night to a desolate-looking little shack on a high mountainside. It did not look inviting, but I had to have shelter for the night, so I stepped to the door and knocked. A rather comely looking woman replied to my summons. "'I'm a peddler,' I explained, 'could I get something to eat and a room here for the night?' "She looked at me twice before answering. "'What you tradin' in?' she asked, with a trace of suspicion. "I judged from her manner that there was an illicit still in the neighborhood and that was what made her so suspicious. "'Oh, laces, ribbons and so forth,' I replied. "I showed her some samples. "I'll give you breakfast, supper and a bed fer that bit of red ribbon,' she said. "'I'll throw in this bit of blue,' said I gallantly. "And so the bargain was struck. It was a small place, but neat and tidy. Two children were playing about and in a corner sat a man trying to read a month-old newspaper. "Pop, this feller traded in these bits of ribbon fer bed and two meals,' she said, proudly exhibiting her goods and evidently thinking she had made an excellent bargain. I could see the gleam of triumph in her eye. "'Humph!' grunted the man, 'much good those are.' "Then he turned to me. "'Peddler?' he asked. "'Yes,' said I. "'What you tradin' in?' "'Oh, silks, laces and so forth,' rejoined I, repeating my formula. "'Humph!' "He looked at me, narrowing his eyes. "'You don't look much like a peddler," said he. "'No, I've seen better days,' I said, with a sigh. "But I could see that he was still suspicious. "'Where'd you come from?' was his next question. "'South,' said I. "'Where you going?' "'North.' "'Ain't much on conversation, be yer?' he asked. "'No, I'm not considered a very talkative fellow,' I rejoined. "We lapsed into silence. The man smoked. I just sat and thought the situation over. At last supper was announced. It was eaten almost in silence. The man discouraged all his wife's efforts at conversation. He was sullen and nervous. "More than ever did I begin to suspect that there was a still in the immediate neighborhood. Soon after supper I pleaded fatigue and was shown up a flight of stairs, or rather a ladder, to a sort of attic. There was a husk mattress there, and a pile of rather dirty-looking blankets. But in those hills you learn to put up with what you can get. I was glad to have found shelter at all. "But tired as I was for some reason I couldn't sleep. I felt a sort of vague uneasiness. I heard the man get up and go out and then later on I heard several voices downstairs. "There were broad chinks in the floor, and through these I could look down. The men--there were four of them--were talking in low voices, but now and then I could catch a word. All of a sudden I heard one say something about government spy. "That gave me a shock, I can tell you. I knew then they were talking about me. My predicament was a bad one if they suspected me. I began to look about me for a way to get out. While doing this I occasionally looked down below. "The last time I looked I got a shock that made my hair stand. The fellows were moving about the room. From one corner one of them got a formidable-looking knife. "Scared to death, I redoubled my efforts to find a way out. At last at one end of the room I found a chimney, one of those big stone affairs as big as all outdoors. I decided to try this. "I found that it was rough inside, and I had not much difficulty in clambering up it. I was near the top when I heard a voice from the room below say: "'Then we uns 'ull kill him right now.' "'Yep, he's lived long enough. He's no good.' "My heart jumped into my mouth. I redoubled my efforts and emerged from the top of the chimney. Reaching it, I lowered myself to the roof as gently as possible. "The eaves came down low to the ground and I had not much difficulty in making my escape noiselessly." CHAPTER XXV. THE WREN DISAPPEARS. "But as I reached the ground a startling thing happened. I missed my footing and found myself rolling down a steepish bank. At the bottom I fetched up against an odd-looking little hut almost overgrown with bushes. It was bright moonlight and the door was open. "Inside was a fire, and by its light I could see that the place was empty of human life, but that a collection of objects already familiar to me almost filled it. "It was an illicit still! "Clearly enough, also, it was operated by my hosts up above. "I listened for sounds of pursuit, but heard none. Possibly they had not yet crept into my room to perform their horrible resolve. "Suddenly the silence was broken by appalling yells and screams. My hair bristled for an instant and then I burst into a laugh. "It was a pig that I heard. At the same instant it dawned on me that it was the pig that they had been discussing dispatching and not me at all. You can imagine the revulsion of my feelings. But I felt sore at the scare they had given me, so I decided to do some work for the government and even up scores at the same time. "Entering the shack, I scattered the coals of the fire right and left. Then I came away. No, I did _not_ go back to the cabin. It would, as your friend Jeb said, not have been healthy for me. "Instead I set off running at top speed through the woods. Before long I saw a glow on the sky behind me, and knew that flames were devouring the vile stuff that moonshiners make. "I left my pack behind me, however, and I hope that compensated them for the loss of their still. I'm sure the woman, at any rate, would value its contents more highly." They all burst into a laugh at the conclusion of Mr. Parker's odd story. They were still laughing when Mandy rushed out on the porch. "Miss Wren done be gone!" she shouted. "Gone!" they all echoed, in dismayed tones. "Yes. I done go to her room to see de poo' lamb is com'foble, and she not there. I done find dis writin', too." "Let me look at it," demanded Mr. Parker. "It mighty hard to read. It sure is a scan-lous bit of writin'." With this comment the colored woman handed over to her master a bit of dirty wrapping paper. On it was scrawled in almost illegible characters: "U wont git hur agin.--The Romanys." "The Romanys!" exclaimed Peggy. "Yes; that's the gipsy word for themselves," said Mr. Parker. "I'm afraid that the same band that had her before has stolen her again." "What are we to do?" wailed Bess. "Hush!" said Jess; "let Mr. Parker decide what is best." They stood about with dismayed faces. Miss Prescott was weeping softly. Peggy could hardly keep back her tears. The little brown Wren had become very dear to all of them. It was a hard blow indeed to lose her like this. "But how could they know that she was here?" objected Jimsy. "Why, that silly newspaper report that went out when you arrived here about your adventures on the way and the romantic rescue of Wren. If they had come across that it would have given them a clew." "They were traveling south then, Wren said, and that was two weeks ago. They would have had ample time to reach this vicinity." "That is so," rejoined Mr. Parker solemnly; "I'll make telephonic inquiries at once. They may have been seen in the vicinity." "While you are doing that we'll examine the room. They may have left a clew there," said Roy. Roy and Jimsy darted upstairs on this errand. On looking round the place it was clear enough how the abductors had gotten in. Outside the window was an extension roof. It would have been very easy for an active man such as gipsies usually are to have clambered in and out again without detection. Taking a lantern they examined the ground outside. On a flower bed below the roof was the imprint of a man's feet. "Notice anything peculiar about it?" asked Jimsy, for Roy was bending earnestly over the prints. "Yes, I'd know that foot print again anywhere," he said; "see, one side of the man's boot was broken, the one of the right foot. His toes show here on the ground." "That might be a good clew if it was daylight; but right now--" Jimsy sighed. It was manifestly impossible to do any tracking of the man with the broken boot in the darkness. "We'll have to wait till daylight." "Yes, bother it all. They may be miles away by that time." "I doubt it. I wouldn't wonder if they hide right around here. There are lots of good places, and they know that the hue and cry will be so hot that they would be caught if they traveled." "That's so. Maybe we can find them, after all." "Let's hope so. Well, we can do no more good here. Let's go in." Peggy met them at the door. She seemed wildly excited over something. "The mail rider's just been here," she exclaimed, "and listen to this letter. It's from a woman living near New York. She just got back from Europe and in an old newspaper she read an account of our sky cruise. "She is certain that The Wren is her daughter and gives a description of her that tallies in every particular. She said that Wren was caught out in a heavy thunderstorm and sought refuge in a gipsy camp, as she learned afterward from a farmer who had seen her. She hunted high and low but has never since had word of the child. Her right name is Sylvia Harvey. Mrs. James Harvey is her mother, and she's rushing here as fast as a train will carry her." "If it is really Sylvia Harvey then her mother has found her only to lose her again," sighed Jess. "Don't say that," said Mr. Parker, coming into the room at that moment, "we'll leave no stone unturned to find her." "Did you have any success with the telephone?" "No; nobody has seen a band of people answering to the descriptions you gave of The Wren's abductors." "Then we can do nothing more?" The question came from Roy. "Not to-night. It would be useless. I have notified all the police around and a general alarm will be sent out at once. And now I order every one to bed. We've hard work in front of us tomorrow." CHAPTER XXVI. CAPTURED BY GIPSIES. About noon the next day Roy and Jimsy found themselves at the edge of a wild-looking section of country. They were standing at the entrance to a glen densely wooded with dark, forbidding-looking trees, and walled by precipitous and rugged rocks. "Looks as if the trail ends here," said Jimsy disconsolately. "It sure does. We can't----Gee, Whillikens!" "What on earth is up now?" "It's the broken-toed boot. Look here on the muddy bank of this little stream." "By hooky, it is! We've struck the trail instead of ending it." "What will we do; go back for reënforcements?" "Not just yet. We'll reconnoiter a bit. See, the fellow went up this bank and--look there, Jimsy--there's a little footprint beside. He was dragging the child along." With beating hearts the two boys entered the forbidding-looking glen. It was almost dark under the trees, which made the aspect of the place even more gloomy and desolate looking. "This is a nice, cheerful sort of place," said Jimsy, in a low tone, as they walked along, following the bank of the stream, for the brush was too thick to admit of their walking anywhere else, which is what had driven the broken-booted man to leave a tell-tale trail behind him. "I rather wish I had a gun," said Jimsy. "We won't get close enough to them to need it," rejoined Roy; "we'll just spy out their hiding place and then go back for reënforcements." "That's the best idea. I don't much fancy a hand-to-hand encounter with a band of such desperate ruffians as those gipsies have shown themselves to be." "Don't be scared. We won't have any trouble if we're careful." "I'm not scared; but if we did get in a tussle with them they could easily overpower us and then we'd have done more harm than good for they'd take fright and move right off." "That's my idea. We'll be as cautious as mousing cats." "Better stop talking, then. I never heard a mousing cat mi-ouw." Cautiously they crept on. The trail still held good. At last they reached the head of the glen where a spring showed the source of the brook. "What next?" whispered Jimsy. "Let's see if we can find which way that fellow went. The ground is spongy all around here and--ah! this way! See it?" Jimsy nodded. They struck off to the right, clambering over rocks till they reached the summit of a small hill. A tall dead tree stood there and Jimsy volunteered to climb it in order to spy out the surrounding country for traces of the gipsys. But on his return to the ground he was compelled to admit that they had gained nothing. "I thought I might see some smoke that would give me a clew to their whereabouts," he explained. "Not much chance of their being as foolish as that. I guess they know searching parties are out all over by this time, and they are too foxy to light fires." "I might have thought of that," admitted Jimsy; "it would be about the last thing they would do. What will we do now?" "I hardly know. Hello! there's an odd-looking place. Right over there. See that deep cañon? That one with the fallen tree across it?" "Yes, I do now. Let's look over there." "All right. You're on." The two boys struck off in the direction of Roy's discovery. It was indeed an odd freak of nature. Some convulsion of the earth had detached quite a section of land from the surrounding country. It was, in fact, an island in the midst of the woods with only the fallen tree for a bridge. "Let's cross it and examine the place," suggested Roy, with all a boy's curiosity. Together they crossed the old tree, which had evidently fallen there by accident, although, in reality, it formed a perfect bridge. The "island" was thickly wooded and they pushed forward across it, not without some difficulty. Suddenly they came upon a sight that made them halt dead in their tracks. A man holding a rifle was sitting on a fallen log. The instant he saw them he raised his weapon. "Don't come no further," he said. "Why not?" demanded Roy indignantly. "See that sign?" said the man. He pointed to a rudely painted sign on a tree at his back. "Dangir. No Trespasin." That was what it said in bold letters that sprawled across its surface in an untidy fashion. The execution of the thing was as bad as its spelling. "I guess a pretty sick man painted that sign," grinned Jimsy. "What do you mean?" was the surly reply. "Why, I should judge he was having an awful bad spell at the time," was the boy's rejoinder. The man scowled at him fiercely. "No joking round here," he growled; "now, then, if you know what's good for you you two kids will vamoose." "What's the danger if we keep on?" asked Roy. "Why, they're trying a new kind of explosive back there. It might go off the wrong way, your way, for instance, and hurt you," was the reply. "Seems a funny sort of place to try out explosives," said Roy. "Seems a queer sort of place for you two kids to come. Who are you, anyhow?" "Oh, we are camping down below and we just came out for a stroll." "Well, stroll some other place, then. Git away from round here." "We certainly will," flashed back Roy; "come on, Jimsy." As there seemed nothing else to do Jimsy agreed. They turned away and began retracing their steps, no wiser as to the whereabouts of the man with the broken boot than they had been when they set out. Just as they turned to go, however, another man came out of the woods behind the man with the rifle. When he saw the boys he gave an abrupt start. "Where did those boys come from?" he demanded. "I don't know. Said they was two kids out campin' and takin' a stroll." "Taking a stroll, eh?" said the other ferociously; "they were taking a stroll looking for that Wren." "How do you know?" "Because they are the same two kids who stole her from us just as we were going to demand a ransom for her." "That was before I joined the band. No wonder I didn't know them; if I had----" He scowled vindictively. "Well, we can't let 'em get away. Here, give me that rifle," demanded the newcomer. The other handed it to him. The next instant a report rang out and a bullet whizzed over the boys' heads. "Come back here," shouted the man who had fired the shot; "I want to see you." The boys hesitated for a minute. "The next shot 'ull come lower if you don't," warned the man; "come on, no nonsense." As there seemed to be nothing else to do the boys obeyed. As they drew closer they recognized the fellow. "Oh, you know me, eh?" he snarled; "well, you'll know me better before we get through. Follow me, now. Pedro, you take the rifle and fall in behind. If they try to escape shoot them down." Here was a fine situation. They had found the gipsies' camp with a vengeance, but for all the good it was going to do The Wren, unless they could get her away, they might as well not have come. These gloomy reflections sifted through their minds as they paced along, the man with the rifle occasionally prodding them with it just to make them "step lively," as he phrased it. At length they came to a sort of large open place shaped like a basin, and placed in the middle of this natural island. In this basin were set up several squalid tents, about which the gipsies were squatting. They set up a yell of surprise as the two boys were brought in. "Where under the sun did you find them, Beppo?" exclaimed the same woman who had so cruelly ill-treated The Wren the time the boys rescued her. "Oh, they were just taking a stroll, and happened to stroll in here," said Beppo viciously. "I guess they won't have a chance to bother us again. They're going to make quite a stay here." The gipsies set up a taunting laugh. Suddenly, from one of the tents, a tiny figure darted. "Oh, I knew you'd come! I knew you'd come," it cried. It was the poor little Wren. She had been stripped of her nice clothes and put into some filthy rags, her face was stained with crying and there was a bruise on her forehead. With a curse Beppo seized the child by one arm, swung her round and dealt her a savage box on the ear. "Get back where you belong!" he roared. The next instant Beppo had measured his length on the ground and beneath one of his eyes a beautiful plum-colored swelling was developing. As has been said, Roy could hit a powerful blow. CHAPTER XXVII. DELIVERANCE. The next minute all was wild confusion. The boys found themselves on the ground, being scratched and bitten and kicked by men and women alike. They did not have a chance against this horde of half savage wanderers. At length beaten and bruised they were tied with ropes and thrown into one of the tents and a man set to guard it. All day they lay there without anything to eat or drink and no one to come near them except that occasionally a tangled head would be thrust in to hurl some taunt at them. Darkness fell and they still lay there, suffering terrible pain from their wounds and bonds. "This is the uttermost limit," declared Roy, in a low tone; "we're in the worst fix we ever got into this time." "We certainly are. What a bit of bad luck that the rascal Beppo came up when he did! That other gipsy had no idea who we were." "Well, I had the satisfaction of giving Master Beppo a good black eye," muttered Roy. "Yes; that was a peach. It did me good to see it land." "It landed all right. Ouch, my back feels as if it was broken." "My wrists and ankles are awfully sore. I wonder if they mean to let us loose or give us anything to eat." "Well, we won't last long at this rate. I guess they mean to be as cruel as they can to us in return for that punch I gave Beppo." "I wouldn't have spoken to you again if you hadn't." "I don't blame you." It grew dark. Outside they heard the murmur of voices for a time and then all became quiet. Just before silence fell and snores became audible they heard the man on duty as their guard call for some coffee to keep by his side during the night. "I'll send that brat of a Wren to you with it directly," they heard Beppo's wife reply; "the little beast, it'll do her good to work." Then came the sound of a slap and a sob. The boys' blood boiled. "Oh, what wouldn't I give to have Master Beppo in a twenty-four-foot ring," breathed Roy. "I think he'd look well decorating a tree," grated out Jimsy viciously. The night wore on, but the boys did not sleep. Their tight bonds and worry over their situation prevented this. All at once Roy's attention was attracted by somebody raising the flap at the back of the tent. Next something crawled in. At first he thought it was a large dog. But then came a whisper: "It's me, Wren." "What are you doing here?" "Hush, I've come to get you free. You'll take me with you, won't you?" "Of course; what a question to ask! But how can you free us?" "I've got a knife here. I'll cut those ropes in a minute." "But the guard outside?" "I've fixed him. Was it very wrong of me? While Mother Beppo wasn't looking I put some of the stuff in that coffee I brought him." [Illustration: "I'd do anything for you." said the child, as she rapidly cut the ropes.] "Well, upon my word, Wren! What sort of stuff?" gasped Jimsy. "Oh, some sort of brown stuff. I've seen Mother Beppo smoke it. It makes her oh so sleepy. So I gave some to him and he's sound asleep now." "Must have been opium," declared Roy. "Wren, do you know that you are a very bad young lady?" "I'd do anything for you. You're so good and kind to me," said the child, as she rapidly cut the ropes. For a time the boys, after being freed, just lay there, unable to move. But after a while circulation set in and they began to move their limbs. In half an hour the trio crept out of the tent and, crossing the "island," traversed the trunk bridge. "Wait a minute," said Roy, when they reached the other side. "What are you going to do?" "Make that whole outfit prisoners till the officers of the law can get up here." He took a broken branch as a lever and with Jimsy's assistance toppled the log down into the cañon. "Now I guess they'll stay put for a while," he said. And they did. That was why, when a posse came up to capture the band, they carried materials for building a bridge across the cañon. It may as well be said here that the band received heavy sentences, it being proved at their trial that they had made a practice of kidnapping children and then trying to collect ransoms for them. There was a happy scene next day at the Parker home when Mrs. Harvey, a sweet-faced woman of middle age, arrived. After one look at Wren she swayed and then, recovering herself, called out in the voice that only a mother knows: "Sylvia!" "Mother!" screamed the child, and rushed into her open arms. The tide of memory, driven to low ebb by ill-treatment and hardship, had rushed back with full force. The Wren, the gipsy waif, was once more Sylvia Harvey. A doctor said later that such cases were frequent following a severe shock. It was then that they recalled how the child had almost recollected some of her past life during the thunderstorm. The happiness of little Wren and her mother in their reunion was shared by all of the party who had been instrumental in effecting it, for every one of them, including Jake, had become attached to the quiet little girl and rejoiced in her good fortune. When Mrs. Harvey and Sylvia departed for the railway station the following day behind a pair of Mr. Parker's steady horses they were accompanied by the four aëroplanes, which hovered over them like so many sturdy guardian angels. And when the train bore them away they watched the returning aërial escort until there was nothing visible but four tiny dots against the blue heaven. "Oh, mother," exclaimed Wren, "they look no bigger than butterflies now!" And the Girl Aviators, flying every moment higher and farther on the powerful wings of the _Golden Butterfly_ and the delicate plane of the dainty _Dart_, looked back at the train crawling like a humble insect in the valley below and gloried in their untrammeled flight. As they followed Roy and Jimsy in an irregular procession through the air, their thoughts flew ahead, outdistancing the biplane and the _Red Dragon_ and speeding confidently toward the happy realizations of the future. Miss Prescott, watching from the home of Mr. Parker for their return, also dreamed dreams and saw visions, and in them her "dear children" were fulfilling the bright prophecies of the present. She saw them stronger because of adversity, braver because of success, and ennobled by all their experiences; and she deemed herself happy in her capacity of chaperon to the Girl Aviators. The End. * * * * * THE VICTORY BOY SCOUTS BY CAPTAIN ALAN DOUGLAS SCOUTMASTER Stories from the pen of a writer who possesses a thorough knowledge of his subject. In addition to the stories there is an addenda in which useful boy scout nature lore is given, all illustrated. There are the following twelve titles in the series: 1. _The Campfires of the Wolf Patrol_. 2. _Woodcraft; or, How a Patrol Leader Made Good_. 3. _Pathfinder; or, the Missing Tenderfoot_. 4. _Great Hike; or, the Pride of Khaki Troop_. 5. _Endurance Test; or, How Clear Grit Won the Day_. 6. _Under Canvas; or, the Search for the Carteret Ghost_. 7. _Storm-bound; or, a Vacation Among the Snow-Drifts_. 8. _Afloat; or, Adventures on Watery Trails_. 9. _Tenderfoot Squad; or, Camping at Raccoon Lodge_. 10. _Boy Scout Electricans; or, the Hidden Dynamo-. 11. _Boy Scouts in Open Plains; or, the Round-up not Ordered-. 12. _Boy Scouts in an Airplane; or, the Warning from the Sky_. * * * * * Radio Boys Series 1. Radio Boys in the Secret Service; or, Cast Away on an Iceberg--FRANK HONEYWELL 2. Radio Boys on the Thousand Islands; or, The Yankee Canadian Wireless Trail--FRANK HONEYWELL 3. Radio Boys in the Flying Service; or, Held for Ransom by Mexican Bandits--J.W. DUFFIELD 4. Radio Boys Under the Sea; or, The Hunt for the Sunken Treasure--J.W. DUFFIELD 5. Radio Boys Cronies; or, Bill Brown's Radio--WAYNE WHIPPLE 6. Radio Boys Loyalty; or, Bill Brown Listens In--WAYNE WHIPPLE * * * * * Peggy Parson's Series By ANNABEL SHARP A popular and charming series of Girl's books dealing in an interesting and fascinating manner with the life and adventures of Girlhood so dear to all Girls from eight to fourteen years of age. Printed from large clear type on superior quality paper, multicolor jacket. Bound in cloth. 1. Peggy Parson Hampton Freshman 2. Peggy Parson at Prep School * * * * * The Aëroplane Series By JOHN LUTHER LANGWORTHY 1. The Aëroplane Boys; or, The Young Pilots First Air Voyage 2. The Aëroplane Boys on the Wing; or, Aëroplane Chums in the Tropics 3. The Aëroplane Boys Among the Clouds; or, Young Aviators in a Wreck 4. The Aëroplane Boys' Flights; or, A Hydroplane Round-up 5. The Aëroplane Boys on a Cattle Ranch * * * * * The Girl Aviator Series By MARGARET BURNHAM Just the type of books that delight and fascinate the wide awake Girls of the present day who are between the ages of eight and fourteen years. The great author of these books regards them as the best products of her pen. Printed from large clear type on a superior quality of paper; attractive multi-color jacket wrapper around each book. Bound in cloth. 1. The Girl Aviators and the Phantom Airship 2. The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings 3. The Girl Aviators' Sky Cruise 4. The Girl Aviators' Motor Butterfly. * * * * * Phil Bradley Mountain Boy's Series By SILAS R. BOONE These books describe with interesting detail the experience of a party of boys among the mountain pines. They teach the young reader how to protect themselves against the elements, what to do and what to avoid, and above all to become self-reliant and manly. There are five titles: 1. Phil Bradley's Mountain Boys; or, The Birch Bark Lodge. 2. Phil Bradley at the Wheel; or, The Mountain Boys' Mad Auto Dash. 3. Phil Bradley's Shooting Box; or, The Mountain Boys on Currituck Sound. 4. Phil Bradley's Snow-shoe Trail; or, The Mountain Boys in the Canadian Wilds. 5. Phil Bradley's Winning Way. * * * * * The American Boy's Sports Series BY MARK OVERTON These stories touch upon nearly every sport in which the active boy is interested. Baseball, rowing, football, hockey, skating, ice-boating, sailing, camping and fishing all serve to lend interest to an unusual series of books. There are the following four titles: 1. Jack Winters' Baseball Team; or, The Mystery of the Diamond. 2. Jack Winters' Campmates; or, Vacation Days in the Woods. 3. Jack Winters' Gridiron Chums; or, When the Half-back Saved the Day. 4. Jack Winters' Iceboat Wonder; or, Leading the Hockey Team to Victory. * * * * * Motor Boat Boys Series By LOUIS ARUNDEL 1. The Motor Club's Cruise Down the Mississippi; or The Dash for Dixie. 2. The Motor Club on the St. Lawrence River; or Adventures Among the Thousand Islands. 3. The Motor Club on the Great Lakes; or Exploring the Mystic Isle of Mackinac. 4. Motor Boat Boys Among the Florida Keys; or The Struggle for the Leadership. 5. Motor Boat Boys Down the Coast; or Through Storm and Stress. 6. Motor Boat Boys River Chase; or Six Chums Afloat or Ashore. 7. Motor Boat Boys Down the Danube; or Four Chums Abroad * * * * * Motor Maid Series By KATHERINE STOKES 1. Motor Maids' School Days 2. Motor Maids by Palm and Pine 3. Motor Maids Across the Continent 4. Motor Maids by Rose, Shamrock and Thistle. 5. Motor Maids in Fair Japan 6. Motor Maids at Sunrise Camp * * * * * THE "HOW-TO-DO-IT" BOOKS By J.S. ZERBE Carpentry for Boys A book which treats, in a most practical and fascinating manner all subjects pertaining to the "King of Trades"; showing the care and use of tools; drawing; designing, and the laying out of work; the principles involved in the building of various kinds of structures, and the rudiments of architecture. It contains over two hundred and fifty illustrations made especially for this work, and includes also a complete glossary of the technical terms used in the art. The most comprehensive volume on this subject ever published for boys. Electricity for Boys The author has adopted the unique plan of setting forth the fundamental principles in each phase of the science, and practically applying the work in the successive stages. It shows how the knowledge has been developed, and the reasons for the various phenomena, without using technical words so as to bring it within the compass of every boy. It has a complete glossary of terms, and is illustrated with two hundred original drawings. Practical Mechanics for Boys This book takes the beginner through a comprehensive series of practical shop work, in which the uses of tools, and the structure and handling of shop machinery are set forth; how they are utilized to perform the work, and the manner in which all dimensional work is carried out. Every subject is illustrated, and model building explained. It contains a glossary which comprises a new system of cross references, a feature that will prove a welcome departure in explaining subjects. Fully illustrated. 
44862	----	[Illustration: Both girls waved their arms and their coats in the air as signals of distress. (Page 214) ] LINDA CARLTON AIR PILOT By EDITH LAVELL [Illustration] THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Akron, Ohio New York Copyright MCMXXXI THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Linda Carlton, Air Pilot _Made in the United States of America_ TO MY HUSBAND VICTOR LAMASURE LAVELL CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A DANGEROUS RIDE 7 II. GRADUATION 14 III. HER FATHER'S GIFT 28 IV. SUMMER PLANS 43 V. THE FIRST LESSON IN FLYING 56 VI. WINNING HER LICENSE 69 VII. THE FLIGHT TO GREEN FALLS 81 VIII. THE ROBBERY 92 IX. SUSPICIONS 106 X. IN THE HOSPITAL 114 XI. AN ANXIOUS DAY FOR LINDA 126 XII. THE SEARCH FOR THE THIEF 139 XIII. THE MASQUE BALL 151 XIV. THE FLYING TRIP 160 XV. SUNNY HILLS 171 XVI. THE ACCIDENT 183 XVII. THE LOST NECKLACE 194 XVIII. IN PURSUIT OF THE "PURSUIT" 201 XIX. RESCUED 213 XX. THE RACE AGAINST DEATH 225 XXI. HONORS FOR LINDA 234 LINDA CARLTON, AIR PILOT CHAPTER I _A Dangerous Ride_ A blue sports roadster, driven by a girl in a lovely crêpe suit of the same color, threaded its way through the traffic of Spring City's streets to the concrete road that led to the aviation field on the outskirts. Passing the city's limits, the car sped along under the easy assurance of its competent driver, whose eyes were bluer than its paint, deeper than the dress that she was wearing. They were shining now with happiness, for the end of this ride promised the most thrilling experience of her life. That afternoon Linda Carlton was to have her first flight in an airplane! She parked her car outside of the field and locked it cautiously. Jumping out, she fairly skipped inside the boundary. A tall, good-looking young man in a flier's suit came from one of the hangars to meet her. "Miss Carlton?" he said, extending his hand. "Yes--Mr. Mackay. You see I'm here--a little early, I expect. You haven't forgotten your promise?" His pleasant face darkened, and he looked doubtfully at the sky. "I'm afraid it may rain, Miss Carlton. We've suspended pleasure trips for today. But perhaps tomorrow----" "Oh, no!" she cried in deep disappointment, and the young man believed that her eyes grew moist. "I can't get away tomorrow, or any other day this week. You see I'm a senior at school, and I'm just rushed to death." "Well, that's too bad," he said, looking again at the sky. "And of course it may not rain after all. But orders are orders, you know." The girl looked down at the ground, probably, he thought, to hide the tears that would come to her eyes. She was so pretty, so serious, so anxious to go up. It evidently wasn't only a whim with her; she really wanted to fly--like Amelia Earhart, and Elinor Smith. How he hated to deny her! "Isn't there something you could do?" she finally asked. "Take me up as one of your friends--not as a visitor to the aviation field.... Why, Mr. Mackay, suppose your sister came to see you today, wouldn't you be allowed to take her up?" "Yes," he replied, smiling. "But that would be on my responsibility, not the school's." "Then," she pleaded, and she was radiant again with enthusiasm, "couldn't _I_ be your responsibility?" He nodded, won over to her wishes. "If you put it that way, Miss Carlton, I can't refuse! But I'll have to take you in the plane I'm working on now--making some tests with--and it isn't the most reliable plane in the world. Not one we use to take visitors up in." "But if it's safe enough for you, it's safe enough for me. I'm satisfied." "I'm afraid your parents wouldn't be," he objected. "There I think you're wrong," she asserted. "My father believes in taking chances. He has always let me do dangerous things--ride horseback, and drive a car and swim far out in the ocean.... And my mother is dead." "Very well, then," agreed Mackay. "Please come over here with me. I have been trying to fix up an old biplane, and I think I have her in shape now. But we'll both wear parachutes for precaution." Her heart fluttering wildly from happiness, but not at all from fear, Linda accompanied the young flier across the huge field to the runway, where a biplane was resting in readiness for its test. Mackay put her into the cockpit, examined the engine again, and the parachutes, helped her to fasten one of the latter on, in case of an accident, and started the motor. A minute later the plane taxied forward, faster and faster, until it rose from the ground. "Oh!" cried Linda, in a tone of deepest joy, although her companion could not hear her for the roar of the motor. "Oh, I'm so happy!" Up, up, up they went, until they reached the clouds, where the atmosphere seemed misty and foggy. But it did not matter to Linda that the sky was not blue; nothing could spoil the ecstasy she experienced in knowing that at last she was where she had always longed to be. Never for a moment was she the least bit dizzy. The sensation of floating through the air was more marvelous than anything she had ever dreamed of. For some minutes she just allowed herself to dream of the future when she herself would be in control of a plane, sailing thus through the skies. Then she remembered with a start that if she ever expected her ambitions to be fulfilled, it would be necessary to learn how flying was accomplished. She began to examine everything in the cockpit. It was too noisy to ask her companion any questions, but she watched him carefully and tried to figure out what she could for herself. She identified the joystick, which controlled the plane, and she recognized the compass and the altimeter, which registered the height--now sixteen hundred feet--to which they had climbed. All the while she made mental notes of questions she would ask her pilot when they reached the ground. Up, up they went until at last they were beyond the clouds, and saw the bright sunshine about them. It was symbolic to Linda; she resolved that in after life, whenever she was unhappy or distressed, she would fly on wings to the clear sunlight above. It was almost as if there she would actually find God. She was so happy that it was some time before she noticed the queer sound the motor was making. Then, glancing questioningly at her companion, she saw a tight, drawn look about his lips, a ghastly pallor in his face. Something was evidently wrong! The motor made an uneven sound, threatening to stall, and the plane went into a tail-spin. Mackay was frantically leaning forward, doing something she did not understand. "Motor's dying!" he cried, as he managed to right the plane. His voice shook with greater dread than he had ever before experienced. For, fearless though he was for himself, he was scared to death for the pretty girl at his side. What a fool he had been, he thought, to allow her to come! He would give his own chances of safety that minute if she could be sure of her life! So young, so sweet, so utterably lovely! A great lump rose in his throat, as he took another look at his engine. But he was helpless. Grim with terror, he pointed to her parachute. And then, to his amazement, he realized how perfectly calm she was! "You step off first," he said, thankful they both had their parachutes. "I'll stay with the plane as long as I can." Never in his life did Ted Mackay go through such a horrible moment as that instant when Linda Carlton, at a height of two thousand feet, stepped so bravely from the edge of the plane into the yawning space below. Even if he himself were killed, he could never know sharper agony. Yet the girl herself was gamely smiling! He managed to pilot the plane a little farther, in the hope that when it did crash, it would not come anywhere near her, and then, when he could no longer keep it from falling, he stepped off himself. Down he went, and his parachute opened with perfection, but he, in his tenseness, thought only of Linda, and of her luck with hers. And he prayed as he had never prayed before in his life, not even at his most perilous moments, where death seemed most certain. No descent ever seemed so slow, so prolonged, but at last he reached the ground. And there, still smiling at him, was lovely Linda Carlton! CHAPTER II _Graduation_ "Thank Heaven you're safe!" cried Ted Mackay, as he disentangled himself from his parachute. "You certainly are a game little sport, Miss Carlton!" "I don't see why," returned Linda. "People jump from planes with parachutes every day!" "I know. But it was all so sudden. And it is always a pity when anyone's first flight ends disastrously. It makes you feel that you never want to see an airplane again." "Well, it won't make me feel that way," replied the girl, lightly. "I'd go up again right away if you'd take me." "I'm afraid I can't. But I'm mighty glad to hear you talk that way. I think you're cut out for a flier. Now let's hunt the wreck." After they had located the damaged plane, and examined its shattered pieces, they hiked back to the aviation field together, talking all the while about flying. Linda asked Ted one question after another, which he answered as well as he could without having a plane to demonstrate, and he promised to lend her some books on the subject. "You must come over and take a course of instruction at our Flying School," he advised. "As soon as you can." "Oh, I hope to!" she assured him, eagerly. "Maybe after I graduate. Why, I'm almost eighteen! Most boys of my age who cared as much about it as I do would have been flying a couple of years. Because you can get a license when you're sixteen, can't you?" "Yes.... It's going to be fun to teach you," he added, as they approached the field, and Linda stopped beside her car. "Good-by! I'll expect to see you soon!" His hope, however, was not fulfilled until two weeks later, when Linda again slipped over to the field, between engagements, for another ride in the air. This time she was only one among a group of visitors, and she went up in a plane that was both new and trustworthy. Her time was so limited--it was a week before Commencement--that she had only chance for a few words with Ted Mackay. She told him that her class-day was the following Friday, and she timidly invited him to a dance which she was giving at her home the night before the event. "Thanks awfully," he said, more thrilled than he dared tell her at the invitation, "but I couldn't possibly come.... You see, Miss Carlton--I wouldn't fit in with your set." "Nonsense!" exclaimed Linda in disappointment, "We're not snobs, just because we go to Miss Graham's school!" "Well, then, put it this way," he added: "I'm absolutely on my own--and I don't even have evening clothes!" She smiled at his frankness, but she did not know that he told only part of his story--that he was supporting his mother and helping to put his younger sister through High School. "All right, then--have it your own way--Ted," she agreed, holding out her hand. "I'll hope to see you some time after class-day." From that hour on, it seemed as if every moment was filled with more things than she could possibly do. At last Friday came--as hot as any day in mid-summer, though it was still early June. Soon after two o'clock the audience began to arrive, and at half-past, the twenty-two graduates, in their white dresses, with their large bouquets or American Beauties or pink rose-buds, filed in to take their seats on the flower-decked platform in the garden of the school grounds. Fans waved, and the flowers wilted visibly, but nobody seemed to notice. For with the exercises the fun began, and everybody listened intently to the jokes and the compliments which came in turn to each and every member of Linda Carlton's class. After Louise Haydock, the president, made her brief speech of greeting, the presenter took charge, and her remarks and her presents were clever without being cruel. Most of the latter she had purchased from the five-and-ten, but they all carried a point. To Linda Carlton she gave a toy car, because she thought that was what the latter was most interested in, and then she asked her to wait a moment, that she had something else for her. Linda stood still, smiling shyly, and wondering whether her next gift would have anything to do with airplanes. "Linda," continued the presenter, "we have this bracelet for you--in token of our affection. You have been voted the most popular girl in the class." "Oh!" exclaimed Linda, and her eyelids fluttered in embarrassment. She was so surprised that she didn't know what to say. Some of the other girls, who had been secretly hoping for this honor, which was always kept as a surprise until class-day, had even prepared speeches. But Linda had never given the matter a thought. "I--I--thank you so much," she finally managed to stammer, as she stepped forward to receive the bracelet. The audience stirred and clapped, for the girl was a favorite with everybody in Spring City. "She certainly looks sweet today," whispered Mrs. Haydock, the mother of Linda's best friend. "There is nothing so becoming as white." "Yes," agreed her aunt, who had taken care of Linda ever since her own mother had died when she was only a baby, "but I do wish she hadn't worn those flowers. She had half a dozen bouquets of American Beauties, and she picked out those ordinary pink roses! Sometimes Linda is queer." "Yes, but who sent them?" inquired the other woman. "Probably the reason lies there! Ralph Clavering?" "Ralph Clavering wouldn't buy a cheap bouquet like that--with all his father's millions!" exclaimed Miss Carlton. "No; he did send flowers, but Linda didn't wear them. These had no card." Their conversation stopped abruptly, for the class prophet was being introduced. Twenty-one girls on the platform leaned forward expectantly, anxious to hear what the future held in store for them. Of course nobody actually believed that this girl could foretell their lives, but it was always fascinating to speculate about their fortunes. She began with the customary jokes. "Sara Wheeler" (the thinnest girl in the class), "is going into the food business, but will eat up the profits. However, she'll weigh two hundred pounds before she goes bankrupt.... "Sue Emery, on the contrary, will finally succeed in reducing her weight--when she gets away from these girls and stops talking about it, instead of doing it--until she becomes Hollywood's star dancer.... "Linda Carlton and Louise Haydock--the double l's, we call them, because they are always together--will both marry wealthy men and become the society leaders of Spring City...." At these words, Linda's Aunt Emily nudged Louise's mother, and smiled. "That would suit us, wouldn't it, Mrs. Haydock?" she asked. "Just what we want for our girls!" nodded her companion, in satisfaction. It was over at last, the fun and the excitement, the class-day that the girls would keep in their memories for the rest of their lives. Hot, but happy, the graduates came down from the platform to find their friends and their families. Some of them wanted to linger, to talk things over, but Linda Carlton was anxious to get away. It had been wonderful to receive that beautiful bracelet, but somehow it would spoil it to talk about it. And, in spite of all her happiness, there was a little hurt in her heart. Her father hadn't come home for his only child's graduation! She came to where her aunt was standing, and put her arm through hers. "Are you ready, Aunt Emily?" she asked. "Of course, dear--if you want to go so soon. But wouldn't you like to stay and see your friends, and thank them?" "Oh, I'll write notes," replied Linda. "There's Ralph Clavering over there," remarked Miss Carlton, nodding in the direction of a tall, well-dressed young man on the other side of the lawn. "You could thank him for his flowers. He'll probably think it queer if you don't, especially since you didn't wear them." Linda smiled carelessly. "Ralph Clavering probably sent roses to half a dozen girls today," she said lightly. "It's his boast that he's in love with the whole class!... No, I want to go home, Auntie. I'm tired." "Certainly, dear. We'll go right away." Nodding to friends as they walked across the beautiful garden where the out-door exercises had been held, they came to Linda's shining sports roadster, parked just outside the gate. It had been her father's present to her on the day that she was sixteen, and she had taken such care of it that even now, after a year and a half, it looked almost new. "I think it was wonderful for you to receive the bracelet as the most popular girl," Miss Carlton said, as she got into the car. "Everything was really perfect--even the prophecy about your future." Linda frowned at the recollection of those words; she hadn't liked that prophecy at all. As perhaps only Ted Mackay realized, her ambition was to fly, to fly so expertly that she could go to strange lands, do a man's work perhaps, carry out missions of importance. She wanted to be known as one of the best--if not _the_ best--aviatrix in America! Ever since she was a child she had had some such longing. Perhaps it was her father who had been responsible for it. Restless and unhappy after her mother's death, he had given his baby to his sister to take care of, and had wandered from one place to another, only coming home every year or so, to see how Linda was growing. As if to make up to her for his absences, he brought her marvelous presents--presents that were intended rather for a boy than for a girl. Early in life she had learned to shoot a gun, ride a horse, and drive a car. No wonder that she dreamed of airplanes! Her aunt, on the other hand, disapproved of this way of bringing up a girl. She wanted Linda to be just like the other fashionable wealthy young ladies in Spring City, to spend her time at parties and at the Country Club, and later to marry a rich man--like Ralph Clavering. Naturally the words of the class prophet pleased her. Nor had she any idea that Linda did not agree with her, for her niece had always kept her dreams to herself. There was no use talking about them, Linda thought, for her aunt would never understand. "And I guess the prophet was about right," continued Miss Carlton. "Any girl that gets seven bunches of flowers from seven different boys, won't have any difficulty getting married." "But I don't want to get married, Aunt Emily!" protested Linda. "Not yet, dear--of course. Why, you're only seventeen! I couldn't spare you now--just when you're free to be at home with me. Besides, I think every girl should have two years at least to do exactly as she pleases!" Exactly as she pleases! Why, that would mean learning to fly! Oh, if Aunt Emily could know the fierce longing in her heart to become a really fine pilot, to train herself to make her mark in the world! "So I want you to have a happy, care-free summer," continued the other, totally unaware of her niece's thoughts. "At first I thought we would go abroad, but on the whole that would be too strenuous, after this hectic year. The other girls' mothers agree with me. Mrs. Haydock and I were talking about it today, and we've practically decided to go to a charming resort on Lake Michigan that she says is most exclusive. There you can be with all your best friends." Linda said nothing; she just couldn't be enthusiastic about wasting three months in that fashion. When she had been hoping to stay at home and enroll for a course at the Spring City Flying School! "You'd like that, wouldn't you, dear?" persisted Miss Carlton, as Linda steered her car through the wide gates of their spacious estate. "You could swim and drive and play tennis and dance to your heart's content! With Louise--and--and--the Claverings! Mrs. Haydock told me they are going there too. Why, you'd meet all the right people!" Linda sighed. Aunt Emily's ideas of the right people were not exactly hers--particularly at the present time. She wanted to meet flyers, men and women noted in the field of aviation, not merely wealthy society folk. But she could not say that to her aunt; the latter was afraid of airplanes, and had only grudgingly given her consent that Linda go up in one. Naturally she had never mentioned her accident. "Well, we'll talk our plans over later," said Miss Carlton, when Linda failed to make a reply. "I guess you're too tired to think about anything now. And," she added as she stepped from the car, "don't you want to leave your car here, and let Thomas put it away?" "No, thank you, Auntie," she replied, for she did not like even so capable a chauffeur as Thomas to touch her precious roadster. "It'll only take a minute." As Linda walked slowly back to the house, she was thinking of Ted Mackay. For she believed those wilted flowers at her waist were his. There had been no card, but they had come from a small flower shop at the other end of Spring City--not the expensive shop that most of her friends patronized. She would go over to the school soon, and thank him. But she would have to tell him that she was obliged to give up her own plans for the summer! Tears of disappointment came into her eyes, and she wondered if there weren't some way it could be arranged. Maybe if she asked her father.... The thought of her father drove everything out of her mind. He hadn't even bothered to come home! Nothing else seemed to matter. As she entered the living-room, she found her aunt waiting for her. "Come in, dear--and get some rest," said Miss Carlton. "You look so tired that you actually seem unhappy." Linda forced a smile. "Is something worrying you, dear? Or is it just the heat and the rush?" "I don't know," answered the girl, sinking into a deep chair by the window. "I--I--guess I'm just foolish, Aunt Emily." There was a catch in her voice. "But I'm so disappointed that Daddy didn't come for my Commencement. And I wrote to the ranch three times to remind him!" Miss Carlton nodded; her brother's ways were past her understanding. How anybody could be so indifferent to such a lovely daughter as Linda! And yet when he was home, no father could be more affectionate. It was just that he was absent-minded, that he hated to be tied down to dates and places. He might be at his ranch in Texas now, or he might have wandered off to Egypt or to South America, without even telling his family. He had been like that, ever since Linda's mother had died. "I'm not so surprised at that as I am at his not sending you a present," commented Miss Carlton. "He may never have received your letters--or he may drop in a week late.... But you mustn't let that worry you, Linda--you have to take your father as he is.... And you must get some rest for tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" repeated the girl, vaguely. "Yes. The Junior League Picnic. You haven't told me whom you invited." "Why--I--a----" "You forgot to invite anybody!" laughed Miss Carlton. "I know you--why, you're something like your father about social engagements, my dear! And of course all the nicest boys will be asked already! I know that Louise is going with Ralph Clavering--Mrs. Haydock told me today." "That's fine," commented Linda, indifferently. "They're great pals." "But whom will you ask? At this late date?" "I really think I'd rather stay home, Auntie, if you don't mind. Because--well--Daddy might come--and I'd hate to be so far away. They're going all the way over to Grier's woods, I recall hearing Dot say, and you know that's at least fifteen miles." "Of course, dear--do just as you like," replied her aunt, putting her motherly arms around her. "Only don't count too much on your father's coming!" So Linda went to bed that night, little thinking that her plans would be changed the following morning, and that, in later years, she was to look back upon that day as one of the most wonderful of her whole life! CHAPTER III _Her Father's Gift_ As Linda had no plans for the day after her class exercises, she had intended to sleep late. But the arrival of her chum, Louise Haydock, accompanied by Ralph Clavering and his Harvard room-mate, Maurice Stetson, changed things for her. At half-past eight her aunt came into her bedroom, half apologetically, half smiling. "Linda dear, I want you to wake up," she said. "You have company." "Yes?" replied the girl sleepily. "You are rested, aren't you? And it's so much cooler. It's a real June day--the kind the poets write about!" Linda sat up in bed, and blinked her eyes. Then suddenly she thought of her father. Did Aunt Emily mean he had come? "Daddy?" she asked excitedly. "Do you mean he's here?" Miss Carlton's smile faded; she had not meant to mislead her niece. It was cruel to disappoint her. "No, dear. It's only Louise--with Ralph and another boy. They want you to wake up, and go on the picnic." "Oh, I see.... But you know I didn't invite anybody, Aunt Emily." "That's just it. You're to go with this other boy. He's Ralph's room-mate, and he's here on a visit. You will go, won't you, dear?" "Yes, of course, if Lou wants me to. I'll get dressed right away.... And Auntie, may I have some strawberries up here, to eat after I take my shower? That's all the breakfast I'll want." "Certainly, dear. I'll send Anna up right away. And how soon shall I tell Louise that you'll be ready?" "Ten minutes!" Linda jumped out of bed, and began to sing as she took her cold shower. It was a wonderful day--a good world after all! Of course the picnic would be fun; she was glad now that she wasn't going to miss it. Lou was a peach to arrange things for her in this way! And it would be exciting to meet a new man. She wondered what he would be like, and hoped she would find him nice. But, even if she didn't, it wouldn't be necessary to stay with him all day. There wasn't much "two's-ing" in their crowd. Ten minutes later she found her visitors on the porch, singing and amusing themselves, for Miss Carlton had gone to oversee the packing of Linda's lunch. Ralph introduced his friend, Maurice Stetson, a short, light-haired youth, who was utterly at ease with everybody, and who seemed to think that he was born to be funny. Indeed, he called himself "the prince of wise-crackers." Linda, who was both sensitive and shy, was afraid she would be made uncomfortable by his comments. "Miss _Linda_ Carlton," he repeated, solemnly shaking her hand. "The famous Lindy's namesake?... Let's see--what year was that when he flew the Atlantic? About twenty-seven? Why, you can't be more than three years old!" Linda smiled; she really couldn't laugh at the silly remark, though the others seemed to think him exceedingly witty. "And is your ambition flying?" he asked. Linda blushed; she had no desire to admit her dreams and ambitions to the general public. "Doesn't everybody want to fly now-a-days?" she countered. "Not your uncle Maurice!" replied the youth, gravely. "My dad gave me a plane, and I wrecked it. I'm through! My flying almost took me to the angels!" "What's this?" interrupted Miss Carlton, coming out on the porch with a hamper of lunch for the picnic. "You've been in an airplane accident?" "And how!" he replied, feelingly. "Now you see, Linda! You better not go over to that field again! I'm so afraid of planes!" "All right, Aunt Emily," replied the girl, graciously. "You needn't worry today, anyhow. We're going to the picnic in cars." But, had Miss Carlton seen Maurice Stetson behind the wheel of his yellow sports roadster, hitting seventy-five miles an hour, and all the while keeping up a conversation not only with Linda beside him, but with the couple in the rumble-seat as well, she would not have felt so satisfied. Nevertheless, nothing happened, and the picnic promised to be lots of fun. The girls had selected a beautiful wooded spot outside of the city, where a lovely stream widened into a small lake, deep enough for swimming. Most of the others had already arrived in their cars, when Louise's party drove up. Two large tents, on opposite sides of the lake, had been set up early in the morning for bath-houses. "Everybody into their suits!" cried Sara Wheeler, who seemed to be managing the picnic, because her mother was the chaperon. "First one into the water gets a prize!" "Then I get it, without even trying," remarked Harriman Smith, a nice boy, and a particular friend of Linda's, "because I have mine on now! I got dressed in it this morning, and carried my other clothing." "Lazy brute!" exclaimed Maurice, enviously, wishing that he had thought of such a labor-saving device. In fifteen minutes the whole crowd were in the water, diving and swimming, and ducking each other, and finally dividing off into sides for a game of water-polo. It was only when they actually smelled the steaks that Mrs. Wheeler's cooks were broiling, that they were finally induced to leave the lake and get dressed. A treasure-hunt through the woods was the program for the afternoon. Linda, who had expected to be coupled with Maurice Stetson for this event, was agreeably surprised to find herself with Ralph Clavering. Louise's doing, in all probability! No doubt she guessed that her chum did not care for Maurice. They walked along slowly, keeping their eyes on the ground for all possible clews, chatting at intervals about the class-day and the usual gossip, and now and then, when they met other couples, stopping to compare notes. Finally Ralph spoke about his plans for the summer months. "I'm hoping to persuade your aunt to go to Green Falls with us, Linda," he said. "There will be quite a bunch of us together. Dot Crowley, Sue, Sally Wheeler, and of course Lou and Kit--from your sorority, and some of the boys from our frat, besides several from Spring City. Harry Smith's going to get a job as a life-guard, and Maurice has promised to go. We ought to be able to make whoopee, all right!" "Sounds good," admitted Linda, absently. "Yes, and I really think we could pull off some serious work there." "Serious work?" repeated Linda. As far as she knew, Ralph had never done any real work in his life. "Yeah. In the competitions, I mean. I think if we go after it tooth and nail, you and I'd make a pretty good team to pull down the cup for the tennis doubles. They have a big meet at the end of the season that's the talk of the whole Great Lakes region.... And Sally swings a mean club in golf. And look at Louise's diving!" "Yes, that's true," agreed Linda. She had always liked golf and tennis and swimming, but somehow this year they had all lost their charm. It was different after you graduated, she decided. Then you wanted to make something out of your life--like Ted Mackay. There was no more time to be wasted. "Promise me you'll go," begged Ralph, leaning over eagerly and putting his hand on her arm. Instinctively she drew it away, but before she could answer, Louise and Maurice appeared from a cross-path that was hidden by tall bushes. "Why, there's my little Lindy!" cried Maurice, though Linda was several inches taller than he was. "Grieving for papa?" "Shedding tears," laughed Linda. But the words made her think of her own father, and she grew sober. Suppose he were home now--waiting for her! He never stayed more than a day; how she would hate to miss him! "Has anybody found the treasure yet?" she inquired. "I've found _two_ treasures," replied Maurice complacently, looking first at Louise and then at Linda. "Forget it!" commanded Louise, tersely, lifting her head. She, like Linda, was tall, but in that the resemblance ended. Her dark, sleek hair was short and almost straight, and she wore earrings--even in swimming. She said she felt undressed without them--"practically immodest," were her exact words. "No, but really--?" persisted Linda. A wild shout from Dot Crowley, followed by a chorus of "Whoopee!" from half a dozen others, answered Linda's question immediately. Dot always was lucky. The others ran to the spot where the crowd was gathered, and Dot, a tiny, vivacious blonde, who could take child's parts in the amateur plays, was holding two boxes of golf balls triumphantly up to view. "Do I have to give one box to that lazy kid?" she demanded, pointing scornfully at her long-legged partner, Jim Valier, who had been languidly following her around. At the time when she had discovered the prize, he was lolling under a tree, resting his "weary bones," as he said, smoking a cigarette. "Sure you do!" he drawled. "Didn't I supply the brains to our combine?" "Brains!" repeated Dot. "Where did you get 'em? I'll have to have you arrested for stealing 'em, if that's the case! But here--take your box!" "Couldn't possibly," he said, waving them aside with his cigarette holder. "Besides, I hardly ever play golf. Too fatiguing." "How about your school-girl figure?" asked Maurice. "Aren't you afraid if you don't exercise, you'll lose it?" Everybody, even Linda, laughed, for Jim Valier was about the world's thinnest youth. "He's really afraid somebody will mistake him for a golf-stick, and bang a ball with him," remarked Ralph. In groups, and some in pairs, the whole crowd went back to the lake. After all that exercise and excitement, everybody wanted another dip to cool off. It was six o'clock by the time they all piled into their cars, and half-past when Linda reached home. Hoping to find her father, as she had been hoping every day that week, she dashed up the steps quickly, merely waving good-by to her companions as the sports car shot from the driveway. And then, miraculously, she saw his beloved face at the door! "Daddy!" she cried rapturously, rushing breathlessly into his arms. He was taller than Linda, with a straight, lithe figure like that of a much younger man. His hair was dark, with just a little gray at the temples, and his skin deeply tanned from his out-door life. A sort of habitual smile played about his lips, as if he had made up his mind to find life pleasant, no matter what came. "My dear little girl!" he said, quietly, patting her hair. "Will you forgive me for coming a day too late? Your Aunt Emily tells me that both Commencement and class-day are over--and you are an old Grad now!" "Yes, but I don't mind, Daddy, so long as you came today!" she replied, squeezing his hand. "Maybe it's better this way, because I've been so rushed lately that I wouldn't have had much time to see you." "You must tell me all about everything," he said, drawing her arm through his, and leading her down the steps of the porch. Of course he thought he meant what he said, but Linda knew from experience that if she did tell him, he wouldn't be listening. A dreamy expression so often came into his eyes when she chattered, and she would wonder what he was thinking of. Strange lands--or his ranch out west--or perhaps her mother? "Where are we going?" she asked. "I really ought to dress for dinner, Daddy. You know what picnics are." "Yes, To be sure. But I want to show you your graduation present." "My present?" There was excitement in her tone; it was sure to be something wonderful--and unusual. All the girls were wild with envy when Kitty Clavering received a real pearl necklace from her father. All--except Linda. She had no desire for pearls, or for any jewelry, for that matter. She had known that her father's present would be much more thrilling. At least--if he didn't forget! "You didn't think your old Dad would forget you, did you, Honey?" he asked. "No--no--of course not.... But, Daddy, where is it? Why are we going out back of the house?" "We have to walk over to our big field across the creek," he explained, mysteriously. "The big field? Why?... That's a hot walk, Daddy. No shade at all! If you want a nice walk, we ought to go in the other direction, down towards the orchard, where there are some trees." "Trees are the one thing we don't want," he replied, solemnly. "You're going to hate trees, after you get my present, daughter." "Hate--trees?" Linda's eyes were traveling all over the landscape, scanning it in vain for a clew. And then, as they mounted a slight incline, the thing came into sight. The marvelous, wonderful present! Too good to be true! Her heart stopped beating, her legs shook. She clutched at her father for support. A beautiful, shining airplane! A superb Arrow Sport! The very kind she had been reading about, had been longing some day to possess! And even a hangar, to keep it in safety! "Daddy!" she gasped, hoarsely. He was watching her face, rapturously. "You like it?" "Oh!" she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck, and suddenly bursting into tears. "How could you know that I wanted it so much?" He patted her hair, a little embarrassed by her emotion. "I just tried to imagine what I would want most if I were your age.... You know, dear, you're your father's own girl! You look like your mother, but you're much more like me.... A strange mixture...." He was talking more to himself now, for Linda was almost running, pulling him along excitedly. "Feminine beauty--with masculine ambition...." But Linda was not listening. She had reached the plane now, and was walking around it, enthralled. Touching its smooth surface, to make sure that it was not only a dream. Dashing back to hug her father, and then climbing into the cockpit, to examine the controls, the instruments, the upholstery. If she lived to be a hundred years old, no other moment could hold greater happiness than this! Her father smiled softly in satisfaction. He wanted her to have all the happiness that he had somehow missed. Money couldn't buy it for him; but money spent for his daughter could bring it to him in the only possible way now. "You're not a bit afraid?" he asked, though he knew from her shining eyes that his question was unnecessary. "Dad!" "And now the question is, who can teach you to fly? Unfortunately, the man who brought it here for me couldn't stay, even to explain things to you--although of course there is a booklet. But I understand there's an air school here at Spring City...." "Yes! Yes!" she interrupted. "I've been there--been up with one of the instructors. Can we drive over for him tonight?" "My dear, you can't take a lesson at night," he reminded her. "You know that." "Oh, of course not!" she agreed, laughing at her own folly. "But tomorrow?" "Yes, certainly. At least we can see about it. You have to pass a physical examination first, I understand." "And I want to take the regular commercial pilot's course, Daddy! I want to go to the bottom, and learn all about planes, and flying. May I?" "I don't see why not.... You needn't stop for the expense." Linda blushed; she hadn't been thinking of the expense--she never did. But perhaps she ought to now, for the plane must have cost a lot of money. At the present, however, something else was worrying her. "It was the time I was thinking of," she admitted. "Aunt Emily wants to go away in a week or so. And oh, Dad, I just couldn't bear to leave this!" There were actually tears in her eyes. "Of course not, dear. Well, we'll see if we can't compromise with your aunt. Stay at home the rest of June and July, be content with a private pilot's license for the present, and then go away _in_ your plane in August. Wouldn't that suit you?" "To the ground--I mean to the skies!" corrected the happy girl. "And now we must get back to dinner," he reminded her. "Aunt Emily's waiting." Solemnly, tenderly, as a mother might kiss her baby, Linda leaned over and kissed the beautiful plane. Then giving her hand to her father, she walked back to the house with him in silence, knowing that now her greatest dream was fulfilled. CHAPTER IV _Summer Plans_ The news of Linda's magnificent present spread like wildfire. She never knew how it got about, for she didn't call anybody. In fact, she would have preferred to keep it a secret for that evening at least, and just spend her time over the booklet, talking things over with her father. But of course the rest of the crowd couldn't understand that. These young people, who saw their parents every day of their lives, just couldn't believe that a normal fun-loving girl like Linda would prefer a father's society to theirs. They didn't know that Linda had always longed to know him better, to understand him, to talk over with him her greatest dreams and ambitions. Because there had been nobody to talk to in that intimate fashion. Aunt Emily never had understood her, and never would. The kind-hearted woman saw, of course, that her niece was pleased with her graduation present, but she could not realize the girl's overwhelming joy in the possession of a plane. To her, even a string of imitation pearls would have been more desirable. They talked their plans over at dinner, Linda's father taking her side in urging that the vacation be postponed until August. "You don't mind, do you, Emily?" he asked his sister. "Well, I can't say I don't mind," she replied, a little sharply. "But of course I wouldn't spoil Linda's fun. But I am wondering whether you have been wise, Tom. Linda is tired out; instead of going to school and learning some more, she ought to be resting.... But your presents have never shown a great deal of wisdom, I fear." Her brother laughed. "Sometimes it's better to be foolish," he remarked. "Not if Linda breaks her neck!" "Which she isn't going to do!" contradicted Mr. Carlton, confidently. "Linda's careful--and she's thorough. I know that, from the way she drives her car--and takes care of it." "Cars and airplanes are different matters!" "Not so different as you might think. In some ways, cars are more dangerous, because you have to consider traffic--what the other fellow is going to do. And there's so much room in the skies!" "But if something goes wrong--there's nobody there to help her," objected Miss Carlton. "Well, Emily, you'd be amazed at the perfection of the airplanes they are putting out now-a-days. They're as different from the old-fashioned ones of the World War, as the first two-cylinder automobiles from the sixes and eights of today." "But there still are a lot of crashes--and deaths," insisted his sister. "That doesn't say Linda will crash! Linda is going to be a good pilot--learn it all thoroughly!... Why, Emily, you don't think I'd be willing to take any chances with my only child, do you--if I didn't consider it safe?" He smiled fondly at Linda, but his sister drew down the corners of her mouth a trifle scornfully. As if his affection could compare with hers, though Linda wasn't her own child! He saw the girl two or three times a year at the most, while Aunt Emily was with her every day of her life! "Well," she added, "I'm afraid you'll feel out of the crowd by the time August comes and they have been together all that time at Green Falls!" "Do you mind missing it, my dear?" her father asked, gently. "Not a bit!" replied Linda immediately, her eyes shining at the thought of what she was gaining. Miss Carlton abruptly changed the subject. "Do you remember a man named Clavering, Tom?" she asked. "I remember the name. Connected with oil, wasn't he? Very wealthy?" "A millionaire, I think," replied Miss Carlton, as if the news were the most important thing in the world. "Well, he has bought an estate just outside of Spring City, and his daughter has just graduated in Linda's class." "Yes?" remarked her brother, wondering what possible difference that could make to him. "Well, the Claverings are planning to spend the summer at Green Falls, on Lake Michigan--the resort that Mrs. Haydock and I have selected.... And there is a son in Harvard, who is going to be there." "Yes?" It still didn't dawn on the man what his sister meant. Perhaps that was because he was not worldly, and money and position didn't mean much to him. Or perhaps it was because it had never occurred to him that his little Linda was old enough to be thinking about getting married. "You certainly are slow at comprehension at times, Tom," she said, "for a smart man. Do I have to tell you in so many words that young Ralph Clavering is interested in Linda?" Linda blushed, and Mr. Carlton opened his eyes wide in amazement. "Well! Well! Well!" he exclaimed. "Dad!" protested Linda, nervously. "Don't be so serious! Aunt Emily thinks that because she loves me, everybody thinks I'm grand. But as a matter of fact, Ralph Clavering doesn't like me any better than half a dozen other girls. And I don't believe he likes me nearly so well as Louise--though I haven't given the matter any thought." "How any boy could fall for Louise Haydock is more than I can see!" put in Miss Carlton. "She is a nice girl, but she has ruined what looks she had by cutting her hair off so short, and wearing those dreadful earrings all the time----" "Aunt Emily!" interrupted Linda. "Please don't forget that Louise is my best friend!" "Even so, I don't have to admire her appearance, do I?" In a man's fashion, Mr. Carlton was getting very tired of this small talk. He stirred restlessly. "Well, it's settled then, about the summer, isn't it?" he asked. "I'd like to drive over early tomorrow morning to this Flying School, and make the arrangements about your course. Because tomorrow night I'm taking the sleeper back to the ranch." "Dad!" cried Linda, in disappointment. "You don't have to go that soon, do you? Oh, I wanted you to see me fly!" "I'll be back again, as soon as I can. But just now I'm having trouble with some Mexicans who came over the border and have been threatening us. I've got to be on the job. My help aren't any too reliable." "You won't be in any danger will you, Daddy?" He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "Guess not," he replied. At the conclusion of the meal, Miss Carlton, who always liked to have Linda's young friends about, suggested that she call some of them on the telephone and give them her news, inviting them over to celebrate with her. But Linda shook her head. "There's only one person I'd like to tell about it," she said, "and I'm afraid I couldn't reach him by phone, for I don't know where he lives. That's a boy over at the school, who has taken me up a couple of times." But, as friends like this did not interest her, Miss Carlton dismissed the subject and went out to consult her cook. Linda's father, however, felt differently. "What's his name?" he asked, indulgently. "Maybe we could locate him, if we put in a call at the school. There would probably be somebody about who would know his address." "Ted Mackay," answered Linda. Mr. Carlton's eyes narrowed suspiciously, and the smile died from his lips. His daughter trembled. What could he possibly have against Ted? "What's the fellow look like?" "He's big--with red hair, and blue eyes, Why? Do you know him, Daddy?" "Think I know his father--to my sorrow. Same name--description fits, too. Likable chap, when you first meet him, isn't he? Looks honest and kind, and all that?" "Oh yes, Daddy! And he is so nice, too. And so clever!" "I don't doubt it. So is his father--in his own way. Well, if he's the son of the man I know, you're to keep away from him. Do you understand, daughter?" "Yes, but Daddy, don't you think it's only fair to give me a reason?" she pleaded. "I'd rather not. Can't you take my judgment as worth something, Linda?" He spoke sternly. The tears came to Linda's eyes, and she looked away. "Mayn't I even speak to him?" she asked, finally. "Oh, certainly. Never cut anybody--it's a sign of a little mind to stoop to such childishness. But don't be friendly with him. I dare say there are other instructors at the field, and I'll arrange for someone else to teach you." The door-bell rang three times, but before the maid could answer it, Louise Haydock dashed into the house, followed by Kitty and Ralph Clavering, and finally, Maurice Stetson. "Whoopee!" cried Ralph, almost running into Linda's father, who was standing in the dining-room doorway. "Darling!" exclaimed Louise, embracing her chum excitedly. "We heard the news! Congratulations!" "And naturally we couldn't wait to see your plane," added Kitty. "But are you sure you've finished dinner?" "Yes, indeed," replied Linda, introducing her father to everybody except Louise, who of course knew him. "If it only isn't too dark to see it!" exclaimed Louise. "We've all brought flashlights." "Then we better trail out immediately," laughed Linda. "And I'll get Aunt Emily. She has only seen it from a distance." "Better wait for the rest of the crowd," suggested Ralph. "I saw Dot trying to round up some more. They ought to be here any minute." "Then we might as well wait. Aunt Emily'll be here in a minute." "What kind of plane is it, Linda?" inquired Maurice. "You're 'Lindy' Junior now aren't you--just as I predicted," he added. "It's a 'Pursuit,'" answered Linda, ignoring his second remark. "An Arrow Sport." "Open cockpit?" asked Ralph. "Yes. See--here's its picture." She waved the folder towards the boys. "It's supposed to be a wonderful little plane for a beginner!" "From now on, Linda'll talk of nothing but joysticks and ailerons and--" began Maurice, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Dot Crowley and six other young people, all of whom had been packed in her small car. It was just as she liked it to be, Aunt Emily thought, as she joined the merry, singing group, and started out with them towards the field beyond the house. Mr. Carlton did not go with them this time, and later on, Linda had reason to be thankful for his absence. It was quite dark now, but both the moon and the stars shone brightly, and the plane was clearly visible. The exclamations of delight and praise from her guests were enthusiastic enough to satisfy any proud owner of such a glorious prize. Linda was happier than ever. The boys were naturally interested in the mechanics of the plane, the girls in the upholstery of the seats, the charming, deep cushions, which could be removed if it were necessary to use a parachute. They turned on their flashlights, and walked about the biplane, not a little in awe at the idea of Linda's piloting it through the skies. "It only holds two people," remarked Dot, regretfully. "I wonder if we could pile in extras, like I do with my car." "I'm afraid not," replied Linda. "But I can take everybody up in turn--after I get my license. I am hoping to bring it to Green Falls in August." Satisfied at last that they had seen as much as possible for the present, they started to turn back, when Maurice suddenly spied a lonely figure at the top of the incline, some fifty yards away. "What ho!" he exclaimed. "Who can that be? Yo-ho-ho!" he cried, making a funnel with his hands. "Not anybody in our crowd," replied Jim Valier, "or he would answer. Hope it isn't a thief--with designs on your new plane." "We better chase him!" said Jackson Stiles, who was always ready for adventure, "Come on, fellows, let's rush him!" The boys darted off, all except Jim Valier, who said gallantly that he had better stay as protection for the ladies, though of course everybody knew it was only because he was too lazy to run. The girls laughed and chattered while they were gone--all except Linda, who waited nervously to find out what success they had had. In less than three minutes, however, they had returned, shamefacedly admitting defeat. "Maybe the fellow couldn't sprint!" announced Ralph. "I'll bet he's a track-runner----" "Or a chicken thief!" suggested Maurice. "Do you think he is a tramp?" inquired Miss Carlton, relieved that the man had disappeared. Tramps were so dirty, so unpleasant! "Don't think so. Big fellow--not badly dressed, as far as we could see. Had red hair." "Too bad we couldn't catch him," remarked Maurice, always ready with his jokes, "for his hair was bright enough to light up the plane. We wouldn't have needed our flashes." "Might have set the 'Pursuit' on fire!" suggested Jim. Linda frowned uneasily. The description sounded like Ted Mackay. But how did he know that she had a plane, and if he had happened to see it, why didn't he come to the house, and ask her permission to examine it? After all, it was on their own property--nobody had any right to intrude. She thought darkly of what her father had said, and hoped that there wasn't anything crooked about Ted. Why, he seemed more of a friend to her than any of these people--except of course her Aunt Emily, and Louise! By the time they had reached the house, everybody had forgotten the incident, for Louise turned on the radio, and without consulting Linda, they all decided to dance. Ralph claimed the latter for the first waltz. "So this will make a change in your summer plans," he said, as if the idea were not wholly to his liking. "Yes. We're not going to Green Falls till August--maybe not then, if I don't succeed in getting a private pilot's license before that." "But what about me?" he inquired, and the admiring look he gave her would have pleased Miss Carlton, had she noticed it. Linda looked puzzled. "You? Why--you'll never miss me! With all your girl friends!" "No; I've decided I'm not going to miss you," he said, quietly. "Because I'm going to stay right here in Spring City, and learn to fly along with you!" "What?" "Yes. The thing fascinates me. I want a plane, too! I'm going to touch my Dad for one when I get home tonight!" "But you've promised everybody you'll go to Green Falls!" "So I will--August first!" And so, much to Miss Carlton's delight, when the rest of the crowd left Spring City the following week, Ralph Clavering stayed at home with a couple of the servants, and enrolled at the same time as Linda, at the Spring City Flying School. CHAPTER V _The First Lesson in Flying_ Early the next morning, Linda wakened her father and hurried him through his breakfast. There wasn't a moment to be lost, she told him excitedly, like a child waiting to open her Christmas stocking. She had her car under the portico before he had finished his second cup of coffee. "Don't drive so fast that you are killed on the way," cautioned her aunt. "Remember, dear, you have the rest of your life to fly that plane!" But the present moment is the only time of importance to young people, and Linda scarcely took in what she was saying. Besides, the caution was unnecessary; unlike Dot Crowley and Maurice Stetson, she had too much respect for her car to mistreat it by careless driving. Linda loved her roadster as a cavalry general loves his horse. "You want to do most of your learning on your own plane, don't you, daughter?" asked her father, as he sat down beside her. "I mean--you'd rather bring your instructor back with us, and fly it, wouldn't you?" "Of course, if that is possible. But don't you suppose I have to go in a class with others, Daddy?" "Probably not--for it is a small school. Besides, I can arrange for you to have private lessons. It will hurry things up for you." "Oh, thank you, Daddy!... But later, I want to go to a regular ground school, if you will let me." Her tone was as eager as any boy's, starting out on his life work. "And study airplane construction, and wireless--and--and----" He smiled at her approvingly. What a girl! "You are ambitious, my dear," he said, but there was pride in his words. "I don't see why not, though.... Only, not all at once. As your Aunt Emily reminded you, you have the rest of your life." "I can't bear to fool!" she exclaimed, impatiently. "Now that I have graduated, I want to get somewhere." "You're bound to--unless you fly in circles," he remarked, lightly. "I mean--oh, you know what I mean, Daddy! And you do understand, don't you?" "Well, not exactly. You don't expect to be one of those independent girls who insist upon earning their own living, do you, dear?" "I don't know...." Somehow, she couldn't explain. Nobody understood just what she wanted except Ted Mackay, and that was because he had the same sort of goal himself. Ted Mackay! The memory of her father's command hurt her. Must she really give up his friendship? But why? She wanted to ask her father, but he was looking off in the distance, apparently lost in his own thoughts. So she drove the remainder of the way in silence, absorbed by her own dreams. The field was outside of Spring City, covering an area of thirty acres, and surrounded by the white fence that was now being used so much by airports. Three large hangars, containing probably half a dozen planes, occupied one side of the field, and, near the entrance was a large building, evidently used as an office and school for the theoretical part of the courses. "You have been here before, Linda?" asked her father, as the girl locked her car. "Yes--a couple of times. I feel almost at home." Scarcely were they inside the grounds, when Ted Mackay, looking huge and handsome in his flyer's suit, came out of the office building. He recognized Linda at once, and his blue eyes lighted up in a smile of welcome. Since he wore his helmet, his red hair was not visible, and Linda, glancing apprehensively at her father, knew that the latter had no idea who Ted was. But, nervous as she was over the meeting that was about to take place, she could not help feeling proud of Ted, and warmed by the frankness of his happy smile. "Linda!" he cried. (She had called him Ted the second time she met him, so he reciprocated.) "I owe you an apology--and a confession!" "Yes?" replied Linda, glancing fearfully at her father, though she knew that he had not yet realized who the young man was, or his expression would not have been so beneficent. "But first I want you to meet my father," she said. "Dad--this is Ted Mackay." She was vexed at herself that she was actually stammering. Acting just like a child! Yet she couldn't forget how stern her father could be. She recalled the day that, as a child, she had sneaked off and played with Louise when her chum had whooping cough. Her father happened to come home--and announced that he would take care of her punishment. And what a punishment! For three whole weeks he made her stay in the house, without a single companion except her Aunt Emily! He said he'd teach her to obey. But he wasn't storming, or even frowning now. Merely looking politely indifferent, perhaps a trifle superior. He made no motion to shake hands with Ted. "How do you do?" he said. "Would you be kind enough to take us to the man in charge of this field?" "Certainly, sir," replied Ted. Immediately, as if he intended to give the young people no chance for personal conversation, Mr. Carlton began to ask about the courses that were offered. Ted answered his questions, explaining that Miss Carlton would probably want to become a private pilot at first. "You have to pass a physical examination," he said, "and get a permit from the Government. Then you must have at least eighteen hours of flying experience--ten with someone else with you, eight of solo flying. There is a written examination, too--all about the rules and regulations that make up the laws of the air. Of course there isn't a lot of traffic, like with the driving of cars," he explained, smilingly, "but you'd be surprised at how many rules there are!" They had been crossing the field while he talked, and they stopped now at the main building. With a nod of dismissal that was curt, and yet not quite rude, for a muttered, "Thank you," accompanied it, Mr. Carlton left Ted, and took his daughter inside. A middle-aged man, dressed in a khaki shirt and breeches, was seated at a desk. He looked up as they entered. "My name is Carlton," began Linda's father, "and this is my daughter. I have bought her a plane, and I have come over to arrange about some lessons in flying." Lieutenant Kingsberry, a former Army officer, asked them to be seated, and went over about the same explanation that Ted had given, saying that he would be delighted to register Linda, provided that she passed the physical examination. "I suppose it is not so unusual now to have girls as students?" inquired Mr. Carlton. "Not for many of the schools," replied the lieutenant. "But it just happens that we so far have not enrolled any of the fair sex. Your daughter will be the first. When does she wish to start?" "As soon as possible," replied Mr. Carlton. "Now!" Linda could not help adding. "Well, I don't see why not," agreed the lieutenant, leniently. "At least Miss Carlton could take the physical examination, because one of our doctors is here now. And if she passes that, Mackay can give her the first lesson." Linda's expression of delight suddenly died on her lips. For she glanced at her father, and saw the queer, drawn look about his mouth at the mention of Ted's name. "This--Mackay--" he said slowly, "he isn't your only instructor?" "He is our best." "I prefer someone else. Can you arrange it?" "Why--I suppose so. But if it is only personal reasons, I think you are making a mistake, Mr. Carlton. Mackay is our most reliable flyer--by far our best instructor. We don't expect to have him here more than a month or so. He's had a good offer from a big company." Linda was glancing shyly, pleadingly, at her father, but he did not even see her. "Unfortunately I found this young man's father to be most unreliable--untrustworthy--during the period that I employed him on my ranch. The fact is, we are not yet through with the trouble that he started. So you can understand why I should refuse to trust my daughter to his son. It is an unpleasant but true fact that children inherit their father's weaknesses. I should not have a comfortable minute, being miles away, and knowing that she was in his hands." "Of coarse I will accept your decision, Mr. Carlton," replied Lieutenant Kingsberry, "and see that your wishes are carried out. I will summon the second ranking instructor--H. B. Taylor." He called his office boy, a young man learning to fly, and working his way at the same time, and gave the necessary message. A couple of minutes later the man came in, dressed like Ted, but somehow he seemed insignificant to Linda--as if he were the one who was not reliable. She sighed. Her father remained with the lieutenant and the instructor while she went into the doctor's office for her physical examination. She knew that her eyesight was good, but she felt a little nervous when the doctor examined her heart. It was fluttering so! Suppose all the excitement had been too much for her--and she did not pass! What good would her lovely plane be to her, if she were never allowed to pilot it herself? But she need not have been alarmed, for she came through with flying colors. Then young Taylor took her over to one of the planes, and began to explain about the joystick, the rudder, the ailerons, and everything else he could think of, in words of one syllable. Linda glanced at him, frowning. Did he think she was a baby. Or was it because she was a girl that his manner seemed so superior, so condescending? Why, he was wasting a lot of time! Ted would have had her up in the air by this time, perhaps letting her guide the plane herself. "I am familiar with all these terms, Mr. Taylor," she interrupted. "You see I have been up twice--with Mr. Mackay. And I've read a couple of books." The young man regarded her haughtily. "It is necessary, Miss Carlton, that you go through the regular lessons, regardless of what you knew beforehand," he answered coldly. "And whatever Mr. Mackay may have shown you--as a friend--has nothing to do with these lessons, so long as I, not he, am your instructor." "But I want to go up today!" she protested, eagerly. "It is not our custom to take students up on the first day, Miss Carlton.... Now, have you a notebook and pencil?" "In my car." She tried to answer naturally, but she was keenly disappointed. "Then will you please go and get them," he said, seating himself in the cockpit of the plane which he had been using to illustrate his statements. Obediently, but half-heartedly, Linda started back for the road where her car was parked. She had gone about half-way when she came upon her father, accompanied by Ralph Clavering, dressed like herself, in his riding outfit. "Hello, Linda!" he cried. "Passed your physical exam, didn't you?" "Oh, yes," she answered. "So you're really going to learn, too?" "I most certainly am. And your father has consented to let us take our lessons together. Won't that be fun?" "Linda," interrupted her father, as he saw her start away, "where are you going? I want to tell you something." "Yes, Daddy?" A wild hope surged in her heart that perhaps he had changed his mind about Ted. It wasn't only that she had taken a dislike to H. B. Taylor--it was rather that she had not confidence in him as a teacher. He might be all right as a pilot, but instructing others was a different matter. And he would never really feel any personal interest in her progress, or understand her, like Ted. His attitude almost said that he thought it was silly of girls to want to fly! But she ought to have known her father better than to think he would change his mind. "I should like to take your car and go home now, if you don't mind," he said, "because I have some work to do today that is urgent--some people to see about business. And Mr. Clavering has very kindly offered to drive you home. Is that all right? I know you don't like other people to run your car----" "Oh, Daddy, you're different," she said, forcing a smile. "Of course I don't mind your driving it.... But I'm sorry you can't wait for us." Promising to meet Ralph in a couple of minutes, she walked out to the entrance of the field with her father. "I need not tell you, dear," he said, "that my decision about Mackay is final. And I want you to have as little to do with him as possible, while you are here. It's for your own good, daughter. I can see that girls might find the young man attractive. But it is well to steer clear of such people. Have all the fun you like with your own friends." "Yes, Daddy," she managed to reply. "I guess young Clavering will see to it that your time at home, after most of the others go away for the summer, is not dull. And if you pass your course and get your license, you can fly your plane to Green Falls. I will make arrangements about a place to keep it. I dare say they have maps at the school." "Yes--and thank you so much--for everything, Daddy," she said. She mustn't let him see that she was disappointed, after all he had done for her! He might be right about Ted--but she didn't think so. Whatever Ted's father might be, she felt sure that Ted was one of the finest young Americans that she had ever known. Securing her notebook, and handing over her keys to her father, she hurried back to the field, and finished her lesson with Ralph at her side. As they walked out together, she looked about shyly for Ted. It wouldn't do any harm for her just to speak to him; after all he did want to tell her something. At last she spotted him, across the field beside one of the planes--in overalls and jumper now, his red hair brilliant in the sunlight. "Do you know I believe that's the fellow we chased last night!" exclaimed Ralph. "Do you know him?" "Yes, I've met him. He took me up a couple of times." "You know him? Then why was he sneaking around so funny last night? Why didn't he come over and speak to you?" "He's shy," replied Linda, jumping to the only conclusion that seemed feasible, and her explanation must have been correct, for Ted never looked up from his work as the young couple passed. CHAPTER VI _Winning Her License_ The next few weeks were the most interesting, the most exciting, of Linda's whole life. Every day she drove over to the Flying School with Ralph, and gained first her theoretical, and then her practical knowledge. Both she and Ralph were surprised to find that it was so simple a matter to handle a plane. By the middle of July they were accustomed to stepping into the cockpits by themselves, nosing their planes into the wind, and rising to a height of fifteen hundred feet, without even a tremor. Anxiously they counted their hours of solo flying, not only that their licenses would be approved, but because they both wanted to try some stunts. They had studied the principles of loops, Immelman turns, barrel rolls, and falling leaves, and they were wild to try them out for themselves. Finally, after they had both passed their written examinations, and were only waiting for their licenses to come through, Mr. Taylor allowed them both to try an inside loop and an Immelman turn. Linda's happiness was so great that she felt she just had to tell somebody, so she went home and wrote to her father. Unfortunately, she thought it wiser to say nothing about stunts to her aunt. Miss Carlton still insisted that she would never get into a plane, not even Linda's. "It's too dangerous," she objected, when her niece was begging her to go for a ride. "I might be killed--and then who would take care of you? And besides, I don't see how anybody could learn to fly in the short time you've been at it." "But Aunt Emily," explained Linda patiently, "it really is easier than driving a car. Once you are off the ground, the plane practically flies itself. And the higher you are, the safer." Miss Carlton shuddered. "I can't believe that, dear. Because the higher you are, the farther you have to fall!" "But you have all that chance to regain control of your plane," insisted her niece. "Crashes practically always come on the ground--it's very rare indeed that two planes crash in the air, even when they are flying in Army formation." "How soon do you think you'll get your license?" inquired Miss Carlton, showing that Linda's words had made no impression at all upon her. She was anxious to get away now; Spring City was becoming very hot. "Any time now," replied the girl, her eyes shining with anticipation. "I have done all the required solo flying--and more too." "Solo flying? Do you mean you've been up alone? Without even Ralph?" "Yes, of course! And I love it, Aunt Emily! Oh, if you could just try it once, you'd never be afraid again. It is the most wonderful sensation--up in the skies, all alone! Free as a bird!" She paused abruptly, smiling at her own enthusiasm. She did not often talk like this to anybody, though there was a great deal of poetry in her make-up. "Well, dear, I'm glad you like it," said Miss Carlton, in a matter-of-fact tone. "But don't overdo it. And don't go in for any stunts." Ralph Clavering, who had been making it his habit to come over to see Linda every evening, now that all his other friends had gone away, arrived on the porch in time to hear Miss Carlton's admonition. He was about to say something, for he was very proud of his successful "acrobatic flying," when he caught Linda's frown of warning. Of course there was no use of worrying the timid woman, who was worried enough already. He sat on the railing, dangling his legs, and carelessly lighting a cigarette, as if he were very much at home. "Linda's little 'Pursuit' is a daisy, Miss Carlton," he said. "It really has a most marvelous motor--and all sorts of safety devices. There's not a thing for you to worry about.... I wish I had one like it!" Linda regarded him sympathetically. It was hard luck that his father, with all his money, refused to buy Ralph a plane! But he had been promised one the following year--if he graduated from college without any conditions. Evidently Mr. Clavering was using it as a spur to his son's ambition, for Ralph had never been keen about his studies. Good times came first with him; besides, he argued, what was the use of learning to make money, when his father already had more than they could spend? "What are you children going to do this evening?" asked Miss Carlton, though it was nine o'clock now, and there wouldn't be much evening left, for Linda insisted upon going to bed early. "I'd like to map out our trip to Green Falls," the latter replied. "And then we could show our plan to Lieutenant Kingsberry, and see where the airports are located along the way, in case we have to land." "Why not Taylor?" inquired Ralph, teasingly, for he knew that Linda did not care much about her instructor. She gave the boy a withering look. "Well, then--Redhead? He ought to know. By the way, I never see you talking to him, Linda!" "I never get a chance. He's always busy, and besides, you're usually with me. I guess he's too shy to intrude." Nevertheless, she decided that she must have one talk with Ted Mackay before she left the school, to clear up matters that had never been discussed. All during the next week she watched for her opportunity, but it did not come until her final day at the school--the day when she received her license as a private pilot. Wild with joy at her success, she asked where Ted was, and ran over to the hangar where he happened to be working. For once, Ralph was not with her; he had not yet landed the plane he had been flying. "Mr. Mackay!" she cried joyously--she was afraid to call him "Ted" now, for he seemed like such a stranger. "I'm a real pilot! I can fly my own plane now, wherever I want to go!" The young man came over solemnly and shook hands with her. "May I be the first to congratulate you?" he asked. "Not the first. Lieutenant Kingsberry has done so already. But, of course, in a way he doesn't count." "And this is only your beginning, I know!" he said, his blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "You're going to a ground school in the fall--as we used to talk about--aren't you?" "Yes, I hope so." She hesitated, and looked down at the ground, digging the toe of a dainty slipper--entirely feminine, in spite of her flyer's costume--into the dust. She felt shy, and embarrassed; it was so hard to hurt Ted, and yet she didn't dare disobey her father. "Ted," she said, finally, "could I have just one little talk with you, to clear things up--before I go away?" "I've been longing for it," he confessed, eagerly. "But I'd decided that you were through with me, on account of my actions that night you got your plane--when I sneaked over to see it. One of the boys heard it roaring over our heads, and ran out to see where it was landing. So, when he came back with the news that it was in your field, I knew it must be yours. When I went over to see it myself--I--I was hoping you'd come out alone--and we could gloat over it together! And then all that crowd showed up, and your aunt too--I was sure it was she--and I just lost my nerve and ran. It looked pretty queer, I guess." "No, only why didn't you come to the house first?" she inquired. "I was afraid the butler would say, 'Miss Carlton is not at home'--the way the rich young ladies' butlers always do in the novels." "Only we haven't any butler," laughed Linda. "Well, you have a strict aunt--and a father that's made of steel!" "Don't!" cried the girl, in an offended tone. "You mustn't say a word against my father, or I never will talk to you. But that brings me to what I wanted to say.... My father has no time for you, on account of your father. It seems that a man by the same name worked for him on the ranch in Texas--and was untrustworthy. Could that have been your father?" "I'm afraid it was," admitted Ted, sadly. "So you see why he selected Mr. Taylor to teach me to fly...." Tears almost came into her eyes, as she saw how sorrowful Ted was looking. "I think it's absurd, myself," she admitted. "But I suppose Daddy means it for the best.... I'm--not to be friends with you, Ted.... And, oh, I'm so sorry!" "I'm sorry too, Linda," the boy said slowly. "But somehow I never believed we could be real friends. I'm not like you--I don't believe in fairy stories." "What do you mean?" "I mean that the poor young man, who has a disgrace to live down, isn't likely to be friends with the rich, beautiful girl--in real life.... So I guess it's good-by...." He held out his hand. "Oh, but I'll at least see you again!" she protested. "Tomorrow I'm going to fly my plane over here and back--all by myself!" "That's wonderful--I wish I could be here to see you do it," he answered regretfully. "But unfortunately I am leaving myself tomorrow. I'm taking a job as salesman for a plane construction company in Kansas City." "Congratulations!" cried Linda, pleased at his advancement. "Well, good luck--and good-by!" "And, by the way," he added, "I want to thank you for wearing my poor little flowers at your class-day. I saw you--through the fence. I was so glad they held the affair out-of-doors!" "Then they were from you?" she asked, ashamed that she had forgotten to thank him. "I thought so, but I wasn't sure. I meant to ask you. They were lovely." "I am going to give you a card of my firm," said Ted, reaching into his pocket. "So that you will know where I am, in case you need any help with your Arrow.... You--you--don't mind?" "I'll be very thankful to have it," she reassured him. "You know, Ted, I have an awful lot of confidence in you!" And, with a final pressure of her hand, he turned to go, and she, looking about, saw Ralph Clavering walking towards her. "What's the big idea?" he asked her, when he reached her side, and Ted had disappeared. "Holding hands with Red?" His tone was irritable. "I was just saying good-by," she explained. "He's leaving tomorrow for a job in Kansas City." "Flying?" "Naturally." "Well, we'll be flying away soon, too," he added, more cheerfully. "I had a letter from Kit this morning, and she wants us surely at Green Falls for July thirty-first. It's the Midsummer Ball, and the big event of the season--socially. She told me to tell you and Miss Carlton to be sure not to miss it." "Oh, I'll be ready by Saturday," replied Linda. "Aunt Emily has been doing all the shopping, so I hardly need to do anything.... By the way, did Kit give you any gossip about the crowd?" "Let me see," muttered Ralph, as he took her arm possessively while they walked across the field, in the hope that Ted Mackay would see them. "She did have quite a bit to say--but it was mostly about Maurry." "Maurice Stetson? What's he been doing?" "Rushing Kit, evidently. And she seems to like it.... And she said Harry Smith has a life-guard's job, and is spending all his spare time with Lou." "I haven't heard from Lou in ages," remarked Linda. "But I guess it's partly my fault. I haven't had time to answer her letters." Then, changing the subject, as they came out to the road where Linda's car was parked, "You're going to fly up with me in the 'Pursuit,' aren't you, Ralph?" "Surest thing! We'll fly everywhere together--from now on. Just like Mr. and Mrs. Lindy!" "Only we won't!" she answered abruptly, laughing at him. As they stepped up to the roadster, they almost fell over a man who came out from a shabby coupé in front of theirs. He had evidently been leaning over, fixing something. "Want any help?" asked Ralph, though Linda knew he hadn't the slightest idea of giving any. "No, thanks," muttered the man, without looking up. "Engine trouble." "Engine trouble!" repeated Linda, sympathetically. Then, turning to Ralph. "Suppose something like that should happen to us--on the way to Green Falls!" "Well, it won't!" replied Ralph reassuringly. "The motor's just about perfect in that little plane of yours! No--but I tell you what, Linda, you better bring your gun along. That crazy sister of mine expects me to bring her pearls up for the Midsummer Ball!" "Real pearls--at a summer resort!" cried Linda, as she slipped the key into her lock, and started her engine. "She's taking an awful chance!" "That's what I think. But of course they're insured. And so long as she's succeeded in getting Dad's permission, it's not my business to stop her.... By the way, it's a fancy-dress affair. What sort of costume will you wear?" "I don't know. I guess I'll leave it to Aunt Emily." But when she got back home, she forgot all about pearls and dresses and mid-summer balls. Nothing mattered to her, but the glorious fact that at last she was a real flyer! CHAPTER VII _The Flight to Green Falls_ The first thing that Linda thought of when she opened her eyes the following morning was the glorious fact that she was now a real pilot. She could take her plane anywhere--to Green Falls, to her father's ranch in Texas, wherever she wanted to go--and nobody could stop her. The freedom of the world and of the skies was hers. But she had no intention of taking it any farther than the Spring City Flying School that day. She would spend the morning there, watching one of the licensed mechanics give it a thorough inspection, in readiness for the flight to Green Falls on the following day. She wished that it might be Ted Mackay who would go over the plane. She had such confidence in his knowledge, his thoroughness. Besides, it would be fun to spend the morning with him, asking him questions, and talking things over. Naturally, that was impossible. When Linda reached the field she found that Ted already had gone, and a number of changes had been made. H. B. Taylor was now first-ranking instructor, and the young man who had been acting as office boy, or orderly, or whatever they chose to call him, had passed his course and was promoted to the rank of instructor. Another man took his place--an older man this time, and Linda thought probably it was the poor fellow who had been having engine trouble with his shabby coupé the preceding day. Everything seemed different, and Linda was somehow glad that she was leaving. The place would never be the same to her without Ted Mackay. About noon she received the mechanic's O.K. upon her plane, and flew home in time for lunch. Her aunt had finished packing, and was as excited as a child about going to Green Falls, and again taking up their customary social life among their friends. "I have bought a new flying suit for you, dear," she said to her niece, as the girl entered the library. "Unwrap it and see how you like it." Linda eagerly unfastened the strings and lifted out a pair of white flannel knickers, with a jaunty blue sweater and helmet of knitted silk, just the color of her eyes. The whole costume was charming, and a lovely change from the dark riding breeches she had been using for flying. "It's perfect, Aunt Emily!" she cried, realizing for the first time that she had never cared for what she was now wearing. "And it was so sweet of you to think of getting it for me!" "I never could see why girls have to look masculine," replied her aunt. "Of course I can understand that skirts are impractical, but they make these suits so pretty now-a-days. And I want you to look nice the very first minute you arrive at Green Falls. First impressions are always so important and there is sure to be a crowd there to greet you." Linda was only too delighted to wear it the next day, which dawned clear and warm for her flight. Miss Carlton left early in the morning, by train, so that she would be at Green Falls in plenty of time to welcome the flyers. Ralph came over for Linda about half-past nine. Carrying their lunch, the young people started on their first real adventure in the air. The young man, too, wore a new suit of spotless white flannel, and, as they walked, tall and slender and straight, they made perhaps the best-looking pair of flyers in America. But neither was conscious of that; both were too much excited about their first trip in the air to give even a passing thought to their appearances. "Are you sure that you have the precious necklace?" asked Linda, as they made their way across the field in back of her house. "Yes, indeed," answered Ralph. "I went to the safe-deposit vault this morning to get it. That was one reason why I didn't want to start early. I had to wait for the bank to open." "Kit would be horribly disappointed if we didn't bring it," returned Linda. "I honestly think she loves those pearls as much as I do my 'Pursuit'!" "Queer taste," remarked the boy. "If I had them, I'd sell them and buy a biplane!" "Of course you would," said Linda approvingly. "Even if you do insist upon talking baby-talk!" "Baby-talk?" "Certainly. 'Buy a biplane'--sounds like 'Bye, Bye, Baby,' doesn't it?" Ralph smiled, but they both forgot immediately what they were saying, for they were beside the plane now, ready to start on their flight. Linda was not at all nervous about the journey, only thrilled and happy. She climbed into the cockpit with the same assurance that she entered her car, and her take-off was just as easy, just as natural. It seemed now as if she piloted the biplane by instinct; with the sureness of a bird it rose into the air to a gradual height of fifteen hundred feet. For she had been cautioned again and again that there was safety in height. They flew along without any attempt at conversation, for it was difficult to hear above the roar of the motor. But Linda was so happy that she hummed softly to herself, and most of the time she was smiling. Ralph, with a map in his lap, kept a close watch on the compass. For some time they did not see any other planes in the sky, and then at last one came into view. As it drew closer, it occurred to Linda to wonder whether she was being followed. "Who do you suppose that is?" shouted Ralph, above the noise of the motor. "I think it's somebody from our school--maybe Taylor," she replied. "Perhaps Dad ordered them to follow us--for safety--or maybe it was Ted Mackay's idea." As the plane drifted off to one side, they thought no more about the matter. But it was noon now; the sun stood high overhead, and both of the young people were astonished to find how hungry they were. "I want to try a couple of stunts before we eat," Linda told Ralph. "You're game, aren't you?" "Surest thing!" replied the boy, with delight. "We've got plenty of height--and a spectator too, for that matter." The other plane had just come back into sight. Linda's eyes were shining with excitement, yet inside she was perfectly cool. Hadn't she made inside loops and Immelman turns often at school, and didn't she know exactly what to do? With perfect poise, she swung the plane into a loop, and completed it without any difficulty. Pleased with her success, she tried it again and again. "You must think you're Laura Ingalls!" shouted Ralph, catching his breath. "Trying to beat her record?" "Hardly," smiled Linda, for the famous aviatrix he mentioned held the record at that time with nine hundred and eighty consecutive inside loops, at a speed of four and a half loops a minute. The plane was righted now, but Linda suddenly noticed that Ralph was acting awfully queer, hanging over the side, and hunting frantically in the pockets of the sweater which he had put over the seat. She believed he must be ill; certainly his face was ghastly white. "Ralph!" she cried, fearfully. "What's the matter?" "I've lost the necklace!" he screamed in terror. "Must have fallen out of my pocket!" "Oh!" wailed Linda, aghast at the meaning of his words. "Are you sure?" "Positive!" "Then we'll land immediately. We're over a field, so we ought to be able to find it. Now--keep your eye on the compass!" Gradually, and with easy skill, she turned the biplane into the wind and descended, finally coming down into a large flat field, evidently a pasture ground for some horses. Ralph was the first to jump out. "We went a little south to land," he said, "so it must have dropped up there." "Was it in a box?" questioned Linda. "Yes, fortunately. A white velvet box, inside a larger pasteboard one, with three rubber bands around it. That ought to make it easier to find." Linda, however, had her doubts; the field was so big! Besides, what proof had Ralph that he had lost it at that particular minute--when she was making her loops. She remembered that he had taken off his sweater an hour ago, when he felt too warm, and had carelessly hung it over the side, forgetful of the precious box in its pocket. That was the trouble with being so rich! Many times she had noticed how heedless both Kitty and Ralph were about valuables. They walked silently across the field, their eyes on the ground, their minds filled with remorse. Ten minutes passed, and they had not found it. "Let's go back and eat our lunch," suggested Ralph, consulting his watch. "It's almost one o'clock, and we'll feel better if we eat. After all, we have plenty of time--Green Falls is only about twenty miles farther. We could search all afternoon, if necessary." "Yes, only Aunt Emily would nearly die of anxiety. She'd be sure we had been killed, if we didn't arrive before supper." They went back to the plane and took out the dainty lunch which Miss Carlton's cook had packed that morning for them. But, hungry though they were, the meal was not the pleasant picnic they had been hoping for. Both were too unhappy to enjoy what they were eating. Presently the noise of a motor overhead attracted their attention, and, looking up, they saw a plane in descent. When it was low enough to identify, they knew that it was the one that had been following them. "It's the 'Waco' from our school!" cried Linda. "I recognize it now. He must think we're in trouble. I wonder who's piloting?" The plane made a rather poor landing at the far end of the field, perhaps half a mile away. They could distinguish a man getting out of the cockpit, but of course at that distance they could not identify him. However, he seemed to be coming slowly towards them. As he advanced nearer and nearer Linda noticed that he wore an ordinary suit of clothing--not a flyer's uniform, and he kept his hand in his pocket. But she still did not recognize him--unless he was that new man the school had taken on the preceding day. Once he stooped over, as if he were picking something up, and Linda's heart beat wildly with hope. Could it be that he had found the necklace? Apparently, though, it was only a plant that he had pulled up by the roots, for when he straightened himself, he seemed to be examining its leaves. "In trouble?" he shouted, as soon as he was within hearing distance. Ralph jumped up and ran towards him, shaking his head in the negative. "No trouble with the plane," he replied. "But we've lost a little box--with a necklace in it. You haven't seen it, have you?" "Why, yes," answered the man slowly, "I did pick up a box." And he put his other hand in his pocket, and drew out the very article. Fortunately it had not been broken; even the rubber bands were still tightly around it. He handed it to Ralph. "Oh, thank you a thousand times!" cried Linda, too relieved to believe her eyes. "The necklace was a graduation present to this man's sister, and she values it very highly!" "Well, if that's all, I'll be off," said the man, as he watched Ralph put the box into his pocket. "No, I must reward you," insisted the boy, taking out a twenty-dollar bill. "And by the way, you're from the Spring City Flying School, aren't you? We recognized the plane." The other nodded, and seemed in a hurry to be off. Already he was twenty feet away. "It was awfully nice of you to follow us, and look after us," called Linda, "but really we don't need protection. We're getting along finely!" But the man was running now, and could hardly have heard what Linda was saying. In a couple of minutes they heard the motor start, and with a clumsy take-off, the plane ascended. "A queer cuss," remarked Ralph. "And I can't see that he's much of a flyer. You and I are both better--by a long shot.... But anyhow, we've got the necklace!" He put his arms around Linda and hugged her, and she was too happy to protest. What a miracle it was to have found it! "That will teach me a lesson," said Ralph, as he helped Linda gather up the lunch. "I'm going to be more careful now. I've put the necklace in my most inside pocket!" "And I'm not going in for any more acrobatics for a while," added Linda. They climbed into the cockpit, and started the motor without wasting any more time. Half an hour later they made a graceful landing at Green Falls' Airport, for a group of a hundred spectators to witness and admire. CHAPTER VIII _The Robbery_ "Let's don't say anything about our little mishap," whispered Linda, as the flying couple got out of their plane. "For one thing, I'd just as soon not boast about stunts in front of Aunt Emily. She would be worried all the more." "And I'm not any too proud of the fact that I was so careless about a valuable necklace," returned Ralph. "So we'll keep it our secret." There was no time for further words. Everybody rushed at them, shouting joyous welcomes. Louise was the first to kiss Linda--then all the others, and finally her aunt. "Thank Heaven you're safe!" cried the latter. "I couldn't eat a bite of lunch, I was so uneasy." "Of course we're safe," assured Ralph. "And maybe if we'd come by motor, we should have had an accident. There was a big smash-up--two automobiles--outside of Spring City this morning." "Isn't the air up here wonderful!" exclaimed Miss Carlton. "After that stuffy town of ours!" "I think the _airport_ is wonderful," replied Linda, "for so small a place. But as for the air--well, don't forget Auntie dear, that Ralph and I have been having marvelous air--up in the skies!" "Hope you didn't give him the air," remarked Maurice Stetson, solemnly. Kitty Clavering gave the young man a withering look, and inquired of the flyers when they might hope for rides. "Oh, I don't mean today," she added, "for I know you must both be nearly dead." "Not a bit of it!" denied Linda, who still looked as fresh as a flower in her becoming blue and white suit. "But it's supposed to be wise to have a mechanic go over your plane each time you fly. Just a precaution, you see." "A very good rule to follow," commented Miss Carlton. "Now everybody get into their cars, and we'll go over to our bungalow for some ginger-ale and sandwiches." "Just a moment, please!" interrupted a voice at her elbow, and everyone turned to see a newspaper man with a camera. "Pictures, please!" Linda and Ralph smilingly agreed, and their friends stepped aside. Then they all piled into the three machines that were waiting for them; while the strangers who had been watching commented on the beautiful biplane, and the handsome couple who had been flying it, and wondered whether they were married. "Did you bring my necklace, Ralph?" asked Kitty Clavering, as he got into her roadster with her and Maurice. "Surest thing!" he replied, as if nothing at all had happened on the way. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the pasteboard box, with the French jeweler's name engraved on the lid. "Thanks a lot," she replied. "Maurry, you take care of it till we get home, so long as you're sitting in the middle. Mind you don't lose it! I think as much of that as Linda does of her plane." "But not as much of it as you do of me?" asked the youth, flippantly. "A thousand times more! Like the old question people always ask married men: 'If your mother and your wife were drowning, which one would you save?' Well, if you and the necklace were drowning, I'd go after my necklace!" "Righto. Necklaces, no matter how valuable, have never been known to swim. I do." It was only a five minute ride from the airport to Miss Carlton's bungalow, so Kitty waited until they had all gone inside the pleasant living-room to open her box, and gaze at her beloved treasure once more. "I'm dying to see it again," she said, as she took the box from Maurice's hand. "If I had my way, I wouldn't keep it in a safe-deposit vault. I like it where I can look at it." She took off the rubber bands and opened the box, displaying the velvet case inside. But when she unfastened the clasp, her expression of delight changed abruptly to one of horror. The case was empty! Her exclamation of distress was pitiful to hear. Her dearest possession--gone! "Ralph!" she cried with torturing accusation. "Ralph! Are you teasing me?" Her brother's face became ghastly white. "What--what's wrong--Kit?" he stammered. "My necklace! Oh, what has happened?" She burst out crying. Everybody crowded around and gazed in consternation at the empty box, looking questioningly at Ralph, to see whether it could possibly be intended as a joke. But he did not need to tell them of his innocence; he looked almost as stricken as his sister. He knew now that it had been stolen by the man who pretended to be a pilot! And he had actually made twenty dollars out of Ralph besides, for the transaction! What fools they had been, never to open the box! "It's all my fault!" cried Linda, contritely. "My silly, foolish, childishness, for wanting to show off!" Nobody of course had any idea what she was talking about--nobody except Ralph. "No! No! It was mine!" he protested. "My carelessness!" "Then you both knew!" exclaimed Kitty, raising her head, which she had buried on Linda's shoulder while she sobbed. "Oh, how cruel, not to prepare me!" "On my honor, we didn't!" averred Ralph, and from the look on his face, his sister knew that he was telling the truth. "Explain what you meant, then," she commanded. "Let me tell you," put in Linda. "But sit down, Kit dear. You're liable to faint.... You see, we were robbed, and too foolish to suspect it. We even paid the robber twenty dollars for doing the job." "So you said," Kitty remarked, impatiently. "Do you mean that you saw somebody take it--right under your eyes?" She had dropped down on the couch, and her pale little face was pitiful to see. The tears still ran down her cheeks, washing tiny rivers through the powder. Luckily she was not a girl who used rouge, or she would have looked ridiculous. As it was, she gave the appearance of a very unhappy child. "Exactly!" explained Linda. "Or rather, we might have, if we had had sense enough to realize it. I wanted to try a couple of loops, and we started quite high, but by the time we had finished, we were over an open field. It was then that Ralph suddenly realized that the box had dropped out of his pocket when the plane was on its side. So we decided to land, and search the field." "And somebody had already picked it up?" demanded Dot, excitedly. "No. Another airplane--I had noticed it before--landed soon after we came down. The pilot walked over and asked us if we were in trouble." "And you stupids told him all about the fifty-thousand-dollar necklace!" cried Louise, in disgust. "No, we didn't! We were smart enough to know that wouldn't be wise. We thought we knew him, though--we had seen him at the Spring City Flying School. But we did tell him we had lost a necklace, and he said he had picked something up. As a matter of fact, we had noticed him stoop over." "And you took it and thanked him, and never looked inside!" cried Kitty. "I'm afraid you're right," admitted Ralph. "We thought he was a friend, following us for our protection, at the orders of the school." "Well, then, why was he following you?" demanded Kitty, incredulously. "He must have overheard us talking about the necklace," answered Linda slowly, for she was trying to think the thing out. "Yes--that is what I believe he was doing all the time, Ralph. Now I remember--the day we got our licenses!" "You mean you went around the school shouting the news that you were carrying pearls to Green Falls in an airplane?" asked the unhappy girl. "Of course not! Only the men at the bank--the safe-deposit vault--really knew about it. And of course they're absolutely trustworthy! Except maybe this one man--who was fixing his car outside the aviation field. We never thought he was listening--why we couldn't even see him!" "Children," interrupted Miss Carlton, who had been patiently waiting to serve the refreshments, "wouldn't you all feel better if you ate something? Then we can discuss what are the best steps to take to capture the thief." They agreed, but Linda and Ralph and Kitty were all extremely nervous; they hated to lose any time. Ralph decided to telephone to a lawyer at once in Spring City, to put expert detectives on the job, and to get in touch with the Flying School. "Lucky the necklace was insured," remarked Maurice Stetson, as he drank his ginger-ale. "Yes, but Dad will never get me another!" moaned Kitty, disconsolately. "He'll say I was careless, and invest the insurance in bonds, to be kept in trust till I'm older--or something like that." She started to cry afresh. "And I only wore the necklace twice--at graduation and at the class dance!" Linda watched her sorrow with more than sympathy--with remorse. It was her fault, she was sure! Of course she couldn't imagine caring so much for a pearl necklace, when such lovely imitations were made, but it wasn't her place to judge. Kitty probably wouldn't understand why she loved her Arrow so much. Slowly, painfully, she came to her decision. She rose and went over to the couch where Kitty was sitting, and crowded in between the latter and Dot. "It's my fault, Kit," she said, "and of course I can't pay for it--but I can help. I'm--I'm--going to sell my airplane, and--give you the money. Then you can start buying a new one--a couple of pearls at a time." Kitty squeezed her hand affectionately. "You're a dear, Linda, but I couldn't possibly let you do that. Besides, it was really Ralph's fault." "Of course it was!" put in the young man, returning from making his telephone call. "But we're going to catch that thief!" he announced, with conviction. "I've just been talking with Lieutenant Kingsberry at the field, and he says that fellow didn't even have a license, that they only took him on temporarily, as sort of errand boy. And he deliberately stole that plane!" "I thought he was about the poorest pilot I ever saw!" cried Linda, jumping up excitedly at this piece of news. "He'll probably crash, sooner or later.... Ralph!" Her eyes were shining with inspiration.... "Let's go out after him--ourselves!" "Lieutenant Kingsberry is broadcasting the news all over--to all the airports," replied the young man. "Everybody will be watching for him. Do you think there would be any use in our going?" "Yes! Yes! We might be just the ones to spot him! Oh, come on!" "But haven't you had enough flying for today, Linda?" inquired Miss Carlton, anxiously. "We won't go far, Auntie dear," answered the girl. "Just around to the nearest airports, and see if anybody has any information. The practice of landing and taking-off again will be good for us both.... And you needn't worry one bit!... Now, who'll drive us over to our 'Pursuit'?" "'Pursuit' is right," remarked Maurice. "Your plane has the right name, Linda!" Louise immediately offered her services, and in less than five minutes the young pilots had washed their faces and were ready to start. Ten minutes later they climbed into the cockpit on the runway of the airport, and, this time with Ralph at the controls, they took off for the nearest airport. Ralph was delighted to be piloting a plane again, and in his enthusiasm he almost forgot the seriousness of his mission. A king of the air, he thought, and his lips were smiling. But Linda could not forget so easily. Like most young men, he loved going fast, and as soon as he was high enough, he let the plane out to her maximum speed. Over the clouds they sailed, at a rate of seventy miles an hour, yet they did not seem to be traveling fast. Linda had no sense of danger, yet it was the first flight she had ever made that she did not thoroughly enjoy, for, unlike Ralph, she could not for one moment forget Kitty's tragedy. Twenty minutes, however, was all that was needed to reach their first port, and Ralph, not quite so skilled or so careful as Linda, made, nevertheless a pretty landing. It was a large field, evidently designed for amateur sport flyers, and there were a number of licensed mechanics in readiness to greet new arrivals. Ralph lost no time in telling his story to the first man who came forward. Had they any information so far? he inquired. "Only of a wreck about fifteen miles away," replied the latter. "That may be your man--if, as you say, he is not an experienced pilot." "Can you give us directions?" put in Linda excitedly. "Certainly," replied the other, taking a map from his pocket, and indicating the position of the wreck. "We've already sent a doctor and a nurse--and telephoned for an ambulance." Marking the spot, he handed the map to Ralph. Jumping into the plane at once, Linda took control, for she felt surer of herself than of her companion in an emergency. The boy was so absent-minded, so likely to forget things in his excitement. Their destination was a field again, but not a large one, this time, and already a small crowd, gathered from passing automobiles, had collected. Here landing was not so easy as in the airports designed for that very purpose. But the girl knew just what she was doing, and she handled the situation with a dexterity that would have brought credit to a far more experienced pilot. Over against an embankment, its wings smashed to pieces, a plane was lying on its side, mutely testifying to the truth of the mechanic's statement. "There's the wreck!" cried Ralph, as he and Linda stepped on the ground. "Do you think it's the Waco?" Grabbing her companion's arm, Linda ran forward eagerly. When they were within fifty yards of it, she knew that it was the very plane they were seeking. "It is! Oh, Ralph! Even the license number--so I'm sure! Remember? Look! Do you suppose that man was killed?" "Would serve him right!" muttered the boy, resentfully. "Stealing a necklace, and crashing a plane that wasn't his! But let's go over and have a peep at him--there's the ambulance." The crowd, which was still gathering, although the field was in an isolated spot, was being held back by a policeman, for the ambulance was ready to start. Ralph dashed forward, anxious to get a look at the thief before it departed. "Not that we could claim the necklace now," he explained to Linda, whose arm he was holding, "for we haven't any proofs of our ownership. But at least we could warn the cop to look out for it." "Back! Back!" shouted the officer, for the driver was tooting his horn. "Oh, please wait a minute!" begged Linda. "Please let me see the man who is inside!" The policeman regarded the girl doubtfully, but she was so eager in her pleading that he thought perhaps she had a good reason. Perhaps the man inside the ambulance meant something to her; he decided to grant her request. "Take a look, miss," he agreed. "But be quick about it." Stepping ahead of Ralph, Linda climbed upon the back step of the car, and peered anxiously into it, past the white-clad interne, to the unconscious figure on the stretcher. Suddenly she started violently, and clung to the door of the ambulance for support. It was incredible, impossible! Her knees shook, her hands fell to her side, and she swayed backward in a faint. In an instant Ralph's arms were around her; he carried her out of the crowd. The unconscious man in the ambulance was none other than Ted Mackay! CHAPTER IX _Suspicions_ Someone from the crowd handed Ralph a cup filled with water, and before they had gone half a dozen steps, Linda had recovered consciousness. She dropped down to the ground and stared questioningly about her. "What was it, my dear?" asked Ralph gently, as he held the water to her lips. "Was the man hurt so horribly?" "No--it wasn't that," replied Linda slowly, remembering all that had happened. "It was just--oh, Ralph! I hate to tell you!" "Please tell me, Linda," he begged. She looked about her for a moment. The ambulance had gone, and the crowd, seeing that the girl was all right, began to withdraw, some to examine the shattered plane, others to go back to their cars parked along the roadside. There was nobody listening now, so she decided to answer Ralph's question. "It wasn't our thief at all," she said. "It was--Ted Mackay." "Ted Mackay?" he repeated, as if he could not believe his ears. "Yes." "Then how do you explain it? That couldn't have been Mackay we met on that field--Mackay disguised, or anything?" "No. He wasn't tall enough. And he had black hair. Oh, Ralph, I'm sure of that!" "Then how do you explain it?" "I don't explain it," she said weakly. He said nothing more, but he knew that she was not only terribly disappointed in not being able to trace the necklace, but that she was entertaining grave doubts about Mackay's part in the whole miserable affair. Were he and this thief in partnership, playing a wicked game, and had Ted hired the man because he would not let them know his part in the robbery? But there was no use talking about that now, for Ralph realized that Linda was almost ready to collapse. Drawing her arm through his, he led her silently back to the Pursuit, and put her into the cockpit, indicating that he would pilot them back to Green Falls. Not a word did she utter during the entire flight homeward; she drooped listlessly back in her seat, with an expression of disappointment and despair on her face. How she wished that she had not come! No one was waiting for them at the airport, so they took a taxi to Miss Carlton's bungalow. They found the latter on the porch, with only Kitty and Maurice beside her. "Any news?" demanded the girl, jumping out of the hammock, and rushing down the steps before the taxi had been stopped. "Some news, yes," replied Linda, while Ralph paid the driver. "But I'm afraid it doesn't mean much. Ralph will tell you all about it." But the young man was not willing to tell his story until he had asked Miss Carlton to take care of Linda. "She fainted at the field," he explained. "The hot sun and the crowd, I expect." He did not want to speak of Ted Mackay before her, while she felt so ill. "So if you'll take Linda up to her room, Miss Carlton, I'll tell Kitty what I know--and tell you later." The words aroused Linda's aunt immediately, and she lost interest in the necklace temporarily. What were a few pearls, anyway, in comparison to her precious girl? She hurried her off to bed, and Ralph turned to Kitty and Maurice. "You see it was this way," he began, and Kitty stamped her foot in exasperation. "Don't be so slow, Ralph!" she commanded. "Why, here comes Linda's father!" interrupted Maurice, as another taxi stopped at the bungalow. "What do you think of that?" Kitty looked vexed. Another interruption! But Ralph was already on his feet, greeting him, and explaining the absence of Linda and her aunt. "And I was just going to tell Kitty about our pursuit of the thief," he added, "so if you care to hear the story, Mr. Carlton, perhaps you will sit here with us?" The older man was glad to comply with the request. Naturally, anything that was connected with Linda's first flights was of paramount interest to him. So, in spite of Kitty's impatience, her brother began the story with the day that he and Linda received their licenses, and ended it with the latter's identification of Ted Mackay, unconscious on the stretcher in the ambulance. "Mackay!" repeated Mr. Carlton, shaking his head knowingly. "So he was the brains of the crime!" "I'm afraid so, sir. And I'm afraid that's what made Linda faint." "Of course it is! She believed in that fellow. But I warned her not to trust him. You see his father worked for me out in Texas and he's an unprincipled fellow. Stole from everybody--not only myself, but even the rest of the help. And got into a mix-up with some Mexicans, and turned them against me.... Yes, it must run in the family. The father may even be in on this necklace robbery. I don't know where he is now." "That explains a good deal," mused Ralph, who had been listening thoughtfully. "I never did like Ted Mackay." He would not admit even to himself that jealousy was the main reason for this dislike. "Besides, Linda probably told him about the Midsummer Ball, and our carrying Kit's necklace to Green Falls. I thought it was funny if that other chap caught on so quickly." "Did Linda see much of Mackay while she was at the school?" her father asked, sharply. "I can't say that, although I wasn't always with her. Towards the end of our time we did so much solo flying, that when I was up in the air I didn't know where she was, although she was usually up too--in another plane. But one time I did find her in a pretty intimate conversation--and that was right before we left. She probably told him then." "Too bad! Too bad!" muttered Mr. Carlton, regretfully. He was wishing now that he had sent Linda to some other flying school. At this moment, Miss Carlton, having left Linda asleep in her room, came out on the porch to see her young guests. She showed no surprise at finding her brother; for fifteen years she had been accustomed to having him drop in when least expected, without a moment's notice. "Well, Tom," was all that she said, as she presented her cheek for his brotherly kiss. "I suppose these children have told you the news." "Yes, and if you don't mind, Emily, I think I'll drive over with them to see Mr. Clavering," he added, for the young people had all risen, and were showing signs of departure. "I'd like to have a talk with him--at least if you'll excuse me." "Certainly," replied his sister. "And will you be back in time for dinner?" "I'll come home in half an hour," stated her brother, laughing, for he always teased her about her insistence upon his promptness. It was natural that he should want to meet Kitty's parents, that he might at least offer to do his part in trying to recover or make good the girl's loss. But Mr. Clavering seemed to take the matter almost lightly. "Of course it's too bad," he said, "but as long as it is only a theft, and not an injury to one of the children, I think it's foolish to worry. And, after all, we may get insurance." "_May_ get insurance?" repeated Mr. Carlton, frowning. "Why shouldn't you get it? I thought that was what insurance was for!" "I'm afraid ordinary insurance will not cover travel by air," explained the other man. At these words his daughter burst into tears. Her last hope was gone! "I never thought of that," said Mr. Carlton, gravely. "That makes a difference.... Well, Mr. Clavering, in that case, I guess we had better divide the obligation. I'll raise my twenty-five thousand--the necklace was worth fifty, I understand--as soon as I can." "You'll do nothing of the sort!" protested the other, firmly. "Your daughter was not the least bit at fault. It was natural for her to try her stunts--she wouldn't be human if she didn't! I put the whole blame upon Ralph." "No! No----" "Yes, yes! I won't hear anything else. But we'll wait and give the detectives time. If we have caught the leader, as you and Ralph think, it ought to be an easy matter to locate the accomplice. At least, provided Mackay doesn't die." "That's true!" exclaimed Ralph. "I never thought of that. We better get over to the hospital to see him as soon as possible." "How about tomorrow morning?" suggested Mr. Carlton. "I'd like to go with you, my boy--I've had some experience in dealing with criminals, ever since the episode with Mackay's father." "I'll be delighted to have you," replied Ralph. "And in the meantime, I'll call my detective and put him on the other man's trail." So while Linda slept peacefully at home, her father and her best boy friend made plans to verify their suspicions against Ted Mackay, lying helpless in the hospital, twenty-five miles from Green Falls. CHAPTER X _In the Hospital_ When Ted Mackay opened his eyes at the hospital the following morning, he did not know where he was. Although he had regained consciousness when the orderlies brought him in from the ambulance the day before, it had not lasted long. An anesthetic was immediately administered, for it was necessary to cut into his arm, and later a drug was given to make him sleep. So, for the moment, he could not understand why he was here--in a ward, undoubtedly, judging from the long row of cots against the wall. A dull aching pain in his arm and shoulder made him glance suspiciously at his left side. They were bandaged, of course. And then suddenly he remembered. He had been sent out with a new plane, from his company in Kansas City, to make delivery to a purchaser in Buffalo. Just before he left, a radio message had been received from the Spring City Flying School, asking all pilots and mechanics to look out for a stolen Waco. Naturally, Ted remembered the plane. He had been flying quite low, to make certain tests with the plane he was delivering, over the fields beyond Green Falls, when he suddenly noticed a wreck. Complying with the regulations of the Department of Commerce, he descended in order to report the casualty and to render assistance, if possible. Smashed as it was, he recognized it immediately as the old Waco, which he had so often piloted at Spring City. He looked about for the pilot, dreading to find his shattered body in the cockpit. He had been leaning over, peering into the bushes, when a gun went off at his back, hitting him on the left arm, near the shoulder. Reeling about sharply, he just had time to see a shabbily dressed man run for the new plane. And then everything went black; he couldn't recall what happened, or how he got to the hospital. "The company's new plane!" he suddenly exclaimed aloud, attempting to sit up in his cot. "It's gone!" He looked about helplessly for the nurse, for anybody, to verify his fears. But nobody came, although down the hall he could hear footsteps of people busy on their early morning duties. Warned by the pain in his shoulder, he sank back on his pillow to wait, and as he lay there quietly, he went back over the events of the past week that had been so eventful for him. He thought of Linda Carlton, of the pride and joy in her beautiful eyes when she had won her license. And of her farewell! A farewell that might easily be forever! Yet through no fault of his own, merely because his father had disgraced himself. It had always been like that with Ted; it seemed as if his father had tried to spoil his whole life. Just when the boy was ready to enter High School, Mr. Mackay had been dismissed from his job for stealing from the cash-drawer of the store where he was employed. The judge had let him off, for he knew what a splendid woman Mrs. Mackay was, and Ted and his older sister had gone to work to pay the debt. It was hard sledding after that; Mr. Mackay wandered off, working now in one place and now in another, and Ted put off his hopes of study for a while. Then, just as the family were getting ahead, and Ted had started in at an aviation school, the man came back for more money. The last they heard of him was a year ago, when he had written that he had a real job on a ranch in Texas. But evidently he had done something wrong there, or Mr. Carlton would not be so bitter against his son. Ted's shoulder was hurting him badly, and his thoughts were not pleasant, so he uttered a weary sigh. "Well! Well!" exclaimed a cheery voice at the door. "Is the world as sad as all that?" Ted's mouth relaxed into a smile, the smile that had won him so many friends at the Spring City Flying School. He had not heard the nurse, a pretty probationer, who just entered the ward. "How's the shoulder this morning?" she asked him brightly. "You're looking better, Mr. Mackay." "I'm all right," replied Ted, wondering how she knew his name. "But can you give me any news of my plane?" "Your plane was wrecked, wasn't it?" she inquired. "No--I hope not! That was the other fellow's plane. The fellow that shot me." "Oh, I see. Then there were two planes?" "Certainly. Didn't you know?... You seem to know my name----" "There were some letters in your pocket--don't you remember? And the address of a company in Kansas City.... But I don't think anybody realizes that there were _two_ planes--that you didn't wreck yours." "Oh, but I wouldn't wreck a plane in that way!" he protested. "I think too much of them!" His face lighted up with the enthusiasm he always showed when he talked about flying. "But I've got to get to a telephone!" he added. "I must notify my company immediately of the loss." "Probably your company knows all about it," she replied. "Anyway, you can't do anything now--except lie still while I take your temperature. And then eat your breakfast. After your wound is dressed--if the doctor agrees----" "But I've got to get dressed right away! I want to notify them so that they can catch that bandit!" "Yes, yes. In due time. You must be patient." "You say they didn't know about that other fellow!" he cried, excitedly. "I tell you----" He stopped suddenly, for he saw that his nurse had gone off to another cot. There was no use trying to argue with nurses, he learned, for they had to follow the rules laid down by the doctors and the hospital authorities. So, for the next two hours he did exactly as he was told, not even making an attempt to dress. For his nurse had informed him that he must stay there at least another day. He was dozing when a representative from his company called to see him. But the man urged the nurse not to disturb him, saying that he would come again the following morning. She told him what she knew of Ted's story, and of his anxiety over the stolen plane, and he promised to send out scouts in its pursuit. Ted's next two visitors were not so thoughtful of his welfare. Mr. Carlton and Ralph Clavering, who made the trip unknown to Linda, arrived about eleven o'clock, and asked that the young man be awakened at once. "I think you had better come back tomorrow, if you want to talk to Mr. Mackay," said the nurse, noticing that the two men were not any too friendly towards her patient, for they had not even inquired how he was. "He mustn't be disturbed." "Then we'll wait until he wakes up," replied Mr. Carlton, firmly. "It's very important that we speak with him as soon as possible." "You're from his company?" she asked. "No, we're not." "Just friends?" "No." "Then may I ask what reason you have for wishing to see Mr. Mackay at this particular time?" "Business. Very important business. We think he is involved in the theft of a very expensive necklace." "No!" cried the nurse, aghast. It couldn't be true! Why, she had never seen anybody with franker eyes or a more truthful, honest face than this young man with the wounded arm! There must be some mistake. "Did he act as if he wanted to get out of the hospital as quickly as possible?" asked Ralph, shrewdly. "Why, yes--but that was only natural. All men, especially young men, are impatient about staying here. Only last week, the day after a man was operated on for appendicitis, he said he had to get back to his office--he just had to! You should have heard him rave. We laughed at him." "Well, we'll sit down here in the reception room and read the magazines," announced Mr. Carlton. "And you send us word when he wakes up." There was nothing further she could do, but somehow she was against them. Already she was on Ted's side. She didn't believe he was one of those wicked gangsters you read about in the papers. Why, he was only a boy! A boy tremendously interested in aviation. She could see his eyes shine when he talked about flying, and the absolute tragedy he believed it to be because, a fine plane had been wrecked. It seemed worse to him than being shot. Poor fellow! He would get well, of course, but was this going to cripple him so he wouldn't be able to fly? About twelve o'clock, when it was time for the lunch trays to be brought in, he awakened. But the nurse had no intention of informing those two men in the waiting-room. However, they did not wait to be informed. Perhaps Mr. Carlton suspected that the nurse was against him, or perhaps it was merely that he knew that he hadn't much longer to stay--it was imperative that he return to his ranch that night. Anyway, he and Ralph strolled down the hall and found Ted eating his lunch. They walked right into the ward without asking the nurse's permission. "How d'do, Mackay," said Mr. Carlton, briefly. "How's your wound?" "Better, thank you, sir," replied Ted, smiling. He had recognized Linda's father instantly, and a feeling of joy surged through him. What a decent thing for the man to do! Probably Linda had heard of his accident, and asked him to come to inquire for him. Of course he was totally unaware of the loss of the pearls; he had no idea that the thief who had taken the two planes had done so for the sole purpose of stealing a necklace. Remembering Ralph, too, he managed to smile at him also. "You certainly managed to wreck your plane," remarked Mr. Carlton, not knowing exactly how to begin. "You're in luck that you weren't killed!" "I didn't wreck _my_ plane, sir," corrected Ted, quietly. "It was the fellow who shot me that wrecked his--or rather the school's, for he had stolen it from the Spring City Flying School, you know. Then he shot at me, and flew off in my plane." "Oh, is that so?" Mr. Carlton, raised his brows, and his eyes narrowed. He didn't believe a word of it. "And--er--how did you and this thief happen to be together?" he inquired. "I was taking a new plane to Buffalo, and flying low, making some tests, when I spotted the wreck. So I brought mine down." "You knew, then, that he had stolen Miss Clavering's pearls?" "What?" cried Ted, starting upright in bed, and then, shocked by the pain from his sudden movement, dropping back to his pillow. "You never heard of a valuable pearl necklace that this young man was carrying from Spring City to his sister, by my daughter's plane?" persisted Mr. Carlton. His tone was mocking, insulting. "On my honor, Mr. Carlton----" "Come now, Mackay," interrupted Ralph. "Why not make a clean breast of it? We know you--or this other fellow--heard Linda and me discussing it at the field, and we know you used him as an accomplice. We saw him hanging around outside----" "You are making a big mistake, Mackay," put in Mr. Carlton, "if you don't confess everything now. I'd be willing to give you another chance--if you tell us how you can get a hold of that fellow, and get the necklace back. I know you weren't brought up right--it's not exactly your fault if you don't know right from wrong----" But this was too much for Ted to bear. The man was insulting his mother! If he hadn't been Linda's father, Ted would have struck him, crippled though he was. Instead, overpowered by nervous exhaustion, he let out a terrific scream that at least stopped the abuse. "I do know right from wrong!" he cried. "My mother is the finest woman that ever lived, and she knew what to teach her children! What you say is a lie!" By this time everybody in the ward was looking and listening in breathless interest, and the head nurse, attracted by the noise, stopped in the corridor. "You men will leave at once," she commanded, from the doorway, and Mr. Carlton, who was so used to giving orders to others, found that for once he had to obey. He and Ralph picked up their hats and were gone without another word. After that, Ted was quite ill. His temperature went up, and he became delirious. The little nurse was both angry and remorseful. It was her fault, she thought, for not keeping those dreadful men out. Accusing an innocent boy like her patient! The visitors, however, went away dismayed. They hadn't proved a thing. "Unfortunately I have to leave tonight right after dinner," said Mr. Carlton, as Ralph drove him back to his sister's. "I guess we'll have to turn the whole thing over to the detectives." "Well, we'll see what Greer and his men can do," replied the other. "One good thing, Mackay can't get away from us, crippled as he is. And the other fellow is such a poor pilot that he'll crash sooner or later." "If he doesn't get out of the country first," muttered Mr. Carlton, dolefully. "What does Linda think about the affair?" inquired Ralph, for he had not seen the girl since her aunt helped her to go to bed the preceding afternoon. "I don't know. I haven't seen her. She was still asleep when I left this morning." "I imagine she believes Mackay guilty. That's what knocked her over so yesterday." "Well, she'll get over that," returned her father, briefly. And he invited Ralph to come into the house for luncheon. The young man, however, had the good taste to decline. It would be a ticklish situation at best--and besides, Linda ought to have some time to be alone with her father, if he were leaving so soon. "But tell Linda I'll be over after dinner," he added. "The bunch is planning a canoe party." CHAPTER XI _An Anxious Day for Linda_ Never in her life did Linda remember being so exhausted as she had been on the evening of her flight to Green Falls. With her Aunt Emily's help she had somehow gotten into bed, and eaten the supper of milk-toast which the maid had brought to her. Inside of an hour she was fast asleep, not to awaken until eleven o'clock the following morning, although her aunt, still a little worried about her fainting, was in and out of her room three times. It was upon the last occasion that she finally opened her eyes. "Oh, such a good sleep, Aunt Emily!" she murmured, contentedly. "Do you feel better, dear?" inquired the other. "Just fine, thanks. And hungry." "I'll have Anna bring you up some fruit, and then you can have lunch with us. Or would you rather have a regular breakfast in bed?" "Just the fruit, please, Aunt Emily," replied Linda. How kind, how thoughtful, her aunt always was! No real mother could ever be more so. "You are so good to me, Auntie!" she cried, impulsively catching the older woman's hand. "And you're always so appreciative, dear," responded her aunt, affectionately. "I don't think most young girls are like you. They just expect their parents to do everything. Older people like thanks." "I guess everybody likes to be thanked, when they deserve it...." She jumped out of bed, and slipped into a chiffon negligee that hung over the chair. "And now I'll hurry with my bath!" "Yes, dear--because your father arrived yesterday, after you had gone to bed. He'll be here for lunch, but he has to leave right after supper." "Is he downstairs now?" asked Linda, excitedly. "I don't know whether he has come in or not. He went somewhere with Ralph this morning." "With Ralph?" "Yes. Something about the theft, I believe.... Well, dear, I'll send up some raspberries--or would you rather have cantaloupe?" "Cantaloupe, I think, Aunt Emily," replied Linda, as Miss Carlton left the room. Some of the happiness with which Linda awoke seemed to vanish at her aunt's statement about her father and Ralph. She had forgotten for the moment about the necklace--that airplane accident, and the shock of finding Ted Mackay. What could it all mean? Was Ted really involved in the affair? By this time her father must know about him, since her Aunt Emily said he was with Ralph. What were they up to now? If Ted really were in league with the thief, would they put him in prison too? She hated the thought of such a thing--it did not seem possible. Surely, there must be some explanation. All of a sudden she longed fiercely to see the boy, to hear the story from his own lips. But he was in a hospital, unconscious--perhaps dying! Anna came in with the cantaloupe as Linda finished her bath, and she sat on the edge of the bed to eat it. She made a pretty picture, her soft curly hair damp from the water, her cheeks pink with color after the cold shower, her charming blue negligee wrapped about her slender figure. She looked like a lady of leisure enjoying her late breakfast as if it were a regular thing; not an aviation student who arose every morning at seven o'clock and put in a hard day's work at school. When she entered the living-room, she found her father there waiting for her. She was all in white now, white linen sports suit, and white shoes. He held out his arms invitingly, and she leaped gracefully into his lap. "Daddy dear!" "Linda!" "You didn't mind my not waking up for supper last night, did you?" she asked, after she had kissed him. "I would have been too tired to talk." "Of course not! It was the wisest thing to do. Sometimes when you force yourself to keep awake after a strain like that, you find you cannot go to sleep again. But you're rested now?" "Fresh as a freshman," she replied, laughing. "And I'm mighty proud of my little girl," he added, affectionately, "for passing your examination and flying all the way up here without any mishaps." Linda's face grew sober, and her eyelids fluttered. "But--I didn't, Daddy. You--you heard about the necklace?" "Yes. That was too bad, but I can't see that it was in any way your fault. You'd be a queer flyer if you didn't want to test your knowledge." "Then you don't really blame me?" she asked eagerly. Her father's approval had always meant so much to her. "Of course not. It was the boy's carelessness. He agrees with me, and so do his father and mother. I went over to see them last night." "Ralph hasn't heard anything more, has he?" she asked anxiously. How she longed for news of Ted! But she was afraid to mention his name to her father. Mr. Carlton, however, answered her unspoken wish. "No," he said. "We drove over to see Mackay at the hospital this morning, and tried to talk to him. But he wouldn't admit a thing. He became hysterical when we accused him, and the nurse had to ask us to go away. We're as much in the dark as ever." Linda got up quietly and went over to a chair. Somehow she wouldn't sit on her father's lap when he held such widely different opinions from her own. But Mr. Carlton did not seem to notice that she had gone. He sat perfectly still, thinking. "You really believe Ted--Mr. Mackay--had a part in the horrible thing?" she asked, dismally. "I don't think there is a doubt of it." "But how do you explain the fact that he was shot? Surely, if he and this thief were working together, one wouldn't shoot the other!" Her father shook his head, and smiled indulgently. What a child she was! What did she know about the wickedness of criminals? "I'm sorry to tell you, dear, that in spite of that old proverb about there being honor among thieves, there isn't much. They are so utterly selfish and unprincipled that if one finds that his pal is getting the better of him, he doesn't hesitate to wound--and oftentimes kill--the other. If Mackay was making off with the necklace, and this other fellow saw that all his work had been for nothing, one could hardly blame him for shooting.... No, I'm afraid that doesn't prove a thing." Linda sighed; everything seemed hopelessly black for Ted. "Will they put him in jail?" she asked. "Whom?" "Mr. Mackay." "Of course, when he is well enough. Our detectives will see to that. We can't actually convict him till we have more evidence. But we can force him to tell what he knows about this other thief." A lump came into Linda's throat, and she felt as if she couldn't talk any more. For the time being, even her interest in her plane was gone. It had brought so much unhappiness--first to Kitty, and now to Ted Mackay. She was thankful when her aunt came into the room, to take her mind from her morbid thoughts. At the same time, Anna announced luncheon. "What are you planning to do this afternoon, dear?" inquired her Aunt Emily, as she ate her iced fruit-cup. "Because I want part of your time." "Certainly, Aunt Emily. But tell me, have you decided you would like to go up in the Pursuit?" "No, no--nothing like that. I want to live a little while longer, dear--Green Falls is so pleasant! But, seriously," she added, "I do want you to do something for me. I want you to try on your costume for the Midsummer Ball. I had to order it without asking you, dear, for of course you were too busy learning to fly, and it hadn't come when we left Spring City. But I think it is very charming--and I hope you will like it." "I'm sure I shall. But, Aunt Emily, I could have worn my flyer's suit, and saved you all that trouble." "You're going to get tired enough of that suit, attractive though it is. Besides, everybody would know you. And I like you to look especially pretty--in fluffy, feminine things. I have chosen the costume of Queen Mab for you." "Oh, that will be adorable!" cried Linda, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, for she too loved dainty things. "And may I see you when you are trying it on?" put in Mr. Carlton "Your mother once wore something like that in a fairy play--and she was very beautiful. I'd like to see whether you remind me of her." "Certainly, Daddy. I'll put it on right after lunch. And then I'll do whatever you want. Take you up for a ride, if you would like it." "I think you're too tired for that," he replied. "No--I'll wait till the next time I come. Besides, the mechanics ought to have a chance to go over your motor before you fly it again. Don't forget the promises you made to me." "I won't forget, Daddy. I'll telephone over to the airport this afternoon." "By the way, daughter, have you ever tried jumping with a parachute? Did they make you do that at school?" At his question, Miss Carlton suddenly stopped eating and gazed at the girl in terror. Surely Linda would not do such a hazardous thing as that! "Yes, Daddy," replied Linda, blushing, for she did not want to say anything about her jump with Ted Mackay. "Lieutenant Kingsberry himself was with me. Mr. Taylor didn't want to let me try it--I don't think he has much use for girls who want to fly--so I went straight to the Lieutenant. He went up with me himself." "Wasn't it a dreadful experience?" asked her aunt, with a shudder. "No--not terrible at all. I felt a little queer before the parachute opened, but after that it was delightful. Just softly floating down from the skies. I loved it." "Well, I'm glad you did it," remarked her father. "Because now you won't be afraid if you ever have to." "I am hoping I won't have to--with my Pursuit. Not that I'd be afraid, but because it would be the end of my plane. Think of just leaving it alone, to crash!" "It would be too bad, of course--but I could buy you another plane. We couldn't buy another daughter, could we, Emily?" he asked his sister. "Don't talk about it!" begged Miss Carlton, miserably. "All right," agreed Linda. "Suppose Daddy tells me what he would like to do this afternoon--after I try on the costume." "Sure you don't want to be with your young friends?" he inquired. "I'll have all the rest of the summer for them." "Then let's go for a little drive in your roadster. Out to some pretty road. And come back in time to go swimming with your crowd." "I'd love that, Daddy!" she exclaimed. Then, turning to her aunt, "But is my car here, Aunt Emily? Did Thomas bring it up all right?" It was strange indeed, that she had forgotten to ask about it. Always before she had driven it herself, while Thomas, the chauffeur took charge of her aunt's limousine. This time he had hired a friend to drive the other, and brought hers himself. "Yes, he drove it up yesterday," replied her aunt. The hours that followed would have been very pleasant for Linda, had she not felt underneath her cheeriness, a growing anxiety about Ted Mackay. After their little outing, she and her father put on their bathing-suits and joined the group at the lake. In the diving, the racing, the polo game, Mr. Carlton proved a match for the young people; indeed he was the ringleader in suggesting tricks to the more daring members of the crowd. Even Louise, who had always stood somewhat in awe of him because he was sterner than her own parents, had to admit that he was a good sport. Ralph, who had not counted upon seeing Linda until evening, was delighted to find her at the lake, and tried immediately to date her as his partner for the canoe trip of the evening. But Linda shyly refused, telling him that her aunt was one of the chaperons, and the only partner she was willing to have. She shrank from the thought of talking to Ralph about Ted, or the robbery; she decided not to see him alone. Early after supper Mr. Carlton departed in a taxi, and Linda and her aunt drove over to Louise's bungalow to join the group for the canoe trip. There were a dozen young people besides themselves, and Mr. and Mrs. Haydock, too. Six canoes had been chartered. "Canoeing will seem kind of tame after flying, I guess," remarked Dot Crowley, as the young people walked over to the lake. "By the way, how soon will you take me for a fly?" "Anybody might take you for a fly," remarked Maurice Stetson. "You buzz around so!" Linda smiled, but she answered Dot's question immediately. Maybe the latter was as keen about airplanes as she was herself! You never could tell. "In a few days," she said. "For the time being I want to hold myself and my plane in readiness to chase that thief--if we ever get the chance!" "You still worrying about those pearls?" inquired Maurice, lightly. "Naturally," answered Linda. "Well, I command you to forget it. Kitty'll soon get over it. Anybody as beautiful as Kit is, doesn't need pearls. Besides, when she marries me, I'll buy her a bigger string!" "You mean _if_, not _when_, don't you?" countered Kitty. But she was evidently in high spirits again, thanks perhaps to the young man who made no secret of this adoration. There wasn't much opportunity for conversation, however. Jim Valier had brought his mandolin, and from the moment when the canoes pushed off until they were tied at the opposite side of the lake, where the young people made a fire and toasted marshmallows, everybody sang. Linda naturally joined in with the music, but only with her lips. Her heart was still heavy with the misfortune the preceding day had brought. On the way home she made up her mind to telephone the hospital the following morning. At least she could inquire about Ted--and maybe--oh, how she hoped it would be possible--she could speak with him, and hear from his own lips the explanation of his connection with the unfortunate robbery. CHAPTER XII _The Search for the Thief_ For the first time in her life, Linda Carlton was thankful that her father was not at home. He would object to her calling Ted at the hospital, but now it was impossible to ask his permission. Nevertheless, she was trembling when she took off the receiver and gave the hospital's number. "Mr. Mackay left last night," the attendant told her, "to go to his home. He was very much better." "Oh!" exclaimed Linda, hopefully. That was good news indeed. But she wanted to learn more. "Would it be possible for me to talk to his nurse?" she inquired. "I really have something important to ask." The attendant hesitated; it was not their custom to call nurses from their duties to answer inquiries about their patients. But Linda's voice was so eager that the man decided for once to waive the rule. "If you will hold the line a minute," he said, "I will see whether she is busy. You don't know which nurse it was?" "No. Probably one of the ward nurses." Linda was forced to wait several minutes, but in the end she was rewarded. A cheerful girl's voice informed her that its owner had taken charge of Ted Mackay while he was at the hospital. "But are you a friend or an enemy of Mr. Mackay, Miss----?" she inquired, cautiously. "Carlton is my name," answered Linda. "And I am a friend." "I'm glad to hear that. Mr. Mackay is such a nice boy that it is a shame he has to have enemies.... Now, what can I do for you?" "Tell me what you know of his story," replied Linda. "You see I only know that he was shot and that his enemies are trying to connect him with a thief who stole a valuable necklace. I know it can't be true. It just can't!" She was talking rapidly, excitedly. "I knew if I could see him he could explain everything. But he's gone!" "Yes, he went home last night. To his mother's. But I can tell you the facts, for he told me the whole story. He was piloting another plane--for his company--and spotted a wreck. It proved to be this thief, who evidently wasn't hurt by the crash, and so shot Mr. Mackay and made off in his new plane. It seems perfectly simple to me. I don't see how anybody could possibly accuse Mr. Mackay, when he was actually wounded himself." "How does his company feel about it?" asked Linda. "Same as we do. He is to go back to his job in a day or two, as soon as he feels rested." "Thank goodness!" cried Linda. "Then everything is O.K. Oh, you can't know how thankful I am! And so grateful to you!" "You're entirely welcome," concluded the young nurse, pleased to have been of some help. Linda began to sing as she replaced the receiver, and she went out on the porch in search of her aunt. She just had to tell somebody about Ted's innocence, and the weight which had been taken from her heart at the nurse's reassuring words. Miss Carlton had not heard any particulars about the story; indeed she scarcely knew who Ted Mackay was. So, omitting the parachute jump, Linda began at the beginning and related everything she knew about him, since that day last April when she had met him at the Red Cross Fair, and he had promised to take her up in an airplane. "And you don't think he's wicked, just because his father is, do you, Aunt Emily?" she asked, anxiously. "No, of course not, dear. It wouldn't be fair to jump to any such conclusion as that. Every human being has a right to be judged on his own merits--not his parents'." "That's what I think," agreed Linda. "But Daddy says----" "Hello, everybody!" interrupted a gay young voice from the hedge in front of the bungalow, and, turning about, Linda saw Ralph Clavering striding up the path. "Hello!" she answered, trying to make her voice cordial. Such a handsome boy, so charming--why did he have to be so unfair to Ted? Poor Ted, who had never had one-tenth of Ralph's advantages! "I've got news!" he cried, as he took the steps two at a time, and swung into a chair. "About the necklace?" demanded Miss Carlton, immediately. "Yes. From our detectives. They have spotted a gas-station that sold a can of gasoline to a red-headed fellow who said he wanted it for an airplane." "Really, Ralph!" exclaimed Linda, scornfully. "You don't call that news, do you? There must be plenty of red-haired pilots in our part of the country." "I know. But that isn't all. This agent carried the gas over in his car to a field where the plane was waiting, and he says there was another chap in it who answered the description of our thief." "Was the plane a Waco?" questioned Linda, keenly. "The fellow wasn't sure, but when Greer described it, he thought it was." "And is that all?" Miss Carlton's tone showed disappointment. "'Is that all?'" repeated Ralph, in amazement. "Why, that's plenty!" "I don't see how that will help you to catch your thief," remarked the woman. "But it will! Greer has telephoned the hospital, and located Mackay today. If he really has gone home, as he said, and hasn't run away, he'll be put through a third degree that'll make him tell where the thief is hiding. Because he must be hiding. He couldn't go very far on the gas in that plane, and all the airports and gasoline stations have been warned to watch out for him." Linda's eyes were blazing with anger. How could Ralph be so prejudiced, so cruel? "But Ted doesn't know any more about that thief than we do!" she protested, vehemently. "I talked with his nurse this morning--and she knew all about it. Ted met that thief by accident!" "By accident is right," remarked Ralph, with a scornful smile. "But never mind, Linda--don't you worry about it any more. Let's talk about the masque ball tonight. You're going with me, aren't you?" "I certainly am not!" announced the girl, haughtily. "I wouldn't go with anybody who could be so unfair----". "Children!" interrupted Miss Carlton, distressed at their inclination to quarrel. She had been so happy about the friendship between Ralph and Linda--it was eminently right! When her niece did decide to get married--though she hoped such an event was still far off--she couldn't imagine any young man who would suit her so well as Ralph Clavering. Such family! Such social position! And plenty of money! For Miss Carlton was always afraid that sometime her brother might lose his. He was so careless about it, he spent it so recklessly upon both his sister and his daughter. And, though the older woman had enough of her own securely invested in bonds to take care of her old age, she feared for Linda. Educated as she had been at that expensive private school, she was in no way trained to earn a living. She did not dream that Linda would be only too delighted to go into aviation as if she were a boy on her own responsibility--like Ted Mackay! "If I admit I'm jealous of Redhead, and say I'm sorry," conceded Ralph, "will you forgive me and go to the dance with me tonight?" His beautiful dark eyes were pleading, and for a moment Linda almost weakened, thinking of all their experiences together, and especially that moment when they both had thought they were so happy, in regaining the box that supposedly held the necklace. But she remembered Ted, and the cruel gruelling he would be subjected to very soon, because of Ralph's suspicions, and she closed her lips tightly. "Not unless you promise to call off your detectives from Ted Mackay," she pronounced, firmly. "But I can't do that--couldn't now, even if I wanted to. It's too late." "Then I'm not going to the party with you." "But Linda, dear," put in Miss Carlton, going towards the screen door in her embarrassment at being a witness to the quarrel, "it's too late to arrange to go with anybody else. All the other girls already have their partners!" "I'll go with you, Auntie!" replied the girl, complacently. "Lots of girls go with their parents." "Very well," agreed her aunt, disappearing into the living-room, with the unpleasant thought that it was only the unpopular girls who were forced into such a situation. As soon as she had gone, Ralph came over to Linda's chair. But he was afraid to touch even her hand--she looked so aloof and determined. "Linda--after all we've been to each other----" he began. She stood up, holding her head high. "I think you'll have to excuse me, Ralph," she said. "I'm very busy." "All right," he returned, sullenly. "Have it your own way, then! I'll get Louise to go with me." "Very well. Good-by." Her tone was icy; she did not even offer to shake hands with him. Ralph turned and hurried down the steps, angry at himself for pleading so hard, angrier at her for being so cold. No girl ever thought of treating him--Ralph Clavering--like that before! The very idea! Most young ladies would be only too delighted at his invitation! And all for the sake of a penniless, dishonest, red-headed pilot! For Ralph had not yet learned that there were some things which he could not buy with his father's millions. So he strode to the nearest telephone booth, and called Louise Haydock who, although she was flattered by the invitation, did not immediately accept. She had already promised Harriman Smith, and she so informed Ralph. "Well, there isn't any law that says a girl can't go with two men, is there?" he demanded. "If she happens to be popular enough! Can't we all three go together?" "Why aren't you going with Linda?" inquired Louise, shrewdly. "We've quarreled," he admitted. "Then make it up!" she advised. "Pull yourself together, Ralph--and apologize." "I tried to, but it was no good. No, we're off!" "Then Linda hasn't any partner?" "She says she's going with her aunt," muttered Ralph. "Oh, that won't do!" exclaimed Louise. "Wait, Ralph, I'll fix everything. I'll get Harry to take Linda--he's crazy about her anyhow--and then I'll go with you." "O.K., Lou. You're the little sport!" "And fixer," added the girl, to herself, as she bade Ralph good-by, and called first Harry and then Miss Carlton. Louise's suggestion seemed like an act of Providence to the older woman; it would have been mortifying indeed to her to have Linda appear at the ball without a masculine escort, as if the girl were a mere wallflower. Harriman Smith had been most agreeable about the whole arrangement; anything Louise decided suited him, he told her. And Linda, too, was delighted with the news. She came out of her bedroom while her aunt was talking on the telephone, dressed in her flyer's suit. "Where are you going dear?" inquired Miss Carlton, in anxious surprise. "I'm going scouting," explained Linda. "I think I'll fly around--pretty low--and look for wrecks. I have a hunch that that thief has smashed his plane by now. He was such a poor pilot, you know I told you." "Well, be careful," cautioned her aunt. "But so long as you fly low, I won't worry." Linda smiled to herself. If Aunt Emily only realized how infinitely more dangerous it was to fly low than high! She found her Pursuit in perfect condition, and had it taken to the runway, where she taxied off without the least difficulty. She climbed to about fifteen hundred feet, and flew over past the hospital and the field where the Waco had been smashed. Then she carefully came lower, using her glasses to watch the ground as she flew. The country was open--there were no buildings and few trees, so she felt safe in keeping within sight of the ground. She was flying along confidently, when suddenly a long pole seemed almost on top of her. Swerving sharply upward, she just avoided striking some wires that the pole was supporting. "Oh!" she gasped. "What a lucky break! Suppose I hadn't had a foolproof plane!" For she knew that her Arrow had been designed especially for amateurs like herself. "Crazy of me to fly so near to the ground!" she exclaimed, in self-contempt. "After all the warnings I've had! I deserve a crash!" And she continued to climb upward to safety. As she flew onward, steadying her thoughts, she decided that it was senseless to try to hunt the thief with a plane. If she wanted to look for him it would be much more reasonable to use her car--or to hike. So she abandoned that project entirely. But as she continued her flight towards Green Falls, it suddenly occurred to her that she might help Ted in another way. She could establish his alibi for him--by means of his company! That red-haired man that the agent claimed he saw with the thief couldn't have been Ted, and she would take means of proving it. Then, if Ralph's detectives insisted upon throwing him into prison, there would be a way to have him released. So she flew back to the airport, confident that her morning had not been entirely wasted, and, to her aunt's relief, she arrived home in time for lunch. CHAPTER XIII _The Masque Ball_ The gay young set at Green Falls to which Linda belonged had planned nothing for that afternoon except the regular swim, for the ball would be late, and the donning of their costumes would take a good deal of time. Linda, however, even passed up the swim in favor of a nap, for she was very tired. Besides, she had no desire to meet Ralph at the lake or anywhere else. Like all the social affairs at this charming resort, the masque ball--the greatest event of the season, with the possible exception of the field day at the close--began early. Dinner at the Carltons was over by half-past seven, and, after assuring herself that Linda's costume was to her satisfaction, Miss Carlton left the bungalow. She was a patroness, of course, and she wanted to get to the Casino early, to pass final judgment upon the decorations and the music. Harriman Smith arrived at half-past eight, in a taxi, for as one of the poorer members of the crowd, he did not possess a car of his own. Linda, in the filmy dress of the fairy queen, with a crown of golden stars about her hair, welcomed him into the bungalow. "Linda!" exclaimed the young man, in positive awe. "I never saw anyone so beautiful in my whole life!" She smiled shyly, pleased at the compliment. But of course as yet he had not seen the other girls in their costumes! "It's the dress," she explained modestly. "If there's any credit, it should go to Aunt Emily. She selected it.... I like your costume, too, Harry. You're Robin Hood, aren't you?" "Yes--I'm glad you can recognize me, anyway.... But Linda, seriously, I just know you'll take the prize for the most beautiful woman!" "I didn't know there was a prize." "Of course there is. And for the most handsome man. And the best dancers--and the funniest.... Probably some more I don't remember.... But I guess you never think much about prizes." "I do about some prizes," she admitted. "Cups for endurance flights, and high altitudes--and things like that!" "Naturally--trust you to be up on anything connected with airplanes. I suppose you'll be winning some of them yourself sometime. But when it comes to social events----" "Well, you're often the same way, Harry," she teased. "Look at the parties you passed up last winter, just because of your engineering course!" The boy smiled, not at all displeased by the observation, for he was a youth who took his studies seriously. Unlike Maurice Stetson and Ralph Clavering, who seemed interested only in the fraternities and the sports at college, he went there with the idea of working. And he liked Linda all the better for recognizing his ambition and understanding it. "But we oughtn't to stand here talking, forgetting all about your taxi," Linda reminded her companion. "Why don't you dismiss it, and take my car?" "A queen mustn't drive!" he protested. "And you wouldn't like me to run your car----" "I don't mind you, Harry. You're never careless. It's people like Maurice that I can't bear to see handle it." "I don't blame you one bit," he said, and realizing that she would really prefer to go in her own roadster, he did as she suggested. All the way to the Casino they both carefully avoided any mention of Kitty Clavering's loss, or, in fact, of anything distasteful--even the quarrel with Ralph and the change of plans which had thrown them together as partners. Linda asked him how the different members of the crowd had paired off, and Harry told her as much as he had happened to learn at the lake that afternoon. Kit and Maurice were of course going together, and Dot Crowley and Jim Valier--the smallest and the tallest members of their set. Sara Wheeler had promised Jackson Stiles, and Harry seemed to recall that Sue Emery was accompanying Joe Sinclair. He did not mention Louise and Ralph. It was just a little before nine when they reached the Casino, gayly lighted with Japanese lanterns, and decorated with flowers and streamers. The wide French windows of the dance hall were all thrown open, and the huge verandas were as beautifully lighted as the inside of the Casino. Strains of music floated out from the orchestra, which was already in place. Upstairs there would be bridge tables for the older members of the party and the supper would be served on the roof-garden. As the couple entered the wide doors of the Casino, a surging of pride swept through the young man because of the girl at his side. In spite of her mask, people must recognize Linda Carlton, so stately, so lovely, so charming! With what wisdom her aunt had chosen that costume! The girl was every inch a queen. In the dressing-room there was naturally a great deal of excitement, for the girls were all trying to identify each other. Linda spotted Louise immediately--dressed as an Egyptian Princess. Her costume was unusual, daring; she stood out among all the others as a sunflower might among a bunch of spring blossoms. And of course she wore huge, odd, earrings. "Linda, you're sweet!" she cried, starting forward to kiss her chum, and stopping just in time as she remembered the make-up on her lips, and the amount of time she had consumed putting it there. "Sh!" warned Linda. "Don't give me away!" "I won't, darling. But everybody will know you anyhow. Come on--you couldn't possibly improve yourself! And we must hurry. I hear them lining up now for the grand march." A laughing, happy group, the girls made their way back to the ballroom where their partners claimed them. It amused Linda--and yet it hurt her a little, too--to see Ralph Clavering lead Louise away without even seeming to notice her. But Harry Smith was right there too, as if to protect his partner from any unpleasantness. The music of the grand march rolled out triumphantly, and the couples fell into step, circling the big room, and walking past the committee on the raised platform, whose members were to pass judgment on the costumes for the awarding of the prizes. As Linda walked demurely at Harry's side, past this intent, solemn body of men and women, she never lifted her eyes. She was all the more amazed when, a couple of minutes later, she heard a childish voice cry out above the music. "Does 'ou fink me cute?" and, turning about, Linda recognized Dot Crowley, dressed as a little school-girl, and actually calling attention to herself. Of course everybody laughed; you just had to smile at Dot. And her long-legged partner, Jim Valier, dressed appropriately as Uncle Sam, looked so out-of-place at her side. The costumes were really marvelous; if Linda had not come for any other reason than to see them, it would have been worth while. There were several hundred people at the ball the proceeds of which were given entirely to charity, and though there were naturally many repetitions--numerous George and Martha Washingtons, Pierrots and Pierrettes, clowns and gypsies, there were also many unusual ones. But although she did not realize it, there was no one in that whole assembly so charmingly beautiful as Linda Carlton. The grand march consumed almost an hour, after which the judges withdrew to make their decisions, and then the dancing began. The floor was perfect and the music excellent; Linda fell into step with her partner and gave herself up to the enjoyment the pastime always afforded her. Whenever she had a good partner like Harry--or Ralph--she always experienced a marvelous sensation of floating along to the strains of the music, a sensation that somehow reminded her of flying. And then they passed Ralph and Louise, and Linda wondered whether the former would ask her to dance. After that she danced with all the boys she knew, in turn--all except Ralph. Even when Harry managed a dance with Louise, while Linda was dancing with a stag, Ralph did not cut in. But this did not spoil her good time, for she felt that she had been in the right, championing Ted, even though her father was on the other side. Ralph's avoidance of her niece had not escaped Miss Carlton's eyes, and she sighed. Why was there always some drawback to rich people, she wondered? But perhaps Ralph would get over his childishness when he grew older. And in the meantime Linda did not lack for attention. Just before the party went up to the roof for supper, the prizes were awarded. Linda Carlton won first prize for the women--and, ludicrous as it was, Ralph Clavering, as King Arthur, was selected first among the men. They walked across the floor together, Linda giving him a shy smile. To Louise and Harry, and Miss Carlton, who knew about the tiff, the coincidence was very amusing. Two other guests whom Linda did not know were awarded the prizes for the funniest costumes, and, to their own amazement, Louise and Ralph were called out as the couple who had given the best exhibition of dancing. There was no shyness as these two stepped forward. Ralph, looking roguish, held out his arms and whistled a tune, and as Louise slipped into them, they waltzed across the floor. The supper was gorgeous in every detail: the food was excellent, the service perfect. Linda felt that she had never been to quite so magnificent a party before. "You do like all this, don't you, Linda?" asked her partner, as they finished their ice-cream, molded in fancy forms, like small dolls or figurines, in pastel colors. "You really like parties? Because I sometimes wonder----" "I love them," replied the girl, her eyes shining. "That is, when they come once or twice a summer, like this. But I would get awfully tired of them if I had nothing else." "But next winter," he reminded her, "when you are a débutante----" "I'm going to try not to be," she interrupted. "If I can slide out of it, without hurting Aunt Emily's feelings. I want to go to a ground school, and study aviation seriously." "You mean make it your life work?" he asked, respectfully. "Yes--seriously." But it was no time to talk; the music had started again, and everybody wanted to make good use of the last, best hour of the party. And so for all that evening, Linda Carlton was the care-free, popular girl that her Aunt Emily loved her to be. CHAPTER XIV _The Flying Trip_ About eight o'clock the following morning while her friends were still sleeping, Linda Carlton, clad in a bathing-suit and a beach robe, dashed down to the lake. She thought an early morning swim before anyone was up would clear her brain and give her a chance to think over her plans and come to a decision. If possible, she meant to get in touch with Ted's company before the detectives arrived at his home to arrest him. She had thought, naturally, that she would find the lake deserted, for everybody ought to be tired out after last night's party. She was therefore amazed and a little annoyed to see some one else already in swimming. "I'll go in the other direction," she decided, but before she was even in the water she heard a familiar voice calling her. "Linda!" cried Louise Haydock, waving her arms, and starting to swim rapidly towards her. "Ho--Linda!" "Lou!" "Yes--me!" shouted the other girl. "But did you say 'Who' or 'You'?" "I said 'Lou'!" replied Linda, laughing good-naturedly. It was a relief to find the other bather was her chum. They were within talking distance now, and Louise hurried to the shore. They sat down together and gossiped about the party, Louise laughing over Ralph's childishness in trying to keep up the quarrel with Linda. "To tell you the truth, Linda," she added, "I'm bored with him. As a matter of fact, I'm fed up with most of the boys. Harry's all right, but he has so little time. All the others are so pleased with themselves. They think we can't get along without them!" "Well, can we?" teased Linda. "Why not? Except for dances----" Linda dug her toes into the sand and smiled. "That's the trouble with us. There's always some 'except.' We ought to make up our minds to stay away from dancing, if we really want them to get over their superiority complex." "It would be pretty dull in the evenings--we'd have to find something else to take its place...." Louise paused to watch an airplane that was flying overhead. "Linda!" she cried, abruptly, "I have it! Let's go off on a trip--just the two of us--in your plane! Be gone a week or two!" Linda grabbed her chum's hands in delight. What a marvelous idea! The freedom! The adventure of it! And she could link it up with her own errand to Kansas City. "Oh, I'd adore that, Lou!" she exclaimed. "Would you really trust yourself to me? Honestly? You wouldn't be afraid?" Louise put her arm about the other girl and hugged her tightly. "Of course I would! I have an awful lot of confidence in you. And I'd love it!" Linda's brow darkened suddenly. For as always, she had to think of others besides herself. "What's the matter?" demanded Louise, watching her companion's face. "I am thinking of Aunt Emily--and your mother," answered Linda. "Wondering whether they'd give their consent--and if they did, would they worry themselves to death?" "Mother would be all right--I can manage her, and Dad too," said Louise confidently. "And, after all, think of the flying that girls do now-a-days. A little picnic like this is tame, compared to flying from England to Australia." "Yes, I know--but Aunt Emily's so scary about planes." "Well, I tell you what we could do--we could map out our whole trip beforehand, and decide where we would land each night. We could probably get the names of the hotels where we would stay. And each evening after supper, we could telephone the people at home." "That's an idea!" agreed Linda, enthusiastically. "You wouldn't want to camp out, anyway, would you? They would be sure to object to that--just two girls alone." "No; we'd have to buy a lot of equipment, and I'd hate to load down the plane. But I'm afraid Aunt Emily would even object to our staying alone at hotels. You know how particular she is." Louise was silent a moment, thinking it was too pleasant an idea to give up at once. She'd have to devise a way out of their difficulty. "I'll tell you," she announced, finally. "We can plan to stop with people we know each night--or at a hotel where some friend is staying. We surely can round up some relatives and friends!" "That's it!" cried Linda, joyfully. "That ought to be easy! And we can send telegrams ahead. But the places will have to have some sort of airports." "Oh, most every town has some kind of landing place," said Louise. "I don't think that need worry us." "There's another thing," added Linda, slowly. "I'd want to start today. Because I must go to Kansas City as fast as I can." And she explained to Louise her plan about establishing Ted's alibi. Louise leaped into the air in her excitement and approval. "That's great! You know me, Linda--I always hate to wait about anything. We can pack our suit-cases and send our wires in an hour if we hustle. Hurry up! Hop in for a dip, and come right back!" Ten minutes later they dashed breathless and wet into the dining-room of the Carlton bungalow, where Miss Carlton was eating a leisurely breakfast. In their excitement over their idea they could scarcely explain it. But at last the older woman understood; she heard them out, and gave her rather reluctant consent. "If you don't make the trip too long," she added. "A week?" "Isn't four days enough? Then we would have to arrange only two stopping places--the same one coming back. And I am sure I could do that very easily." The girls agreed, delighted even with a compromise. Nothing they had ever done promised to be half so thrilling. They would fly southwest, making their first stop Kansas City, where Ted's firm was located. Searching through her address-book, Miss Carlton remembered that she had a cousin living in a hotel in that city and she wired her immediately to reserve a room for the girls for that night, and to chaperon their visit. "And then we'll fly to Sunny Hills--as our destination!" cried Louise, with happy inspiration. "It's in Colorado--where my Aunt Margaret and Uncle John live! Oh, we'll have no end of fun there!" "You're sure they won't mind?" asked Linda. "They'll be tickled to death. They have a huge place--sort of a farm--and six children. Of course they're not children now--several of them are married--but they always keep open house. We used to go there a lot when I was a kid." "All right--you send that wire," agreed Linda, as she hastily swallowed some food, "and I'll get ready and go down to my plane, and see that it's O.K." "How about some lunch?" suggested her Aunt Emily. "Oh, yes, please--if you don't mind!" In an incredibly short time the girls were dressed, their suit-cases packed, the wires sent, and the lunch in readiness. About half-past ten, without saying a word of good-by to anyone except Miss Carlton and Louise's parents, they took off. The sky was clear and blue, without even a cloud to threaten them with fog or storm. It was Louise's first ride in a plane, yet she was not a bit afraid. She said she had never been so thrilled before. "I'm getting the craze, Linda!" she shouted, above the noise of the motor. "If I only had a suit like yours!" She was wearing her riding-breeches and a tan sweater-blouse, with a close-fitting hat of the same color--a costume, which though neat and appropriate, had none of the style and charm of her companion's. "But you can't wear earrings!" teased Linda, pulling at Louise's ears to make sure that the other girl heard and understood what she was saying. "In the suit-case!" returned Louise, laughing and pointing towards the article she named. But neither of the girls wanted to try to talk. They were content to rise higher and higher into the air, to feel the glorious sensation of smooth flying, knowing that everything was just right. Both of them began to sing. On, on they went, over fields and towns, watching their map and their instruments, dipping now and then to catch a glimpse of the landscape below, climbing back to the heights for safety. As the clock on their plane neared twelve, they realized they were hungry, because breakfast had been such a sketchy affair for them both. Louise untied the box, and they ate joyously. Their first meal in the air! It was still early when they arrived at Kansas City, and Linda flew a straight, swift course to the large grounds that were occupied by the company for which Ted Mackay worked. Without the slightest mishap or difficulty Linda brought her plane to a perfect landing in the large area set aside for that purpose. A nice-looking young man in a flyer's uniform came to them in welcome. His face showed no surprise; it was evidently an every-day occurrence to meet feminine pilots. "I would like to speak to the sales-manager," said Linda, after she had answered his greeting, and made sure that this was the right place. "I want to make some inquiries about Ted Mackay." "All right," agreed the young man. "I'll take you to Mr. Jordan immediately." But when they were introduced, Linda felt suddenly shy. What right had she, she asked herself, to pry into Ted's affairs? She wasn't a relative--or even a friend, if she adhered to her father's command. So it was Louise who came to the rescue, as she always did in emergencies, and proceeded to take charge of the interview. "You see," she explained, "the people who had that valuable necklace stolen are pretty much perturbed over the whole affair--and naturally they hired detectives. Well, Mr. Jordan--you know what detectives are! They bungle everything." "Yes?" remarked the man, looking smilingly from one girl to the other, thinking that they, too, were rather excited. "And just because they found Mr. Mackay by the stolen plane, and because they located a gasoline agent who swears that he sold gas to a red-haired man for that same plane earlier in the day, they're sure Mr. Mackay is a thief." "And they're going to his home--to arrest him!" put in Linda, now more at ease. "But they can't prove anything," Mr. Jordan assured them, calmly. "Oh, but they say they'll put third degree on him, or whatever it is, and force him to a confession. And--and--think of his poor mother!" "But what do you girls want me to do?" he asked. "I don't see how I can stop them!" "We just want you to establish his alibi," explained Louise. "Write down everything Mr. Mackay did from early morning till the time he started off in that new plane." "O.K.!" exclaimed Mr. Jordan, a light breaking over his face. "That's easy! We had a salesmen's meeting at the Winton Hotel, and lunched together. I can swear Mackay was there--and so can half a dozen others. We came back here about three o'clock, and Mackay was looking over the plane and studying his maps for about half an hour. Then he took off--for Buffalo." "That's just what we want!" cried Linda, and Louise added, "wonderful!" and squeezed the elderly man's hand. He smiled at her as if she were his daughter. "And will you dictate that to a stenographer, and send a copy to Ted by air-mail?" urged Linda. "Certainly," he agreed. "And now," added Linda, "will one of your mechanics look over my plane and put it away till tomorrow? We want to get our suit-cases, and taxi to my cousin's hotel." So, half an hour later, when the girls were making themselves known to the elderly couple who were expecting them, they spoke joyously of the perfect success of their first day's adventure, but they did not mention their mission on Ted Mackay's behalf. CHAPTER XV _Sunny Hills_ The girls' visit with the elderly couple at the hotel at Kansas City was restful, but uneventful. As soon as they arrived, Linda telephoned to her aunt over long distance, and made a satisfactory report. Dinner and the movies occupied their evening. Early the next morning they bade their host and hostess a temporary farewell--for they were scheduled to return in a couple of days--and took a taxi to the airplane company where their Arrow was being kept. "It's a little cloudy, girls," observed Mr. Jordan as he came over to meet them. "But I don't think it will actually storm before night. Are you going far?" "To a place called 'Sunny Hills'," replied Louise, producing her map. "In Colorado." The man studied it for a few minutes, and then pointed out their best course. "And your plane's O.K.," he added. "She certainly is a neat little boat." "I'm fond of her myself!" replied Linda, her eyes shining as they always did when she spoke of her most precious possession. "And have you had any word from Mr. Mackay?" asked Louise. "Yes. He's coming back today," answered Mr. Jordan. "I sent a plane for him, with the letter you suggested. The pilot wired last night that he arrived safely, and both men would be back on the job tomorrow." "He didn't say anything about the detectives?" "Not a word." "Then everything must be all right!" breathed Linda, with a sigh of relief. "Well, good-by," concluded Mr. Jordan, as the girls stepped into their plane. "And fly carefully. That's rather lonely country you're passing over." "But the skies are safe!" returned Linda, as she started her motor. It was indeed a more desolate stretch of land than any they had flown over before. The girls noticed this as they sped on, the miles piling up in rapid succession. This time they carried no lunch, for they had hesitated to ask at the hotel, and as the hours passed, they grew very hungry. Moreover, the sky was so cloudy that the sun was totally obscured, and they had to be guided entirely by instruments. Two or three times they seemed to get off their course, and it was almost five o'clock when they finally landed at an airport and inquired their way to Sunny Hills. "It's about five miles north," they were told. "But wouldn't you rather leave your plane and taxi over?" their informer suggested. "No, thanks," replied Linda. "Because we want to have our plane there, to use it if we need it, and to show to our friends. But we would love to have something to eat, if you can tell us where there is a stand for refreshments." While the man was leading them to a sandwich booth, a mechanic came up and filled the plane with gas, and at Linda's request, looked it over hastily. Fifteen minutes later the girls took off again, having been assured that there was a field for landing at Sunny Hills, because, it seemed, the owner--or possibly the owner's son--had a plane. As they descended over the field in back of the huge country house that was the home of the Stillmans the girls observed numerous people running out of the doors and from the porches to be on hand to welcome them. By the time they had landed, Louise counted seventeen. "Hello, everybody!" she shouted, as the noise of the motor died. "Get our wire?" "Surest thing!" answered a man of about thirty, tall and heavily-built, and smiling. An elderly woman was pressing through the throng, holding out her arms to Louise. "Aunt Margaret!" cried the girl, rapturously. "I'm so glad to see you! And I want to introduce my chum--Linda Carlton." "I am more than delighted to meet you, my dear," said Mrs. Stillman, pressing Linda's hand--"I am _proud_ to meet you!" "Thank you," murmured the girl, her eyelids fluttering in embarrassment, for she felt that as yet she had done nothing to merit praise. "And now I'll tell you everybody's name," continued the older woman. "Though I know you can't possibly remember them." She proceeded to introduce her friends and her children--the latter all younger than Roger, the man who had first spoken to them, and evidently her oldest son. There were four small children among the group, two of them grandchildren of Mrs. Stillman. "I want you girls to use my hangar," offered Roger, immediately. "My plane's away getting repaired. So shall I put yours away for you?" "Oh, thanks!" replied Linda, gratefully. "It's so nice to find another pilot--to do the honors, and the work!" As the happy, noisy group walked with the two girls back to the house, they asked all sorts of questions at once, about the trip, the plane, the relatives back home. Louise and Linda answered as fast as they could, but finally gave up, laughing in their confusion. "Now everybody stop talking!" commanded Mrs. Stillman, and though her tone was jovial, Linda could see at once that she meant what she said, and that she was used to being obeyed. "Our brave flyers must be awfully tired, and this is no way to treat them, before they have even had a drink of water. Elsie," she nodded to a girl about Linda's age, "I want you to take the girls to their room, and I'll send up their suit-cases and some iced tea. And then they are going to have peace until dinner-time!" "Oh, Aunt Margaret, we're not so tired," protested Louise. Still, the thought of a cool shower, iced tea, and a few minutes for a nap was very pleasant. Elsie and Louise, who had been great friends when they were younger, spending several long, happy summers together, were both delighted at the chance of renewing their friendship. Linda, too, found Elsie charming, and the three girls were soon chatting merrily over their iced tea. "I want you to tell me the news of your family first," said Louise. "And begin in order, so Linda can get them straightened out. I mean--which ones are married, and which have children, and all that sort of thing." "Yes, do," urged Linda. "I only know Roger--because he is a pilot--and you, by name." A knock at the door interrupted them, and when Elsie answered it, two young men brought in the girls' suit-cases. "The twins," explained their sister. "Dan and David. It really isn't hard to tell them apart, if you look closely." "I remember!" cried Louise. "Your hair is curlier, isn't it, Dan? And David has a broken finger." "Righto," agreed the latter, holding up his finger for inspection, and keeping his eyes on Linda. He had fallen for her charms already. "You're excused," said Elsie, tersely. "With many thanks," added Linda, graciously. "Now begin over again," urged Louise, when the boys had gone. She began to open the suit-cases and to pull out the negligees, so that they could be perfectly comfortable. "Well," continued Elsie, settling back in the pretty cretonne-covered chair that matched all the furnishings of the lovely, yet simple bedroom, "you know Aunt Margaret, of course. Those other two elderly women are friends--no need for you to learn their names. "Of us, Roger is the oldest--he's thirty-one--and he isn't married. He's had dozens of girls, but I think he loves being a bachelor. He goes in for all kinds of racing--motorboat, automobile, and now airplane. And he adores young girls. You want to watch your step, Linda, for we're always expecting him to marry all of a sudden sometime. To somebody a whole lot younger!" Linda smiled, and Louise shook her head knowingly. "Linda's wise," she remarked. "And Anita's the next oldest," went on Elsie. "I guess you didn't recognize her, did you, Louise? The stout woman, with those two children clinging to her." "No, I didn't!" exclaimed her cousin. "But remember, it's been ten years since our family were here. I do recall her now--she was a High School graduate that summer. And so thin!" "Well, she's fat now, and so is her husband. You'll see him tonight--they're spending the summer here. They have two kids.... The twins come next--they're twenty-three, and then my other married sister Jennie. You remember Jen?" "Naturally!" "And I'm the baby!" concluded Elsie, cheerfully. "But does that account for that whole crowd?" asked Linda. "Lou said she counted seventeen." "Oh, the others were gardeners, and gardeners' children, and servants. There are twelve of us at dinner every night, with father and Anita's husband. And you girls will make fourteen." "I always thought it would be wonderful to have a big family," sighed Linda. "My aunt and I live all alone, except once in a while when my father comes home." "All the more reason why you should spend a couple of weeks with us!" urged Elsie, cordially. "We'd love to, but we can't," answered Louise. "But we'll promise to come oftener, now that Linda has her Arrow." "And that reminds me," put in Linda, "that we must call our folks." Elsie handed her a telephone, which was on a little table beside the bed, and made her excuses and left them alone. It was almost time to dress for dinner. Before the girls had answered the summons of the gong, the rain, which had been threatening all day long, came in torrents. But it did not dampen the spirits of the happy group that was gathered about the long table. David Stillman, a starry-eyed young man with a serious expression, had managed to persuade his mother to let him sit next to Linda on her left, while Roger, the eldest, had naturally preëmpted the place on her right. The younger man, it seemed, believed her to be the ideal girl he had always dreamed of. He tried almost immediately to make her promise to play tennis with him, to go canoeing and swimming. Roger, on the other hand, saw two days' fun ahead of him, playing with the girls and the plane, and he made up his mind not to give his younger brother a chance. Sizing up Linda immediately as a girl seriously interested in aviation, he began to talk on that subject, shutting out poor David completely. He told her about his plane, and the trips he had made, and the races he had won. "But you are a new pilot, aren't you?" he asked her. "Yes, why?" she asked. "Did I do anything wrong?" "No, indeed! You fly like an old-timer. But what I mean is, you haven't gone in for any competitions yet, have you? Air-derbys, endurance flights--height records?" "No, I haven't had time." "But you will?" "I don't know. I want to do something. But just what...." "You have a wonderful opportunity," continued Roger. "Because you have ambition, and time, and youth--and enough money to back you." He paused to eat a generous slice of roast-beef. Unlike David, who was staring moodily at his plate and playing with his food, Roger ate with enormous appetite. "You see, the trouble with most of us is, that we haven't the time and the money. And the very rich are seldom ambitious." "I am hoping to do something next year," Linda announced, slowly. "But not until I study some more." "Wise girl!" was his comment. "I wish my kid brother--Dan--were of the same opinion. I can hardly keep him out of my plane--and he hasn't even a license. He's a perfect pest." "Won't you please talk to me?" entreated a voice on the other side, and turning her head, Linda realized for the first time how she had been neglecting David. "I'll give you all the rest of the dinner-time!" she said, laughingly. But the conversation at once became so general that she did not have a chance to keep her promise. After dinner the rain abated, but nobody went out except Dan, who said he was always looking for adventure. But in such a crowd, they did not miss him; the young people danced and sang and played pool and ping-pong in the game-room. They were just finishing some lemonade and cake which Mrs. Stillman had brought out for their refreshment, when a telegram arrived for Linda. Her mind flew instantly to Ted Mackay, wondering whether he had been arrested in spite of all her efforts to help him. But the news proved worse than anything she had expected. It was from her aunt. "Your father seriously hurt. Fly to ranch at once." Helplessly, she handed the telegram to Mrs. Stillman, who read it aloud to the others. Heroically, Linda managed to keep from crying. "Thank Heaven for the Pursuit!" cried Louise, who had her arms about her chum. "We'll get there in no time." "Let me go with you," suggested Roger. "No--thank you," stammered Linda, clinging to Louise. "I need Lou--more than anybody." "Well, then, I'll map out your course for you," offered the young man. "It's strange country to you?" "Yes. I've never been to this ranch before. Dad had another one that I used to visit, when I was a child." And she gave Roger the exact location. Ten minutes later, with their arms still entwined, Linda and Louise went up to their room, having exacted a promise from Mrs. Stillman to waken them at five o'clock the following morning. CHAPTER XVI _The Accident_ At seven o'clock the following morning, after eating the hearty breakfast upon which Mrs. Stillman insisted, the girls entered the Pursuit, and taxied off, waving farewell to Elsie, Roger, and their hostess. Of the large family, only these three--and the cook--had risen in time to say good-by. Even David had overslept; but his eldest brother was on hand to help the girls get their start. Fortunately, the rain was over, and both Linda and Roger believed that, barring mishaps, the flyers should reach their destination early in the afternoon. With this hope, both girls kept their spirits high; they refused to worry about Linda's father until they saw for themselves. For Miss Carlton was likely to look upon the dark side of things, and it was probable too that the help at the ranch were frightened by the accident to their employer. Tears of gratitude came to Linda's eyes when she saw the enormous lunch which Mrs. Stillman had been able to provide at such short notice, and she did not know how to thank the kind woman or her son. So she merely smiled gratefully, and waved good-by. Louise kept the map of their course in her lap, and for two hours they flew on, making no attempt to talk, but every once in a while pressing each other's hand in sympathy and affection. As the sun was growing hotter and higher in the sky, Linda was beginning to wonder whether they were not somewhat off their course. She examined the map. "We ought to be nearing that town!" she shouted, pointing to a spot which Roger indicated by a large dot on the map. "And I don't believe that we are." "Fly lower!" suggested Louise. "Let's see!" Cautiously the young pilot descended, but though both girls looked eagerly, there were no roofs or other evidences of a town. An almost continuous expanse of shrubbery seemed to cover the ground, and Linda did not care to land. So she went higher again, and pointed her plane south, trusting that they were right. For two hours more they continued to fly without seeing any of the landmarks for which they were so eagerly watching. Afterwards Linda remarked that she believed they had been going in a circle. The sun was almost directly overhead now, and both girls were feeling hungry, for their breakfast, though substantial, had been an early one. They were just considering opening their box to eat, when Linda noticed a queer noise in the motor. "Something's wrong, Lou!" she shouted, trying to smile as if she were not worried. "We'll have to land." "Here?" gasped Louise, in horror. "Yes. Watch the ground! We must find a good place." Louise was gazing about at the sky and the horizon, when, turning around, she happened to glance at her companion's face. A set look had come into Linda's eyes, her lips were rigid. Uneven, yet deafening, was the threatening sound of the motor. Suddenly it let off a terrific explosion. "Will we be killed?" screamed Louise, hoarsely. Linda did not try to answer. She needed every ounce of brain power, of energy for the test that was ahead of her. She was working frantically with the joystick. So Louise too, kept quiet, and looked over the side of the plane--and prayed. At first it seemed they were dropping terrifically; but gradually, frightened though she was, she could feel that some safety device was taking hold. The speed was lessening. Down, down they went, but more gradually now. And then they were close enough to the ground to see it. A woods of stumpy trees stretched under them, but over to the right was a field. Would Linda be able to guide the plane there, or must they be dashed against the tree-tops, to meet a sickening death? How would it feel to be dead, Louise wondered. And oh, her poor mother and father! Even in those few seconds, it seemed as if her whole life flashed before her, and although she was really a very sweet girl, she believed herself a monster of ingratitude. Not a bit like Linda--who was always thinking of her Aunt Emily and her father! Linda, on the other hand, had no time for any such thoughts. She was working as she had never worked before, guiding her stricken plane. And--miracle of miracles--they were passing the tree-tops! They were over a field of weeds. "Thank God!" cried Louise, reverently. "Wait!" whispered Linda, not sure yet that they were safe. The landing was not easy. The plane came down and hit the ground and bounced up again. Suppose it should pancake? Linda held her breath, suffering greater agony than Louise, who knew less of the dangers. But in a moment the valiant little Arrow came to a stop, in the shrubbery. In a rapture of relief and thanksgiving, Louise grasped Linda and kissed her, while the tears ran down the young pilot's face. For a moment the girls sat thus in silent embrace, each too filled with emotion to speak. "Come, let's get out, Lou," said Linda, finally, and shakily they both stepped from the plane. "I wonder where we are," remarked Louise, trying to make her voice sound natural. "We'll get out our maps and study the situation. But first let's eat. I'm simply famished. It must be noon at least." They found upon consulting Louise's wrist-watch that it was ten minutes of one. Resolutely deciding to be cheerful, they opened the hamper which Louise's Aunt Margaret had packed. What a delicious lunch! There was a whole roast chicken, and tiny dainty lettuce sandwiches--at least a dozen of them. Pears and cherries, and lemonade in a thermos bottle. And a beautiful little layer cake evidently baked just especially for them, though how the cook had managed it, they had no idea. They spread out the paper cloth and attacked the food ravenously. "It looks pretty desolate around here," remarked Louise, as she nibbled at a chicken leg. "I don't see a house in sight." "Or a road either, for that matter," returned Linda. "I wish we could get to a telephone--and send a call for assistance." They ate silently for a while. How good the food tasted! In spite of their distress and worry, both girls enjoyed that lunch. "Have you any idea what is wrong with the plane?" asked Louise, as she broke off a piece of chocolate cake. "It was all right yesterday." "Yes. That mechanic at the airport gave it a hasty examination. Funny he didn't notice anything so serious as this.... Louise, do you suppose that Roger could have done anything to it?" "No," answered Louise, thoughtfully. "No; I think Roger knows what he's about. But I have an idea, Linda." "What?" "Do you remember hearing a plane very close to the house when we were playing ping-pong last night?" "Yes. I thought it was the air-mail." "So did I. But I believe now it was the Pursuit--with Dan piloting!" "Dan Stillman?" "Yes. He's a regular daredevil. And you know Roger won't let him fly his plane." A pained look came into Linda's eyes, as if she herself had been mistreated. "Oh, Lou, that seems awful," she said. "He wouldn't do a thing like that, would he?" "He must have. Remember, he went out right after supper. And he's so conceited. He wouldn't think he could hurt it. But I'll tell you how to find out--look at the gas. You remember you had her filled at that airport." Holding their cake in their hands, both girls dashed excitedly back to the plane and looked at the dial which indicated how much gasoline was left. And, sure enough, the supply was running low! Too low to be accounted for by the flying they had done that morning. In fact, it was almost gone. "You're right!" cried Linda. "Oh, Lou, now we're in a worse pickle than ever. We'll never get to Daddy!" The tears ran down her cheeks. "Don't!" urged her chum, putting her arms around the other girl. "Don't give up yet! We'll find somebody--on some road--who will send a mechanic to us. And we'll be at the ranch before night!" "I hope so!" replied Linda, bravely trying to keep up her courage. They went back to the spot where their lunch was spread--luckily there was plenty left for supper, in case they needed it--and packed the remainder again. Then, arm in arm, they set out in quest of a road. They walked in an easterly direction; that much they knew from the sun. What they saw appeared to be a flat country, without even any fences or signs of cultivation. Gazing off in the distance, they could faintly distinguish the outline of a house--but it might be five miles away, or it might be fifteen. Or it might not be a house at all; perhaps just some abandoned building or mill. For half an hour they walked aimlessly onward, till they finally reached a dirt road. "This is encouraging," said Louise, hopefully. "Let's drop down and wait here till something passes. We don't want to get too far from the plane--if we get out of sight, we might not be able to find our way back." They sat down on some moss by a small tree and consulted the time. It was half-past two. Everything was extremely still. No noise of motor or traffic anywhere. No voices. So strange after the places they were used to, for even Green Falls was noisy. And the birds were quiet, too--or perhaps there weren't many, for there were no big trees. Linda yawned. "I'm so sleepy." "Take a nap," suggested Louise. "You deserve one!" "Hardly fair," returned the other. "Aren't you sleepy too?" "Not so sleepy as you are. Go ahead! I'll wake you if anything comes along." "And suppose nothing does?" "Then I'll wake you anyway at three o'clock. We'll have to strike out in some other direction." So Linda curled up and went to sleep, and Louise, yawning, wondered how she could possibly manage to keep awake. The whole atmosphere was so drowsy--and there was nothing to do. "If only there were a place to swim," she thought, regretfully. "Cold water would make me a different girl!" But there wasn't any water at all, as far as she knew; indeed, she and Linda didn't dare wash in the small supply they carried with them. For they might need it for drinking. She never knew how it happened, but soon she too was peacefully asleep. For two whole hours both girls slept the dreamless sleep of fatigue. Then, at a quarter of five they were suddenly awakened by the rattle of an old, tumble-down cart, pulled by a haggard horse. The girls sat up with a start, and looked at each other and laughed. Jumping to her feet in an instant, Louise ran hastily towards the driver. He was staring at them with great curiosity. "We have been in an airplane accident, and we want to get to a telephone--" began Louise. But the man only shook his head and grinned. "Nicht versteh'," he replied, helplessly. "He's a foreigner," said Louise, turning back to where Linda was standing. "A German, who doesn't understand English." "I can speak German," said Linda. "At least, I had some, Freshman year. Let me try him!" But already he was driving away. "Wo ghen Sie?" called Linda. "Warte!" He stopped driving, evidently amazed at her words, and pointed to the road ahead of him. Encouraged by this display of intelligence, Louise jumped up on the cart, and waved her arms in the direction of the airplane, in the field half a mile away. "We want _help_!" she cried. Then, turning to Linda, "What's the German word for help?" "I don't know," answered the other girl. "But I think he understands. If he does meet anybody, I think he'd send them to us." So Louise climbed down again, and waved good-by to the man as he continued on with his cart, and, faintly encouraged, the girls went back to the plane to eat their supper. CHAPTER XVII _The Lost Necklace_ Many thoughts raced through Linda's mind, as she and Louise sat beside the airplane, nibbling at their frugal supper. For this time, they had decided to eat sparingly; nobody knew how long they might have to stay there, without any more food. But all of Linda's thoughts were regrets. Regret that her father had met with an accident, regret that Dan Stillman had borrowed her Arrow, regret that she was unable to locate the trouble herself and repair it. Louise, with her usual practical cheerfulness, interrupted these gloomy meditations. "We have three good hours of daylight left, Linda," she announced, glancing at her watch. "To try another direction. There must be a real road around here somewhere--where automobiles go. Texas isn't the end of the world." "If we're actually in Texas!" returned Linda. "It may be Oklahoma, for all we know." "But Oklahoma has roads, too. Come on, finish your cake! We must hurry." Taking their coats along, for the night gave promise of being cooler, the girls set off in the opposite direction from the one they had taken that afternoon. This time they had to go right through the shrubbery--the dangerous shrubbery which had threatened disaster to their landing. "This is awful!" exclaimed Louise, pausing to pull a brier from her sweater. "There can't be any road here." "On the contrary, I think we'll be more likely to find one, once we get through this. The very fact that we can't see beyond is hopeful." "That's true," admitted Louise, starting on again. They walked for some time, carefully picking their way through the undergrowth, thankful that they were wearing breeches. At last they came to a more open space, and stopped to look about them. "No road!" exclaimed Louise, in disappointment. "But that looks like a stream over there, Lou--between those two banks!" cried Linda. "Oh, if it only is! Then we could have a swim!" "If we ought to take the time." "I think we might as well, Linda, because it's going to get too dark for us to take a chance getting lost tonight. Let's have our swim and go back to the plane to sleep. Then tomorrow morning we'll start to hike--if we have to go all the way to the ranch on foot!" "We won't have to do that, because we have plenty of money," Linda reminded her. "Once we get back to civilization, our dollars will be some good. And, even if we have to leave the Pursuit, and never see her again, it would be worth it to get to Daddy!" Having come to this decision, the girls hurried rapidly towards the stream, and then, taking off their flyers' suits carefully, under cover of their coats, in case there should be some human being around, they both plunged in. The water felt cold, and oh, so refreshing! They swam happily for some minutes, forgetful of all their worries, in the joy of the invigorating pastime. When they had gone some distance, Linda suddenly realized how swift the current was, out in the middle of the creek. Already they were several hundred yards downstream. "Lou!" she called. "We must be careful of this current!" Her chum did not answer, and Linda suddenly experienced another sickening moment of dread. Suppose Louise were unconscious! She turned around, but she could not see the other girl. However, the creek turned sharply at this point, and Linda reassured herself with the hope that Louise was beyond the bend. She swam in to where it was shallow enough for her to stand up, and cupped her hands and called. "Lou! Oh, Lou!" "Yes!" came the instant reply. "Around the bend." Linda hurried around the cliff which separated her chum from sight, and there, to her amazement, she beheld a shattered airplane. The wings and the propeller were gone--had evidently been floated out on the stream and swept away on the current, and the plane itself was smashed to pieces. Louise was standing beside it, holding a man's coat in her hand. "Ye gods!" cried Linda, shocked by the horror of such a wreck. "How terrible!" But Louise was searching the pockets of the coat madly, excitedly, as if she had no thought for the man who had been killed. "Look, Linda!" she cried triumphantly. "I had an inspiration it might be your thief! I've got it!" "What?" demanded the other. "The necklace!" Both girls held their breath while Louise steadied her nervous fingers and opened the box--a cheap pasteboard affair, totally unlike the original one in which Kitty Clavering's pearls had been sold. To Linda's unbelieving eyes, she held up the costly jewels. Louise dropped down on the ground, absolutely overcome with emotion, and Linda sat beside her, examining the necklace for herself, as if she could not believe her eyes. But there was no doubt about it; it was the real thing this time. "That man didn't know much about flying," remarked Linda, finally. "I suppose, though, he realized that his only chance of escape lay in getting over the border.... But Lou, if his coat is here, why isn't he?" "He probably took off his coat before anything happened. But his body may be somewhere in the wreckage. I--I'd just as soon not see it, wouldn't you, Linda?" "Of course not," replied the other, with a shudder of repulsion. "Come on, Lou, let's go. But don't let's try to swim with that necklace. I'd rather walk." "So would I." Both girls scrambled to their feet, and started back towards their coats. Suddenly Linda stopped, horrified by what she saw. Over in a little cove, away from the main stream, were not one, but two bodies, half floating, half caught on the shore by the weeds and underbrush. "It's the thief, all right," she managed to say. "And I wonder who the other man was." Louise squinted her eyes; she had no desire to go any closer, and in the fading light it was hard to see clearly. "He looks--as--if--he had red hair," she announced, slowly. "That would explain about the gasoline agent, who tried to put the blame on Ted Mackay." "Of course!" cried Linda. "Isn't it all horrible? As if any necklace could be worth this! I wonder when it happened." "Probably last night, during the storm. That would be too much for an inexperienced flyer." "Of course." The girls picked up their clothing and dressed hurriedly, reaching the plane just as it was beginning to get dark. "Let's make a fire," suggested Linda, "and tell each other stories till we get sleepy. We mustn't try to go to sleep too early on this hard ground, especially after having had naps." "Are you scared at all, Linda?" asked Louise. "No. What of? Ghosts--or tramps?" "Both." "Well, I'm not afraid of tramps or robbers because I have my pistol--Daddy made me promise to take it with me on all my flights--and I'm just not going to let myself be worried about ghosts. After all, those two dead men deserved their fate, didn't they? And I mean to forget them. Now, tell me a story!" "What about?" "Some nice new novel you've read that I haven't." So Louise began the story of "Father Means Well"--a very amusing book she had just finished, and the girls kept their camp-fire going until eleven o'clock. Then, when both were certain that they were sleepy, they spread out Louise's raincoat on the ground, and, crawling close together, put Linda's on top of them. Almost instantly they were asleep, forgetful of accidents and thieves, not to waken until the sun was brightly shining again. CHAPTER XVIII _In Pursuit of the "Pursuit"_ From the moment that Ted Mackay had been shot by the thief who stole Kitty Clavering's necklace, everything had gone wrong for him. Not only had he been wounded and forced to lose time from work, but the new plane, which was worth thousands of dollars to his company, had been stolen. And, in view of the fact that the robber was not a licensed pilot, it was very unlikely that the plane would stand the test, even if it were ever recovered. Then, added to his other troubles, Ted had been accused of being in league with the thief! Ralph Clavering believed he was guilty, and so did Mr. Carlton. But what worried him most was whether Linda thought so too. The little nurse at the hospital had been a great comfort, believing in Ted as she did, implicitly, from the first. But when he had gone home, he said nothing to his mother of the suspicions aroused against him. The good woman had enough to worry about, with the unhappy life she led, and the constant menace of his father's returning in trouble or in need of money. But Ted's conscience was clear; all the detective's in the world could not make him a criminal when he knew that he was innocent. He wasn't surprised, however, when two men arrived at his home the day after he had reached it. Two plainclothes men, with warrants for his arrest. His first anxiety was of course for his mother. If she should believe that he was following in his father's footsteps! Why, at her age, and after all she had been through, the shock might kill her! Her one comfort in life had always been that her three children were fine, honest citizens, that her teaching and training had been rewarded. Fortunately when the detectives arrived, she was out in the back yard, working in her little garden. But what could Ted do? To argue with these men would only arouse her attention, bring her hurrying to the front porch to see what was the matter. For she seemed to live in daily fear of trouble between her husband and the law. "But you have no evidence to arrest me," Ted objected, quietly, in answer to the man's brusque statement. "You are wrong there! We have evidence. The gasoline agent, who sold you gas for the plane. The description fits you perfectly--a great big fellow, with red hair. Besides, you were caught in the very place where the other thief escaped." "But I had nothing to do with it! I can prove it!" "How?" "By other men in the company----" "Are they here?" interrupted the detective, with a hard, sneering look. "No--but----" "Then you will come with us until such time as you prove your innocence. One of us will go inside with you while you get whatever things you want." Ted looked about him helplessly. Oh, how could he keep the news from his mother? It would break her heart! And his career! What would this sort of thing do to that? Did it mean that, just as he was hoping to make his mark in the world, and rendering valuable assistance to his family, all must stop? With a gesture of utter despair he gazed up into the skies, where he heard the noise of an airplane, coming nearer and lower. For a moment the other men forgot their duties, and likewise looked up into the air. For the plane was certainly flying very low indeed, actually circling over their heads. And its roar was insistent; it would not be ignored. At last it became plain to Ted that the pilot wanted to land. So the young man held up his arm and pointed to field on the right of his house. Wondering what its business could be, and interested in the plane as everybody is, although it is a common sight, the detectives waited to find out what would happen. What they actually saw was certainly worth looking at. The pilot was an experienced flyer, and his landing, in the small area of this field, was as neat as anything they had ever witnessed. Both men watched with admiration and awe. When the motor had been turned off, and the pilot stepped from the plane, Ted recognized him instantly. Sam Hunter--the best salesman, the most experienced flyer of their company! "Sam!" he exclaimed with genuine pleasure, for although Ted had been with his firm only a short time, this man was an old friend. "Ted! Old boy! How are you?" cried the other, clasping his hand in a hearty handshake. "How's the shoulder?" "Pretty good," replied Ted. "I'm ready to go back to work, if I take it a little easy. But--" he paused and glanced at the two men beside him--"these fellows don't want to let me." "Doctors?" inquired Sam, though Ted's manner of referring to them seemed queer--almost rude. He hadn't introduced them--a courtesy due them if they were doctors, or men in any way worthy of respect. "They're detectives," explained Ted. "Sorry I can't introduce you, Sam, but they did not favor me with their names. They've come here with a warrant for my arrest." "By heck!" ejaculated Sam. "Then the little lady was right! The pretty aviatrix who was so worried about you! And I'm just in time!" "I don't know what you mean." Sam put his hand into his pocket, and produced the paper which Mr. Jordan had dictated and three of the men had signed. He handed it to the detectives, both of whom read it at once. "All right," said one of them, briefly, as he handed it back to Sam. "Good-by." Without another word they turned and fled to their automobile and immediately drove away. Ted stood gazing at Sam in amazement, unable to understand what his friend had done, how he had been able to accomplish what seemed like a miracle. In a few words the latter told him of Linda's visit, and her insistence upon the written alibi. He finished his explanation and Ted had just time to warn Sam not to mention the matter to his mother, when the latter appeared, dressed in a clean linen, beaming at both the boys. "Are you willing to have me take Ted back again?" asked Sam, after he had been introduced. "Because we need him, if he's well enough to go." "I'll be sorry to lose him, of course," she answered with a motherly smile. "But I always want Ted to do his duty. And I think he'll be all right if he is careful. But first let me give you an early supper, so that you can do most of your flying by daylight." Sam accepted the invitation with pleasure, and as the boys sat down at five o'clock to that splendid home-cooked meal, it seemed to Ted that he was perfectly happy again. He knew now that his company believed in his innocence; best of all, he had the reassurance that Linda Carlton shared that opinion! It was good to be in a plane again, he thought, as they took off, half an hour later. Good to be up in the skies, with Sam--who was a friend indeed! The whole trip was pleasant, and Mr. Jordan's greeting was just as cordial as Sam's. When the former heard what a life-saver his message had been, he was more impressed than ever with the cleverness of the two girls who had visited him. "And if you'd like to see them and thank them yourself," he continued, "I'll arrange for you to combine it with a visit to our Denver field. The girls are out there in Colorado, they said--'Sunny Hills', I believe the name of the village is." "Thank you, sir!" cried Ted, in delight and gratitude. "I don't deserve that--after letting that other plane get away from me!" "Not your fault a bit!" protested the older man. "We've got insurance. Still--if you could happen to sell one on your trip, it would be a big help to us." "I'll do my best, Mr. Jordan. Now--when do I start?" "Tomorrow morning. At dawn, if you like." So it happened that when Linda and Louise were taking off for their trip to Texas, that was halted so sadly, Ted Mackay, at the very same hour, was flying to Denver. He reached his destination without mishap, and went back to Sunny Hills that night. He had some difficulty in finding the place, stopping as the girls had, at the airport to inquire, and reaching the Stillman estate about ten o'clock that night. Thinking naturally that the airplane was Linda's, and that the girls were back again for some reason, Roger and his brothers went out to welcome them. Ted explained quickly that he was a friend of Miss Carlton--it was the first time he had ever made such a statement, and there was pride in his tone--and that, as he had just been to Denver, he wanted to stop over here and see her for a few minutes. "Shucks! That's too bad!" exclaimed Roger with regret. "Miss Carlton left this morning for her father's ranch in Texas." Ted's smile faded; the ranch was the one place where he could not visit Linda. "But you must come in and make yourself at home. Stay all night--you won't want to fly any more tonight. Why!" he cried, noticing Ted's bandage, "you've been hurt!" "Last week," replied the other. "It's almost well now. But--really, Mr. Stillman, though I thank you, I have no right to impose on your hospitality!" "It's a pleasure, I'm sure. Besides, I want to look at your plane by daylight. I'm in the market for a new airplane. My old one's being repaired now, but it's so hopelessly out of date I thought I'd try to trade it in." Instantly Ted became the business man, the salesman, and while he accepted Roger's invitation to put his plane into the other's hangar, he told of all its merits. So interested were they that they talked for an hour before they went into the house. Then Roger was all apologies, for he knew Ted had had no supper. He hunted his mother, who was sitting disconsolately at the telephone. "I'm worried about the girls," she told them. "They didn't phone from the ranch, as they promised, and I have just finished calling it, by long distance. They haven't arrived." "But they had plenty of time!" insisted Roger. "They started at seven o'clock this morning!" "Something must have happened," said Mrs. Stillman, anxiously. "Airplanes are so dangerous!" "I think I know why--if anything did happen," explained Roger, slowly. "It isn't airplanes that are so dangerous as inexperienced pilots. I found out that Dan had Linda's plane out last night, alone." "Dan?" Mrs. Stillman was horrified. "But he never flew alone in his life!" "No, because I saw to it that he didn't. But he admitted that he borrowed the Arrow last night." "This is serious," put in Ted. "We ought to do something--right away!" "What can we do? I made the girls a map, but they may be off their course. I have no plane--and your time's not your own, Mr. Mackay." "But I'll have to do something!" cried Ted, excitedly. "Even if I lose my job on account of it! It may be a question of life or death!" "I'll tell you what I'll do," decided Roger. "I'll buy that plane of yours. I want it anyhow. And tomorrow morning at dawn we'll go on a search.... Now, mother, can you give Mr. Mackay something to eat--and a room?" Gratefully the young man accepted the hospitable offers of his new friends and, pleased with the sale he had put through, he fell instantly asleep, not to awaken until Roger both knocked at his door and threw pillows at him the next morning. He dressed and they left in short order, after a hearty breakfast, however, and armed with a lunch perhaps not so dainty as that provided for the girls, but at least as satisfying. Roger reconstructed the map, like the one he had made for Linda, and they flew straight for the nearest airport. Unfortunately, however, they got no information there, no news of a wreck, or of two girls flying in a biplane. But their time was not wasted, for they took the opportunity to question one of the flyers who seemed familiar with the territory around him. They asked particularly about the more lonely, desolate parts of the near-by country, where an airplane accident would not quickly be discovered. "There's a stretch about ten miles south of here," the man informed them, indicating a spot on Roger's rough map. "Not a farm or a village, as far as I know, except one old shack where a German lives. He hid there during the War, because he didn't want to be sent home, and he has continued to live on there ever since. He has a sort of garden, I believe--just enough to keep him alive--with the fish he catches. And a few apple trees. Once in a while he drives in here with his apples. I could tell you pretty near where he lives, because I was stranded there once myself. You could drop down and ask him if he heard any planes." Eagerly the two young men marked the spot and set off once more in their plane, flying in the direction indicated. Before nine o'clock they came to the shack, which was the building that Linda and Louise had spied at a distance. They found the man frying fish on a fire in front of his tumble-down house. Their landing had been of sufficient distance to avoid frightening him, but near enough for him to hear them. They hurried towards him, Roger almost shouting the question about the girls, before he actually reached him. But, like Linda and Louise, when they tried to talk to this man, Roger received a shrug of his shoulders in reply, and a muttered, "Nicht versteh." Unlike the girls, however, Roger commanded a good knowledge of German, and he translated the question with ease into the foreign language. To both flyers' unbounded delight, they were rewarded with the information that they so longed to hear. The girls were safe--and not far away! CHAPTER XIX _Rescued_ When the girls awakened at practically the same time--for Louise, in stirring, moved against Linda--they were horrified to see that it was half past eight by their wrist watches. "Two hours wasted!" groaned Louise. "And it's going to be hot today! Oh, Linda, why didn't we wake up at six?" "Next time I'll bring an alarm clock," laughed her companion. "Come on, let's straighten ourselves up. I--I--believe I'd rather not swim!" "No, indeed!" agreed Louise, recalling the horror they had witnessed the night before. "We'll use what water we have--we can't carry much on our hike anyway.... Now, let's see what we have for breakfast." "There's some fruit left, and a little bit of chicken. With water to drink we'll have a fine meal." They sat down beside the plane to eat, and both girls seemed to enjoy their breakfast, meager as it was. For each had resolutely made up her mind to be cheerful. "Are the pearls safe?" asked Linda, as she gathered up the chicken bones. "In my pocket!" replied Louise, taking them out for examination. "How about your pistol?" "O.K.... Lou! Look! A plane!" Both girls jumped instantly to their feet and waved their arms and their coats in the air as signals of distress. If only the pilot would look down and see them! He was flying low enough to make this perfectly possible, but a moment later his ascent sent a sickening disappointment into their hearts. He was going away without even seeing them! Useless to yell; no one could possibly hear above the deafening noise. To be so near to a rescue, and then to have it fail them in the end! It was Linda, with her knowledge of flying, who was the first to realize that the aviator wasn't really going away, that he was only retreating farther into the field to make a safe landing, clear of them and their plane. In her ecstasy she hugged Louise tightly. "He's coming down, Lou! To rescue us!" "How do you know?" demanded the other, incredulously. "He seems to be going farther away to me!" "No, he isn't! It's only to land clear of us. Lou, it must be Roger!" "Roger? Why? How!" "Because he would investigate, when we failed to telephone!" "But suppose it's another bandit--like--you know! Get your revolver!" "It's right here. But don't worry, Lou. Look! He's on the ground!" The pilot brought the beautiful new cabin monoplane expertly to a stop and shut off the engine. To the girls' amazement two men, not one, stepped out. Both of them were old friends! "Roger! Ted!" cried both the girls at once, in their delight in recognizing them. They felt as if they had been rescued from a desert island. "You're both safe? Unhurt?" cried Roger, excitedly. "Thank God!" murmured Ted, reverently. "Yes--safe, but stranded," replied Louise. "We've only seen one person since noon yesterday--and he couldn't speak English!" "Nevertheless, he's the one you owe the rescue to!" replied Roger. "You saw him?" demanded Linda, incredulously. "But you must have been out hunting for us, first, Roger. Oh, I think you're just wonderful!" "No--the credit goes to Mr. Mackay," returned Roger, modestly. "And the German fellow, with his apple-cart." And he proceeded to relate in detail everything that had led to their pursuit and discovery. "Your shoulder is all right, Ted?" inquired Linda, after she heard that he was back at his job. "Yes, fine, thank you. And I can never thank you enough for what you did for me, Linda! I'll tell you all about it later." "Oh, that was nothing!" protested the girl lightly. Then, turning anxiously to Roger, "Have you any news of my father?" "He is alive, but that is all my mother could learn last night from the housekeeper over the telephone. But don't worry--you'll be there yourself in a few hours!" "How?" she asked, glancing helplessly at her plane. "There's something wrong with my motor. It may take a long time to fix--and--if I go by train--Daddy might--" she stopped; she just couldn't say "die." "You're flying in my new plane!" Roger informed her. "Which I have just purchased from Mr. Mackay. We'll leave right away, or as soon as he examines yours, so he can tell me what to send out to him here. We'll stop somewhere and phone for help." "Roger, would you really do that?" cried Linda, in relief. "That would be wonderful!" "A pleasure!" he said. "Now--tell us what happened to you." "I really don't know, except that the motor acted awfully queer. But I was lucky enough to make a safe landing." "It was just dreadful," put in Louise. "I was absolutely certain we were going to be killed. Linda was wonderful." "She's a fine little pilot," said Ted, admiringly. "Shows she can keep her head in an emergency--and that's one of the most important things for an aviator.... Now, let's have a look at the plane." They all went with him while he examined it. "I'm afraid I can't fix it without some new parts, and some special tools," he said, making notes as he spoke. "But it's nothing that can't be repaired quickly. If you'll telephone our Denver field, Mr. Stillman, and read this note to the mechanic, they'll send a man out. And as soon as it's fixed, I'll pilot it to you at the ranch, Linda.... Be sure to give me the directions.... Now, have you girls had anything to eat?" "Oh, yes, we had supper last night," answered Louise, "left over from our picnic lunch, and we even saved some fruit and some chicken for breakfast." "Then you people might as well start," urged Ted. "No use wasting time." "One thing more," added Louise, while Linda busied herself writing the directions for Ted, "we almost forgot! We found a wrecked plane last night--two men dead--and recovered the necklace!" "What?" demanded Ted, in consternation. Roger, however, did not know what they were talking about, and no one had time to explain. "The wreck's over by a stream--about half a mile beyond those bushes," Louise informed Ted. "You can explore it while you're waiting." "And maybe salvage some of it!" added Ted, hopefully. Five minutes later the other three took off in the new plane, Louise somehow sitting on Linda's lap. It wasn't very comfortable, but it would not be for far. They would descend at the nearest landing place, Roger getting in touch with Denver, while Louise called Miss Carlton, Mrs. Stillman, and her parents, and then summoned a taxicab, to take her to a railroad station. The rest of the trip was smooth and uneventful. Once only did they make a stop after Louise left--that time to get some lunch at a hotel in Fort Worth. In another hour they reached the ranch and landed right on Mr. Carlton's field, for Linda knew from former directions just where the best spot would be. "Come in with me, Roger," she invited, trying to keep her voice steady. They approached the house, an old-fashioned, rambling affair, and knocked at the screen door. A middle-aged woman, neatly dressed, came through the hall. "How do you do, Mrs. Cates," said Linda. "I am Mr. Carlton's daughter, and this is Mr. Stillman, who has brought me in his plane." "Good afternoon," replied the older woman. "Come right in, my dear. I've been expecting you." Linda had been watching her face, to try to ascertain from her expression whether the news of her father was bad. "How--how--is Daddy?" she asked, with trembling lips, as she and Roger followed Mrs. Cates into the big room where her father evidently spent most of his indoor hours. A huge fireplace occupied most of one wall, and there were many book-shelves. A table, a few chairs, and an old couch were all the other furnishings, so that the great room looked almost empty and desolate without its master. "He is still alive--but unconscious," sighed Mrs. Cates, shaking her head mournfully. Her expression was one of resignation; she felt sure that Mr. Carlton could not get better. "Unconscious!" repeated Linda. "Has he been so, long?" "Ever since his fall. He was riding a new horse--that he never should have bought--and was thrown down a steep bank. His leg is broken, but worse than that, he suffered severe internal injuries. Dr. Winston is afraid there ain't much hope." The words were the cruelest Linda had ever heard; she burst out crying, and hid her face on Mrs. Cates' motherly shoulder. Roger Stillman remained standing, embarrassed. He did not know what to do. He coughed slightly, and Linda looked up, ashamed of herself for breaking down. "Is there anything at all, Linda, that I can do for you?" he asked. "Or for you, Mrs. Cates?" "I'm afraid not, thank you, Roger," replied the girl. "But don't you want something to eat before you start back?" "No, thanks. I ought to be home early this evening, and I'll get supper then. I'm not a bit hungry now." And with a sympathetic handshake, he left her. "Would you like to go to your room, my dear--or do you want to see your father first?" asked the housekeeper. "I have him here on the ground floor." "I want to see Daddy!" replied Linda, wiping the tears from her eyes. The older woman led her across the hall to a room where the door was open, and she caught sight of her father, lying almost lifeless upon the bed. Impulsively Linda rushed in to him. It just didn't seem possible that he wouldn't recognize her, and hold out his arms to receive her! But he continued to lie death-like upon the bed, his head motionless upon the pillow. His eyes were closed. "Daddy! Daddy darling!" she cried, in a voice that shook with pain. Dropping to her knees, she knelt beside his bed, and covered his limp hand with kisses. But there was no response whatever to her greeting! For some time she stayed there, praying that he would get better. Mrs. Cates had left them alone, but in half an hour she came back. "Come, my dear, you must get some rest. Take off your clothing, and wash your face and hands and lie down for a while. Then perhaps you will be able to eat some supper." Obediently Linda did as she was told, for she realized that the housekeeper was only trying to be kind. And, after a short nap, she had to admit that she felt better. "Any change, Mrs. Cates?" was her first question, when she sat down to supper with the woman and her husband. The rest of the help ate in the kitchen, but Mrs. Cates realized that this was no time for the girl to be alone. "No. Not a bit." "Oughtn't there to be a trained nurse?" "Dr. Winston didn't think so. I'm doing what needs to be done." "When will the doctor be back?" "Tonight, after supper." Somehow Linda felt dissatisfied, as if enough were not being done. Another doctor should have been called in--a surgeon, perhaps. And surely a trained nurse. She spoke of these things to Dr. Winston when he came over about eight o'clock that evening. But he shook his head. "I'm afraid nothing can save your father, my child," he said. "There's only one chance in a thousand he might get well, if we operated. And there's only one surgeon in the United States who ever had any success with that sort of operation." "But if there is _one_!" cried Linda, eagerly jumping to the tiny hope his words suggested. "We must get that surgeon! Who is he? Where is he?" She was talking rapidly, excitedly, almost incoherently. "He is a Dr. Lineaweaver. A marvelous man. But I happen to know he is away on his vacation now." "Where does he go?" "That I don't know." "But you know where he lives?" "Yes. St. Louis." "Then won't you please call his home and find out where he is, and I'll go for him as soon as I get my plane back." The doctor shook his head sorrowfully. "I'm afraid it's too late, my child. I--I--doubt if your father will live through the night. And you couldn't fly at night--even if your plane were here." "I can--and will! And I think I hear my plane now--yes, I'm sure that's it. Get me the address--quick--and you put in the call while I run out and see my plane! And try to get a trained nurse immediately. I'll be back before dawn--unless the surgeon's in Europe or Canada!" And, dashing in to give her father one kiss, she hurried out to find faithful Ted Mackay, alighting from her beloved Arrow. CHAPTER XX _The Race against Death_ "Ted!" "Linda!" "You can't know how thankful I am to see you!" cried the girl. "It--it--may mean that I can save my father's life!" And she told him of her plans. "If I could only go with you!" sighed the young man. "I hate to think of you flying alone at night!" "But you do believe I'm capable, don't you, Ted?" Linda's eyes searched his for the truth; she was not asking for flattery, she really wanted his opinion. "Yes indeed I do!" Ted answered, with assurance. "But it's always safer for two pilots to go together. However, the Pursuit is in fine shape now--and filled up with gas.... Linda, I have something to tell you." "Yes?" "About the wreck--and--those thieves.... The other dead man was my father." "Your father! Ted!" Every bit of color left the girl's face. What a dreadful, ghastly thing to happen to anybody, and especially to a fine boy like Ted! To come upon his father, dead, in that abrupt fashion, and to know, worst of all, that he had died in disgrace! Finding no words to express her sympathy, she pressed his hand tightly in silence. "So you see how much I have to do--why I can't go with you," he continued. "I have reported the wreck to my company, and made arrangements about my father's body. But I must go right home to my mother." "But how do you explain it all, Ted?" Linda asked. "I think my father was paying one of his regular visits to the Spring City Flying School--he came there once in so often to get money from me--and he was disappointed to find I had gone. Whether he knew that other man before, I don't know, but it would seem probable that he did. Together they must have cooked up the scheme to follow your plane and get the necklace.... That is why it is really fortunate the man got the necklace by a ruse. You see he was armed with a gun--as I later found out, and if he had had to fight for the jewels, I'm sure he wouldn't have hesitated to fire on you!" "And I suppose your father's being involved would explain why you were suspected," added Linda. "You look like him, I believe." "Yes. To my regret." "But perhaps it's better as it is," concluded Linda. "Don't you feel so, Ted?" "Yes, I do. It--will be so much easier for my mother.... But Linda, we mustn't stand here talking. Every minute is precious to you." "No. I can't go till Dr. Winston comes out with the surgeon's address. He's putting in a long distance call. However, I will go in and change into my flyer's suit, if you don't mind," she added. Five minutes later she reappeared with the information that Dr. Lineaweaver was in Louisiana--at a small seaport town which Ted instantly located on a map that he gave to Linda. "I won't even start off with you," the young man said, "because that would mean an extra stop for you. Now--are you sure you are all right--and that you can stay awake?" "Yes, I'm sure," replied the girl, forcing a smile. "Mrs. Cates has just given me a thermos bottle full of coffee, and a sandwich, to help me!" A moment later she climbed into the cockpit and started the motor. The Pursuit, whose engine purred with the smooth even whir of one in perfect order, gained speed until it rose into the air. It was Linda's first flight at night. Darkness was all around her, but overhead the stars shone brightly, and the moon came from behind a cloud to light her way. Strange, lonely, mysterious, it seemed to her, as she flew through the night, but nevertheless thrilling. Gradually a sense of peace settled over her, as if a Divine Providence was surely guiding her, and she experienced the firm conviction that everything was right, that she was going to be successful in her mission to save her father's life. For the first time she realized how much her confidence had to do with Ted Mackay. Because he had repaired and inspected the motor, she felt certain there would be no accident, and a successful flight was a good omen for the operation. Moreover, she had great faith in Dr. Lineaweaver. If he would only promise to come! The hours passed, the moon set, the night grew darker. But the solitary girl flew on, swift and straight to her course, steadfast in her undertaking. About two o'clock she arrived at the little seaport, found a landing place back of the one big hotel, and went inside. Fortunately a night clerk was on duty, and he rose immediately to greet her. The flyer's costume identified her so that he had no need to ask what a girl of her age was doing alone at this early hour of the morning. "Can you tell me where Dr. Lineaweaver, the surgeon, can be located?" she inquired. "I want him immediately--it is a question of my father's life." Her voice was steady now; there was no danger of tears. She seemed almost mature as she spoke the words. "Yes," replied the clerk. "He is staying at Dr. Grayson's bungalow--a couple of blocks away. They come over here for their meals." "Could you get him on the telephone for me?" "Certainly. I'll let you talk with him." Although the clerk put in the call immediately, there was no answer for several minutes. A fishing trip had tired both doctors, and they were sleeping soundly. At last, however, there came a reply, and Linda took the telephone. In a few words the unhappy girl apologized for the call at that hour, and during the surgeon's holiday, and briefly told her story. Eagerly she pleaded with him to dress and come immediately, informing him that she had her plane waiting. "You mean you flew from Texas alone--at this hour of the night!" exclaimed the surgeon. "Yes. But you needn't be afraid, Doctor, to go with me. I'm quite experienced. Oh please, please, say yes!" "I'll be at the hotel in ten minutes," replied the great man. "And meanwhile, you get something to eat." Linda sank gratefully into a chair, thinking that the hardest part of her task was over--the winning of Dr. Lineaweaver's consent to break into his vacation and go back with her. Now, if her father only lived until they returned, all would surely be well! Still keeping herself in control, she ate her sandwich and drank her coffee, while she waited for the doctor to come. True to his word, he appeared in exactly ten minutes. The flight back to the ranch was much pleasanter than the one to the seaport. No longer was Linda alone; it was a comfort to have the great surgeon with her, to know that he would do all in his power to save her father. The darkness gradually faded, giving place to a faint gray, and finally to a beautiful, inspiring sunrise. A dawn that perhaps meant new life to her father! It did not take Dr. Lineaweaver long to realize that Linda was an accomplished pilot, and he settled back into his seat in full enjoyment of the ride. His surprise at her youth--she was much younger than he had supposed from the telephone conversation--gradually gave way to admiration of her skill and her poise. He had no fear for his own safety; he was confident that she would make the journey without a mishap. About seven o'clock she brought the Pursuit to a stop on the field that belonged to her father's ranch. Cates was already there to greet them. "Is my father still alive?" she demanded, with the first indication of any strain in her voice. "Yes," came the reassuring reply. "He is just the same." "And did you succeed in getting a nurse?" "Yes. Dr. Winston's here too.... Now, the Mrs. said to bring you both in for a hot breakfast." Linda was so excited that she did not see how she could possibly eat, but when she realized that the surgeon must take time for something, she finally agreed. But first she tiptoed in for a look at her father, and gave him a kiss that was really a prayer. A white-clad nurse smiled at her, and she believed hopefully that all was well. The inaction, the weary, tense waiting of the next two hours was more difficult for Linda than her flight to Louisiana, alone in the darkness. She had nothing to do. Sleep was out of the question, yet she was terribly tired. But she could not sit still; aimlessly she followed Mrs. Cates around, begging for work. At last the good woman, realizing that the girl could not rest, set her to washing dishes and preparing vegetables for the noon-day meal. But finally the operation was over, and Linda's heart stood still as she heard Dr. Winston coming out of her father's room. Suppose it had all been in vain! She covered her face with her hands, she dared not trust herself to look into his eyes, that would tell her, before he could utter the words, whether her father had lived. And then came the glorious news that set her heart to singing as if the whole world had been recreated in joy and happiness: "Your father is doing nicely, Miss Carlton.... Dr. Lineaweaver believes that he will get well." Now the tears came in floods, tears of thankfulness and gladness, and she hugged Mrs. Cates in her ecstasy. "It was a wonderful operation," continued Dr. Winston. "Dr. Lineaweaver is the greatest surgeon I have ever had the honor to watch." "Thank God! Thank God!" murmured Mrs. Cates, reverently.... "And now, honey, you must go and get some sleep!" "Not till I've thanked Dr. Lineaweaver!" protested Linda, and she ran off like a happy child, unmindful of the terrible strain she had just been through. CHAPTER XXI _Honors for Linda_ When Linda was permitted, the following day, to go in to see her father, she found him conscious, but she knew from his expression that he was suffering severe pain. However, he managed a feeble smile as she entered, that sent a surge of joy to her heart. "Daddy!" she exclaimed, her voice choked with thankfulness, "you are going to get well!" He gave an almost imperceptible nod. "Yes, dear, thanks to you," he managed to murmur. "You mean thanks to the Pursuit--and to Dr. Lineaweaver," she corrected. She wanted to add Ted Mackay's name to the list, but she felt it would not be wise. Her father smiled; it was like Linda to disclaim any credit for herself. "I phoned Aunt Emily last night," she added, "and she is coming out in a couple of days." "Well, don't let her make a fuss over me," was his unexpected reply. Linda squeezed his hand jubilantly; he was talking like himself again! She did not stay with him long--the nurse thought fifteen minutes was enough--but she was satisfied. Now that she felt sure he was getting better, time no longer hung heavy on her hands. There was so much to do at the ranch--so many activities that she enjoyed. Hiking, fishing, riding horseback, even helping Cates with the kitchen garden or driving the battered Ford into Fort Worth on errands. Her aunt arrived a few days later, bringing a trunk as usual. Linda laughed at the idea of carrying so many clothes to a ranch--she practically lived in her old riding-breeches and khaki shirt-waists--but Miss Carlton could not be comfortable unless she was perfectly dressed. "Linda, my darling!" exclaimed the older woman, as they kissed each other. "Think how near I came to losing you!" "Oh, no, Aunt Emily, you mustn't say that! Even though Lou and I were stranded, there was no danger of our dying. We could have hiked the whole way home, if it had been necessary." "But you _almost_ had a serious accident!" "Well, we didn't. And since my plane saved Daddy's life, you're converted to them now, aren't you?" pleaded the girl. "I do think they're useful," admitted the other. "And I really believe that you are an exceptionally fine pilot, my dear." "It's awfully sweet of you to say that, Aunt Emily.... But don't let's talk about it any more. Come in and see Daddy. He's expecting you." Miss Carlton was amazed and delighted to find that her brother's progress had been so rapid, and she began to talk immediately about taking him back to Green Falls with her, in a week or so. He could bring his nurse with him, perhaps charter a private car. "Must we go back so soon, Aunt Emily?" asked Linda. "I love it here!" "It's too wild for me," replied Miss Carlton. "And too lonely. Besides, we have to be on hand for Field Day. It's the biggest event of the summer at Green Falls." "All right," agreed Linda pleasantly. "Whatever you say." "By the way, did you tell your father about finding the necklace? When Louise came home with it, I thought Kitty Clavering'd go crazy! Such a queer circumstance, too--you girls finding it the way you did!" "No, I didn't tell Daddy yet," replied Linda, blushing. She had been afraid to bring Ted's name, or his father's, into the conversation with her father, when he was still so ill. "You see, Daddy," she explained, turning to him, as he lay there quietly on his bed, "Lou and I were taking a trip in the Pursuit, and something went wrong with the motor, forcing us to land in a desolate spot. After our picnic supper, while Lou and I went swimming, we--we--came upon a wrecked plane, and--and--two dead men. The two thieves!" She paused, but suddenly remembered that her aunt did not know that one of the men was Ted's father, for that fact had been ascertained after Louise left. "And we got the necklace!" "Whew!" exclaimed Mr. Carlton, in amazement at their luck, and horror at the experience. "Pretty sickening for you two girls! But, by the way, did the other fellow have red hair?" "Yes, he did. Though Lou and I only saw him from a distance. We didn't want to go too near, for luckily the necklace was in the man's coat beside the wreck, and the bodies were some distance away." Seeing that the subject was unpleasant to Linda, Mr. Carlton never mentioned it to her again during her entire visit. Three weeks passed happily, and her father was sitting up in his chair, when her aunt's restlessness became so apparent that Linda was willing to go back to Green Falls. "You see I'm on the committee for Field Day, my dear," explained Miss Carlton, apologetically. "Besides, I hope you can take part in the events." "How could I, Aunt Emily? I'm not in practice for golf or tennis, or any of the contests. I'm afraid I'd be a joke." "I thought perhaps you might enter the airplane competitions," suggested her aunt, to Linda's consternation. "Do you really mean it, Aunt Emily?" cried the girl, in delight. "Why, I'd adore that!" "Well, we'll see what the program calls for. If it isn't anything too dangerous, like parachute jumping.... And another thing--it is very important for you to be on hand, because Louise is planning a surprise that you don't want to miss." "Is she going to announce her engagement to Ralph Clavering, or Harriman Smith?" "Not that I know of! She isn't engaged to Ralph, is she?" "She wasn't when I last saw her. But absence often lends enchantment, you know!" Miss Carlton looked searchingly into her niece's eyes, but she could see only laughter in them. "Wouldn't you mind a bit, Linda, if Louise married Ralph?" she inquired. "Yes, certainly I'd mind," replied the girl seriously, "I don't think Ralph--or any other boy we know--is good enough for Lou!" "Oh, is that all?" "Yes, that's all. Marriage is too serious for either of us--yet.... Now tell me, Auntie, what you meant by that surprise!" "You wait and see! It's something you'll like." Linda thought perhaps it was the delightful party that greeted her when she landed, three days later, at Green Falls. All of the old crowd were there to welcome her--Louise and Dot Crowley, the two Claverings, Jim Valier and Harriman Smith, Sara Wheeler, Sue Emery, Maurice Stetson, and Joe Sinclair. They presented her with a beautiful little silver airplane, a model for her desk, which served a useful purpose as a stamp-box. Miss Carlton, who had arrived the day before by train, had arranged an elaborate dinner for the whole party. There was so much to talk about--the championships the young people were hoping to win, the airplane stunts for which two noted flyers had been engaged, the contests in flying that anyone with a private pilot's license might enter. In this last event they were all hoping to star Linda. "Even a race, Linda," said Ralph, who seemed to have forgotten all about their quarrel. "You'll enter, won't you?" "Yes, indeed!" replied the girl, her eyes shining with anticipation. "Aunt Emily has already given her consent." Thinking there had been enough talking and too little dancing, Kitty Clavering suggested that they turn on the radio. She was wearing her pearl necklace, and rushing over every few minutes to kiss Linda or Louise, in appreciation of their having recovered it. "This is to be our last party, for almost a week," she said. "Ralph says we all have to go in training--though I'd never win anything if I trained for years. But I can't do much, with all the rest of you practicing tennis and golf and swimming every minute, and going to bed at ten o'clock! So let's make this party good!" The evening passed happily, and no one but Kitty seemed to resent the fact that they gave up social activities and late hours for a few days. They all worked seriously at their own particular sports, and Linda practiced loops and speeding with her plane. Labor Day dawned, hot but clear--splendid weather for the out-door event of the season. The Casino and the grounds around it were gayly decorated for the fête; a band supplied music whenever there was a lull, and refreshment-booths everywhere offered an opportunity for the guests to eat outside, if they did not prefer the more formal luncheon and dinner served at the restaurant. Golf tournaments, swimming races and diving contests were on the program for the morning, and the finals in tennis were to be played off soon after lunch. Then came archery and quoits, drills by the Boy Scouts and a pageant by the Girl Scouts. The last thing before supper was the exhibition of flying. Linda had decided not to go to the grounds in the morning, for she wanted to have a mechanic inspect her plane, to ascertain that everything was just right before her participation in the most spectacular event of the day. She arrived soon after luncheon in the Pursuit, leaving it at the runway behind the grounds, and strolling over to the tennis matches, watched Ralph capture the men's singles' cup, and Dot Crowley take the women's. She found the archery contest interesting, and almost wished she had entered, for her father had taught her the art of the bow. However, on the whole she was satisfied to concentrate all her energy upon flying. The acrobatics came first on the program; two aviators of considerable repute in their profession had been advertised, although their names had not yet been divulged. What was Linda's amazement, when she heard Edward Mackay and Sam Hunter being introduced by the chairman! This had been her aunt's doing, no doubt, for the latter was on the committee. Was this the surprise she had so mysteriously mentioned, and if so, what was Louise's part in it? A hush fell over the huge throng as they watched the two flyers ascend into the air and demonstrate all sorts of stunts for their amusement. The falling leaf, the Immelman turn, the inside loop, and the much more difficult outside loop--and a number of others to which even Linda could not give a name. Then finally, from a height of five thousand feet, Ted Mackay stepped off in a parachute and came safely to the ground. While she had been watching these skillful yet dangerous performances, Linda's heart beat fast with excitement, her breath came in little gasps of fear or relief, as the stunt began fearfully or ended in safety. But now that her own turn was coming, she was surprisingly calm and self-possessed. With five other amateur flyers, all of whom were young men, she taxied along the runway and took off into the air, mounting to fifteen hundred feet, carefully keeping clear of her opponents. The looping began; she completed one inside loop after another, until she had scored six. Then she realized that she was too near the ground to take a chance with another, and it was too late to ascend again. With the wisdom of an Earhart or a Lindbergh, who never sacrifices safety for the sake of foolish publicity, she cautiously landed. A few minutes later the other planes all came down. Only one pilot, a college boy whom she had just met, scored over her by completing ten loops. After a short interval of rest, the signal that was to start the race was given, and a moment later the gun went off, and six planes ascended again, this time aiming for speed. As the Pursuit soared smoothly upward and then straight ahead, Linda experienced a great surge of pride--not for herself, but for her wonderful little plane. It was almost as if it were a living thing, like a beloved horse. So light, so easy to guide, so sure of its power! On and on it sped, forging its way ahead, passing now one plane and then another until it came abreast of the leader. The thrill, the intoxication of the race took possession of the young aviatrix, and she urged it on to its fullest speed. Now she was passing the one that had looked like the winner from the first! The shouts of her friends below were inaudible to her, but she could feel their applause in her heart. In another second the gun went off with a loud explosion which even the pilots could hear. The race was over; Linda Carlton, the only feminine entry, had won! Her friends, even acquaintances and strangers, almost mobbed her when she finally landed. And the college boy who had come in second was nicest of all. He and Ralph, forming a seat with their hands, carried her high above their shoulders, through the crowd to the Casino where the prizes were to be awarded. Two cups had been provided as a reward for the looping and the racing, and, amid the applause of hundreds, Linda and her new friend received them. But that was not all; the chairman held up his arm for silence. "I have another privilege!" he shouted, and the people suddenly became quiet. "Our club, which among other things fosters aviation for useful purposes, and is always on the lookout for deeds of courage which result in the saving of life, wishes to make an award for such an action. We have discovered, entirely unknown to her, that Miss Carlton made a record flight to bring a noted surgeon to her dying father, in time to perform the operation that saved his life. I therefore take great pleasure in awarding this medal to Miss Linda Carlton, of Green Falls!" A deep wave of color surged over the girl's face as she listened to her own name in connection with the speaker's words. Was it possible that this great honor should come to her, when she had merely performed her duty, and been thankful to be able to do it? Her knees shook, her eyelids fluttered, as she blushingly stepped forward again. But she caught sight of Louise among the crowd--Lou, who had arranged this as her surprise--and then she saw her aunt, with Ted beside her, and she suddenly felt at ease, and smiled. It was over at last, the applause and the congratulations, and Linda was walking with these three back to her plane when she noticed a wheelchair, pushed by a white-clad nurse. It must be--it was--her father! "Daddy!" she cried, pushing her way through the crowd to him. "You are here! How wonderful!" "It is you who are wonderful, my dear girl!" he returned. "I am prouder than I have ever been in my life!" "Daddy--" she lowered her voice--"you don't mind my being with Ted Mackay? Because Aunt Emily----" "Of course not!" he interrupted. "I know all about the boy's part in saving you--your aunt told me. I--I--am ready to admit I was wrong. You will forgive me?" "Why, of course!" She smiled joyfully; there was so much to be happy about now. "And may I have him for a friend?" she asked, timidly. "So long as you don't marry him--or anybody else--for a long time!" Her reply was reassuring: "I won't, Daddy dear! My career as a flyer has only just begun!" THE END 
48478	----	[Illustration: Linda climbed into the plane without the slightest misgiving. (Page 271)] LINDA CARLTON'S OCEAN FLIGHT By EDITH LAVELL [Illustration] THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Akron, Ohio New York Copyright MCMXXXI THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Linda Carlton's Ocean Flight _Made in the United States of America_ LINDA CARLTON'S OCEAN FLIGHT CHAPTER I _In the Fog_ "My girl, you are in perfect physical condition," announced pleasant-faced Dr. Ginsley, who had served as the Carlton family physician for years. "I can't picture anybody in more radiant health." "I thought so," smiled Linda Carlton, the pretty aviatrix who had been flying her Arrow biplane for the last three months. "But Aunt Emily wanted to make sure, before I go any further with aviation." "Yes, of course, she's right. And what are you planning now?" "A thorough course at a good ground school, so that I can get a transport license--that ranks the highest, you know. I--I haven't decided on any particular school yet, because Aunt Emily still opposes the idea. She wants me to have a coming-out party instead, like the other girls in Spring City. So I'm waiting for Daddy to come home." "And if I'm a judge your daddy will let you go to the school," said the doctor admiringly. "I heard all about how you saved his life with your plane!" "Oh, no!" protested Linda, modestly. "It was that wonderful surgeon--Dr. Lineaweaver--who did that. I was merely lucky enough to be able to get him in time." The doctor chuckled. "Well, luck or no luck, you made a long flight alone at night. I think it was marvelous. You can't tell me anything bad about the young people today. To my mind, they're finer and braver than they were in my day! And that's something from an old man.... "Well, good-by, Linda, and good luck! I suppose you're not flying anywhere today?" "Oh, no! It's too foggy." She opened the door of the waiting-room that led to the porch, and it seemed immediately as if the fog rushed right into the house. It was damp and penetrating, and so dense that it hid the doctor's gate from view. Linda stepped out on the porch, and almost bumped into a woman with a small child in her arms. The stranger seemed almost to appear from nowhere, out of the obscurity of the fog. "Oh, you must excuse me!" she cried, excitedly. "I'm that worried I can't see where I'm headed!" "It was just as much my fault," replied Linda. "Or really, it wasn't either's," she added. "We'll blame it on the fog." But the other did not seem to be listening, and looking closely at her, Linda saw how deeply distressed she was. Evidently she was very poor, for her worn blue serge dress hung about her ankles, as if it had been bought for someone else, and her brown straw hat looked about the style of 1900. But she evidently had no concern for her own appearance; she kept her gaze fastened on the doctor's face, and her eyes were filled with terror. Was it possible that the baby was dead--or dying? Linda paused and waited, wondering whether she might be of any help. "Doctor!" gasped the woman, frantically. "My baby swallowed a pin! And I'm sure it's in her lungs now. She breathes so queer." "When did this happen?" asked Dr. Ginsley, gently taking the child in his arms, and motioning Linda to come back into the house. "Last week." The woman started to cry, and sympathetically, hardly realizing what she was doing, Linda put her arm about her. "But why did you wait all this time to come to a doctor?" inquired the elderly man, trying to soften his disapproval by a kindly tone. "Because," stammered the other, between her sobs, "because my mother thought it would be all right. One of my brothers swallowed a tack when he was little, and nothing happened. And--we live out in the country, and we're so awful poor!" "I'm afraid it's too late now," sighed the doctor. "I'll make an examination, of course, but if the pin is lodged in the child's lung, there is nothing I, or anybody else--except that surgeon in Philadelphia--could do. And he's too far away." The tears rolled down the woman's face, and the tiny little girl--about two years old, Linda judged--seemed almost to realize the death sentence, for she opened her blue eyes and uttered a pitiful little moan. And, strangely enough, she reached out her tiny hand towards Linda. "You precious baby!" exclaimed the tender-hearted girl, touching her hot little fingers. "You are so sweet!" It seemed almost as if the little girl tried to smile, and at this pathetic effort the distracted mother broke out into convulsive sobs, hiding her head on Linda's shoulder. "She's my only girl!" she moaned. "I have three boys, but this baby has always been nearest to me.... My--my little bit of Heaven!" Silently, sympathetically, the doctor laid the child down on his table in the office, and got out his instruments, while Linda drew the heart-broken mother to a chair near-by. "It is as you feared," he said, finally. "There is nothing I can do." "But--this doctor in Philadelphia----?" began the woman, seizing the one ray of hope he had mentioned. "Is the carfare there very much? Oh, sir, if you could only lend me some money to go, I'd work my fingers to the bone to pay you back!" Dr. Ginsley shook his head sadly. "I'd be glad to lend you the money, my good woman," he said, "but it wouldn't be a bit of use. The journey would take too long; the child can't live more than a few hours." A shiver of horror crept over Linda as she saw the baby's pitiful breathing, and the mother's utter despair. Turning to the window she glanced out at the fog, thinking rapidly.... Should she offer to take them, when it was only a chance at best--a chance in more ways than one? A few hours, the doctor said, were all that the baby had to live.... Suppose Linda could get through the fog with her Arrow, would the trip be all in vain? Would she be risking her own life, to watch the child die in her mother's arms?... Yet something inside of her compelled her to offer her services; she would be less than human if she didn't try to do something. "I will take you and the baby in my plane, Mrs.----" she said. "Beach," supplied the woman, unable to grasp what Linda meant. "Oh, no! No, my dear!" protested Dr. Ginsley, immediately. "That would not be wise. It would mean risking two good lives to save one that is almost past hope.... No, you mustn't do that--in this fog." "I--I don't know what you mean," faltered Mrs. Beach. "An airplane?" "Yes, yes," explained Linda, hastily. "I am a pilot, and I have a plane of my own. I will take you and the baby to Philadelphia." "You mean that?" cried the woman, hysterically. "Yes, of course I do. Come over to my house with me while I get ready." "Linda, I don't approve of this," interrupted Dr. Ginsley. "This fog--your father--your aunt--I thought you had too much good sense to take foolish risks." "Not when it is a case of life or death," answered the girl, quietly. "Come, Mrs. Beach! There isn't a moment to be lost." She managed to smile at the doctor, who stood in the doorway, watching their departure, torn between his feeling of fear for Linda in the fog, and his admiration for her brave, generous spirit. "Then good luck to you!" he called, as they went cautiously towards the gate. "My husband is here in the buggy," said Mrs. Beach to Linda, as they reached the street. "I must stop and tell him." "You are sure you are not afraid?" "No! I believe in you, Miss! And, oh, I'd risk anything to save my little girl.... Besides, I've always wanted to go up in an airplane." After a word of explanation to the astonished man in the rickety old carriage, Mrs. Beach followed Linda across the street to the girl's lovely home. It was a charming colonial house, much too large for two people, as Miss Carlton, Linda's aunt, always said. For the girl's father was scarcely ever there, except for over-night visits. Mrs. Beach, who under ordinary circumstances would have been impressed with its splendor, now hardly noticed the lovely house, or the beautiful room where she waited while Linda changed into her flyer's suit and helmet, and scribbled a hasty note to her aunt, who happened to be out shopping at the time. In an incredibly short interval she reappeared, her arms laden with woolen clothing--a scarf for the baby, a cap and coat for the mother. While the gardener rolled the plane from its hangar, Linda fastened the parachutes on herself and her companion, and explained how to use them. "You would have a hard time," she said, "with the baby." (She did not say impossible, though she believed that herself.)... "But perhaps we could strap her to you, with this extra belt, here, if an accident occurs.... But don't let's worry! Probably nothing will happen, but we must be prepared at all times." After a hasty examination of the gas, the compass, the oil gauge, and the other instruments, Linda started her engine, and listened to its even whir. Sound and steady as an ocean-liner, thank goodness! So she put Mrs. Beach into the companion cockpit beside herself, and with a heart beating faster than it had ever beaten, even on that occasion when she made her first solo flight at school, she took off into the thick grayness all about them. As the plane left the ground, she carefully pointed it upward in a gradual ascent, hoping that perhaps she could get above the clouds. She must fly high--it would be dangerous crossing the Alleghenies. She hoped she could depend upon her instruments; they had never failed her yet. Up, up they climbed, but always within the veil of gray that closed upon them so completely. No horizon was visible, it seemed as if they were floating inside a gray ball, with nothing to tell them where they were going. The child was asleep in her mother's arms, and Linda glanced questioningly at Mrs. Beach. But her expression was all maternal love; no fear of danger for herself seemed to have any part in her feelings. Everything about the experience seemed queer, so detached from the world, so unreal. A mysterious journey that was no part of everyday life. More than once Linda wondered whether they were not flying unevenly, perhaps upside down! Oh, if she only had a gyroscopic pilot, that marvelous little instrument that would assure an even keel!... She would ask her father to give her one for Christmas--if she lived till then! She smiled in a detached way; she thought of herself almost as another person, in a book or a play. The plane was evidently dipping. Suddenly, with that sixth sense with which every good pilot is equipped, she felt a stall coming on. It was a sort of sinking sensation; then the ailerons on the end of the wings failed to function. She pushed the stick frantically from side to side--with no response! In that brief moment she glanced again at her companion, so absorbed in her child, and she knew that the mother would not mind going to her death if the baby could not live. But Linda meant to do everything in her power to save them all. She had been in difficulties before, and she knew how to overcome them, if it were humanly possible. Fortunately she was flying high, so she immediately pushed the nose of the Pursuit forward and dropped the plane three hundred feet to regain speed. And then, oh, what a gorgeous feeling of relief swept over her, as she succeeded in coming out of that stall! The plane was now flying evenly. Her gasp of thankfulness was audible, but the woman beside her did not even notice. "Maybe I'm not glad Daddy bought me an open plane!" she thought, as she flew steadily onward. "If I couldn't feel the wind in my face.... Oh, you dear Arrow, you have never failed me!" And then, miraculously, the fog lifted. Everything was clear in the sunlight; all her fears were gone--now she could make speed. Onward they went, over the mountains, and the rivers, through Pennsylvania, flying low enough to see the wonderful beauty of the early autumn in that lovely part of the country. At last they came to Philadelphia, and flew straight to the airport at the southern end of the city, and landed in safety. "The baby is--breathing!" she asked, as she watched the attendant who came forward to welcome them. "Yes," replied Mrs. Beach, rapturously. "Oh, I think you must be an angel, Miss Carlton!" "If we are only in time!" returned the girl. "We taxi from here." "But I haven't much money----" "I have. Come! There isn't a moment to be lost!" Linda left her plane with the attendant, and helped Mrs. Beach with her baby into the waiting taxicab. In half an hour they were at the hospital. "You--you will stay with me?" questioned the woman, trembling. "Of course." The great surgeon was kindness itself. Mrs. Beach, who had feared that he would be brusque, was delighted. A nurse took the baby immediately into the operating room. Linda was intensely hungry; it was long past her lunch-time, but she said nothing of it, while they waited tensely in that outer room. She had not failed the poor woman yet, and she would not now, at her most difficult hour. At last the doctor appeared, his face beaming with smiles. "Your baby is fine!" he announced. "And one of the sweetest little girls I have ever seen.... The nurse is putting her to bed now." Mrs. Beach burst into tears of happiness, and rushed forward and clasped the surgeon's hand in rapture. "Oh, I can never thank you enough!" she cried. Then, drying her eyes, she added, "And how much do I owe you, Doctor?" The great man had been taking in the woman's appearance, her poor clothing, her work-hardened hands. "Five dollars," he said, not making the mistake of saying "Nothing," for he realized that she would resent charity. "The Lord be praised!" she exclaimed, reverently. "Two angels I have met today--you and Miss Carlton! Two utter strangers who do things like this for me!" She buried her head in Linda's arms and wept hysterically in her joy. After the bill was paid, the doctor told them that they might stop in to see the baby. Following the nurse, they tiptoed down a corridor and into a children's ward, where they found the little tot in a white crib, breathing naturally, sleeping the dreamless sleep of childhood. "She had better stay here for a few days," advised the nurse. "You can find a cheap room a couple of doors away from the hospital." And she handed Mrs. Beach a card. It was then, and only then, that the happy mother realized that she had not eaten since the night before. "We'll get something to eat first," she said to Linda as they left the hospital together. "And then you will want to fly back home?" "No," replied the girl. "I think I'll stay over night--to get a good rest, and fly by daylight. And besides, you will not be so lonely." So, after sending her aunt a telegram to that effect, Linda Carlton treated her grateful friend to the best meal she had ever eaten in her life. CHAPTER II _Kitty's Party_ Linda and Mrs. Beach slept soundly that night, in the cheap but comfortable beds in the neat little room not far from the hospital. But both awakened early, the woman because she was longing to see her baby, the girl because she was anxious to fly back to Spring City. "Do you think that you have enough money, Mrs. Beach?" asked the latter, as they left the house together, after paying the landlady. Linda had insisted upon taking the room for the week, in order that the child might remain at the hospital as long as was necessary. "Hadn't I better give you some for your ticket home, and for a telegram to your husband?" "Thank you, Miss Carlton, you have done so much already! But if I could borrow a little?" "Of course you can," replied the girl, realizing that the other would prefer that arrangement. "I don't know how soon I can pay it back, but I'll try hard!" promised Mrs. Beach. "Your husband has a farm, hasn't he?" suggested Linda. "Why not drive in once a week with vegetables? My aunt would be glad to take them from you." "The very thing!" agreed the woman, joyfully. It seemed as if all her cares had vanished as completely as the fog of the previous day. After a hearty breakfast together, Linda said good-by and went back to her plane at the airport. She found it in perfect condition, inspected and filled with gas, ready for her flight homeward. How she would enjoy it today! How good the clear sunlight would feel, how bracing the air that held the crispness of autumn! She was glad, too, to be alone, after yesterday's nerve-racking experience. Nor was there any reason for hurry this time. She could land at Pittsburgh, or some other convenient half-way airport, and have a good lunch. And still arrive home long before dark. It was just about four o'clock when she finally brought her plane down in the field behind her house at Spring City. Gathering her things together, she made her way slowly to the porch, singing as she went along. Her aunt--her father's sister who had taken care of her ever since her mother's death--was nervously waiting for her on the steps. "Linda!" she cried, as soon as the girl was within hearing distance. "Do hurry up and tell me what you have been doing!" "Didn't you get my telegram, Aunt Emily?" she asked, kissing the older woman. "Yes. But--alone in Philadelphia! I do hope you had a chaperon! You didn't go with any of the boys?" Miss Carlton was old-fashioned and strict; she had done everything in her power to bring up her niece in the most correct manner. "No, no, Auntie!" She smiled affectionately. "I went with a woman named Mrs. Beach--to rush her baby to the hospital. And I stayed all night with her." "Oh!" exclaimed Miss Carlton, in relief. "I should have been more worried than I was, except that I didn't find out that you had gone off in your plane until I got your telegram. And by that time the fog had lifted.... But come inside and have some tea and sandwiches, and tell me all about it." Linda followed her into the house and briefly related her story, not mentioning the stall at all, for she made it a point never to worry her aunt unnecessarily, because the latter was so timid about airplanes that she had never even gone for a ride in the Pursuit. "Now I must call Dr. Ginsley," the girl concluded, as she finished the last sandwich on the plate. "No, dear--I'll call him for you. You must go right upstairs and take a nap. Don't forget that Kitty's dinner is tonight, and Harry is coming for you at half-past seven." Linda smiled; of all the boys she knew, she admired Harriman Smith most, although he was the poorest financially of her select social group at Spring City. He belonged to perhaps the finest type of young men in America today--the class who are working their own way through college. Handsome, clean-cut, ambitious, bound to make his mark in the world! And he was head over heels in love with pretty Linda Carlton. But, unlike Ralph Clavering, another of the girl's admirers, he did not often speak of his infatuation. It wasn't fair to a girl to talk love, he believed, until a man had something with which to back it up. "What will you wear?" inquired Miss Carlton. "Your white chiffon?" "No," answered Linda, thoughtfully. "I don't think that would be fair to Kitty. It's Kitty's big party, and of course she'll wear white--with her pearls, so I think all her friends ought to wear colors, to sort of set her off, like a queen.... I believe I'll wear my daffodil." "All right, just as you say. But do run along." * * * * * Never in her life had Linda attended such a gorgeous party as this début of Kitty Clavering. The Claverings were millionaires several times over, by far the richest people in Spring City, and they gave this function in a lavish style. The huge house shone with brilliant lights, the flowers reminded Linda of a flower show; the caterers had been brought from Chicago, and the music was by Paul Whiteman himself, with his famous jazz orchestra. It was all so dazzling, so bewildering, that Linda felt as if she were lost in some tropical island, among strangers. It was some time before she recognized anybody she knew, and she clung tightly to Harry's arm. He pressed her hand gently; it was wonderful to have a chance to protect Linda Carlton, who usually was so fearless. "I wish we could find Lou," she remarked, mentioning her chum, her dearest friend who had gone through school with her, and graduated in the same class the preceding June. "Lou is so much more at home at this sort of thing than I am." They were seated at a little table now--there were tables of every size in the dining-room and conservatory and library--and a waiter was serving them with the most delicious food. Linda ate hers almost in awe, wondering whether this was the sort of thing her aunt was planning for her. The expense of it! Why, it would cost as much as a whole year's course at a ground school! And where would it get you in the end? It would only lead to more parties--more expense. Linda sighed. "Why the sigh, Linda?" inquired Harry, sympathetically. "I guess it wasn't very polite," replied the girl, flushing. "But I'm afraid my mind is on other things." "Well, try to bring it back. Here comes our host--with another man. An army officer!" "I'm not interested in army officers," she whispered, but when she saw from the stranger's insignia that he belonged to the Flying Corps, she changed her mind. "Hello, Linda," exclaimed Ralph Clavering, Kitty's brother who had taken a course with Linda at the Spring City Flying School a few months before. "Been looking all over for you. You too, Harry!... I want to introduce Lieutenant Hulbert, of the U. S. Air Service." Ralph went on to explain what a marvelous little flyer Miss Carlton was, until Linda's eyelids fluttered in embarrassment, and she wished he would stop talking so that she could hear some of the Lieutenant's experiences. But the music had started, and Ralph was impatient to dance. "We mustn't keep Lieutenant Hulbert," he explained. "He's to have Kit's first dance." With a gracious bow the young officer withdrew, and Ralph turned to Harry. "Do me a favor, Harry, old man?" he said. "Did you call him Harriman?" asked Linda. "Why all the dignity?" "No. 'Harry--old--man!'" "So long as you don't call me 'the old Harry,'" laughed the other. "Well, what is it?" "Lend me your girl friend for this dance. I have something very important to tell to Linda." "All right," agreed the other, pleasantly. "At least if you'll find me another girl." "Sure I will," said Ralph, and in another minute he came back with Louise Haydock, Linda's chum. Louise was just the opposite in type to Linda. Though not exactly pretty, she was extremely striking-looking; her hair was clipped close, after the manner of Kay Francis, the actress, and she always wore earrings and bright colored dresses. Tonight her dress was a new brilliant shade of green, with trimmings of silver, and silver slippers to match. "Hello, darling!" she exclaimed, joyfully. "Who'd ever think I'd find you! It's almost as impossible to locate anybody here as on the beach at Atlantic City!" "I know. And I've been dying to see you!" returned Linda. "All your own fault. Where have you been these last two days?" "Why----" "Please have your visit later," interrupted Ralph, who still preserved much of the spoiled child in his make-up. "The dance is half over now." "All right," agreed Linda, with a wink, meaning, "See you later," to her chum. Off they started; the floor was perfect, the music excellent, and for a minute or two they both gave themselves up to the joy of the dance. But time was precious; Ralph might not have another dance with Linda all evening. Besides, nobody cut in during the first dance--that was an unwritten rule with their crowd. "Who is this Lieutenant?" asked Linda, as they happened to pass him dancing with Kitty. "A fine fellow. The kind you girls fall for--uniform, and all that," replied Ralph, somewhat enviously. "But don't you fall for him! He belongs to Kitty!" "Kitty! But I thought she was practically engaged to Maurice Stetson?" "That's all off. Stetson made one wisecrack too many, and it cracked Sis's dream of happiness. He isn't even here tonight." "I can't say I'll miss him a whole lot." "I always liked the fellow. But I'm rooming with another chap this year. You'll probably meet him at Thanksgiving." "What's your big news, Ralph?" asked Linda, wondering whether it had anything to do with flying. "You must have had some reason for taking me away from Harry." "You're reason enough yourself, my angel," he replied. "You look divine tonight." "Thanks, Ralph. But that's not quite fair to Harry, is it?" "All's fair in love and war.... But lest you think too meanly of me, I did have another reason. One that will knock you cold: Kit is taking up flying!" "Kitty! No! Never!" Linda could not imagine anyone less likely to care for aviation than pretty, petite Kitty Clavering, who never had an idea in her head beyond her parties, her pearls, and her boy friends. Besides, she was so timid. Why, she was even nervous about taking her car into traffic, and almost always used the chauffeur. "Of course there's a reason," explained Ralph. "You mean Lieutenant Hulbert?" "Naturally." "But what has that to do with me, Ralph? I'm not supposed to teach her, or anything like that, am I?" Linda had often thought it would be a simple matter to teach Louise, who was naturally air-minded, but Kitty Clavering would be difficult. And she'd simply die if Kitty ever sat at the controls of her Arrow! "No, of course not. Dad has a big idea--you know how he longs to get me into business? Well, he jumped at the chance of launching Kit. She's to start a Flying Club. You know about them?" "Yes. They're run something like Country Clubs, aren't they? Only flying is the sport, instead of golf and tennis." "Exactly. Dad's financing it, and Kit is to take charge. Sell thousand dollar bonds, get members, arrange about instruction. And she's supposed to run it like a business, and pay interest to Dad." "Well, of all things!" cried Linda. Nevertheless, the idea was delightful. Just as flying was ten times better than any other sport, so a flying club would be that much nicer than a country club. "Of course I don't need to tell you that Lieutenant Hulbert is in on this," continued Ralph. "He and Kitty are working hand in hand. He's even hoping to be the instructor for a while, if he can get a short leave from the army." "So that he can be near Kitty," concluded Linda. "But suppose Kitty drops him as she did Maurice, then what will happen to the poor people who have invested their money in the club?" "She can't drop it. There'll be a board of managers to see to that. Besides, Dad'll be back of it. Nobody need worry much, as long as he's behind it." "That's true," admitted Linda. "Of course I'll be at college, but I think I can persuade Dad into giving me a plane of my own, so that I can fly home every week-end. Doesn't it sound thrilling?" "It surely does. We'll have to get together and talk the whole thing over soon." "I'll tell the world! I'm going to get the bunch over here tomorrow afternoon. Can you come? It's my last day home." The music had stopped, but Ralph showed no signs of letting Linda go back to her escort. "And will you promise me tomorrow night, Linda?" he begged. "In case I don't get another dance with you tonight?" "I don't know," she replied, thoughtfully. "I'm sort of expecting Daddy home this week-end, and I must see him." "But you can see your father any time!" "That's just what I can't do! Why Ralph, I see you lots oftener than Daddy. I haven't laid eyes on him since Field Day at Green Falls--three weeks ago!" "You may not see me for three weeks!" "And then again, I may.... Here come Lou and Harry.... No, Ralph, I can't promise. If I come tomorrow afternoon, that's all I can say." "Oh, all right," returned the young man sulkily. He never could get used to Linda's independence--when he--and everybody else--regarded himself as the biggest catch in Spring City. He'd invite Louise, for spite. "Lou, will you go riding with me tomorrow night, and paint the town red, because it's my last night home?" he asked. "O.K.," replied Louise enthusiastically. "But why be so stingy about yourself? Let's make it a crowd!" She turned to Linda. "I prefer your society alone," interrupted Ralph, peevishly, and with a wink at her chum, Louise accepted his invitation to dance. Linda and Harry started the next dance together, but scarcely had they gone around the floor when Lieutenant Hulbert cut in. Linda was both proud and delighted; he was an older man, probably twenty-four or five, and she found him most interesting. She made him talk about the army and about flying, and finally of the club. She was keenly disappointed when Joe Elliston cut in and took her away. She did not dance with the Lieutenant again, although she stayed until midnight. Then she told Harry she wanted to go home. "But your aunt isn't even thinking of leaving so early, and she's as strict as they come. Besides, I hear that the breakfast we're going to get will put the supper to shame!" Harry was just as anxious as Ralph to have a good time before college opened. "I know, Harry, and I don't want to be a poor sport. But I'm really awfully tired. I flew to Philadelphia yesterday, and back again today." She didn't say why; Linda Carlton was not a girl to boast of her good deeds. "Besides, tomorrow is a big day for me. If Daddy comes home, we have some momentous questions to talk over--which will decide my whole future." "Flying?" "Yes.... So, Harry, please take me home, and then you can easily come back again and stay for breakfast." The young man did as he was requested, but he did not go back. Somehow, the party no longer interested him. So while her friends still danced far into the night, Linda Carlton slept soundly, that she might retain that radiant health upon which the doctor had complimented her the day before. CHAPTER III _The Flying Club_ When Linda came down to breakfast the following morning, she found her father already at the table. He had a way of arriving early in the morning, for he preferred traveling in a sleeper. "Daddy!" she cried, happily. "Just the person I want to see!" "Well, that's nice," he said, kissing her affectionately. "I wouldn't want it otherwise. Now sit down and tell me all about your latest experiences while you eat your breakfast." "No, first you must tell me how you are! Are you all well again after that terrible accident?" "Much better, but not quite all well," he replied. "I have to stay away from horses, I guess, for the rest of my life. I'm selling the ranch." "Daddy!" There was the deepest sympathy in her voice; she knew how her father loved his out-door life, almost as much as she loved flying. "Well, it wasn't paying anyhow. But sit down, dear, and tell me about yourself. I know you were at a party last night--the servants told me, for I haven't seen your Aunt Emily yet." "Everything's just fine with me," Linda told him, as she sat down beside him and took a bunch of grapes. "It isn't the past I want to talk about, Daddy--it's the future." "Of course, of course," murmured her father. "It's always the future with you.... Well, what's on your mind now?" "I want to go to a ground school. I want to be a commercial pilot--maybe even a 'transport pilot,' the highest of all, you know. And a licensed mechanic." She tried to keep her voice calm, but her blue eyes were shining with excitement. "What for?" inquired her father, smiling at the idea of a girl with ambitions like these. "So that I can earn my living in aviation. I want to go in for it seriously, Daddy. Not just play!" "You're afraid I won't be able to support you, later on?" he asked, half teasingly. "No, no--not that----" "Of course such an event is possible. In fact, Daughter, it was that very thing I especially want to talk about to you.... I have decided to go into business." "Into business?" repeated Linda, in amazement. "Yes. I want something to do, now that I am selling my ranch. Besides, I have lost a good deal of money in stocks, and I think it's time I made some." "But what?" "Importing some very lovely lace-work, and selling it wholesale to the better stores all over the country. This needle-work is made in a convent in Canada, and has never been sold before. But I have been able to persuade the Mother Superior to sell it, because they really are dreadfully in need of money." "But how did you happen on such a thing as this?" asked Linda, incredulously. "Two years ago--the summer you went to camp with Louise in Maine, you remember--Emily and I visited you and went on into Canada. One day your aunt stopped at this convent--it's near Montreal--and one of the nuns took such a fancy to her that she gave her a handkerchief of this work. When we got home, your aunt sent a contribution for the convent, and really the letter of gratitude was touching." "And they've actually agreed to sell this to you?" "Yes. All they have. And they are making more. If I hadn't come along, they would have had to give up their convent." "Of course it's expensive?" "Yes, and there's nothing like it in America. Nobody in our country would ever have the patience to do it. Of course I have to pay a tax, besides, on every piece. But the stores are enthusiastic, they ordered all I had. Except----" he dug smilingly into his pocket--"except this handkerchief I saved for you." Linda opened the small package eagerly, and disclosed the daintiest, loveliest thing of its kind that she had ever seen. Filmy net-work, made with infinite patience, probably as the nuns had learned from their sisters in France. It was exquisite. "Oh, Daddy, I adore it!" she cried. "Rather a queer present for a girl who wants to be a licensed mechanic," he remarked, whimsically. "But I love things like this, too!" she hastily assured him. "And I can appreciate its value. Why, all my friends will be green with envy!" "Then they can easily buy them in New York," he said. "If you show it to your rich friends, you'll help my business.... "Now, another thing, Daughter, while we're on this subject. As I told you, I've lost some money, and my expenses are pretty heavy. So I'm just taking a precaution, in case I should fail in this business, of putting thirty thousand dollars in bonds aside in your name. Just so you won't be penniless." "That's awfully sweet of you, Daddy! But can you afford it?" "Yes, certainly." "Then--then--instead of a trust fund could I have the money for two purposes?" she asked excitedly. "To pay for my course at a ground school, and--and----" She stopped and flushed; her heart beat so fast with excitement that the words choked her. She was almost afraid to tell her father, for fear of his refusal. It was her most cherished dream, her secret which she had confided only to Louise, her greatest ambition! "And what, Daughter?" "Can't you guess, Daddy?" "No. I never know what you're up to. A new plane? One of those new-fangled autogiros?" "No--that is, not exactly.... Oh, Daddy, don't think I'm crazy. But if I do well at school, next spring I should like to have a special plane--and--and----" She took a deep breath before she finally blurted out her desire. "And fly the Atlantic! Without a man!" she said. "All alone?" "No. With Louise. It's never been done by two girls alone. Amelia Earhart did it, but she took a man as co-pilot. But look at Amy Johnson!" "Where is Amy Johnson?" he asked, glancing at the door. "_The_ Amy Johnson! Daddy, you must know about her! Don't tease me! She flew alone from England to Australia." "Yes, of course. I remember now. But don't expect me to recall all the aviatrices, and their stunts. I usually skip the flying news." "But you won't soon!" "Not if my little girl is going to do public stunts like that! But, seriously, dear, I don't know what to say. It seems too hazardous. Think how many planes have dropped into the ocean, never to be heard of again." "But planes are being made safer every minute!" "True. Still, I don't know--I wouldn't like to decide a question like that off-hand. I'll have to think about it." "But you are willing for me to go to the ground school?" "Yes. And you can have the money in your own name, invested in bonds that can easily be sold. I know I can trust you not to try the flight without my permission. You'll promise that?" "Certainly," she agreed. "And by the way, Daddy, don't tell anybody of my plans about the ocean flight--not even Aunt Emily!" During this whole conversation Linda had not even touched the fruit that was on her plate, and she realized all of a sudden that her aunt might appear at any minute, and would instantly jump to the conclusion that she was sick, so she resolutely began to make up for lost time. She was just finishing her bacon and eggs when Miss Carlton came downstairs. "Linda!" she exclaimed immediately. "What happened to you last night?" "I got Harry to bring me home early. I was tired." "No wonder, after that awful trip to Philadelphia." Miss Carlton turned to her brother. "Did Linda tell you about it?" "No, we haven't had time yet. But she must tell me all about it after breakfast." "It wasn't much," remarked Linda, evasively. She was thinking of Louise now, wondering whether she had succeeded in persuading her parents to let her go to the aviation school too, for the chums wanted to be together. The first chance she had, she called her on the telephone, and learned that Louise too had been successful. They arranged to go to Kitty's together that afternoon. They reached the Clavering home about four o'clock, and found the others already there, gathered together in the charming library, about a cheerful open fire. Kitty, her pale face lighted up with unusual color and excitement, was seated on the davenport between Lieutenant Hulbert and an older girl, whose homeliness was increased by the stiff, masculine attire which she wore. The hostess introduced her as Miss Hulbert, the lieutenant's older sister. All the old crowd were there. Sara Wheeler, Sue Emery, Dot Crowley, Jim Valier, Harriman Smith, Joe Elliston, Ralph and Kitty, and half a dozen others whom Louise and Linda did not know so well. Everybody seemed to be talking at once. "Now do quiet down!" commanded Kitty, bringing down her little fist upon Lieutenant Hulbert's knee. "We must get to work! We're awfully lucky, girls and boys, to have Miss Hulbert here. She's been flying for three years, and has won two big derbies, and organized flying clubs, and--and----" "Been in the movies," added the young woman herself, with a smile. "Only that really wasn't worth while," she said, condescendingly. "It's not nearly so wonderful after you have been in, as it looks to the outsider!" There was something about her manner which made Linda feel very small, very inexperienced, very young. But naturally, she thought, the girl had a right to be proud, with all those records! "Mr. Clavering is very kindly donating the land--two hundred acres north of Spring City, isn't it, Kitty?" she continued, turning to the girl beside her. "And my brother will write to the Government for a charter. Then we will ask each of you to put in a thousand dollars--or more, if you can afford it--and we will buy a plane or two, and put up a hangar and a rough sort of club-house." "And will _you_ belong to the club?" asked Kitty, as if it were too great an honor to be expected, as if she were asking Amelia Earhart, or Laura Ingals, or Amy Johnson. "Oh, it will be so wonderful to have your name, Bess!" "I guess I could work it in," replied the other. "Though I'm usually pretty busy with my own flying. I happen to be out of a job now, but don't forget I'm a working girl!" "Of course. But just having your name would mean so much to us! If you'd only consent to be president!" Louise coughed irritably; this wasn't her idea of a business meeting. She had taken an instant dislike to Miss Hulbert, with her conceited manner. "I'm afraid I couldn't do that," replied the latter. "I might accept a minor office, like secretary or treasurer, just so that you could have _one_ experienced flyer on your list. But hardly president--I haven't time." "_One_, indeed!" repeated Louise, scornfully. "I want to tell you, Miss Hulbert, that Miss Carlton is a wonderful aviatrix!" "Oh, is that so?" smiled the older girl, as one might smile at a child. "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten Kitty did mention that one of you, besides her brother, had been flying a couple of months." Linda blushed and Louise opened her mouth to make an angry retort, but Kitty spoke first. "Two months seems a lot to us, but of course it's nothing to anybody like Miss Hulbert, who has handled all sorts of planes for the last three years. And has actually had instruction from men high up in the Flying Corps!... Now, suppose we elect officers--two boys and two girls." "I nominate Kitty Clavering for president," said Miss Hulbert, with an affectionate smile. "And I move the nominations be closed," said the lieutenant. "It was Kitty's idea to have the club, and Kitty's father is making it possible, so I think Kitty is the only person for president." Everybody seemed to agree with him; the election was unanimous. Joe Elliston was then made vice-president, and Ralph secretary. The latter, who had been waiting for a chance to nominate Linda for an office, spoke up at last, when it was time to choose a treasurer. But she declined. "I'm afraid I can't stand, Ralph," she said. "You see, Lou and I decided definitely this morning to go away to school." Miss Hulbert raised her eyebrows. "But aren't you the young lady who's supposed to be so interested in aviation?" she asked, cuttingly. "If you really cared, I should think you'd give up finishing-school, or college, or whatever it is, for a chance like this. You get a great deal of experience from a flying club." "Linda has had plenty of experience!" interrupted Louise, sharply. "Really? And you got your license when, Miss Carlton?" "In July," murmured Linda, in embarrassment. "But I am going to a ground school, Miss Hulbert, to qualify as a mechanic." "How interesting! But really, Miss Carlton, let me tell you, it's a waste of time. There's no more reason for a girl to learn the engine of an airplane, than for her to know the engine of an automobile. You can't often fix things up in the air anyway." Linda shrugged her shoulders; she had no desire to get into an argument. But neither had she any intention of giving up her cherished ambition. Ted Mackay, that wonderful young pilot who had taken her for her very first flight, and who had later rescued Louise and herself from the wilderness, was firm in the belief that this was the next step for her to take. "Then I nominate Miss Hulbert," said Kitty, immediately. "Now don't forget, Bess, you said you'd consider it!" She looked imploringly at the older girl; it was plain to be seen that she admired her tremendously. Without further discussion the nomination was made unanimous. Jim Valier suddenly stood up and stretched. He was so tall and thin that he had been nicknamed "String Bean," and everybody said he was the laziest member of the crowd. "I'm all tired out with this hard work," he announced. "Let the president do the rest--appointing committees, and what not. Now Kitty, when do we eat?" Everybody roared. Intimate as they all were with Kitty Clavering, Jim was the only one who would have asked such a question. "We ate everything they had in the house last night at the party," snapped Dot Crowley. "Where are your manners, Jim?" Laughingly, Kitty rang the bell and the usual refreshments appeared. While they were eating, Linda and Louise had drifted off to a corner of the room, away from Bess Hulbert, whom they both disliked, and Linda was showing her handkerchief to several of the girls and telling where her father had gotten it. Turning about to put her tea-cup on the tray, she saw Bess beside her, listening intently to her explanation. "May I see it?" she asked, rather abruptly. "Certainly," replied Linda, surprised that a girl like Miss Hulbert would care for such a dainty thing. "You said outside of Montreal, didn't you?" she inquired. "I believe I know the convent you mean. 'Our Lady of Mercy,' isn't it?" "Yes, I believe it is," answered Linda. "Why?" "Oh, nothing. Only I've been there--I know Canada pretty well." "Fortunately you don't have to go to Canada to get one. My father is buying them for the finer stores all over the country. You can get them almost anywhere--in any of the big cities." Miss Hulbert raised her eyebrows. "Quite an idea," she remarked. "Nobody ever would think of making money from nuns!" It was an insult, of course, to her father, and Linda would have replied, but just at that moment Lieutenant Hulbert clapped his hands for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted. "May I say something?" "If we can go on eating while we listen," said Jim. "You've had enough, String Bean!" put in Dot. "Go on, Lieutenant Hulbert. All the important people are listening." "I have an exciting piece of news," explained the young officer. "A wealthy woman by the name of Mrs. Rodman Hallowell has just offered a prize of twenty-five thousand dollars to the first girl, or girls, who fly from New York to Paris, without a man's accompanying them. You know, of course, that this has never been done. Maybe such an undertaking is beyond this club, but anyway it's something to keep in mind. You can never tell how fast you'll progress, once you start flying." "Oh, Bess!" cried Kitty. "Why don't you do it?" "I would," replied the girl, coolly, as if she were sure of her ability, "if I had a suitable plane. But there's no use attempting it in the poor old boat I fly." "Everybody says nobody but Sis could make it go," put in Lieutenant Hulbert, proudly. "It's one the Army gave up." "I understand its temperament," explained his sister. "It's a Jenny--but somehow I manage her. And I never went to a ground school, either," she added, to Linda. "Maybe the club could finance you," suggested Kitty. "Think of the honor it would mean to us!" "That's awfully sweet of you, Kitty dear. But we'll talk about it later. Nobody will be trying for the prize over the winter, and by spring we'll see how our finances are." Linda sat perfectly still, drinking in every word. Oh, if she could only win that prize! She and Louise! But how could they hope to, against such an experienced flyer as Miss Hulbert? What a bitter pill it would be to swallow, to watch her money going towards helping a girl like that to win! If it were even Dot, or Kitty--any one of her real friends! Scarcely knowing what she was doing, she said good-by to her hostess, and followed Louise out of the house. CHAPTER IV _The Ground School_ "I certainly don't care for that woman!" announced Louise emphatically, as she got into Linda's roadster. "Miss Hulbert?" inquired her chum. "Yes. You might think she were the one and only queen of the air! And it's all so silly. Imagine Lindbergh or Amelia Earhart talking like that!" "Still, she has a lot of experience on all of us," admitted Linda. "But I don't believe what she says about ground schools. Why, Ted Mackay----" "Have you heard from him lately, Linda?" "About a week ago. He wants us to go to a school in St. Louis, where he says they give a most thorough course." "Sure it isn't because that will be near Kansas City--where he is?" teased Louise. "Oh no, I wouldn't believe that of Ted. He is seriously interested in my career--yours too, for I told him that you might go with me." "Might!" repeated Louise, settling back in her seat to enjoy the ride, for it was a lovely day, and there was no top over the car. "Nobody could stop me now--after this afternoon! We're going to beat Bess Hulbert to it, and get that prize!" "Lou, if we only could! You know how I've talked of flying the ocean before. Are you still game?" "Absolutely! But we wouldn't dare take a chance in your Pursuit, would we?" "No, of course not. What I'd like to get is a Model J Bellanca--it's made especially for that purpose. Take off early next May--the very day Lindy flew, if the weather happens to be right." "Where would we ever get the money for such a plane?" asked Louise, incredulously. "It would cost thousands of dollars." "Yes, I know. I talked to Daddy this morning, and if he decides to let me try it, he won't mind the money. But don't breathe a word of this to anybody! I wouldn't want Miss Hulbert to hear of it; she'd only make all manner of fun of us." "Suppose she should get that prize," remarked Louise. "Can you imagine her in Paris, Linda? Representing American Girlhood! Why, it might start a war with the French!" "Now, Lou, you're exaggerating too much. She isn't as disagreeable as all that." "She is. She's even worse. But of course I won't say a word about our plan, except to mother and dad. And maybe I won't work hard at school, to get my own license!" "That's the spirit!" approved Linda, as she stopped the car at her chum's house. "Linda! Look how low that plane's flying!" exclaimed the other, as the girls got out of the car. "And look at the way she's tilting!" "The pilot must be crazy! Why, that's only a few hundred feet up. Come on, Lou, something is likely to happen! Let's get into the house." Instinctively Linda pushed Louise towards the porch, but with a quick glance about, she saw her chum's brother in the next yard, playing with a group of children. Unmindful of her own danger, and the velvet dress she was wearing under her lovely fall coat, she dashed over the hedge and dragged the children into the house. Nothing happened, however; when she came outside she noticed that the plane was climbing again. With a sigh of relief she went back to Louise. "That was our friend Miss Hulbert," announced the latter, scornfully. "Doing some stunts for our benefit." "No! Not really?" "Absolutely. She waved to me!" "She certainly doesn't show much judgment. Besides, it's unlawful." "Let's sue her!" "Now, Lou! You are positively vindictive. And all because she made fun of my flying." But Linda gave her chum a hug; it was so comforting to feel her entire loyalty. "All right, then let's forget her.... Can you stay for dinner, Linda?" "No thank you, Lou--I'm afraid not. Daddy's home, and he may leave any minute. You know I told you he's in business now in New York." "Yes, it seems funny, doesn't it? I never could imagine your father in business. What do you suppose made him do that?" "Restlessness, I think, and the fact that he can't ride any more. Besides, he told me the ranch doesn't pay, so I guess he has to try something else." "Well, if you will have airplanes, and expensive courses----" teased Louise. "Oh, but just wait! We'll be ten-thousand-dollar-a-year women when we finish our education, Lou. It's going to be a good investment." "I certainly hope so.... Well, so long. I'll call you up tomorrow and we'll go shopping for our overalls." Linda drove off, and arrived just in time for dinner. Her aunt, it seemed, had been impatiently awaiting her return, for she had learned from Linda's father that he had given his consent to the ground school course. "I simply can't understand you, Linda," she said when they were at the table. "When you could be having the time of your life this winter! With all the gayety here--and even this new flying club. Why you should want to go off to a school where you will have to mess up your hands with grease and machinery, and practically live in overalls, is beyond me." "I know, Aunt Emily--I guess I do seem queer. But to me it's just the _only_ thing to do. There's something inside me that makes me feel as if nothing else is so important--for me." Her eyes shone with ardor. Mr. Carlton watched her admiringly. "There isn't anything so great in this world," he said slowly, "as a splendid enthusiasm--a purpose in life. If I were a fairy god-mother, and could give a child only one gift, it would be that. Emily, we should bow down before it in admiration, and thank Heaven that Linda is so different from most of the young people today--still in their teens and bored with life." "Oh, thank you, Daddy!" cried the girl. How wonderful it was to be understood! "But imagine having her away from home all winter!" moaned Miss Carlton. "Or do you think I should close this house and go and board in St. Louis?" "No, Emily, that won't be necessary," replied Mr. Carlton. "It would be a shame to take you away from your friends. Besides, Linda will have her Arrow. I see no reason why she shouldn't fly home every week-end, if she isn't too tired, or too busy." "Yes, that will be lots nicer," agreed Linda. "Because then we'll have real Thanksgiving and Christmas just the same as ever. Can you picture those holidays in a boarding-house?" Miss Carlton looked relieved, but she still disliked the whole idea. She raised another objection. "Think of Linda alone in a big city like St. Louis," she said. "She's too young----" "I'm eighteen now," Linda hastened to remind her. "I couldn't try to qualify for a transport license if I weren't. Besides, I won't be alone, and I won't be in a big city. The school is quite far out of St. Louis, and Louise expects to go with me." "Well, that is better, I must say," admitted her aunt, rather grudgingly. "And you could go out with the girls, Emily," suggested her brother, "and see that they are established in some nice home, with a motherly woman who will look after them. I think the Y. W. C. A.'s keep lists like that, of eminently respectable people, who need to take boarders." "That is a good idea." "Then it's all settled?" asked Linda, excitedly. "When can I start?" "Next week, I guess," replied her father. "If that is convenient to you, Emily." So, with no further opposition, Linda set herself to the pleasant task of getting ready. The next day she accompanied her father to the bank where he deposited the bonds in a safety-deposit box in her name, and opened an account for her. One of these thousand-dollar bonds she reluctantly turned over to Kitty, for although she liked the idea of a flying club for Spring City, she wondered whether she weren't helping to finance her rival on that trip from New York to Paris. But with Harry Smith on the finance committee, she felt somehow safe. He would not willingly allow the club to spend its money for such purposes. By the tenth of October, everything was in readiness, for Ted Mackay had secured application blanks and mailed them to the girls, and promised to be on hand when they arrived at the school. So, with their suit-cases stuffed with overalls and flyers' suits, they stepped into the Arrow and took off. The day was so lovely and the country so beautiful that more than once Linda regretted the fact that her aunt had insisted upon going by train. It would have been such a wonderful chance to show her how safe, yet how fascinating air travel could be. Without the faintest disturbance they flew straight to the school where Ted Mackay had also made arrangements for them to keep the Arrow. He was the first person they saw when Linda brought the plane down. He was standing there near a hangar, his helmet off, his red hair shining in the sunlight, and grinning at them delightedly. Beside him was an older man, probably one of the instructors. As soon as the girls got out of the cockpit, he was beside them, introducing his companion to them. "This is Mr. Eckers," he said. "He is crazy to meet two girls who want to be mechanics. He never heard of one before." "Yet we're quite human," laughed Louise. "Almost normal, I think." "Well, you see," explained Eckers, "we have several young ladies here who are studying to be pilots--even commercial and transport pilots--but we never had a mechanic of your sex before. But that's no reason why you shouldn't succeed." "I'm not so good myself," remarked Louise. "And I may not take that course after all, because I'm not even any kind of pilot yet. But I'd like to see a man who knows more about the inside of his car than Miss Carlton does. She takes it apart as easily as most girls make fudge." "Oh, Lou----" protested Linda, blushing, but Ted changed the subject by asking them about their trip. After a few preliminaries, such as going into the office and meeting the secretary and a couple of the other instructors, and signing up for their doctor's examination, the girls bade Ted good-by, and took a taxi for the station where they were to meet Miss Carlton. It was amusing to find that the train was late, whereas they had bettered their own schedule in the airplane. It arrived at last, however, and Miss Carlton hurried anxiously forward, as usual expecting that something had probably happened to her niece. She was relieved to find both girls well and happy. "We might as well all go to a hotel tonight," she suggested, "and have a good dinner, and take in a picture afterwards. There can't be any rush about your finding your boarding-house, is there?" "Only that we begin work tomorrow," replied Linda. "We must be there at nine o'clock for our examinations." "My, but you are in a hurry!" the older woman remarked. "When I was a girl, fun always came first." "But it is all going to be fun, Aunt Emily!" "Still, we might as well have the dinner, and take in an early show," put in Louise. "Miss Carlton would rather stay over night, anyway, wouldn't you?" "Yes, of course. And suppose I look up the boarding-house tomorrow, while you're at school. You'd trust to my judgment?" "Oh, Auntie, we'd be delighted!" cried Linda, giving her hand a squeeze. "If you don't mind, it would save us a lot of time!" The evening, therefore, was spent just as Miss Carlton desired, dining at the best hotel in St. Louis, going afterwards to the most expensive theater in a taxi. But the girls got to bed early, and left a call for seven o'clock the following morning. The school was so much bigger, so much more organized than the little one at Spring City that Linda felt lost at first. After their examinations they made out a roster with one of the instructors, and here they decided to part. Louise felt that after all, she wasn't particularly fitted to become a mechanic, and she would rather spend her time actually flying, so that perhaps by the end of the term she might win a limited commercial license. Linda, who had always kept an air-log with the Pursuit--a record of her flights and the number of hours in the air--would not need much more time to complete her two hundred hours solo flying that was part of a transport pilot's requirements. And while Louise was taking only the general course about airplanes, Linda would study plane structure and rigging, control systems, motors, and everything that had to do with the repair of aircraft. It was a big program; the thought of it was breathtaking. But, as Linda's instructor informed her, she would go step by step, advancing each day a little. After that the days flew by all too quickly. The girls liked the house where Miss Carlton had established them, a neat little cottage that was owned by a widow, who lived alone with her two children, and it was near enough to the school for them to walk to and from it each day. They would rise early, eat a hearty breakfast and take their lunch with them, remaining away all day. After supper they were usually too tired to go anywhere; they would sit around the open fireplace in the living-room with the family, Louise reading a novel, Linda continually poring over some book about aviation. Once or twice Ted Mackay flew over to see them, and took them to dinner and to a show, usually bringing one of his friends with him. But they were too much absorbed to be lonely. Before they scarcely realized it, the Thanksgiving holiday was upon them, and, leaving their overalls and their flyers' suits at St. Louis, they took off in the Arrow for their first visit back to Spring City. CHAPTER V _Thanksgiving_ In the six weeks that had passed since Linda and Louise left for the ground school, a great deal had happened at Spring City. Kitty and Ralph Clavering drove over to see Linda the afternoon that she arrived--the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, to tell her all the news. "Are you a pilot yet, Kitty?" asked Linda, as soon as she had kissed the girl and shaken hands with her brother. "No, not yet. So far only some of the boys have passed the exam--and Dot Crowley. Dot can do anything, you know. But I'm getting along fine." "Lou has her private pilot's license," announced Linda proudly. "But do sit down and tell me all about the club." "There's to be a dance there tomorrow night," replied Kitty, sinking into a chair. "That's the first thing I have to tell you." "And before the phone has a chance to ring, I want you to promise to go with me," urged Ralph. "Why, certainly," agreed Linda. Everything was delightful--and oh, it was so good to be home! "Thanks a lot, Ralph.... But tell me, Kitty, is the club-house all done?" "Yes. We have seventy-six members, and the most adorable club-house. Oh, nothing pretentious, like the Country Club, but we like it a lot. And we have one plane--a Gypsy Moth. Lieutenant Hulbert flies over twice a week to give the lessons." "Did seventy-six people actually buy thousand-dollar bonds?" inquired Linda, incredulously. She couldn't believe there was all that wealth in Spring City, and the surrounding country. "No. Only about twenty. We couldn't keep to that rule. The people who bought the bonds are on the Board of Directors. We let members in for their dues--a hundred dollars a year." "And do I have to fork out another hundred?" asked Linda, wearily. She had been spending so much money already; she couldn't begin to live on the interest from her father's gift. Of course she expected to use the principal for her course, but she didn't want it to vanish for trifles. "I'm afraid you'll have to," said Kitty. "Well, I'll think it over," replied Linda, slowly. It was amazing, in the few weeks that she had had charge of her own money, what a business woman she had become. "I may not join this year. My expenses are pretty heavy." "Why, Linda!" Kitty laid her hand affectionately upon her friend's arm. "Forgive me if I seem to pry--but--but--your father isn't having money troubles, is he!" "Oh, no. It's only that I am running my own expenses now, and I don't want to waste money on things that won't do me any good. While I'm away from home it seems sort of foolish to belong to that club, when I have my own Arrow to fly. Especially now that you have enough members, and really don't need me.... I'd rather sell my bond." "I don't know whether you could sell it now," said Kitty. "Though of course I'll ask Bess--Bess Hulbert, our treasurer, you remember--when she flies back this afternoon. She has our Moth up at Lake Michigan now." Linda raised her eyebrows. So this was the way the club was run--for Miss Hulbert's convenience! "Doesn't she have her own plane any more?" she demanded. "No. She smashed it. It wasn't any good anyhow. And she might as well use the Moth, because the club members only need it two days a week." That arrangement didn't seem fair to Linda, for the licensed pilots--Dot and Joe and Harry and Ralph--could fly now whenever they wanted. Noticing that Linda was not at all pleased with the way things were going, Ralph immediately made her an offer. "I'll be glad to buy your bond, Linda," he said, "if nobody else wants it. No reason why you should hang on to it if it's no use to you." "That's awfully kind, Ralph. I'll think it over, and let you know tomorrow night at the dance." At this moment Miss Carlton entered, smiling genially because Linda was home with her again, and because these nice, socially prominent young people were calling upon her niece immediately. She greeted Ralph and Kitty cordially, and rang the bell for tea. Nothing more was said of the club during the call, but as soon as the guests had left, Miss Carlton questioned her niece about their earlier conversation. "I couldn't help hearing you, dear, and I couldn't imagine what made you suggest a thing like dropping out of that flying club. Why, it's the only thing about flying that I ever heartily approved of." "I don't like the way the whole thing is run, Aunt Emily. It's too much Hulbert. Did you know, by the way, that Louise refused to buy a bond?" "No, I didn't. But maybe her father didn't have the money at the time." "It wasn't that. She never even asked him! She said it was all too unbusinesslike--bossed just like politics! She hates Bess Hulbert." "Louise always did have strong likes and dislikes.... Of course, I don't know anything about the Hulberts, but I do know the Claverings, and anybody that they like must be all right. Besides, your money is safe with Mr. Clavering in back of the club. And you don't need it now for anything." Linda smiled to herself; she still had said nothing to her aunt of her dream of flying across the Atlantic. The older woman could not possibly know how important every dollar would be to her next spring. But Bess Hulbert was not so unsuspecting. She had returned from her trip while Kitty and Ralph were at Carlton's, and waited in the girl's bedroom for the former to return. While Kitty dressed for dinner, she told her about her call. The very moment that Bess heard that Linda wanted to sell her bond, she jumped to the conclusion that the other girl was determined to try for that twenty-five thousand dollar prize. Nor was the idea at all pleasant to her. Much as she might belittle Linda's aviation ability in public, she was secretly afraid of her as a rival. The very fact that she took almost a year of her life to study at a ground school, that she meant to qualify as a commercial--perhaps even a transport--pilot, neither of which Bess was, showed how seriously Linda must be going into aviation. No, Bess did not doubt that Linda was saving her money for this purpose, if she needed that thousand dollars. Fortunate girl, to be able to raise the money thus easily! At the moment, Bess saw no way for her to buy a plane herself, and compete. The club refused to finance her--unless Mr. Clavering would personally back her up. But, worse the luck, that gentleman didn't seem to care for her at all! Probably he was afraid Kitty would marry her brother; in Mr. Clavering's eyes, no poor young man was worthy of the beautiful heiress. While these thoughts raced through her mind, she had been listening with only half attention to Kitty's prattle about the dance. Suddenly she interrupted. "I think I'd better go back to the hotel, Kit," she said. "I couldn't stay to dinner in this costume." "You could wear one of my dresses," suggested her hostess. Bess laughed. "Too small, I'm afraid. It's awfully sweet of you to ask me to stay, but I really need some rest--after that trip." "But Bess!" protested Kitty. "Some of the crowd are coming over tonight----" "I'll see them tomorrow, at the dance--maybe. Tell them I thank them for the Moth, and that I filled her with gas, and paid for her inspection." She started towards the door. "Will you come here and go to the dance with us?" "Maybe.... I'll let you know tomorrow.... So long, dear!" She closed the door, and ran down the steps, knowing that she had not the slightest intention of going to that dance. If Ralph Clavering had asked her, instead of Kitty, that would have been a different matter. But he had invited Linda Carlton! It seemed as if that snip of a girl was going to take everything she, Bess Hulbert, wanted. It was ridiculous! She hated Linda. She even went so far as to wonder whether that were her real name. It would be just like a romantic kid like that to persuade her father to change her Christian name in imitation of a hero like Lindbergh. Bess hurried back to her hotel, conscious now of the fact that she must do some serious thinking, and that she must do it quickly. She just had to raise some money--or rather, a lot of money! She could never save enough from any foolish little job she might take now. No, she would have to make some, as business men do! If she didn't hurry, Linda Carlton would soon have captured that prize. "Linda Carlton!" she kept repeating, scornfully. "Pampered daughter of a rich man! It isn't fair! All she has to do is ask her 'Daddy' for thousands of dollars, and he comes across! "Why haven't I a 'Daddy' like that?" Her eyes narrowed with bitterness. "Well, I suppose I can't help that, but, by heck, I'll be the 'Daddy' myself! Nothing to prevent my going into business too!" A smile crept over her face, as she saw what looked like a solution to her problem, and she settled down into her chair in her hotel bedroom to work over maps and plans. * * * * * Meanwhile Linda entertained no such deep or unpleasant thoughts. It was so nice to be home, that she made up her mind that she wasn't going to worry about a single thing while she was there. Her aunt had bought her some charming new dresses, for the game, for the Thanksgiving dance, for a luncheon Dot Crowley was giving in her honor on Saturday. The whole holiday promised to be so enjoyable, so relaxing after the hard days at school, where she had to concentrate every second upon what she was doing, that she just reveled in the careless freedom of the coming four days. She had learned the secret that many grown people have yet to discover; that good times are sweeter after hard work, just as a delicious dinner tastes far better to the athlete than to the afternoon bridge player. To add to it all, Mr. Carlton arrived from New York on Thanksgiving day, in plenty of time for dinner. Linda could hardly contain her joy. "Daddy, are you as happy in your new work as I am in mine?" she asked him, when they were seated at the table, and he was carving the turkey. "Nobody could be as happy as you are, Linda!" he replied, smiling at his daughter's radiant face. "But I like mine. It's something entirely new to me--and rather fascinating. Besides, it's going well; the stores have practically bought out my supply, and we have to send our agent to Canada for more, in order to fill our Christmas orders." After dinner he opened his suit-case and took out a lovely bureau-scarf, different from anything Linda had ever seen, so fine that it seemed as if a silkworm, rather than a human being, must have made it. This he presented to Linda, at the same time giving his sister a tea-table cloth of the same exquisite work. "Oh, I adore it!" cried Linda, delightedly, thinking of her little room in St. Louis, and how the scarf would add to its daintiness. "How the girls will envy me!" "Will you start a trousseau with it?" asked her aunt, hopefully. "No, Aunt Emily. I may never get married, and I want to enjoy it now. Things like this help when you're away from home." Her father pinched her ear, teasingly. "And why not get married?" he inquired. "The same old reason: I'm too busy." He laughed. "And to think," he remarked, "how worried I was last summer about that Mackay boy!" "Ted's all right," was Linda's comment. "But I never did want to marry him--only to have him teach me to fly! He never cared for me that way either--I just happened to be the first girl he had ever met who was interested seriously in aviation.... No, if he cares for anybody, it's Lou." "Louise!" repeated Miss Carlton, in amazement. Yet she was relieved; she liked red-headed Ted, but he was not socially prominent, and she longed to have Linda make what the world terms "a good match." "Yes. Oh, nothing is settled, or anything. But whenever Ted flies over to see us, he brings a boy friend for me." "And you're going to the dance tonight with Ralph Clavering," was Miss Carlton's satisfied comment. "Yes, but there's nothing to that, either, Aunt Emily!" protested Linda. And, changing the subject she began to tell her father all about the ground school, and talked of nothing else until it was time to dress for the dance. Ralph came for Linda about nine o'clock, and, dressed in one of her pretty new gowns, she stepped into his machine. "What a glorious night it is, Ralph!" she exclaimed, gazing up at the stars. "It's lovely enough to fly." The young man frowned as he put his foot on the self-starter. "I did think of it, Linda. Thought how pleased you'd be if I could take you for a ride in the Moth. But as usual--Bess Hulbert got it first!" "You mean she has the Club's plane again?" demanded his companion. "She only brought it back yesterday." "I know. It's positively sickening the way she grabs it. Yet her brother is a decent sort. If it weren't for him, I'd have raised a row before this." "Where is she going now?" "Canada, I believe. On the trail of some job. Well, I hope she gets it. Then maybe we won't see her for a while." "Or the Moth either, I fear!" added Linda. Then noticing that Ralph was extremely irritated about the whole thing, she resolved to make him forget it and have a good time. The dance was an enjoyable affair--all the more so because it lacked the formality of the Country Club functions. Only the members were present, and the crude roughness of the club-house, with its plastered walls, its long wooden window-seats, its huge fireplace, made everybody feel free and easy. Moreover Linda and Louise found themselves honored guests; everybody made a fuss over them, as if already they had proved themselves heroines. The men were insistent that neither of them dance more than once about the room without an interruption, and the other girls applauded their popularity without the slightest trace of envy. By the end of the evening even Ralph was supremely happy. The functions that followed during the next three days--the luncheon of Dot's, the dinner-party of Louise's mother, the out-door picnic around a camp fire--were increasingly enjoyable, so that when Sunday came at last, Linda and Louise stepped into the Arrow with a feeling of regret that they must say good-by to all these good friends until Christmas. CHAPTER VI _Bad News_ The next four weeks at the school opened an entirely new chapter in Linda Carlton's life. Cold weather flying! Figuring on drops in temperature, high winds, sleet and snow! Using instruments as she had never used them before. Practicing landing her plane in small spaces, marked off by the instructor. Learning to repair simple injuries like cuts in the wings and installing new propellers. Never had anything been so fascinating; sometimes, late in the afternoons after regular school hours, she would stay on with Eckers, watching him inspect a motor, or going up in the air with him on a test flight, till she would forget all about supper. By the time the holidays had arrived, he told her he would be willing to have her do some testing herself. Usually as she sat there, watching him intently, and now and then performing some simple service, she would be absolutely quiet. But sometimes she talked of the future, of her hope of securing a good job in aviation, of her dream of flying the Atlantic. Home, social life--even family life--at Spring City seemed far away from her now. It was with a start that she suddenly realized it was December twentieth, the first day of vacation, when she and Louise were expected home. And they had not even bought a Christmas card! Only once in those four weeks had she met with the slightest accident. It happened early in the month, one afternoon when, flying a school plane, a sudden shower, a veritable cloudburst, came up, and one of her cylinders cut out. She happened to be rather low--only a few hundred feet above the ground--so it was necessary for her to land. Cutting the throttle, she came down into a soft muddy swamp. The wheels touched the oozy ground, the plane ran a few feet and nosed over. But nothing serious happened; the propeller was badly cracked, and both Linda and the plane covered with mud, but she stepped out laughing. Minor accidents like that are all in the day's work! As each succeeding day had passed, she was gaining confidence in her ability to cope with any sort of accident. And now, flying home to Spring City in the clear morning sunlight seemed only like so much play. She suggested that she turn the controls over to Louise, to add to the latter's flying hours. They came down in the field behind Linda's house, but Louise refused to stop to go inside with her chum. "I can run home across the back field by the time you'd have the car out of the garage," she said. "Glad I didn't bring a suit-case--I've nothing to carry but this hand-bag.... So you go on in to your aunt. She's probably waiting breathlessly to see how many broken limbs you have!" Linda laughed: it was true that Miss Carlton expected an injury every time anyone rode in an airplane. So she hurried into the house through the back door, and skipped into the library where she knew her Aunt Emily would be waiting. But she came upon a surprise. Her father was standing beside the table, nervously fingering a magazine. Linda knew in a glance that something was wrong; he smiled at her in a queer manner as he kissed her, and Miss Carlton's expression was like a person's at a funeral. What were they both trying to hide? She looked questioningly at her aunt. "We can't keep anything from you, can we, Linda?" remarked the latter. "Please tell me what is wrong, Aunt Emily!" "Nothing so dreadful. Only--business. I'll let your father tell you while I go to look after the dinner.... You're all right, dear? No accidents?" "Just fine!" replied Linda, her eyes still sparkling from the fun of flying in that cold, clear weather. Miss Carlton left the room, and her brother began almost immediately, without even sitting down. "I guess I never should have tried going into a new business at my age," he remarked, almost bitterly. "It looked like a good thing, though--a novel thing. But conditions arose that I could never have foreseen. I'm--I'm going to be bankrupt, Linda, I'm afraid--unless something happens in the next month." "Bankrupt!" repeated his daughter, in amazement. "But Daddy, why?" "I'm afraid you wouldn't understand, dear--or rather, it's no use burdening you with unnecessary worries. Your Aunt Emily is willing for me to sell this house, to raise some money. I'm only too thankful that you won't have to give up your school--that that's all paid for, and I put the money aside for you." "But Daddy, you can have that back again--or most of it! So long as the course is paid for in advance, I'll have very few expenses till the end of the term. Only my board--I don't even need clothes." She had spoken impulsively, but she knew as she said this, that it meant death to her hopes of flying the Atlantic. Yet she did not hesitate; her father's happiness was worth all the prizes and fame in the world. "And how would you live, after you finish at the school?" he asked. "It's awfully generous of you, dear, but I don't see how I could take it." "I'm going to get a job--flying. I intended to, anyhow, once I have a commercial pilot's license. Oh, Daddy, please!" "Well, maybe I will, if I can't see my way clear any other way. But of course it will be only a loan. That is, if the business can be saved." He had forgotten her dream of flying the Atlantic, and she did not remind him. "I wish you would tell me just what happened," she urged. "I'm sure I can understand. "Of course I will," he agreed, realizing her genuine sympathy and interest. "Though there is a mystery about it that even I can't understand. "I sold all my first order to the stores in New York and Philadelphia and Chicago, as I told you at Thanksgiving, and I had a lot more orders. I even took on new salesmen for other cities, and I sent my agent up to Canada, to the convent, to rush me a new supply. I even wrote ahead to ask the Mother Superior to employ some poor women in the village, and teach them the needle-work--at my expense. "Yesterday the blow came. My agent wired that all the work had been sold to someone else--someone who paid more than I did!" "But how could they, Daddy?" demanded Linda. "Didn't they promise you?" "Well, not exactly. You see I didn't know how well the thing would take, so I didn't have any actual contract. Besides, the Mother Superior probably never noticed the agent--or she may have been led to believe he was one of my men. Anyway, she sold everything. And here is the queer part of the story: "The stores which bought from me became impatient when I didn't refill their orders, and bought from this other man _at a lower price_! He paid more for the lace-work, and sells it for less!" It was certainly baffling; Linda tried hard to see it from every angle. "Had you marked the goods too high, Daddy?" she asked. "I mean so high that this other man could afford to sell for less, and still make money?" "No, I hadn't. I was taking a very small profit, because I was afraid to make the work too expensive, for fear it wouldn't sell. And there's a big tax to pay, besides, for bringing it into the United States from Canada. No, every way I figure it out, this man must be losing money." Suddenly he sighed, and dropped into a chair, as if he were thoroughly beaten. "So you see, dear, there's nothing I can do," he concluded. "It would be folly for me to go on, because even if the convent would sell to me again, I would have to pay this new high price--and lose more money. The best thing I can do is pay my debts--sublet my offices, if I can, for unfortunately I took a long term lease--and get out. And be thankful I haven't lost more!" "But Daddy, aren't you going to even try to solve the mystery?" asked Linda, her eyes blazing with anger. "Somebody is just planning to kick you out, taking a loss for a few months, so as to get the business! It can't last. Why not take my money and go on--at a loss--for a while?" "But I couldn't hold out as long as he could. He probably has a lot more capital than I have, and could afford to play a losing game for a long while, until he had wiped me out, and gotten hold of the trade for himself. He's probably begun already to build up a trade all over the country, while so far I've only handled some of eastern cities--as far as Chicago. No, Daughter, I'm afraid I've made a mistake--I'm not the sort of fellow for cut-throat competition, as they all practice in business today." "Hold on for a little while longer, Daddy, and--investigate!" she urged. "And use up all your money?" "Yes. Why not?" He placed his hand upon hers, and stroked it gently. Then he suddenly remembered her proposed flight over the ocean, and stopped: "But Linda, isn't it your greatest hope to fly the Atlantic?" he asked. She choked a little, but she answered resolutely. "I think I'll give that up. There are other women flyers so much better and so much more experienced than I am, that they'll be sure to do it next spring." He could not know how valiantly she was giving up her greatest aspiration. "Well, if that's the case," he said, "perhaps I will borrow some of your money, and try to go on. But we will sell this house anyway, and take an apartment. Your Aunt Emily says it's too big for her now.... But stop thinking about my troubles, dear, and go find out about your engagements for the holidays. There's a pile of mail on your desk waiting for you." Linda dashed off, in the pretense of being interested in her mail, but in reality to get control of herself, to steel herself to the great sacrifice she had just made. She mustn't let her father see how terribly disappointed she was! She mustn't tell him how they had praised her work at the school, how she ranked far above most of the young men who were studying! She must get hold of Louise, and stop her from talking. Oh, the pain of going back to school, and telling her instructor--Mr. Eckers, who was so much interested in her project that he kept it constantly in mind, the better to prepare her for every emergency that might arise when the time came for the momentous trip! The tears came to her eyes, but she fought them back. There was no good in sacrifice, if one had to be a martyr about it. No; she must pretend to be perfectly satisfied over the affair. She lay on her bed, her head buried in her pillow, fighting for control of herself. The unopened invitations lay in a tumbled pile beside her. But it suddenly dawned upon her that her aunt might come in at any moment. She mustn't let her guess anything! Then, like a refuge in a storm, she again thought of Louise. She would go to her right away. With her chum there would be no need of acting. And though Louise would be almost as disappointed as Linda was herself, yet the sympathy would help. So she hurried and changed from her flying suit into a street dress, and hiding her invitations under her pillow so that her aunt wouldn't wonder at her lack of interest, she skipped lightly down the stairs, and, calling good-by to her aunt, ran out to the garage for her little car. She found her chum lying luxuriously on her bed, sipping tea and reading her mail. Impulsively Linda threw her arms about her, and started to cry. It was such a relief to weep! "Darling!" cried Louise, in genuine alarm. "What is the matter? Is your father sick--or hurt?" "No, no," sobbed Linda. "Oh, Lou--it's good to cry!" "Good to cry!" repeated the other girl in utter amazement. Less than an hour ago she had left her in the best of spirits. Besides, it was a rare thing to see Linda in tears. "Yes. I can't cry at home. Listen...." And she told the story of her father's failure. "So it means giving up our flight--for the prize!" she concluded. "And let Bess Hulbert win!" added Louise, bitterly. "Not without a struggle, you can make sure of that!" "But what can we do, Lou?" "I don't know.... Oh, if Dad only had a lot of money! But I'm sure everything he has is tied up in his business.... Linda, why aren't we rich like Kitty Clavering?" "Yes, why aren't we? I never cared much before. I always thought we had enough to be happy." "So we did. Till something like this comes along.... We might ask the Flying Club to back us." Linda only smiled. "If they can back anybody, it will be Miss Hulbert. But they can't, unless Mr. Clavering does it personally." "Well, we'll just have to think up some plan. Maybe the school----" "No, that's no hope, because every flyer there wants backing for something, some race, or some enterprise. No, that's out." "Just the same, we're not giving up yet!" announced Louise, with determination. "Your father may pull out, or somebody may stop us on the street and take such a fancy to one of us----" "Lou, you've been reading dime novels!" teased Linda. "There are too many good flyers today--good women flyers, too--for anybody to do that now." "True. But there must be something--some way----" "If we could only help Daddy in some way," mused Linda. "Find out who the man is who is trying to kill his business, and persuade him to take Daddy into partnership." "Now you're on the track, Linda!" cried the other girl, enthusiastically. "We'll do that very thing! Hunt the mystery! Why, Linda, we've got over two weeks, and a plane and two cars! Who'd want more?" "Wonderful! And we don't want to go to all these parties and dances anyhow, feeling the way we do!" "Righto!" The girls hugged each other in their ecstasy, and swayed back and forth happily. Then Louise grabbed her invitations, and began to make a list. "We'll go over our mail and decline everything that comes after Christmas day," she said, in a business-like manner. "And tomorrow morning we'll go to the stores and buy some of this stuff, and get the name of the dealer." "Then fly to Montreal in his pursuit, if necessary!" "In our 'Pursuit,'" corrected Linda. CHAPTER VII _On the Trail_ Although Linda and Louise were both greatly excited about their plan, they decided to keep it a secret. Once they disclosed it, they would probably meet with all sorts of opposition; Mr. Carlton would consider it foolish, his sister and Mrs. Haydock, dangerous. So Linda went home and opened her invitations, accepting those that were scheduled for before Christmas, and took an active interest in her aunt's preparations for the great day. There was a small afternoon bridge at Sue's which she could attend, and a moonlight skating party which Dot had planned for December twenty-third, and of course she could go to the big Christmas Eve dance at the Country Club with Ralph Clavering. Nor was her father's misfortune mentioned again after her first afternoon at home. Mr. Carlton had apparently made his decisions, and wanted his daughter and his sister to forget his troubles in their enjoyment of the holidays. Everything went on as it had at all other Christmas seasons; even the Arrow remained unmolested in its hangar, and Louise and Linda drove their cars. It was on one of their shopping tours that they were able to take the first step in carrying out their enterprise. On the twenty-third of December they motored to Columbus and visited the city's largest department store. Going straight to the linen counter, Louise asked to see a handkerchief like the one Linda was carrying, which she showed to the saleswoman. "Seven dollars!" she repeated, as she examined it. "I'd have to put it in my trousseau at that rate. And then suppose I never got married!" "You will," returned Linda, calmly. "But even if you don't, you're sure to be a bridesmaid some time. You could carry it then." "Your bridesmaid?" "If I ever need one. Or rather, my maid-of-honor." The saleswoman coughed irritably; she wanted to hurry the purchase. "It's the last one we have, Miss," she said. "So if you like it, you had better take it." Her words recalled to Louise the purpose of their visit. "The last one? They're hard to get, then?" she inquired. "Yes. They are made by French women, I believe--in a convent." Louise suppressed a smile by raising her eyebrows. "Imported?" "I think so. We get them through a New York firm." "What is the name of the firm?" asked Linda, innocently. "That I don't know. But if you care to wait, I'll ask the buyer." "Yes," agreed Louise. "I'll take the handkerchief if you find out the name of the firm." The saleswoman looked rather puzzled at their interest in the name, but she thought they wanted to make sure their purchase was not an imitation, and she hurried off to comply with the request. In a couple of minutes she returned with the information. "The name is Carwein," she said, as she handed Louise her package. "J. W. Carwein & Co., Importers, New York City." Linda carefully made note of the fact in her tiny shopping book. "So our first stop is New York," remarked Louise, as they left the store and went to the garage where they had parked her roadster. "Of course we fly?" "Naturally. We haven't time for any slower conveyance. Besides, we may need the Arrow for further investigation." "O. K. But Linda, have you considered snow and sleet? Remember, so far we have had very little experience in cold weather." "I realize all that. But I've been studying conditions about winter flying, you know, and I have a lot of theory. Of course theory isn't practice, as our friend Miss Hulbert would remind us." "By the way, where is she? She just seems to have dropped out of existence." "Probably she has the Club's Moth somewhere, visiting her friends!" replied Linda. "I can't say I miss her. Still, it is funny her brother isn't around. He seemed so devoted to Kitty." "Maybe he asked Kitty to marry him, and she refused." "I don't think so. Kitty was so crazy about him at Thanksgiving." "Well, you never can tell. But that isn't going to worry me," said the other, laughing. "But here is an idea worth taxing your brain with, Linda!" "Yes." "I think somebody ought to know just what we're doing, and where we're going, so long as we don't want to give our parents the exact information. It ought to be somebody who could fly to our rescue, if necessary.... I am thinking of Ted Mackay." Linda nodded, approvingly. Ted was so capable, so dependable, and she knew he would risk his life if need be in an emergency to save them. "You really think it's necessary?" she asked. "Maybe not necessary, but prudent. Can't you map out our route to New York tonight, and send him a special-delivery letter? Then we can wire him from New York, if we decide to go on to Canada." "Yes, that's a fine idea, Lou. Provided, of course, we get Aunt Emily's permission. Daddy leaves Christmas night, and after that I'm under her thumb." "I'm going to spring it on my family after Christmas dinner," Louise informed her. "Everybody's in such a good humor then, that they probably won't refuse. Besides, we needn't mention Canada. Just say a flying trip." "I guess I'll do the same thing. And by the way, Lou, let's wire Nancy Bancroft. You know she made us promise to stay with her whenever we flew to New York." "An excellent plan!" approved her chum, for she liked the girl--a fellow student at the ground school. How much easier it would be to win the older people's permission if they could visit a friend! Linda, however, did not wish to tell her father about the flight, for fear he might suspect what she was up to, and forbid her. Accordingly, she waited until almost eleven o'clock on Christmas night to ask her aunt's permission. They were together in the library, Linda idly gazing at the brightly lighted tree, Miss Carlton looking over the pile of cards on the table. "Here's one from Beatrice Evanston," observed the latter. "Did you send her one, Linda?" "I don't believe I did," replied the girl absently. She tapped her fingers nervously. It was difficult to begin. "Aunt Emily!" she finally blurted out, "Lou and I are planning to go to New York tomorrow, if you are willing." "Why of course," replied the other, to her niece's surprise. "But that's a long trip, and if it's shopping, you can do almost as well in Columbus. Or is it a house-party?" "Neither. Though we are going to stay all night with a girl from school who lives there. But--we're flying." "Flying? Oh, Linda, please don't! We're in for a snowstorm, I'm perfectly sure. I do wish you would put that plane away for the winter!" "I can't do that, Aunt Emily. A real pilot has to fly in all kinds of weather. I really need the experience, and the Pursuit is in fine shape." Suddenly her aunt put down the cards she was fingering and frowned. "You can't, dear! You'd miss the Evanstons' ball, Beatrice's coming-out party. Why, it's the biggest thing in Spring City--after Kitty's!" "But I had already declined that invitation," Linda stated coolly. "You didn't? Oh, Linda, you wouldn't!" "But I did. The day I got home. Louise and I both did. We wanted to reserve this whole week--between Christmas and New Year's--for ourselves, so we turned down everything." Miss Carlton looked absolutely aghast. "I never heard of anything so queer!" she exclaimed. "When you and Louise see each other every day in the year!" "But this is different. This is a lark together.... Oh, Auntie, please understand! We loved this last week with you and Daddy and our friends, but this is important to us now. You won't be hurt?" She came over and sat on the arm of her aunt's chair, her eyes full of pleading. "Oh, all right, dear," agreed the older woman with resignation. "I suppose it's about as useless to try to keep you out of the air as it would be to keep Lindbergh.... I wish your mother hadn't named you Linda!" Linda laughed, but she knew that she had won, and, even at this late hour she felt that she must call her chum to tell her the good news. With sandwiches and hot coffee in their lunch box, and clothing enough to last them for a week, the girls took off the following morning. The air was crisp and cold, but it did not snow. Snug in their leather coats and helmets, they felt ready for any weather. The engine was running smoothly; it was a joy to fly, especially now that they could take turns at the controls. In her pocket Linda carried a map which Ted Mackay had sent to her in reply to her letter, so that she found it easy to follow the course he had indicated. Without the slightest deviation, they arrived at their destination late that afternoon. Leaving the plane to be housed and inspected, the girls made their way across New York to a hotel in the center of the city, where they sent wires to Ted and Miss Carlton and Mrs. Haydock, and changed into street clothing. Then they looked up the firm of Carwein in the telephone book. "But what shall we say to him?" asked Linda. "I don't know," admitted Louise. Impulsively as they had rushed into this plan, they realized that they hadn't an idea how to proceed. "Suppose he won't see us!" remarked Louise. "He probably won't. If we tell the secretary it is private business, she'll think we want to sell him life insurance, or something." In that strange hotel room, as they sat looking blankly at each other, they knew that they had not thought far enough. Suddenly they were both tired and hungry. "Let's don't do a thing this afternoon," suggested Louise. "Just call up Nancy Bancroft, and say we'll be out there right away. She's expecting us for dinner, anyhow." Linda looked immensely relieved. They found the girl's home without any difficulty, and were welcomed like old friends. Nancy was one of a large family, and the house fairly buzzed with gayety. There were three other guests besides themselves at dinner, and afterwards a dozen more came in for games and for dancing. It was informal and charming; both Linda and Louise would have liked nothing better than to accept Mrs. Bancroft's invitation to stay until school opened. But that would have meant relinquishing their plan, and this they would not do. In an interval between dances, Louise drew her chum into the sitting-room where Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft were quietly reading, and asked the former to give them some help on a mystery they were trying to solve. "Do you happen to know a man named J. W. Carwein--an importer and wholesale dealer in fine linens?" she inquired. "Why, yes, I know the firm," replied Mr. Bancroft. "I don't know him personally. Why?" "Well, we want to make an investigation--on the quiet, if possible," explained Louise. "We'd like to find out where and how he's getting hold of a certain kind of very fine lace-work. He's practically smashed Linda's father's business, and we're trying to discover how he did it." "From his reputation, I don't believe Carwein goes in for underhand dealing like that. If he is, he probably has had one put over on him. He sells only the most expensive things, and his firm has always had a good name. He'd probably tell you right out where he buys the goods." "But how could we see him?" asked Linda. "Girls can't walk right into an office and demand to see the president!" Mr. Bancroft smiled. "It's been done," he said. "But I don't think it's necessary. I believe you can get the information you want from his secretary. It isn't likely he'd have anything to hide." Just as simple as that! The girls could hardly believe it was possible, yet next morning, when they put the advice into effect, they found it good. The secretary informed them that the goods were _not_ imported, that they were made right here in New York state. An agent by the name of Hofstatter had come into the firm's offices and sold them, assuring Mr. Carwein that they were made by a group of French women in the extreme northern part, near the town of Plattsburg. He said he was a traveling man, and that he would return in three months' time for more orders. When Louise had repeated this conversation to Linda, they sat looking at each other in despair. "I'm afraid our trip's been in vain," moaned Louise. "Somebody is imitating the work--somebody right here in New York. Of course they can afford to sell it cheaper than your father--with no tax to pay!" Linda's eyes narrowed. She was not convinced. "There's something fishy about the whole thing!" she said. "Because if this man Hofstatter didn't buy from the Convent, who did? They had nothing left to sell to Daddy!" "Maybe he lied to Carwein!" exclaimed Louise. "Anybody can see that my handkerchief is exactly like yours." "Yes! I think this man Hofstatter has smuggled the stuff into the country, avoiding the tax. That's what I believe!" Louise jumped up energetically. "Now our job is to trap Hofstatter!" "You mean to try to find him in Plattsburg?" "I don't believe he's there--Or any lace-makers, either. We might stop and find out--and then go on to Montreal--to the Convent--and try to catch him, or find out something about him there." "He probably won't be back for a good while, if he has just bought out the supply," remarked Linda, gloomily. "True," admitted Louise. "But let's fly to Plattsburg anyhow, and investigate. We've gotten along O.K. here in New York. If we can only do as well there!" "Well, it's only December twenty-seventh. We have plenty of time before school starts again." "Now to send Ted a night-letter!" Louise reminded her chum. "New York to Plattsburg--Plattsburg to Montreal--Montreal to the Convent, with the time figured as closely as possible, and a telegram to him each night if we are safe." "Righto! We'll stay all night at Plattsburg tonight. And we ought to be at the Convent tomorrow--December twenty-eighth." CHAPTER VIII _Eavesdropping_ When Linda and Louise came downstairs in their flying suits, ready to start for Plattsburg, they saw it was snowing. Mrs. Bancroft, entering the living-room with a thermos bottle of coffee, immediately assumed that they would stay with her for another day. "You girls have never flown in a snowstorm, have you?" she asked. "No, but we have to begin sometime, Mrs. Bancroft," replied Linda, cheerfully. She was anxious to be off; the flight promised to be a wonderful adventure. "I don't see any reason why you should ever have to fly in bad weather," remarked the older woman. "There are so many beautiful days." "But when we are commercial pilots, we'll have to," Linda explained. "So we might as well get used to it." "You don't mean that you expect to take a regular paid position in aviation after you graduate, do you?" she demanded, in amazement. "Yes. Rather!" "You young girls certainly are marvelous! I suppose you'll put the idea into Nancy's head too.... Well, if there's no use urging you to stay, I think you had better make your start. You don't want to risk flying after dark." "Linda's even done that," boasted Louise. Hearing the taxi, which was to take them to the airport, they bade a hasty farewell and departed. "You're not afraid, are you, Linda?" inquired Louise, as they sped across New York City. "Not a bit! Only I wish we had as good directions for finding Plattsburg as Ted gave us to follow coming here. It makes it so much easier." "Maybe we'll find a letter or a wire at the airport," surmised Louise. What they found, however, was far better than either. Standing beside the Arrow, which had been pushed out in readiness for the flight, was Ted Mackay himself, grinning as usual. "How do you happen to be here, Ted?" cried Louise, as she jumped out of the taxi. "I was as far east as Washington yesterday," the young man told her. "And I thought it would be nice to see you." "Better than nice," laughed Linda. "Most helpful!" "Come into the hangar where it's warm," advised Ted, "and we'll figure everything out." As soon as they were within the shelter of the big building, he reached into his pocket and brought out a map. "This is your best course," he said. "I've indicated a lot of landings, in case you need them--for it will be impossible to see the ground if this snow keeps on, so you must watch your mileage. Perhaps, though, you'll fly into clearer weather as you go north. "Look out for Lake Champlain, then you'll know you're right. It's probably frozen over now." He handed Linda the map, together with his Washington address, where he said he would be stationed for several days, and where he would expect their telegrams. "One tonight from Plattsburg," he reminded them. "One tomorrow from Montreal--after you get back from that Convent. You better stay over a day at Montreal and have your plane inspected. Even at that, you ought to get back to Spring City the day before New Year's." "And then we can go to the dance!" exclaimed Louise. "That will delight your Aunt Emily, Linda!" But Linda was not thinking about social events. Her mind was entirely occupied with her plane and her flight. "This map is marvelous, Ted," she said, after she had examined it closely. "And how about the Pursuit? Did you give her the once-over yourself? Of course I know the airport made the inspection." "I did, too. She's absolutely O.K. You have nothing to worry about, except the weather. I want you to make me just one promise, Linda." "Yes?" "You won't fly any longer than you have to through sleet and hail. If ice forms on your wings and propeller, you'll have a tough job. Even the old, experienced pilots--Army men--hate it, and avoid it whenever they can. If it starts, make a landing as soon as possible.... Yes, one other thing: When you get to Montreal, make careful inquiries about the location of this Convent--about the land around it, I mean. They can tell you all about it at the airport, and if there isn't a good big space, don't attempt to go there in the Pursuit. Take a taxi or a train." "Well, I never had so many instructions in all my life!" laughed Linda. "But I'm going to take them all seriously, Ted, and follow them to the letter." "We think you're an old peach, Ted!" put in Louise. "We'd never be able to get along without you!" He smiled and held out his hand. "Good-by," he said. "And good luck!" The girls taxied along the snow-covered ground and rose into the air, where the gentle, silent flakes of snow were falling all about them. The atmosphere gave them the queerest sensation; they seemed to float suspended in the sky. It was like fairyland, a region apart from the world, and they gazed at it in awe. Then Linda climbed higher, until they were well over the cloud line, and the sun shone and the sky was a deep blue. On and on they flew, now and then shifting controls--first Linda and then Louise, taking turns sipping their coffee in their intervals of rest. Neither cared to eat. It would be more fun to be terribly hungry and order a grand hot dinner at Plattsburg. The landing was difficult, for it was hard to see when they flew lower. But Ted's directions had been so accurate that they found the desired airport, and came down gracefully. Giving their instructions to the attendant, the girls left the plane and taxied to the largest hotel. "Do you think we ought to change our clothing before we order dinner?" asked Louise. "I'm simply starved." "So am I. No, don't let's bother. We're dry enough, when we take off these leather coats. Let's see what we can get to eat!" Since it was neither lunch nor supper time, the clerk seemed somewhat doubtful, but the good-natured headwaiter, smiling at their aviation costumes, said he would see to it at once. He put them into a little alcove just off the lobby, behind some big plants, where they would not be stared at, and served them a delicious hot dinner, cooked especially for them. How good it tasted! It seemed as if nothing had ever been so satisfying. They enjoyed every mouthful. Indeed, the warmth of the atmosphere and the food made them feel so deeply contented that they did not even talk. A radio was playing in the reception room, and the hum of voices in the lobby seemed distant and soothing. But presently, as they were eating a lovely concoction that was called by a French name, and apparently was a sort of glorified fruit pudding, they heard two voices close to them, near and distinct, yet low. They could not see the speakers, but the voices were somehow familiar, and it was not long before they identified them. "I think you ought to take that Moth back, Sis," insisted the man's voice. "That club may be wanting to use it." "Calm yourself," returned the girl, haughtily. "You don't suppose any of those spoiled babies would fly in this kind of weather, do you? Besides, I have important business on!" "Business?" "Sure. I'm making money, Bob! Get that under your skin. I've got to have it--and I'm getting it." "So you can fly over the ocean--after that prize?" "Certainly." There was silence for a moment, and Louise and Linda looked at each other breathlessly, hardly daring to move lest they reveal their presence. So this was where Miss Hulbert was--on business! They waited, hoping to hear more. "Tell me more about your job," urged Lieutenant Hulbert, voicing Linda's and Louise's wish. "Can't. It isn't a job.... It's business--and it's a secret.... Oh, not so easy, either. I may be killed, or put in prison. But I've got to have money! And you won't get it for me!" "How can I, Bess?" demanded the young man, irritably. "I can't work any harder than I'm doing now." "You know well enough what you could do!" "You mean marry Kitty Clavering?" "Now you're talking!" "Well, I won't!" "Don't you like her? She's not bad--really quite cute-looking, I think. Now if I asked you to propose to either of those two awful girls that think they know all about flying--you know the ones I mean, one of 'em named after Lindbergh--that would be something else again. But I should think any man could stand a harmless little thing like Kitty Clavering, for the sake of all those millions." It was all Linda and Louise could do to keep from bursting out laughing at Miss Hulbert's description of themselves. But they restrained their desire, for the sake of the fun of hearing more. "That's just it!" the unhappy young officer was protesting. "I'm in love with Kitty--too much so to ask her to marry me when I have nothing to offer her." "You fool!" exclaimed his sister, in utmost contempt. "Oh, I'll probably ask her, in the end. I won't be able to help myself. I've been staying away from her--sending that other fellow to give the lessons while I was away--but it doesn't help. I'm all the crazier about her.... But get this, Sis--if I ask her, it will be to live on my pay, until I can make more!" "Then," announced Miss Hulbert, "I have nothing more to say. But mark this, Bob, and remember it, if I come to any accident or disgrace: remember, it is you who shoved me into it!" "That's utter rot!" he stormed, forgetting to keep his voice low. "Nobody has to get into disgrace, unless they do disgraceful things!" "Sh!" warned Bess. "You needn't broadcast your feelings and opinions to the world. No use making anybody suspect me, before it's necessary.... Well, so long! If you ever change your mind, you can wire me at the Flying Club, or at my New York apartment. I shan't be here after tonight." In another minute they were gone, and Louise and Linda sat staring at each other in silence, too amazed even to speak. "Poor boy!" were the first words which Linda finally uttered. "To have a sister like that!" "I'm thinking more about 'poor us'," answered Louise. "From her conversation, I take it that Bess Hulbert is rapidly raising money. Money to fly the Atlantic!" "So it sounds." "I'd like to know how she's doing it," mused Louise. "She said it might bring disgrace," replied Linda, thoughtfully.... "Funny she should be here--in Plattsburg.... Lou, do you suppose she could be 'Mr. Hofstatter'--or rather, Mr. Hofstatter's employer?" "That's an idea, Linda!" cried Louise, her eyes flashing with excitement. "Only it seems too impossible. How could she have gotten word of your father's business?" Linda was silent for a moment. "Through me," she announced, finally. "Remember the day I showed my handkerchief to the girls, and explained all about where Daddy was getting them? Remember how interested she was--and even knew the name of the Convent?" "That's right! I do! And she made some nasty remark about making money from nuns!" "So she did. I was furious.... And the very next day Ralph told me she had gone to Canada in the Moth, in search of a job!" "It's true! It's true!" exclaimed Louise, jumping up from the table. "No use to hunt Hofstatter now--he's only a pawn in her game--if we are correct in our guess. We must go right to the Convent!" "Tonight?" asked Linda, doubtfully. "No, of course not. Tomorrow. And it's clearing up, Linda. Oh, we're the luckiest girls in the world!" CHAPTER IX _Followed_ Linda and Louise went up to their room at the hotel naturally supposing that their presence was unknown to Bess Hulbert. It happened, however, that she was to hear about them at the desk. When Bess left her brother in the lobby, she went straight to the clerk and asked for her key. It was a fine day, promising a fine night; she decided to leave for New York as soon as she had packed her bag. But the information caused her to change her mind. "Do you happen to know the young lady flyers, Miss Smith?" inquired the clerk, for Bess had registered as "Anna Smith" at the hotel. "What young ladies?" she asked, carelessly. "Two girls who just flew in from New York. Mighty attractive ones, too!" He examined the register. "Linda Carlton and Louise Haydock." "Hm!" mumbled Bess, wonderingly. What could have brought them up here to Plattsburg? "I've heard of them," she replied. "How long are they staying?" "Just over night. Going over to Montreal in the morning, I believe." Bess was silent a moment, thinking rapidly. "I guess I'll stay here over night, after all," she concluded. "Night flying isn't so good, if you don't have to do it." "Wise young lady!" observed the clerk. "If you want to meet these girls, they're still out there in the dining-room, eating. I know flyers always like to get together--for 'ground flying,' as Lindbergh calls it." "I don't care much about meeting those particular girls," replied Bess, scornfully. "They're only beginners--I dare say this is their first real flight. Yet the way they talk you'd think they had been pilots for years.... No, thank you. I guess I'll go up now, and take a rest. Will you have my dinner sent up to my room?" She disappeared into the elevator, and when Linda and Louise came out of the alcove, they thought she had gone back to New York. When they stopped at the desk the clerk made no mention of "Miss Smith" because she had spoken so contemptuously of these young girls. "What's your idea of a way to spend our time here?" asked Louise, as they unpacked their bags. "It's only five o'clock; we can't go to bed yet." "Let's look for 'Hofstatters' in the phone book," suggested Linda. "Just for fun, because we probably shan't learn anything, but it wouldn't do any harm." "O.K. with me. I'm glad his name isn't Smith or Jones, then it wouldn't be so easy." Louise opened the telephone book on the small table beside the bed, and searched diligently. "I've found three," she announced a minute later. "Amos, Charles, and Mary. But what shall we say when we call?" "Say we come from the firm of J. W. Carwein, New York City--it'll be the truth, because we have just come from there--and we want to know when he will have another box of lace-work to sell." "Great!" approved Louise, smiling at the joke. "And if we should happen to locate the man, what shall we do? Make an appointment?" "Of course! He would have to tell us exactly where he got the goods, and if he isn't telling the truth and is smuggling them in from Canada, we can have him arrested.... But we'll never meet luck like that!" "I speak for Amos," said Louise. "I like the name. Besides, nobody with a name like that from the Bible could be crooked." "And Mary ought to be out of it," remarked Linda. "Though of course she might have a son or a brother." They took a few minutes to write down exactly what they would say, and began calling the numbers. But without success--that is, until they came to Mary. Amos Hofstatter grew angry, believing it was another wrong number, and shrieked that he had never heard of anybody named Carwein. Charles Hofstatter, identifying Louise's voice as that of a young girl, tried to make a date with her, but she scornfully replied, "Act your age!" and hung up with a bang. Linda took the telephone to give the last call, the number listed for Mary Hofstatter. A rather feeble voice answered. "Who? What did you say?" the woman, evidently elderly, asked. Linda repeated her message. "You want my son?" she guessed. "You are Miss Smith?" "No," replied Linda, firmly. "But we are from Carwein and Co., linen importers, and we want to see him." "Oh--I--don't know where he is," stammered the other, nervously. "Miss Smith knows. Anna Smith. Ask her." "But where is Anna Smith?" persisted Linda. "I don't know anything about it at all!" protested the woman. "Good-by!" Linda turned excitedly to Louise. "We're on the right track," she said. "But imagine locating an Anna Smith, North America!" She shook her head hopelessly. "It wouldn't do much good anyway," remarked her chum. "This Hofstatter is probably some weak fellow, who will do anything for money. Our best plan is to strike out for the Convent." "What do you say if we cut out the stop at Montreal altogether?" asked Linda, studying her map. "This Convent is between Montreal and Quebec, and I don't see why we shouldn't fly straight to it. We'll save a lot of time." "Time is precious," agreed Louise. "But remember what Ted said, about inquiring at the Montreal airport for a landing place." "I know, but we can't always do what Ted says. We're not beginners now, Lou. And I'm sure there will be a good place--the country is so open." "O.K. with me. If tomorrow is a clear day, as it looks as if it is going to be, we can fly low enough to watch the ground pretty closely." "Then it's settled," concluded Linda. "Give me ten minutes with this map, and I'll be finished. Then we can go to the movies, and buy a paper so that we'll have the weather prediction for tomorrow." The next four hours passed pleasantly for the girls, and they stopped at a drug-store on their return from the early show at the theater, to buy a sandwich and some hot chocolate, which was all the supper they wanted. By ten o'clock their lights were out and they were fast asleep. Soon after breakfast the following day, which was bright and sunshiny, Linda and Louise returned to the airport and took off into the bright blue sky. Everything seemed favorable; they had no idea that only a few hundred yards behind them a plane was following them, a plane whose pilot had no love for Linda Carlton or Louise Haydock. "You didn't bring any coffee, did you?" asked Louise, as they sped on over the frozen country, glimpsing the St. Lawrence as they passed. "No," returned her companion. "Only some sweet chocolate, matches and about three cans of baked beans, which I always carry. I've read a lot about making fire without matches, but if we ever have another experience like that one last summer, and come down in a lonely spot, I want matches. And something to keep us from starving." Even in the companion cockpit, which was one of the nicest features of the Arrow Pursuit, conversation was rather difficult, and the girls only talked occasionally. Sometimes they would press each other's fingers just as a joyous signal of their pleasure in flying together. It was Linda who first noticed the plane behind her. "See what kind it is, Lou--if you can," she advised. "Can't very well," replied the other, attempting to lean out and peer through her glasses. But it was too far away to identify. "Hope it's not a thief or anybody like that," remarked Linda, recalling the other time a plane had followed them, in order that the pilot might steal Kitty Clavering's necklace. "Don't worry!" returned Louise. "We haven't anything like pearls with us today!" "You have your earrings! And besides, we must have a couple of hundred dollars between us." But the plane had disappeared again, and the girls gave their attention to the country beneath them, flying low enough to watch the children on their sleds, and the skaters on the frozen lakes. The winter sports looked so inviting that both Linda and Louise wished they could stop and join in. "Maybe we can do that tonight," exclaimed Louise. "If we get back to Montreal safely." "Aunt Emily wouldn't approve," Linda reminded her. "Your Aunt Emily doesn't approve of any of this! But anyway, it's all in a good cause." "And we've gotten along fine so far...." For some miles farther they watched the ice-covered lakes and the snow-covered ground, and the thick trees that dotted the landscape. The vastness of the woods was a little terrifying; Linda shivered when she thought what it would be like to be lost in them, at this time of the year. Their supplies might last them a day--after that they would certainly perish.... She pulled herself sharply from such gruesome thoughts; a pilot was always in a certain amount of danger, and had no right to brood upon it. Prepare for the unexpected, yes--and then forget it! It was still early in the afternoon when they sighted the Convent. Large and picturesque, like those of the old world, as typical of French Canada as most of Quebec. Linda gave a cry of Joy. "I'll have to circle awhile," she shouted to Louise, "till I can find a spot without trees for a landing. But I am sure there must be one--away from these hills." Soon she was rewarded, for there proved to be a very good place--flat, even ground, covered with only a coating of snow. Both girls were a little timid about the reception they might get. Were these nuns, living their quiet lives, used to airplanes, or would they resent the noise, breaking in upon their meditations and work? Trembling a little, but remembering their fondness for her Aunt Emily, Linda brought out her handkerchief which they had made, in readiness to show it to them as proof of her identity. Then she and Louise started towards the Convent, which was the distance of perhaps two city blocks away. Before they had gone a half of the distance, they saw children running towards them from over the hill, children probably from the village beyond. The girl stopped, smiling. "Candy! Candy!" cried the youngsters, and Linda went back to the plane and dug out their supply of chocolate and handed it over to them. "It was sort of nice to see those kids," remarked Louise, as they again started towards the Convent. "Somehow they make it seem more alive. Oh, Linda, I do hope we don't interrupt the nuns at a service!" But she need not have worried, for as soon as the girls entered the building they saw a group in a big room, engaged with their needles. What an opportune time to come! "You do the talking, Lou!" urged Linda. "You always know what to say better than I do." One of the sisters came forward and smiled. "Welcome!" she said in French. "Come over to the fire and warm yourselves." Fortunately, both girls had studied this language, and understood what she said. Gratefully they walked over to the old-fashioned stone fireplace, where a frugal fire of fagots was burning, and a kettle, hanging on a crane, was singing and bubbling. "Merci, beaucoup!" replied Louise, to let the good woman know that she understood her, and appreciated her offer. "Has anything happened?" asked the sister, still in French. "Happened? Why?" returned Louise. "You were here yesterday, and bought everything that we had made. The Mother Superior told us." "But we weren't here yesterday!" protested Louise. "Yes. In an airplane." Linda and Louise looked at each other knowingly. It must have been Bess Hulbert--in the Moth! That would explain her presence in Plattsburg. They were sure of it now. "That was somebody else," explained Linda. "Did you see her?" "No, we did not see her. The Mother Superior saw her. Instead of sending a man, she said Mr. Carlton thought we would prefer a lady. And she paid more--and gave the little village children candy. Oh, she is good! We are starting a little school for the village children." What Louise wanted to say was "She is an impostor!" but she could not think of the French word for "impostor," and besides, what was the use of telling all this to these simple-hearted sisters? Instead, she asked for the Mother Superior. "She is away, visiting a sick friend, in Quebec. She will not be back until tomorrow." Louise sighed; there was nothing they could do now. But they had found out what they wanted; it was Bess Hulbert who was smuggling the goods into the country, and stealing Mr. Carlton's business. It would be an easy thing now to catch her and have her arrested. "We must go now," said Louise. "Before it gets dark." "Oh, but have something to eat!" urged the sister. "Some tea and biscuits." Seeing that these good women might be hurt if they refused, the girls accepted the invitation and sat down to the simple meal. It was plain, but good, and they discovered that they were very hungry, for they had not eaten since breakfast. "Now let us show you over the Convent," offered another, and while they accompanied several of the nuns about the old, meticulously neat rooms, they heard the roar of a plane, making a landing not far away. Immediately Linda glanced out of the window, to see whether her Arrow was safe, and she saw another plane landing quite near. But before the girls left the Convent, the latter had disappeared. "Now back to Montreal for the night--and then hot foot after Bess Hulbert!" cried Linda, as she started the motor. "If we accuse her of being a smuggler, and she promises to stop, and leave Daddy alone, we won't have to have her arrested." "But first," qualified Louise, "we must _catch_ Bess Hulbert!" CHAPTER X _The Arrow in Flames_ Although no definite results had yet been accomplished, Linda and Louise felt when they left the little French Convent in Canada that they were on the way to victory. All that was necessary now was to get in touch with Linda's father, who, through his lawyer and detectives, would bring Bess Hulbert to justice. The facts as they saw them were surprisingly clear and simple, and could not fail to convince the police. First of all, the firm of J. W. Carwein had declared that they had bought the goods in the belief that they were made in the United States. Secondly, the firm had been deceived. The goods were not made in this country, but in Canada, as the girls had just proved by their visit to the Convent. Thirdly, they had been bought by a girl in an airplane, who represented herself as an agent of Mr. Carlton. The only missing link in the chain was the actual proof that the girl in the airplane was Bess Hulbert. Yet all the evidence pointed that way: her visit to Plattsburg, her taking the Moth to Canada, her conversation with her brother, at the hotel, in which she referred to her business as dangerous and liable to end in disgrace, and finally her interest in Linda's handkerchief a month or so previous. Surely no one would doubt such evidence as this! But if the police refused to arrest Miss Hulbert, it would be easy enough to send a picture to the Convent for identification. That would prove everything conclusively. So both girls felt certain, as they stepped into the Arrow, that they had been successful, that they were about to save Mr. Carlton's business. And this fact meant joy to themselves. Now they could plan again on their flight across the Atlantic; now it would surely be safe to put in the order for the Bellanca which Linda had set her heart upon having. "Let's don't bother to go back by way of Montreal," said Linda, exultantly, as she started the motor and taxied along the frozen field. "Let's head straight for Spring City!" "But do you know the way?" inquired Louise, as the plane rose into the air. "Yes, I guess so. I have a map--oh, not the kind Ted makes, but good enough. We'll fly across country, and stop when we get tired." "But it's getting dark, Linda," objected her companion. "We can't help that, Lou! It would be getting dark anyway, even if we were headed for Montreal." "But this is strange country. So many woods, too. A forced landing would be terrible, Linda." "Who said anything about a forced landing?" laughed the other girl. She felt thrilled and exhilarated; the cold, fresh air against her cheeks whipped them to a lovely color, and her eyes were shining. She was in the mood for adventure tonight. But when she realized that her chum was dubious, she decided to go easy. Perhaps Louise was tired. "Lou dear," she shouted, "if you're nervous, we'll go to Montreal, and put up for the night. Say the word--but say it quickly!" "No! No! I'm for the quickest way home. And I have a lot of confidence in you, Linda." "You better have, if you mean to cross the ocean with me. We'll have to get used to night flying, Lou, if we hope to succeed!" "I know," agreed the other, as she settled down into her seat to try to keep warm. Darkness came on, but the sky was cloudless, and the stars shone out brilliantly. Linda kept her eye on her chart, but although she did not tell Louise, she was not sure where they were. Had they crossed into New York state--were they flying in the northern part, or were they still in Canada? Her goal was Syracuse; she hoped to reach it before midnight. The trees were still thick everywhere, and they were flying about fifteen hundred feet high. All of a sudden, without any warning, the engine missed and sputtered, and stopped dead! Louise, who for the last five minutes had been peacefully dozing, awoke with a start at the abrupt cessation of noise. Just as a Pullman traveler will sleep while a train is moving, and wake up at a station, so the silence affected Louise. It was positively uncanny. "What's the matter, Linda?" she whispered, hoarsely. "Out of gas," replied the pilot, grimly. "Then--then--" She clutched her companion's arm, desperately--"Then we jump?" Before Linda could reply, the motor took hold again. "No! Not yet!" she shouted, above the welcome noise. "I have turned on the reserve supply--it's good for about twenty minutes. We'll try to land." She circled about and came lower, but the prospect was disastrous. Nothing but woods! Trees everywhere! She remembered bitterly the occasion when her father had presented her with the Arrow, as a graduation gift, and had remarked shrewdly that she would get to hate trees. How right he was! But she must not lose track of the time--the precious twenty minutes that might be all that were left to her in this world. Louise, with the glasses, was peering down towards the ground. But there were no lights, no towns, no signs of civilization anywhere. Nothing but trees. When only eight minutes remained, Linda decided in desperation to climb again. If they were to use their parachutes successfully, they must attain a comfortable height. The ascent only served to make Louise more panic-stricken. She grabbed Linda's arm, and held to it like a death-clasp. "Where are you going, Linda?" she shrieked. "Are you crazy?" Linda shook her head. It was surprising how calm she felt. "Get ready to release your parachute," she commanded. "When we get high enough, we are going to jump. Have you your flashlight handy?" "Yes. All right, Linda." Her voice shook with emotion. "It'll be all right, Lou dear! I've jumped before--it isn't bad. And you've been taught just what to do." At four thousand feet up in the air, Linda gave her the signal, and Louise stepped out over the right side of the plane. Then Linda turned the nose of the Arrow up, and stepped off herself, falling about a hundred feet, head downward, before she pulled the rip-cord which opened the parachute, and jerked her into an upright position. Off to one side of them, the plane was falling rapidly, in a series of spirals; for a moment Linda had the tense fear that it might strike her companion or herself. Holding out her flashlight, and watching the ground below, she floated gently away from the plane, landing finally in a clearing perhaps fifty yards away from Louise. "Lou, are you safe?" she shouted, gasping. "O.K.!" was the laughing reply, that brought a warm surge of relief to her heart. With the aid of their flash-lights the girls disentangled themselves from their cords, and ran towards each other. Suddenly they stopped; a blaze of light flashed in the sky, and they saw the beloved Arrow in flames! "Oh, poor Linda!" cried Louise, rushing to her chum in sympathy. "What rotten luck!" Tears came into the young aviatrix's eyes, and she hugged her chum tightly in her grief. It was as if she had lost a very dear friend. For a breathless moment they watched the blazing plane, fearful lest it would drop on them, or set the woods on fire. But gradually the light died, and what was left of the Arrow dropped to the ground at least a mile away. "I guess we're lucky at that," Linda finally said, shivering. "I was sure we'd be killed," Louise admitted. "It seems so much worse to have an accident at night--so much more terrifying." They stood still for a moment and looked about them. A light covering of snow was on the ground, and on the leafless branches of the trees. In every direction the woods stretched out in desolation. The girls had not the faintest idea where they were. "Oh, I'm so cold!" complained Louise. "If only we had a fire!" "My matches!" remarked Linda, regretfully. "My matches that I packed so carefully! A whole box.... Well, next time I'll see that they are in my pocket. Lucky we have our flash-lights--and no sprained ankles. Come on, Lou, we must walk, or we'll freeze to death." "But where are we going?" "Anywhere--to keep warm with the exercise, and maybe happen on some hut or house. We daren't sleep tonight, Lou! Oh, if, we only had those blankets!" "And those baked beans!" "Shucks!" exclaimed Linda. "Why didn't I think to throw some stuff out before we left the plane! All the mail carriers do. If they have to jump, they drop their mail bags first." "Too late now to think of that. But wasn't it lucky we had something to eat at the Convent?" "It surely was. I wish we had eaten twice as much." With their arms tightly linked together, the girls were pressing forward now at an even pace, as if they had cheerfully made up their minds to walk all night long. Sometimes they would step into thick piles of dried leaves, but otherwise the ground was hard, except for an inch or so of snow. Often they encountered ice, and their feet grew numb with the cold. Louise, who had not wanted Linda to take the unknown course, had said nothing about the cause of the accident, for fear of hurting her chum's feelings. But Linda's mind had been busily working on the explanation ever since the tank went dry. "Lou," she said finally, as they walked on through the darkness, "I think I have the explanation." "What explanation? How to get out of these woods?" "No, no. Of the reason why our gas ran out. I should have had enough to get to Syracuse. But do you remember hearing a plane land near to ours, while we were in the Convent?" "Yes, of course. We both saw it." "Well, do you know what I believe? I think that was Bess Hulbert, in the Flying Club's Moth--and it was she who was following us all the way to the Convent." "Linda!" cried Louise, in amazement. "But how could she ever know we were here? Not that I'd put it past her--but how could she possibly find out, or guess what we were up to?" "I don't know, except that she may have seen us--or our names on the hotel register at Plattsburg. People who are committing crimes are always on the watch, you know, expecting to be caught." "How could she ever dump out our gas, in so short a time?" "She didn't. She put a little hole in the gas tank, probably, so that the gas would leak out slowly. That would be a much meaner thing to do than to cut a strut, or injure the propeller, because either of those things would keep us from going up in the air without discovering it, and we wouldn't learn our danger from a leak without flying a while. Besides, whatever happened would happen when we were some distance away--so that she couldn't possibly be blamed! And it would be too late to do anything." "The sneak!" denounced Louise, feeling almost hot for a second in her anger. "You're right, Linda--I'm sure you are! But really, it was intended murder!" "Probable murder--if we couldn't make a landing or jump. But she thinks we are so inexperienced that we couldn't do either.... Yes, I really believe Miss Hulbert thinks we're dead now!" "And won't she get fooled!" exulted Louise. "Once we get back to civilization, we'll do plenty to her!" "If we get back to civilization," said Linda, with the first note of despair creeping into her voice. Their feet were so cold, they began to ache dreadfully, and the woods were as dense and as hopeless as when they first began to walk. They slackened their pace, until Louise's feet fairly seemed to drag. She stopped abruptly. "I just can't go on, Linda," she sighed. "My feet hurt so terribly!" "I know," answered her companion, sympathetically. "We might take off our shoes and rub them with snow. But if we once stop, we'll never be able to start again--and then we'll surely freeze." It was a gruesome alternative; they looked at each other in dismay. "Let's go very slowly, and hang on to each other," urged Linda. "The night can't last forever, and the sunshine will bring warmth." "It's the longest night I ever knew," said Louise, drearily. "But morning will be worse, because we'll be that much hungrier." Linda pressed her hand; there was no use trying to cheer the other girl with hopes, that she was in no mood to believe. So they went on doggedly. For perhaps half an hour they continued in silence; then once again Louise stopped abruptly, her hand rigid in Linda's. There were footsteps behind them! "A bear!" she whispered, in fright. Pulling her cautiously aside, Linda broke off a stick from a tree, and turned about to face the enemy. There was no use trying to run--why they could hardly hobble. And in the darkness, what hope was there of finding a tree to climb? To her intense amazement, she saw nothing, and she dared not turn on her flashlight. Tensely she waited, until a shot rang out in the woods and broke the stillness of the night. A gun at least meant a human hand, and both girls immediately let out a piteous cry of "Help!" "Yo--ho!" came the welcome, answering reply! CHAPTER XI _Prisoners_ When the shot of the gun rang through the woods, the startled girls heard scampering feet behind them, and knew that the animal, whatever it was, had been frightened away. Again they had had a marvelous escape, for they might have been wounded by the unseen hunter's gun. What irony it would have been, to jump from an airplane in parachutes, only to be killed by a human hand! Desperately they clung to each other, satisfied now by the answering call that there would be more shots until they were located. Rescue was surely at hand; the question now arose: what sort of human being had them at his mercy? They remained motionless, waiting for their fate, as the footsteps came nearer. At last they were able to distinguish the shaggy outline of a man in a fur coat. "Who's there?" he called. Both girls breathed a sigh of relief, as they heard the words in English. Surely they were safe now! "Two girls--from a wrecked airplane.... Lost," replied Linda. "Oh, can you give us shelter, please?" begged Louise. The stranger came towards them, and they looked into the face of a middle-aged man, rough and hard, but civilized. "Yes. You can come into my lodge.... This is a cold night to be lost in these northern woods." "Dreadful!" shivered Louise. "We thought we were done for." "What happened to your plane?" "We sprung a leak in our gas tank. We had to jump, and it went up in flames." "Too bad," muttered the man. Nothing more was said for a few minutes, and the girls walked painfully on, guided by their companion. At last they came to a small cabin, with an oil lamp lighted inside. It looked like Heaven to Linda and Louise. "I'll give you some food, and let you have the place for the night," offered the man, generously. "I was going off anyhow." "Oh, no!" protested Linda. "We mustn't drive you out in the cold!" And, seeing that the cabin had two rooms--a living-room and a kitchen, she immediately added, "We can easily sleep in the kitchen." "No, I expect to be out all night anyway." He went out into the kitchen and made them some hot coffee, and fried bacon and produced crackers and a can of beans. "Nothing in my life ever tasted half so good!" cried Louise, gratefully, as she ate ravenously, while her host stood there a moment watching both of the girls. "Now tell me," he said, "what you two young ladies were doing flying a plane up here on the border in the dead of winter?" "We've been to Canada," explained Linda, "to visit a Convent where some nuns make this lovely lace-work." She took her handkerchief out of her pocket, and showed it to the man, though she realized it would not be possible for him to appreciate it. "My father buys this, and sells it again." "Oh, ho!" exclaimed the man, significantly, opening his eyes and his mouth wide, knowingly. "I see." "What do you see?" asked Louise, sharply. "Nothing--nothing," he muttered. "I must be off--I have to get in touch with a man I know tonight--across the woods." His tone changed abruptly. "I don't want you girls to stir from here till I get back! You understand?" "You mean you want us to go on eating all night?" remarked Louise, ignoring the seriousness of his tone. The coffee had made her feel good; she wanted to laugh and joke. "No. I mean you're not to leave the cabin, till I get back in the morning." "We won't!" Linda assured him. "Nothing could induce us to, in all this cold. We'd never find our way, and besides, we want to pay for our lodging. Can you--could you find a way to get us to a train tomorrow?" "I'll take care of you," he replied, with a queer smile, but neither Linda nor Louise noticed. They were too tired now for anything but sleep. As soon as he was gone, they decided to turn in. There was only one narrow cot in the cabin, but there were three blankets, and they knew they would not mind sleeping in close quarters. It was so good to be warm, and fed, alive! Linda was the first to awaken the following morning, and for a moment, as she looked about her at the unfamiliar surroundings, she could not recall where she was. The strange little hut, with the big stone fireplace, where now only ashes remained of last night's fire, the crude couch on which she and Louise were huddled so close together, the trophies about the unfinished walls. And outside the icy windows, a desolate country, covered with snow. "Hurry up, Lou!" she cried, waking her companion. "Let's get washed up before that man comes back! Funny, we never thought to ask him his name!" "We were too tired," replied the other girl, rubbing her eyes. "Honestly I never was so nearly dead in my life." "It was because we saw no hope of resting. Just going on and on--or freezing. How do your feet feel this morning?" "Terrible!" Louise leaned over and examined them. "They're dreadfully swollen. I'll never be able to walk, and how can we get to civilization if we don't?" "Maybe our friend will dig up some horses. Or an airplane. If there is any place to land." "An airplane!" repeated Louise, as she laboriously, started to pull on her stockings. "Linda, do you feel very terrible about losing the Arrow?" "Of course I'm dreadfully sorry, but I think I should be ungrateful if I thought too much about that--after our lucky escape. Besides, I feel pretty certain I'll get another one now. If Daddy can pull out of his business troubles, we can order that Bellanca." The girls finished their dressing and set the room to rights, so that everything would be comfortable and neat when their host returned. Then they started a fire in the fireplace with some kindling and logs that were in readiness, and proceeded to the kitchen, to clear up their supper dishes, and to cook some breakfast. Fortunately there was plenty of food, and they enjoyed their hot meal. But they were not so ravenous as they had been the night before. "I wish that man would hurry," remarked Linda, as she put the clean dishes away. "I'd like to get somewhere to wire Ted. When he didn't get a telegram last night, he probably thought something had happened to us, and maybe he'll send out a searching party today." "That's true," agreed Louise. "Good old Ted!... But what about your Aunt Emily? Do you think she will worry?" "Not yet. Because she didn't expect us to wire every night. She probably thinks we're visiting some friends in Plattsburg." They went back to the living-room, and settled themselves comfortably before the open fire, enjoying the warmth and cheer of the blaze. Linda's wrist-watch, which was still going in spite of its fall through the air, proclaimed it to be ten o'clock when a knock finally sounded at the door. She sprang up and unfastened the bolt. It was their rescuer, with another man, also in a fur coat. Two horses stood outside, covered with blankets. "How are you today?" asked the owner of the cabin, genially. "Just fine!" replied Linda, gayly. "Thanks to your hospitality!" "Meet Sergeant Bradshaw," said the man rather brusquely, as he and his companion stepped inside and closed the door. "Your names----?" "Linda Carlton and Louise Haydock," replied the former. "Well, Sergeant," explained their host, turning to the other man, "these are the young ladies.... But, as I told you, they've lost their plane now, so they'll probably tell you they are ready to reform." "Reform?" repeated Louise, thinking that the man was teasing them. But he was not smiling; and his companion was regarding them with a most scornful expression. "They'll reform all right," sneered the latter. "Under lock and key!" For the first time a shiver of fear crept over Linda. Was their rescuer bad, after all? Did he mean to kidnap her and her chum? "What do you mean?" demanded Louise, in a tone of challenge. "What I say!" thundered the sergeant, displaying his badge. "I arrest you two young ladies as smugglers! I am going to take you both to jail!" "Smugglers?" repeated Linda, aghast. "Yes. You know all about it. Don't look innocent! We've had wind for over a month of the fact that a plane was taking something from Canada to Plattsburg, but we just found out last week what it was--_French lace_! And a girl has been flying it!" Instantly both Linda and Louise understood what had happened. They were being arrested for Bess Hulbert's crime! "But neither of us is the girl you're after--the girl that's guilty!" protested Louise. "That girl flew a gray Moth!" "Yeah? And how do we know your plane wasn't a gray Moth? How are you going to prove that? And didn't you admit you'd just come from that Convent, and didn't you show my friend Marshall here, some of the goods?" "But those are our own things!" cried Louise. "Bought in Columbus, Ohio!" "Oh, yeah? Well, I don't happen to believe that.... What I do know, is you didn't stop at the border for the regular search, did you?" "We didn't know you had to.... We didn't even know the border when we came to it," remarked Linda, bitterly. "No? Well, you can tell that to the judge!" replied the sergeant, with a smirk. "I guess you don't even know yet whether you're in the U.S. or not?" "No, as a matter of fact, we don't." "Innocent little things!" he sneered, sarcastically. "Rats! What's the use of wasting time? Come on!" "Won't you even listen to our story?" begged Linda. "You can save it for the judge! We've got a couple of horses out here, and we're each taking one of you along. Get your coats on--and hustle!" Meekly Linda did as she was told, biting her lips to keep back the tears, but Louise was furiously angry. "You just wait!" she sputtered. "You'll make a public apology for this, when our fathers hear about it." "Listen to the little spit-fire!" drawled the sergeant, in a nasty tone. Then, turning to the other man, "Listen, Marshall, I don't think we better try to take these two girls on our horses--especially this little cat here." He pointed rudely at Louise. "She might scratch! And it's none too easy traveling in this kind of weather.... Their trial won't come up for a month or so, anyway, so we might as well lock 'em in here as anywhere till we see fit to get 'em. You don't need the cabin, do you?" "No, I can go over with Hendries." "Well, the windows are barred. Besides, if they tried to escape, they would only get lost, and freeze or starve to death. Suppose we leave 'em here to think over their crime, and maybe after a few days or so, they'll be more ready to confess." "But we have to wire our folks!" cried Linda, in dismay. "You ought to have thought of that before you tried your tricks. If it's your father you're working for, he knows what to expect. Smuggling's serious business, young woman!" "But we didn't----" "So I've heard you say before, but lady, that don't get you anywheres with me.... Marshall, you go and get wood and see that there's enough oil and water and food to last about four days. I'll stay here and watch 'em till you get back." Linda and Louise did not believe anyone could be so cruel, so inhuman as this man--not even willing to listen to their story. But he was so entirely convinced of their guilt, that he probably thought he was justified. After all, the punishment wouldn't have been too severe if he had caught the right person--Bess Hulbert. But how unfair it was for them! "Won't you please send my father a telegram?" begged Linda, with tears in her eyes. "Are you ready to confess?" countered the sergeant. "We can't confess what we haven't done!" she protested. "Then your father will have to wait. He'll know in about four days, when we bring a plane to take you away." "Oh!" gasped Linda, realizing the horrible anxiety this decision would cause so many people dear to herself and Louise. Dropping down on the couch, she buried her head in her hands, and did not look up again until the men had gone, and locked and barred the door from the outside. Then she broke into uncontrollable weeping, and Louise, clasping her arms about her, cried too. "There is only one redeeming thing about it," said Louise, after a moment. "We're together." "If we weren't," sobbed Linda, "I think we should lose our minds!" But already Louise was looking about, trying to figure out some means of escape. "The thing that makes me maddest," she remarked, "is the delay in catching Bess Hulbert. She'll probably make a get-away before we can notify your father." "I don't think so," answered Linda, sitting up and resolutely drying her eyes. "Don't forget, Bess thinks we probably went up in flames with the Arrow. And when nothing is heard of us for five days, she'll be positive.... No, my bet is that she'll go right on with her smuggling and stealing Daddy's business." Her companion admitted that she was right. And all they could do was sit here and wait for those horrible men to return! It was a problem of course, how to amuse themselves, for there was no radio, or music of any kind, and there were no books on the shelves. When they had gotten over their first despair, they tried putting their wits together and manufacturing some sort of occupation. And they thought of various things, of giving each other exercises, and playing guessing games, making up new recipes for the ingredients that were in the kitchen store-closet. But, try as they did to be cheerful, the hours dragged, and four days stretched out as interminably before them. CHAPTER XII _Waiting for News_ As Linda had surmised, her aunt did not expect her to wire every night, unless something happened, so when December twenty-ninth passed without any message, the latter naturally supposed that the girls were still at Plattsburg with friends. Heretofore, the older woman had known all of her niece's companions, but since Linda had gone away to school, her circle had naturally widened. Miss Carlton frowned when she recalled that she had neglected to ask the names of the girls Linda and Louise intended to visit. When she heard nothing from them again on the morning of the thirtieth, she grew anxious and called Mrs. Haydock on the telephone. "I don't want to alarm you, Miss Carlton," answered Louise's mother, "but I am afraid something has happened." "Why? What makes you think so? Because we haven't heard from them since the twenty-seventh?" "Not only that," replied Mrs. Haydock. "But I put in a long distance call for Ted Mackay--Louise said they would keep him informed of their whereabouts, in case they had any difficulties--and I got the message that he had gone to Canada in search of two missing flyers!" "Canada!" repeated Miss Carlton, aghast. "That couldn't be our girls! They were going to New York." "So I understood. But they may have gone on to Canada.... Well, let us hope that Ted flew up to search for someone else. All we can do is wait." "Oh, those dreadful airplanes!" wailed Miss Carlton, hysterically. "I wish they had never been invented.... Well, I'll call my brother," she concluded, for she had no idea what to do. That, of course, was the difficulty everybody met--every one of Linda Carlton's and Louise Haydock's friends at Spring City, when the news got around that the girls were lost. Nobody knew where they were; nobody had any way of helping find them. Anxiety for them spread over the little town where they were so popular. Particularly at the Flying Club, where their most intimate friends were gathered that afternoon to play bridge or to dance, as the mood seized them. A skating party which had been planned by Dot Crowley and Jim Valier had to be canceled on account of a heavy snow the night before. Even now the storm was still raging, reminding them all the more of their two friends with the open Arrow. Dot Crowley, however, resolutely decided to be hopeful, to make an effort to dispel the gloom that threatened to engulf them all. "No use weeping till we hear that something has happened," she said, as she turned on the radio. "I'd stake a good-sized bet on Linda and Lou! Haven't they always come through with flying colors?" "If they're still _flying_ colors, or anything else, they're all right," remarked Jim Valier, lazily stretching his legs out toward the blazing fire. But, lazy though he always appeared, he was ready to help Dot in her valiant effort to be cheerful. "They'll be home yet--in time for the New Tear's Eve party!" she asserted, with conviction. "I'm not going to lose faith." "I'm not either," added Kitty Clavering, who was usually so timid, but who had a deep admiration for Linda Carlton. "I think Linda is one of the cleverest girls I ever met." Everybody agreed with her, and somehow they all suddenly felt optimistic. The bridge tables were brought out, the couples began to play and dance in the intervals when they were "dummies." Everybody seemed happy again--everybody except Ralph Clavering. Off in a corner he was smoking a cigarette in doleful silence. Dot, who still felt the responsibility for the atmosphere of the party, went over to cheer him up. "What's the matter, Ralph?" she asked half teasingly, half sympathetically. "Nothing," he muttered, with a frown that plainly said, "let me alone!" "I know, though," persisted Dot, seating herself beside him. "You haven't any partner for the New Year's Eve dance!" "Well, I'm not asking you," he replied, rudely. "You know it wouldn't be any use!" retorted Dot, her chin in the air. "I'm going with Jim." "O.K. with me." He continued to smoke in silence. "Well, buck up!" she advised, patting his shoulder. "Linda may fly home any minute." "Here comes a plane now!" cried Kitty, jumping up and rushing to the window. "Why, it's our own Moth!" Everybody dashed to the window, to see Bess Hulbert make her landing, and three or four of the boys slipped into their overcoats to go out and help her put it into the hangar. But Ralph sat stolidly gazing into the fire. Five minutes later, Miss Hulbert, her cheeks glowing and her eyes flashing with excitement, came into the room. "Welcome to our famous flyer!" cried Kitty, turning off the radio. "What's weather to her!" laughed Joe Elliston, admiringly. "All in the day's work," replied Miss Hulbert. "Tell us where you've been," urged Kitty. "Up to the Great Lakes," replied the aviatrix, vaguely. "I bought my own gas and oil, but I feel I owe the Club ten dollars for the use of the plane.... I--I'll pay myself!" They all smiled, for Bess Hulbert was still treasurer of the club. "Don't be silly!" protested Kitty. "You're a member of the club." "But I was using the plane for business--not for pleasure." "Just what is your business, Miss Hulbert?" inquired Ralph. The girl colored; she did not like his tone. It was a bitter blow to her pride that this rich young man had never fallen for her charms. "Fish!" she replied mockingly. "Poor fish!" Everybody laughed, not knowing whether she was serious or not, and this time the joke seemed to be on Ralph. "You didn't see Linda or Louise--in the course of your trip, did you?" asked Dot Crowley. "Linda--Louise--?" Miss Hulbert was stalling for time. "Yes. The two girls who fly in an Arrow Pursuit. They've been missing for two days and Miss Carlton and Mrs. Haydock are almost crazy. We're all worried too, only we try not to be." "Too bad," murmured Miss Hulbert. "But they really shouldn't be flying in this sort of weather. They haven't had the experience." "How else would they get it?" demanded Ralph, brusquely. "Short trips," answered Bess. "It's foolish people like them who do harm to aviation. Make the public think it's so dangerous." "How do you know they went on a long trip?" questioned Kitty, innocently. "Oh--er--I don't. I only supposed they did." "Yes, we're all afraid of that. They were last heard of from Plattsburg--the twenty-seventh." "And this is the thirtieth," remarked Bess, absently. "I wonder if that wreck that was reported in the early afternoon papers could have been their plane." "What wreck?" demanded everybody at once. "The charred wreck of a plane was found by an aviator named Ted Mackay. Up on the border, between New York state and Canada." "Ted Mackay!" repeated Dot. "That's Linda's friend--the one who rescued her before." "Well, he didn't rescue her today," asserted Bess. "There were no bodies in the plane. But then it was almost completely destroyed." At this gruesome remark, Kitty immediately burst out crying, and even Dot Crowley could find no reason to be hopeful any longer, and wiped the tears from her eyes. Oh, it was dreadful to think of their two lovely friends as dead! Worse still, for them to meet death in such a horrible way! "It may not have been their plane," Bess reminded her companions, although in her heart she felt sure that it was. "Or, even if it is, they might still be alive, if they had the nerve to use their parachutes." "They had plenty of nerve!" responded Dot. "But even if they jumped, it isn't likely they'd still be alive in this terrible weather." "If they were, we should probably have heard from them," said Ralph, glumly. Nobody spoke for some time; resuming of the games was out of the question now. Finally, to break the silence, and to have something to do, Kitty rang the bell for the club matron to serve tea and sandwiches. Over the tea-cups a low murmur of conversation finally arose, but it was all in a gloomy undertone. Nothing could have been more depressing than the atmosphere in that room--until the door was suddenly flung open by a small boy--Louise Haydock's brother. "Whoopee! Whoopee!" he shouted, throwing his hat straight into Ralph Clavering's tea-cup. "The girls are alive and safe!" "Linda? Louise?" cried everybody at once. In the excitement all eyes were upon the boy; nobody noticed that Bess Hulbert's face went ghastly white. "Yeah! Ted Mackay wired just now. He found them on the Canadian border, locked up in a cabin!" "Locked up? Kidnapped?" demanded Ralph. "No. Locked up by law. They have to go to jail." "Jail?" "It's some joke!" exclaimed Jim Valier. "No. Honest!" protested the boy. "They're being held for some crime they didn't commit. Smuggling, or something!" "Oh, they probably brought a bottle of Canadian wine into the United States," laughed Ralph. "They'll just have a little fine to pay----" "But Linda doesn't drink--or Lou either!" asserted Dot. "I know they wouldn't think of such a thing." "Well, so long as they're safe, it'll be an easy matter for them to get free," said Ralph, more relieved than anyone realized. "Why, they may be back in time for the New Year's Eve dance!" "Not a chance," answered the boy, with a vehement shake of his head.... "Don't forget the Arrow is a thing of the past--they've got to come home by train. Besides, they can't start till Dad and Mr. Carlton get up there to bail 'em out!" "I wish they had the Moth," sighed Kitty. "If it were only decent weather, Bess could go get them." Miss Hulbert was horrified at such a suggestion, but she managed to cover her consternation with a smile. As soon as the excitement died down the party began to break up. But Bess Hulbert continued to sit before the fire, thinking deeply, trying to decide what to do. So the law had gotten wind of the fact that smuggling was going on, by a girl in an airplane! And had arrested Linda Carlton and Louise Haydock, thinking them guilty. She smiled in a nasty, superior way. What a joke it was on those two upstarts! But her mouth grew grim again; it was only a question of time now, before the officers discovered the right person, before she too was brought to justice. And she wouldn't get off so easily as these two others.... No, there was only one thing for her to do--and that was to leave the country, before anybody thought of accusing her of this crime, or of the more serious one of damaging Linda's plane.... Lucky thing, she thought, that she had already made some money out of the business! But how she wished she had more! Kitty Clavering, who was the only person still left at the club, came over and put her arm around Bess, attempting to pull her to her feet. "What's the matter, Bess?" she asked, noticing that the other girl did not respond to her embrace. "Lots of things, Kitty," replied Bess, soberly. "I've had some pretty bad news today.... Of course I didn't say anything about it in front of the others, especially when I found you all so worried about your young friends." "Well, we don't have to worry about them any more! So I can give all my thoughts to you.... Come on home with me, and tell me about it!" urged the younger girl. She did not add that she wanted to hear about Lieutenant Hulbert, whom she had not seen for over a month. "Oh, all right," agreed Bess, without any enthusiasm. "For a little while.... But I must get back to my hotel. I'll have to go to New York tonight." Kitty did not question her any further until they were alone in her pretty boudoir, Bess relaxing on the chaise longue, Kitty in the flowered chintz chair. "Now tell me, my dear," repeated Kitty, sympathetically. "Well," Bess began slowly, "it's about business. I was joking this afternoon, of course, but the fact is I've been going into something pretty deep--and--and--I'm going to lose. Fail, in other words.... And the worst of it is--I'll have to go to England to get some money, if I can. My brother and I are English, you know." "Oh, I'm so sorry!" cried Kitty. To the rich young heiress, poverty seemed terrible. And Bess had mentioned her brother--was it possible he had lost money too? Was that the reason he was staying away from her? She put the question to her friend. "Yes," lied Bess, for she knew that this would draw more sympathy from Kitty, and the latter might even offer to lend her some money. "Yes, I was investing Bob's money, and lost that too." "How terrible!" Kitty got up and went over beside the older girl. "If I could only help you, dear--financially, I mean." Bess's eyelids narrowed. This was just what she was hoping for! "That's good of you, Kit--but I really couldn't accept it!" "But as a loan? Oh, please! I'd love to!" "Well--" Bess paused, as if she would need a great deal of persuasion. "My idea would be to borrow enough to order a big plane, and fly the Atlantic and win that twenty-five thousand dollars. Then I could pay you and my brother both back at once." "And bring glory to our Flying Club!" "Yes, of course.... But Kitty, have you any idea what a good plane costs? I'm afraid you couldn't raise so much money, could you?" "About how much?" asked Kitty, vaguely. She was thinking of Bob Hulbert now, wondering whether she couldn't write and tell him she understood why he was staying away from her, and urging him to come back. "Well, novices like your two friends would probably expect to pay about twenty thousand dollars for their plane.... But I wouldn't have to have that kind. Because, even if I did win the prize, it would hardly pay me.... No, I wouldn't pay more than eight or ten thousand for mine.... But you could never raise that much, could you, Kit?" The girl shook her head. "I'm afraid not.... Only by getting a loan on my pearl necklace. Do you suppose that could be done, Bess?" "Of course it could. But not here in Spring City. We'd have to go to New York." "I can't go to New York. I'm dated up for a dance tonight." "I think I could manage it myself," said Bess. "If you care to trust me, and will give me a note authorizing the loan." "I'll be only too glad to," agreed Kitty, and she produced the necklace and immediately sat down to the desk to write the letter. So, three hours later, Bess Hulbert stepped into the Pullman for New York, carrying not only the precious pearls, but all of the Flying Club's money as well, which she had pretended to forget to hand over to Kitty. "And now," she said triumphantly to herself, "let the United States courts try to catch me if they can!" CHAPTER XIII _Freedom_ Ted Mackay did not sleep well on the night of the twenty-eighth of December. It was one o'clock before he gave up expecting a telegram and finally went to bed. Even then he tossed restlessly. Something, he thought, had surely happened to Linda Carlton and Louise Haydock. Had they merely been forced down in some lonely spot where there was no means of telegraphing, or had they met with some more serious accident? He was up and dressed at dawn on the twenty-ninth, wiring his firm for leave of absence to go in search of the lost flyers. He decided not to telephone Miss Carlton or Mrs. Haydock yet; no need to worry them until it was absolutely necessary. Accordingly, he took off early in the morning of December twenty-ninth for Montreal, in his cabin mono-plane, equipped with skis for the snow. The snow began to fall steadily that afternoon, and continued on through the night. But though Ted reached Montreal before dark, there was no news of two girls at any of the airports. If they had arrived, their plane would have been housed in some hangar in the city or near about it. The snow was falling so fast and thick that Ted realized that night flying would be foolish. Forcing himself to go to bed, he left a call at the hotel desk for four o'clock the following day. His first stop, at dawn on December thirtieth, was the French Convent. There at least he got some information: the girls had been there, safe and unharmed, two days previous. But where were they now? Air travel was difficult in the snowstorm, but he shuddered to think of them alone in the woods, if something had gone wrong with their Arrow. How much food were they carrying, and what about blankets? How long could they endure the cold? Fortunately his plane was built for low flying, and he went carefully, just clearing the tree-tops, looking everywhere for a wrecked plane. About noon he was rewarded. Off on a hill, in a bank of snow, he found the blackened remains of the gallant little Pursuit. But, thank Heaven, no signs of human bodies in the wreckage! He spent perhaps half an hour searching and calling his lost friends, but when he received no response, he decided that the best thing for him to do was to go back to the nearest town and report the wreck by wire, and send out an S.O.S. for searching parties. It was this account that Bess Hulbert read in the early afternoon papers and announced to the Flying Club members. Ted lost no time in sending the communication, and returning to the scene of the disaster, resolving to circle the district again and again, watching for signals. There was still hope that the girls were alive. About two o'clock he sighted the little cabin in the woods and hunted for a spot to land. This might mean protection for Linda and Louise, from the terrible storm. How he hoped that they had found it, and were now warm and safe inside! Five minutes later he left his plane and walked excitedly to the hut. But because of the snow his approach was noiseless, and the girls, who happened to be cooking in the little kitchen at the time, had no idea that rescue was at hand. Ted lifted his fist and banged on the heavy door. "Who can it be?" gasped Louise, dropping the tin cup she was holding, and spilling flour all over the floor. "If it were that sergeant, he'd open the door. We can't possibly." "Of course not," replied Linda. "But let's go see who it is. Those bars won't keep us from looking out." Breathlessly they dashed to the living-room window, and tapped against the glass, for they could not see the door in their position. Bliss, oh, bliss! A moment later they recognized the dear familiar form of Ted Mackay! "Unbar the door!" shouted Louise, giving a leap into the air. "We're locked in!" Ted's mouth opened in amazement, but he heard what they said, and instantly went over and did what he was told. Then he stepped inside, and, wet and covered with snow as he was, both girls flung their arms around him and cried in rapture. "Angel!" exclaimed Louise. "Messenger from Heaven!" added Linda. They released him, and made him take off his coat, and come to the fire to get warm. It took an hour to tell all the details of their hazardous adventure, which had ended in this most surprising way, with imprisonment, and while they talked, they ate the hot-cakes and the coffee which Linda and Louise were making when Ted arrived. Then the latter glanced at his watch and said they had better be starting. "Ought we to wash these dishes?" inquired Linda, when they finished, and went for their coats and leggings and helmets. "I should say not!" thundered Louise, with a vengeance. "I'd like to smash and dirty everything in the old cabin!" "Don't forget it saved our lives," Linda reminded her, laughingly. But they did not wait. Time was precious now; they wanted to take off before it was any darker, or the snow grew too deep. Opening the door, they stepped outside just as two men on horseback drew up to the cabin. Marshall and the sergeant had returned. "What's this?" demanded the latter, in a gruff, insulting tone. "Making a get-away, are you?" He glanced suspiciously at Ted. "Maybe you don't know these young women are under arrest!" "Are they?" retorted Ted. "Well, so are you, for that matter! For not reporting that wreck two days ago! Don't you know it's a government regulation that wrecked planes must be reported as soon as possible?" The man shuffled nervously, kicking the snow against his horse. "Well, I'm reportin' it," he asserted, defiantly. "Today? You bet you'll report it today! It's two days too late, though!" "They're smugglers," he sneered, scornfully. "Smugglers is enemies to the country, and don't deserve no consideration!" "We'll see about that!" replied Ted masterfully, as he glowered at the girls' accuser. Linda and Louise stood quietly by, watching him in admiration. How grand it was to have a friend like this! "You girls come along with me," snarled the officer. "I'm takin' you to the Court House." "I'll take them to the Court House," amended Ted. "In my plane. You needn't be afraid I won't show up! I have plenty I want to report myself." Sullenly the man agreed to the offer, for he still had no desire to take that young spit-fire, as he called Louise, on his horse. Waiting only to see the plane take off into the air, he galloped away with his friend, Marshall. Linda and Louise felt so gay and happy that they shouted and sang during the entire flight. It was close quarters in the little cabin plane, but who cared? They were free--or soon would be free--once more! Though Ted smiled at their joviality, he felt more like praying. He was so grateful, so relieved that they were alive and safe, that he was filled with a solemn sense of thanksgiving. For he realized what a terrible fate they had escaped in jumping from that empty plane. They landed at the little town where the sergeant had directed them, and Ted wired immediately to Mrs. Haydock and to Mr. Carlton, and to Linda's aunt. Then they went to the Court House, arriving before the men on horseback. There, at last, the girls were allowed to tell their story, which a kindly judge listened to in righteous anger. And when Linda and Louise produced all their evidence, by going into detail about Mr. Carlton's business, and their own reason for the flight, they had no difficulty in convincing him of their innocence. Things would not go easily with this fellow, who had locked them up without hearing their version, or reporting them immediately to the authorities. The judge said he would see that the man was punished, when he finally arrived. "Do we need bail or anything?" asked Linda, who knew nothing about courts or legal matters. "We have wired to our Dads, and they'll probably be right up here, as fast as a train can bring them." "No, that is not necessary," smiled the judge. "Because I am convinced of your innocence.... You better wire your fathers not to come--it will only delay your return.... But before you go, I should to like to hear more of the real criminal, this woman who, you say, has been smuggling. Tell me her name, and give me a description of her." "Her name is Bess Hulbert," replied Louise. "But we're pretty sure she goes under an assumed name--possibly 'Anna Smith'." She was thinking of Linda's conversation in Plattsburg over the telephone, with Hofstatter's mother. "And probably by this time she has changed it again." "I don't think you'll have to worry about her any more," added Linda. "The minute she hears we are safe, she'll know her game is up, and give up the underhand business." "Just the same, she ought to be caught and punished!" cried Louise, vindictively. She had said nothing about their belief of the cause of their leaking tank, for after all they had no proof, and this judge could do nothing. But for that reason more than any, Louise wanted her punished. Promising the judge that they would try to get hold of Miss Hulbert's picture, the girls shook hands with him and left, accompanied by Ted Mackay, who was grinning harder than usual now. Everything was so right! Dusk had set in already, though the storm had passed, and a beautiful sunset was fading from the sky, promising a clear day for the flyers tomorrow. "I think we had better rest tonight," said Ted, as he followed the girls into a taxicab. "You girls can stay at the hotel--there is only one, for this is a small place--and I'll get a room over near the airport. I want to spend some time checking up on my plane, and I think I'll try to get somebody to help me. It's a long flight back to Spring City." "Oh!" cried Linda, rapturously. "Won't it be marvelous to be home? I'm glad we have a couple of days before we have to go back to school!" "Sure you don't mind flying?" asked Ted. "You're not nervous, after your narrow escape?" "We've forgotten that," replied Louise. "Forgotten everything except that we are eligible for the Caterpillar Club now." "Linda has been for a long time--since her first flight up," Ted reminded them. The machine stopped at the hotel, and Ted helped the girls to get out. "You'll come back and have dinner with us, won't you, Ted?" asked Louise anxiously. "O.K.--if you want me," he promised. "Only I mustn't stay afterwards, or go to the movies with you. I've got to work on that plane." The girls found their hotel warm and comfortable, though naturally not luxurious like those in the large cities. But after their two days in that cramped little hut, it seemed like a veritable palace. Bathing in a real bathtub was a joy that they had sadly missed, and the dinner seemed like a banquet to them, after doing their own cooking with such a limited supply of food. But best of all were their conversations with their families that evening, which, as Louise said, were worth all the money in the world to her. Long distance charges meant nothing, compared to the bliss of hearing her mother's voice over that wire. And Linda felt the same way about her Aunt Emily and her father, who, by this time, was at home. Finally they brought their conversations to a reluctant end, promising to be home the next night--in time for the New Year's Eve dance! CHAPTER XIV _The New Year's Eve Party_ The sun was setting over the snow-covered horizon when Ted Mackay landed his mono-plane at Spring City on the last afternoon of the old year. A trifle stiff from their long ride, but still happy and carefree, the girls stepped out on the field. At the arrival of the plane several of the men employed at the airport rushed out and greeted Linda Carlton, for they knew her well, from flying her Pursuit over Spring City, and coming there for supplies and inspection. Of course they had read her story in the newspapers. "But you won't be flying for a while now, will you Miss Carlton?" remarked one of the men, regretfully. "I shan't be flying the Pursuit," answered Linda. "But we have planes at school. I am taking a course at a ground school in St. Louis this year." "What kind of course, Miss Carlton?" "I am in line for two licenses--a commercial pilot's and a mechanic's." "Mechanic's!" repeated the man, in consternation. "Are you in earnest?" "Certainly," smiled Linda, for she was quite used to people exclaiming over her chosen study. "Will you give me a job here when I finish?" "I'll say we will! If you'd take it. But you won't. You'll have bigger offers than this." "Come along, Linda!" urged Louise, pulling her chum by the arm. "Aren't you cold?" "No, but I'm dying to see my family," she replied, and followed Louise to the taxi which Ted had engaged. In contrast to her homecoming before Christmas, when her father and her aunt were plunged in gloom, Linda found them almost hysterical in their joy. Never had her father seemed so wrought up, so emotional. He kissed her again and again. Tears streamed down her aunt's cheeks. "Darling child!" she cried, "we thought we should never see you again! Oh, your father and I have never had two such dreadful days as yesterday and the day before!" "But they're over now," returned Linda. "And the only sad part of it all is that I have no plane." "Which is all for the best," was Miss Carlton's comment. "I wish that I could buy you another," lamented her father. It was then that Linda told her story, giving her reasons for the trip, and the events that led up to her suspicions about Bess Hulbert. Only one part she omitted--and that was her own desire to buy a Bellanca and fly the Atlantic. It would be a very poor time to tell her aunt of any such a wish. Mr. Carlton listened in amazement; he was sure his daughter was correct in all her surmises. "We can easily put an end to Miss Hulbert's smuggling now," he said. "With the help of the United States officers.... Why, Linda, you have saved my business!" "I hope we have, Daddy. But don't forget the credit goes to Louise too. I never could have done anything without her to help me." "That's all perfectly lovely," put in Miss Carlton. "But the person I'm most grateful to is Ted Mackay. No knowing what might have happened if he hadn't rescued you when he did. And think of the hours of torturing suspense he saved us all here at home!" "Yes, that's right," agreed her brother, who now thoroughly approved of the young man. "I'd like to thank him myself. Where is he, Linda?" "He went home with Lou. She invited him before I even thought of it. But she asked us all to come over to their house to dinner. How about it, Aunt Emily?" "I'd be delighted. At least, if you'd rather go there than to the New Year's Eve dance at the Country Club." "I'd rather go to both," announced Linda, gayly. "Lou and Ted expect to take that in too, for I heard her saying she'd dig out a costume for him. Could you find something for me, Auntie?" "Of course I could," replied the older woman, smiling happily. It was just like old times again, she thought--with dinner parties and costume dances to take one's attention. "I'll go up in the attic right away," she decided. "What sort of thing would you prefer?" "Anything different from this dirty old flyer's suit. I hate the sight of it, after living in it at that miserable cabin. Why, I haven't had anything else since we left Plattsburg! I'm going to burn it tonight!" Again Miss Carlton smiled; this was the Linda she liked best, the dainty girl who looked charming in fluffy, feminine gowns. "I'm going to hurry and get my bath before anybody comes," added the girl. "And get into a dinner dress." She left just in time, for no sooner had she reached the top of the stairs than she heard Ralph Clavering's voice in the hall. "Linda! Linda!" he shouted, for her father had told him that she had just gone upstairs to dress. "Hello, Ralph!" she called back. "I'm dying to see you, but I'm not presentable. Can you wait about twenty minutes?" "I don't want to," he answered impatiently. "But I must, if you say so. Will you go to the dance with me tonight?" "O.K.," she replied, joyfully. "I was 'waiting-for-a-partner,' just as we used to sing in that game we played when we were kids. Ted and Lou are going together, and I was left over!" "As if Linda Carlton would ever be left over!" he muttered to himself, in amusement. When she came downstairs, fifteen minutes later, arrayed in pink chiffon, he longed so to take her in his arms that it actually hurt to restrain himself. It was so good to see her again--alive and unharmed--more beautiful than ever! He wished she were not so capable, so bent upon having a career. A girl who looked so adorable had no right to possess the keen mind of a man. But both Mr. Carlton and his sister were in the room, and Ralph had to content himself with shaking hands with Linda. The time was short, however; even as she began to answer his questions, the phone bell rang. Congratulations were pouring in; telegrams and flowers arrived, and finally Ralph gave up hoping to talk to her. "I'll come for you about ten o'clock," he managed to whisper into her ear while she sat at the telephone. Ever so lightly, without her even realizing it, he touched her hair with his lips. It was with difficulty that she broke away at last, and went with her father and her aunt to Louise's in the big car that the chauffeur drove. Thanks to Linda, her aunt Emily would not have to give it up as she had expected. That dinner party was the noisiest, jolliest affair Linda had ever attended. No holiday occasion had ever aroused such unrestrained merry-making. Even Ted Mackay, who usually was shy among strangers, felt perfectly at home. Louise's small brother insisted upon sitting next to him at dinner, and regarded him as a favored hero--in the class with Byrd and Lindbergh. "Ted and I have gone into a conspiracy," announced Louise. "We're going to track down Bess Hulbert tonight, and make her confess everything!" "At the party?" asked Linda, in amazement. "Surest thing! It'll only add to the excitement." "You'll never catch that baby!" remarked her brother, significantly. "Go carefully," warned Mr. Haydock. "After all, there is a chance that she isn't guilty." "A pretty slim chance!" laughed his daughter. "Anyway, it will be fun to spot her among all those rigs and false-faces." "I thought you were going to say rigs and wigs, Sis!" "All right, any way you like, Tim. Only I guess we better stop fooling and get dressed. It may take a good while to wiggle into our costumes. Especially yours, Big Boy," she added, to Ted. For he was to wear an old suit of her father's, which was sure to be rather small for him. The girls, who had been used to these sorts of affairs, found the dance just like all the other parties. Lights, splendid costumes, gayety, color, and music; but to Ted Mackay it was strange and exciting. But he danced well, and his manners were just as good as those of the other boys--if anything he was more courteous than many of them. To his surprise he found that he was being fêted along with Linda and Louise, who were singled out and congratulated every few minutes, not only by friends, but by mere acquaintances as well, who had read about them in the papers and felt proud to know them. But although Ted was carried away by the fun and the excitement, Louise did not forget the fact that she had a self-appointed duty to perform, to corner Bess Hulbert, and ply her with questions. She thought she had identified her in a Dutch girl's costume, but she found when they all unmasked for supper that she was mistaken. "Where's that Hulbert woman?" she asked Kitty Clavering, irritably. Louise just had to be frank; if she felt no respect for a person she made no effort to conceal her opinion. Kitty flushed. She never could understand why her friends did not care for Bess Hulbert as she did. The young woman was getting to be very unpopular at the Flying Club, and Ralph positively detested her. "Bess?" she stammered. "She's gone abroad." "Abroad!" repeated Louise, aghast, wondering whether she and Linda could have been mistaken all along. "When did she go?" "She's sailing today. She left here for New York yesterday." "What for?" demanded Louise, bluntly. But already she had guessed the reason. They had not been mistaken at all: Bess Hulbert was fleeing from justice! "She's English, you know," Kitty explained. "Her family--except her brother--are all in England." "Has she given up the idea of competing for that prize?" "I don't think so. Not if she can get a boat, as she calls it." "Have her people money?" "How do I know?" retorted Kitty, in exasperation at this cross-examination. She never had got on well with Louise Haydock; she couldn't understand how such a sweet girl as Linda Carlton could want her as a best friend. She turned abruptly away, for at that moment Lieutenant Hulbert entered the room, and made straight for Kitty. From that moment on, she had neither eyes nor ears for anyone else. Louise was thankful to have Ted appear to claim her for another dance, and she told him immediately of Bess Hulbert's sudden departure. "Just what we might have expected," said Ted. "Well, that is proof enough that she is guilty. Are you going on with the chase?" "How can I--now? But if she ever dares to set foot in the United States again, and compete for that prize, I'll certainly do everything I can to expose her guilt." "Don't forget, if you need me, I'm always right there!" Ted reminded her. "I'll never forget it," Louise replied, wishing that she didn't like him so much. After all, he was Linda's find--and if her chum cared for him--and wanted him---- But Linda Carlton did not look at this moment as if she wanted anyone or anything more than she had. One partner after another would snatch her away when she had danced only half-way around the ballroom. Ralph Clavering was the most persistent pursuer of them all; he never allowed her a single dance without cutting in at least twice. At first Linda took this as a joke, but when it happened for seven dances in succession, she grew a trifle weary, and asked him to stop it. "If you will give me two whole dances alone--sitting them out in the balcony," he agreed. "Then I'll be satisfied." "Why two?" she countered. "Because I have so much to say to you!" "Oh, all right," she said, and together they pushed through the crowd, up the stairs to the balcony to a spot where a long bench was hidden behind some palms. She looked at him questioningly. "Linda darling, haven't you guessed what it is all about?" he demanded, bending over so close to her that his face almost touched hers. "I love you! I've always loved you! I want you to give up this fool air school, and marry me. Elope with me! Tonight!" Linda drew back, in amazement. "Why, Ralph, you're talking of something impossible!" she said, hurt at the very idea. "Imagine your father--my Aunt Emily--if we eloped!... I never did think elopements were romantic--only selfish, when you consider the folks at home. Besides, you have college to finish----" "I could chuck it!" he interrupted, putting his arm about her slender shoulders, and drawing her closer to him. "Please! I'll buy you a new plane----" "Now Ralph!" she laughed, and rose quickly to her feet. "Don't try to bribe me. No--positively no!" "But you do like me?" "Yes. Heaps." "Not love?" "I don't care for any man in that way," she declared. "Are you sure you don't love Ted Mackay?" Jealousy was always a part of Ralph's nature. "Oh, no! I have always admired him for his ability. But I don't love him.... No, I'm only in love with aviation." He was standing too, looking disappointed, but not heart-broken. "I may ask you again?" he pleaded. "When you graduate from college, yes." "Two and a half years to wait!" he sighed, despondently. "If I'm not lost in the ocean in the meanwhile," she added, lightly. "Linda, that reminds me--" He pulled her down to the bench again. "I know you're counting on trying for that prize--oh, don't deny it, for I saw the excitement in your eyes that day Bob Hulbert made the announcement--but I don't think you can hope to win, even if you do get hold of another plane.... I'm afraid that Hulbert woman is going to beat you to it." "Why, Ralph?" asked Linda, seeing that it was useless to deny her desire. "Because I believe she's planning to fly soon." "What with?" "She's gone to England to have a special plane made.... I'll tell you a secret, if you promise not to breathe it to Kitty that I told you: Sis lent her her pearls, so that Miss Hulbert could raise a loan for the price of the plane." "Oh, no!" cried Linda, shocked for Kitty's sake, as well as for her own and Louise's. "Yes, she did. I saw Miss Hulbert take away a box yesterday, and I questioned Kitty. So she told me why." "Then," concluded Linda, dolefully, "I guess that settles it!" "So you might as well give up aviation and marry me!" "Forget it, Ralph!" Then, deliberately assuming a light-hearted manner again, she added, "Come on back and dance.... But remember--no more cutting in!" CHAPTER XV _Plans for the Ocean Flight_ The last day of the Christmas vacation--New Year's--passed very quickly for Linda Carlton. The dance had continued until almost dawn, and for once she stayed to the end. For there was no flight in store for her on the morrow, or the day after. She could be as sleepy as she wanted to. Accordingly, her aunt did not wake her until noon, and only then because her father was taking a late afternoon train back to New York. "I want to go for a walk with you this afternoon, Daughter," he said, while she ate her combined breakfast and luncheon. "I would like to have a talk with you." "Yes, Daddy," replied Linda, trembling inside, lest he intended to tell her that he would forbid the ocean flight. "Can you spare the time--say about three o'clock--from your social engagements?" "I haven't any social engagements," she replied. "Lou and I didn't accept anything for after Christmas Day." "But I heard your aunt tell Mrs. Clavering this morning on the telephone that she'd see that you went to Kitty's dinner party." Linda yawned. She had enjoyed the dance the night before, but it was enough to last her for a while. "Is Lou going?" she inquired. "I couldn't tell you that, my dear. You can call her up." "All right. But in any case that wouldn't interfere with our walk, Daddy. I'll be ready at three." Unlike most of her girl friends, whose days were spent in constant social activities, Linda was always punctual about her engagements. As the clock struck three, she appeared in the living-room. Dressed in her gray squirrel coat and matching beret and cloth boots, she presented a beautiful picture of up-to-date winter fashions. Linking her arm affectionately in her father's, she accompanied him out into the crisp, clear air, and started towards the outskirts of the town. "Wouldn't you rather be sledding, my dear?" he asked, gazing at her in admiration. "No, indeed!" she hastened to reply. "I'd much rather be with you.... Anyway, I suppose there will be a sledding-party after dinner tonight. Kitty told us to bring our sweaters and riding-breeches." "Very well.... Have you guessed what I wanted to talk to you about?" "Yes, I think I have--Daddy," she faltered. "You have?" he repeated, smiling. "Well, first of all I want to tell you that I am exceedingly proud of your courage and pluck up there on the border, and in Canada, and that I think you have proved your ability to take care of yourself in a plane." "Daddy!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "I was afraid you and Aunt Emily would say I could never fly again! After all the anxiety I caused you." "That is what your aunt would like to say--but I feel differently. What happened was due to no fault or carelessness of yours, no lack of skill on your part. A less able pilot would have been killed, I am sure." "It's awfully sweet of you to say that!" "Well, I mean it. I'm convinced now that you have a right to go on with aviation. And I am willing for you to order your plane for the ocean flight." A thrill of emotion ran through Linda, so intense that she could not speak. Clasping his arm tightly with both her hands, she told him in the only way she could of her great gratitude. Then she remembered his business. "You won't need the money, Daddy?" she asked, after a moment. "No--not now that I feel sure that your trip saved me, and that this unfair competition will cease. But just to make sure, I'll go to Canada tomorrow, and visit the Convent myself. I'll wire you results." "I think," she said slowly, with tears dimming her blue eyes, "that you are the most wonderful father a girl ever had." He patted her hand gently, not knowing how to reply, and they walked on for some time in silence. It was not until the short winter afternoon was coming to a close, and they had turned their steps towards home that he mentioned his sister. "I don't want you to say anything at all of this to your aunt, Linda," he cautioned her. "She might play on your unselfishness, and make you give it up. It is a risk, of course--I understand that, and I know just how she feels. But we all have to take risks in life; it would be dull indeed if we didn't. So I think I had better handle the thing myself--tell her sometime when I happen to come home when you aren't there. I can win her around to it, I know." "That would be wonderful, Daddy!" cried the girl, in relief. It had been worrying her for a long time whenever she thought of securing her aunt's consent. She even believed that she might weaken herself, if the older woman used tears and pleading. For Linda could never forget what a loving foster-mother her Aunt Emily had always been. "By the way, have you picked out your plane?" her father inquired. "Yes, indeed! It's a Bellanca--they call it Model J 300. Just built for ocean flights! Oh, Daddy, it has everything to make it perfect! A capacity for carrying one hundred and five additional gallons of gasoline, besides the regular supply in the tanks of one hundred and eighty gallons! And a Wright three-hundred-horsepower engine, and a tachometer, and a magnetic compass----" "There, that's enough, Daughter!" he interrupted, smiling. "I'm afraid I don't know what all those terms mean. If you're satisfied that it's the best you can buy----" "Oh, I am! I'm crazy about it. I'm going to put in my order the minute I get your telegram." "And if anything should happen, so that you had to come down in the water, would it float?" he asked, with an imperceptible shudder. In spite of his bravery, the thought of Linda over that deep, wide ocean at night made his flesh creep. "Yes, Daddy. The tanks permit the plane to float. You can be sure it will have every modern invention, every safety device there is today. It will cost about twenty-two thousand dollars!" "That's right, Daughter," he approved. "If you're going at all, you must do the thing with the utmost care. Don't try to save money. A few hundred dollars might mean the difference between disaster and success." "I know," she answered, solemnly. As they were approaching the house, they began to talk of other things, as if by silent agreement. Airplanes and ocean flights were apparently forgotten, for the moment they were inside, Linda's Aunt Emily was urging her to get ready for the party. Unfortunately, Louise was not going. Like Linda, she had been invited at first, but once she refused, she was not popular enough with Kitty to be asked again. So Linda could not talk of her trip with anyone; she would have to wait until the following day, when Louise accompanied her back to the ground school. It seemed strange indeed, to get up early the next morning and take a train back to St. Louis. Both the girls regretted the loss of the Pursuit, and realized how they were going to miss it, but they resolutely decided to be good sports and to try to joke about it. "Don't forget we have to buy tickets," Linda reminded her chum. "Don't go to the window and ask for high-test gasoline!" "Won't a train seem slow?" returned Louise. "Oh, well, we won't have to care about the weather, that's one good thing! Besides, we can sleep." "As if you ever made a flight without at least one good nap!" teased the other. But in spite of their assumed gayety, it seemed like a tiresome, endless journey, with a change of cars and a wait at the station. It was afternoon before they finally arrived at their destination. Both girls had decided to say nothing about their holiday adventure, but when they reached the school, they found themselves being treated as heroines. Everybody had read all about them in the papers, and knew that they had jumped from parachutes and that they had lost the Pursuit. "But you'll soon be graduating from here, and making all kinds of money," one of the instructors told Linda hopefully. "And then you will be able to buy another plane of your own." (Sooner than you think, Linda said to herself, for no one but Mr. Eckers at the school knew of her proposed trans-Atlantic flight.) Both girls plunged headlong into the work, forgetting everything but the studies that were before them. Only, Linda could not forget to watch eagerly for the telegram that would mean her father's final consent. It arrived three days later, saying that all his business troubles had vanished, and that he had sold enough of her bonds for her to write a check for her Bellanca. Wild with joy, she dashed across the flying field to the hangar where Louise happened to be taking some notes from Eckers. "Everything's O.K.!" she cried, as she burst open the door. "We can fly to Paris, Lou!" Her chum jumped up and the girls hugged each other in ecstasy, much to the amusement of the elderly instructor. "So you're ordering a Bellanca long-distance mono-plane?" he asked. "Yes. Tonight! Oh, Mr. Eckers, from its pictures, from its description, it's absolutely marvelous. And as safe as an ocean-liner!" "Safer!" amended Louise, "Ocean-liners sometimes sink. But never a Bellanca!" "We're going to be awfully careful and thorough about our preparations, Mr. Eckers," Linda explained, as she detached herself from Louise's arms, and sat down on the edge of his desk. "Just like Lindbergh!" "Well, I hope you have Lindbergh's success," was the instructor's fervent wish. "But tell me, Miss Carlton, have you heard of any others who are planning to try for this prize?" "Only one so far. She's in England now, having her plane built there, I believe." Louise gritted her teeth at the mention of Bess Hulbert, but she said nothing. "Then you'll simply have to beat her!" cried the man, enthusiastically. "It must be an American plane that wins. And American girls!" "Of course some of our best aviatrices may compete," put in Louise. "You mean women like Amelia Earhart?" he asked. "Yes." "Somehow I don't think she will," said Mr. Eckers. "Miss Earhart is too good a sport to take honors from a younger, less experienced flyer. She doesn't go out for sensational glory. She doesn't have to. She has already won her place." "But of course some of the younger girls may." "Yes. But you girls have a better chance than anybody, I think. Better prepared. Besides, the difficulty is going to be getting a suitable plane. It would be fool-hardy for anybody to take a chance in a plane that wasn't super-tested, and super-equipped. And few parents are going to give their consent, even if they can provide the money.... I believe your greatest opponent is this English girl." "Well, we're going to beat her!" announced Louise, defiantly, and she did not add that she meant to take harsh measures if that young woman put in an appearance in the United States. "When do you expect to go?" questioned Eckers. "The twentieth of May, if the weather is right," replied Linda. "I believe in luck, and that was Lindy's lucky day." "And Linda Carlton's!" added Louise, as the girls went off to send their order. CHAPTER XVI _The Autogiro_ Linda Carlton had always been a girl of a single purpose. It was this characteristic that set her apart from Louise Haydock, from her other girl friends--in fact, from practically all of her sex. In this she was more like a man, with a man's mind. She never could see the advisability of mixing pleasure with work; when she was determined to accomplish or to learn something, nothing could distract her. Now while she was bending all her energy to the winning of her mechanic's license and the thorough preparation for her trans-Atlantic flight she grew impatient with even her chum for desiring to lead a social life. One cold night in February, when she was desperately trying to concentrate on a treatise on airplane engines, Louise annoyed her exceedingly by moving restlessly about the bedroom and interrupting her every few minutes with remarks and questions. "I do wish you'd be more sociable, Linda!" she exclaimed, taking a dance dress out of the closet, and surveying it mournfully. "I'm sorry, Lou--I'm busy," replied her companion, without looking up. "Well, just give me five minutes. Then I'll leave you alone." "All right," agreed Linda, trying to be patient. "Gaze on this dress, please. Don't you think it's an absolute wash-out?" "I never heard of anybody's washing chiffon," remarked Linda, facetiously. "Why not try having it cleaned?" "Don't be smart! You're wasting your precious time.... But seriously, Linda, could I or couldn't I wear it Saturday night to that dance Ted and his boy friend are taking us to?" "I suppose you could. But why not send home for another?" "There isn't time. Besides, I'd love something new.... Here's my idea, Linda. Let's take tomorrow off--entirely off--and go on a shopping bat. I'm positively sick for one!" "For the love of Pete!" cried Linda, in exasperation. "You don't know what you're asking, Lou. Tomorrow they're going to bring an _autogiro_ to the school, and Mr. Eckers said there was some chance of my being allowed to fly it!" "Autogiro?" repeated Louise. "What's that?" "You know, Lou! Get your mind off pink chiffon, and you'll remember. It's that new plane Cierva, the Spaniard, invented--with a windmill sort of thing on top--that can land and take off in a very small space. I'm just crazy to examine one and fly it myself." Her companion assumed an air of resignation. "Very well. If you want to go to that dance at the Aviation Club looking like something the cat dragged in, you can! But I'm not. I'm going to get me some raiment." "I don't want to go to the dance at all." "What?" "You heard me, Lou." "Have you written that to Ted?" "No. I didn't say positively last week that I'd go. And I haven't time to waste on social correspondence. It's all I can do to get off my weekly letters to Daddy and Aunt Emily. You tell him." "But Linda, Ted's boy friend won't have any girl!" "You can manage 'em both. I've seen you take care of six or seven on Sunday nights at home." "That was different." "Well settle it to suit yourself. Only, remember, I'm not going. I'll be at the school all day Saturday and I'm not going to rush back to a beauty shop to get my hands and fingernails into shape for a dance. I'm staying home!" Speechless, Louise stood gazing at her chum in utter incomprehension. She was past understanding. Thinking the conversation ended, Linda returned to her pamphlet. But her room-mate had not finished. "Linda, I want to ask you something--while we're on the subject of Ted Mackay, and these nice parties he is always planning for us. How much do you care for him?" "Not a rap!" Of course that was not exactly the truth, for Linda did like the big fellow immensely. But lately she had grown very tired of his regular week-end visits. "Linda Carlton! You ought to be ashamed of yourself to say a thing like that! After all Ted's done for you." "Well, I guess I was exaggerating. But I'm fed up with him, Lou. I'm not going out with him any more for a while. And that's that!" "Do you mind if I do?" "Certainly not. Go all you please, if you won't try to drag me in!" Louise sat down, and fingered her dress nervously. There was one more question she just had to ask. "Linda, will you tell me the truth about this: Would you mind if I--I--cared a whole lot about Ted?" At last Linda was interested. She closed her booklet, and turned about to face the other girl. Seeing how serious, how ardent, yet how confused Louise was, she smiled warmly. "I think it's lovely, Lou!" she assured her. "If you really care for Ted--because I've known for months that he's head over heels in love with you. Nothing but the real thing could pull him away from his work." Her tone was that of a person much older. "I say, 'Bless you, my children!'" Louise was at her side now, kissing her ecstatically. "I was so desperately afraid you'd mind, Linda!" Linda laughed at the mistake. It really was funny. Louise--usually so cocksure of herself in everything--was so modest that she couldn't see Ted's very evident admiration. "You're a goose, Lou, but a dear, foolish goose!" Her brow suddenly darkened. "Does this mean you won't fly with me to Paris?" "Oh, no! 'Course I'll go. I'm sure Ted wouldn't want me not to." "I'm not so sure myself," muttered Linda, remembering how Ralph Clavering had tried to get her to give up the flight. Men were funny when they were in love, she thought; it did not occur to her that girls were funny too. Louise seemed perfectly satisfied, and did not open her mouth again that evening until Linda put her work away and suggested that they go downstairs and ask for cookies and milk, which their kind landlady always provided for them. But Louise did not give up her decision about the shopping trip, and the next day Linda went to the ground school alone, to forget everything else in her admiration of the autogiro which had arrived. It was a queer little boat, the motor in its nose, and an ordinary propeller, just like an airplane. Its wings, however, were stubby, and the strangest part of it was the windmill-like arrangement, or rotary wing, mounted right on the top. Everybody at the school was gathered about it, eagerly examining it, when Linda appeared, and she lost no time in joining the group. Mr. Eckers was explaining its parts to the students. "It really is remarkable," he was saying, "the way it can rise vertically right over a given place. It can hover over a spot while it is climbing upward, and can land with almost no forward motion. For this reason a huge landing field is not necessary. I believe it is the plane for the city dweller." "Everyone can keep an autogiro in his back yard," remarked one of the students. "And make his landing on a postage stamp! Believe--me--I'm going to have one! And I don't mean maybe." Mr. Eckers continued his explanation, telling them that the autogiro could fly very low, only a few feet from the ground, and then he went on to compare it with the helicopter, another new-fashioned invention somewhat similar. When he had finished his remarks, he offered to take the students in turn for rides, and they all pressed eagerly forward. All except Linda Carlton, for she was too shy to make her wishes known. Besides, she felt that she did not have to tell Mr. Eckers; he would know how interested she was. But the time was too short, and the students too many. Closing hour arrived, and Linda had not had her flight. Stopping in at the instructor's office at five o'clock, she told him wistfully that she had missed out. "Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Carlton!" he exclaimed, in genuine regret. "But those boys acted just like children, pushing in the way they did. Never you mind, though, you'll get your turn tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" she repeated. "I thought the autogiro was to be sent to Birmingham, Alabama!" "So it is. But after a little practice with it, I'm going to let you take it." "Me?" "Yes, you! Because you are such a good flyer, and because you are a mechanic besides. There's another job at the end of the trip--taking another plane--not an autogiro--to Nashville, Tennessee. All your expenses will be paid, and there will be twenty-five dollars in it for you. Would you like to do it?" "Would I?" cried Linda, her eyes shining with happiness. "I'd just love it." "Then you can make your plans." "Could I--take Miss Haydock with me?" she asked, timidly. "Why, of course. That will make it all the better. I think we can even pay her hotel expenses, though of course she won't make any money. It is because you are a mechanic as well as a flyer that you are in a position to earn the money." "Because I am a mechanic!" she repeated softly to herself. Her wish was really coming true. "Be on hand at eight o'clock tomorrow, if the day is clear," the instructor concluded. "And don't wait for that girl friend of yours, if she is late. She cut classes today--isn't sick, is she?" "No," laughed Linda. "Playing hookey, I'm afraid." "Just a typical girl," muttered the man. "We have 'em all the time here--society dames, flying as a fad, school-girls, for the excitement of the thing, married women who are tired of housekeeping.... There isn't one in a thousand who takes it seriously, as you do, Miss Carlton." "Thank you, Mr. Eckers," replied Linda, blushing at his praise.... "How long shall I be gone--on this trip, I mean?" "You ought to be able to get to Birmingham before dark tomorrow. Then you can rest tomorrow night, and start to Nashville Saturday--if the weather is O.K. But don't try to fly too fast with this other plane, and don't attempt it till the weather is perfect. The plane's in good condition, but it's an old one, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. If you have to stay at Birmingham a week on account of fog, or something, it will be O.K. with me, and your expenses will be paid. You take a train back from Nashville." "I'll get my map and directions tomorrow?" "Yes. I'll have them here for you, all ready." Linda went back to her boarding-house in an exalted frame of mind, singing as she entered her room. She found her chum equally gay, sitting on the bed amidst a pile of packages. "Have a good time, Lou?" she asked, merrily. "And how!" "So did I! And I've got the best news yet. We fly an autogiro to Birmingham tomorrow." "Who do?" "You and I, Lou! Our expenses are to be paid, and we get twenty-five dollars besides!" Linda did not add that it was she who was earning the money, for she had already made up her mind to share it with her chum. Louise shook her head. "Not this baby!" she said. "Tomorrow's Friday, Linda. I might not get back in time for the dance Saturday night. No, my dear, I'm not taking any chances." "Do you really mean that, Lou? Give up a wonderful trip like this, just to go to an old dance? You could wire Ted." "But I don't want to, Linda. Why, my heart'd break if I couldn't wear these new clothes I just bought.... Gaze on them! How about this cerise taffeta? Would you ever think any trimming could be so clever? It's made of feathers, you see--and look how the slippers match!" Linda stood perfectly still, gazing at the finery without seeing it. "You really won't go, Lou?" she repeated. "Even if I rush the trip?" "Oh no, Linda, I couldn't possibly disappoint Ted." Seeing that it was useless to try to persuade her, Linda rushed downstairs and called Nancy Bancroft on the telephone, inviting her instead, and this time she was gratified with an acceptance. CHAPTER XVII _Enemies_ The day of Linda Carlton's flight to Birmingham, Alabama, was warm and spring-like. It was only a false spring, to be sure, the kind that sometimes comes suddenly in February, making everyone long to be out of doors. How lucky for her, she thought. If it would only last a couple of days! Nancy Bancroft was already at the school when Linda arrived, alert and eager for the trip. She had just received her private pilot's license a few days previous, but she did not expect to attempt to guide the autogiro. Nevertheless, she would be company for the more experienced aviatrix. Half an hour's instruction was all that Mr. Eckers considered necessary, and before nine o'clock the girls took off for the South. Linda couldn't help singing for joy. The autogiro was so much fun! "Dad's going to buy me a plane," Nancy informed her companion. "As soon as I get home next week." "Next week?" repeated Linda. "Yes. I'm leaving the school as soon as we get back. I have my license, you know--that's what I wanted." Linda was silent, thinking of Mr. Eckers' remark about girls the day before. Yes, he must be right, their ambition usually ended with the government's permission to fly. "I'll miss you dreadfully, Nance!" was all she said. "You must fly to New York often," urged the other. The country over which the girls were flying was beautiful and the air delightful. As they went farther south, they recognized real evidences of spring in the foliage. The little plane hummed gayly on, with never a disturbance in its sturdy motor. Linda was exceedingly happy. Noon-time came, and they ate their sandwiches and drank the coffee which Linda's kind-hearted landlady had insisted upon providing, but they did not stop. Everything was going so wonderfully that they hated to break the spell. At this rate they ought to reach Birmingham long before dark. It was about two o'clock that they met with a strange adventure. Flying along at an even rate, high enough to span the woods that loomed ahead of them, there suddenly appeared, out of nowhere it seemed, what the girls thought to be a formation of airplanes. "Go carefully!" warned Nancy. "Don't forget that awful accident a while ago, when several planes were flying in formation!" Linda curved to the side, but the planes seemed to be flying straight at her. "They haven't any sense at all!" she cried, in exasperation, now seriously fearing disaster. On they rushed, till a cold fear gripped Linda's heart. Try as she might, she couldn't get out of their way! It was all like a dreadful dream, when something menacing rushes inevitably towards you, yet you are powerless to stop. Then, in a flash, Linda perceived what the formation was. Eagles! Great, huge, ominous birds, traveling through the air with the speed of machines. Involuntarily, she reached for her gun. "No use!" shouted Nancy, in terror. "Too many of them!" Realizing the truth of Nancy's words, Linda did the only thing possible: swiftly, almost recklessly, she landed on the ground, expecting to be dashed upward again, or the plane turned over, pinning her and her companion beneath. But miraculously, nothing disastrous happened; the autogiro had come down vertically and stopped. That, then, was the wonder of this marvelous little machine! Had it been any other kind of plane, the girls would surely have been injured--and possibly killed! They had landed in a small clearing between the trees. Shutting off her engine, Linda turned, gasping, to her friend. "Would you ever believe, a thing like that if you read it?" she demanded. "The landing--or the birds?" inquired Nancy, still breathless with excitement. "I really meant the birds, for I knew that the autogiro was wonderful. I've seen them land and take off before, though of course I never tried anything like this." "Well, I did read about big birds bothering pilots one time--in a newspaper, I guess. But I didn't think much about it." They waited quietly for a while until they felt calm again. The birds had flown on immediately; there was nothing to prevent their taking up their journey again. Ordinarily Linda would have been apprehensive of a take-off in so small a space, but after her landing, she felt confident. The autogiro rose instantly, almost vertically, and they were on their course again. "I'm going to get Dad to buy me an autogiro!" Nancy announced. "This has decided me." "Me too!" agreed Linda. "But you'll have a big Bellanca!" Nancy said. "Lou told me you put in the order." "I may not have, after we try that ocean trip," returned the other girl. "We may be ship-wrecked and picked up by some boat----" "So long as you are picked up, it'll be O.K.... Oh, Linda, I think you are just marvelous!" "Thanks, Nance. But I don't deserve the praise yet. Wait till I earn it." Only a short distance stretched between them and Birmingham now, and Linda covered it in record time. Safe and sound she brought the autogiro down on the airport before four o'clock in the afternoon. Turning it over to the authorities, and giving her instructions about the other plane, which was to be ready the following day, Linda summoned a taxi and asked to be driven to the best hotel. The rest of the day was their own, and the girls enjoyed it thoroughly, eating a luxurious dinner, and attending a show afterward. On their way home from the theater, Nancy asked more questions about Linda's proposed trans-Atlantic flight, and the latter told her everything--even to the story of the enemy whom she and Louise most feared: Bess Hulbert. "But I don't see why you should worry about her," said Nancy. "She wouldn't dare come back to the United States again." "I'm not so sure of that. Now that some time has passed, she'll think everyone's forgotten about her crimes." "I hope not," replied Nancy, optimistically. Little did the girls think, as they discussed Bess Hulbert, that evening, that they would run into her the following day, just as Linda was fearing might happen at some time or another. It all happened suddenly, at the field of the airplane construction company in Nashville, Tennessee, where Linda had delivered the second plane without any mishap. She had just received the president's signature on the delivery card, and was about to summon a taxi, when the man made a generous suggestion. "If you girls can wait till tomorrow," he told them, "I can have you taken north by plane. We are making a delivery at Springfield, Illinois, and St. Louis isn't much out of the way." "That will be fine!" exclaimed Linda, gratefully. "Because we both have grown to hate trains. They crawl so." "Worms instead of birds," remarked Nancy, thinking of the dangerous mistake they had made the previous day. "Besides," added Linda, "we will get there so much more quickly, even though we had thought something of taking a sleeper." "O.K. Then I will introduce you to your pilot, and you can make your arrangements." He turned to a mechanic who was standing by. "Joe, get Miss Mason to come over here." Then, to the girls he explained, "Your pilot happens to be a young lady--one of our saleswomen." Nancy and Linda both smiled rather proudly. It was nice to find that women were everywhere taking their places in aviation. The false name was misleading; Linda had not a suspicion that "Miss Mason" was Bess Hulbert, although she remembered later that the girl had masqueraded in Plattsburg as "Anna Smith." But the moment the girl came toward them, Linda recognized her, and had the satisfaction at least of seeing her turn deathly pale. Noticing Linda's gasp of astonishment, Nancy turned to her questioningly. "It's Bess Hulbert!" she whispered, hoarsely. "What's that?" demanded the president of the corporation. "Nothing," answered Linda. "Only--Mr. Harris--we--we've changed our minds about flying back to St. Louis. We'll go by train." "But why?" demanded the man, as Miss Hulbert came nearer. "Pardon me, but is it something personal? You know Miss Mason, perhaps?" "To Miss Carlton's sorrow!" was Nancy's quick and bitter retort. "I think you had better hear all about the kind of woman you have in your employ!" "No! No!" protested Bess Hulbert, who was now near enough to hear the slur, and who appeared desperately frightened. "Give me a chance to talk to Miss Carlton alone. I don't know this other person!" At a loss to know what to say, the man looked helplessly at Linda. "No. Perhaps we had better go," decided Linda. "Please give me a chance!" begged Bess. "Ten minutes--alone." She looked imploringly at Mr. Harris, who nodded immediately, and started towards the building. Bess reached for Linda's arm, and clung to it desperately, as a beggar might appeal for alms. "I know what you think of me," she said. "But I'm so sorry, so frightfully sorry! Won't you have mercy on me--let bygones be bygones, if I give you my word of honor I've reformed?" Receiving no reply, she continued excitedly: "It's true that I tried to snatch your father's business, but oh, I was desperate! If you could know what it is to be poor--to have an ambition to fly, and not be able to fulfill it! Oh, Miss Carlton, you ought to understand what the longing is! Suppose you didn't have a father to buy you a plane! Remember, I had to fly an old Jenny from the Army, while you piloted an Arrow Sport!" "But you wrecked my Arrow," Linda reminded her. "Yes. In a fit of jealousy. I'm sorry. Oh, please believe that I am truly sorry now! And if you let me go ahead without showing me up, and if I can win that prize for the flight to Paris, I'll buy you a new plane. Honest I will! I'll give you a written promise!" "But why should I make it possible for you to win the prize, when Miss Haydock and I want to win it ourselves?" countered Linda. "To be sporting! Oh, won't you please! You see, I now owe Kitty Clavering ten thousand dollars, and I can never repay her unless I win. I've got a job here, but it would take me years to save that much.... If you throw me into prison, I'll never get out of debt. It will ruin my life." "Didn't you try to ruin Linda's life?" put in Nancy. "No--only the plane. I didn't mean to kill you, Miss Carlton! I'm not so bad as that! I'd never do anything like that again--I've learned my lesson, living these months in a constant dread of arrest and disgrace.... Maybe you haven't heard that my brother is engaged to Kitty Clavering," she added, changing the subject. "But he could never marry her if I brought a terrible disgrace on the family!" In the face of these arguments and entreaties, Linda was silent. Never in her life had she been confronted with such a momentous decision. "When do you plan to fly across the ocean?" she asked, stalling for time. "April. Early in the month, I hope." "With another girl?" "No. Alone." "No mechanic--no navigator with you?" "No. I'm relying a lot on luck." "That's a bad idea. You better get somebody to help you." Bess Hulbert's eyes lighted up with joy. "You are going to let me go?" she cried, snatching Linda's hand in relief. "Oh, you angel!" "I'm not sure yet," replied Linda. "I'll have to talk it over with Lou--Miss Haydock. After all, she has a right to some say in the matter.... But meanwhile, my friend and I do not care to go by plane with you to St. Louis." "You won't trust me! Even now, when you have my confession--when I tell you I've reformed?" "Sorry," replied Linda, coldly. "But a burnt child dreads the fire. So I don't feel like risking it.... Now, if we decide to let you off, it is just as you said, because of the sport of the thing--to give you a chance to compete for the big honor. But Miss Haydock and I could never really trust you again." Bess Hulbert sighed; she was slowly but surely learning that dishonesty did not pay. "You are going to tell Mr. Harris?" she asked. "No, I guess not," replied Linda. "That wouldn't do us any good.... We want to get to a hotel now, and look up our trains, and change our clothing. Can you get us a taxi?" "Certainly," replied Bess, meekly. How different she was from the haughty girl they had met at the Flying Club in the fall! "And when shall I hear definitely from you?" "If we decide to take any steps against you, we'll inform the officials this week, and you'll hear from them. But I wouldn't run away this time--you have an even chance of getting free, if you stick to the job. And, if you hear nothing before the tenth of March, say, you can go ahead with your plans." "Thank you! Thank you!" cried the older girl, rushing off to do as she was told. The taxi appeared in a few minutes, and when Nancy and Linda were finally alone, the former regarded her friend with wonder and admiration. "You're actually going to let her go, aren't you, Linda!" she asked. "What do you think?" asked the other. Nancy shrugged her shoulders. "You're doing the big thing, of course, but I don't believe in your place I could do it. I'd want my revenge.... Anyhow, I don't really think she'll win that prize." "What makes you say that?" "Not enough preparation. Not a good enough plane--she's spending less than ten thousand dollars, apparently.... And, well, it just wouldn't be right." Linda laughed, but she knew that Nancy was absolutely loyal to her. CHAPTER XVIII _Rivals_ When Linda got back to the boarding-house on Sunday afternoon, she dashed eagerly up to her room to tell the news to Louise. But her chum was not there. "Where is Lou?" she called to the landlady. "Out with Mr. Mackay," replied the woman, smiling. There was nothing to do but wait, so Linda tried to busy herself with her studies. But for once she could not get her mind off the subject of Bess Hulbert, and concentrate. About five o'clock Louise finally arrived. She looked radiantly happy. "I've got something thrilling to tell you, Linda!" she exclaimed, giving the other girl a hug. "And I have something not so thrilling to tell you!" returned Linda. "Well, out with it! Let's get the bad news over first!" Louise took off her hat and coat and settled down in the arm-chair beside the window. Her eyes took on a dreamy expression. "I met Bess Hulbert!" Linda announced, expecting Louise to jump into the air at the startling fact. But she did no such thing; she took the information with the utmost calm. "Well, of all things," she remarked. "Where?" "At an airplane company in Nashville, Tennessee. And Lou, she confessed everything." "Might as well," muttered her room-mate. "We knew it all anyway." "She put up a touching plea for forgiveness. Why, she even promised to pay me for the Pursuit, if I didn't turn her over to the authorities." "And what did you say?" "That I couldn't decide, without talking to you.... Now, what do you think?" "I think that she ought to be put into prison, of course!" replied Louise. "But it's up to you, Linda. I'll be too busy for the next few months to be bothered prosecuting criminals.... You see, I'm engaged to Ted!" "Engaged!" Though Linda had expected this to happen, she had no idea it would come so soon. Somehow, she thought Louise would not settle anything definitely until after the flight to Paris. "Yes, that's my thrilling news! Aren't you pleased, Linda?" "Of course I am, darling! I think it's wonderful.... I was just being selfish--wondering whether it would interfere with our flight." "No indeed it won't! I told Ted I wouldn't consider giving that up. We're not going to be married until June." "Then I'll have you three months more!" cried Linda, joyfully. "Whoopee! Long enough to finish our course here. After that we probably should have been separated anyway, because you know I expect to take a job." "You have to be my maid-of-honor," Louise informed her. "That will be a job for you." "The kind of job Aunt Emily would approve of. I'll be tickled to death, of course, Lou." "I'm going home at Easter," continued the other girl, "and Ted is coming too. We'll make all our plans then. You expect to go home for the holidays too, don't you? We have a week." "I thought something of going over to New Castle, to see how my Bellanca is coming along. Then I'd go back to Spring City for the rest of the time." She did not add that she had been hoping Louise would go with her; such a suggestion was out of the question now. "Suppose Bess Hulbert beats us, and our trip has to be canceled," remarked Louise. "Aren't you taking an awful chance letting her off?" "Yes, but I'd hate myself if I prosecuted her just because I was afraid of her as a rival. In fact, that's the very reason I'm inclined to let her off--because of the sporting side of the thing. If she weren't planning to compete for this prize, I'm sure I'd have her held for smuggling, anyway, for it would be a difficult matter to prove that she did something to injure my plane." "You're a queer girl, Linda," observed her companion. "You can be so much more impersonal than most of our sex. I admire you for it." Study was out of the question for that evening, because Louise just had to talk, and this time Linda humored her, listening in amusement to the girl's praises of Ted Mackay, and her rosy dreams of the future. In the days that followed Louise tried to settle down to work, but she discovered it to be impossible. Her mind was completely absorbed with her trousseau, her wedding, the little house she and Ted meant to buy and furnish. The only thing about flying that interested her at all was the trans-Atlantic trip; for this she had not lost her enthusiasm. April arrived, bringing the Easter vacation, for the holiday fell late that year. The girls parted, to meet again at Spring City a day or two later. Linda considered herself exceptionally fortunate to make the trip to New Castle by air. One of the students who owned a plane happened to be flying east for the week's vacation, and offered to take her with him. The weather was delightful, and her visit wholly satisfactory. The Bellanca would be ready for her by the first week of May. She boarded a train back to Spring City, and arrived only a day after Louise. But that one day had been sufficient to spread the news of the latter's engagement all over the little town, and in spite of the fact that social affairs had slowed down for Lent, she was being entertained by everyone. Linda went directly home and found her Aunt Emily anxiously waiting for her. "There's a tea at the Flying Club, dear," Miss Carlton told her, almost before she had removed her hat and coat. "And Kitty has phoned twice for you." "Then I'll have to go right away, I suppose," laughed Linda. "You do love to get me into society, don't you, Aunt Emily?" "Somebody has to keep up that end of it," replied the older woman. "But first, before you go, I want to talk to you.... About that flight to Paris." Linda stood perfectly still, unable to keep from trembling. In these three months that had passed since Christmas, neither had ever mentioned the subject, although the girl knew that her father had performed his mission as he promised her on New Year's day. Now, at this late date, was her aunt going to put forth objections? She waited tensely for the latter to continue. "I gave your father my word that I wouldn't do anything to keep you from going," said Miss Carlton, "and you must admit that I have kept to it. But circumstances have changed. I think I have a right, and a duty, to speak now." "Why--now?" stammered Linda. "What has changed?" She was unable to follow her aunt's reasoning. "Because of Louise's engagement--of course. It wouldn't be fair to Ted Mackay for her to take a risk like that. You must think of him, Linda." Linda fingered her coat nervously, wondering whether she was being selfish. "But Ted is willing for Lou to go," she objected. "And she's crazy about it herself." "Because she cares so much for you, my dear--not because she cares for the flight itself. If you weren't going, you know she'd never think of attempting it alone." Linda smiled; how could she tell her aunt, without appearing conceited, that Louise was not capable of such a feat? "Lou hasn't had enough experience, Aunt Emily," she finally said. "But she has been at school as long as you have. And she accompanied you on most of your flights last summer.... No, dear--she doesn't care the way you do. And I don't want you to be selfish." "All right, Aunt Emily, I'll talk it over with her," agreed Linda, as she went up to her bedroom to change into an afternoon dress for the tea. All her joyousness at seeing the almost-completed Bellanca had suddenly vanished at her aunt's warning; she felt blue again, just as she had that day before Christmas when she offered to turn her money over to her father. In a way things were worse now, for she could not go to her chum for sympathy, as on the previous occasion. That would be taking an unfair advantage, literally forcing Louise to accompany her. She dressed quickly and drove to the Flying Club in her sports roadster, anxious to get away from her own unhappy thoughts. Kitty Clavering, in a flowered chiffon, and sporting a lovely diamond on her left hand, came to greet her immediately, and in the congratulations and the gayety that followed, Linda forgot her troubles for the time being. Louise, who was the center of attraction, was completely surrounded by her friends, and it was some minutes before Linda had a chance to speak to her. "Have you a date for tonight, Lou?" she asked. "Has Ted come yet?" "No--to both questions," replied Louise. "I promised the family I'd stay home, for some aunts and cousins are coming. Now that I've caught my man, they want to look me over," she added flippantly. "And Ted won't be here till tomorrow. Why? What's on?" "I--I'd like to have a talk with you about our flight," said Linda. "I was going to ask you to come over to our house and stay all night." "That's O.K. with me. Only you'll have to come to our house instead." The conversation was interrupted by Ralph Clavering, who had spied Linda for the first time. He took her hand impulsively, and held it so long that she was forced to pull it away. "Where have you been?" he demanded, irritably. "I've been home from college for four days, just waiting for you!" "I stopped at New Castle to see my Bellanca," Linda explained, smiling at his impatience. In spite of everything she did and said to the contrary, he always acted as if he owned her. "Linda! You're not really counting on that ocean trip?" he demanded, making no effort to hide his disapproval. (Why, oh why, she wondered, is everybody against me?) "I am, though," she answered. "Louise won't go with you now, will she?" "She fully expected to, when I said good-by to her at school. Of course her family may have changed their minds about letting her." "I shouldn't think Mackay would permit such a thing!" asserted Ralph, masterfully. "Pull yourself together, Ralph!" teased Linda. "This isn't Queen Victoria's time--when men say what women can or can't do!" "Well, if she were my wife--or my fiancée----" "Which she isn't! Come on, Ralph, let's dance. So you'll get over your grouch." "It isn't a grouch. It's genuine worry.... Listen, Linda: if you're bound to fly to Paris, take me along with you, instead of Louise. Then at least we could die together." "Don't be so morbid!" cried Linda. "Nobody's going to die. Besides, I couldn't take you. The whole point of the thing would be lost. The prize goes to the _girl_ or _girls_ who fly without a man's help." "You could explain that I wasn't a help, only a hindrance," he suggested. "That I don't know half so much about piloting a plane as you do, and nothing at all about navigating it." "No good, Ralph. Come on, let's dance, as I suggested before. And talk about something else. How you're going to entertain me tomorrow night, for instance." The young man's mood changed instantly, and the rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly. Indeed, it was with difficulty that Linda broke away at six o'clock, in order to have time to dash home to tell her aunt of her plans, and to put some clothing into her over-night bag. Louise's family were just ready to sit down to dinner when Linda arrived, and as the former had explained, there was an assortment of relatives. But both girls went out of their way to be agreeable, and when they went up to Louise's room a little after ten, they left only the most pleasant impressions. "Now tell me about the Bellanca," urged Louise, thinking this was Linda's reason for wanting to see her alone. "Oh, it's marvelous, of course. More wonderful than its pictures." But her tone lacked enthusiasm. "What's the matter, Linda?" inquired the other girl. "What has gone wrong?" "Nothing.... Only, Aunt Emily thinks I'm selfish to keep you to your promise. She wants me to urge you to give up the flight." "Don't you just love it the way other people always want to run your life?" remarked Louise. "With all due respect to your Aunt Emily, you can tell her from me, that I'm going! That's all there is to it. If I were married, it would be different. But I'm not!" "Oh, Lou, you really want to?" cried Linda, hugging her joyfully. "I'm not being selfish--and dragging you with me?" "Absolutely not. We've set the date, and we're going!" So Linda Carlton went happily to sleep that night, believing that everything was settled. Little did she think that on the following day two momentous events were to take place that would entirely disrupt her plans. It all happened at the breakfast table, with the abruptness of an electric storm. Mr. Haydock spied the news first, in the paper which lay at his place. His mouth fell open and he stared at the sheet in dismay. "'Mabel and Joyce Lightcap take off in tri-motored Ford for Paris!'" he read aloud to Linda and Louise. "What?" gasped his daughter, jumping up from her chair and staring at the headlines over his shoulder. "'In quest of the twenty-five-thousand-dollar prize offered by Mrs. Rodman Hallowell to the first girls who successfully fly from New York to Paris without a man,'" he continued. Linda sat listening, speechless. Louise went on reading where her father had stopped. "'The Misses Lightcap, who are sisters, twenty-two and twenty-three years of age, had kept their plans secret until last night, when they arrived at Roosevelt Field in the tri-motored plane. They left at dawn this morning. Weather reports are favorable, and the radio will announce their progress throughout the course of the day and night....'" Louise dropped back into her chair, not daring to show Linda any sympathy, lest her chum burst out crying. She was probably the only person who realized what that flight meant to Linda Carlton. "Of course they may not get there," observed Mr. Haydock, soothingly. "You girls may still get your chance." "Perhaps it's all for the best," observed his wife, unable to conceal her feeling of relief at the knowledge that now Louise probably would not go. Still Linda said nothing. Silently she ate her grapefruit and drank her coffee. But she believed she would choke if she tried to swallow any toast. At last the ordeal was over, and she and Louise rose from the table, about to go into the living-room with the newspaper, when a telegram arrived for the latter, containing another startling piece of news, this time from Ted Mackay. "Transferred to Wichita, Kansas," Louise read aloud. "Beginning May first. Can't we be married now?... Arriving Spring City tonight." Louise dropped into a chair and burst out laughing. What a relief from the tension! "Might as well do it!" she cried. "Now that these girls have stolen the honors!" "You really would like to be married next week?" inquired her mother. "Yes, if Ted is going so far away. Of course I'll wait to see if these Lightcap women really arrive, but we ought to hear tonight...." She led Linda up to their bedroom. "I really didn't want to go back to school anyway," she explained, when the girls were alone. "I've learned all I wanted to." "You mean you'll always have Ted, in case things go wrong with your plane?" asked Linda. It was the first time she had spoken since she had heard the breath taking news. "That's about it. I could never hope to learn as much as he knows. Besides, I don't want to. Just have a license to fly--that's my ambition." Linda began to put her things into the over-night bag, mechanically, as if she hardly knew what she was doing. "I think I had better go home now, Lou, because you'll have a million things to do if you want to get married next week. You had better get right to work." "I will, though I guess mother'll take charge of most everything," she replied, her mind already occupied with the plans for her trousseau and her wedding. The flight to Paris was forgotten. "I can't have engraved invitations," she muttered, half to herself. "I'll have to telephone everybody. But I guess Miss Bonner can rush my wedding-dress through, she's always so obliging----" Linda kissed her good-by, and went downstairs. In another minute she was alone in her roadster. Alone! Yes, that was the word. Completely alone! Bitterly she thought that there was no one in all the world who would not be thankful that her dream was shattered. Everybody--her aunt, Ralph Clavering, Ted Mackay, her father--yes, and Louise herself--every single person would heave a sigh of relief at the change in the plans. She entered the house noiselessly, unwilling to see her aunt yet, for fear the latter would gloat over the news. But soon a desire for information of the flyers got the better of her; she must hear the news. After all, she had to admire their spirit; she must not sulk over her own disappointment like a spoiled child. She went into the library and turned on the radio. Except for her meals, she never left the instrument that day, listening to the reports as they came over the wireless. First the plane was sighted off Newfoundland; then a ship identified it half-way across the ocean. At supper time the bulletin came through that the plane had been seen off the Irish coast, and the newspapers went wild with joy. What a triumph for the feminine sex! Even Amelia Earhart took a man with her! This was new; this was history--great as the moment when the suffrage movement had been won! By evening Linda had succeeded in controlling her own feelings, and was able to rejoice with the rest of the world. She even left the radio and went to a dance with Ralph Clavering, and was somehow able to enjoy herself, although she felt like a different person. The next morning the newspapers blazed forth the story that Mabel and Joyce Lightcap had landed safe and sound in Paris, and would receive their prize that night at a royal reception in their honor. CHAPTER XIX _The Hoax Discovered_ It was Harriman Smith who brought Linda the news that the Lightcap flight was a fraud. Linda had not turned on the radio that morning, when the newspaper flashed forth the story of Mabel and Joyce Lightcap's successful arrival in Paris. While they were over the ocean, Linda had followed their progress with the keenest interest, but now that they were being fêted, it was more than she could bear to listen to the accounts of the celebration. She was just finishing her coffee when Harry burst in. Good old Harry, whom she hadn't seen since Thanksgiving! Here, she thought, was a friend indeed, who would not rejoice with the others merely because she was safe, even though she had to forfeit her greatest ambition. Deep in her heart she knew that he realized her disappointment and sympathized. "You can still win, Linda!" he cried exultantly, pulling her from her chair by grasping both her hands. "The Lightcaps are a fake!" "A fake?" she repeated, in a daze. "Yes. Joyce happens to be a man! Masquerading as a girl! And he's been discovered, of course." Wild with excitement, Linda clutched the boy's hands to steady herself. It was all so impossible, so unbelievable! "Tell me everything!" she demanded. "Are you sure, Harry?" "Positive. So would you be, if you'd turned on your radio, instead of saturating yourself with that sentimental newspaper! Everybody knows it now. Needless to say, they are not getting the prize." Linda felt almost weak as she listened, and she dropped back into her chair to hear the details. "It seems that this Joyce Lightcap is an experienced pilot--a mechanic, too--and he got the idea of winning that twenty-five thousand. So for months he and Mabel--she's his wife--have been living in seclusion, while he allowed his hair to grow and practiced acting the part of a girl. Joyce is a girl's name too, you know, as well as a man's, so his license was O.K. Then, when the big moment came, Mabel got backers to buy the Ford tri-motor plane, and they took off for Paris." "But how did they discover him?" asked Linda. "By the simplest method of all. Somebody noticed his beard!" The answer was so ridiculous that Linda let out a peal of laughter. "You see," explained Harry, "Joyce relied on paint and powder to cover his cheeks and chin during the flight. From what I understand, Mabel's a wonderful talker, but she can't fly very well, and her husband didn't dare take the opportunity to shave. And some smart Johnnie, who kept shouting that no two girls could possibly fly the Atlantic, found himself challenged. He sneaked up near enough to the pair to rub his hands on their faces. Then, of course their game was up." Linda sat silent for a moment, thinking the situation over. At first it appeared impossible, like the plot out of a fantastical musical comedy, but when she remembered how anxious Ralph Clavering had been to go with her, it did not seem so strange. Why, Ralph might have suggested the very thing himself if he had thought of it! "What made you think of coming to tell me, Harry?" she inquired, after a moment. "I wasn't coming to tell you, but to rejoice _with_ you!" he amended. "Linda, dear, you have never been out of my thoughts for a minute these last two days." He paused and looked shyly away from her. "Will you believe it, when I tell you that my heart just bled for you?" "Harry!" she exclaimed hoarsely. "You really cared--for my sake?" "More than I can tell you!" "And I imagined I hadn't a friend," she murmured. "A real friend, I mean, who thought more of my feelings than of my physical safety.... Oh, Harry, I'll never forget this!" There was a deep silence for a moment, a silence filled with understanding and sympathy. Then Linda heard her aunt's voice, calling her from the library. "Can you come in here a minute, dear?" she said. "I want you to look at your new dress." "Certainly," responded her niece, and as Linda rose from her chair she felt as if she were walking on air. The whole world had changed for her in that ten minutes since Harriman Smith's arrival. The young people entered the library together. "Why, good morning Harry," said Miss Carlton, cordially. "I didn't know that Linda had company." "It is a queer time to call, I'll admit," replied Harry. "And I guess I even forgot to apologize. But I do now." "You're excused," smiled the older woman. "At least if you'll be patient while I talk clothes for a moment.... You see, dear," she explained to Linda, "this dress has just come--I ordered it a couple of weeks ago for you when I was shopping in Columbus--and I think it will do nicely for the wedding. Louise's mother just told me that you will be the only attendant--it's too short notice to worry about bridesmaids--and that practically any color you select will do. So I want you to look at this." Taking off the lid of the box, she held up a filmy chiffon dress of the palest apple-blossom. Simply made, with a petaled skirt and a wide pink satin bow at the waist, its delicacy spoke eloquently of spring-time, of weddings, of romance. Yet Linda hardly saw it. "Lovely, Aunt Emily, lovely," she murmured mechanically. "You always have the most perfect taste." Satisfied with her niece's approval, and unaware of the far-away look in the girl's eyes, Miss Carlton turned again to her desk, bidding the young people go off and amuse themselves. "You didn't tell her, Linda!" exclaimed Harry, as they went out to the garage for the sports roadster. "No. She--wouldn't be interested, Harry! Aunt Emily's a dear, but she has no time for airplanes. And she thinks ocean flights are absolutely insane." "But oughtn't you to let her know immediately that the wedding will be postponed? That Louise will go with you now, as she promised?" Linda was silent; she had forgotten how changed her chum's plans were. It would hardly be fair at this late date to ask her to put the wedding aside. Why, even the cake was ordered! "No, Harry, I can't do it now. I'm--I'm not going to take Louise." They had reached the garage, and Linda stooped over to unlock her car. As she did this, she made her decision; it was so simple that she was surprised that she had not thought of it before. "Harry," she said softly, "I'm going to Paris _alone_." Expecting the usual protest, she went on to adjust the spark and the throttle in readiness to start the motor. But no protest came. "Bully for you, Linda!" he cried, throwing his hat into the air, in his enthusiasm. "Those were the words I was hoping to hear!" She raised her head swiftly, and grasped his hand so tightly that it hurt. Here, she repeated to herself, was a real friend! She backed the car out of the garage and they drove to Columbus, where they had lunch in a charming tea-room and attended a matinée afterwards. Because Harriman Smith was working his way through college, his visits back to Spring City were necessarily limited; the unusual treat was doubly delightful to them both on that account. When they returned late in the afternoon, the news of the Lightcap hoax was on everyone's tongue. And naturally, all of Linda's and Louise's friends were asking what these girls would do now. The question confronted Louise herself most seriously, and three times that day she called Linda on the telephone, only to be told by the maid that she was out. Finally, about five o'clock she drove over to the Carltons, and announced her intention of staying until her chum returned. Linda and Harry came in gayly about half-past five. "You quitter!" cried Louise. "Where have you been?" "Joy-riding," laughed the other girl. Then she added seriously, "Don't say anything, Lou! Don't offer to change your plans, and put off your wedding, because I've decided to fly solo!" "Solo!" repeated Louise, in an awed whisper. But it was easy to detect the relief in her tone. "Yes. Grab all the honors for myself! Just like Bess Hulbert. Pure selfishness on my part." Her chum understood her real reason, however, and hugged her tightly in her joy. "You are an angel, Linda! But I know you're capable of doing it, and I'm going to let you. And oh, I'll pray so hard for you to win! No girl ever deserved the honor half so much!" As easily as that it was all settled, and Miss Carlton had to agree, once her brother gave his admiring consent. One concession, however, Linda made to her Aunt Emily and to Louise: she would come back from school the following week to be maid-of-honor at the wedding, just as she had promised. With this agreement Linda returned by train to St. Louis a day or so later. The first person she met at the ground school was Mr. Eckers, her friendly instructor. He was grinning broadly. "Well, Miss Carlton, we've been having some excitement, eh, what?" he remarked, as he shook hands with her. "I should say so," agreed Linda. "I thought my plans were all smashed to pieces." "Funniest thing I ever heard of. But so fool-hardy. As if a man could carry off a thing like that!" "Well, it has been done before you know," Linda reminded him. "Look at that famous Frenchman--Deon de Beaumont--who masqueraded as a woman for so long, and fooled everybody." "True," admitted Mr. Eckers, who besides being an expert pilot, was a well-educated man. "And wasn't it funny the way the King punished him!" "I'm afraid I've forgotten that." "Why, he was forced to continue playing the part of a woman for the rest of his life.... We might suggest the idea to Mrs. Rodman Hallowell." Linda laughed merrily. "Really, though," she said, "I blame the girl more than her husband. It seems to me that she has brought dishonor on all of our sex. Just when we women are working so hard to establish our place in aviation by honest methods. Look at Ruth Nichols, breaking Lindbergh's coast-to-coast record, and Mrs. Keith Miller with her valiant solo flights, and Amelia Earhart and Myrtle Brown holding those responsible positions in big airplane companies--and dozens of us working day after day for commercial and transport licenses! Then for a girl like this Mabel Lightcap, who can scarcely pilot a plane, to try to grab the biggest honors of all! Oh, I tell you, Mr. Eckers, a thing like that hurts!" "But she _didn't_ succeed, my dear child. Don't forget that. Somebody who really is worthy will, I am sure of that." And he gave her an admiring smile. Alone though she was that week, the days passed rapidly, for there was so much to do. Like Lindbergh, the keynote of her flight was preparation, and in this effort, the school, under Mr. Eckers' guidance, gave her plenty of help. Everything about the flight, down to the last detail, was being planned in advance. So busy was she, that she hated to take the time to go to Spring City for Louise's wedding, yet never for a moment was there any thought of breaking her promise. After all, the trip would not consume much time, for she decided to use a commercial air line, thus cutting the hours in half. Nor had she any regrets. The wedding was the loveliest, yet at the same time, the simplest, that she had ever attended; it would remain in her memory as long as she lived. Held at Louise's home, with only her intimate friends present, the whole affair was both informal and delightful. Ted Mackay's radiant happiness, too, was something worth traveling miles to witness. It was natural that Linda shed tears when the time came for parting with her chum. Great distances would separate them for long weeks ahead, there would be lonely hours over the vast black ocean for the young aviatrix when she would long for Louise as she had never wanted anyone before. Yet surely, she reminded herself with a smile through her tears, great happiness lay ahead for them both. She tried to make light of her farewell to her Aunt Emily, for she did not believe that she would see her again before the take-off for Paris. The Bellanca might arrive any day now, and Linda was not going to wait for the date she and Louise had previously set. After a period of test flying, the only thing that would keep her back would be the weather. As soon as the reports were favorable, she would be ready to go. The sooner the better, she thought, as she returned to the school the following morning. But one look at Mr. Eckers' face told her that something had happened--that she was too late! Putting his hand on her shoulder, the man spoke with difficulty. It was almost as if Linda Carlton were his own daughter, so keenly did her disappointments affect him. "My dear," he said gently, "Bess Hulbert took off from New York this morning at dawn for Paris." CHAPTER XX _Linda Takes Off_ It was Linda's custom to read the daily report of the flying weather, and as soon as she heard the news of Bess Hulbert's take-off, she rushed into the office to find out the conditions. It was a lovely day, seeming to promise hours of sunshine and starlight ahead. But the barometer was dropping, and the forecast read, "Storm over the Atlantic tonight." "Storm over the Atlantic!" Linda repeated with a shudder. Although she had disliked Bess Hulbert intensely, she had never hated her with the same violence that Louise had felt, and in the past few weeks, she had almost come to the point where she was willing to forgive her. It was not in Linda Carlton's nature to wish any such vengeance as the report might indicate, even to an enemy. Yet she would not have been human if she had not hoped that something would happen to keep her rival from winning the honors she herself had been working so hard to secure. Something should happen, of course--but nothing too tragic! All day long she went about her work in grim silence, steeling herself to meet disappointment if Bess were finally victorious. The sun continued to shine, and the radio brought frequent reports of the lone flyer, sighted by ships out on the Atlantic Ocean. Dusk set in, and then darkness, and the clouds began to gather. Until ten o'clock that night Linda heard that the other girl was still making progress. Then she turned off the radio and fell sound asleep, thoroughly tired out from work and from suspense. It was shortly after midnight that she was suddenly awakened by a loud clap of thunder, announcing one of those freak storms that sometimes come late in April. The wind was blowing, and the rain pouring down in torrents. A shiver of horror ran through the girl as she peered out of the window into the thick blackness beyond. "Poor Bess!" she muttered. "All alone, too! Where can she be now?" The thought came to her that perhaps she was mistaken, and her rival was already safely beyond the storm area, at this moment pressing on towards Paris. She smiled grimly; how foolish Louise would think her to waste sympathy on a girl who was really a criminal! With this thought she returned to bed, and fell asleep again, to dream herself in an airplane, dashed into icy waters at the hand of the storm. She awakened immediately; it was dawn and she decided to get up, in order to hear the news of Bess Hulbert. The moment the newspaper arrived, she opened it eagerly. "No trace of lone girl flyer!" were the flaming headlines that met her eyes. The paper went on to state that Bess Hulbert--a young girl of twenty-two (she can still lie, thought Linda, knowing that Bess was at least twenty-five) had not been sighted since ten o'clock the preceding evening, when the storm broke. Linda shook her head wearily, and looked out of the window. It was still raining, with a steadiness that gave no promise of clearing in the near future. How dismal and disheartening everything was, though Louise would have reminded her that she had only cause for rejoicing. As soon as she reached the ground school, she went straight to Mr. Eckers' office. The latter had known all along that Bess Hulbert was a competitor for the prize, but he had no idea that she had been an enemy of Linda and Louise. "Looks like two down, Miss Carlton," he remarked lightly, as she entered. "Two down?" repeated Linda. "Miss Hulbert went alone." "I meant two defeats. The Lightcaps first, and then Miss Hulbert." "Oh, I see. But she may get there yet. There wasn't any time limit, Mr. Eckers, you know." "No, but there's a limit to the gasoline she could carry. That little boat Miss Hulbert was flying has nothing like the capacity of your Bellanca.... No, I'm sure that storm marked the end of her flight, although I sincerely hope that it isn't the end of Miss Hulbert. She may have been picked up by some vessel." "Yes, I hope so," agreed Linda. "But wasn't it hard luck for her?" "It was only to be expected," replied the man gravely. "She must have known that she was taking an awful chance. If it had been you who had wanted to go at this particular time, I would have done all in my power to keep you home, Miss Carlton--even in a Bellanca Model J!" "I wouldn't have taken the chance myself, with that weather report," she assured him. "I'm sure of that. I can't understand any sensible pilot's doing it. She must have been in an awful hurry to beat you!" Linda was silent, thinking what chances Bess Hulbert had taken, in the short time since she had known her. Flying low that day she had met her, perilously near to house-tops and children; stealing Linda's father's business by a lie to the Convent sisters; smuggling goods into the country; putting a leak in the gas tank of the Arrow Pursuit! Then, most dangerous of all to herself, daring a solo flight in a small plane, that was bought with borrowed money--and in the face of adverse weather predictions! Yet, Linda mused grimly, when people read the newspapers' account of Miss Hulbert's disaster, they would shake their heads and remark how unsafe flying was! How cruel and unfair it was to the progress of aviation! All day long Linda worked inside of the hangar, for the storm continued, and now and then she listened in on the radio for reports of the missing aviatrix. By night people were giving up hope of ever seeing Bess Hulbert again, and the evening papers spoke darkly of "One more flyer gone to her watery grave." There was a telegram for Linda from her aunt when she reached home, urging her to take warning at the terrible outcome of Miss Hulbert's attempt, and to give up her flight. Linda drew down the corners of her mouth as she read the message. "Of course Aunt Emily can't understand the difference between Bess Hulbert's flight and mine," she said to herself, hopelessly. "I never could convince her, if I tried a thousand years, because she thinks flying is all haphazard, dependent on luck." Nevertheless she sent a long night-letter to her aunt and another to her father, pointing out the difference and giving her reasons for wishing to continue with her plans. A week passed before the storm abated and the sun shone brightly again, but Bess Hulbert was never heard from. Perhaps the only person who sincerely mourned her loss was Kitty Clavering, who still believed in the girl's goodness. Even Lieutenant Hulbert had constantly lived in fear of his sister's tendency towards dishonor and disgrace, and was almost relieved that she could not sin any more. Linda worked steadily on, making her preparations as before, studying her charts, watching the weather reports, and waiting for her plane to be delivered. The first day of May the Bellanca arrived, flown by Myrtle Brown herself! Linda was overjoyed both by the marvelous mono-plane and at seeing this charming aviatrix, so capable and so well-known to everyone in the air service. Moreover, her wishes for good luck and success to Linda in her ocean flight were so sincere and so real that Linda felt tremendously encouraged. It was something to have Myrtle Brown believe in her. The Bellanca was indeed a wonderful plane. With its height of eight feet and a half and its wing span of fifty feet, it looked like a huge bird, strong and fearless, ready to conquer the air and the ocean. Linda gazed at it rapturously for some minutes without speaking. Then she began to examine it in detail. How much more everything meant to her than when she had been presented with her Pursuit! She looked at the metal propeller, the navigation lights, the front and rear tanks for gasoline, and inspected the powerful Wright J 6 three hundred h.p. nine-cylinder engine, which had been so carefully selected and super-tested during assembly at the Wright Aëronautical Corporation's plant. This indeed, was a marvel of modern science, Linda thought, proud to be the possessor. And the lubrication system, with its rocker-arm bearing from the cockpit! But perhaps best of all were the instruments--instruments which had been vastly improved since Lindbergh's flight in 1927, which were going to inspire Linda with the deepest sense of confidence as she journeyed alone over the ocean. The tachometer, or revolution counter, which would tell her that her engine was running smoothly; the oil-pressure gauge, the altimeter measuring the height at which she was flying, the earth inductor compass, which would keep her true to her course--and many others, including even a clock that would tick off the hours of her lonely flight. It was all perfect, she thought, and the next two days of test-flying proved that she was right. And there would be no doubt about its ability to complete the trip, for its range was guaranteed to be five thousand miles in forty-two hours, thus assuring her ample time to get to Paris. On the morning of May third, Linda said good-by to Mr. Eckers and to her other friends at the school, and, with a promise of secrecy from them, took off for New York. Without the slightest mishap she landed the Bellanca at Curtis Field for another inspection, and went to her hotel. But she was not going to call her father or her aunt on the telephone, or even send them a wire; the longer they were unaware of her starting, the shorter time for them to worry. It would be easier for her too, without any touching farewells. Better to keep emotion entirely out of the whole proposition! The weather forecast was favorable for the following day, promising clear weather and a warm temperature, and she was anxious to be off. Accordingly, she awakened at dawn, and after eating a hearty breakfast, taxied over to Roosevelt Field, where she had given instructions for her Bellanca to be wheeled. There it stood in the brightening daylight--beautiful and powerful, ready to do its part in the epoch-making event. A number of pilots had gathered to speed Linda on her way, and she smiled at them cordially. "Everything all right?" she asked the chief inspector. "O.K. The boat looks as if she was anxious to be off!" "So am I!" agreed Linda, tucking her chicken sandwiches and her thermos bottles of coffee into the cockpit. "Please start her up!" She climbed into the plane without the slightest misgiving lest this would be her last contact with solid earth in this world. There was no assumed bravery on her part, for she felt sure that she was going to reach Paris the following day. The engine hummed smoothly, as she taxied the plane along the ground. Then it nosed upward into the air, and she was off, waving good-by to her companions as she flew from their sight. Linda Carlton had started for Paris! Along the coast she continued to Cape Cod, then across Nova Scotia. The sun shone brightly and the engine took on speed. She passed over ice, and through some clouds, but she did not feel the cold, for her heart was singing with joy. Everything was going so beautifully! As long as daylight lasted, Linda thoroughly enjoyed the flight, but as darkness came on, a sickening sensation of loneliness overwhelmed her. Below--yet not far below, for she was flying low enough to utilize the cushion of air near the water's surface--stretched the vast black ocean. Not a ship in sight; she was absolutely, utterly alone! For the first time since her take-off, she thought of Bess Hulbert, and the fate she had met, and a shiver went through her, making her suddenly cold.... Her friends were so far away.... This seemed like another world.... Desperately trying to shake off this pall that was possessing her, she reached for the coffee, and tried to drink. But she could not swallow; the hot liquid seemed to choke her. Recalling a childhood habit which she had formed during illnesses, she began to repeat hymns and poems to herself. But curiously enough, the lines that came to her most vividly were the gruesome words of the Ancient Mariner: "Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide, wide, sea-- And never a soul took pity on My soul in agony----" For half an hour perhaps, even while she was busy watching her instruments and piloting the plane, the verse kept repeating itself over and over in her mind, holding her powerfully in its grip, until her desolation became agony. Then she happened to look to one side, and she suddenly saw a star, reminding her of a friendly universe and watchful all-seeing God, and her fear vanished miraculously, as quickly and mysteriously as it had come. Heaving a sigh of relief, knowing that she had conquered, and that she need not dread such an oppression again, she reached for her coffee, and this time drank it with immense enjoyment. She ate a sandwich too, and the meal tasted like a feast. In a few minutes she was singing again. Since the engine and the weather were so perfect, sleep was the only enemy which now arose to contend with her. Bravely she fought it off, keeping herself awake by whistling and even talking to herself. When her little clock registered one A.M. (by New York time), dawn began to appear; the temperature rose, and finally the sun came out. Then all of Linda's drowsiness abruptly vanished; there was so much to see as she flew along. Remembering the mirages she had often read about, she was amazed to see how real they looked, when they appeared now and then, making her almost positive that she had reached some island, and was off her course, until she verified herself by the chart and the compass. Presently she sighted some ships and tried to wave to them, but she did not get a reply. It did not occur to her that the boats were eagerly keeping a watch for her plane; ready to report by their radios the news of the valiant young flyer to the waiting world! Hours later she sighted some smaller boats--fishing boats--and she knew that she must be near to the Irish coast. Over southern Ireland she flew, along the coast of England, following as closely as she could the course which Lindbergh had taken. When at last she recognized the English Channel, her heart leaped with joy. The long journey was almost ended! Three o'clock it was by New York time, but nine by Paris time when, tired but smiling, she brought the Bellanca safely down at Le Bourget, beating Lindbergh's time by a little more than an hour. The first solo flight made by a woman across the Atlantic was accomplished! CHAPTER XXI _Conclusion_ Linda Carlton was almost half-way across the ocean when her Aunt Emily learned that she had started. The older woman had been away from home all that day, visiting relatives in the country, peacefully enjoying the lovely spring weather, and little thinking that her beloved niece was having the greatest adventure of her life. Miss Carlton returned after supper to find her brother waiting for her with the awe-inspiring news. Smiling with an effort, he held up the newspaper to her startled eyes. "BEAUTIFUL YOUNG GIRL TAKES OFF IN SOLO FLIGHT FROM NEW YORK FOR PARIS," she read in glaring print. Underneath were her niece's name and age, and a brief account of her record thus far in aviation: the date of her winning her private pilot's license, her membership in the "Caterpillar Club," her course at the ground school in St. Louis. "You mustn't faint, Emily," said Mr. Carlton. "It isn't done by women now-a-days, you know." His sister laughed, which was exactly what he wanted her to do. These older people must be as brave as Linda herself. "Linda's going to get there all right!" he assured her triumphantly. "You wait and see!" And, in spite of Bess Hulbert's recent disaster, everybody else who knew her said the same thing about Linda Carlton. When that young lady started out to accomplish anything, she usually put it through. Yet when the news came over the radio that she had actually arrived in Paris, strangers and friends alike went wild with delight. At last here was a triumph for the feminine sex that could not be disputed. A girl of eighteen had flown alone, in less than a day and a half, across the Atlantic to France! All the world was ready to pay her homage, the kind they had paid to Lindbergh a few years before. Unlike Lindbergh, however, Linda Carlton was not greeted upon her arrival at Le Bourget by any great crowd. Perhaps the people had been disgusted by the Lightcaps' deception, or perhaps the reporting stations had lost trace of the Bellanca among so many airplanes over the Channel.... So, without any ostentation, the lone pilot taxied along the field, and shut off her motor, just as if she were an ordinary flyer, visiting from England. The regular officials of the field came out to welcome her, according to the usual custom. Stiff from her long flight, Linda asked them to help her get out of the cockpit. "A long trip?" asked one of the men in English, for he did not think Linda was a French girl. "Yes," she replied, smiling. "New York." "What?" cried the man excitedly. "You are Linda Carlton?" His arms actually shook as he lifted her out of the plane. "C'est la Bellanca!" exclaimed another official, who had been examining the plane. To Linda's amazement and amusement, he suddenly kissed her on both cheeks. "Oh, but we are ashamed!" apologized the man who spoke English, whose name was Georges Renier. "No committee to greet you! No band!" "I'm thankful," returned Linda, as her feet touched solid earth, and she swayed against Renier, catching hold of his arm to steady herself. "I am so tired! Please, please, don't plan any celebration tonight--just send a cable to my father! If I could go to sleep...." "Of course you can! These men here will take care of everything, while I take you to my wife. And we won't tell anybody where you are till tomorrow." "That is so good of you!" murmured Linda, deeply grateful. In less than fifteen minutes, everything had been arranged, and she found herself in a charming little apartment with Renier's wife taking care of her, providing her with a simple supper, even helping her to get ready for bed. She was a young woman, perhaps half a dozen years older than Linda herself, and was tremendously flattered by the visit, although Linda thought the gratitude should be all on her side. Like her husband, Madame Renier spoke English fluently--an asset to Linda, whose French was decidedly rusty. "Shall I lend you some clothes!" asked her hostess, not noticing a little bag which her husband had deposited in the living-room. "I am a little shorter and stouter, but perhaps I can get my friend next door to lend us...." "No, no!" replied Linda. "Thank you, but I have my bag right here. You see the Bellanca was built to carry two persons, at one hundred and seventy pounds each--" (both girls laughed at the idea of Linda's weighing so much)--"and so as I came alone, I could easily bring baggage without overloading the plane." "Then you really expected to get here!" Linda nodded. "I had such confidence in my Bellanca," she explained. "I really believe that almost any pilot, granted good weather, could fly the ocean in my Bellanca.... No, the only thing I was afraid of was that some other girl would beat me!" "But you have beaten every other woman in the world!" cried the French girl, in admiration. "Not beaten--except as far as the prize is concerned," amended Linda. "Only pointed the way, I hope." A few minutes later she was fast asleep in the pretty rose-covered bed in Madame Renier's guest room, while the news of her safe arrival was flashed around the world. When she awoke at noon the following day, she was famous. No longer could Linda Carlton belong to Jeanne Renier or to herself; she was a public figure now, to be fêted and honored everywhere. Already a luncheon was scheduled for her at the American Embassy, where all the important officials of Paris would be on hand to pay tribute to her daring feat. In a simple but charming dress of a soft dull blue, and a close-fitting hat of the same color, she clung to Jeanne Renier's arm as the Ambassador escorted her to the seat of honor at the luncheon. Desperately trying to overcome her shyness, she tried to smile at everybody in the room, but her eyelids fluttered over her blue eyes, and she clasped her friend's hand under the table. The food, the speeches in her eulogy, the vast banquet hall, were all impressive, but it was only when some little French girls were allowed to come in and present Linda with flowers that she really smiled naturally. Impulsively she threw her arms around them all, while the tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, I do thank you--all!" she exclaimed, and that was all the speech she could make. But Linda Carlton's modesty won her more friends than any eloquent oration of fine-sounding words. France took her to its heart, just as it had taken Lindbergh, and the world rejoiced that here was a girl as worthy as the boy who had flown several years before. After that luncheon, engagements followed each other in rapid succession; a reception by the city of Paris, another given by the President of France, a third by the foremost flyers of the country. She was presented with the Cross of the Legion of Honor, and later, at a dinner given by Mrs. Rodman Hallowell in her Paris home, Linda received her check for twenty-five thousand dollars. Linda's mail was by this time so large that she had to engage two secretaries to sort and answer the important letters, and to turn down the fabulous offers which came every day, to lure her into the movies. The news that made the girl happiest, however, was her father's reply to her cablegram. "Sailing immediately," it said. "Wait for me in Paris." He was coming on a fast boat, she knew. Her Daddy! Five days at the most to wait--possibly only four now! Five days that would pass quickly. In spite of all her public acclaim, Linda refused to stay anywhere but with Madame Renier, although the Ambassador's wife had extended her a cordial invitation, and the most luxurious hotels in Paris offered her suites without any charge. But with her new friend she was happiest; Jeanne was in a way taking Louise's place, filling the gap that her chum's marriage had created. One offer, however, that came to Linda pleased her tremendously, although it was not in the nature of a contract. A well-known flyer wanted to buy her Bellanca, at the price Linda had paid for it, and she was only too delighted to accept his proposition. For months she had been wondering what she would do with the plane when the flight was over, for she did not want to keep such an expensive one for everyday use. Besides, ever since her trip to Birmingham for the school, she had been craving an autogiro. So she asked Georges Renier to take care of the transaction for her, and she added twenty-two thousand dollars to her prize money. Her father's boat arrived at last, and she flew with her friends to meet him at the dock. How wonderful it was to see him again! The moment Linda spied him among the crowd of arrivals she broke away from Jeanne Renier and leaped into his arms in rapture. The self-reliant young woman who had flown the Atlantic alone was a child again in her father's arms. * * * * * Transcriber's notes Spelling and grammar errors were corrected Page 15: [believed that herself.) ... "But perhaps we could] was changed to believed that herself.)... "But perhaps we could Page 166: ["Locked up? Kidnaped?" demanded Ralph] was changed to "Locked up? Kidnapped?" demanded Ralph Page 190: [used to these sort of affairs, found the] was changed to used to these sorts of affairs, found the Page 233: [About five oclock Louise finally arrived.] was changed to About five o'clock Louise finally arrived. 'O. K.' was changed to the majority 'O.K.' for consistency. Italicized words and phrases are presented by surrounding the text with _underscores_. 
45457	----	[Illustration: He looked as if he meant to hit her, and Linda recoiled in terror. (Page 50)] LINDA CARLTON'S ISLAND ADVENTURE By EDITH LAVELL [Illustration: Linda and airplane] THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Akron, Ohio New York Copyright MCMXXXI THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Linda Carlton's Island Adventure _Made in the United States of America_ Contents CHAPTER PAGE I _The "Ladybug"_ 7 II _The Aviation Job_ 25 III _Kidnapped_ 40 IV _Captive_ 56 V _Escape_ 71 VI _The Enemy in the Autogiro_ 85 VII _The Smash-Up_ 96 VIII _The Chief of Police_ 107 IX _Two Prisoners_ 123 X _Susie Disappears_ 138 XI _The Island in the Ocean_ 158 XII _The Money-Bags_ 172 XIII _The Broken Motor-Boat_ 182 XIV _Searching Parties_ 194 XV _The Empty Island_ 209 XVI _Searching the Ocean_ 224 XVII _On to Cuba_ 237 XVIII _Luck for Ted and Louise_ 251 XIX _The Return_ 263 XX _Conclusion_ 275 LINDA CARLTON'S ISLAND ADVENTURE CHAPTER I _The "Ladybug"_ "There's a young lady here to see you, Linda," announced Miss Emily Carlton, coming into her niece's room the morning after the latter's return from the St. Louis Ground School. The girl had just graduated, winning both commercial and transport licenses, and, besides that, she was registered as the only feminine airplane mechanic in the country. "Who is she, Auntie?" inquired Linda, rubbing her eyes and peering out the window into the lovely June sunshine. What a wonderful day! Too beautiful to spend on the ground! But she sighed as she recalled that at the moment she did not possess a plane. "A reporter, I believe," replied the older woman. "Miss Hawkins, from the 'News'." "But I haven't done anything to get into the newspapers," objected Linda. "My dear child, you don't have to! Aren't you the only girl who ever flew the Atlantic alone? That's enough to keep you in the spotlight forever." "But I don't like spot-lights," Linda insisted, starting to dress. "Couldn't you get rid of her, Auntie?" Miss Carlton shook her head. "I tried to, dear. But she wouldn't go. She wants to know your summer plans. I told her you'd probably just spend a quiet vacation with me at Green Falls, where we were last year. But she didn't believe me. She said you weren't the type to take your vacations quietly." Linda laughed. "I guess she's right, Aunt Emily." The latter looked troubled. She had been trying for a year--ever since Linda's father had given her an Arrow Pursuit bi-plane for graduation--to keep the girl out of the air as much as possible, but she had not succeeded. The Carltons were comfortably well-off, and it was Miss Carlton's wish that Linda go in for society, and make a good marriage. But though Linda enjoyed occasional parties as much as any normal young person, she had a serious purpose in life, to make flying her career just as a young man would. "You won't go to Green Falls--with all the rest of the crowd?" asked Miss Carlton, anxiously. "I can't, Aunt Emily. I--I--can't spare the time. I am trying to get a job." "A job? But you don't need money. Your father's business is dong nicely----" "Oh, it isn't the money I want," interrupted the girl. "It's the experience." Linda finished dressing and came down stairs to meet the young woman who was waiting for her. The latter insisted that she eat her breakfast while they talked. "Honestly, I haven't done a thing interesting to the world since my ocean flight!" Linda said. "Except win my licenses, and all the graduates' names have already been listed in the papers." The reporter smiled at her as if she were a child. "My dear girl," she explained, "you are front-page news now, no matter what you do. You are Queen of the Air, and will be until some other woman does something more daring than your flight to Paris alone. So everything you do interests the public. Naturally they want to know what you are planning for the summer. Flying to South America, or Alaska? And what kind of plane do you intend to buy next, since you sold your Bellanca in Paris?" Linda yawned, and fingered her mail--a great pile of letters beside her plate. Invitations, mostly from the younger set in Spring City, for she was very popular. "I'm afraid I don't know yet," she replied, simply. "Maybe if you read your mail--" suggested the reporter. "She is to be a bridesmaid at Miss Katherine Clavering's wedding next week," supplied Miss Carlton, entering the dining-room. As usual, social events were all-important to her, especially affairs with the Claverings, the richest people in Spring City. Katherine, or "Kitty," as her friends all called her, was to be married to Lt. Hulbert of the U. S. Flying Corps, and her brother Ralph made no secret of his devotion for Linda. If he had had his way, they would have been married last Christmas, and aviation jobs would be out of the question for Linda Carlton at the present time. The girl searched through her mail rapidly, and picked out a letter which interested her above all others. It was from the Pitcairn Autogiro Company in the East. As she read it, her blue eyes lighted up with enthusiasm, and she examined the enclosed circular with excited interest, completely forgetting her visitor. The reporter waited patiently for a minute or two. "Well, what's it all about, Miss Carlton?" she finally inquired. Linda looked up at her as if she were startled, and suddenly remembered her caller. She handed her the circular. "I am going to buy an autogiro," she announced, with decision. "A what?" demanded her aunt, thinking Linda referred to some kind of automobile. "A new car?" The reporter smiled. "A flying bug?" she demanded. Miss Carlton gasped in horror. A bug! What would her niece be up to next? "Linda!" she exclaimed. "It's a plane, Aunt Emily," the girl explained. "You ought to like it. It's the very safest kind there is. In the eight or nine years since it was invented, nobody has been killed with one." Miss Carlton looked doubtful. "No airplane is safe," she remarked. "This isn't an airplane. It's an autogiro." "But it flies?" "Of course." Linda showed her the picture. It was indeed a queer looking object, with its wind-mill-like arrangement on top, and its absence of big wings. As the reporter had observed, its appearance was very like a huge bug. "They do say it's unusually safe," corroborated the latter. "You'll have to take a ride in it, Miss Carlton." "Not I!" protested the older woman. "Firm earth is good enough for me.... No, it looks dangerous enough to me." Linda smiled; she could never convince her aunt of the joy of flying, or of the minimum risk, if one were a careful pilot. She was glad that her father was more broad-minded; if he weren't, she would still be on the ground. "And where will you go with your Flying Bug, Miss Carlton?" asked the reporter, tapping her pencil on her note-book. "Not on any long flight," replied the girl, to her aunt's relief. "My aim is to get some sort of aviation job." "What would you like to do?" "Anything connected with planes. I prefer flying, but I'd be satisfied at the beginning with ground work.... If you will write down your telephone number, Miss Hawkins, I will call you up when I have decided definitely just what my plans will be." "Thank you very much!" exclaimed the other girl, rising. "I think you are a peach, Miss Carlton. Some celebrities are so mean to us reporters." "I'm afraid I'm not a real celebrity," laughed Linda. "I'll be forgotten by the public this time next year. I sincerely hope that more and more girls and women will be doing things in aviation, so that my little stunt will seem trivial. That is progress, you know." Scarcely had the visitor gone before Miss Carlton was begging Linda to open her other letters. "The Junior League picnic is tomorrow," she said. "And Dot Crowley is giving a luncheon in honor of Kitty Clavering.... There are probably a lot more things, too...." Rather listlessly Linda opened her letters. It was not the same, she thought, without Louise to share everything. Louise Haydock--Louise Mackay now--had been her chum all through school, where they were so inseparable that they were always referred to by their friends as the "double Ls." The other girl's marriage had meant a sharp break to Linda, for the Mackays had moved to Wichita, Kansas, where Ted was employed as a flyer. As if Miss Carlton understood her niece's thoughts, she remarked that Louise was coming for Kitty's wedding. Linda's eyes shone with joy. "Flying?" she inquired, as a matter of course. "Yes. She and Ted are arriving some time tonight. Mrs. Haydock called up, and asked me to tell you." Linda could not read her mail for a few minutes, so intense was her happiness at this splendid news. "Ted can go with me to see about the autogiro!" she exclaimed. "I do so want his opinion!" "Go where?" "To Philadelphia, where the Pitcairn Company is located." Again Miss Carlton looked annoyed, almost shocked. "You don't mean to say you'll take time to fly to Philadelphia, with all your engagements?" Linda nodded. "I'll be here for the wedding, Aunt Emily. Don't worry about that. But nothing else is particularly important." Miss Carlton groaned. What could you do with a girl like Linda? You might as well have a boy! The mail was finally opened and sorted, and Linda dutifully went to a dinner dance at the Country Club that evening with Ralph Clavering. But she was tense all evening, for she was hoping every moment that Louise would arrive. About midnight the young couple dashed in, radiant in their happiness. To everyone's amusement Louise flew into Linda's arms in the middle of the dance floor. "How do you get that way?" demanded Ralph, pretending to be angry. "As if it isn't enough to endure every fellow in the room tapping me when I'm dancing with Linda, without having girls do it too!" But the double Ls scarcely heard him. They were so enraptured at seeing each other again. "I'm going to stay a week!" announced Louise. "Luckily, Ted has some business in Philadelphia and New York, and he'll be flying back and forth." "Philadelphia!" exclaimed Linda. "Isn't that great! Can we go with him there?" "Of course we can, if you don't mind a squeeze. The plane isn't very big," explained Louise. "But then, we're not fat. Ted'll be tickled to death to have company--he hates flying alone. But why do you want to go to Philadelphia, Linda?" "To buy an autogiro!" "You always were crazy about those things. Remember the time you gave up a dance to fly one?" "I certainly do. And you wouldn't go with me." "Well, there was a reason," laughed Louise, making no secret of her admiration for her husband.... "I think Ted'll go day after tomorrow," she continued. "We thought we'd enjoy resting a day, and taking in the Junior League picnic." "Fine!" agreed Linda. "That will give everybody a chance to see you. Besides, Aunt Emily would die if I missed that affair. Remember the one last year. Didn't we have fun?" "We certainly did," smiled Louise, reminiscently. "But it seems like more than a year ago--so much has happened." "I wasn't even flying then," observed the other. "And I hadn't met Ted!" "You're a real bride, Lou!" returned Linda, affectionately. "But you're just the same old dear!" The following day was just as delightful as it had been the previous year, and the picnic another success. To Linda it was all the more enjoyable, because of the novelty of seeing her old friends again after the separation caused by a year at the school in St. Louis. Ted went along with Louise, and entered into all the sports, just as if he had been born and brought up with the crowd in Spring City. Moreover, he was delighted at the prospect of having the two girls go with him the next day, and appeared almost as enthusiastic about the autogiro as Linda herself. The weather continued perfect, and the three happy young people took off from Spring City the following morning. An excellent mechanic himself, Ted always kept his plane in tip-top condition, and it was a rare thing indeed for him even to encounter a minor accident. This flight proved no exception; straight and swift through the June skies he flew to the field outside the city of Philadelphia where the autogiros were on display. "You really expect to buy one today, Linda?" asked Louise, as she climbed out of the plane. "Yes--if Ted gives his approval," replied the capable aviatrix. She had always had the greatest confidence in this young red-haired pilot, who had taken her on her first flight, and who had saved her and his wife from disaster upon two occasions. "Are you sure that it can go fast enough to suit you, Linda?" asked Ted. "It can travel a hundred and twenty-five miles an hour, and that ought to satisfy me. If I were entering any air-races, I'd want a special racing plane anyhow, for the occasion. But I'm not going out for races. I want to take a job, and I think an autogiro will be the most convenient plane I can have, to take with me anywhere I want to go. I shan't have to depend on big fields for landing." "Right-o," agreed the young man. They walked across the field and were shown a model by an enthusiastic salesman. As the reporter had said, it did look like a flying bug, with its odd wind-mill-like rotor on top, and its small stub-like wings, which were there mainly to mount the lateral controls or ailerons. "It isn't so pretty as the Arrow," remarked Louise. "Handsome is as handsome does," returned Linda. "If we'd had an autogiro that time in Canada, when our gas leaked out, a forced landing wouldn't have been disastrous." "Why?" "Because the rotor takes care of that, after the engine is dead," explained Linda. "An autogiro can come down vertically at a slower rate than we did with our parachutes." "I'll never forget how scared I was that time we jumped off," remarked her companion. "You know, it's one thing to see other people do it--in the air, or at the movies--and its something else to step off into space yourself. That all-gone feeling!" "I don't mind it any more now--it doesn't seem any worse than dropping ten stories in an elevator. But I know what you mean." "Well, I have never had to jump since," Louise informed her. "But," she continued as they walked around the autogiro, "isn't there really any danger of crashing?" "You can crash, of course," laughed Linda. "If you steer straight for another plane, or a tree. But tail-spins are practically impossible; they say no matter what happens the autogiro settles to the ground like a tired hen. It's the principle of centrifugal force--it can't fail." "Oh, yeah?" remarked Louise, hiding a yawn. "What I want your opinion on, Ted," added Linda, turning to the young man, "is the engine. You know more about engines than I do." "I'm not so sure of that last," he replied, modestly. "Looks O.K. to me--I've been examining it while you girls chattered." The salesman, who had been listening to the conversation, suddenly burst into a smile. He had been wondering where he had seen that girl before. Now he knew! Her pictures had been in every newspaper in the country. She was Linda Carlton, of course! "You're Miss Carlton, aren't you?" he demanded, excitedly. "The girl who flew to Paris alone?" "Yes," answered Linda, indifferently. She didn't want to talk ancient history now. "This is a P C A--2, isn't it?" she inquired, to bring the man to the subject of autogiros. "Yes. Fifteen thousand dollars. I suppose it's not necessary to tell _you_ what instruments it is equipped with--an experienced flyer like yourself can recognize them by a glance into the pilot's cock-pit." "Yes, I see them. And I had a circular besides.... It's complete, all right. The only thing I don't like about it is the separate passenger's cock-pit. My Arrow Pursuit had a companion cock-pit." "You can always talk to your passenger through the speaking-tube," the salesman reminded her. "Yes, of course----" "And nobody you take along now-a-days will be as talkative as I always was on our trips together," Louise observed, with a smile. "Talkative!" repeated Linda, "All you ever wanted to do was sleep! Every time I looked at you on that flight to Canada, you were peacefully dozing!" "And she still has a bad habit of dropping off," teased Ted. "So long as that's the only way I 'drop off,' I'm satisfied," concluded Louise. In spite of their frivolous talk, Linda had been thinking seriously about the autogiro, and had entirely made up her mind about it. "I'll take it," she announced. "If you surely approve of it, Ted." "I do, absolutely." The salesman looked at her in amazement. Never had he made such an easy sale before. But he did not meet people like Linda Carlton every day! "Don't you want to try it out?" he suggested. "I can show you how to fly it in a few minutes." "I have flown one before," she told him. "But I would like to take it up for a few minutes if you don't mind. Am I to have this particular one? I have a certified check in payment." The salesman blinked his eyes in further consternation. The check right there, the girl ready to take the plane home with her! It was a moment before he could catch his breath. "Of course," he finally managed to answer. "I'll have her started for you immediately. And--would your friends care to go up with you?" "Sure!" exclaimed Ted. "We're your best friends, aren't we, Linda? So oughtn't we to be privileged with the first ride?" "You certainly are!" replied the famous aviatrix, squeezing Louise's hand in her excitement and delight. "Come on!" It was the Mackays' first flight in an autogiro, and though they were very much crowded in the passenger's cock-pit, they insisted that that only added to the fun. With a sureness which Ted watched in admiration, Linda took off and flew round and round the field, putting the new plane through all sorts of tests, proving conclusively that all the claims for it were well-founded. Fifteen minutes later they came slowly down to earth, landing on the exact spot from which Linda had taken off. "Unscramble yourselves!" she cried to her passengers, as she climbed out of the cock-pit. "Let's go pay our bill." "She's great, Linda!" approved Louise, as her husband helped her out. "I'm for her, even if she is a funny-looking bug." "Sh!" cautioned Linda, solemnly. "You might hurt her feelings. She's--she's--a lady!" "Ladybug!" exclaimed Louise, with a sudden burst of inspiration. "Ladybug is right!" agreed her chum enthusiastically. "You've named her for me, Lou!" CHAPTER II _The Aviation Job_ "It's marvelous!" exclaimed Linda, as the salesman came to meet her after her test-flight in the autogiro. "Will you have her filled with gas and oil, while I sign the contract? I'll take her with me." The salesman smiled at Ted Mackay. "In the same way any other woman would buy a hat," he remarked, to Louise's amusement. "You found it easy to fly, Miss Carlton?" he inquired. "Wonderful!" she replied. "So simple that a child could almost do it! It certainly is the plane of the future, or of the present, I should say." "We'll probably see one perched on everybody's roof within the next five years," teased Louise, although in reality she shared her chum's admiration for it. While the mechanics gave the autogiro a thorough inspection, the little group strolled to the office to sign the papers and to meet the president of the company. The salesman introduced Mr. Pitcairn, and added, proudly, "This is _the_ Miss Carlton, of world-wide fame! The only woman who ever flew the Atlantic alone! And I have had the honor, to sell Miss Carlton an autogiro!" Linda blushed as she shook hands, and her eyelids fluttered in embarrassment. She could never get used to public admiration. Immediately she began to talk about her new possession. "I want it for every-day flying," she explained. "I think it will be wonderful for that." "We believe that it is," agreed the older man. "And we are honored indeed, Miss Carlton, that you have chosen it. It will be a feather in our cap." "Miss Carlton never thinks of things like that," remarked Louise. "But I guess we're glad that she doesn't!" While Linda signed the necessary papers, and handed her check to the salesman, the president inquired what her plans included now that she had graduated from the Ground School with such success. "I don't exactly know," she replied. "I want to get some kind of aviation job--I am more interested in the use of planes in every-day life than I am in races and spectacular events, though I understand that these have their place. Of course I haven't found anything to do yet, but I mean to try." "You expect to give your whole time to flying?" asked the other. He had thought, naturally, that a girl in Linda Carlton's circumstances would just do it for sport. "Yes--a regular full-time job. I'm not sure what--not selling planes, for I don't believe I'd care for that. And not the mail--unless I can't get anything else. You don't happen to know of any openings, do you, Mr. Pitcairn?" "Let me see," he said. "Things are a little slow now. Of course there are the air-transportation companies, but their routes are about as cut-and-dried as the mail pilot's.... I take it you would rather have a little more excitement.... There's crop dusting, during the summer. You have heard of that, no doubt?" "Yes, I have read about it." "You know, then, that one plane flying over a field can spray as many plants in a day as a hundred of the ordinary spraying machines?" His listeners gasped in astonishment. What marvelous advances in progress aviation was bringing about! "I happen to know of a company in the South that is just forming," he continued. "Because of lack of capital, they are in great need of pilots with planes of their own. If you are interested, I am sure they would be glad to take you on." "That sounds very interesting," agreed Linda, eagerly. "I'm sure I'd like that. And an autogiro ought to be especially adapted for this kind of thing. I could fly so low--and land so easily----" "Exactly! Incidentally, you'd be doing our company a big favor by showing the public new uses for an autogiro. If Miss Carlton, of international reputation, flies anywhere, the account of it is sure to be in the newspapers!" "I wouldn't count too much on that, Mr. Pitcairn," protested Linda, modestly. "I really am not 'news' any more.... But I shall be grateful for the name of this firm, if you will write it down for me. Where is it located?" "In Georgia--the southern part," he informed her. "Here is the address," he added, handing her a card. "And I will write myself today to tell them of their good fortune!" "Georgia!" repeated Louise. "It's going to be awfully hot there, Linda. Compared with Green Falls--or even Spring City." "Why not pick a job in Canada?" suggested Ted. "You'd like Canada, if you didn't choose the coldest part of the year to visit it." Louise shuddered at the memory of their adventure during the preceding Christmas holidays. "I never want to see Canada again!" she said. "And I don't believe Linda does either!" It was not the memory of that cold night in the Canadian woods, or of the cruelty of the police, however, that made Linda frown and hesitate now. Nor did the heat of the South trouble her--weather was all in the day's work to her. But the thought of the distance between Georgia and Ohio, and what such a separation might mean to her Aunt Emily, deterred her from accepting the offer immediately. It hardly seemed right to be away all winter and spring, and then to go far off again in the summer. "Would I have to promise to do this all summer, if I took it on?" she inquired. "No, certainly not. A month would be enough, for the first time. That would give you August with your family, Miss Carlton, before you accepted a regular aviation job in the fall." This sounded much better to Linda, and she promised to write within the nest week, if her father agreed. It was lots of fun riding back to Spring City in her autogiro the following day, although she flew alone, for Louise wanted to return with Ted. Without a mishap of any kind she brought the "Ladybug" down on the field behind her house. When she entered her home, she found that her father had arrived during her absence. He was waiting for her in the library. "Daddy!" she cried, joyfully, for Mr. Carlton's visits were always a pleasant surprise to his only child. "You came at just the right time! Come out and see my Bug!" "Must you call it that, Linda?" asked her Aunt Emily, who, like all good housekeepers detested every sort of insect. Linda laughed. "Take a look at it, Aunt Emily, and see whether you could think of a better name." Miss Carlton peered through the screen door. "Where is it?" she asked. "Come out on the porch, and you can see it," replied Linda. Dragging her father and her aunt each by a hand, she gleefully skipped through the door. "There!" she cried, as one who displays a marvel. At the top of the hill, on the field behind the lovely Colonial house, they saw the new possession. Or rather, the top of the autogiro, for it was not wholly visible. "It looks like a clothes-dryer to me," remarked Miss Carlton. "Or a wind-mill." "But you agree that I couldn't call it my 'Clothes-dryer,' or my 'Wind-mill,' don't you, Aunt Emily? The words are too long. Besides, Lou thought of the cleverest name--the 'Ladybug.' But you needn't worry, Auntie, she won't ever creep into your spotless house!" "I should hope not!" "In a way, Emily," observed Linda's father, "it's a good name as far as you are concerned. You hate planes--and you hate bugs!" "Only, Aunt Emily is going to love my autogiro," insisted Linda, putting her arm affectionately about the older woman, who had been the only mother she had ever known. "One of my biggest reasons for choosing an autogiro was because it is the safest flying machine known." Her tone grew soft, so low that her father could not hear, and she added, with her head turned aside, "I do want you to know that I care about your feelings, Aunt Emily." Miss Carlton's eyes grew misty; Linda had always been so sweet, so thoughtful! Her niece couldn't help it, if she had a marvelous brain, and a mechanical mind. No wonder she wanted to use them! "It's going to be the ambition of my life to convert Aunt Emily to flying," she announced, in a gay tone. "See if I don't, Daddy!" "I hope so," he said. "How about taking me up for a little fly?" "A fly?" repeated Linda, playfully. "You a fly--and my new plane a bug! Oh, think of poor Aunt Emily!" "Now, Linda, I do believe you're getting silly!" But already she was pulling her father down the steps, eager to show off her beloved possession. Mr. Carlton proved almost as enthusiastic as his daughter about it. When they returned to the house, he laughingly told his sister that he was thinking of buying one for himself, to use to fly back and forth from New York, where his business was located. Miss Carlton groaned. "Then we'll have two flying maniacs in the house!" she exclaimed. "No--Linda and I will usually be up in the air," he corrected, "not often in the house." Linda had scarcely time to change from her flyer's suit into an afternoon dress, and no chance at all to talk with her father about Mr. Pitcairn's suggestion about a job, when Ralph Clavering drove over to see her. Linda was delighted, of course; here was another person to whom she could display her autogiro. Ralph was a licensed pilot, too, although with him flying was only a secondary interest, and he had never had his own plane. "Come out and see my 'Ladybug'!" she insisted. "And wouldn't you like to try her out? I might let you!" "No, thanks, Linda--I'd be sure to do something wrong. Besides, I'd rather talk to you--those things make such an infernal noise. No, just show it to me, and then let's go and have a game of tennis before supper, if you're not too tired." "I've almost forgotten how to play," replied the girl. "But I'll try. If you will come out and see my 'Ladybug' first." After they had examined the autogiro, and were driving to the Country Club in Ralph's roadster, the young man turned the conversation to the topic of vacation at Green Falls, the resort at which Linda's aunt, and most of her friends, had spent the preceding summer. Ralph told Linda about a new motor boat that he was getting, and spoke of the contests in all sorts of sports that would be repeated this year. "How soon do you think you can get off, Linda?" he concluded eagerly. "Not till August, I'm afraid," she replied, to his dismay. "August!" he repeated, in horror. "You're not going to pull some new stunt on us, are you, Linda? Fly the Pacific--or the Arctic Ocean?" The girl laughed, and shook her head. "I'm through with stunts for a while, Ralph--you needn't worry about that. No; what I am planning now is steady work. I expect to take a job, as soon as Kit's wedding is over." "A job? Where?" "In Georgia, probably." She went into details about the proposition. "You would!" he muttered, sulkily. "And pick out such a hot spot, that nobody would want to go with you.... Linda, why can't you be sensible like other girls--like my sister Kit, for instance?" "Kit?" "Yes. And get married." He leaned over hopefully, and put his hand on her arm. Now that Linda had accomplished her ambition in flying the Atlantic, perhaps she would be willing to settle down to marriage and a normal life. But she drew away, smiling. "Don't, Ralph!" she warned him. "Remember that you promised me you wouldn't ask me till you had finished college." "All right, all right," he muttered, irritably, resolving that he wouldn't again. Let her wait awhile! She'd probably get tired of working after she'd had a taste of it for a month in that hot climate. They met Dot Crowley and Jim Valier at the tennis courts, and doubled up with them for a couple of sets. But they were badly beaten, for these two were the best team at the Club. After dinner that evening Linda had a chance to tell her father and her aunt of her proposed plan for the coming month, and won their consent, when she announced her intention of spending August at Green Falls. To Miss Carlton she put the all-important question of clothes; the older woman promised to get her half a dozen flyer's suits of linen for the trip. During the next week Linda accepted enough invitations to satisfy even her Aunt Emily, and she wore one new dress after another, and flitted from tennis match or picnic to tea or dance, as the program happened to be. The grand finale was Kitty's wedding, at the girl's beautiful home just outside of Spring City. It was a gorgeous affair, and Linda could not help thinking how Bess Hulbert, the Lieutenant's sister, would have enjoyed it, had she not given her life in the attempt to win the big prize which Linda herself had captured. Personally, she did not like the affair nearly so much as Louise's simple wedding at Easter. Linda was quiet as she drove home beside her Aunt Emily in the limousine. She could not help wondering whether this event did not mark the end of her girlhood, the beginning of her career as a self-supporting woman--out in the world. No longer would she be free to come and go as she liked, to see her old friends at any and all hours of the day and evening. The thought was a little saddening, and she sighed. Her aunt laid her hand over her niece's. "Why the sigh, dear?" she inquired. "Tired?" Linda nodded. "Yes--and weddings are so solemn--so sort of sad, aren't they, Auntie? To the other people, I mean--for of course there's nothing sad about Kit and Tom. But it means I won't see them much----" "It isn't their wedding that causes that, dear," Miss Carlton reminded her. "Kitty and Tom will be back and forth often, I think, for they are not living far away.... But it's you who are leaving the rest, Linda. Oh, if you only wouldn't go so far away, dear!" "I guess you're right, Aunt Emily," admitted the other. "But I can't have my cake and eat it too. There isn't any flying job in Spring City." Miss Carlton was silent; there was no use in going over the old argument. Instead, she asked: "How soon do you go, Linda?" "Tomorrow--if the weather is good. I received my map and my instructions several days ago. I'm all ready. The Ladybug's in perfect shape." "If you only didn't have to go alone!" sighed the older woman. "Yes. If I only had Lou!" "Couldn't you take some other girl?" "As a matter of fact, I did suggest such a thing to Dot Crowley. She's competent, you know--has her pilot's license--and she's such a peach of a girl. I know we'd get along beautifully together. But she's all tied up with a tennis match, and can't possibly leave now." Little did Linda think, as she took off the following morning in the bright June sunshine, how deeply she was to regret this decision of Dot's, how she was to wish a hundred times within the next week that she had some companion who was a friend. For the people she fell among proved to be the worst sort of associates. CHAPTER III _Kidnapped_ As there was no particular hurry about the trip South--it was only June twentieth--Linda decided to go slowly and to stop often. What a marvelous way to see the country, at the most beautiful time of the year! In an autogiro the flight would never become monotonous, for she could fly low enough to watch the landscape. Ohio--Kentucky--Tennessee--Georgia! Each day she could travel through a different state, putting up each night at a hotel. Fortunately her Aunt Emily had given up worrying about her staying alone in strange cities. For Linda had already proved herself capable of taking care of herself. "It is because Linda is always so dignified," Mr. Carlton had remarked to his sister. "The girls who make chance acquaintances, and permit familiarities are usually looking for it. Linda's mind is on her plane--on her navigation--and she is too absorbed to be bothered. I think we are safe, Emily, in trusting her." "I suppose so," Miss Carlton had agreed. "Though of course she'll always be a little girl to me." The day after the wedding was warm and the skies were clear; the Ladybug was in perfect condition, and her forty gallon tank was filled with gasoline, so Linda decided to carry out her plan. While her Aunt Emily packed her lunch basket and a box with an emergency supply of food, the girl called Miss Hawkins on the telephone as she had promised. "But don't put it into the paper until after I start," begged Linda. "I always like to slip off quietly, without any fuss." "I'll save it for the evening editions," agreed the reporter. "And then you'll be well on your way.... And, thank you again, Miss Carlton." An hour later she bade her aunt good-by, and was off. Heading her plane south-west, she would avoid the mountains in Kentucky, and pass over the blue-grass region, of which she had so often read. It was an ideal day for a flight, and her heart beat with the same exultation she had always felt when she was in the air; there was no feeling to compare with it on earth. Someone had said it was like being in love--but Linda Carlton had never been in love herself. For several hours this sense of joy possessed her; then, as noontime came, and she landed to eat her lunch, she suddenly grew lonely. If only Louise were with her! She sighed as she thought that from now on she would probably be traveling alone. It grew hotter in the afternoon as she progressed farther south, but her engine was functioning so beautifully that she hated to stop. Then the sun went down, and the coolness was so delightful after the heat that she continued on her course longer than she had planned, and did not land until she had crossed the border into Tennessee. There she followed a beacon light that led to an airport, and brought the Ladybug down to earth. No sooner had she brought the autogiro to a stop than a group of curious people surrounded her. "What do you-all call this?" drawled a big, good-natured looking man, with the typical Southern accent. "It's a new one on me." Linda smiled and explained, asking that the autogiro be housed for the night, and inquired her way to the hotel. "The hotel ain't so good," replied the man. "But I can direct you to a fine boarding-house." Everybody that Linda met in this little town was kindness itself. She found herself in a pleasant home, with a marvelous supper of real old-fashioned Southern cooking, all ready for her. It appeared to be the custom to eat late in the South; no one thought it strange that she should want her supper at nine o'clock. These good people's hospitality only served to strengthen her confidence in the fact that she was safe in traveling alone. For this reason the shock was all the greater for her when that trust was so rudely shaken later on during the trip. Linda liked the town so well that she decided to remain a day, and go over her Ladybug herself. For, she argued sensibly, if no one there had ever heard of an autogiro before, it stood to reason that there would be little chance of a competent inspection by anyone but herself. Although Miss Hawkins, the reporter, had published the facts concerning her trip that evening, the news had not reached this town in Tennessee immediately. It was not until the next day that the story was reprinted, and someone discovered that this stranger in the autogiro who was visiting them was Linda Carlton of international fame. Then the news spread like wild-fire about the town, and the band was gotten out to give the girl a royal welcome. It was hardly necessary, with all this celebration, to wire her aunt of her safe arrival in Tennessee; nevertheless Linda did so, as she had promised when she left home. Her next day's journey brought her across Tennessee, over the mountains where she had a chance to test her plane's climbing ability, and into Georgia. Here again she was received with hospitality. It seemed almost as if she were making a "good-will" flight, so delighted were the people to greet her and make her at home. A long flight lay ahead of her--across Georgia, the largest state in the southeast. Over the mountains in the northern part, across cotton and rice and sweet-potato plantations, towards the coast. The weather was hot and dry; she grew tired and thirsty, and the thought of her friends, enjoying the cool breezes at Green Falls made her envious for a while. But she carried plenty of water in her thermos flasks, and she reminded herself that she was having a more thrilling experience than they could possibly have. Tonight she could rest--and sleep. Her head ached and her body was weary, as she looked at her map and tried to find out just where she was from the land-marks. Dismay took hold of her as she realized that she must have gone off of her course--beyond her destination. The ground below appeared marshy, in many spots entirely covered with water, in which water-lilies and rushes grew in abundance. Where could she possibly be? Panic seized her as she realized that this was no place to land. Even an autogiro couldn't come down in a swamp. She circled around, and went back. If the light only held out until she reached some sort of level, hard ground! She thought of her flight over the ocean, when she had been so absolutely alone, and she felt the same desolation, the same fierce terror. Where was she? Where was she going? Wild-eyed, she studied her map. Then she located herself. This must be the Okefenokee Swamp, in the southeastern part of Georgia. That lonely, forsaken land, some parts of which had never been penetrated by a white man! Treacherous, dangerous ground, which would mean certain death if she attempted to land! Miles and miles of desolation, that only an Indian could safely explore! There was nothing to do but head the plane towards the west, in hope of passing over the swamp. The sun had set, and darkness was coming on, but Linda could still see the ground beneath her. The water grew scarcer, and trees--pine and cypress--here and there dotted the land. But still the earth looked marshy, too treacherous for a landing. A terrifying thought seized her when she remembered that she had not filled her gasoline tank that morning. Glancing at the indicator, she saw that she had only three gallons left. Would that be enough to take her out of this "trembling land," which was the meaning of the Indian word, "Okefenokee"? It was like a horrible night-mare, watching the decreasing gasoline supply, the fading light, and the trees and the swamp beneath her. Her breath came in gasps; the idea of death in a swamp was more horrible than that of drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, for the former would be a lingering torture. But at last to her delight she saw the trees widen, and a level stretch of dry sand below. This must be an island, she concluded, for she had read that there were half a dozen or so of these in the swamp, and that they were several miles in length. If this were true, she could land, and be safe for the night at least. She brought her autogiro lower, and with her flash-light and her glasses examined the ground. Yes, there was space enough for a landing, with a plane like hers. She uttered a gasp of relief. But she had rejoiced too soon, for when she lifted her eyes from the ground to the level of her plane she was startled breathless by the sight of another plane, which had come out of nowhere, apparently, and was rushing madly at her. As if it were actually aiming to crash into her! As if this were warfare, and the oncoming plane an enemy, intent upon her destruction! In that instant she realized that this was an old plane--possibly one of those abandoned by the Army--one that would not now pass inspection. No wonder it was tipping so strangely; it must be out of the pilot's control. Linda did the only thing possible, for she was too low to turn. She dropped gracefully to the ground, avoiding a tree by a few inches. Thank goodness, it was solid beneath her! The other plane was landing too, she observed, landing with a speed that was ten times that of the autogiro, in a space that was far too small. The inevitable occurred; Linda closed her eyes as she saw it about to crash. A terrifying thud followed; then a scream of fright--and Linda opened her eyes to see the plane on its side, nosed into a bank of bushes. Had it not been for that undergrowth, the wreck would have been far worse than it was. Linda had turned off her engine, and she jumped out of the autogiro immediately and rushed to the scene of the disaster. What a smash it was! No one would ever fly that plane again! Two people were lying tangled up in the wreckage, whether dead or alive Linda could not immediately tell. At her approach the man in the rear cock-pit opened his eyes and began to move his hands and legs. "Got a good knife, Linda?" he yelled, to the girl's profound astonishment. "I'll get one," she replied, wondering how he could possibly know her name. Or was he delirious, and thought he was talking to some other Linda? Hurrying back to her own plane she took out her thermos flasks and her tool-kit, and returned to the spot of the wreck. It was too dark now to see the men distinctly, until she turned on her flash-light. As she came closer, she saw that the man who had spoken was wriggling himself free. His face was scratched, blood was running down his hands, but he apparently was not seriously hurt. "Lucky this is an open plane," he muttered. "Now give me a hand, me girl!" Linda did not like his tone, but she could not refuse to help a human being in distress. Gradually he crawled out. "Now for Susie!" he announced, as he raised himself unsteadily on his legs. Linda gasped. Was the other occupant a woman? A thrill of relief passed over her, for she had been terrified at the idea of being alone with such a hard-looking man in this desolate spot. "A girl?" she stammered, pressing close to the plane. "Yeah. Me wife. Her name's Susie." Linda flashed the light under the wreckage of the plane, and distinguished a young woman in a flyer's suit. She was unconscious. Without another word they both set silently to work to disentangle her. At last they dragged her out--still unconscious. But she evidently was still alive, though the man remarked that her arm must be broken--and maybe an ankle or two. He seemed very matter-of-fact about it all. "What's in that flask?" he demanded abruptly, of Linda. "Water," she replied. "Water!" he snarled angrily. "Water!" He looked as if he meant to hit her, and Linda recoiled in terror. "Go hunt my flask in that wreck!" he commanded. "Do it yourself!" returned Linda, with sudden spirit. "How do I know that that plane won't burst into flames any minute?" She was surprised at her sudden display of independence; she had always depended upon Louise to stick up for their rights. But she had risen to the occasion, now that she was alone. The man started to swear, when suddenly the girl on the ground opened her eyes. "Take care, Slats!" she begged, to Linda's astonishment. "We'll need this girl and her plane--for I can't fly now!" The man called "Slats" subsided, and went over to the wreckage. Linda bent over the injured "Susie," and put the flask of water to her lips. Like the man's, the girl's face was scratched and bleeding, and she began to moan of the pain in her wrist. Her helmet had been pushed off, and her blond hair hung about her face. Her lips were painted a brighter red than even blood could have colored them. "Where are you hurt?" asked Linda, wiping the girl's face with her handkerchief, and pushing the hair out of her eyes. "My wrist, worst. And this ankle. And my back." "If I have enough gasoline, we'll take you to a hospital in my plane." "No! No!" cried the girl, in terror. "Why not?" questioned Linda. "You'll find out," replied the other, mysteriously, closing her eyes in pain. Linda had no way of guessing what she meant, so she sat waiting in silence until the man returned. Five minutes later he appeared with a tank of gasoline, and a flask of brandy, which he gave to his wife to drink. "We're ready to go now, Linda," he announced. "You can help me carry Susie over to your Bug." Again Linda started violently at the mention of her own name. "Do you really know me?" she asked. "Sure we do! You're Linda Carlton. Think you're about the smartest thing there is in the air today. Bought one of them new-fangled bugs. Ain't that right?" "Partly," admitted Linda, wincing at the slur in his remark. "But how could you possibly know?" "Because we are out to get you. Wasn't your story in all the newspapers, tellin' all about this trip of your'n? And ain't your Bug the easiest thing to spot in the air?" "Out to get me!" repeated Linda. "Do you mean that you wanted to kill me?" "No, lady. You're more use to us alive than dead--for a while, anyway. No. Our gang decided we could pick up a hundred grand easier by kidnapping you than by swiping jewelry. It was my idea!" He swelled with pride, believing himself exceedingly clever. "And that's what you get for wanting to have your picture and glories in the papers all the time!" Linda listened wild-eyed to this information, and edged closer to Susie, as if her only protection would be found in the girl. "So now these is your orders: You fly us to our camp tonight, and we'll keep you there. You can sleep with Susie. We won't hurt you, if you do what we tell you, and don't get fresh, or try to get away. Once you do that, we shoot. And believe me, I can aim--O.K. I've had a sight of practice in my business! I'm a mighty successful man--in my line." "And what is your line, outside of kidnapping?" asked Linda. "High-class robbery. Banks. Big jewels. We don't never hold up nobody on the street, for a few dollars. Too petty for us! Nope! We're big men. Slick! Clever! Ask Susie!" "Does Susie like all this?" "Sure she does. We winter in Europe, and South America, and she struts around with all the big dames, flashing diamonds and duds that make 'em all look pale.... Now come along!" It was useless to argue or talk any more, so Linda did as she was told, and together they got Susie into the passenger's cock-pit of the autogiro. Her husband sat with her, holding his pistol up threateningly at the back of Linda's head. "Go where I tell you!" he ordered. "I haven't much gas," she protested. "I've got an extra flask here. But I'm not pouring it in till we need it, which I don't think we will. The camp ain't far--on Black Jack Island." "Black Jack Island," Linda repeated to herself. "What an appropriate name!" She was terrified, of course, but there was nothing to do except follow directions, and in a few minutes she brought the plane down on the island that the man had specified. "Leave the Bug here, Linda," he commanded, as he lifted Susie out of the plane. "And go ahead of me, as I tell you." For several minutes the little procession made their way to the center of the island, over the white sand towards the cypress and pine trees that grew in greater profusion. Linda did not look back, but she knew that while "Slats" carried Susie with one arm, he kept his pistol at her back with his other hand. At last, by the aid of her flash-light, Linda spied several tents set up near together, and a welcome smell of food cooking greeted her as she advanced. "Stop here!" came the order. "This is where you spend the night!" CHAPTER IV _Captive_ Linda and her companions stopped in front of a large tent that was dimly lighted within by a lantern. Two men were standing inside--one bending over an oil cook-stove, the other at the door. "We got Linda!" announced "Slats" triumphantly. "Without even smashing her plane!" He pushed through the doorway, past the other man, and deposited Susie on a cot by the wall of the tent. The man at the stove, a big, fat, repulsive looking brute, turned around and uttered an ugly, "Hah!" "Susie hurt?" inquired the tall, thin man who had been standing at the edge of the tent. "Yeah. Crashed her plane. I've got some scratches meself, but I ain't whinin'!" "My ankle's broken!" sobbed Susie, unable to suffer any longer in silence. "Hurry up and get some bandages, Doc!" Linda, who had been standing perfectly still during this conversation, was startled by the use of the name "Doc." Was it possible that this man was a physician? If so, wouldn't he perhaps be above the level of the others--and might she not expect, if not sympathy, at least fair play from him? But "Slats" instantly shattered her hopes with his explanation. "This is the 'Doc,' Linda," he said. "We call him that because he fixes up all our aches and cuts for us. In a profession like our'n, it ain't safe to meddle with 'saw-bones' and hospitals. They keep records." Linda smiled at the idea of calling robbery a "profession," but she made no comment. "So long as you'll be with us fer a while," continued her captor, "I'll interduce you to everybody. That there cook is 'Beefy.' Ain't he a good ad for his own cookin'?" Linda nodded; she could hardly be expected to laugh at such a poor joke under the circumstances. "You can go over and wash--there's water in Susie's tent--if you want to, while the 'Doc' fixes Susie up. Then we'll eat." Glad to be alone for a moment, Linda stepped across to the tent which the man had indicated, hidden behind some pine trees a few yards away. Guiding herself by her flash-light, she found the entrance, and dropped down on a cot inside. Letting the light go off, she sat, dry-eyed and utterly hopeless, staring into the darkness. What terrible fate was hanging over her, she dared not imagine. Would they torture her, perhaps, if her father refused to raise the ransom, and called the police to his aid? In these last few hours she had learned to realize how infinitely crueler human-beings were than the elements of nature. The ice and snow, the cold winds of Canada, or the vast, trackless depths of the Atlantic could never bring about such untold agony as these fiends in human form. She almost wished that she had gone down, like Bess Hulbert, in the ocean, before she had lived to learn how evil men could be. A call from the mess-tent, as she supposed the larger one to be, aroused her from her unhappy meditations, and she hastily turned on the light and washed from a pitcher of water on a soap-box in Susie's tent. When she returned to the group, she found them already seated about a board table, plunging into the food like hungry animals. Susie, who sat with her bandaged ankle propped up on a box, was the only one who ate with any manners at all. But it had been a long time since Linda had tasted food, and she was too hungry to be deterred by the sight of "Beefy" putting his fingers into his plate. So she sat down next to Susie, and silently started to eat. She found the meal exceedingly good, and was surprised at her own appetite, for she hardly expected to be able to enjoy anything under the circumstances. The lantern threw a weird, ghastly light over the strange, ugly faces about her, and the silence was unbroken, except by the noise and clatter of eating. A tenseness took possession of her; she wished desperately that somebody would say something. It was exactly like a horrible dream, whose spell could not be destroyed. And still no one uttered a word until the meal was concluded. "You girls can go to bed now," Slats announced, finally. "I'll carry you over, Susie, and give you a gun, in case Linda tries to sneak off in the night." He smiled with vicious triumph. "I'm afraid that wouldn't do me any good," replied Linda, trying to make her voice sound normal. "I haven't an idea where I am." "On Black Jack Island, in the Okefenokee Swamp," he again told her. "With water all around you. Get that! You can't get away, without a boat or a plane. And I'm tellin' you now, I seen to it that your Bug's bone-dry!" With a conceited grin, he leaned over and picked up his wife so roughly that she cried out in pain. When they were alone, the girls took off some of their outer garments, and lay down on their cots. Linda longed to talk, but she was afraid to begin, for fear it would only lead to some sort of punishment. So she lay still, trying to forget her troubles, to believe everything would come out right in the end, when her father paid the ransom. She was just dozing off, when she was abruptly aroused by agonized sobs from her tent-mate. She sat up and asked her companion whether there was anything she could get her. But Susie did not answer; she continued to cry wildly like a child of six. "Oh, my ankle! My ankle!" she moaned. And then she used worse language than any Linda had ever heard--from man or woman. Linda was sorry for her, but she could not help contrasting this girl's cowardice in the face of physical pain with Dot Crowley's, when the latter had met with a similar accident, and had smiled bravely at the hurt. She thought, too, of Ted Mackay's courage in the hospital, and Susie suffered by the comparisons. "Is there anything I can do?" she asked, again. "No. Only take me to a _real_ doctor--or a hospital." "I'd be glad to, if your husband would let me fly my plane!" "Well, he won't!" There followed more oaths. "What does he care--so long as he ain't the one that's hurt?" She continued to cry hysterically, until a snarling order came from without the tent. "Shut up your noise!" bawled her husband, and Susie softened her sobbing. Linda lay very still, thinking. Dared she suggest that the other girl deceive her husband--or would she only be punished for such an idea? She decided to give it a try. "You must know where the men keep the gasoline," she whispered. "Wouldn't you rather have your ankle fixed right, and not run the chance of being a cripple for life?" "What do you mean?" demanded Susie, raising her head from her pillow. "I mean--wait till the men are asleep, and then you tell me where the gas is, and we'll sneak off. I'd take you to a hospital, and I'd promise never to tell on you." "And lose all that ransom money? Slats'd never forgive me!" "But what good's money, if you're a cripple?" countered Linda. "Yeah--I see what you mean," agreed Susie. "Only we'd never get away with it. They'd hear us gettin' out--remember I can't walk by myself.... No, Linda--it's no go." Disappointed, Linda dropped back on the cot, seeing that further argument was no use, and, fortunately, fell quickly asleep. Had she not been so tired, she would probably have been disturbed during the night, for Susie tossed and moaned without any regard for her companion. But Linda slept the sleep of exhaustion. Just as dawn was beginning to show a faint light through the door of the tent, Linda was rudely awakened by a gruff voice. Startled, she looked into the unpleasant face of Susie's husband, and she shuddered as she recalled where she was. The thought flashed into her mind that soldiers and criminals were usually shot at sunrise, and her hands shook with fear. What was the man going to do to her? "Get up, Linda!" he commanded. "You're working today." "Working?" "Yeah. Flying." "Where?" she demanded, with a trace of hope. If she were allowed to fly, there might be some hope of escape. "Across the swamp. To an island out in the ocean." "Oh!" An island! It sounded like imprisonment. She thought of Napoleon on St. Helena, and she remembered the stories of the cruelties to the French convicts, sentenced to die on an island. Terrible climate, probably, reeking with disease. A slow death that would be far greater torture than being shot--hours of lingering agony, when she would think of her father and her aunt, and of the suffering that she was causing them! And, worst of all, no one to rescue her, as Ted had twice saved her from disasters that were not half so dreadful! But she did not cry; she was disgusted with tears after the way that Susie had carried on the night before, over her sprained ankle. After all, it was no one else's fault that she had selected this job; she had taken it on, and she must see it through, no matter what the outcome. When she had washed and dressed, she walked over to the big tent, where she found breakfast ready. Bacon and eggs and coffee--and even oranges! Evidently they meant to feed her well--for this much she could be thankful. She ate in silence with the three men, for Slats did not carry Susie to the table. When they had finished, and the men were lighting their pipes, Slats pushed back his tin plate and began to talk. "Our idea in running you down was to get a neat little ransom, Linda," he repeated, with the same triumphant grin which she had grown to loathe. She winced, too, at each repetition of her first name, though there was no way that she could stop him from using it. "We figgered your old man could come across with a couple hundred thousand to get you back. When we get ready, we'll let him know. But in the meantime, we ain't ready." He winked knowingly at Beefy, and a cold shiver of fear crept over Linda. If they would only get the thing over quickly! Anything would be better than the awful suspense. The speaker laughed at her expression of terror. "Don't be scared, Linda. We ain't a goin' a hurt you.... It just happens we need you for a couple days in our business." "Your business?" she faltered. "Yeah. We got some jewelry right here in this tent worth about a hundred grand. We fly across to an island with it, where a steamer picks it up and gets it to our agent in South America." "But what has that to do with me?" asked Linda. Did they mean to leave her on the island, or send her to South America? "Just this: we're usin' your Bug and you as pilot fer the job. Susie's the only one of our gang can fly, and now she and the Jenny are busted, we'll use you. Get me?" Linda nodded, sadly. So she was to be made to play a criminal part in their ugly game! How she wished they would be caught! "And you needn't scheme to get away," Slats added. "Because I'll be right behind you, with me gun loaded!" Linda made no reply; after all there was nothing to be said. She must take his orders, or be instantly killed. "Ready now?" he inquired, satisfied with her silence. "We always work early in the day. Maybe you better come over with me and take a look at your plane, and I'll give you some gas. See if she's O.K." Dutifully Linda accompanied the man to the edge of the island, and there was the autogiro, safe and sound as ever--her only friend in the world, it seemed! She looked about her at the marshy water, the trees and vegetation of the swamp, and then up into the sky, which she searched vainly for an airplane. But except for the birds, there was no sign of life in that desolate, vast expanse of land and sky. Not a human habitation in sight! Desperately, she wished that she could think of some plan to outwit this lawless gang, but everything seemed hopeless, as long as Slats carried that pistol aimed at her head. So she meekly inspected the autogiro and climbed into the cock-pit. Her companion was in a good humor; he was enjoying the whole situation immensely, pleased at his own cleverness. He liked to fly, and he admired the autogiro; he even went so far as to say he believed he'd keep this one for Susie. Linda said nothing, but she was thinking what a mistake that would be for him to make. Much as she would hate to lose her autogiro, she realized that its possession would give the gang away to the police. It was one thing to steal jewelry and money, and another to take a plane, of a make of which there were only perhaps a hundred in existence. They flew over the trees, eastward to the prairie land, and then on through the coastal plain to the Atlantic Ocean. Whether they were crossing Florida or Georgia, Linda did not know, and for once she was not interested in the country. The sun rose as they came to the water, but that beautiful sight, too, made no impression upon the unhappy girl. Nothing but the sight of a plane or a boat--the promise of rescue--could have any meaning for her. On and on she went, leaving the land behind them, until finally they sighted an island possibly five miles out. The man behind her shouted to her to land, and she circled about, finally coming down on the beach. As she brought her autogiro to earth, she was once more impressed by the loneliness, the barrenness of it all. No habitation of any kind, not even a tent! Motionless she sat in the cock-pit, wondering whether she couldn't get away while this thief was unloading his treasure. Slats, however, was too wise for any such trick; he commanded Linda to get out of the plane, and help him carry a heavy box across the island where a growth of bushes concealed a hole in the ground, which was evidently the pre-arranged hiding-place. In silence they buried the treasure and returned to the autogiro. Retracing their course under his direction, Linda flew back to the encampment. Here they found the others finishing their lunch, and Susie was sitting with them, apparently much brighter and better, for she was laughing and talking to her companions. As Linda and her captor finished their meal, a stranger put in his stealthy appearance at the door of the tent. He was well-dressed, in riding-breeches, and clean-shaven. Linda's heart gave a wild bound of hope. Was it possible that this man was an officer of the law, and the criminals were caught? But Beefy's greeting to the visitor instantly dispelled her hopes. "Hello, Jake!" he exclaimed. "What's new?" "Everything ripe for tonight," announced the new-comer, briefly. "Ready to start now?" Slats stood up. "O.K. with me," he said. "Want some grub first, Jake?" "No--I just ate." The stranger turned smilingly to Linda. "And how's the most famous girl-pilot in the world?" Linda recoiled in horror. So he too knew all about the plot to catch her! Another member of this terrible gang! As she did not answer, he shrugged his shoulders. "Got the lines out about her yet?" he inquired, of the other men. "No," replied Slats. "We had a smash-up--wrecked Susie and the Jenny, so we'll need Linda to fly her plane for us till this job's over tonight. I'll give you the high sign when I'm ready to let her old man know." The four men stood together at the door of the tent. "We're leaving for a day--maybe two," Slats informed Linda. "But Susie's watching you, with a gun. And your plane's dry, so I wouldn't advise to try any get-away. There's swamps everywhere.... "So long...." A moment later the girls heard the men tramp away to the boat that the new-comer had brought to the edge of the island. CHAPTER V _Escape_ It was with a sigh of relief that Linda watched her captors disappear. Not that she had any hope of getting free--without gasoline--but at least she would not see those dreadful men for a few hours. Susie was not nearly so bad. "I hope you can cook," remarked the latter, surveying her bandaged ankle. "Oh, yes," replied Linda. "I've often camped out before." "Then we can enjoy ourselves for a while. I'm glad to get rid of that gang.... And, Linda--how 'bout if we be friends? No use making things worse by getting mad at _me_." "True," admitted Linda, though she wondered what she could possibly find in common with the other girl that might inspire friendship. Seeing a kettle of water steaming on the oilstove, she set herself to the task of washing the dishes. "Wish I could help," remarked Susie, in a friendly tone. "But after this there won't be so many dishes--for just the two of us." "When do you expect them back?" inquired her prisoner. "Tomorrow morning, probably. If they get their loot." "Suppose they get caught?" suggested Linda. "They won't. Don't worry! They've been planning this crack for months, and you can bet everything's all set just right. They never get caught." Linda sighed. It wasn't very promising. "Tell me how you got into a gang like this?" she asked, suddenly. "I fell for Slats," replied the other girl. "Thought he was a rich guy--he spent so much money on me. I was working as a clerk at an airport, and learning to fly. We ran off and got married." "But when you discovered that he wasn't straight, why didn't you leave him?" "Couldn't. He said he'd hunt me down, and 'bump me off,' if I did. And he meant it, too. Slats isn't afraid of anything.... I saw right away that he didn't want a wife, but a pilot, who'd do what he said.... The only fun I get out of it is in the winter, when we go to Europe or South America, and live like swells. Then he lets me spend all the money I want." "But doesn't it make you feel dreadful--at night, sometimes, or when you're alone--to think of leading such a wicked life?" "Now, Linda, be yourself!" answered Susie, flippantly. "No preaching! From you, or anybody else!" Linda turned away and completed her task in silence. What was the use of talking to a person like that? She knew now what was meant by the term "hard-boiled." If ever a word described anyone, that word described Susie. She wondered, as she worked, whether it would be worth-while to repeat her suggestion of the night before. Susie's ankle was so much better today that she would not be so eager to get to a real doctor. Still, there could be no harm in trying. "Wouldn't you like to go off in my autogiro today?" she inquired, without turning around. Her companion laughed bitterly. "Not a chance!" she replied. "Didn't you see Beefy take that big can to the boat with him? That was _gas_." "Oh!" exclaimed Linda, her hopes dashed to the ground. "You mean they don't trust you?" "They don't trust anybody!" announced the other girl, emphatically. "It don't pay--in a game like theirs." "Would you have gone with me?" inquired Linda. "If they hadn't taken it?" "I don't know. My ankle's better. But I'm sick and tired of Slats, though I guess I'd miss the cash and the excitement. And I guess I'd be too scared he'd get me in the end if I double-crossed him." Linda was silent. Now that this hope was frustrated, she must think of something else. Surely this was her chance of escape--with the men away, and her only companion a cripple. But the swamp--the dreadful swamp was all about her. How far into the depth of the Okefenokee she was, she did not know. It was all a vast unexplored wilderness to her. "Alive with snakes and wild animals, and alligators, I suppose," she mused. Yet nothing savage could be worse than those three fiends in human flesh who were holding her captive. She determined to face anything rather than them. Yes; she would run away, if it meant swimming the swamp! There was no use loading herself down with food, she concluded, for most of her trip would be through the water. She would stop at her plane and take out some chocolate, and her knife; thus lightly equipped, she would face the wilderness alone. "Linda," said Susie, interrupting these thoughts, "will you go to my tent and get me a magazine I have there? I think it's under the cot." Linda nodded, repressing a smile. She would go, but she would not come back! Stepping into the smaller tent, she dropped the flap, and picked up her flash-light. Then, raising the wall on the other side, she crept out through the trees to the edge of the island and circled about until she reached the autogiro. This would give her a few minutes extra before Susie should realize that she had gone. As she stood there beside her plane for a moment, wondering whether she would ever see it again, she had her first real sight of the Okefenokee Swamp from the ground. Cypress and slash pine trees grew in abundance, and heavy moss hung about. In the water all around her, she noticed rushes and water-lilies, and ferns grew everywhere in profusion. Beneath the surface, she could see thick vegetation; would this, she wondered, support her weight if she were to attempt to walk in it? In the afternoon sunlight the water, the trees, were perfectly still; except for the birds, the silence was profound. How desolate it was! Her wrist-watch informed her that it was already four o'clock. Five hours more, and darkness would come on, enveloping everything in a blackness such as a city-dweller never sees. Even the sky might be hidden by the trees, and the wild animals would be prowling stealthily about in search of food. She shuddered and hesitated. "But I have an even chance with the animals," she thought. "And with those thieves, I am sure to lose!" So valiantly, she stepped out into the water. The depth was not great at this point, and she discovered that, though the soft muck sunk beneath her feet, she could still make progress. The hard rains of July and August had not yet set in, and the "bays," as the stretches of shallow water were called, had not risen to any great height. Laboriously she waded onward, choosing a thick growth of trees in the distance as her goal. Surely, she thought, where the trees could grow there must be some dry land. If she could make that spot by nightfall, she could hide in their depths and sleep. Then tomorrow she could press on to the westward, and perhaps reach the end of the swamp. It was a slow, weary progress that she accomplished, and she had to pick her way carefully, measuring the depth of the water with a stick which she had cut from a pine on Black Jack Island, but she kept resolutely on until her watch registered seven o'clock. Then, all of a sudden, the stick sunk so deeply into the muck that she knew she would have to swim, and she hastily ate the chocolate which was to be her evening meal, and plunged forward to swim. As the time slowly passed, she watched Black Jack Island fading in the distance, and hope swelled in her heart. She was nearing land at last--perhaps only an island--but even if she were not out of the swamp, at least she would be away from her enemies. She smiled when she pictured the consternation and anger of the men at finding her gone. She swam on for some distance, now and then pausing to cut the grasses that became entangled about her legs. Her shoes were heavy, but she hated to take them off, for they were a help in the shallow water. After an hour of this exercise, she was utterly exhausted, and she looked about her in dismay. What if she should drown now, in the midst of her own country--after she had conquered the Atlantic Ocean successfully? The thought was absurd; she steeled herself to press forward, for she was coming nearer to that bank of trees. Surely, there lay safety! Had she but known it, she was now entering one of the so-called "Gator Roads" of the swamp--channels of water which the alligators followed. But it looked promising to the tired, hungry girl. The foliage was growing thicker now, and the water-way narrowing. Some distance on, the trees met overhead, and beautiful moss hung from their branches, shutting out the setting sunlight, and forming a lovely green bower. But Linda was scarcely conscious of this beauty, for she was breathing with difficulty, panting with fatigue. If she could only make that bank--where the land seemed firm! A big tree had fallen across the water, and she managed to reach it, and to cling to it for support while she rested. Her feet hung down in the muck, and she realized that the water was comparatively shallow. She wanted to laugh aloud in her relief. Pulling herself up by her hands, she decided to walk the log to the bank, and had just poised herself upon its rather perilous round surface, when she encountered the greatest shock in her life thus far. Not ten yards away, in the very water where she would have been now, had she not mounted the log--was an alligator, at least eight feet long! Brave as she was usually in the face of other dangers, she let out a piercing scream of terror at the sight of this horrible monster. "Now I've got to walk the log!" she thought. "It's death if I fall off!" She watched the alligator a minute or two while she regained her self-control, and made sure that he was not moving. Then, with eyes straight ahead, she started to walk the log. Once, toward the middle, she swayed, but it was only for a second. She straightened herself staunchly and marched on--to dry land. Oh, the joy of feeling her feet on firm ground again! To know that whatever misfortune might come on the morrow, she was safe for that night at least! She could not drown, or be tortured by enemies; her only danger would come from snakes. She would take the precaution to explore her sleeping-place thoroughly before she lay down. Weary as she was, she did not stop until she had gone farther into the island. The trees were denser here than they had been at Black Jack; it would be more difficult to land an autogiro, if by chance Susie should follow her. Nevertheless, she resolved to stay hidden as much as possible. Away from the shore, she finally dropped to the ground and took off her wet shoes and stockings. "Not that it will do me much good in the morning to start off dry," she thought bitterly. "But anyhow, I don't want to sleep in them." And then she removed her outer garments. "Wouldn't supper taste good!" she said aloud, envying Susie that well-filled larder at the camp. But Linda knew that there was no danger of her starving so soon, after that big noon-day meal, and she put the thought of food from her mind. Water she could not forget so easily. After half an hour's thirst, she decided to risk a drink from the swamp. Had she but known that the water of the Okefenokee is not poisonous, she would have enjoyed her drink more. The "peat" gives it a queer taste, but it is harmless. She was relieved, in her return to the water, to see that the alligator had gone--which way, she could not tell. Though she was desolately lonely in that vast abandoned wilderness, she did not care for the companionship of so ugly a beast! When she returned to the spot which she had selected for her camp, she took her knife from its wet case and cut a few stout sticks from a tree. With these she would explore the ground before she lay down, and keep them at her side while she slept, as some sort of protection from snakes. As with the water, however, Linda's fears regarding snakes proved unnecessary, for the report of a large number of these in the Okefenokee Swamp had been proved by hunters to have been exaggerated. As a matter of fact, Linda did not see one during her entire visit to the swamp. She waited until the daylight had faded, and darkness completely enveloped the landscape before she lay down to rest. The stars were still visible here and there through the trees, and, as upon the occasion of her lonely flight to Paris, they somehow seemed friendly. After an hour or so, she slipped off to sleep. Only once during that strange, desolate night did she awaken, and that was when something cold and wet suddenly touched her face. She started up fearfully, seizing a stick with one hand and her knife with the other, squinting her eyes for snakes. Her flash-light had of course been thrown away during her swim, so she could not immediately identify the enemy that had awakened her. She laughed out loud when she finally saw what it was. She had rolled over against her shoes, which were still cold and clammy with water! She went back to sleep again, and did not awaken until the sun was well up in the sky. She had no way of telling the exact time, for her watch refused to go after its bath in the swamp, but Linda judged from the sun that it must be nine o'clock at least. Her clothing was dry, at any rate, and her shoes only a little damp. But what a sight she was, she thought, after that long swim! She went down to the water's edge to wash, and to drink the water that must serve as her breakfast, and looked carefully about her--into the sky, and on the water--for the sight of her enemies. For she had no doubt that as soon as the thieves returned, they would go in search of her, believing that she could not have gotten far away. She was relieved to see nothing, no sign of human beings anywhere, and she paused to watch some wild birds fly past overhead. Everything was peaceful and quiet--like a Sunday morning in the country. It was hard to believe that wickedness existed in such a beautiful world. Then, abruptly, she noticed the soft swish of water not far away from her, and she looked up quickly, expecting to see the alligator again. In that awful second, her worst fears were realized. A canoe, with two men aboard, was coming straight towards her. The thieves! They had sighted her--they were wildly waving their arms. It was too late to hide! CHAPTER VI _The Enemy in the Autogiro_ Defeated, miserable, hopeless, Linda sank to the ground and buried her face in her hands, waiting for the dreaded approach of her enemies. Oh, the cruelty of fate, to deliver her to them again, after her superhuman effort to escape! Bitter tears rushed to her eyes, scalding her face, and she sat as one expecting death, listening to the rhythmic dip of the paddles, as the canoe came closer and closer. She kept her face hidden until the sound ceased, informing her thereby that the craft had stopped at her side. Tensely she waited for the harsh snarl of her captor's voice. But to her incredulous amazement, she heard instead the soft, deep, well-bred tones of a Southerner! "Can we be of any help to you, Miss?" inquired the speaker. Linda looked up instantly into the kind eyes of two exceedingly attractive young men. "Oh! Please!" she gasped, the tears still running from her eyes. "Yes, please!" And then, for the first time in her life, Linda Carlton fainted. When she came to, she was lying on the ground, with two strangers bending over her, one offering her water, and the other hot coffee from a thermos bottle. A warm glow of happiness surged over her as she realized that she was among real human beings--not animals, or criminals. Though not naturally impulsive, she longed to throw her arms about these boys and weep with gratitude. If they had been girls, she would not have hesitated a moment. Instead, she sat up and smiled her sweetest smile, so that, bedraggled as she was, she was still beautiful. The boys, man-like, each urged his particular offering upon her. "Put that coffee down, Hal!" commanded the tall, fair youth at her right. "A lady who has just fainted doesn't want coffee." "I do, though," Linda assured him. "I want water, and coffee--and anything else you have to eat. I fainted from hunger as much as from anything else." The boy called "Hal" looked pleased at her acceptance of his gift, and he hurried back to the canoe for some food. "Are you alone?" asked the other, who remained at Linda's side. "And how do you happen to be here?" "It's a long story," replied the girl, wondering just how much of it she had better tell. It was all so incredulous, that perhaps they wouldn't believe her if she did tell them. "First have some food," suggested the boy who had gone to the canoe. "How long has it been since you ate?" "Only yesterday noon--and I even had some chocolate about six o'clock. But after that I waded and swam from Black Jack Island to this place--whatever it is." "This is 'Billy's Island,'" the boys informed her. "Named after 'Billy Bowlegs,' the Indian who once lived here.... But, Great Guns!" exclaimed Hal, "that's five miles at least! Nobody ever tried to swim the Okefenokee Swamp before!" "Well, it seemed like twenty-five," remarked Linda. "And I hope nobody ever has to try it again." She did not go on with her story immediately, for she was too busy eating bananas--one right after another. Nothing had ever tasted so good! Meanwhile, the boys introduced themselves as Hal--short for Harold--Perry, and Jackson Carter, both Juniors at the University of Florida. "We're both on the archery team at college," Jackson explained. "And we take a little trip into the Okefenokee each summer, to try out our bows and arrows on the wild game here. We camp each night on one of the islands." "Then you know the Swamp pretty well," remarked Linda, with relief. They would be able to take her back to civilization. "The southern end of it--yes," replied Hal. "Now tell us who you are," urged Jackson Carter, regarding Linda with silent admiration. There was no doubt about it, she certainly was an attractive girl. Linda hesitated a moment, and determined not to mention her first name. She was tired of all the publicity and disaster which her ocean flight had brought her. Besides, these boys might think she was just posing as Linda Carlton, the famous aviatrix, in order to impress them. She would tell them only her middle name, instead. "I am Ann Carlton, from Ohio," she replied. "I was flying my new plane when I got lost over the swamp, and had to come down on the first dry land I saw, because my gas was running low, and I didn't know how far the water extended." "Smashed your plane?" inquired Hal, evidently satisfied with the explanation. "No. But unfortunately I fell among a gang of thieves, and they stole it, and tried to hold me prisoner on Black Jack Island. But yesterday I got away, as I told you." Both boys gazed at Linda in admiration and wonder. What a plucky girl she must be! "Thieves in the swamp!" repeated Hal. "Not Indians?--a lot of Indians used to live here, and they might have come back." "No. White men--and one girl. Regular thieves, the kind that rob banks and jewelry stores." "But what were they doing? Hiding from justice?" "I don't think so," answered Linda. "Because I don't think anybody suspects them in particular. They have a regular camp on Black Jack Island, and they bring whatever they steal there, and transfer it by airplane to an island in the Atlantic Ocean, where it's picked up by another partner in a boat." Jackson let out a whistle. "Pretty slick, aren't they? But they'll get caught sometime." "I sincerely hope so. Unfortunately, though, nobody could identify them as thieves, because they haven't been caught before." "You could," remarked Hal. "Yes, if I ever see them again. Do we have to pass Black Jack Island to get out of the swamp?" "I'm afraid so--but we needn't go very close to it--it's some distance from the regular 'Gator Road' we always follow." "'Gator Road'?" repeated Linda. "There aren't any roads in the swamp, are there?" "They're water channels," Hal explained. "Short for alligator-roads." Linda shuddered. "I saw an alligator last night," she told them. "I hope we don't meet any more." "You poor girl!" exclaimed Jackson. "It seems to me you've had most every dreadful experience anybody could have in the last twenty-four hours!" "But they're over now," laughed Linda, wondering what the boys would say if she told them the real account of the kidnapping. Even now Jackson Carter was looking at her strangely. She seemed like such a nice girl--but what sort of family could she have come from, that would allow her to roam around the country unchaperoned and alone? He himself was of an old-fashioned Southern family, who regarded such independence in young women as mere boldness. Yet Linda Carlton seemed anything but ill-bred, or bold. "Aren't your family worried about you, Miss Carlton?" he inquired. "So far away--in an airplane?" "They must be by now," she replied with a pang of distress. "I had promised to wire them every day--and it's been three nights now since I could. My aunt probably is afraid I have been killed." "Your aunt?" "Yes. My mother is dead, and my aunt has always taken care of me." "But she lets you do pretty much as you please I take it. You northern girls certainly are different." "Well, not exactly." Linda could not explain without telling the whole story of her life, so she decided to let the matter pass. "Hadn't we better be pushing on, if we expect to get out of the swamp before dark?" "Yes," replied Hal. "But don't set your heart on that, Miss Carlton. I don't know whether we can or not. But we'll get past Black Jack Island, and at least as far as Soldiers' Camp Island." "Soldiers' Camp Island?" repeated Linda. "Yes. The story goes that some Civil War soldiers deserted, and hid there. I don't know how true it is, but it certainly is a good place to hide." "Don't I know!" sighed Linda. They climbed into the canoe, putting Linda on some blankets in the center, and started upon their journey. For the first time since her visit to the swamp, Linda was at last able to enjoy its beauty. The thick ferns, the cypress trees growing in abundance, the pines and the water-lilies! What a difference a boat could make! Yesterday she hated the rushes and the moss; today she found everything lovely. Avoiding the island where the thieves were camped, the boys made a wide circle, and did not pass even in sight of it. With each mile of progress, Linda's spirits rose higher and higher, until finally she suggested that they sing. She just had to find some outlet for her joy and thanksgiving. "It must be long after noon," remarked Jackson, as they finished a familiar college song. "Hadn't we better eat?" "I see an island ahead--I think it's Soldiers' Camp," replied Hal. "Wouldn't it be nice to stop and make some coffee?" "I'm hot enough without any fire or hot coffee," returned Jackson, wiping the perspiration from his face. "But I would like to stretch my legs." "Let me do the cooking!" urged Linda, eagerly. "I'd love to prove some use to you, after all the trouble I've made." "You haven't been any trouble!" protested Jackson, whose admiration for Linda had been growing by leaps and bounds, in spite of the fact that he could not wholly approve of her. For the past three hours he had been sitting in the stern of the canoe, gazing at her lovely profile, listening to the charm of her soft voice. Yet he knew he had better not allow himself to care for this girl; she was just the type his mother disapproved of, and with Jackson Carter, his mother's wishes were supreme. They pulled up to the island and unloaded the canoe. There were all sorts of supplies--bacon, canned beans, fruit, and biscuits, as well as tea, coffee, sugar and canned milk. Even a little folding stove to set over a fire, and a coffee-pot. "What a perfectly delightful spot!" exclaimed Linda, as she walked some distance inland. "Look at these lovely little houses! Why, I could almost live in them myself!" What she referred to were the clumps, here and there, of cypress trees and overgrowing vines and evergreens, which, as a matter of fact, the hunters often used to camp in during their visits to the swamp. They were very attractive indeed, and would afford complete privacy, Linda thought, if she were obliged to spend another night in the Okefenokee. The boys made a fire on the edge of the water, and Linda insisted that they go off for half an hour while she prepared the meal. She laughed and sang as she toasted the dry biscuits and the bacon, and boiled the coffee. What fun it was to picnic when you were among friends--even if they were very new ones! When the boys came back, they each proudly displayed a wild goose, as proof of their ability with the bow and arrow. Then, like three happy, carefree school-children, they sat down to their meal, having forgotten all about the thieves for the time being. The shock was all the more terrible, therefore, when they suddenly looked up into the sky and saw the autogiro overhead. Linda was the first to identify the plane, to guess what danger they were in. She stumbled to her feet, pulling Jackson with her, and just as she opened her mouth to tell them to flee with her into the depths of the island, a shot rang out from the autogiro, and a bullet whizzed past the little group, so innocently enjoying their picnic! CHAPTER VII _The Smash-Up_ The robbery which was so carefully planned by the gang of thieves who had kidnapped Linda Carlton, was highly successful. One of the largest banks in Jacksonville was entered just before closing time on the afternoon of June 23rd by four masked robbers, who calmly took thousands of dollars in cash and securities, and escaped to a waiting car, without being identified or caught. By a secret route these men suddenly disappeared--whither, no one but Linda and Susie knew. By midnight they were back again in the swamp, and by dawn they had reached Black Jack Island. Exhausted from their journey, three of the men dropped down on their cots and fell instantly asleep. The fourth--Susie's husband--stopped to look into his wife's tent. Flashing the light inside, he peered through the doorway. There was Susie, sleeping peacefully on her cot. But the other bed was empty! "Susie!" he yelled in alarm. "Where's Linda?" The girl awakened abruptly, and sat up, blinking her eyes at the unexpected light. For a moment she could not think what he meant. Then she remembered her prisoner. "She's gone," she replied. "Beat it this afternoon." "How?" he demanded roughly, coming over and shaking her by the arm. Susie winced, and pulled herself free. "You leave me alone!" she warned him. "How do I know how Linda got away? Could I run after her?" "No, but you might 'ave watched her!" snarled Slats. "Didn't I tell you to?" "Watching wouldn't keep her here," retorted Susie. "Is her Bug still there?" he inquired. "Yeah. I hobbled over and took a look myself." "Oh, you did, did you?" Then, worn out and disappointed, Slats started to swear. Susie sat still, regarding him with contempt. How vulgar such language sounded, when you actually stopped and listened to it! She did not realize it at the time, but just the few hours which she had spent with Linda Carlton had given her a new view-point. Or rather, had brought back her training as a child, before she had "gone bad." When the man's anger had spent itself in violent words, he began to wonder how on earth Linda could have escaped. "No human being could get far in this here bog, without a boat or a plane!" he exclaimed. "She must be around here somewhere." "Why don't you go look for her!" demanded Susie, with a sneer. She was beginning to be glad that Linda had gotten away. Her husband turned on her savagely. "Look a here, Susie, if you helped that kid to get away--!" He held up his fist threateningly. "I'll make you sorry! Give you a dose of the medicine I was saving for Linda!" "What do you mean?" she demanded, trembling. "This gun!" he replied. "Well, I didn't," she hastened to assure him. "Linda slipped off when I wasn't watching.... But do you mean you were going to shoot Linda?" "Sure, you fool! That's what kidnappers always do. Bait the big fish till they get the cash, then kill the victim, and ship the corpse. If we sent Linda back alive, she'd have us in the Pen in no time. Our game'd be up." Susie shivered; she had not realized that the men had any intention of going to that end. True, Slats had once killed a bank messenger, but Susie always excused him on the ground of self-defense. "Hard-boiled" as she was, the idea of shooting an innocent girl like Linda Carlton was too much for her to approve. She felt suddenly sick with the horror of it all. Slats sat down for a moment on the empty cot, while he thought things over. Linda Carlton must not escape to tell the world of her experience and to give such accurate descriptions of the gang that they would have to be caught. Aside from the matter of the ransom which the kidnapping ought to bring them, they dared not let her go. The case called for immediate action. "Can you fly that Bug, Susie?" he demanded, abruptly breaking the silence. "I guess so," replied the girl. "They say they're easier than airplanes." "O.K. Then we're off. Get dressed as quick as you can." "But Slats," protested Susie, rubbing her injured ankle, "don't forget I've been hurt!" "Rats!" was his unsympathetic reply. "Get busy. I'll be getting the gas, and some grub. We'll need coffee--and a lot of it." Distasteful as the plan was, Susie could do nothing but obey. But she was feeling very miserable as she ate her breakfast, very sorry for the "poor, brave kid," as she called Linda, very resentful against her husband. The latter helped her down to the autogiro and put her into the pilot's cock-pit, where she sat for some minutes examining the controls. The dawn had changed into daylight, and the swamp was beautiful in the early morning sunrise. But, like Linda Carlton, Susie did not even notice it. Impatient at the delay, her husband demanded, "Got the idea how to run her?" "Sure," she replied, listlessly. "Start her up and climb in.... Where do you want to go!" "Circle all around--flying low, so that we can spot the kid if she's here. If we don't see her in the water, we'll stop at some of the islands, and look there. She can't 'ave got out of this swamp." "O.K.," agreed Susie. Without much difficulty the girl ran the autogiro along the edge of the island until it rose into the air. It was easy enough to keep it flying; the test would come when she had to make a landing. But Susie decided never to worry about anything until the time came. Luck was usually with her; her only serious crash had been the one of two days previous, and, after all, there was a reason for that. Slats, who spurned learning how to fly, because he considered his a master-mind, above such practical work, was, nevertheless, enjoying the ride. He congratulated himself upon his own cleverness in securing this new plane for the gang. "Like her, Susie?" he shouted, through the speaking-tube. The girl nodded, indifferently. "You can have her!" he announced, proudly, as if he were giving her a costly present of his own purchasing. Susie drew down the corners of her lips in scorn, but made no reply. Didn't he realize that she would never dare fly this autogiro where anyone could see her? That the police all over the country would be on the look-out for this very plane? She was understanding for the first time that money was not much use without freedom. As she sat in the cock-pit, silently thinking things over, she made up her mind not to try to help Slats in his search. She would have to continue to guide the plane, of course, for she never for one moment forgot the pistol that her husband kept ready to enforce his orders with. But she would not attempt to spot Linda, nor would she inform him if she did happen by chance to see the girl. No; it would be better to let "the poor kid" die by natural causes in the swamp than for her to be killed by Slats in cold-blooded murder. Over the trees and tropical plants of the swamp they continued to fly, until the sun rose directly overhead, and they knew that it was noon. All the while Slats kept his eyes glued to the ground, without any success. Not a sign of human life did he see. Movements in the swamp--yes--snakes and birds, and even an alligator--but no girl! Yet he felt sure that even if Linda were hiding, she would come out at the sound of the plane, for by this time she would realize that escape was impossible. Driven by the pangs of hunger, she would have to surrender to her fate. But noon passed, and they found no trace of her. Perhaps she was dead by this time, the man thought bitterly--killed by a snake, or drowned in the treacherous water! He would not mind that, if he could only find her dead body. Without it, without the assurance that she was not still at large, he dared not seek a reward. What a lot of money he would be losing! "We'll land on an island, and have some grub," he shouted to his companion. "Fly south to 'Soldiers' Camp.'" "O.K.," replied the girl, beginning to doubt her ability to make a landing. But she was afraid to disobey--and besides, they had to come down sometime. After that things happened with a rapidity that must have startled the peaceful bird-life in the Okefenokee Swamp. Approaching the island, Susie and her husband spotted the carefree picnic at the same moment, and the former made a sudden, sharp turn in the hope of hiding the sight from Slats. At the same instant, he took out his pistol and fired at the group--at Linda in particular--missing her only because of Susie's rapid change of the position of the plane. The sharp angle had its effect upon the pilot; she lurched over, striking her injured ankle against the rudder, swerving the plane violently to the other side. Panic-stricken, she tried to right the plane, but she had not even throttled the engine down to a landing speed. The inevitable crash followed. With an impact that was frightful, the autogiro headed for a tree with relentless speed, struck it and bounced thirty feet into the air. By some miracle Susie, crouched as she was in the cock-pit, was not thrown out, but her husband, who had not taken the precaution to wear a safety-belt, was bounced wildly into the air, and landed, face-downward, on a rock. During all this excitement, Linda and her companions stood tensely rooted to the spot, the girl gripping Jackson Carter's hand as if he were her one support. As the crash came, she dropped her head on his shoulder and moaned aloud, totally unconscious of the fact that the young man was still little more than a stranger to her. A cry from Susie aroused her to the fact that the girl was still alive. Ignoring the man who had brought about the catastrophe by his hasty shot, all three young people rushed to Susie's aid. The plane was only partially turned over; the rotor and the wheels were injured, and the nose smashed, but it did not look to Linda as if there had been any serious harm to the engine. Susie's head was cut, and two teeth were knocked out, but apparently no bones had been broken. Very carefully the boys lifted her from the cock-pit and laid her on the ground. "I have a first-aid kit in the canoe," said Hal, immediately. "I'll get it and fix up this cut. It doesn't seem awfully deep." "Does it hurt very much, Susie?" asked Linda, offering her a drink of water. "Not as much as my ankle. And my poor mouth! Without these teeth! My looks are ruined!" "No, they're not," answered Linda, comfortingly. "Any good dentist can fix you up so nobody will ever know the difference." Still no one said anything about the man who was lying so silently on the rock a dozen yards away. It was Hal Perry, returning from the canoe, who made the announcement which they had all been secretly expecting. "The man with the gun is dead," he said, quietly, not knowing how Susie would take the news. "So he got his at last," muttered the latter, with a certain grim satisfaction. "Nobody--not even his widow--is goin' to shed a single tear!" CHAPTER VIII _The Chief of Police_ Half an hour after the accident, Susie expressed a desire to eat, and Linda hastened to supply her with food. While the girl ate her lunch, the little group discussed their plans. "Is my bag still in the autogiro?" asked Linda, surveying the disreputable suit which she had worn for three days. What a relief it would be to get into clean clothing! "It was when we left," replied Susie. "If it didn't bounce out when we crashed.... Linda," she added apologetically, "I'm awful sorry about your plane. I--I--didn't mean to crack it up." "I know you didn't, Susie. I think it can be repaired, if we can get the new parts to this forsaken place. Probably we can--by airplane." Jackson Carter, who had been only half listening to this conversation, interrupted by telling the girls that he and Hal would take care of the burying of the criminal. "Unless," he added, turning to Susie, "you would want to take the body back to your home?" "We haven't any home," Susie admitted sadly. "And no friends, outside the gang.... No, it's better for him to lie here in this swamp--where he meant to plant Linda." The implication was lost to the boys, who did not know the story of the kidnapping, and who thought of Linda as "Ann." "Then first we'll help you get your bag out of the autogiro, Miss Carlton," offered Jackson. "You can go back into one of those little 'houses,' and change into clean clothing, if you want to, while we attend to the burying." "Wait a minute," urged Linda. "I think we ought to decide what we'll do about tonight. We can't all four get into that canoe, so Susie and I had better stay here, hadn't we? You could wire my aunt for me, couldn't you?" To Linda's amazement, before either of the boys had a chance to reply, Susie put in a protest. "It ain't safe for you to be here an hour more than you have to," she said. "Don't forget there's still three rough guys hot on your trail.... No, I'll stay alone, if you leave me some grub, and a blanket. You can come back for me when you bring somebody to fix your plane." This generous offer came as a complete surprise to Linda; she had not realized before that this girl had swung over to her side. What a splendid sign it was! Susie must have decided to cut free from these criminals, now that her husband was dead. "That's great of you, Susie," replied Linda. "And you needn't worry that I'll ever tell the authorities anything bad about you! I was afraid I oughtn't to leave you alone--but if you really don't mind----" The other girl shrugged her shoulders. "I'll get along O.K. I'm used to being left by myself. But don't stay away too long." The arrangements suited the boys perfectly, for they were anxious to be out of the swamp as soon as possible. With fast paddling, they ought to be able to reach a little town in Florida by dark, where they believed that they could hire an automobile to take them home. Fifteen minutes later Linda stepped out from the enclosure, dressed in a pale blue voile--the only dress she carried in her bag, for she had shipped her trunk to Atlanta, where she had expected to report for work. The wearing of clean clothing was a pleasure second only to that of using a comb and a tooth-brush. She felt like a different girl. If she had seemed pretty to Jackson Carter before, in that disheveled green linen suit, she was radiantly beautiful now. Returning from his gruesome task, he stood still, lost in admiration. Linda laughed at his amazement. "Do I look like another girl?" she inquired. "The same girl--glorified," he answered, with awe. Having unloaded the canoe of its food and blankets, and assured themselves that Susie was able to hobble around with the aid of a stick, the three young people pushed off. It was only three o'clock; all these occurrences--the crash, the death of the criminal, his burial--had taken place in less than two hours! For some time the boys paddled forward in silence, each of the three occupants of the canoe lost in his or her own thoughts. Hal was going over the exciting events of the last two hours; Jackson was thinking of Linda--or "Ann"--Carlton, and wondering whether her hiding her head on his shoulder had meant that she cared for him. Linda's mind, however, was occupied with the immediate future--with the part she might play in assisting the police to catch those arch criminals who were still at large. It was she who first broke the silence. "What would be the nearest large city to this southern end of the swamp?" she inquired. "Jacksonville, Florida," replied Hal, immediately. "That's where we both live." "Then that's where I want to go," announced Linda. "Have they a good police department?" "Best in the country," boasted Jackson.... "Miss Carlton," he added, "would you stay at our home while you are in the city?" "I'd love to," agreed the girl immediately. All through the South, until she had lost her way in the Okefenokee, she had met with this same southern hospitality, and had found it charming. Jackson Carter was overjoyed at her acceptance, yet he was a little fearful of the reception his mother would give to a girl who was so different from all his other friends. Surely, however, the older woman must see how fine Miss Carlton was, and accept her for her own lovely charm. The hours passed swiftly and the daylight was fast fading when the boys finally informed Linda that she was out of the swamp. With a prayer of thanksgiving, she gave it one last look, hardly able to believe her good fortune. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she had been miserably lost in its depths. Now she was free to live again in civilization, untortured by the fears that had held her in such terror for the last three days. Leaving the canoe in a boat-house on the bank of the small stream which they had been following out of the swamp, they walked to the nearest village and asked for the Post Office. Here Linda made arrangements to send a wire to her aunt, in which, however, she did not mention the fact that she had been kidnapped. "Have been lost in Okefenokee Swamp," she wrote. "But not hurt. Wire me at Jacksonville, Fla. Love--Linda." Her next move was to send for her trunk from Atlanta, and to wire for new parts for the autogiro, and while the boys looked up a place to eat supper, she bought a Jacksonville newspaper. She hoped there would be nothing in it about her, for she hated so much publicity. The first item that struck her eye was the announcement of the Jacksonville Bank robbery. More than a hundred thousand dollars had been stolen--in cash and securities--by four masked bandits on the afternoon of June twenty-third, and still no trace of them had been found. "That money must be at Black Jack Island," she thought, resolving to get this information to the police early the following day. She had to go through the paper twice before she found her own name. It was only a tiny notice, among the aviation briefs, and copied from an Ohio paper--stating the fact that Linda Carlton, world-famous aviatrix, had not been heard from for three days, and asking that the air-ports of Georgia report any sight of her autogiro. Linda breathed a sigh of relief, as she saw how inconspicuous this notice was. For some reason she did not want Jackson Carter or Hal Perry to connect her with the famous flyer, and she longed above everything to keep the story of the kidnapping from her aunt's ears. The boys came back with the information that they had found a place to eat, and took Linda to a little frame house where a widow ran a sort of restaurant. The cottage was run-down and out-of-repair, but everything inside was neat and clean, and the food, though plain, was excellent. "How long will it take us to get to Jacksonville?" inquired Linda, as they finished the meal. "Two or three hours," replied Hal. "Providing we have no mishaps. Why?" Linda repressed a sigh. She was very tired, and longed intensely for sleep in a real bed. These last two nights in the swamp had taken their toll of her vitality. "If only we had a plane!" she said. "It wouldn't do me any good," remarked Jackson. "I've never been in one--and I've promised my grandmother I won't fly until I'm twenty-one." "Oh, I'm so sorry," offered Linda, with genuine sympathy. Life without flying seemed a dreary thing to her. The only car which the boys had been able to hire was a dilapidated Ford that looked as if it would hardly last the trip. But it proved to be better than its appearance; over the lovely hard roads of Florida it traveled comparatively smoothly. To Linda's amazement, she found when they reached Jacksonville that she had slept most of the way. The short rest had freshened her considerably, and she suddenly decided to go to the Police Headquarters that night. It was her duty to report the crash of her plane, and the death of that criminal. She wished that she had thought to ask Susie his real name--she was going to feel rather silly calling him "Slats." With this purpose in mind, she asked Jackson what time it was. "Half-past nine," was his reply. "Why?" "Because I think I ought to report to the Police tonight about those thieves. I understand that it was a bank in Jacksonville that they robbed." "Which bank?" demanded the boy, excitedly. "'The First National,' the paper says." At this information, Jackson Carter dropped back in his seat and groaned. His mother's bank--where all of her money was kept! The bank of which his uncle was president! This was going to mean trouble to the whole Carter family. "Will you please take my bag to your house, and leave the address with me?" asked Linda, not knowing what Jackson was suffering. "I'll take a taxi out to your home, after I see the Chief of Police." "Yes, yes, of course," agreed the young man, still absorbed in his own thoughts. It was a late hour to visit the Chief of Police, but when Linda explained her reason to an officer at the City Hall, the latter sent for the chief immediately. When Captain Magee came in a few minutes later, Linda was impressed with his appearance and delighted with his dignified and courteous manner. She smiled at him confidently; how different he was from those officers of the law with whom she had come in contact in Canada! "I am going to tell you my whole story, if you will promise not to repeat the part about the kidnapping to the newspapers," she began. "I don't want my people at home to hear of that--for, after all, it is over now, and I am safe." "Kidnapping!" repeated the officer. "You don't mean to say that you have been kidnapped?" "Yes. My name is Linda Ann Carlton--I am the girl who flew the Atlantic in May." She blushed, for she hated to talk about herself, or to appear to boast about her own exploits, but this time it was necessary. "Here in Jacksonville, among friends, I am going to be known as Ann Carlton, because I want to avoid publicity." Her blue eyes became pleading, and she asked, in an almost child-like tone, "You won't tell on me, will you, Captain Magee?" He smiled. "No, I won't tell. Unless it becomes necessary." "Thank you so much! Well, to continue: I bought a new autogiro and flew down here to report to a company in Atlanta about a job spraying crops, and the newspapers printed the route of my flight. Early in the evening of June 22nd I lost my way over the Okefenokee Swamp, and finally landed on an island. A plane had been chasing me, as I later learned after it landed--or rather crashed--beside mine. The man in it held me at the point of a gun and compelled me to fly my autogiro to their camp on Black Jack Island, where I was to be held for a ransom. _That man was the chief of the gang of bandits that robbed the Jacksonville bank._" She paused a moment for breath, and the Captain leaned forward eagerly. The story, which might have seemed incredulous to an ordinary person, was perfectly believable to him. He was used to the ways of criminals. "But how did you get away?" he demanded. "I never should have, if it hadn't been for this bank robbery," she explained. "While the men went off, I escaped, and was picked up by a couple of Jacksonville boys in a canoe." Linda went on to relate the happenings of the afternoon, concluding with the death of the ring-leader of the gang, whom she knew only as "Slats." She spoke lightly of Susie, showing her merely as a weak pawn in her husband's hands. The criminals' method of disposing of their stolen valuables was another interesting point in her story, and she told Captain Magee about the barren island in the ocean. "Now whether this stuff is still on the island or at the camp," she concluded, "I don't know. But I am ready to go and help you find out." "You mean you are actually willing to go back into that swamp?" the officer asked. "To show us the way?" "Of course! That's why I came to you tonight. So that we can make arrangements for tomorrow." "But it may be very dangerous, Miss Carlton! These men will be armed, and will shoot at sight." "I'll take a chance. Can we go tomorrow morning? By plane?" "By airplane?" "Yes. Any other way would be too slow. They may have escaped already." "But an airplane will be so much noisier than a boat. They'll hear you coming." "We'll have to take that chance." She stood up. "If you will get a plane, Captain Magee--a large one--I will fly it, to save space. Then we can take two or three armed guards." "How do you know that you can fly any plane I happen to get, Miss Carlton?" he inquired, incredulously. "You see, I'm a transport pilot," she explained. "We have to be able to manage most anything.... Can you send a car out for me to the Carters' home, early in the morning?" She handed the Captain the address. "Yes. I'll telephone as soon as I can make all the arrangements," he agreed, seeing that he could not change her from her purpose. Linda thanked him and hurried out to the waiting taxi. It was growing late, long after ten o'clock, and she was anxious to be in bed. Jackson Carter himself came to the door when she rang the bell. "Where is your mother?" she asked, immediately, for there was no sign of a hostess inside. "She is ill," replied the young man. "The bad news about the bank--a great deal of our money was lost--knocked her terribly. She hasn't told grandmother, or it might kill her. So I had the maid get the guest room ready, and hope that you will excuse them both." Linda nodded; she had no way of knowing that Mrs. Carter had protested about entertaining this girl whom Jackson had "picked up" on his canoe trip, and had stubbornly refused to see her. The woman had worked herself into such a state of nerves over her losses and over this incident that she had actually made herself ill. "I'm so sorry," said Linda, sympathetically. "If I weren't so tired, I'd go to a hotel, for this is no time for your mother to be bothered with a guest. But I'll just stay tonight, and leave early tomorrow. I'm flying to the swamp again with the police officers." "Ann!" cried Jackson aghast, using her name unconsciously. "Don't, please! It's dangerous--you may be killed.... And, and, besides----" "Besides, what?" "Besides, it isn't done. You shouldn't go off to lonely places like that, without an older woman along." Linda smiled. "I can't be bothered with social codes at a time like this," she said. "I have to do all I can to get that money back. Think of the hundreds of people hurt by that bank robbery--if the bank is forced to close its doors! Including your own mother and grandmother! No, I just have to go." "Let me go instead," he suggested. "You wouldn't know just where the camp is. It's pretty well hidden, and I know the only spot where a landing is possible. Besides, you can't fly a plane." "You mean you will pilot the plane yourself? Your autogiro's broken." "Oh, it'll be another plane--a hired one. Now please don't argue any more, Mr. Carter--you sound like my aunt--and let me go to bed. And will you ask one of the servants to waken me at seven o'clock?" "Good night, then, Miss Carlton," he said, almost sorrowfully, for it seemed like the end of what might have been a wonderful friendship for Jackson Carter. CHAPTER IX _Two Prisoners_ Linda's telephone call came early the following morning, and after a simple breakfast served by the cook, she left in the car which Captain Magee sent. Not one of the Carter family appeared at the meal, and there was no message of any kind. Linda, however, attributed this to Mrs. Carter's illness, and wrote a polite note of thanks to her hostess. She found three plain-clothes men waiting for her at the police station, and they joined her in the car which then took them to the airport. A large cabin plane, capable of accommodating six persons, had been wheeled out on the runway, awaiting their arrival and two service men were standing beside it. "You are sure you can pilot her, Miss?" inquired one of these men, skeptically. Linda opened her bag and took out her two licenses--mechanic's and transport pilot's--and handed them to him. "A mechanic!" he exclaimed, in amazement. "Gee whiz! Will wonders never cease? It's the first time I ever laid eyes on a lady-mechanic!" Linda laughed. "May I look the plane over before we start?" she asked. "And will you map out the quickest course to Okefenokee Swamp! I want to get into the southern part of it--Black Jack Island, if you know where that is." With a grin the man disappeared to consult some one in the hangar, and Linda went ahead with the examination. "There ought to be plenty of room in here to bring back any prisoners we may get," she said, cheerfully. "I think too, that you had better send for some food and water, Sergeant--for we can't tell how long we may be gone." When she announced herself satisfied with the inspection, she and her three companions climbed into the cabin while the mechanic fired the engine. The plane taxied along the runway and rose gracefully into the air, to the admiration of the three officers, none of whom could fly. "You're there with the goods, Miss Carlton!" shouted the one named "Worth," who apparently was in charge of the expedition. "Don't praise me too soon," returned Linda. "That was child's play. But wait till it comes to landing on that island in the swamp. There is only one spot big enough, in a plane like this." "Well, we got plenty of gas," remarked Worth, cheerfully. "I'm not afraid. I'm enjoying the flight. It isn't every day that we go up in the skies on our job." Linda was enjoying it, too. She flew carefully, watching her map, her instruments, and the landscape below. They flew over the island where they had left Susie, and Linda made a mental note of the location, in case she should be able to pick the girl up on the return trip. It was difficult to keep her direction, for the swamp, covered as it was with grasses and trees, seemed like an unbroken, monotonous expanse from the air, but Linda had succeeded in spotting the little stream down which the boys had paddled the canoe, and she resolved to follow that to the place where they had picked her up. After that it ought to be easy to locate Black Jack Island and the camp of the thieves. But it was not as simple as she had hoped, even after she had located the island. Again and again she circled about, looking for a space large enough to make a landing. Finally she found what must be the edge of the island, for the water came up unevenly, but this beach appeared very small. It was one thing to bring the autogiro safely to earth in a place like this, and another to land a big plane. When she had selected her spot, she determined to try "fish-tailing." She glided with considerable speed toward her field; as she approached it, she swung her airplane from side to side, exposing the flat side of the plane's body to the air so as to kill the speed. Her companions, who had no idea what she was doing, looked at Linda in alarm. Had she lost control of the plane, and were they about to be dashed to pieces? But a glance at their pilot's calm, confident expression allayed their fears. This girl knew what she was doing! They need not be afraid. Often at the ground school she had been compelled to land on a given spot--such as a square of canvas; it was no wonder that she now felt sure of herself. A moment later she came down on the very mark that she had selected. "Pretty neat!" exclaimed Worth, in admiration. Linda turned off the engine and prepared to get out of the plane. But the Sergeant stopped her. "You stay in here, Miss Carlton!" he ordered. "This is no place for a girl." "But I have to show you where the camp is," she protested. "Then show us from here! And remember, too, that you are our pilot. If anything happened to you, we couldn't get out of this swamp." Linda saw the reasoning in this last argument, and agreed to remain inside of the cabin until she should be summoned. She sat there tensely, while the three men advanced cautiously towards the trees at the center of the island. They had not gone more than a dozen yards when a shot rang out from behind a tree, and a bullet whizzed past over their heads. A cry burst from Linda's lips, then an exclamation of relief at the assurance that her companions were unhurt. "So they're still here!" she thought, excitedly, clasping her hands so tightly together that they grew numb with the pressure. "Oh, if the men only get them without being shot!" The officers' pistols replied rapidly to the shot from the thieves, in such quick succession that Linda could almost imagine that she was in an actual war zone. But the volley lasted only a moment, for the thieves were short of bullets since "Slats'" disappearance, and before anyone was hurt, "Beefy" and "Jake" surrendered to Sergeant Worth. Watching the whole proceeding from the window of the plane, Linda drew a deep sigh of relief. Then suddenly she remembered the third member of the gang--the man nick-named "Doc." Where was he? Hiding in the background, waiting to shoot them all down when they were off guard? Cautiously, therefore, Linda leaned out of the side of the plane and called to Sergeant Worth to come back to her. Leaving the two thieves in charge of the other men, who instantly handcuffed them, Worth returned to the airplane, smiling over his easy victory. With his assistance Linda jumped out of the cabin and whispered her warning into his ear. The man scowled in disappointment. "This fellow may be waiting for you, Miss Carlton," he said. "You stay right here--behind the plane, while I go find out where he is." Linda did as she was told, expecting every moment to hear renewed shooting. "Where's your other man?" she heard Worth shout, as he approached the prisoners. "Gone!" snarled Jake. "Two of 'em sneaked off. Double-crossed us, and took the kale!" "Money? What money?" demanded Worth, instantly, hoping to surprise the man into a confession. "Nothin'. None of your business," muttered Jake, seeing that he had made a mistake by saying too much. "You needn't try to hide anything," remarked the officer, contemptuously. "We know all about the bank robbery--and other jobs, too--that you fellows can account for. You'll serve plenty of time!" Impatient at the delay, Linda felt that she had to be at the scene of action, to hear what had happened to the "Doc," who evidently was not on the island. She ran forward, just in time to hear Jake's explanation. "One fellow made off with the girl in the plane yesterday morning," he said. "The other guy must have beat it later on in the day--while us two was still asleep. Took the boat and the cash. We ain't got nothin' here of any value--outside of food.... Huh! Why, if there ain't Linda herself!" Angry as she was at this insolent manner of addressing her, Linda could not help smiling at the man's consternation. But she was terribly disappointed to learn that the money was gone. That meant that they had failed to accomplish the main purpose with which she had set out--to restore to the innocent bank depositors the savings which they had lost through no fault of their own. "Perhaps the money's over on the island in the ocean," she suggested hopefully. "I had to help bury some boxes of jewels there while I was a prisoner--and those may still be there, too. Shall we fly over immediately, Sergeant Worth?" "You know the way?" the latter inquired, in surprise. His admiration for this plucky girl was growing every minute. "Oh, yes, I think so. We can make these men direct us if I forget. They are sure to know." After a hasty search of Black Jack Island was completed--to make sure that the third man was not still in hiding--the party returned to the airplane, and Linda made ready to take off once more. This was an exceedingly difficult feat, with a large plane, but the experienced aviatrix calculated everything before she made the attempt, and the airplane left the ground at the exact time that she had planned. She directed it eastward now, out over the Georgia coast, on to the Atlantic. She remembered the course perfectly, spotting the identical island without any help from the prisoners, and landed on the wide barren beach without any difficulty. Once they were out of the plane she recalled even the hiding-place, where "Slats" had placed the jewels, and she led the way through the underbrush. Unrolling the stone, and pushing the sand aside at her direction, the detectives brought out the three tin boxes which Linda herself had been forced to help conceal. Opening them up right there by twisting the locks, the officers gazed at their contents in speechless amazement. Two diamond necklaces, a string of real pearls, innumerable rings and pins and watches. And a bracelet of priceless emeralds! "Whew!" exclaimed Sergeant Worth, the perspiration running down his face. "The Van Tyn diamonds!" declared one of the detectives. "And these pearls solve the mystery of that robbery at the Kenworthy estate!" "Yeah. And that big jewelry store in Atlanta!" added another, breathlessly. "Say, does this uncover a lot of money? I'll tell the world!" "It'll mean a nice little reward for Miss Carlton," remarked Sergeant Worth, with a smile. Linda shook her head. "No, I don't want it," she said. "If there is any reward, it can be divided among you men. You faced the guns!" "But Miss Carlton----" Linda held up her hand. "I mean it," she said. "If you can't use it yourselves, perhaps your wives--or your children can." "It would mean heaven to me," murmured one of the detectives--a quiet man, who had scarcely spoken during the entire flight. "My child needs an operation----" "Then it's settled," concluded Linda. Suddenly she glanced timidly at Sergeant Worth, almost as if she were about to ask a favor. "Could we eat, Sergeant?" she asked. "I'm so hungry." "Why of course!" replied the latter. "I'm sorry, I'd forgotten all about lunch--but it must be way past noon. Griggs," he added to one of his men, "you go and unload that basket." It was an oddly assorted group that sat down to that picnic lunch on the beach--the two thieves, the three police officers, and the slender, fair-haired girl in her linen flying suit. Linda could not help smiling to herself as she thought of what Jackson Carter's horror would be at her association with people like these. Yet how foolish he was! One look at Sergeant Worth's face, kindly as it was, assured her that she was well protected with him at her side. She wished that she might stop at Soldiers' Camp Island on the return trip, but it was out of her way, and already the plane was loaded to its capacity. So she mapped her return trip in a straight line back to the city of Jacksonville. Late that afternoon she landed at the airport, where the group separated, the detectives and the prisoners taking one taxi to the police station, Linda taking another to a hotel. It was only when she was quietly in her own room, with her bag unpacked, that she realized how tired she was. What a strain she had been through! How she longed for relaxation of some kind! If only she had Louise with her--or somebody else from Spring City! She rested for an hour before dinner, but the thought of eating alone was not pleasant, with only a newspaper for her companion. She brightened, however, when the idea came to her to call her Aunt Emily on the long-distance wire. It would mean a great deal to hear that dear, familiar voice. She did not have time after dinner to put in the call immediately, for just as she was leaving the dining-room, she was herself summoned to the telephone. Who could it be, she wondered. Nothing interesting, probably, for none of her friends knew where to get her. No doubt it was Captain Magee, congratulating her on the success of the afternoon. To her surprise, it was Jackson Carter who said, "Hello! "Can I drive in to the hotel to see you, Ann?" he asked. "How is your mother, Mr. Carter?" she inquired, instead of answering his question. "She's all right." "Am I to meet her?" The young man coughed in embarrassment. He would have liked to have kept the truth from her, but he could not lie to a girl like Linda Carlton, any more than he could lie to his mother. "I guess I better tell you, Ann--mother's old-fashioned--and--she doesn't approve of you. She says I may not invite you out here again. I'm awfully sorry--I've tried to make her understand-----" "Please don't bother," interrupted Linda, coolly. "Perhaps it is better that an acquaintance like ours end as casually as it started.... Good-by, Mr. Carter. And thank you again for rescuing me." "Ann! Ann! I can't let you go out of my life----" But she had quietly replaced the receiver. The tears came to her eyes, but she told herself that she was foolish. She would probably have to get used to things like this, if she meant to do a man's work in the world. It was worth it. Oh, the glorious feeling of power which she had experienced that morning when she stepped into that huge plane, and knew that she could control its flight! The satisfaction of conquering difficulties, solving problems, being of use to others as she had been today! Yes, it was worth all the snubs of every society woman in the United States! For a moment she sat beside the telephone, waiting to get control of herself, when she suddenly heard a beloved voice behind her. Two voices--three voices--then two pairs of arms around her neck! Dot Crowley's and Louise Mackay's--and Ted was standing behind them! "Oh!" she gasped, squeezing both girls at once. "Am I dreaming? It's too good to be true!" "Are you O.K., darling?" demanded Louise, kissing her chum again and again. "When we read about your long flight south, and then heard nothing of you for three days, we got worried. So we managed to hop off." "You angels!" cried Linda. "Oh, I might have known you would! When everything looked blackest----" "You mean about being lost in the Okefenokee Swamp?" "Worse than that.... Let me call Aunt Emily, while you get a room, and I'll tell you the whole story after that.... But first tell me how long you can stay." "Ted and I can only stay till tomorrow morning," replied Louise, "so long as you are all right. But Dot'll keep you company--she thought you might be lonely----" "That isn't half of it!" interrupted Linda. "I was so lonely tonight that I couldn't eat. I just felt sick. Worse, far worse than my flight to France, because that was over quickly, and this just seemed to stretch out interminably." "Now do call your Aunt," urged Dot. "She must be dying to hear from you--and we'll have you all evening. By the way, I'm rooming with you?" "Nowhere else in the world!" exclaimed Linda, giving the girl an extra hug in her joy. "Room 420--and I'll be there in a minute!" CHAPTER X _Susie Disappears_ When Linda entered her hotel bed-room after the conversation with her Aunt Emily over the long-distance wire, she found two pleasant surprises awaiting her. The first of these that she saw was her trunk, sent on from Atlanta. The second was a telegram from the Pitcairn Autogiro Company. Her new roommate, who was bending over her own suit-case, looked up expectantly. "Good news, Linda?" she inquired. "Splendid!" replied the other girl. "The parts for my 'Ladybug' have been shipped from Miami, where the company has some autogiros on exhibition. They'll be at the Jacksonville Airport tomorrow." "Then your Ladybug is damaged?" asked Dot, who had heard nothing of the story as yet, beyond the bare facts that had been in the newspapers. All that she had read was that Linda Carlton, famous aviatrix, who had been lost in the Okefenokee Swamp for several days, had turned up in Jacksonville, Florida. "Yes, quite a smash-up," answered Linda. "But I wasn't in it. Another girl was flying----" She stopped abruptly. "Wait till Lou and Ted are with us, Dot, so I can tell the story all at once. I'm rather fed up with it myself. I'd loads rather hear what you've been doing at Spring City." "O.K.," agreed her companion, cheerfully, and proceeded to report to Linda all the news that she could remember. "What I can't understand," remarked Linda, a few minutes later, as she unpacked her trunk and took a flowered chiffon which she decided to wear, "is how everyone finds me at this hotel. I didn't know where I'd be staying when I sent those telegrams yesterday." "I can answer that," replied Dot, immediately. "It's your friends at the City Hall. The Chief of Police there directed us. It was Ted's idea to go to him, for I never would have thought of it." "Ted knows that Lou and I have a failing for police stations and Court Houses," laughed Linda, recalling their experience in Canada the previous winter. Five minutes later the girls joined the young Mackays on a cool upper porch of the hotel, where they were able to be by themselves. It was then that Linda told her story, first extracting a promise from the group never to mention the kidnapping episode to anyone else, lest the news get back to her Aunt Emily. The other girls listened in amazement, now and then interrupting with exclamations of horror at the outrage of it all. Ted sat grimly silent, more angry than anyone. "And if you hadn't escaped, we probably shouldn't have gotten there in time," observed Louise. "To rescue you, I mean. Because of course they meant to kill you in the end." "Did you realize that at the time?" asked Dot. "Not exactly," replied Linda. "Though I really feared something much worse. I thought they would imprison me on that island in the ocean, and let me die of starvation. And I was horribly afraid of those men. I tried to keep with Susie until they went away." "It was that bank robbery that saved your life," remarked Louise. "And spelled ruin for them. If they hadn't been so greedy----" "Exactly!" exclaimed Linda. "That's one reason why I feel it's my solemn duty to try to catch the fourth man, and get that money back. I'm really the only person who could identify him--except Susie." "Do you honestly think she'll reform?" asked Dot. "I hope so. If those new parts for the autogiro really come tomorrow, we'll fly over and get her, Dot." "I'm crazy to see her," returned the latter. "And I'd enjoy going to the jail to see those two prisoners, and gloat over their punishment!" "Dot's as vindictive as I am!" joked Louise. "Remember all the dark futures I used to wish for Bess Hulbert?" "Poor Bess!" sighed Linda. "She certainly got hers----" Thinking that the girls had heard enough of Linda's unpleasant experiences, Ted interrupted them by suggesting that they all go somewhere and have something to eat. "If it's cool, I'm for it," agreed Louise, jumping up and putting her hand through her husband's arm. "You're not too tired, are you, Linda?" she inquired. "Not a bit!" protested the girl. "I feel like a new person since you three arrived.... There's a lovely screened tea-garden across the street that looks awfully attractive. Shall we go there?" Linda was right in her impression; the place was charming. Instead of the customary artificial flowers or tiny bouquets so often seen in restaurants, real rose-bushes showered their profusion of fragrance all about the edges of the screen garden. Surprisingly, every one was hungry; the three visitors because they had eaten only a light picnic supper, Linda because she had been too homesick to eat much alone. The food proved as delightful as the surroundings, and they all enjoyed it immensely. While Dot was, eating her ice, she noticed some people that she seemed to remember--sitting at a table in back of Linda. But she could not place them. "Linda," she said softly, "see that young man over there at that table back of you--to the right--with an older woman? Don't turn around now, he's staring at us.... He looks sort of familiar to me, and I'm positive I've seen that woman before. Do you know them, or are they people I have met at Palm Beach sometime, one of those winters when we went to Florida?" Linda waited a moment, and then casually turned her head in the direction which Dot had indicated. The boy was Jackson Carter! In relating her story of the rescue by the two boys in the canoe, Linda had not even mentioned their names, and had omitted entirely her visit to the Carter home. After her telephone conversation with Jackson this evening, she had decided to forget all about him. She noticed that Dot was smiling and nodding. "I remember her now," she explained. "A Mrs. Carter--she chummed a lot with mother at Palm Beach. And that's her son--he wasn't more than fourteen the last time I saw him.... I think I'll go over and speak to them." Linda flushed and tried to hide her embarrassment by talking to Louise and Ted about their flight. But Dot came back in a moment. "I've got an invitation for us, Linda!" she announced. "Finish your lemon ice, and come over and meet the Carters. All of you!" Linda hesitated. She did not know what to say. Evidently Jackson had not recognized her, or else was deliberately concealing the fact that he knew her. "All right," agreed Louise, rising and pulling Ted by the hand, for her youthful husband was still shy about meeting the people whom he termed the "four hundred." But his manners were as good as anyone's, and Louise was always proud of him. They stepped over to the table, Linda reluctantly following them. "Mrs. Carter, I want you to meet Mrs. Mackay--our chaperon." Dot winked slyly at Louise. "And Miss Linda Carlton, the famous aviatrix! And Mr. Mackay.... And this is Mr. Carter." The young people bowed in recognition of the introduction, but Jackson gave no sign that he had ever seen Linda before. "Mrs. Carter says that so long as our chaperon is leaving tomorrow, we must come over and stay at her house, Linda," Dot said. "You see, Mrs. Carter," she continued, turning to the older woman, "we're not so strict in the North about chaperons as you are here--but Linda's aunt would like to be. It really worries her to have her niece batting around alone in an airplane." Horribly embarrassed, her eyelids fluttering so that she could not see anybody distinctly, Linda tried to summon words to decline the invitation. It would be impossible for her to accept. "We'd love to have you, girls," Mrs. Carter assured them. "For as long as you can stay.... How I would enjoy seeing your mother, Dorothy! You must tell me all about her." "I'm awfully sorry," stammered Linda, still avoiding Jackson's eyes, "but I'm afraid we can't possibly make it. The fact is, I am expecting to get my autogiro tomorrow, and that will take us away from Jacksonville." "Bring it out to our place!" urged the young man, with the deepest pleading in his tone. It was the first time that he had spoken, and everybody was surprised at his eagerness. That is, everybody except Linda--who had heard the same pleading over the telephone a few hours before. His mother smiled approvingly. She was glad to see that her son was interested in Dorothy Crowley, for the Crowleys were wealthy people, of unquestionable social position. But, had she known it, Jackson did not even see Dot. He was lost in admiration of Linda--or Ann, as he thought of her. In her pale chiffon dress she looked absolutely ravishing. How could he ever have doubted that she was of good family? "No, thank you ever so much, but we can't possibly," Linda repeated. "We--or rather I--have work to do. Of course if Dot wants to go----" She looked at the other girl fearfully. How she would hate to lose her! Dot's reply, however, was reassuring. "No, Mrs. Carter, I must stick with Linda. It isn't often that my mother gives in and lets me go off like this, and I mean to take advantage of it Besides, there's adventure ahead!" Mrs. Carter sighed; these modern girls were beyond her comprehension. She was thankful that her only child was a boy. While Dot was saying good-by, explaining that the Mackays had to be up early in the morning, Jackson managed a whisper to Linda. "When can I see you, Ann? I just _must_!" Linda smiled; she was in command of herself again. She had won in a difficult situation. "Some time when we both winter at Palm Beach or Miami," she replied, lightly, as she nodded good-by to his mother. The young man's interest in Linda had not escaped Dot's notice. When they had left the restaurant, she remarked, teasingly: "You certainly made a hit, my dear. But I'm just as glad you turned down their invitation. The Carters have a marvelous home, I believe, but they're about 1890 vintage. They don't know that there was a War." "Well, we really haven't any time to lose," was her companion's reply. "I'm almost afraid now that Susie will be gone when we get to that island. And I'm in a hurry to help the police trace that other thief with the money." "Adventure is right!" laughed Dot, as the girls said good-by to Ted and Louise, and went to their room. The Mackays left soon after dawn the following morning, but Linda and Dot had decided to have a good sleep. They did not waken until after ten o'clock, when they heard the telephone ringing in their ears. It was Dot who answered it. "Oh, hello, Jackson!" she said, with a wink at Linda. "I used to call you by your first name, so I suppose I might as well now. How's everything?" "Just fine," replied the young man. "And Dot--may I speak to Miss Carlton?" "O.K.," answered the girl, holding the telephone towards Linda. "Not awake yet!" yawned Linda, burying her head in the pillow. "She says she's not awake yet," explained Dot, laughingly. "Better call later, Jackson--after we get some breakfast." Replacing the telephone, she turned to her roommate. "That big boy certainly fell for you, Linda!" she exclaimed, still unaware of the fact that Jackson had not met her for just the first time. "Well, I didn't fall for him," the other stated, firmly. "And Dot, please, from now on I'm not at home when he calls." Dot was surprised at this announcement; it was unlike Linda not to be friendly to everybody. Why had she taken such a dislike to a young man as handsome as Jackson Carter? "May I ask you a personal question, Linda?" she inquired. "Why certainly, Dot!" "Are you engaged to Ralph Clavering--and is that why you're turning other men away?" Linda laughed at the idea. "No, Dot--I'm not engaged to anybody. And I don't want to be. I want to be free for a while. But not from my girl-friends!" she added hastily, reaching over and giving Dot a hug. "Oh, Dot, if I could ever tell you what it meant to me to have you three breeze in last night! Honestly, I was awfully low." "It was Lou's idea," explained Dot. "I guess she thought you would be--so far away from everybody--even if you hadn't been in any difficulty." "Lou's a peach," observed Linda. They ordered a tray sent up to their room, and lingered lazily over their breakfast. Before they had finished the telephone rang again. This time it was the Jacksonville Airport, informing Linda that the new parts for her autogiro had arrived. "I'll have to hurry!" she said to Dot. "I don't want to lose a minute now." "Just what are your plans, Linda?" asked the other girl, as she, too, started to dress. "Go to the airport and have the parts for the Ladybug put into a plane. Then fly to Soldiers' Camp Island, taking another mechanic along. I'll help this man fix the autogiro--collect Susie--and fly back here." "You really believe you can fix it in one day?" "Yes, of course. Why not!" "Well," said Dot slowly, "I think if you don't mind, I'll stay here. You'll need all the space you can get in your plane to carry those parts to the wreck. And I'd be fearfully bored standing around while you work." "I guess you're right," agreed Linda. "It would be better for me to take two men--a pilot and a mechanic. Because I can't fly this hired plane back again--I'll have to pilot the Ladybug." "And you have to bring Susie too," Dot reminded her. Linda lost no time in getting ready, and she was pleased to have left the hotel before Jackson Carter had a chance to telephone again. She found a "repair" plane waiting for her at the airport, and she made note of the new parts for the autogiro that were already packed into it. Two men were prepared to go with her--one a pilot, the other a mechanic. For once in her life Linda was to ride as a passenger. The day was hot and dry, but over the swamp the air seemed cooler and fresher. The rainy season was late, everybody said; by this time of year the swamp was usually flooded. As the plane flew over the desolate expanse, Linda smiled to herself at the familiarity of the landscape. She was getting to be an authority on the Okefenokee Swamp; she never need fear again being lost in its southern part, at least. Although the pilot had a reliable map, he found Linda's directions helpful, and before noon they came down on Soldiers' Camp Island. The first thing that struck their notice was the autogiro, still leaning over on its side, looking pathetically helpless in its plight. But Susie was not in sight. While the men unloaded their tools and the new parts for the damaged plane, Linda went in search of the girl she had left there two days before. It was queer, she thought, that Susie had not come out to meet them at the sound of their motor. Was it possible that she was sick--or only asleep? The island was a comparatively large one, several miles in length, and Linda decided immediately to explore it. Susie might be waiting somewhere within its depths, helpless or hurt, if she had fallen on her injured ankle. It would be necessary to make a thorough search. Linda ran back to the autogiro to inquire whether the men needed her help, and explained what she was about to do. "We don't need you yet, Miss," replied the mechanic. "Later on, when she's almost finished, you can help me look her over, and take her up for a test." "By the way, Miss Carlton," put in the pilot, "did you think to bring any food for lunch? I only brought water." Linda shook her head regretfully. How could she have been so stupid? Had her excitement over regaining her autogiro destroyed all her common sense? "I'm awfully sorry," she said. "I just plain forgot! And I usually have some in the autogiro, but those thieves took it out.... Wait, though! There may be some on the island. We left a half a dozen cans with this girl." A search of the little "houses" farther in on the island revealed what she had been hoping for--the remainder of the supplies the boys had left with Susie, consisting of two cans of baked beans, tea, coffee, sugar and canned milk. This ought to be enough for their lunch, and she ran back immediately to the men with the good news. For the next two hours Linda searched the island diligently, calling Susie by name at frequent intervals. But no answer came in reply, and she found no trace of the girl. Susie had completely vanished. Weary and hungry she returned to the shore of the island where the men were working, and was delighted at the progress they had made. The job was almost finished. "I can't find the girl," she told them. "But I've collected enough fire-wood to cook our coffee and beans. We'll have our lunch in a little while." Two hours later the autogiro was finished, ready for its flight back to Jacksonville. The engine was running smoothly; Linda climbed into the cock-pit and took it up in the air for a test flight. She found everything satisfactory; dipping low, she gave the others the signal to leave. With her Ladybug in the lead, the two planes made record time back to Jacksonville. "She's as good as new," she told the mechanic joyfully, after both planes had landed, and she was paying her bill. "I wish I could fly her right over to my hotel." "I believe you almost could," remarked the man, admiringly. "Land her at the front entrance, like a taxi-cab!" "I'm afraid I'll have to take an ordinary cab," sighed Linda, spotting one out near the gate. "Thanks a lot--and good-by! I'm in a hurry to be back." It was after six when Linda ascended the steps of her hotel, and found Dot waiting for her on the porch, trying in vain to keep cool. "Where's Susie?" she demanded, immediately. "Gone!" replied Linda. "I searched the whole island carefully--but not a sign of her!" "Where could she go?" demanded Dot. "Do you 'spose some canoe picked her up--maybe those same boys that rescued you?" Linda shook her head. Not those boys, any way! "What I'm afraid of is that the fourth man of the gang--the only one who escaped, you know--picked her up in his boat." "Not so good--not so good," muttered her companion. "No, it isn't. Just when I thought Susie had reformed, too--and cut free from those criminals!" Linda uttered a deep sigh. "Well, let's forget her," suggested the other girl, cheerfully. "I've been waiting all afternoon to take you for a swim--so let's go, and have our dinner later. I understand there's a marvelous pool a couple of blocks away." Linda's face brightened. What could possibly be better on such a hot day! "Let's go!" she exclaimed. "Lead me to it." After her disappointment at losing Susie, and her strenuous day in the heat, the relaxation of swimming in the lovely out-door pool was exactly what Linda needed. The water was cool and refreshing, and the surroundings charming. For half an hour Linda swam lazily about, resting now and then on her back, occasionally mounting the board for a dive. At last she felt that she had had enough, and seated herself on the edge of the pool, dangling her feet in the water, and watching Dot perform all sorts of fancy dives, for the other girl was a real champion. "What a marvelous girl Dot is," Linda was thinking, when she was suddenly startled by the sound of a masculine voice, almost in her very ear. "Ann! Think of finding you here!" Linda squirmed a little, thinking that the man must have made a mistake in thinking she was some other girl. For the time being, she forgot all about her middle name. "Miss Carlton," insisted the voice. Turning about, she saw Jackson behind her, "How do you do?" she said, coolly. The young man became embarrassed at her manner. He did not know what to say. "Miss Crowley is a marvelous diver," he muttered, though it wasn't that that he wanted to talk about. "Yes, I think so," agreed Linda. There was a silence. The girl made no effort to be entertaining. "You really are the girl who flew across the ocean alone, and won that big prize?" he persisted. "Yes." Linda made a half-hearted gesture to repress a yawn. Jackson Carter needn't think he could buy her favor by flattery! "But why didn't you tell Hal and me that, when we found you in the swamp?" "It had no particular bearing on the subject, that I could see." "If my mother had known that----" "If your mother didn't wish to receive me at her home," interrupted Linda, "there was no reason in the world why she should. Everyone has a right to her own opinion!" "But now that we've been formally introduced, it's different," he urged. "Please tell me how long you'll be in Jacksonville." "We're leaving tomorrow," she said, rising. "And will you please excuse me--as I see Dot going to the dressing-room?" CHAPTER XI _The Island in the Ocean_ "I certainly am sorry we don't have Susie with us," remarked Dot, as the girls sat down to their late dinner that evening, after their refreshing swim. "I thought she'd be better than a 'talkie' for amusement." "Yes, you would have enjoyed her, Dot," agreed Linda, picking up the menu and studying it with a great deal of interest. "I'm going to order everything here, Dot. I'm simply starved." "So am I, though I ought to be ashamed to admit it. You should have seen the lunch I ate!" "And you should have seen my lunch!" returned Linda. "We forgot to carry anything, but fortunately Susie had left beans and coffee on the island." "Is that all you had?" Linda nodded, and gave her order to the waiter. "I'd certainly like to know where Susie is now," she remarked, after she had satisfied the sharpest pangs of hunger with an iced fruit-cup. "Yes, so would I," agreed Dot. "Her disappearance will make it a lot harder to trace that other thief.... Do you really expect to do anything about hunting him, Linda?" "Indeed I do! Tomorrow's only the twenty-seventh, and I don't have to report to Atlanta until July first. I'm going to use those four days." "But what could you possibly do?" inquired Dot. "How would you know where to go--without even a suggestion from Susie?" "I have a theory," explained the other girl. "Wait till I eat some of this beef-steak, and I'll tell you about it." "I'm crazy to hear it, because I'll be with you all the time. Mother said I must start back home the first of July--the day you go to Atlanta. I have my ticket bought." For a few moments Linda ate her dinner in silence, enjoying every mouthful as only a hungry person can. Then, lowering her voice so that there was no danger of being overheard, she told her chum her plan. "I've thought it all out," she began. "This is what must have happened: That thief--the 'Doc,' as the gang called him--took the boat and the money the day after the bank robbery, when he woke up and found that Susie and her husband had flown away in the autogiro, and the other two were still asleep. His idea was to get out of the swamp to the St. Mary's or some other river, that would take him to the ocean." "And get on a steamer?" demanded Dot. "But Linda, if he did that, he's out of the country by now." "I'm not so sure of that. A canoe trip like that would take a good while--the Okefenokee is fifty miles at least from the coast. And he'd be afraid to take a train--or an automobile, for fear of being seen. Besides, I don't think he'd take a steamer right away. He'd want to go to that island first." "In his canoe?" inquired the other, skeptically. "No, of course not. He'd hire a motor-boat--or steal one." "I still don't understand why he'd want to get to that island," remarked Dot. "For two reasons," explained Linda. "One because he expected to pick up those jewels--which we have already taken away--and the other reason is that the gang has arrangements with some party that owns a steamer, to stop at the island on certain specified dates. That would be his way of getting out of the country." "It does sound plausible," admitted Dot. "What a brain you have, Linda!" "Not a bit of that, Dot! It's only that I've been so closely associated with these criminals that I'm beginning to see their motives." "And where does Susie come into all this?" "The man must have seen her on Soldiers' Camp Island, from his canoe. Or rather, he saw the wrecked autogiro, and knew she must be there." "And forced her to go with him?" "Probably. He didn't want to take any chances, leaving her free to help the police." Linda paused for a moment to eat the salad with which she had been served, and glanced about the dining-room. No one seemed to know her, or notice her--for that she was sincerely thankful. It was not until they had finished their dinner and found a cool, secluded spot on the veranda, that she went on with her plan. "What I mean to do," she said quietly, "is to fly back to the camp on Black Jack Island early tomorrow. Not that I expect to find anyone there--but merely to get my direction--to go on to that island in the ocean. I don't know its name, so I couldn't look it up on the map." "You really expect to catch those two on that island?" asked Dot, excitedly. "Will you take the police along?" "No! I don't want to tell them a word about all this, except to say that I am going scouting about the country, and to ask for a couple of revolvers.... And, in answer to your first question, I don't really expect to find Susie and the 'Doc' there yet. But I believe they'll be along soon." "And we wait for them there?" "Yes. Take them unawares. Susie will probably be on our side, and we can plan something with her.... Of course this is all only theory. Maybe there isn't a thing in it. That gang was slick; they seemed to know how to drop right off the face of the earth. And I believe this man may be the cleverest of them all. He was quiet; it's the boasting kind, like Susie's husband, who usually get caught first.... So you can see why I don't want any of the police along." "We better take plenty of food, though," remarked Dot. "We will take some--but don't forget that we can easily fly back to the coast each night. The island is only a few miles out--it's nothing in a plane." "True," admitted the other. "And we'll keep our room here at the hotel, for we want some place as headquarters. We'll put a few over-night necessities into my bag." "O.K. I'll order a roast chicken and a chocolate cake from the dining-room tonight." "Oranges, too," added Linda. "They always taste so good. I mustn't forget to fill my thermos-bottles, either." They went to bed early that night, in order to get a good start on the following morning. Dot, who was particularly enthusiastic about the chocolate cake, carried the basket of food, while Linda took the handbag. They arrived at the City Hall immediately after breakfast, and were ushered right into Captain Magee's office. "No news of the fourth man yet," he said, after he had greeted Linda and been introduced to Dot. "But I've sent out a call for him by radio, so that all ships are to be warned to be on the look-out for a fellow of his description." "There's something else I want to tell you," added Linda, "that may help to spot him. There is probably a girl with him." Then, rather reluctantly, she told what she knew of Susie, begging the Captain not to punish her too severely if she were found. "And now," she concluded, "Miss Crowley and I want to do a little scouting ourselves--in the autogiro--and I want to know whether you will lend us a couple of .38s for the undertaking." The Captain smiled whimsically. What an unusual girl Linda Carlton was! No wonder she had done things no other girl had even tried. "Of course I will," he said. "Though such a request is rather out of the ordinary----" "This is an extraordinary occasion," remarked Linda. "Don't you want a detective to go with you?" he asked. "No, thank you, we haven't room in the autogiro. Besides, we don't want to waste his time--for it may be only a wild goose chase. But if you will lend us a couple of revolvers, I think we shall be safe." "Can you shoot?" "If it is necessary. But I don't think it will be. The girl got to be very friendly with me, after her husband was killed. If I had only gotten to her in time, I think I could have saved her. As it is, she may not have joined the man of her own free will. You see she had been hurt, and was partially helpless. So he could do most anything he liked with her, if he had her alone." "Well, good luck to you!" said the Captain. "I certainly take off my hat to a plucky pair of girls." When Linda and Dot arrived at the airport they found the Ladybug in readiness for its second flight into the swamp. Linda inspected her, and piled in the equipment. "I feel as if the Okefenokee Swamp were my home," she remarked, as she headed the autogiro in that direction. "I could almost fly it blind!" "Don't!" warned Dot. "Your friend the Doc is still at large, and he may be watching for us with a gun." This was Dot's first view of the swamp, and as they approached it, she was amazed at the vast expanse of it, stretching out in every direction. "It's huge, isn't it?" she shouted to Linda, through the speaking-tube. "Forty miles long and thirty wide," was the reply. "But we see only the southern end of it." Conversation was difficult, so the girls gave it up until they came to Black Jack Island, where Linda had been held a prisoner. "Shall we get out?" she asked her companion. "Or go straight on to the ocean?" "Let's get out," replied Dot. "They might possibly be here, you know. Besides, I'm crazy to see their camp." Linda brought the autogiro to earth and the girls climbed out cautiously, their revolvers in readiness, lest the enemy appear. But there was no human sound--nothing but the birds and the insects. "Watch out for snakes, Dot!" warned Linda. "I'd almost rather meet the Doc than a snake, I believe." They walked carefully towards the camp only to find it absolutely deserted. "Let's look all around," suggested Linda, who remembered everything only too well. "We'll begin with the mess-tent." Quietly at first, they snooped around, peering into boxes of provisions, looking under the cots, behind the tents, and, when they were quite sure that they were alone, they began to act more natural, to laugh and joke with each other. Linda showed Dot the tent which she had shared with Susie that one night of her captivity, and they both smiled over the sight of the magazine which had led to Linda's escape. "We could even stay here all night if we had to," Dot remarked. "Seems comfortable enough." Linda shuddered. "Never again!" she protested. "But we may as well eat some lunch before we fly to that island. I'm hungry." "And thirsty. But it isn't so hot here as it was in Jacksonville." "No. And the island out in the ocean ought to be cooler yet. You may like it so well that you'll want to spend the summer there. Only it has no tents or cots, like this camp." "Thank you, I'd rather not play Robinson Crusoe," replied Dot. "Poor man!" sighed Linda. "If he'd only had an airplane, how simple it would have been for him." They ate their lunch, and then, for the third time, Linda flew across the Okefenokee and over the coastal plain of Georgia--out to the barren island in the ocean where the treasure had been hidden. The desolate loneliness of the spot impressed her companion. "You suggested this as a summer resort!" she remarked, when they had landed. "Why, I don't even see a fishing-boat!" "That's just the trouble," replied Linda. "The first time I flew here--with Susie's husband--I looked about desperately for somebody to shout to for help. And there wasn't a soul! Nothing but ocean and sky.... Do you have your revolver handy, Dot?" "Yes. Right here. But I don't know much about shooting." "I'm sure we shan't have to. I just want to explore. But 'be prepared' is our motto." "I will be. I won't shoot you, either, Linda--you can count on me for that." Climbing out of the autogiro they walked towards the center of the island where the sand was soft and the underbrush thick. Perhaps, thought Linda, there might be more hiding places than the one hole which she knew; it would be worth while to make a thorough search. On and on they plodded, the sand sinking into their shoes, the sun beating down upon them with full blast, for what trees there were, were not high enough to afford much shade. It was difficult to find the hiding place in such monotonous desolation, but at last she came to the spot. "Somebody's been here since I came with the police!" she said to Dot, "because we left the stones as we found them. But it looks as if the hole is empty." She was correct in her surmise. After five minutes of pushing the sand away, Linda had assured herself that nothing was there. "Let's go down to the opposite shore from the one we came in on," suggested Dot. "And explore that." "All right," agreed Linda. "If you can stand walking through this sand again...." She stopped abruptly, peering towards the shore. An instant later she dragged the other girl to the ground. "The Doc!" she whispered, hoarsely. "I saw him down by the water--maybe there's a boat coming!" "What shall we do?" demanded Dot, clutching her revolver tightly. "Wait till he gets on--and follow in the autogiro. I've got plenty of gas.... Let's be creeping back to the Ladybug." The girls kept well hidden behind the underbrush, crawling along on their hands and knees. Suddenly Dot stopped; she had struck something solid. A canvas bag--two bags, stuffed full with something. Could it be the money? Breathless, they both stopped while Linda untwisted with her pen-knife the coarse pieces of wire around the tops of the bags, and dumped out the contents. Money in an amount they had never seen before! Hundred dollar bills in rolls that they had no time to count, bonds in thousand-dollar denominations! "Hide it quickly, Dot!" whispered Linda. "In your pockets, your riding-breeches--stuff some of it in my clothes--while I re-fill these bags with sand.... And have your revolver ready." CHAPTER XII _The Money-Bags_ Linda's theories regarding the fourth member of the gang of thieves had been only partially correct. As she had surmised, the "Doc" slipped off in the canoe from Black Jack Island while his companions slept, and he did stop at Soldiers' Camp. But it was not he who compelled Susie to go with him, but the girl herself who insisted upon accompanying him. Susie's desire to reform had been sincere while Linda was with her. She had actually meant to cut free from the gang and go back to a normal mode of life--earning her living as she had done when she met her husband. No more sneaking about in fear of the law, no more hiding in that desolate camp in the Okefenokee Swamp! She would get a job at an airport, and take up flying again. She might even become famous--like Linda Carlton! But unfortunately, after the famous aviatrix left her alone, her enthusiasm faded, and her faith in her ability to make a "come-back" died as suddenly as it was born. How could she ever hope to be free from the stain of her last two years of living--since her marriage to "Slats"? If Linda did not turn her over to the police authorities, someone else would. She might have to serve five or ten years in prison. As the afternoon passed, she grew more and more miserable, more anxious to get away. If only she had a boat! If her ankle were not so painful, and her bandaged head not so conspicuous! If there were only some way for her to escape! Having no appetite, she made no pretense at preparing any supper for herself. There was still some cold tea left from lunch; she decided to make that her meal, and an hour later she fell asleep where she was, right on the shore of the island. The sun was rising over the swamp when she awakened the following morning, and she sat up with difficulty, cramped by her uncomfortable position in sleep. "I might as well be dead--with Slats," she thought, morbidly, as she viewed the desolation around her. Again she tried to rise, when the soft sound of a paddle, dipping into the quiet water attracted her attention. She waited breathlessly. Were the boys coming back so soon? Not long afterward a canoe came into sight. Susie's heart leaped with joy when she recognized who was guiding it. The Doc! "Doc!" she cried. "Bill Rickers!" she added, using the man's real name. "It's Susie!" The man pulled up to the island, amazed at finding her there. In the dawning light he saw the autogiro, lying half on its side. "Where's Slats?" he demanded. "Dead," answered the girl, immediately. "We had a wreck.... Will you take me with you?" she begged. "I'm almost crazy here all by myself." "I wanted to make a get-away alone," he muttered. "You have the money!" she cried, jumping at once to the correct conclusion. "Where are the other two men?" "Asleep at Black Jack Island." "And where are you going?" "Out of the swamp--across the state, and then over to our island. The yacht's due there tomorrow--I want to be ready to go with it." "O.K. with me," agreed Susie, as if she had been invited to go. "Let's push off now--or wait--we'll eat some breakfast. There's beans and cold tea." "Maybe you could be some use," remarked the man, as he ate the meager breakfast. "If we could get a plane. And I am sorry for you, Kid--all alone here with Slats dead." Susie gave him no chance to change his mind. Hobbling out to the little "house" where the boys had put the blanket and the extra food, she picked up the former, smoothed her dress and her hair, and returned to announce herself ready. They pushed off again, following the little stream out of the swamp. "How do you expect to get across the state?" asked the girl, wearily, when late that afternoon, they brought their canoe to a landing. She had slept a little in the boat, but she was still very tired. "Hitch-hike, I reckon," was the reply. "If we go hirin' any cars, somebody might get suspicious. Once at the coast, I count on rentin' a little fishing-boat from some fellow--one big enough to take us to the island." "I can't hitch-hike," objected Susie. "Don't then,--stay here," answered the man, indifferently. "You know I can't do that, either. Let's go to that house over there, and see if we can't get some supper. Maybe they have an old Ford or a team of horses." "You foot the bill?" he asked, shrewdly. With all that money in his possession, this man had no intention of spending any of it on anyone but himself. Susie considered a moment. She hadn't any money at all--she always got what she wanted from her husband. But she owned some costly jewelry. "I'll give you this diamond," she offered, "if you get me safe out of the country. And no walkin'!" "O.K.," he muttered, his greedy eyes gleaming at the sight of the beautiful jewel. "You win. Go ask the woman yourself." It was thus, by strange coincidence, that Susie and the Doc rode across Georgia that evening in the same Ford that had driven Linda and the boys to Jacksonville the night before. They reached a seaport town a little after midnight, and Susie succeeded in finding a house to stay in, though her companion preferred to remain out-doors, for he said he "didn't trust nobody." In the morning, when she joined him, he had rented an old motor-boat from a fisherman. "Rent" was the word he used, but he had not the slightest intention of returning it. "You can run her, Susie," he said. "You're better at engines than I am, and she'll need coaxing. I'll steer." It was a difficult cruise, for at times the engine coughed and died, and Susie had to try all sorts of methods to start her up again. When they finally came within sight of the island, the motor sputtered its last and refused to function any longer. The man managed to get the boat inshore by riding the waves, and using the oars kept at the bottom of the boat for just such an emergency. About the time Linda Carlton and Dot Crowley were eating their lunch on Black Jack Island, Susie and the Doc were making their landing. They pulled in at the opposite shore from the one which the girls later used in the autogiro. The man's first concern was with the hiding-place where he expected to find the boxes of jewels. His disappointment was keen when he discovered that they had been taken away. "The cops has found us out!" he snarled angrily at Susie, as if it were her fault. "They'll be back again--I'll bet you! We gotta get out of here!" "How?" demanded Susie. "Not in that boat?" "Nope. Maybe the yacht will be along early, but it ain't likely. It usually runs after dark." Dumping his bags in the sand not far from the hole, he tried to think what would be best to do. "We gotta act quick, Susie--if the cops come. No use tryin' to put up a fight--with only one gun, and them two bags to guard.... You watch on that other shore, and I'll go back to the one we came in on. Whatever they come in--airplane or boat--we gotta swipe. Hide if you see anything comin', give 'em a chance to get into the island--and grab their boat. Give me a signal----" "How?" she interrupted. "You take the gun, and shoot when you're ready to push off.... If I see anybody on my side, I'll whistle, as near like a bird as I can." He grinned to himself; if the police came in anything but an airplane, he wouldn't bother with Susie. Let her face the music! "O.K. But I couldn't run, Doc. Don't forget that." "I ain't forgettin'," he returned. They separated, and for two hours waited tensely, keeping a sharp look-out for the rescuing yacht, hoping against hope that it would arrive before the police. But at three o'clock their worst fears were realized. Susie saw the autogiro coming towards them, and hobbled off into the depths of the island to conceal herself. Lying flat on the sand, she was not able to identify the people who got out of the plane, but she could see that they both wore riding-breeches, and she believed they were men. So she kept still until they had disappeared into the underbrush. Then she began to creep laboriously, in a round-about fashion, to the autogiro. Susie's progress was slow; she did not reach the plane until after Linda and Dot had succeeded in emptying the bags of the money, and refilled them with sand. The girls had just recognized the man on the shore, and were creeping farther into the island, out of sight of him, when the shot of the pistol rang out above the roar of the ocean. They had no way of knowing that Susie had fired it. A moment later they heard the rustle and crackle of underbrush, as the man came towards them. From her hiding place, now some distance from the bags, Linda raised her head cautiously, and saw the thief retrieve the bags with a grab. Then he dashed back to the shore, circled the island on the harder sand, and reached the opposite shore, where the autogiro was standing. "Why doesn't he come after us?" whispered Linda, in amazement. "He will soon, I'm afraid," replied Dot hoarsely, clutching her revolver tightly. "But I'm going to shoot if he does!" "So am I," answered Linda, calmly. "We've got the advantage--we're hidden." Tensely they waited for five minutes--possibly ten; then something they had not thought of happened. The engine of the autogiro began to roar! "They're stealing the Ladybug!" cried Linda, aghast at such a calamity. "Susie must be with him! Dot, we can't let them do that!" Regardless of the danger, Linda jumped up excitedly, and rushed to a clearing, where she had a view of the shore. She was just in time to see her beloved autogiro taxi along the beach and rise into the air. Dot dashed to her side, and the two girls stood together in helpless agony of spirit. "Prisoners!" cried Dot, at last, dropping her useless revolver into the sand. "Robinson Crusoes!" added Linda, bitterly. "No better off! No plane!" "With thousands of dollars!" groaned her companion, ironically. "Where money is no good at all!" CHAPTER XIII _The Broken Motor-Boat_ The two girls continued to stand perfectly still on the sand, gazing at the retreating autogiro, which apparently was flying out farther over the ocean, and circling about in a strange manner. "Why don't they fly towards the coast--towards Georgia?" demanded Dot, in bewilderment. Linda took her spyglasses out of her pocket, and squinted through them at the plane. "I see a boat!" she exclaimed. "It must be that yacht the gang had arrangements with--to pick up the stuff they steal.... Yes, and that's another island.... Look, Dot--see if I'm right." The other girl took the glasses, and confirmed Linda's statement. "Yes, it is.... And the Ladybug's landing on it.... Two people getting out--must be Susie and the Doc--and boarding the boat.... Linda! They're leaving the plane on the island!" It was true indeed; taking turns at the glasses, the girls watched the yacht push off into the ocean. "And here we are--and there's the Ladybug!" remarked Linda, grimly. "Just out of reach! The question is--how to get to her." "Swim," suggested Dot. "Maybe you could, Dot. But I'd be afraid of sharks." "No, I don't think I'll try it either. Besides, the currents probably awfully strong." "Oh, if Jackson and Hal would only rescue us now!" lamented Linda. "I wouldn't treat them a bit coolly." The truth of that situation flashed upon Dot. "Was it Jackson Carter who rescued you before, Linda?" she asked. Linda blushed. "Yes--it was," she admitted. "Then why did you treat him so cruelly? I should think you would have been everlastingly grateful." "I was. Till his mother snubbed me--and he even doubted that I was a nice girl, just because I was traveling about alone. Then, when you introduced me, he wanted to be friends. Naturally I was hurt." "I don't blame you! But Mrs. Carter is terribly old-fashioned." While they were talking they had been slowly advancing towards the beach. Suddenly Linda spied a pile of articles near the spot where the autogiro had taken off. "Look, Dot!" she cried. "There's our stuff on the shore! The basket! My over-night bag--and I guess that other box is my tool kit, that I always keep in the plane! Come on!" Breathlessly they dashed down to the shore and found that their belongings had indeed been tossed out of the autogiro. "This proves that Susie's our friend!" cried Linda, hopefully. "She must have done this." "Fine friend--to steal the plane!" returned Dot. "She didn't have to go with that man!" "Maybe not.... I'm afraid I can't understand her," mourned Linda. "Half good, and half bad----" "Don't worry about Susie," urged her companion. "We have enough to think about for ourselves.... Still, it is nice that we eat tonight. Aren't we lucky to have that food?" Dot's forced cheerfulness brought their wretched plight back to Linda. How selfish she had been, to drag this other girl into this wretched business, when she came South to enjoy a holiday! "Oh, Dot!" she wailed, "I can't tell you how sorry I am--about bringing you in on this! I had no right to let you come. Your mother will never forgive me. It was different with Lou. When she set out on those wild adventures with me, her parents knew what to expect." "Cheer up, we're not dead yet," was the reassuring reply. "Things aren't so black. Our enemy is safely out of the country, I take it, and Captain Magee is sure to look us up soon, when he doesn't hear from us. Besides, a friendly boat may come along at any minute." "Dot, you're one girl in a thousand!" cried Linda, giving her chum a hug. "You're just an old peach, not to be complaining. And for my own sake, I'm so thankful you're with me! Just imagine how I'd feel all alone!" "Well, let's enjoy ourselves while the food lasts. Let's carry it inshore farther, and find a camping place. You have matches in your pocket?" "Always!" replied Linda, thinking of her experience in Canada, when she had lost her matches with her plane. "I keep my pockets as full as a man's now, so if I am separated from my plane, I'm not helpless." "Wise girl! You're learning, Linda. In a year or two you can do exploring, like Byrd--if there are any places left to explore." "I guess Aunt Emily will make me sit home with folded hands after this," remarked Linda, soberly. "If we aren't rescued soon, it will be bound to get into the newspapers." She stooped over and opened her tool-box, in which she carried all sorts of things besides actual tools. A flash-light, a knife, wire and string, even nails and nuts. And down in the corner she found several cans of food, which she thought the bandits had taken out when they emptied the plane of its gas that first day in the swamp. "This is going to be a big help," she said. "We might even build a boat----" "Out of underbrush?" asked Dot, sarcastically. "Why, there isn't a decent tree on the whole island." "I'm afraid you're right," sighed Linda. "Well, come on--let's get farther in, and take this money out of our clothing. Money can be a nuisance sometimes," she added, jokingly. They picked up their possessions, Linda taking the tool-box, and Dot the bag and basket of food, and hunted the shadiest spot they could find for their camp. Then they set about diligently unloading the money, and stuffing it into the over-night bag, which they first emptied of its contents. "Let's see what we have to keep us alive," suggested Dot, peering into the basket. "Three quarters of a chicken, ten oranges, almost a whole cake, four bananas, and eight rolls, besides that stuff you found. And one thermos bottle full of water--and another half full." "It's the lack of water that's going to make it hardest," observed Linda. "If only the ocean weren't salty." "Well, maybe we shan't even need all this! If we rig up some kind of signal of distress----" "What shall we use? Clothing?" "We might take hundred dollar bills," laughed Dot. "They're the most worthless things we have now." "True. Only think how glad the people will be to get them back. Mrs. Carter, for instance.... I have it!" exclaimed Linda, brightly. "Our pajamas! Lucky we put them into the bag! We won't need them in the day-time, and no boat could see a signal at night anyway." "Good idea!" approved her chum. "Now let's leave all this stuff here, and explore the island. We might find something--and anyhow, it will give us something to do." Arm in arm they returned to the beach, where the sand was harder, and began to circle the island. They had gone half way around--to the opposite shore--when they both spied the old motor boat at the same moment. So great was their joy that they jumped up and down, hugging each other wildly. "Of course that's what the man came in!" cried Linda. "We might have known he and Susie couldn't swim the ocean!" They started to race to the boat, and arrived together. Dot immediately set about examining it for leaks, while Linda gave her attention to the engine. "It's broken," she said. "But I'm sure I can fix it. You know how I love to take motors apart. Just give me a day----" "Darling, you can have a week if you want!" agreed Dot, wild with happiness and relief. "We can make our food last." "A day or maybe two ought to be enough. Then we can get to that other island and retrieve the Ladybug, before anybody even misses us!" "It seems to be pretty sound," said Dot. "No leaks, or anything. And there are even a couple of oars in the bottom, if the engine won't go." "Oars wouldn't take us far, with such a heavy boat. But I'm sure I can fix the motor, and there's a can of gasoline here, besides what's in the tank.... But I don't believe I better start now--I'd just get it apart, and the daylight would be gone. I'll get up early tomorrow...." "Suits me," agreed the other. "Now let's go back to our camp and fix some supper." Both girls felt exceedingly cheerful as they collected sticks and lighted a fire. From one of Linda's cans they took out tea, but the rest they left unopened. The beans and jam and biscuits would keep until after the picnic food was gone. "I have a bright idea," remarked Dot, as she ate a leg of chicken. "Why couldn't we make chicken soup, out of the bones and sea-water? You have to put salt in it anyway, don't you?" "Yes, but I'm afraid it would be too salty. It would make us so thirsty we'd want to drink all our water at once.... Still, we might try. We wouldn't be wasting anything." "Too bad we haven't sore throats," said Dot, still in a mood for joking. "Sore throats!" repeated Linda, in amazement. "What's the connection between chicken soup and sore throats?" "Nothing--I was only trying to think up ways to use salt water. We always have to gargle with salt water, at home, when we have sore throats. Doesn't your Aunt Emily make you do that?" Her companion laughed. "No, we always use Listerine. But it's an idea. Think up some more, Dot--we'll get some uses for it yet!" They drank very sparingly of the water in the thermos bottle--one cup apiece--and decided to limit themselves to that at each meal. Sometimes they would substitute oranges--how thankful they were that they had brought so many! Their light-hardheartedness diminished as the sun went down and darkness settled over the island. The loneliness of the night, the solemn roar of the ocean, the isolation of the island, appalled them. Not a human being except themselves--not a human sound! But they had each other, and this comfort was so overwhelming to Linda, that it shut out all her other troubles. She could not help exulting every few minutes over the joy of having a companion, and Dot was thankful that she was there, so long as Linda had to meet with such a fate. Yes, surely, they would make the best of things. They slept well that night, for the sand, covered with leaves the girls had plucked, made a soft bed. A breeze from the ocean was so cooling that Linda had to pull their slickers over them as a covering. The stars shone in a friendly sky; hand in hand, as Linda and Lou had so often slept, the two girls dropped off into unconsciousness. Their first thought upon awakening, after remembering where they were, was the autogiro. Their second was the motor-boat. They could not eat any breakfast until they had made sure that both of these were still safe. "That island doesn't look very far away, does it?" Dot remarked, after they had satisfied themselves upon these two questions. "No, it doesn't," agreed Linda, taking out her spyglasses. "Only, you can't tell by appearances--they're so deceiving on the ocean." They went back to their camp and breakfasted on oranges and rolls, finishing off with chocolate cake. "Because we might as well enjoy it while it is fresh," Dot said laughingly. Neither girl ever had to worry about indigestion. All day long Linda worked on the engine, with her companion at her side, watching her in admiration. All that day and the next. On the evening of the twenty-ninth of June she announced that she was finished. The engine was condescending to run! "Tomorrow we get the Ladybug!" Linda announced, exultantly. "And get back to Jacksonville in time to keep our engagements for July first!" They were very happy as they sat beside their camp fire that night, eating their supper of baked beans and crackers and oranges. Happy and light-hearted, never thinking to glance at the sky, and to guess the meaning of the dark clouds that were gathering. Had they only done so, they might have gone to the autogiro that night in their repaired motor-boat--and saved their relatives and friends all the anguish and anxiety that they were to experience during the coming days. But neither Linda nor Dot gave the weather a thought; they went to sleep that night in the joyful expectation of returning to Jacksonville the following day. At dawn the storm came, pouring down upon them in torrents, arousing the ocean to terrifying waves, shutting out the sight of the island where the autogiro was waiting--imprisoning the girls once more in their desolate loneliness. And now practically all of their food was gone! CHAPTER XIV _Searching Parties_ When Linda Carlton and Dorothy Crowley left Jacksonville Airport on the morning of June twenty-seventh in the Ladybug, and flew into the Okefenokee Swamp, they fully expected to telephone to their families that night, or at least to send a wire to them, as they had promised. So when Miss Emily Carlton heard nothing from her niece she became anxious, and directed her chauffeur to drive her to Mrs. Crowley's cottage. Both women were established at Green Falls for the summer, which was the favorite resort of all Linda's friends from Spring City. It was there that the girl had called her aunt from Jacksonville, the night that Dot and the Mackays had arrived. Only one telegram had she received since that time. Mrs. Crowley, who was less inclined to be nervous than Miss Carlton, tried to reassure the latter, saying that she realized how busy the girls would be. But when June twenty-eighth passed without any word from them, she too became alarmed, and together the two women put in a long distance call to Captain Magee at Jacksonville. Briefly he told them what he knew--of Linda's decision to go "scouting," as she called it. And of her request for the revolvers. The shock of that piece of news was almost too much for Miss Carlton. She jumped to the conclusion that the girls were dead. "Aren't you doing a thing to find them, Captain?" she demanded, harshly. "I was thinking about it," he replied. "But after all, they've only been gone two days----" "You don't know my niece!" interrupted the unhappy woman. "Linda always wires or telephones me every day, when she goes on these flying trips. She doesn't forget. It's because she can't--she has been injured or killed!" "I hope not," he replied. "But I will send a plane over the Okefenokee Swamp tomorrow, Miss Carlton," he promised. The two women gazed at each other in helpless dismay at the conclusion of this conversation. What could they possibly do, aside from informing the newspapers--a decision which they carried out immediately. Accordingly, on June twenty-ninth, every newspaper in the country stated the fact that Linda Carlton, the famous aviatrix who had flown to Paris alone, was missing again--somewhere in Georgia--probably in the Okefenokee Swamp, with a chum, Miss Dorothy Crowley of Spring City, who was also a pilot. The unhappy news instantly produced the effect which Miss Carlton hoped it would accomplish. It aroused no fewer than five searching parties, all bent upon locating these two popular girls. Captain Magee's men were the first to go. Summoning Sergeant Worth, he commandeered a plane from the airport, and directed the pilot to fly over the swamp, searching from the air by means of spyglasses. The second party was composed of the girls' fathers, both of whom were in New York City at the time. Mr. Crowley telephoned Mr. Carlton, and after sending a wire to their families, they boarded a Florida train together. The third volunteers were two young men at Green Falls, two college boys who considered Linda and Dot their special girl-friends, though neither of them was engaged, Jim Valier and Ralph Clavering heard the sad news at the out-door pool at Green Falls, just as they were about to join a group of young people for a swim. Kitty Hulbert, Ralph's married sister, read the head-lines aloud. "Jim," muttered Ralph, when Kitty finished, "let's do something! We can take a plane to Florida--and go on a search from there." "O.K.," agreed the other boy, and quietly and quickly the two young men disappeared from the group. The story came to the Mackays in Washington, where Ted had business on his return from Georgia. The instant that Louise read it, she jumped up in excitement. "We must go, Ted!" she cried. "You can get your vacation now." "I'll wire immediately," he agreed, without an instant's hesitation, and he went out to make the necessary arrangements and to order his plane in readiness. The fifth and last party was none other than Linda's two latest admirers, the two young men she had mentioned to Dot in the hope of a rescue--Jackson Carter and Hal Perry. All in all, it ought to have been enough to satisfy Miss Carlton that every effort was being made to find the girls and to bring them back to safety. The airplane from the police department was the first of these groups to get into action, the first to enter the swamp. Yet it did not actually enter it, but merely flew above it, for the pilot, less experienced than Linda herself, did not believe it possible to come down on one of those islands. For hours, however, he circled about, over the bog, and the cypress-trees, while Sergeant Worth in the rear cock-pit scanned the landscape with his spyglasses. But neither man saw any trace of the autogiro or the girls, and late that afternoon they had to return in discouragement to Captain Magee. "I couldn't even locate that camp on the island," Worth said. "The one where we got the prisoners, you know. Unless you have the exact directions, it's hard to find anything in that swamp.... And--I don't see much use in trying again." Captain Magee looked exceedingly grave; he was genuinely worried. He blamed himself for letting the girls go alone. But there had been nothing official about the project--he had not really expected that they would run into the criminal. Besides, Linda Carlton had seemed so capable, and both girls were so eager to go. "We mustn't give up, Worth," he said quietly. "It's more important to find these girls than a dozen criminals. We owe it to them, to their families--to the whole country. Everybody has admiration and affection for Miss Linda Carlton, after all she has done.... You'll have to go back tomorrow--or get another man, if you feel too discouraged." "No, I'm only too glad to help," the other assured him. "I would do anything in the world for Miss Carlton. But I don't see how it can do any good. A scouting party in boats would be much more likely to be successful." "We'll try that, too, as soon as I can get some men together. But tomorrow you fly out over the ocean to that island where the thieves had the jewels. The girls might be stranded there. Take another pilot, and a bigger plane." Worth looked doubtful. "We haven't any way of locating that island, either," he said. "It was Miss Carlton who took us there before, and I have no idea where it is." "Just do your best, Worth," urged the Captain. "Fly around all the islands near the Georgia coast, keeping a sharp look-out for the autogiro." "Rain or shine? It looks like a storm tomorrow." "Yes, whatever the weather, you must go--or get someone else." So, in spite of the terrible downpour and the high winds of June thirtieth, a cabin monoplane flew across Georgia and out over the ocean to a group of islands just off the coast. Three men were aboard--two experienced pilots, one of whom was also a mechanic--besides the police officer. Leaving the coast behind, they flew out into the grayness that was ocean and sky. The waves were high, the sea rough and angry, and the rain was coming down in sheets, blinding their vision, but they pressed on, two of the men keeping their spyglasses on the water, watching for islands. They passed over several, but they were small, with little or no place to land. Eagerly the men watched for some sign of human life, some signal, some glimpse of the autogiro. "They'd never be alive if we did find them," remarked Worth, gloomily. "And if they did run into that gangster, he'd surely have made away with them." "If only it would clear up," grumbled the pilot. "So we could see something!" They were flying much lower now, for it was comparatively safe over the water, and despite the weather, they were able to spot the islands. All of a sudden the mechanic uttered a sharp cry. "There she is! Look! Over there!" "Miss Carlton?" demanded Worth, excitedly. "Where?" "Not the girl! The plane--the autogiro! See--that island to the west! See the wind-mill on top?" "By George! You're right!" agreed Worth, a thrill running up and down his spine. Thank Heaven, he hadn't given up! The pilot directed the plane over the island and circled about, landing finally some distance from the autogiro. A glance at the latter assured them that it had not been wrecked. Why, then, hadn't the girls come back? Was it possible that all this scare had risen to alarm the world for the simple reason that Linda Carlton had run out of gas? The three men climbed out of the cabin and shouted as loud as they could, since the girls had evidently failed to hear their plane, above the noise of the storm and the roar of the ocean. Eagerly they waited for a reply. But when none came, fear crept over them all. Had the girls died of starvation, or was there foul play of some kind? With gloomy forebodings, they walked about the beach, seeking evidence of some kind to tell the story of what had happened. Finding nothing, the mechanic began to examine the autogiro. She was undamaged, unhurt--everything in order, gasoline in the tank. The engine started easily in answer to his test, and ran smoothly until he turned it off. No, the gallant little Ladybug could not be blamed for whatever disaster had taken place! Then, forgetful of the weather, the three men set out to search the island thoroughly. Buckled in oil-skin coats, they felt protected themselves, but Worth shuddered as he thought of these girls alone in such desolation, with no roof to cover them, no food to satisfy their hunger, or water for their thirst. Gloomy and discouraged they plowed through the wet sand, calling the girls' names. Finally, abandoning the hope of finding them alive, they set themselves to the gruesome task of looking among the underbrush for their bodies. At last they gave up. "We'll fasten a canvas sheet over these bushes, so that we can locate the island, and we'll pin a note on it to say that we'll be back," decided Worth, "in case they are alive. One of you men take the autogiro, and the other the plane, and we'll go back now." The rain was abating somewhat, and the two planes made the return trip without any mishaps, arriving at the Jacksonville Airport before dark that evening. A wildly enthusiastic crowd, which had collected in spite of the weather, greeted them with resounding cheers. The Ladybug was back again--safe and sound! Women cried with joy, men threw their hats into the air, children clapped their hands and whistled. In a miniature way it was a demonstration like the one given Lindbergh upon his arrival at the French Flying Field. But it was a false rejoicing, and the gayety was quickly changed into despair when the pilot reported that the girls themselves had not been found. Weary and disappointed, the crowd turned away, and Sergeant Worth told the sad story to the newspaper reporters who waited to interview him, before he returned to the police headquarters. Captain Magee was terribly affected by the news. Linda Carlton might have been his own daughter, from the grief which he could not conceal. Two well-dressed young men were waiting in his office when Worth arrived, and they listened to the grim account. They were the first of the rescue parties to arrive from the North--Jim Valier and Ralph Clavering. "These two young men are friends of Miss Carlton and Miss Crowley," explained the Captain. "They want to go into the swamp tomorrow in a boat.... Perhaps the girls have reached the main-land, or perhaps that autogiro was stolen, and they never were on the island at all.... Anyhow, we'll search the swamp again. Will you go with them, Worth?" "Certainly," agreed the sergeant, though he felt as if it would be fruitless. Those girls were at the bottom of the ocean, he was sure! "A light motor-boat ought to be able to go up that little stream," continued the Captain. "I will have one ready at the edge of the swamp tomorrow morning at ten o'clock. If you young men will come here at nine, I'll send you over there in a car." Jim and Ralph expressed their thanks to the officer, and promised to be on hand at the arranged time in the morning. But, like Sergeant Worth, they were exceedingly discouraged; they had little hope of success. When they awakened the following morning, which was the first day of July--the day that Linda should have reported to Atlanta--they found that it was still raining, although the storm had ceased, giving way to a dismal drizzle. What an unpleasant day to start off on an excursion like theirs, that was gloomy at best! Yet the weather did not deter them from their purpose, nor did it stop Hal Perry and Jackson who started earlier that morning in their canoe. But it was difficult with a motor-boat, and all three of the men were unfamiliar with the swamp and its little streams. No one knew where to turn off, as Jackson and Hal had learned from many vacations, and after pushing ahead for two or three hours, they found themselves off their course--grounded. "It's no use," muttered Worth. "We can't make it in a motor-boat. Magee's never been in the swamp, or he would have known. We'll have to turn back and get a canoe!" "A whole day wasted!" growled Ralph angrily, as if it were the sergeants fault. "A day! When every minute is precious!" "Well, it's nobody's fault," remarked Worth. "The sooner we get back the better." "Nobody's fault!" repeated Ralph. "No--ignorance is O.K.--if it pertains to the police! They shouldn't know a thing about the country around them!" "No use getting mad at policemen, Ralph," drawled good-natured Jim Valier. "Haven't you learned from driving a car that it doesn't pay? Besides, they're always right." "No, we're often very wrong," said Worth, humbly and seriously. "And maybe you don't think I care, Mr. Clavering, about finding those girls. But I do! I haven't thought about a thing but that for the last three days." Ralph made no answer, but applied his attention to searching the landscape with his glasses. But, like everybody else thus far, he found nothing. Discouraged and silent, they managed to push the boat into the deeper water and to turn it around. All that afternoon they spent in retracing the progress they had made, and returned to the Captain's office just before supper. "You want to try it again in canoes?" asked Captain Magee. "Yes," replied Ralph. "Without any of your police this time. No use taking an extra man--it only means more provisions to carry." "True. But you must be careful of snakes and alligators." The boys looked none too pleased at the idea, but when they remembered that Linda and Dot, if still alive, would be subjected to the same perils, they were all the more eager to go. This time, they decided, they would do it scientifically; they would go prepared with a map of the swamp, equipment, food, and rifles. And above all, a compass! And they would not give up until they had searched every part of that dismal Okefenokee Swamp! So, cheered by the optimism of youth and the promise of another day, the boys slept well that night. CHAPTER XV _The Empty Island_ The same morning upon which Ralph Clavering and Jim Valier went into the Okefenokee Swamp in a canoe, the fourth searching party arrived. Delayed by a stop-over in Norfolk, Virginia, where Ted had some business for the company, he and Louise did not reach the Jacksonville Airport until the morning of July second. Leaving the plane at the field, they taxied immediately to the City Hall, arriving there a little after ten. They did not expect any good news about the missing girls, for they had read the papers and had inquired the latest word at the airport. They had gazed at the Ladybug, so forlorn and desolate in the hangar, and their fears were dark. Even Louise, who was usually optimistic, believed this time it was the end. Yet how dreadful it was! That Linda Carlton, so young, with such a glorious future before her, should perish like this before she was twenty! When she had the whole world at her feet--a world she had won not through mere beauty and charm--although she was both beautiful and charming, but through her courage, her ability, her modesty! Louise made no attempt to hide the tears that rolled down her cheeks; even her husband's strong arm about her shoulders could not stop her sobs. "Don't give up yet, dear!" he urged. "Why, you and I haven't even had our try." The girl smiled bravely through her tears. "I know, Ted dear. I'll try to remember." Her eyes brightened with genuine hope. "It always has been _you_ who have rescued her! Maybe you will this time." "We're going to make a bigger effort than ever before," he reassured her. "Because this time I have you to help me." The minute they entered the City Hall they saw that something had happened. Louise's heart gave a wild leap of excitement. Were Linda and Dot safe? But no. If they were, somebody would be shouting the news from the house-tops--and no one was looking particularity jubilant. There was a crowd outside, but it was not an exulting one. Was it possible that they had found the girls--dead? In spite of the heat of the day, a cold shiver of horror crept over Louise, and she clung tightly to her husband's arm. They had little difficulty in passing through the crowd to the captain's office, for the latter had given orders to his men that Miss Carlton's and Miss Crowley's friends and relatives were to be admitted immediately, whenever they appeared. As they entered the room, they saw half a dozen officials standing around, several in plain clothes, with only badges to identify them. And on a chair by the desk, opposite Captain Magee, a strange young woman was sitting. The girl was flashily dressed--or over-dressed--in the latest style. A long green gown trailed almost to the floor, not quite concealing a bandaged ankle. Her little, off-the-face hat of the same bright color was decorated with a diamond bar-pin. Her lips and her cheeks were painted, and there was a gap in her mouth where two front teeth had been knocked out. The Captain nodded to the Mackays to sit down, and he continued the questions he was putting to this young woman. "You might as well confess if you know where that man is--with all the bank's money!" he was saying. "I know your scheme. Pretending you don't know where he escaped, so that you won't be locked up, and can get back to him!" His eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice to an uncanny whisper. "But we'll keep you here till you tell where that thief is!" "I can't tell you--when I don't know!" she persisted. "He ran off from me--he never wanted me with him anyway. I'll swear to it, Sir, if you think I'm lyin'.... Besides, he hasn't got that money." "Then where is it?" "Linda--and the cops she had with her--tricked us, double-crossed us, by swiping the money and fillin' the bags with sand. The Doc was in such a Hurry to get away from those cops, he never found it out till we were on that yacht. He was afraid to go back." Captain Magee leaned forward eagerly at the mention of Linda Carlton's name. She was far more important than the money that had been stolen. "Miss Carlton?" he demanded. "With the police? Where did you see her?" Susie shook her head. "No, I didn't actually see her. But I saw her Bug, with her stuff in it--a bag and a basket of food. I tossed them out of the plane, too, so she wouldn't starve when we swiped the plane. You can put that down to my credit." "You stole the autogiro?" "No. Only borrowed it. Left it on an island--you can get it when you want it." "We have it.... Now, suppose instead of my asking you questions, you tell us the whole story, Miss----?" "_Mrs._ Slider, if you please," she said. "I am a widow." She lowered her eyes dramatically, enjoying the sensation of holding the center of the stage. "Well," she began, "after my husband got killed in the plane accident that Linda probably told you about, she and I got to be quite good friends. I even promised to leave the gang and go straight, for I never really took part in any of their stealing myself--believe it or not! Linda left me on that island in the swamp, and promised to come back for me when she came for the Bug." "But you weren't there when Miss Carlton returned!" Captain Magee reminded her. "No. I got terrible lonesome. If you ever spend a night in the swamp with only a dead man for company--oh, he was buried all right, but it was spooky just the same--you'd excuse me for takin' the first way out, Sir. The Doc come along, in his canoe, and I promised him my diamond ring if he'd take me away.... Well, we got out of the swamp in his boat, and hired a Ford across Georgia. Then we took a motor-boat out to that island in the ocean." Everyone waited breathlessly; at last the girl was coming to the part they all longed to hear about--the part of the story in which Linda Carlton figured. Pausing dramatically, Susie asked for a glass of water. "Go on!" urged the captain, as soon as she had drained it. "It was a terrible boat," she finally continued. "An awful old one. You can imagine going ten miles out to sea in a thing like that! The engine gave out----" "Never mind all that!" commanded the officer, impatiently. "Come to the point." "Yes, Sir.... Well, we got to the island finally, and waited for the yacht that was to pick us up and take us to Panama, but before she come along, the autogiro arrived. Linda--and the police, of course." "Did you see them--the police, I mean?" was the next question. "No, we didn't. We were too scared, so we hid till they got out of the plane and searched the island. Then we grabbed the bags and ran for the plane. I flew the Bug out to sea, and in a few minutes we spotted our yacht, and signaled it to stop on another island. That's where we left Linda's plane.... When we got to Panama, the Doc slipped off, and I got caught.... So you see there's nothing to punish _me_ for--you got the autogiro back, and the cops, or Linda, took the money----" "There were no policemen with Miss Carlton," Captain Magee informed Susie. "Only another girl. But they are lost." "They must be still on that island, waiting for you to come for them. Nothing could hurt them, and they had some food...." This was enough for Ted Mackay. Jumping to his feet, he announced his intention of flying there immediately. "Give me the latitude and longitude of that island!" he demanded. "There isn't a moment to lose!" "The what?" asked Susie, wrinkling her nose. "Show me where it is on a map," explained Ted. "Yeah," agreed Susie, pointing out the island on a map of the Georgia coast, which the Captain took from his desk. "But what's the grand rush?" "You've forgotten the storm we just had!" said the young man. "The girls may be sick or dead by this time." "Girls," repeated Susie, significantly. "It beats everything the way they fooled us--in their riding-breeches! If the Doc ever finds out he ran away from a pair of girls----" "Never mind all that, Mrs. Slider," interrupted Captain Magee, signaling to the prison matron to take the girl away.... "Now, Mr. Mackay, is there anything I can do for you, before you go?" "You might get me a taxi," replied Ted. "To take my wife and myself to the airport." "Take my private car," offered the Captain, rising to say good-by. "And good luck to you!" Louise was so excited at the whole occurrence that she could scarcely sit still in the limousine, as it sped over to the airport. "If we only aren't too late! Ted, do you suppose they're starved? What does it feel like to starve to death? Or to die of thirst?" "I wouldn't worry too much about thirst," he reassured her. "Because of that big rain we had. They could get water from it, you know." "I never thought of that!" "The worst is over now, I'm sure," continued Ted. "Five days isn't so long, and the girl said they had food. Besides, it wasn't cold. Think of that time you girls were lost in Canada!" Louise shuddered; she could still remember that long, hopeless night very vividly, when she and Linda had jumped from parachutes down into the snow of the Canadian Woods, and how they had been forced to keep walking to avoid freezing to death. "Still, we found a shack to sleep in. And Linda and Dot haven't even a blanket to cover them in all that storm!" "Well, they were together, that's one thing to be thankful for." "Yes--and I'm glad Linda's companion is Dot. Of all our crowd at Spring City, Dot Crowley is the nicest girl--after Linda, of course. Most of the girls, like Kitty Clavering--Kitty Hulbert, I mean--or Sue Emery, would be pitying themselves so that they'd make Linda miserable. But not Dot. She always sees the bright side of everything." "And wasn't it clever the way they got hold of that money, and fooled that bandit!" exulted Ted. "My, but that was slick. And think what it's going to mean to that bank and its depositors! Because if that fellow hadn't been fooled, he'd have made off with it. I don't believe they'll ever find him now." "I guess nobody will care if he never comes back to the United States!" agreed Louise. They arrived at the airport and found the plane in readiness, wheeled out on the runway, and Ted took time to give it an inspection himself, while Louise ran off to get the necessary supplies--some food and water, and a first-aid kit, as a necessary precaution. She borrowed sweaters and knickers from the supply at the airport, for she reasoned that Linda and Dot would be chilled and drenched from the rain. Dry clothing ought to be a god-send, even if they used it only on the short trip back in the plane. Inside of an hour they took off. It was still drizzling, but Ted was such an experienced navigator that he had no difficulty at all in flying in any kind of weather, and he found the island from Susie's directions. Shortly after noon, he brought it down on the beach. A feeling of apprehension stole over Louise, when she saw neither of the girls on the shore to greet them. In spite of the noise of ocean, surely they would have heard the plane! Why weren't they there? Ted turned off the motor, and looked about expectantly. "Do you suppose they're both sick--or injured?" faltered Louise. She did not add, "or dead," but she could not help thinking it. "Maybe they didn't hear us. Let's shout together--'Linda and Dot!' If they hear their first names, they'll know we're friends, maybe recognize our voices. You see they may be hiding--for fear it's that gangster returning." "I never thought of that," replied Louise, more hopefully. "All right--both together when I count three. "One--two--three!" "LINDA AND DOT!" Their voices rose clearly over the splashing of the waves, and they waited tensely. But there was no reply! They waited, and tried again.... Still silence.... Louise put out her hand, and grasped her husband's, in fear. "What does it mean?" she cried, in anguish. "Is this surely the right island? There seemed to be a lot of them." "Maybe it isn't" he answered, optimistically. "That girl seemed to be telling the truth--but she was a queer one. Besides, she might not be sure which island it was.... Anyway, we'll search. If Linda and Dot were here, we'll see some evidences of their camp--burnt out fires, or worn paths, or something. Come on, let's start!" Arm in arm they began their search, stepping carefully through the underbrush, now and then stopping to call, "Linda" or "Dot," in the hope that the girls might only have been asleep. They did not have to go far before they saw that at least someone had been here recently, for there was a path worn through the underbrush. Farther and farther in they went, until they came to a small cluster of pine trees. And here, sure enough, they found the remains, or rather the ashes, for the place had been left neat, of a camp fire. The sight of this forsaken spot brought sudden tears to Louise's eyes. "They've been dragged off and killed! I just know it!" she moaned. "Don't cry, please, dear," begged Ted. "We're not sure yet. This may not be their island--their fire. Somebody else may have camped here. Let's look about a bit." Slowly they walked around the place, examining the ground for some forgotten belonging that would identify the former campers. Noticing a pile of leaves where someone had evidently made a bed, Louise kicked them aside with her foot, and she saw an empty matchbox. It wasn't much, but it was something, and she leaned over and picked it up. The letters on the lid leaped out at her like living tongues. Marked with a purple rubber-stamp over the trade-mark, were the words: "J. Vetter, Spring City, Ohio." The explanation was only too plain. No one but Dot and Linda could have used that box. Louise dropped to the ground in an agony of wretchedness, and buried her face in her hands. Even the optimistic Ted found all his hopes blasted by this little box. Gloom spread over his features, and he sat down beside his wife, comforting her as best he could. For fifteen minutes, perhaps, they remained motionless, overcome by the thought of their friends' awful death. The food which they had brought with the idea of sharing a gay picnic lunch with Dot and Linda was forgotten. Though they had not eaten since breakfast, neither Ted nor Louise could have swallowed a mouthful. At last Ted got up, gently raising Louise to her feet. Each silently decided to make one more search--a gruesome one this time--for the girls' bodies. Round and round the island they walked, looking carefully, among the underbrush, near to the beach, even scanning the water with their spyglasses. But they saw nothing. That one matchbox had been their only evidence. Like good campers to the end, Linda and Dot had burned every trace of rubbish. It was mid-afternoon when Ted realized that Louise was faint from hunger and thirst, and he made her sit down while he brought some supplies from the plane. She drank the water eagerly, but she could not eat. For Louise Mackay was going through the deepest tragedy of her young life: her first experience with the loss of a loved one. During the entire flight homeward she kept her hand on Ted's knee, but she did not utter a word. CHAPTER XVI _Searching the Ocean_ Louise and Ted Mackay did not go to the police headquarters that night. They were too miserable, too discouraged by the outcome of their excursion to the island. After leaving the plane at the airport, Ted called Captain Magee on the telephone, and briefly related the results of their flight. Supper was a dreary affair for them both. It was only by putting forth a tremendous effort that they ate at all--in an attempt to stave off exhaustion. The ice cream, at least, tasted good to Louise, for she was still very hot. The worst ordeal of all came after the meal, just as the saddened young couple were passing through the hotel lobby to take the elevator to their room. Louise suddenly recognized two familiar figures at the desk, two men who had just arrived with their luggage. Mr. Crowley and Mr. Carlton--the fathers of the two unfortunate girls! The tears which Louise had bravely forced back ever since her collapse at the discovery of the matchbox on the island, rushed to her eyes again. How could they ever tell these two men the terrible news? For an instant she hoped they would not see her or her husband, that she could at least put off the evil tidings until the morning. But it was not to be. Linda's father recognized her instantly, and came quickly towards her. "Louise!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand. "And Ted! Any news?" Louise could not answer for the sob that was choking her, and Ted, shy as he always was, knew it was his duty to explain. "Bad news, Sir," he said. "We had information this morning that the girls were stranded on an island in the ocean, and that their autogiro had been stolen from them. As you probably read in the newspaper, it was found yesterday.... We--Lou and I--flew to the island where the girls were supposed to be, this afternoon, and found evidences of their camp--burnt out fires--but no trace of the girls." Mr. Carlton looked grave. "But they may have been rescued," suggested Mr. Crowley, who had the same optimistic disposition as his daughter. "Possibly," admitted Ted. "But if they had, wouldn't we have heard? The whole country is waiting for news of those two brave girls." "I'm afraid you're right," agreed Mr. Carlton, darkly. "Yes, you must be right. Foul play----" "Or the ocean!" put in Louise. "Oh, the cruel, dreadful ocean! If it couldn't swallow Linda up on her flight to Paris, it had to have its revenge now!" "Have you had your dinner, Sir?" asked Ted of Mr. Carlton. "Yes. On the train. Suppose we get our rooms--I'll ask for a private sitting-room--and then we can all go up and discuss the matter together from every angle, and decide upon what is the best thing for us to do." Louise brightened at this ray of hope. "Then you're not going to give up yet, Mr. Carlton?" she inquired. "Never, till we find them--dead or alive. We're going to think of no news as good news." Mr. Crowley nodded his approval. "I have a week's vacation," added Ted, "and I shall be at your service." "Thank you, my boy," answered Mr. Carlton, gratefully. He was a great admirer of Ted Mackay, ever since he had recovered from his prejudice against him because he was the son of a ne'er-do-well. The new-comers made their arrangements at the desk, and were fortunate enough to secure a very pleasant suite. Louise and Ted went up in the elevator with them, and Mr. Carlton ordered coffee to be sent to the room. They settled down into the easy chairs and Louise poured the iced-coffee. The evening was hot, but there were large windows on three sides of the sitting-room, and a lovely breeze was blowing. Mr. Carlton brought out cigars and offered one to Ted. "But I suppose you'd rather have a cigarette," he said, when Ted refused. "No thank you, Sir. I never smoke. A great many of us pilots don't. We want to keep as fit as possible." Mr. Carlton nodded. Linda had never expressed any desire to smoke, and he supposed it was for the same reason. "There are two places where the girls might be," he said slowly, as he puffed on his cigar. "On another of those small islands, off the coast, or in some boat--on the ocean. If they had reached the coast, we should have heard of it." "A boat!" repeated Louise, with sudden inspiration. "There was that broken down motor-boat, that the girl and the gangster used to get to the island! Could Dot and Linda have gone off in that?" "What boat?" demanded Mr. Carlton and Mr. Crowley, both at once. Louise explained by repeating most of the story which they had heard from Susie that morning. "Funny we didn't think of that before," observed Ted. "Come to remember, I didn't see any boat this afternoon. Did you, Lou?" "No, I didn't. And we searched the whole island," she explained to the older men. "We'd surely have seen it if there had been one." "This sounds hopeful!" exclaimed Mr. Crowley, joyfully. "If it didn't have a leak----" "But didn't you say that it was broken?" asked Mr. Carlton. "The girl said the engine was broken, but as far as I know, the boat itself was sound," replied Ted. "Linda could fix the engine!" cried Louise, almost hysterical in her relief. For the first time since the finding of the matchbox, she actually believed that Linda and Dot were still alive. "We'll work on that theory, anyway," decided Mr. Carlton. "And go out on the ocean tomorrow." Before they could discuss their plans any further, the telephone on the desk interrupted them, and Mr. Carlton was informed that there were two young men who wanted to see him--Ralph Clavering and James Valier. "Well, of all things!" exclaimed Mr. Carlton, who had not even known that the boys had started South. "Yes," he added to the clerk on the phone, "ask them to come up right away, by all means." "Who? What?" demanded Louise, eagerly. "Any news?" "I don't know yet. Ralph and Jim are here." "They would be," smiled Louise. Linda could never get away from Ralph Clavering, no matter how far she went. A minute later the boys appeared, dressed in camping clothes, looking very unlike the neat, immaculate young men they always appeared to be at Spring City, or at Green Falls. Even if they took part in athletics at home, their white flannels were always spotless. But now, except for the fact that their faces were clean and shaved, they looked like tramps. Ralph and Jim were just as much surprised to see Ted and Louise as the latter were at their visit. "Where in the world have you been?" demanded Louise, in amazement at their appearance. "You both look as if you had been ship-wrecked and lost besides." "We have," muttered Jim, sinking wearily into a seat, and extending his long legs in front of him. "Please pardon our slouching, Lou--but we're dead." "But where have you been?" repeated Mr. Carlton. "In the Okefenokee Swamp!" answered Ralph. "And if Lou weren't here, I'd tell you what it's like, in no uncertain language!" Mr. Carlton smiled, and yet he was horror stricken. If these boys found it so dreadful, what must it have seemed like to Linda? "Tell us about it!" he urged. "But wait, have you had your supper?" "Yes. We had food along with us. We left the canoe at the edge of the stream, and taxied back here, because we have rooms in this hotel. They told us at the desk that 'Miss Carlton's father had arrived,' so we didn't wait even to change our clothing. We had to get the news of the girls immediately." "I'm afraid there isn't much to tell," sighed Louise. "At least nothing hopeful." Briefly she repeated what she and Ted had been doing all afternoon, as a result of Susie's capture and story, and she displayed the matchbox, with the name of Spring City stamped on its lid. "I recall Linda's getting that from her aunt," remarked Ralph, dolefully. "She asked for half a dozen boxes, and Miss Carlton got them right away, so she wouldn't forget." "Now tell us what you boys have been doing," urged Mr. Crowley. "And Louise, why don't you pour them some of this iced-coffee? It really is very refreshing." Briefly Ralph told his story, aided now and then by Jim. Their second expedition into the swamp had been as useless as their first, though they admitted the superiority of a canoe over a motor-boat, if one knew where to go. But they had become hopelessly lost in a couple of hours, in spite of their maps, and, as time passed, they became all the more certain that the girls were not in the swamp. They decided to turn back, in order to concentrate their efforts on the islands near where the autogiro had been found. Susie's story naturally confirmed their suspicions, and they instantly agreed with Mr. Carlton to abandon all further search of the Okefenokee. "I believe the thing to do," announced the latter, after serious contemplation, "is to hire a yacht, and cruise all along the Georgia and Florida coast. The most reasonable explanation to me is that Linda and Dot are adrift somewhere in that motor-boat. Either the engine is broken beyond repair, or the gasoline has given out." "Or that terrible storm has wrecked them," faltered Louise, who could not silence her fear of the ocean. "Upset that little boat, and----" "Don't, Lou!" cried Jim. "Don't even think of things like that, unless we find an empty boat!" "I'll try not to," she promised. "Well, whatever has happened, the ocean is the place for us to be, if we hope to rescue the girls," concluded Mr. Carlton, "You all agree on that point?" Everyone assented, and Ralph and Jim expressed their desire to get into action immediately. "We ought to be able to get a yacht tomorrow," continued Mr. Carlton. "Because of the publicity of this affair someone who has one ready will probably be glad to rent it to us on the spot. I think I'll go to the newspaper office tonight, and have the request broadcast by radio." "Great!" exclaimed Louise, jumping up excitedly. "And can we all go with you tomorrow, on the cruise, I mean, Mr. Carlton?" "You can do just as you prefer--go with me, or use your own plane to fly around over the islands." "I think that would be the better plan for us, Sir," put in Ted. "And we can keep in touch with you by signals." The group separated at last, the older men to call their families by long-distance, the young people to get a good night's sleep after their strenuous day. In the morning they re-assembled at breakfast, when Mr. Carlton announced the good news that he had been offered a yacht by a wealthy man in Jacksonville. "He even refused to take any rent for it, much as I urged him to," he added. "And he's lending us the crew besides. It seems too good to be true." "All of which goes to show just how popular Linda is--with everybody!" explained Louise. "Oh, we simply must find her!" There were no preparations to be made for the cruise, because the owner of the yacht assured Mr. Carlton that everything was in readiness, so by ten o'clock on the morning of July third, the little party, composed of the two fathers and the two boy-friends of the lost girls stepped aboard the boat. It was a beautiful little yacht, complete in every detail. Under any other circumstances the men would have been overjoyed at the prospect of such a pleasant trip. As it was, they were too worried to think of anything but Linda and Dot. "What a marvelous time we could be having if the girls were aboard!" lamented Ralph. "Dance and play bridge all day, every day, with no other fellows to cut in on us, and take them away! I say, Jim, we might even come back engaged if we had a chance like that!" "Much more likely they'd be so sick of us they'd never want to see us again!" returned the other, shrewdly. "No--cruising's all right. But I'd rather be in Green Falls if Linda and Dot were with us." "Maybe this will teach Linda a lesson," grumbled Ralph. Then he suddenly remembered her job, with the Spraying Company in Atlanta. He couldn't pretend to be sorry if she lost it. The speedy little yacht cruised all day along the coast, while the men played bridge, and smoked, and ate the most excellent meals, cooked and served by an efficient staff. But underneath all this comfort ran an under-current of anxiety, especially towards evening, when darkness came on, and no sign of the girls had been seen. Several airplanes had flown over their heads during the day, and once they saw Ted's plane. Dropping low, Louise waved her handkerchief, which was the pre-arranged signal to tell them that the flyers had found nothing, and Ralph waved his in return, conveying the same information. Should they have anything to report, Ted announced that he would put his plane through a series of stunts, and, in the case of the yacht's making a discovery, Jim Valier promised to climb up on the rail. But the airplane and the yacht passed each other with only a dismal fluttering of handkerchiefs. "Something's bound to happen tomorrow," said Jim, as he crawled into his bunk that night. "It'll be the fourth of July!" "By Jove! It will!" exclaimed Ralph. "We ought to get some bang-up excitement!" But the thing that happened was what they had all been silently dreading--the fate which only Louise had mentioned, that night in the hotel sitting-room. About noon--off the coast of Florida--Jim Valier spotted an overturned old motor-boat, bouncing helplessly about on the ocean! CHAPTER XVII _On to Cuba_ When the storm came at dawn on the thirtieth of June, it awakened Linda first. As the rain descended upon the slickers that covered the girls, and upon their faces, Dot merely buried her head sleepily under the raincoat, but Linda sat bolt upright on the bed of leaves. The wind was howling about the lonely island, and the rain was pouring down in sheets. The blackness of it all was terrifying, yet she knew that she must get up. "Dot!" she whispered, hoarsely. "Wake up!" Her companion opened her eyes sleepily as she pushed the slicker aside. "Yes.... Why Linda, it's--pouring!" "It certainly is." Linda was slipping on her shoes and her knickers over her pajamas. "We've got to rescue the boat." "Why?" "Because water mustn't get into the gasoline. And because the tide might come up high enough to wash the boat out to sea." "O.K.," replied Dot, now quite wide awake. "I'm with you, Linda--in just a second." Holding on to each other's hands, they made their way with difficulty down to the beach where the boat had been left, and together they dragged it back and covered it with one of the slickers. Panting from the effort, they dropped back on the sand and sat down, not bothering about the rain that was descending relentlessly upon them, soaking them to the skin. "We might as well use the other slicker as a roof for ourselves," suggested Dot, as she got to her feet again. "We can hang it over some bushes, and crawl under it." "That's an idea!" approved Linda. "I was wondering how one raincoat could keep us both dry." "It won't keep us dry--we're wet now. But it will protect us from the worst force of this cloud-burst." They went back to their camping site and arranged the slicker as best they could--carefully putting the bag of money and the box of tools under it, before they crawled in themselves. The bushes were wet, and so was the ground, but the girls were saved the discomfort of having the rain actually pour in their faces. They watched the storm for some time, hoping that it would soon abate, and finally, becoming drowsy, they fell asleep again, with their feet sticking out under the covering. Cramped by the awkward position, they awakened in a couple of hours. Daylight had arrived--but not sunlight. It was still raining steadily and dismally. "Don't you suppose we can go today?" asked Dot. "Maybe later on," replied Linda, cheerfully. "There's one thing good about this, Dot. We can get a drink." "How heavenly!" exclaimed the other, sitting up. "But how do we manage it? We won't get much by just opening our mouths!" "Get up carefully. I'm sure there's a lot of water lodging on the top of this slicker. Wait--get the thermos bottles out of the tool-box first. We'll use the cups, and then stand them up to catch the rain as it falls." Linda's surmise was correct; there was so much water on the slicker that it was in danger of collapsing any moment. They dipped their cups into the pool and drank eagerly. How good it tasted to their parched throats! "There must be more down on the boat's cover," suggested Dot. "Let's get it, and pour it into our thermos bottles." When they had carried out this idea, they set the bottles firmly in the sand, and crept back under cover. "Shall we eat?" asked Dot, after watching the rain for some minutes in silence. "Let's wait a while--till noon, if we can. We have only those two oranges and a half a dozen crackers. It'll be something to look forward to." "There's still some tea and sugar--and one can of milk," the other reminded her. "You know we didn't use them, because we couldn't afford the water. Now it'll be different." "I'd forgotten all about that!" exclaimed Linda, smiling. "Let's have tea and one cracker for lunch, and save the oranges for supper." "But how can we ever hope to build a fire in this rain? We'd never find any dry sticks--and if we made one under here, we'd be smoked out." "I hadn't thought of that. But we can make cold tea. If we leave the leaves in the water long enough, they'll flavor it--anyway, that's what I read in an ad one time." "You think of everything, Linda! It's no wonder you've gotten out of a dozen disasters that would have killed an ordinary girl!" "Now Dot!" protested the other girl, modestly. "Just so long as we get out of this one, I'll be satisfied." To help pass the tediousness of the long gloomy day, the girls took a brisk walk encircling the entire island. Soaked as they were before they started, they decided it would be foolish to stop because of the rain. The sight of the ocean, wild and angry as it was because of the storm, aroused their wonder and admiration, and rewarded them for their wet excursion. In vain they squinted through the spyglasses for a glimpse of the autogiro, but even the island on which it had been left by Susie was obliterated from their vision. It was no wonder, therefore, that they did not see the plane which brought Sergeant Worth and the two pilots to that other island. All unaware that Ladybug had flown home that afternoon, the girls finally settled down after dark to try to sleep under their improvised roof. When they awakened the following morning, they were disappointed not to see the sun. It was still raining, but no longer in torrents; the storm had slackened to a monotonous drizzle. "We better go," said Linda, as they breakfasted on tea and two crackers apiece. "I can keep the engine pretty well covered up. And this rain may keep up for days." "I shouldn't care to keep up this reducing diet for days," observed Dot. "If we were only too fat, Linda, how we would welcome such a chance to starve ourselves!" "Yes.... If--Oh, Dot, don't you wish we had a thick steak now--smothered in mushrooms----" "With creamed potatoes and fresh peas----" "Fruit salad and cheese wafers----" "Meringues, salted nuts, and coffee!" Both girls suddenly laughed out loud. "Anyway, we can both have our drinks of water," concluded Dot. "And they say thirst is worse than hunger." "We'll fill both thermos bottles before we push off," said Linda. "But I'm counting on reaching the Ladybug before noon, and then we ought to get to the Georgia coast by two o'clock." "Where we eat that dinner!" added Dot. Carrying their belongings, they walked down to the beach in their rain-soaked clothing, and pushed the boat out towards the water. The ocean was still so high and so rough that Linda hesitated a moment. "Do you think we can make it?" asked Dot, noticing the expression of doubt on her companion's face. "Yes, I think so. That island didn't look far, yesterday." "That's true. But I can't see it now, Linda. Suppose the storm had washed the Ladybug away--or even the whole island?" Linda shuddered, realizing that there was that possibility. She took the glasses from her pocket, and peered through them in the direction she remembered the island to be. "I can't see a thing but ocean," she stated. "The waves are so high. But let's go in that direction anyway. It must be there." She turned to the motor-boat and attempted to start the engine, but for some minutes she labored in vain, for the engine refused to catch. Was everything in the world against them, Dot silently wondered, as she watched Linda repeat her efforts with infinite patience. At last, however, there was a sputter, and the motor started. The girls pushed the boat into the water and climbed into it. It would have been great sport riding the waves, had it not been for the grave danger attached. This was no sporting contest, with a life-guard in readiness to rescue them if anything went wrong! It was a race between life and death. The wind had died down, however, and the sea was gradually growing calmer. Up and down the little boat bobbed, now in the trough of a wave, seemingly under a mountain of water--now rising again to a height that made the girls think of a scenic-railway at a pleasure park. Dot screamed with excitement, but Linda's lips were set in a firm line of determination, her attention riveted on the engine. By some miracle, it seemed to the girls, the little boat forged triumphantly ahead, with its motor running smoothly. A feeling of confidence was gradually taking the place of fear, and Dot strained her eyes for the island that was their goal. Half an hour later she spotted it, and almost upset the boat in her joy. "There it is, Linda!" she cried, excitedly. "Oh, Linda, we're saved! We're----" She stopped suddenly, hardly able to believe her eyes. The autogiro was gone! "What's the matter, Dot?" asked Linda, unable to understand the abrupt end of her chum's rejoicing. "Anything wrong!" "Yes.... The Ladybug's gone!" "What? Oh, it can't be!" Linda's voice was hoarse with terror. "Look again, Dot--you have the glasses." Dot squinted her eyes, but was rewarded by no trace of the plane. "You take a look, Linda," she suggested. "Maybe you can see better." The other girl eagerly caught the glasses which her companion tossed, and with trembling fingers held them to her eyes. The island was in plain sight now, but it was a ghastly fact that the autogiro had completely disappeared. Linda continued to gaze at the barren spot, her eyes fixed and staring, as if she were looking at death itself. Then, dropping the glasses into her lap, she seemed to be thinking intently. "It's true, Dot," she said, in an expressionless tone. "Yet that must be the right island.... Something has happened.... I don't know whether the wind could have lifted the Ladybug--or whether that gangster came back for it.... In any case, there's only one thing for us to do." "Yes?" faltered Dot, biting her lips to keep back the tears. She must not fail Linda now, in her darkest hour. "Turn the boat around, and make for the shore. We mustn't waste another drop of gasoline. It--won't last forever." "Shall we go back to our island--if we can find it?" asked Dot, as she turned the wheel. "No, we'll go straight west.... Or is that the west? Oh, if we only had a compass, or the sun to guide us.... But that must be the right direction." Linda was speaking bravely, trying to keep her voice normal, and her companion took heart from her manner. The boat went forward in the opposite direction, presumably towards the coast. Half an hour passed in silence, each girl intent upon her task. Linda took out her extra can of gasoline and filled the tank. Once Dot drank some water from the thermos bottle and reminded Linda of hers. All the while they continued to keep a sharp look-out for the coast. Another hour passed, and the girls' hunger began to assault them. The rain continued to fall, and weariness stole over them both. They were too weak and too tired to talk. At last Linda broke the silence by asking Dot to take another good look for the coast through the glasses. She did not add that it was vital this time, that the gasoline was running very low. On a rough sea like this, oars would be out of the question, even if the girls had been as strong as boys. "I can't see anything but water," was the reply. But just at that moment Linda saw something that held her speechless with terror. The boat was springing a leak! Water appeared to be pouring in by the bucket-full! As the significance of this catastrophe dawned upon Linda, her throat grew dry and parched; the words with which she meant to tell Dot choked her so that she could not speak. How, oh how could she possibly inform her brave chum of what was literally their death sentence! It was Dot, however, who spoke instead. Rather, she cried out hysterically, "Linda, I see a boat! A steam-boat! Coming towards us!" "Where?" gasped the other girl, her heart beating wildly between hope and fear. "Right ahead! Look! You can see her without the glasses now!" Linda shot a swift glance at the approaching boat, then looked again at the floor, where the water was fast deepening. Would the rescue come in time? And would the boat stop at their signal of distress? Wild with excitement, both girls raised their arms and waved desperately at the approaching craft, until it was only fifty yards away. Then they both shouted with a power and volume that they would not have believed they possessed. The oncoming boat decreased its speed until it was almost beside the girls' sinking craft. To their overwhelming joy and relief, they saw that it was stopping. A man appeared on the deck, and called to them in a pleasant voice. "In trouble, girls?" "Our boat's sinking!" shouted Linda to Dot's amazement, for the latter was still unaware of the immediate tragedy that was threatening them. "Can you take us aboard?" "Sure!" he replied. "Wait till I get a rope ladder." While he was gone, Linda pointed to the water in the boat, which by this time Dot had seen, and signaled to the other girl to say nothing of their experiences to this man, until they learned more about him. Linda's recent association with criminals had made her exceedingly wary. "Pull up closer," instructed the man, as he returned with the ladder. "Now, can you climb?" "Easily!" Dot assured him. "We're in knickers, anyhow." "May we throw our stuff on board first?" inquired Linda, picking up the bag which contained, besides their few possessions, all the bank's money. "Sure! Anything breakable in it?" "Only a couple of mirrors," returned Dot, who had regained her cheerfulness with amazing speed. "And we're not afraid of bad luck," she added. A moment later the girls climbed to safety, and pressed their rescuer's hand in gratitude. It seemed like a miracle to them both, and the old seaman was like an angel from heaven. "How soon will we get to the coast?" asked Linda eagerly. The man shook his head. "We can't go to the coast," he replied. "We're headed for Cuba." "But we must get back as soon as possible," pleaded Linda, beginning to wonder whether she was about to be kidnapped again. "You were headed for the open ocean," the seaman informed her, to both girls' consternation. "And that's where we have to go. I can't stop at the United States.... I'm awfully sorry...." CHAPTER XVIII _Luck for Ted and Louise_ Linda and Dot stood still on the deck of the old boat, grasping the rail with their hands, and looking intently at their rescuer. He was a typical old seaman, with tanned, roughened face, a gray beard, and kindly blue eyes. "That was a narrow escape," he remarked. "What do you girls mean by going out on a rough sea like this, in a shell like you had?" "We couldn't help it," Linda replied. "And we thought the boat was safe. We didn't know it was going to spring a leak.... Would it take very long to run us to the coast, Mr.--Captain----?" "Smallweed," supplied the man. "And everybody calls me 'Cap'n'." "Well, would it, Captain Smallweed?" repeated Linda, amused at the name. He ought to be at home on the island they had just come from, she thought--there were so many "small weeds" growing there! "Too long fer me to stop," he replied, to the girls' dismay. "I got to get back to my family, in Havana." His blue eyes twinkled. "Why? What have you girls got in that bag, that's so important to deliver in a hurry?" "You think we're boot-leggers!" laughed Dot. "Don't you, Captain?" "I wouldn't be surprised at anything," he answered, smiling. "I've seen just as nice lookin' girls as you----" "I'm afraid we're not very nice looking," sighed Linda, surveying their drenched, bedraggled clothing. "But we're really not boot-leggers.... We want to get back so that we can telephone to our families. They probably think that storm was the end of us." "Well, I'm sorry, but I can't go off my course. Like to, if I had the time----" "Well, if you can't, you can't--that's all there is to it," said Linda, philosophically. "We're glad to be alive at all, and I don't suppose a couple of days will make any difference." "How long do you think it will take you to get to Cuba?" put in Dot anxiously. There was no use fussing, of course, but she could not forget that her mother and father would be frantic by this time. "I'm reckonin' on dockin' at Havana the fourth of July. This is only the first, but these are stormy seas, and we have to expect delays.... Now come on inside, out o' this drizzle. You girls are drenched--I'll have to give you the only cabin I got. To get yourselves dry in." Stooping over, he picked up Linda's tool-box, and finding it heavy, eyed it suspiciously. "You girls gangsters?" he asked, unexpectedly. "Got any guns on you?" Both girls felt themselves growing red at this accusation, yet they could not deny it wholly. "That box has the tools in it which I used to fix up the engine of the motor-boat," Linda finally explained. "And you can take our word that we're not gangsters." But they were exceedingly nervous as they followed the Captain to the cabin where there were two bunks, one on top of the other. Suppose he should decide to search them--and find not only the two revolvers, but all that money besides! He would never believe their story! "When you get dry, I'll take you over the whole boat," he said. "I carry tobacco up the coast every couple of months. Used to have a sail-boat--that was the real thing! But this little lady's speedy--and better in a storm like we just had." "How can we ever thank you enough, Captain Smallweed?" cried Dot, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of gratitude for their safety. "Our fathers will send you a handsome reward when we get back home." "Never mind that," smiled the man. "I've got a girl of my own--she's married now--but she's still a kid to me, and I know how I'd want her treated.... Now, you can bolt this door if you want to, so there won't be any danger of either of the two other fellows aboard coming in accidentally--and you can get yourselves dry." "There's--there's just one thing, Captain," stammered Linda. "We're dreadfully hungry. Could we have a piece of bread, or anything to eat?" "You poor kids!" he exclaimed, in a fatherly tone. "Come on down to the kitchen, and you can help yourselves." Though the food he provided was not the steak dinner they had been dreaming about on the island, it tasted good to those two starved girls. Captain Smallweed made tea for them, and brought out bread and smoked sausages, and Linda and Dot ate every crumb of the repast. "We were marooned on an island during that storm," Linda explained. "And we have had nothing but a couple of oranges and a few crackers for two days." "Well, you'll get a good supper," the Captain promised them. "That's why I'm not givin' you more now. I'll knock on your door about eight o'clock, if you ain't awake before then. That's when we usually eat." When the girls were finally alone in their cabin, they gazed first at their bag of money, then at each other, and suddenly started to laugh. It was such a ridiculous situation. During those lonely days of exile on the island they had pictured their return so differently. It would be a grand occasion, with exciting telephone calls to their families, a marvelous dinner at a hotel, perhaps a radio broadcast of their safe landing! Instead of all that, here they were, stowed away in a shabby boat, suspected of crime, and feasting on stale bread and hot dogs for their banquet! Worst of all there would be three weary days of waiting before informing the world of their safety! Yet they were thankful indeed that they had been rescued at all, and by a man as kind-hearted as the old sea captain. "I don't really think he'll bother any more about that bag," said Linda, as she took off her wet shoes. "If only we can get it back to Jacksonville safely, from Cuba! If we only had the Ladybug!" "It's a mystery where she could have vanished to," observed Dot. "But I suppose that is a small thing, compared to saving our lives." "You'll never go anywhere with me again," sighed Linda. "Dot!" she exclaimed abruptly, "I'd forgotten all about my job!" "I hadn't forgotten I was to start back North today," remarked the other girl. "Jim Valier was going to motor over and meet me at the station when my train came in." "Poor Jim!" sighed Linda, little thinking that the young man had no intention of doing that. "He'll have a good wait. But Jim can always sleep, on any occasion." "I guess he won't expect me.... We must be reported as missing by now--in all the newspapers." "Of course. I'd forgotten...." The girls wrapped themselves in blankets and slept the rest of the afternoon, to waken in time to see the sun, which had appeared at last, just setting over the sea. Their clothing was still damp and disheveled, but they put it on and went up on deck to hunt their benefactor. "We want you to let us cook," announced Dot, as she spied him. "We insist on making ourselves useful." The man smiled pleasantly. "All right," he agreed. "You can--tomorrow. But supper's ready now. Come on down." They followed the Captain into the kitchen, where another man was placing a dish of potatoes on the wooden table, which did not boast of a cover. "Meet Steve, ladies," her said--"my friend the pilot." The girls nodded, and Dot asked, with anxiety, "But who's guiding the boat now, while Mr. Steve eats his supper?" Both men laughed at her concern. "There's another one besides us. He takes his turn, and so do I. We never all three eat or sleep at the same time." It was a merry meal, though an exceedingly greasy one of fried potatoes and underdone bacon. The coffee, too, was none too good--for it was weak and muddy-looking. Nevertheless, both girls praised the supper extravagantly, for it tasted good to them, but they inwardly resolved to show the men the next day how food ought to be cooked. The next two days passed pleasantly enough, for the girls were able to busy themselves with the meals, and the men's appreciation was plenty of reward for their efforts. In their off hours they relaxed by watching the ocean and scanning the sky for airplanes, the make of which Linda could often guess. Sometimes they played checkers with each other, or with Captain Smallweed, to the latter's delight. But never again was the suspicious-looking tool-box mentioned, until Linda herself handed it over to Steve, saying that she did not want to bother to take it to Havana. By the time July third arrived, their boat was well out of the range of the yacht that was cruising in search of them, and on July fourth--the day that Jim Valier spotted the overturned motor-boat early in the morning--Captain Smallweed docked safely at Cuba. "Where do you girls want to go now?" asked the Captain, as the party stepped ashore. "Want to come along home with me, and meet the wife? She can rig you up in some decent clothes." "Thank you very much," replied Linda, "but we want to get to a telephone as soon as possible, so that we can get in touch with our families. So if you would just get us a taxi, and send us to the best hotel in Havana----" "In those rigs?" inquired the other, in amazement. "Everybody will stare at you! They dress well in Cuba, you know." "Oh, we're past caring about appearances," laughed Linda. "So stop that taxi for us, will you please, Captain?... And thank you a thousand times for all you have done for us." "You'll hear from our fathers soon," added Dot, as she too shook hands with the old man. Cautiously protecting the bag, into which Linda had stuffed the revolvers under the money, the girls taxied to the best hotel in the city. The driver eyed them suspiciously, and the clerk at the desk stared at them as if they were hoboes. But he condescended to assign them a room when they showed evidence of paying in advance. "We want a long-distance wire first of all," announced Linda. "We'd like to telephone from our rooms----" She stopped abruptly, for two slender arms were suddenly thrust about her neck, and kisses were being pressed violently upon her lips and cheeks. Louise Mackay stood behind them! Louise, with her husband, both in flyers' suits. Try as she could, the girl could not utter a word. The tears ran down her cheeks, and she continued to kiss first Linda and then Dot in the wildest ecstasy. "I can't believe it!" she said at last. "Is it really, truly you, Linda darling?" "What's left of us," replied Linda, laughing. "Did you ever see two such sights as we are?" "I never saw anyone or anything in my life that looked half so good to me!" returned Louise, fervently. She stepped back and laid her hand on her husband's arm, for so far Ted had not had a chance to say anything, or be included in the welcome. "Tell me it's true, Ted--that I'm not dreaming!" she urged. "I simply can't believe it." "It's the best, the truest thing in the world," the young man assured her. "We were positive you were dead," Louise explained. "We had so much evidence to prove it--the empty island where you were marooned, the overturned motor-boat that Jim Valier spotted early this morning----" "Jim Valier!" repeated Dot, in amazement. "Where would Jim see our old boat?" "Jim and Ralph and your two fathers are on a yacht, searching for you. They broadcast by radio any news they get. And Ted and I have flown to every island anywhere near the coast. We finished searching them all, so we landed here this morning, just for a rest." "Then you have a plane!" cried Linda, in delight. "You can take us back to Florida! I'd so hate to get into another boat--I simply loathe the sight of them." "Do tell us what happened to you," urged Ted. "I don't understand how we missed you everywhere." "It's a pretty long story," replied Dot. "I think we better phone our families first. They must be almost crazy." "They are," agreed Ted. "You go up in your room and phone them while I go to a radio station and broadcast the news." "And I'll tell you what I'll do in the meanwhile," offered Louise. "I'll go out and buy you some decent clothing!" CHAPTER XIX _The Return_ Until the second of July, Linda's aunt, Miss Emily Carlton, had managed, with Mrs. Crowley's help, to keep hoping that the girls were still alive. Then her brother's long-distance call from Jacksonville, informing her that he was going to sea in a yacht in search of Linda and Dot confirmed all the fears she was secretly cherishing. That night she collapsed and went to bed a nervous wreck. After once mentioning the fact that Linda was still reported missing in the newspapers, Miss Carlton's housekeeper learned not to speak of the girl again. It seemed as if the older woman could not bear to talk about her niece; in the few days since her disappearance she had aged rapidly. She lay listlessly on her bed, not seeing anyone, not even her dear friend Mrs. Crowley. It was about noon on the fourth of July that the telephone operator informed the housekeeper that Havana was calling Miss Carlton. The good woman replied that her mistress was sick in bed, and that she would take the message for her. Her hands trembled as she awaited what she believed would be the announcement of Linda's death. Faint and far off came the astounding words: "Aunt Emily, this is Linda." "Wait!" cried the woman, shaking as if she had heard a ghost. "I'll get your aunt, Miss Linda." Rushing to the bed-room, she handed Miss Carlton the bed-side telephone. "It's Miss Linda," she whispered. Doubting her senses, the patient sat up and took the instrument. "Hello," she said, doubtfully. "Darling Aunt Emily! It's Linda!" was the almost unbelievable reply at the other end of the wire. Miss Carlton sobbed; she could not say a word. "Aunt Emily? Are you there?" demanded the girl. "Yes, yes--dear! Oh, are you all right? Not hurt?" "Not a bit. Dot and I are both fine--she's talking to her mother now. We're--in Cuba." "Cuba!" repeated the startled woman. "I thought it was the Okefenokee Swamp, or the Atlantic Ocean! Your father and Mr. Crowley are looking for you." "Yes, I know. Ted and Louise are here, and Ted's broadcasting the news of our safe arrival now.... Probably Daddy has heard by this time." "When will you be home, dear?" inquired Miss Carlton. "Soon, I hope.... But we have to stop in Jacksonville first.... Aunt Emily, couldn't you and Mrs. Crowley come to Jacksonville? We're just dying to see you!" Miss Carlton considered; she hated to tell Linda that she was sick in bed. But wait--was she? Wasn't it only nerves after all? Why, this good news made her feel like a different person! "All right, dear," she agreed. "If Mrs. Crowley will, I'll try to arrange it. Shall I send a wire?" "Yes," replied Linda. "To Captain Magee, at the City Hall, Jacksonville. I'll be there in a day or so.... Now good-by, dear Auntie!" While Linda waited for Dot to come back from her call, which the latter had put in from another instrument, she opened the bag and took out their few possessions that were covering the money. They must be very careful not to let anything happen to all that wealth, she thought--they must never go out of the room and leave it, if only for a minute. How dreadful it would be if it were stolen now, after they had successfully brought it through all their dangerous adventures! Dot returned in a couple of minutes, and the girls got ready to enjoy the luxury of a real bath, in a real tub. How good the warm water felt, how wonderful the big, soft bath towels! They spent an hour bathing and washing their hair, and trying to make their nails presentable with Louise's manicure set. They had scarcely finished when the latter returned, followed by a porter carrying innumerable boxes and packages in his arms. "I've bought everything for you from the skin out," she announced gayly, as she put the load on the floor. "Even hats and shoes, though I knew I was taking a chance at them. But I remembered that you and I often wore each other's things at school, Linda, and I judged that Dot would wear a size smaller. I do hope you can wear them, just till you get to your trunks at Jacksonville." "You're an angel, Lou!" cried Linda, excited at the prospect of looking clean and respectable again. "See if you like them," urged Louise. "I got a blue dress for you, Linda, to match your eyes--and a pink one for Dot." "To match my eyes?" teased the latter. All three girls began immediately to untie the packages, and drew out the purchases one after another with exclamations of admiration. Dot said that she was so used to seeing dirty knickers that she had positively forgotten what dainty clothing looked like. "Well, hurry up and dress!" urged Louise. "We want to eat lunch in about ten minutes. Ted means to take off at two o'clock, if you girls think you can be ready by then." "We surely can!" cried Linda, joyfully. She couldn't wait to get back. "You'll burn your old stuff, won't you?" asked Louise. "This bag's a sight, too--why not stuff your old clothing into it, and ask the porter to take it away!" Linda and Dot let out a wild cry of protest at the same moment, and the other girl frowned. "Why not?" she inquired. "Sh!" whispered Linda. "That bag has thousands of dollars in it. Belonging to the Jacksonville bank." "Oh! You really have that money? And kept it all this time?" "Yes. But don't say a word about it out loud. We'll take it with us into the dining-room, and wear our new hats, so nobody will think it queer." They found Ted in the lobby of the hotel as they got out of the elevator, and they went into the dining-room to order the meal that Linda and Dot had been longing for on the island. It tasted good to them, but not so good, they had to admit, as the sausages and stale bread and hot tea which Captain Smallweed provided, when they were almost starved. It was during the meal that they pieced the story together. Linda began by telling of the finding of the money in the bags and the discovery of the last member of the gang on the island. "But why he ran away without shooting us is a mystery to us," put in Dot. "He thought that you had armed policemen with you," explained Louise. "We learned that later from Susie. She was captured a couple of days ago--in Panama." "Where is she now?" demanded Linda, excitedly. "In jail, of course." "And the man they called the 'Doc'?" "No," replied Ted. "Unfortunately he got away--fled the country. Lucky you girls got hold of the money, or the bank would never have seen it again.... And by the way, there's a big reward--ten thousand dollars, I believe." "Ten thousand dollars!" repeated Dot, in amazement. "What do you think of that, Linda?" "Wonderful!" cried the latter, joyously. "Five thousand apiece. Well, I'm glad you're going to get something out of this dreadful experience, Dot--that I selfishly dragged you into. And my part will go towards a new autogiro." "A new autogiro!" exclaimed Louise, in surprise. "You don't need one, Linda. The Ladybug's safe and sound--at the Jacksonville airport." "What? You mean that?" Linda seized the other girl's hand in almost incredulous rapture. "How did it get there?" "The police found it that day it stormed so. And a pilot flew it back to Jacksonville." Linda and Dot gazed at each other in full realization at last of the mysterious disappearance of the plane which they had mourned as lost forever. If Linda was eager to get back to Jacksonville before, she was doubly so now. She could hardly contain her excitement during that flight across the Gulf of Mexico and over the state of Florida to the northern part. She kept urging Ted to put on more speed, to let the motor out to its limit, but the young man, realizing the load he was carrying, was not to be tempted beyond his better judgment. They arrived at Jacksonville just as it was growing dusk, and flew over the city, now so familiar to them all, to the airport on its outskirts. Gracefully the skillful pilot swooped down the field to his landing. The usual number of employees came out to greet them, but hardly had the girls climbed out of the plane when a resounding shout went up over the field. Linda Carlton and Dorothy Crowley had been recognized! A crowd collected immediately, a crowd that had been prepared by Ted's radio message that afternoon, to welcome the two popular girls back to civilization. It was all that Linda and Dot could do to wave and shout greetings in return. "I just want one look at my Ladybug," said Linda. "If you good people will let me get through----" At this request, an accommodating official picked her right up on his shoulder, and carried her, amid the laughter of the crowd, triumphantly to the hangar where the autogiro was housed. "Oh, you dear Ladybug!" whispered Linda, not wanting anyone to think she was silly, but so overcome with joy that she had to say something. No one but a pilot could understand the genuine affection which she felt for her autogiro. "I'll be over to fly you tomorrow," she added, under her breath. Then, turning to the man who had conducted her across the field, she asked him whether he could as easily take her to the waiting taxi-cab. They were off at last, waving and smiling to the enthusiastic crowd. "Be sure to stay in Jacksonville till Saturday," the people begged them. "We're going to celebrate for you then!" The girls nodded, and the taxi driver sped away with orders to go straight to the City Hall. Captain Magee, who had received a call from the airport, was ready and waiting for them. Ted carried the shabby, worn bag into his office, and Linda put it into the Captain's hands herself. "The bank's money," she explained. "And the two revolvers. We never had to use them at all." "But we'd have died without them," added Dot. "Of fright--if nothing else." In vain Captain Magee tried to tell the girls how wonderfully brave he thought they had been, but he was so overcome by feeling that he groped for words and stammered--ending by pressing both Linda's and Dot's hands in silence. "Two young girls like you--" he finally managed to say--"succeeding where the police and everybody else failed! Capturing a hundred thousand dollars by a clever trick----" "Is there really that much?" inquired Dot. "Of course we never counted it." The officer smiled at their unconcern. In spite of all their ability, they still seemed like children to him. "By the way, Miss Carlton," he said, "I had a wire from your aunt this afternoon. She will arrive in Jacksonville Saturday morning--accompanied by Mrs. Crowley." This final piece of good news was just what the girls needed to complete their perfect day. Their eyes lighted up with happiness, and they squeezed each other's hands in joy. "And your fathers ought to be back tomorrow. I'll send them straight to the hotel," he added. "So don't go away." "Wild horses couldn't drag us!" returned Linda. "We're just dying to see them.... Now, good-by, Captain Magee.... We must go and get some dinner." So, back in the hotel in Jacksonville, Dot Crowley and Linda Carlton spent their first enjoyable evening for a week--celebrating their safe return with their dear friends, the Mackays. CHAPTER XX _Conclusion_ The girls' first visitor the following day was not, as they had hoped, the party from the yacht, but a woman. "Who can it be?" demanded Dot, for the clerk at the desk had not sent up a name with the message. "A reporter, probably," yawned Linda. "They'll be hot on our trail now, Dot. That was one good thing about the island--we didn't have to read newspapers or give interviews." "You're not wishing you were back again?" "Never!" affirmed Linda, surveying the breakfast tray which she and Dot had been luxuriously enjoying. "I don't care for cold tea and crackers as a steady diet." "But what shall we do about this visitor?" persisted her companion. "The clerk's still waiting for our reply." "Oh, tell him to send her up, I suppose. After all, the poor girls have to earn a living." As Dot gave the message over the telephone, Linda surveyed the room with a frown of distaste. "It's not so neat, Dot--to receive a caller," she remarked. "Maybe we ought to have gone downstairs." "Think I better try to call him back?" "No, I guess it's too late now--the girl's probably on the elevator by this time. Anyhow, it really doesn't matter. Newspaper women are usually awfully good sports." To their amazement and chagrin, it was not a reporter to whom, a moment later, Dot opened the door. A beautifully dressed woman stood before them, smiling nervously. It was Mrs. Carter--Jackson Carter's mother! "How do you do, Mrs. Carter!" exclaimed Dot. "Do come in--if you can pardon the appearance of this room." The older woman seemed scarcely to notice the unmade beds or the open trunks. She nodded to Linda as she entered, but she appeared like a person with something serious on her mind. "How did you know where to find us?" inquired Dot, after she had cleared a chair for their visitor. "It's in all the papers," the latter replied. "Haven't you read about yourselves? Why, everybody in town thinks you two girls are simply marvelous! Rescuing that money was a miracle in itself--an act of courage that Jacksonville will always be grateful to you for." "It's awfully nice of you to say so," murmured Dot, for Linda remained silent. Somehow the latter could never feel at home with this woman. "Our city is planning a parade and celebration in your honor," she continued. "And the Daughters of the Confederacy would like to invite you to a dinner and reception afterwards. That is one of the reasons why I came to see you--to extend the invitation in person." "It's extremely kind of you," assented Dot. "We'll be delighted to accept, won't we, Linda?" "Why, yes--of course--only--" Linda paused, hoping that she was not appearing rude. "Except what, my dear!" asked Mrs. Carter. "Well, it's marvelous of you to do it for us, but you see our fathers are coming--and Dot's mother--and my Aunt Emily----" "But they are included, of course! There will be both men and women at the banquet, and my brother-in-law, the president of the bank that was robbed, hopes to present you girls with the reward." "Oh, it's going to be great fun, Linda!" exclaimed Dot, excitedly. "We've just got to be there!" "Yes, it will be charming," agreed the other girl. "We'll be delighted to come--if we may bring our friends." There seemed nothing more to say, yet Mrs. Carter made no move towards going. To fill an awkward pause, Dot inquired how Jackson was. "Jackson has been away since the first of July," replied the older woman. "I haven't heard anything from him, and I am quite anxious, though he warned me he couldn't write. He and his chum, Hal Perry, went into the Okefenokee Swamp to search for you girls." "The Okefenokee Swamp!" repeated Linda. It seemed ages since she had been lost in that desolate expanse. "Yes. And I wondered, Miss Carlton, whether you would be willing to fly up to the northern end, up towards Camp Cordelia, and look for them. Oh, I don't mean go into the swamp again--that would be too dreadful--but just fly around it." "Yes, of course," agreed Linda, not knowing what else to say. "If you will let me wait until my Daddy comes, so I can take him with me." "Naturally!" Mrs. Carter rose at last, but she still appeared to be embarrassed. "There is something else I want to say to you, Miss Carlton. An apology, this time. I know now that you are the same girl my son rescued in the swamp and brought home to our house. The girl to whom I was so rude.... I--I want to beg your pardon." It was a great deal from a woman of Mrs. Carter's dignity and importance, and Linda was deeply touched. "This is very sweet of you, Mrs. Carter," she said. "And of course I understand how you felt at the time. I'm only too glad to forget all about it.... And," she added, holding out her hand, "I'll go to your son's rescue, as he has twice gone to mine--as soon as my Daddy comes." Still the visitor hesitated, even after she had shaken hands with both the girls, and had reached the doorway. "Would you girls consider bringing your families out to our home, to spend the weekend with us?" she asked, more as one seeking than as one bestowing a favor. Dot did not answer this time; she looked inquiringly at Linda. "It would be lovely," replied the latter, with genuine enthusiasm. "But I am afraid there are too many of us. You see there are two friends with us now--Mr. and Mrs. Mackay, who picked us up in Havana--and there are two more with our fathers on the yacht. With my aunt and Dot's mother, it will make ten in all. And that is too big a crowd for any place but a hotel!" "Not at all!" protested Mrs. Carter. "I should love it. We have plenty of room, and plenty of servants--and we enjoy house-parties. How I shall look forward to seeing your mother, Dorothy!... You will come, won't you, girls--as soon as the whole party is together?" With such a pressing invitation as this, they could not do otherwise than graciously accept, and, satisfied at last, Mrs. Carter bade them good-by. There was no opportunity to discuss this unexpected visit, for no sooner had this caller departed than others began to arrive. Louise dashed into the room on her return from breakfasting with Ted in the dining-room, and before Dot and Linda could repeat the invitation to her, news came that the yachting party had arrived. The reunion of the two girls with their fathers was touching to see. For some minutes they clung to one another in the lobby of the hotel, regardless of the strangers about. Ralph Clavering and Jim Valier stood in the background, unnoticed. About three o'clock that afternoon Linda suddenly remembered her promise to Mrs. Carter in regard to flying over the Okefenokee Swamp in search of Jackson, and she suggested to her father that they go to the airport immediately. Mr. Carlton shook his head decidedly. "No, daughter," he said. "You will never have my consent again to fly within fifty miles of that dismal swamp!" "But we must be within fifty miles of it now," returned Linda. "Shall we leave Jacksonville?" "Now, Linda! You know what I mean." "But how shall I tell Mrs. Carter? I promised, you know." "You can leave that to me," he replied. "I'll explain." But it was not necessary to do this, for the woman telephoned herself almost immediately to say that the boys had arrived by automobile half an hour ago. She concluded by reminding Linda that she was expecting the whole party the following day for luncheon. Saturday dawned clear and bright, and the parade was scheduled for the early morning, before the sun's rays became blistering. Linda and Dot occupied seats of honor on the canopied grandstand, beside the Mayor, and they bowed and smiled to everyone that passed by. Miss Carlton and Mrs. Crowley arrived just in time to witness the demonstration, in honor of their two brave girls. Transcriber's notes: - Table of contents inserted at beginning of book. 
6459	----	Scanned by Sean Pobuda (jpobuda@adelphia.net) No. 2 of a series. THE GIRL AVIATORS ON GOLDEN WINGS By Margaret Burnham CHAPTER I THE GREAT ALKALI "And so this is the great Nevada desert!" Peggy Prescott wrinkled her nose rather disdainfully as she gazed from the open window of the car out over the white, glittering expanse--dotted here and there with gloomy-looking clumps of sage brush--through which they had been traveling for some little time past. "This is it," nodded her brother Roy; "what do you think of it, sis?" "Um--er, I shall have to wait a while before I answer that," rejoined Peggy judicially. "Well, here's Jimsy; let's ask him," cried Roy, as a lad of his own age, accompanied by a slender, graceful girl, came down the aisle of the car and approached the section in which the two young Prescotts were sitting. "Jimsy Bancroft," demanded Roy, "we are now on the great Nevada desert, or on the edge of it. Does it meet with your approval?" "There's plenty of it anyhow," laughed Jimsy, "and really it's very much like what I expected it would be." "I feel like a regular cowgirl or--a--er--well, what the newspapers call a typical Westerner already," said Jess Bancroft, Jimsy's sister. "Only typical Westerners don't protect their delicate complexions from dust with cold cream," laughed Peggy, holding up a finger reprovingly. "As if any beauty magazine won't tell you it's a woman's duty to take the greatest care of her complexion," parried Jess. "Roy and I have been sitting out on the observation platform on the last coach--that is, we sat there till the dust drove us in." She shook the folds of a long, light pongee automobile coat she wore and a little cloud of dust arose. They all coughed as the pungent stuff circulated. "Ugh," cried Roy, "it makes your eyes smart." "That's the alkali in it," quoth Jimsy sagely, "alkali is--" "Very unpleasant," coughed Peggy. "But as we are likely to have to endure it for the next few weeks," struck in Roy, "we might as well lose no time in getting accustomed to it." "Well girls and boys," came a deep, pleasant voice behind them, "we shall be in Blue Creek in a short time now, so gather up your belongings. I'll take care of the aeroplane outfits and the other stuff in the baggage car," he went on, "and here comes Miss Prescott now." The lady referred to was a sweet-faced woman of some fifty years of age, though it was easy to see that the years had dealt kindly with her during her placid life in the village of Sandy Beach, on Long Island, New York, where she had made, her home. Miss Prescott was the aunt of the two Prescott children, and since their father's death some time before had been both mother and father to them--their own mother having passed away when they were but small children. As readers of the first volume of this series know, Mr. Prescott had been an inventor of some distinction. Dying, he had confided to his son and daughter his plans for a non-capsizable aeroplane of great power. His son had promised to carry on the work, and had devoted his legacy to this purpose. In that volume, which was called "The Girl Aviators and the Phantom Airship," it will be recalled, it was told how Peggy had been of material aid to her brother in his plans and hopes, and had, in reality, "saved the day" for him when he fell into the hands of some enemies. This occurred on the eve of a great aeroplane contest in which Roy had entered in the hopes of winning the first prize. With the money thus obtained he planned to pay off a mortgage held on Miss Prescott's home by an unscrupulous old banker, whose son was the prime mover in the plots against Roy. One of the means adopted to force him to sell his secrets was the manipulation of a phantom aeroplane which, for a time, sadly puzzled the lad and his sister. The mystery was solved in a strange way, however, and almost at the same time, the baffling problem of what had become of Mrs. Bancroft's jewels was also unraveled. All this did not take place without many adventures being encountered by the four chums. Among these was the encounter with the old hermit, Peter Bell, who, through Peggy's agency, was restored to his brother, James Bell, the millionaire western mining man. James Bell became much interested in the Prescotts and their aeroplanes. Finally he made an advantageous proposal to Roy to travel West and operate for him a line of aeroplanes from some desert mines he had discovered on a trip which almost cost him his life. As autos could not cross the alkali, and transportation of the product by wagons would have been prohibitive in cost, as well as almost impossible to achieve, Mr. Bell had hit on the happy idea of conveying the precious product of his property by aeroplane. At the same time, it so happened that Mr. Bancroft, the father of Jess and Jimsy, was summoned West by an important railroad deal. This being the case, Jess and Jimsy at once set to work plotting how they could gain their father's consent to their accompanying Peggy and Roy. It was finally gained, although Mrs. Bancroft shook her head over the matter, and, at first, would by no means hear of such a thing. But Mr. Bancroft urged that it would be a good thing for the children to see the great West, and that as Miss Prescott was to accompany the party, there would be no risk of their running wild. But while the youngsters had all been so eager for the time to come for starting on their long journey that they could hardly eat, much less sleep, Miss Prescott had viewed with alarm the prospects ahead of her. In her mind the West was a vague jumble of rough cowboys, Indians, highwaymen and desperate characters in general. But there was no help for it. In addition to feeling it was her duty to accompany her young charges, her physician had also recommended her to seek the dry, rarefied air of the great Nevada plateau. "It will be the very thing for your lungs, my dear madame," he had said; "they are by no means as strong as I could wish." "Oh, but doctor, the Indians, the--the--" Miss Prescott had begun, when the physician cut her short. "The only Indians left in the West now are all busy working for Wild West shows," he said, with a laugh; "and as for any other fancied cause of alarm, I dare say you will find the Western men quite as chivalrous and courteous as their Eastern brethren." And so it happened that the dust-covered train was rolling across the arid solitudes at the edge of the great alkali desert with our party of friends on board. All were looking forward to adventures, but how strange and unexpected some of the happenings that befell them were to be not one of the party even dreamed. The only member of the adventurous little band not now accounted for is Peter Bell, the former recluse. Peter was forward in the smoking car enjoying his old black pipe, which was his delight and solace and Miss Prescott's particular abomination. Among Peter's other peculiarities, acquired in a long and solitary life, was a habit he had of sometimes making, his remarks in verse. He entered the car just as the conversation we have recorded was in progress. "Soon, my good friends, o'er the desert, so bold, we all shall be flying with excellent gold." A general laugh from the young folks greeted him, and Roy struck in with: "That's if we don't fall to the earth from the sky, and land up in a smash on the white alkali." The merriment that greeted this was cut short by the raucous voices of the trainmen. "Blue Creek! Blue Creek!" Instantly the liveliest bustle prevailed. Belongings of all sorts were hastily bundled together. So intent, in fact, was our party on its preparations for its plunge into the unknown that not one of them noticed two men who stood watching them intently from the opposite end of the car. "So we've run the old fox into the ground," remarked one of them, a tall, heavily built fellow with a crop of short, reddish hair that bristled like the remnants of an old tooth brush. He was clean-shaven and had a weak, cruel mouth and a pair of narrow little eyes, through which he could, however, shoot a penetrating glance when anything interested him. Both he and his companion, a sallow, black-haired personage with a drooping pair of moustaches, were just then, seemingly, much engrossed. "Yes, some place off thar'," rejoined the black-haired man with a wave of his hand toward the west--in which the sun, a ball of red fire, was now dropping, "some whar off thar, across that alkali, Jim Bell has his golden-egged goose." "Hush, not so loud, Sam; one of those kids is looking at us." "Pshaw, they hain't got sense to suspect nuthin'," was the scornful reply. "Wonder if Buck Bellew will be hyar ter meet us." As he spoke the train wheels ceased to revolve and the cars came to a standstill in Blue Creek, a sun-bitten outpost of the "Big Alkali." CHAPTER II AT THE NATIONAL HOUSE Blue Creek was experiencing a spasm of excitement unusual to it. As a general thing, the dwellers on the edge of the great alkali wastes--once the bed of a mighty inland sea--were by far too much occupied in keeping reasonably cool, to betray even a passing interest in anything; except the arrival of a train of desolate-looking mules bearing gold from the barren, melancholy hills that rimmed the far-reaching alkali solitudes. But the dust-whitened train, which twice a day puffed into Blue Creek and twice a day puffed joyfully out again, had, on this particular afternoon, set down a party which had caused unusual speculation among the Blue Creekites. "Thar's Jim Bell, frum out the desert, an' an old gent who looks like he might be some kin to Jim, and then thar's them likely lookin' lads an' those uncommon purty gals. Never know Jim hed a fam'ly afore. Ef he hez he's kep it mighty quiet all these ya'rs." These remarks emanated from the throat of Cash Dallam, owner of the National House, Blue Creek's leading, and likewise only, hotel. The National was a board structure, formerly painted--with some originality of taste--a bright orange hue, relieved with red trimmings round doors, windows and eaves. But the sun had blistered and the hot desert winds had cracked and peeled its originally gaudy hues, and it was now a melancholy monotone of dull, pallid yellow. Here and there the paint had vanished altogether, and the bleached boards showed underneath. Like most of the other structures in Blue Creek--which boasted a general store, post office and Chinese laundry and restaurant combined the National House was coated with a thin layer of gray alkali dust, the gift of the glittering desert beyond its gates. Cash Dallam's companions on the porch, which faced the railroad station and so was a favorite lounging place for the prominent citizens of Blue Creek and the guests of the hostelry, seemed only languidly interested. "Thet's a powerful pile of baggage they're toting round," observed "Shavings" Magoon, who owed his nickname to the peculiar color and length of his hair, which looked as if it might have been gathered up bodily from the floor of a carpenter's shop and transferred to the top of his wrinkled countenance, about which it hung like a dubious aureole. "You say that the tall chap yonder is Jim, Bell?" The question, asked with some appearance of interest, came from a slender, dark-haired man in a blue shirt and leather "chaps," his face overshadowed by a big sombrero, who up to this time had not spoken. He had been leaning against the front wall of the National, thoughtfully removing some more of its paint by scraping it with the big rowelled Mexican spurs which he affected. These spurs, heavily mounted with Silver, together with a red sash he wore in the Mexican style about his waist, rather marked him out from his fellows on the National's porch. Cash Dallam looked round as if in astonishment at the voice. "Why hal-lo, stranger," he said, "whar you bin hidin' all these moons? Yes, that's Jim Bell, sure enough. Wouldn't think he wuz a millionaire ter look at him, would yer?" The other shook his head. "Can't most always sometimes tell," he remarked humorously; "that's a right pretty gal yonder, too. Any of you heard what Jim Bell's doing in Blue Creek?" The question came abruptly. "Don't rightly know," was Cash's reply, "but I heard thet before he went Fast Jim Bell worked his way further inter ther desert than any man has ever bin. What he wuz arter I dunno, but it wouldn't be like Jim Bell ter risk his life fer muthin'." "Do you reckon it was gold?" The slender young man's dark eyes kindled in the word he used there was some potent fascination for him. "Donno 'bout gold," said Cash, thoughtfully; "Thar's silver, yes, and platinum back younder. So ther Injuns say anyhow. But thar's mighty few white men hes ever got thet fur, an' if they did, they never come back to tell." He gazed out over the crystalline, quivering desert, burning whitely as a spangled Christmas card under the scorching sun. In his day Cash had seen many set out across it who never reappeared. "Pity thar hain't no way of gitting thar without having ter use stock." "Ortermobiles?" suggested a withered old man with the desert tan and wrinkles upon him. "Tired 'em," struck in another of the same type. "No go. Sunk to ther hubs in mud holes an' then if it wusn't thet ther wuz ther sand to shove through and they hed ter give it up. No, ther vehicle or ther critter hain't invented that's goin' ter get away off thar back of beyond whar the gold lies--or whar they say it does," he added rather doubtfully. "When I was a kid back East my poor mother used ter tell me that gold lay at ther end of ther rainbow. I began huntin' it then and I've kep' it up ever since, an' will to ther end, I reckon." "You say the vehicle isn't invented that will cross that stretch of alkali?" asked the tall young man, with a jingle of the metal ornaments hanging from the chased shank of his spurs. "Thet's what. No rig, er devil wagon, er critters neither." The reply was given with the emphasis of conviction. "How about airships?" The remark was dropped carelessly almost, by the spur-wearer. "Airships! By ginger, thet's so!" The pessimist spoke in a rather crestfallen tone. "Seems ter me I read in an Eastern paper a while back suthin' about Jim Bell's bin at a place near New York and engaging a young chap ter build him some aeroplanes. Thar was a good bit of mystery about it. Say, boys, I wonder ef that's what Jim Bell's in Blue Creek fur?" "Thar's one thing sartin," spoke up "Shavings" Magoon, "ef Jim Bell's got ther means ter git an aerial gold line he'll be safe enough frum them ornery road agents like ther fellers thet stuck up ther Laredo stage only last week an' got away with the specie box from Red River Falls. I reckon thar ain't no stage robbers with acroplanes yet a while." "Queer thing about that Laredo robbery," put in Cash thoughtfully, "thar was several inter it, an' it seems thet they've all got clar away." "Good thing for them, eh?" said the stranger, jingling his spur ornaments harder than ever. Cash sniffed. "Good thing. Wall, stranger, I'd hate ter tell you what 'ud be the least of what 'ud happened to them, it would freeze your blood." "Not an unpleasant thing to have happen to day," said the stranger, carelessly, and carefully flicking some gray dust from his "chaps" with his rawhide quirt, "so you think that Jim Bell means to start some sort of an air line from whatever he has discovered in the interior into this place?" "Don't know nothing about it," snapped Cash, rather impatiently; "you're a heap interested in Jim Bell, stranger." "Naturally. He's quite a famous man in his way. I suppose he is one of the greatest mining authorities in the West." But at this point Cash perceived that Mr. Bell's party had finished seeing to the disposal of their piles of baggage and were headed for the hotel. The operation had been a long one, as they bestowed particular attention upon sundry wooden boxes of oblong shape which might have held almost anything. Whatever their contents might be they were evidently held in some esteem by the Bell party. A few seconds after Cash had broken off the conversation so abruptly, he was greeting the new arrivals. The other porch loungers stood sheepishly at some distance, some of them uneasily twisting their fingers. The presence of the young girls in the party filled them with a bashful terror such as the had never experienced in the numerous adventures and perils through which most of them had passed. "The young ladies are Miss Prescott and Miss Bancroft," Mr. Bell said, introducing his companions, after the fashion of the Western country, to the hotel proprietor; "this is Roy Prescott and his chum, Jimsy Bancroft, and this," indicating the man whose resemblance to himself had already been remarked upon, "this is my brother, Mr. Peter Bell." "Glad ter meet yer, miss; glad ter meet yer all, I'm sure," sputtered out Cash with one of his finest bows, and Cash was reckoned to be "a right elegant chap" in that primitive society. CHAPTER III VOICES IN THE NIGHT After supper--a queer meal to their Eastern tastes--the young folks were glad enough to retire to their rooms. "Oh, what a funny place!" cried Jess, as she and Peggy, carrying a glass lamp which reeked of kerosene, entered their chamber. The walls were of rough boards with no attempt at ornamentation, a gorgeous checked crazy-quilt covered the bed--for though the days are hot on the desert, the nights are quite sharp. The floor, like the walls, was bare, and when the girls peered at themselves in the tiny mirror they gave little squeals of amused disgust. The heat of the sun, too, had drawn out the resinous qualities of the raw wood, and the room was impregnated with an aroma not unlike that of a pine forest under a hot sun. "I expect we'll see some much funnier places before we get back East," said Peggy decidedly, and beginning to unpack her silver-fitted dressing-bag, which was the one luxury she had allowed herself. "I expect so, too; and I think it's jolly to rough it," chimed in her chum; "but it's hard to get used to it all at once. Stepping right off a Pullman into this is rather a sharp contrast, you must admit." "It is," agreed Peggy, heartily. She stepped to the window and gazed out on an uncovered porch outside. It was, in fact, the roof of the one below. On it flourished quite a little grove of scraggly plants of various kinds, which were carefully tended by Cash's wife. They were, perhaps, the only green things in Blue Creek. But Peggy had little eye for all this. Her lips parted in a quick gasp of admiration as she gazed upon the night spell of the desert. The dark sky was sprinkled with countless stars, large and luminous and beaming with a softer, stronger light than in the North. A brooding silence hung over the town--the silence of the desert. The hush was broken only by the droning notes of a song, accompanied on a guitar, which came from off in the distance on the outskirts of the little settlement. The music emphasized rather than broke the silence. Jess came to Peggy's side, and upon her, too, descended the feeling of awe that the "Great Alkali" casts over all who encounter it for the first time. "Peggy," she said at length, "I'm--I'm the least bit frightened." Her chum felt a slight shiver run through the girl as she pressed against her. "Frightened, girlie? Frightened of what?" "I don't just know. That's what makes it feel so bad. I guess it's the silence, the sense of all that loneliness out beyond there that upsets me. It feels almost as if there were some living presence off over the alkali that meant us harm." "I think I know what the matter is," said Peggy gently, "you're tired and overwrought. Come, let us get to bed, for Mr. Bell has ordered in early start in the morning." Just how long afterward it was the awakened Peggy had no means of telling, but as she lay sleepless she felt a longing to look out over the light-shrouded desert once more. Arising she tiptoed to the window, and drawing the shade without making more than the merest rustle of noise she looked out. As she did so Peggy almost uttered a startled exclamation, which, however, she instantly checked. Three men had just emerged upon the balcony from an adjoining window. They brought chairs with them and sat there smoking. Peggy could catch the rank, strong odor of the tobacco. "It's better out here and we can talk more quietly," said one of them, as they sat down. "You say that Bell and his outfit start to-morrow?" "That's what I overheard him say when I was listening to 'em talking arter supper," struck in another voice, "so I guess it's the early trail for us, too." "Reckon so," came in a third speaker; "Jim Bell is going to travel fast. He's got the best horses and mules in this part of the country, and he won't spare 'em." "You mean the alkali won't, I guess," put in the first speaker with an unpleasant laugh; "but he won't go far with ther stock. At the last waterhole he'll leave 'em and go on by aeroplane." "You're crazy!" "Never more sensible in my life. I--" "Hush! Don't make such a racket. Fer all we know some of them may be awake and hear us. Now the old Steer Wells trail--" But here the speaker sank his voice so low that it was impossible to hear his further words. But Peggy, as she crept back to bed with her heart throbbing a little bit fast, felt vaguely that the conversation boded some ill to the mining man and his party of gold seekers. "I'm sure I recognized one of those voices," she said to herself; "it was that of the tall, dark young man with the immense spurs and that picturesque red sash, who was eyeing us so at supper. Jess and I thought he looked like a romantic brigand. What if he should turn out in real earnest to be a desperate character?" Determining to speak to Jim Bell in the morning about the conversation she had overheard, Peggy dropped off into a deep slumber at last, but her dreams were disturbing ones. Now she was traversing the Big Alkali, with its pungent dust in her nostrils and her feet crunching its crusty surface. She was lost, and would have cried out had she been able to open her lips. Then she was dying of thirst. Her lips were parched and cracked and the sun beat pitilessly down. So the hours passed till the stars began to pale and a new day was at hand. Before sunrise the party had been called, and, filled with excitement, made the wooden walls of the National Rouse resound with the hum of preparation. Now, though Peggy at midnight had fully determined to tell Mr. Bell all she had overheard, Peggy, in the bright, crisp early dawn, felt that to do so would be absurd. After all, the men might merely have been chatting about the party, whose expedition was surely an adventurous and interesting one. It might make Mr. Bell think her a victim of girlish fancies if she went to him with the story, so Peggy decided to remain silent. Afterward she was sorry for this. As arrangements had been made with the ubiquitous Cash for burros and ponies before the party left for the West, there was little or no delay in getting started. The girls uttered delighted exclamations as their little animals were led up to the hotel steps by a long-legged Mexican who was to accompany the party to Steer Wells, where the ponies were to be abandoned and a permanent camp formed. From that point the dash into the alkali would be made by aeroplane. For Peggy there was a lively little "calico" animal which both girls pronounced "a darling." But Jess was no less pleased with her little animal, a bright bay with a white star on its forehead. For the boys similar animals had been provided, while Miss Prescott's mount was a rather raw-boned gray of sedate appearance. In her youth Miss Prescott had done a good deal of horseback riding, and the manner in which she sat her mount showed that she had not forgotten her horsemanship. Mr. Bell and his brother bestrode rather heavier animals than the rest of the party, while Juan, the guide, contented himself with a remarkably small burro. When in the saddle his lanky legs stuck out on either side of his long-eared steed and appeared to be sort of auxiliary propellers for the creature. Six pack burros had been obtained, and on two of these the camp equipment and utensils were carried. The remainder of the little animals carried the wooden cases in which the three monoplanes were packed, and the boxes containing mining instruments and tools. One of these was painted red, and in it was carried a supply of "giant" powder--a kind of dynamite used in mining operations. "I shall keep my eye on that particular burro," remarked Jimsy, "and if he ever runs away I shall gallop off in the opposite direction." But Mr. Bell explained that the explosive stuff was packed in such a manner that even the most violent shock would not set it off. "Still, we won't experiment," declared Roy. Ten minutes after the cavalcade had drawn up in front of the hotel, attracting the attention of the entire population of Blue Creek, the party was ready to set out on the first stage of their adventurous, journey. The girls looked very natty in corduroy skirts, neat riding boots, with plain linen waists and jaunty sombreros. The boys, like Mr. Bell and his brother, were in khaki, and each carried a fine rifle, the gift of Mr. Bell. Miss Prescott had at first wished to resuscitate her old riding habit, but instead, before she left the East, the girls had persuaded her to have an up-to-date one made of cool, greenish khaki. "You look like a modern Diana," said Mr. Bell, with a gallant bow, which brought the color Miss Prescott's blooming cheeks. "Really, Mr. Bell, that is too bad of you, when you know I am trying to grow old gracefully," retorted Miss Prescott. "And now," said Mr. Bell, running a watchful eye over the entire outfit, "we are all ready to start." A cheer, which the girls took up, came ringing from the boys' throats. "Hooray!" they shouted. "Good luck!" cried Cash Dallam from his porch, and several in the crowd caught up the cry.. Juan uttered a series of extraordinary whoops, and working his legs like the long limbs of a seventeen-year locust, he dashed to the head of the procession. The next minute they were off, the pack burros trotting behind in a sedate line. But just as they started an odd thing happened. Peggy experienced that peculiar feeling which sensitive persons feel when they are being watched. Glancing quickly round she encountered the penetrating glance of the tall, dark young man who had formed one of the group on the porch the previous evening. He turned his eyes away instantly as he perceived that his interested gaze had been intercepted. As he did so, Peggy, despite the heat, felt a little shiver run through her. But the emotion passed in a moment under the excitement of the dash forward. Before long, the rough habitations of Blue Creek lay far behind them, and in front there lay, glittering under the blinding sun, the far-reaching expanse of the desert. Off to the southwest hovered what seemed to be a blue cloud on the horizon. But they knew that in that direction lay the Black Rock hills, a desolate chain of low, barren mountains. As if by instinct they all drew rein as the solitudes closed in about them. Rising in his stirrups Mr. Bell pointed into the distance. "Yonder lies the end of the rainbow!" he exclaimed with a touch of rude poetry. "And back there are the wings to fetch forth the pot of gold," laughed Jess, indicating the packing cases on the burros' backs. "Yes, the golden wings," struck in Peggy, but there was a wistful note underlying her light tone. The spell of the desert, the unreclaimed and desolate, was upon her. CHAPTER IV THE DESERT HAWKS While our little party had been making its way so arduously across the almost impenetrable waste of sand and alkali, another party equipped with tough, desert-bred horses and a knowledge, so intimate as to be uncanny, of the secret ways and trails of the sun-bitten land, had made preparations for departure. It had been no fancy on Peggy's part when she imagined that she heard the partial details of a plot against Mr. Bell on the night during which she had lain awake in the rough hotel of Blue Creek. Had the party possessed the power of seeing through partitions of solid timber, they would have been able to behold within that room a scene transpiring which must, inevitably, have filled them with uneasiness and even alarm. Red Bill Summers, one of the best known of the desert hawks, as the nefarious rascals who ply their highwayman's trade on the desert are sometimes called, had been one of the passengers on the train whose keenly observing eyes had surveyed the little party as they disembarked. His companion, the man with the drooping moustache was likewise invested with a somewhat sinister reputation. But probably the worst of the trio who foregathered that night at the National House was the romantic looking young man with the red sash and the silver spurs whom the others called Buck Bellew. Mr. Bell and his expedition into the desert formed the topic of their conversation. It was evident, as they talked, that their main desire was to trap or decoy him on his way, but as they discussed plans this intention gradually changed. "He's got kids with him, and young gals, too;" said the dark-mustached man, who seemed to be a little less ruffianly than his companions, "we don't want to do them no harm." "Not if we can help it," rejoined Red Bill Summers, wrinkling his low forehead, "but I ain't goin' ter let them stand in our way." "Of course not," chimed in Buck Bellew, playing with the tassels on his red sash, and jingling his silver-mounted spurs in a somewhat dandified fashion, "pretty girls, too," he added. "Ther point's just this," struck in Red Bill, apparently paying no attention to the other's conversation, "Jim Bell's got a desert mine some place out thar yonder. This young chap he had with him, what's his name--" "Prescott," suggested Buck Bellew. "Ay, Prescott, that's it. Wal, this yer Prescott has invented some sort of an air ship, I read that in the papers. It's pretty clear to my mind that this air ship is going to be used in getting the gold out of the desert. That's plain enough, eh?" "Yes, if your first idee is right. If he's got a paying mine in reality," agreed Bellew. "Oh, I'm satisfied on that point. Jim Bell's too old a fox to go inter the desert onless he had stithin' worth going arter." "Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked the third man with a grin, "build an aeroplane, too. For myself I'm free to confess I ain't no sky pilot and don't never expect to be one." "This ain't a minstrel show," scowled Red Bill. "Couldn't help laffin' though," said the black-mustached one, "talkin' uv aviators reminded me of that story of the feller who went ter see I lier doctor and git some medicine. Ther doc he says, 'I want you to take three drops in water very day.' Ther young chap fainted. When he recovered they asked him what the matter was. He says, 'I'm an aviator. Three drops in water would finish me in a week.'" "That'll do from you," grunted Red Bill, without the trace of a smile at this little anecdote, "let's git down to bizness. Those folks leave here to-morrow. They'll go early in the morning. "We can't follow them too close without excitin' suspicion. The problem is to keep track of them without they're knowing it." "Don't they take any servants or help?" asked Bellew after a pause. "Yes, they do." "You're certain?" "I made it my business to find out. They are going to take a guide. Have him engaged, in fact." "Who is he?" "Oh, a no good Mexican, a chap named Juan Baptista." "Juan Baptista!" exclaimed Bellew slapping his leg, "that's fine. Couldn't be better." "You know him?" "So well that he'll have to do anything I say." "You can make him obey you then?" "I know of a horse stealing case in which he was mixed up. If he won't do what we tell him to I'll threaten him with exposure." "Good. He is sleeping in the corral with their ponies. Let's go down there now and rouse him out. Then we'll have part of the business settled." "I'm agreeable. Come on." As noiselessly as possible the three plotters crept from the room and tip-toed down the corridors. Following a long passage they presently emerged into a star-lit stable-yard. In that part of the west doors are not locked at night, so they could go out without bothering about a key. "Where's the corral?" whispered Buck as they came out of the hotel. "Right over there. See that haystack. The greaser's asleep this side of it. Right under where that saddle is hanging on the fence." "All right. Come on." Led by Buck Bellew, whose spurs gave out an occasional jingle, they crept across the yard. Presently they came upon a dark bundle lying huddled at the foot of the corral palings. Bellew stirred the inanimate bundle with his foot. The spurs gave out a tinkling, musical jingle. The thing moved, stirred and finally galvanized into life. It was finally revealed as the figure of a rather ill-favored Mexican, unusually tall for one of his race who are, as a rule, squat and small. "Buenas tardes, Juan!" greeted Buck Bellew. "Buenas tardes, senors," was the response. "But what for do you disturb me in thees way. Know that to-morrow with the rising of the sun I have to awake and saddle the beasts, and fare forth into the alkali with party of gringoes." "That's all right. That's what we came to talk to you about, Juan," said Bellew. He bent low and pushed his face almost into the Mexican's brown and sleepy countenance. "Do you know me!" he grated out. "Todos Santos! Caramba! It is the Senor Bellew!" "Not so loud Juan. There may be somebody around who would recognize that name. It is enough that you know me." "What do you wish with me, senor?" The Mexican's voice shook. Evidently he feared this tall, good-looking, though dissolute, young Gringo. "You are to escort a party of gringos headed by a Senor Bell as far as Steer Wells, are you not?" "Si senor. As I said to-morrow before the rising of the sun must I be awake. I must saddle and pack, and--" "All right. Never mind that. I have a little bit of work for you to perform, too. If you do it well you will be rewarded. If not--" "If not senor--?" "If not--well don't let us dwell on unpleasant subjects. I want you to ride with these gringos. Listen to all that they say. Talk to them and learn from them all that you can." "Of what?" "Of their destination--of where they are going--what they are going to do when they get there, and so on. You understand?" "Perfectly senor. But they have paid me well and promised more. Senor Bell is a good man. He is--" "Will you do what I tell you?" The voice was sharp and imperious. "Senor, I would do much for you. But this--" The Mexican spread his hands helplessly. "I cannot. It would be too bad a thing to do." "Very well. I'll call Cash Dallam. Tell him who you are and how it was you who was concerned in the theft of those horses from Diablo River. You know what would happen to you then. You know--" But the Mexican was down on his knees. His hands were raised in mute appeal. His teeth' chattered like the busy heels of a clog dancer. "No, no, senor. Santa Maria, no, no!" he begged. "It's entirely up to you," was the cold response. "Now will you do as I say?" "Yes, yes. A thousand times yes, senor. Anything you say-- anything." "I thought so," rejoined Bellew grimly. He turned with a look of triumph to the two silent spectators of the scene, who nodded smilingly. The Mexican's pitiful agitation seemed only to amuse those callous hearts. "You will travel, as I said, with these gringos," pursued Bellew, "and glean all the information you can. Then, when you have found out all about where they mean to go, and how long they mean to stay and so on, you will find an opportunity to drop out of their company." "Si senor," quavered the man, "and then--" "And then you will be met by us. We shall take care of you." "But Senor Bell and the senoritas?" "We will take care of them, too," was the grim response. It was not till the next day, at noon, that the three desert hawks left the hotel, long after the departure of the Bell party. They rode slowly in the opposite direction to that in which the other party had gone, till they had gotten out of sight of the little town. Then, taking advantage of every dip and rise in the surface of the plain, they retraced their steps and soon were riding on the track of the Bell outfit. "Whar wa'ar you all ther forenoon?" asked the black-mustached man of Red Bill as they rode along. "I was doing a bit of profitable business," was the rejoinder. "Selling something?" "No finding something out. Boys, Jim Bell's in our power." "In our power," laughed the other, a laugh in which Bellew chimed in. "I reckon you don't know him yet." "Don't eh?" snarled Red Bill, stung into acrimonious retort. "I reckon your brain works just a bit too quick, Buck." "Waal, ef you know so much, let's hear it?" The red-sashed, silver-spurred Buck Bellew reined in closer to his companions, rowelling his little active "paint" horse as he did so, till it jumped and curvetted. "It's just this," said Red Bill Summers, unconsciously lowering his tone although there was no one about to hear but his companions, a few, blasted-looking yuccas and, far overhead, a wheeling buzzard. "Jim Bell ain't never filed no location of ther mine with ther guv'ment." If he had expected to produce a sensation, he must have felt justified by the results of this announcement. Buck Bellew whistled. The black-mustached man gave a low, long-drawn-out exclamation of: "Wo-o-o-w!" "Thought you'd sit up and take notice," grinned their leader. "Sounds foolish-like, but it's true. I searched ther records, but it ain't on 'em." "Maybe he's filed a claim some place else," suggested the black-mustached man. "There you go, throwing cold water as usual," snorted Buck Bellew. "Taint cold water. It's common, ornery hoss sense. That's what it is. Do you s'pose that any man 'ud be foolish enough to locate a rich mine an' then not file a claim to it?" "Heard of sich things been done," commented Red Bill. "Maybe he ain't over and above anxious fer anyone ter go in alongside of him afore he's had a chanct ter take up some more land. Maybe--" "Waal, no use guessing at sich things," rejoined Buck; "fer my part I guess Red is right. Jim Bell ain't had the hoss sense te file a claim. And if he ain't--" "That makes it all the easier fer us. Wonder ef thet feller Juan is learning much?" Bill Summers was the speaker. "He's sharp as a steel trap," volunteered Bellew, "when he wants to be." "I guess arter that dressing down you giv' him las' night he'll want to be, all right," opined the black-mustached man. "Guess so," grinned Buck; "if he ain't, it'll be the worse fer him." As he spoke they topped a little rise. Over in front of them, and on all sides--the desert, vast, illimitable, untrod of man, lay, a desolate expanse of nothingness. Far, far off could be seen a tiny blue cloud, resting on the horizon--the desert range. "Thar's whar Jim Bell's mine is, I'll bet a hoss and saddle," said Bellew reining in his horse and pointing to the distant azure mass. "Guess you'd win," nodded Red Bill Summers, "and," he added, his keen eyes narrowing to slits he gazed straight ahead, "and thar, I reckon, is Jim Bell himself and his party." They followed the direction of his gaze. Far off across the glittering ocean of sand and alkali a yellowish cloud--almost vaporish, arose. It seemed to be a sort of water spout on land. It drifted lazily upward. The experienced desert hawks knew it for what it was. The dust cloud raised by a company of travelers. As their glances rested on it intently, not one of the three figures toping the crest of the little rise, spoke. Their tired horses, too, stood absolutely still. Men and animals might have been petrified figures, carved out of the desolation about them. There was a something impressive about them as they stood there in the midst of the desert glare. Silent, hawk-like, and intent. Their very poses seemed to convey a sense of menace--of danger. Suddenly they wheeled and turned, and their mounts, as the spurs struck their damp sides, broke into a lope. As they galloped, Red Bill burst into a song. A lugubrious, melancholy thing, like most of the songs of the plainsmen. "Bury me out on lone prair-ee Out where the snakes and the coyotes be; Drop not a tear on my sage brush grave Out on the lone prair-e-e-e-e-e!" Then the others struck in, their ponies' hoofs making an accompaniment to the gruesome words: "The sands will shift in the desert wind; My bones will rot in the alkali kind; I'll be happier there than ever I be In my grave, on the lone prair-e-e-e-e-e!" It began to sound like a dirge, but still the leader of the hawks of the desert kept it up. He bellowed it out now in a harsh, shrill voice. It rasped uncomfortably, like rusty iron grating on rusty iron. "Maybe upon the judgment day; When all sinners their debt must pay; They'll find me and bind me and judge poor me; All in my grave, on the lone prair-e-e-e-e-e-e!" As the last words of this dismal chant rang out, an echo seemed to be flung back at the singer from behind a neighboring ridge, upon which the lone yuccas stood upright, like, so many figures of formed bits of humanity. "Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e!" It came in a long drawn out wail that fairly seemed to make the desert ring with its gruesome echoes. All at once it was taken up from another point. Then another echoed it back. It seemed to be proceeding from a dozen quarters of the compass at once. Strong nerved as all three of the riders were, it appeared to make a strange impression on them. "What in the name of Kit Carson wuz that?" demanded Red Bill drawing rein. "Dunno. It sounded like someone havin' fun with that ther cheerful little song of yourn," said the black-mustached man. "That's what it did. I'd like to find the varmint. I'd make some fun fer him." The man scowled savagely. His nerves had been unpleasantly shaken by the wild, unearthly cries. "It didn't sound human," he said at length; "tell you what, let's jes' look aroun' and see if we kin find any trace of who done it." Buck Bellew said nothing but he grinned to himself. Plainly something amused him hugely. "All right;" he said, "we'll look." They rode about among the desert dips and gullies for some time, but they could discover no trace of any agency that could have produced the weird cries. Both Red Bill and the black-mustached man were plainly nonplussed. "This beats all," opined Summers. "I don't even see a track any place." "Nor don't I," rejoined his companion seriously. Both were superstitious men, a failing apparently not shared by Bellew, who stood regarding them, seated easily sideways in his saddle, with an amused look. "Hey Bellew, why don't you come an' look. You alters wuz a good tracker?" demanded Red Bill looking up suddenly. "Not fer me, thanks," was the easy response, "ef you want to hunt spooks--" "Who said it wuz a spook or any such pack uv nonsense?" glared back Summers. "I didn't," declared the black-mustached man with great positiveness. "No more did I," angrily sputtered Red Bill "thar ain't no such things nohow." "I dunno," said the black-mustached man seriously. "I do recollec' hearing my old grandmother, back East, tell about a ghost what she seen once. Want ter hear about it?" No one replied, and taking silence for consent, he went on. "Grandmother was married to a decent old chap that was a teamster. He used to haul farm stuff to the city in the day and it was often pretty late afore he got out again. Well, on his way he had to pass a cemetery, a buryin' ground you know, and I tell you he didn't like it. It sort of got on his nerves to think that some night one of them dead folks lying there all so quiet might arise from ther graves. "It seems as how it allers haunted him ter think that some night as he wuz drivin' by that ther buryin' ground--" "Yer said that once before," snapped Summers looking nervously about him, "get on with your story." "Well I am, ain't I?" "Not fast enough." "Waal this is a ghost story and ghosts don't move fast." "Ho! ho!" laughed Bellew hollowly. "As I was sayin', grandpop didn't like the idee of some night seeing a tall form, all in white, come gliding down among them tombstones, and raising its hand cry to him in a solemn voice--" "Wow." The shout came from Summers. He had suddenly felt something light on his shoulder. Thence it had crawled to neck and laid clammy feet upon him. It was an immense dragon fly, but he had evidently mistaken it for something else, to judge by the start and exclamation he had given. "Ain't gittin' on yer nerves, be I?" asked the black-mustached man innocently. "No, no. Get on with your fool story for goodness sake." "You wuz a sayin' thet your fool grandpop wuz supposin' that ef something said to him as he wuz-oh, go on and tell it yourself!" "All right. Well then grandpop was jes' a thinkin' how awful it 'ud be ef anything like that ever did happen. He'd come home and talk to grandma'am at nights about it. I tell you his nerves was powerful upsot. Suthin' like yours." "Like mine, you long-legged lizard!" "I mean like yours might hev bin ef you'd bin in my grandpop's place, Red." "Oh, all right. Perceed. What nex'?" "Waal, one night jes what he'd bin a dreadin' did come ter pass. He was goin' by ther graveyard when he hearn the awfulest screech you ever hearn--" "Yow-e-ow-ee-ow-ow!" Red Bill Summers started and turned pale. It was a repetition of the cry that had interrupted his song. Without wasting time on ceremonies, he dug his spurs into his horse and dashed off. The narrator of the ghost story, as badly scared as his companion, followed him at post haste. Ther Bellew laughing heartily, turned and followed them. But at a more leisurely speed. From time to time, as he pursued the flying forms, his big frame shook with mirth. Somebody once said that a man who gives a hearty laugh was not all bad. If this is true, there must have been considerable good in Buck Bellew. After about a mile of riding he overtook the other two. "What's the hurry?" he inquired easily. "Nuthin', nuthin'," said Summers, still a bit shaky, "my pony scairt at suthin, I reckon, and jes' naturally dashed off. I had a hard job te pull the cayuse in." "Same hyar, same hyar," said the black-mustached man. "Rot!" laughed Bellew. "In my opinion, you're both a pair of cowards. Don't pull your gun on me, Summers. You wouldn't fire at me, and you know it." Summers sullenly put up his gun. "Say, what's ther matter with you, Buck?" he asked grumpily. "What's the matter with you two, you mean? Why, you dashed off like a girl in a red sweater with a bull on her heels." "I tole you ther ponies ran away," said Summers, shifting his little eyes. Somehow he couldn't look Bellew in the face. "Yes, and I guess what made 'em run was suthin' like this--" A quizzical look stole over Bellew's lean, handsome features. All at once the air became filled with the same mysterious sounds that had so alarmed Summers and the other man. "Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ow-w-w-w-w-w-e-e-eeeee!" "Buck! You consarned old ventriloconquest!" shouted Summers, vastly relieved as Bellew burst into a roar of hearty laughter. "Forgot I used to be ventriloquist with a medicine show, eh?" chuckled Bellew, rolling about in his saddle. "Come in handy sometimes, don't it?" "Waal, next time yer goin' ter practice, jes' let us know in advance." Summers' face held rather a sheepish grin as he spoke. The black-mustached man looked even more foolish. "Make a good signal, wouldn't it?" asked Bellew presently. "Yes. By the way, reckon you could imitate a coyote, Buck?" "Easy. Listen!" A perfect imitation of a coyote's yapping, hyena-like cry rang out. "Great. Maybe we can use that sometime." How soon that cry was to be used, and to what disastrous effect on our little party of adventurers, we shall see as our story progresses. But the next time Buck Bellew gave that thrilling, spine-tightening cry, was to be under far different circumstances, and with far different results--results fraught with great importance to our young adventurers. CHAPTER V THE DIVINING RODS "What wonderful clouds. They remind one of the fantastic palaces of the Arabian Nights!" exclaimed Miss Prescott. It was at the close of the noonday halt that she spoke, reclining with the rest of the party under a canvas shelter, beneath which lunch had been eaten. Off to the southwest the clouds she referred to had been, in fact, gathering for some time. Domed, terraced and pinnacled, they rose in gloomy grandeur on the far horizon. But Miss Prescott had not been the first to notice them. For some reason Mr. Bell, after gazing at the vaporous masses for a few minutes, looked rather troubled. He summoned Juan, who was feeding his beloved burro, and waved his hand toward the clouds, the same time speaking rapidly in Spanish. "What is it? Is there a storm coming?" asked Jess, noting Mr. Bell's somewhat troubled look. "I do not know, and Juan says he is not certain yet either," was the response. "Let us hope not, however." "I don't see why it should trouble us," said Peggy. "We have good tents and shelter, and as far as a good wetting is concerned I should think it would do this dried up place a lot of good." "That is not what was worrying me," confessed Mr. Bell with a smile; "if it was to be an ordinary Eastern storm I should not mind any more than you. But the desert has many moods--as many as--you will pardon me--a young lady. Even the storms of the Big Alkali are not like others. They are dry storms." "This would be no place for an umbrella dealer then," remarked Jimsy airily. "No, I am speaking seriously," went on Mr. Bell; "frequently such storms do great damage through lightning, although, during their progress, not a drop of rain falls. The electrical display, however, is sometimes terrific. That is what I mean when I say 'a dry storm."' "I can't bear lightning," cried Jess; "I always go in the cellar at home when it comes." "Never mind, Jess, Roy and I will dig you one if the storm hits us," put in her brother gallantly. "And one for me, too, please!" cried Miss Prescott; "I'm dreadfully afraid of lightning." "Well, let us hope that we shall none of us have any cause for alarm," put in Peter Bell, the former hermit. "When I lived my solitary life I often used to wander out in the height of a storm. It was beautiful to watch the lightning ripping and tearing across the sky. The lightning and the thunder did not scare me a bit. But--." "You'd soon have changed your mind if by lightning you'd been hit," struck in Jimsy before the old man could complete his verse. A good natured laugh, in which Peter Bell joined as heartily as the others, followed this bit of improvisation. "Well, let us be pressing on," said Mr. Bell presently; "we are not carrying any too heavy a water supply, and I am anxious to replenish it by nightfall. By the way, that means a new experience for you youngsters. You will get your first taste of alkali water." "But how are you going to get water in this desert?" exclaimed Roy wonderingly. "You will see before many hours," was the reply with which they had to be content. All that afternoon they pressed on without anything of interest occurring. The distant clouds grew more imposing and blacker in hue, but they seemed to draw no closer. The heat, however, was oppressive, and the glare of the desert hurt Peggy's eyes. "If they didn't look so hideous, I wish I'd brought along those old smoked glasses I wore on the beach at Atlantic City," she thought more than once. Sundown found the party skirting along the foot of rough, broken hills clothed with a scanty vegetation. Juan nodded approvingly and at once suggested making the camp there. "We'll see if there is any water first," said Mr. Bell. "It looks as if you need not take the trouble," declared Roy, "it's as dry as a week-old crust." "Not quite so fast, young man," laughed Mr. Bell, "appearances are often deceitful, especially on the desert." He dismounted, and reaching into one of the packs drew forth a slender forked stick. Then, while they all gazed in a puzzled silence at his actions, he passed it hither and thither over the dry floor of the desert. "Oh, I know what it is now!" cried Peggy suddenly. "It's a divining rod!" "A divining rod?" echoed Roy. "What's that?" "Oh, look!" cried Jess, before Peggy could answer; "it's moving!" The slender switch held by Mr. Bell was certainly behaving in a very odd manner. It could be seen to bend and sway and hop and skip about as if it had been suddenly endued with life. Mr. Bell, who was by now at some distance from the party, looked up with a satisfied expression. "Get a shovel and dig here!" he ordered Juan. But the Mexican had fallen into a deep slumber from which it took not a little effort to awaken him. When he was finally roused and made to understand what was required of him, he set to work with a will, however, and made the dirt fly. The boys pitched in, too, and before long quite a deep hole had been excavated. The girls, peeping cautiously over its edge, gave a delighted cry. Actual water was beginning to drain into it from the side. True, it was not of the color or temperature they had been used to associating with the fluid, but still the sight of it was welcome enough to the travel-stained wayfarers. "You can come out now, boys, and leave the hole to fill up, which it will soon do," declared Mr. Bell. The interval of waiting for the water to flow in a goodly quantity was spent in adjusting the girls' tent, and in setting the camp to rights generally. A sort of blue-colored bunch grass grew in considerable quantities about the water hole, and this the burros seemed to find quite palatable. The ponies and horses, however, would not touch it, and had to be regaled on the pressed hay and grain which were carried for the purpose. In the midst of all this there came a sudden sharp cry from the water hole, followed by a loud splash. "It's old Mr. Bell! He's fallen into the water hole!" shrilled Peggy. "Head over heels, too. Hurry and we'll get him out," cried the boys. Roy seized up a lariat, and followed by the others started for the hole. It was as they had guessed. Venturing too close to the brink of the excavation, old Mr. Bell had slipped, and the former hermit was floundering about like a grampus in the water when his rescuers appeared. Luckily, it was not deep, and they soon had him out of it and on his feet. The old man, with great good nature, declared that he had rather enjoyed his involuntary bath than otherwise. He was so mud-stained and drenched, however, that it was necessary for him to make an immediate change of clothes. When he emerged from his tent with dry apparel, the aged recluse felt moved to compose a verse, which he did as follows: "Within the mud hole's watery depths, A grave I almost met, But luckily I was pulled out Alive, but very wet." "Well, Peter," laughed his brother, "you certainly are a poetic philosopher. But now, if you are quite finished with the water hole, we will draw some for our own use, and then Juan can let the stock have a drink." As the first bucket for camp use was drawn, Peggy hastened up with a cup and extended it. "Oh, do let me have a drink," she exclaimed; "I'm dying with thirst and can't wait for tea." "Same here," cried Jess, eagerly. Mr. Bell smiled and eyed them quizzically. "I wouldn't advise you young ladies to try it till it has been boiled," he said, "but of course if you insist--" "We do," cried both girls. "Fill the cups, Juan," ordered Mr. Bell. The guide did so, and Peggy and Jess eagerly raised the receptacles. But hardly had they taken a swallow before they hurriedly ceased drinking. "Oh, what awful stuff!" sputtered Peggy, while Jess simply gasped. "Bah! It tastes like aged eggs added Roy, who had also taken a swallow. "Is it poisonous?" "Not a bit of it," laughed Mr. Bell; "it is simply alkali water, and when you have drunk as much of it as I have you'll be used to it and not mind it. But I must admit that on first introduction it is rather trying. It is better when it is boiled, though. It seems to lose that acrid flavor." And so it proved; and Miss Prescott declared that she had never enjoyed a cup of tea so much as the one she drank that evening at supper on the desert. As dusk fell, Juan produced a battered guitar from a case which was strapped to the back of his saddle, and seating himself cross-legged in the midst of a semi-circle of enthusiastic listeners he banged out a lot of Spanish airs. Then Jimsy danced a jig with incomparable agility and Roy did some tricks with cards and handkerchiefs that were declared superior to anything heretofore seen. But the little entertainment was to come to an abrupt conclusion. So engrossed had they been in its progress that they had not noticed that the sky had clouded over, and that it had suddenly grown insufferably oppressive. All at once a red glare enveloped the camp. It lasted only for the fraction of a second, but in its brief existence it displayed some very white and alarmed faces. The electric storm that Mr. Bell had dreaded was upon them. CHAPTER VI A DRY STORM In describing what immediately followed, Peggy has always declared that her sole impression was of continuous "flash and crash." The first red glare, as a jagged streak of lightning tore across the sky, was followed by an earsplitting thunder roll. Almost instantly the entire heavens became alive with wriggling serpents of light. The criss-cross work of the bolts ranged in hue from a vivid eye-burning blue to an angry red. And all the time the thunder roared and crashed in one unceasing pandemonium. A smell of brimstone and sulphur filled the air. The tethered stock whinnied and plunged about in mad terror. "Juan, look to the stock!" shouted Mr. Bell above the turmoil. But Juan, at the first crash, had flung himself face downward on the sand and lay there trembling and praying. As there seemed no possibility of getting him up, the boys and Mr. Bell set to work on the by no means easy task of securing the terrified animals more carefully. In the meantime, the girls, in Miss Prescott's tent, were having a hard time to convince that lady that the end of the universe was not at hand. "Oh, dear, why did we ever come out here!" cried the terrified woman; and then the next minute: "Just hark at that! We shall all be killed! I know it! Oh, this is terrible!" "It will soon be over, aunt, dear," exclaimed Peggy bravely, though her own head ached and her eyes burned cruelly from the glare and uproar. "Yes, dear Miss Prescott," chimed in Jess; "it can't last; it--" There was a sudden blinding glare, followed by a crash that seemed as if the skies must have been rent open. With it mingled a loud scream from Miss Prescott and cries and shouts from outside the tent. "Something in the camp has been struck!" exclaimed Peggy rushing to the tent door. "It's Juan's burro!" cried Jess, who had followed her; "look at the poor thing, off over there." In the radiance of the electric display they could see quite plainly the still form of the little animal lying outstretched on the ground. Juan heard the girl's cry, and for the first time since the storm had begun he moved. Directly he perceived the motionless form of his mount he appeared to lose all his terror of the storm, and sprinted off toward it on his long legs. As he ran he called aloud on all the saints to look down upon his miserable fate. But as he reached the side of his long-eared companion, the creature, which had only been stunned by the bolt, suddenly sprang to its feet and, no doubt crazed by fear, began striking out with its hind hoofs. As ill luck would have it, poor Juan came within direct range of the first kick, and was sent flying backward by its force. Behind him lay the water hole, and before he could stop the cowardly guide found himself over the brink and struggling in the muddy water. His cries for help were piercing, but as Mr. Bell and the boys were busy, and as they knew that the Mexican was in no actual peril, they left him there for a time. In the meantime, the first terrific violence of the storm had subsided, and before long it passed. As it growled and muttered off in the distance, lighting up the desert with an occasional livid glare, Juan came scrambling out of the mud-hole. He did not say a word, but went straight up to his burro. He saddled it in silence, strapped his old guitar on its back and, swinging himself into the saddle, dashed off across the alkali, his long legs working like pendulums on either side of the little creature. It actually seemed as if he were propelling instead of riding it. The boys wanted to know if they should set off in pursuit of their errant guide, but Mr. Bell said that it would be the best thing to let him go if he wished. "He was more of a hindrance than a help," he declared, "and he and his burro between them ate far more than their share of food." "But won't the poor man become lost or starve?" asked Miss Prescott, who, now that her alarm had passed with the storm, had joined the group. "Not much danger of that," laughed Mr. Bell, "a fellow of Juan's type can subsist on next to nothing if he has to, and his burro is as tough as he is, I suspect." "At any rate, he must have thought so when he got that kick," laughed Peggy. "It reminded me of a verse I once heard," put in the former hermit. And then, without waiting for anyone to ask him to repeat the lines in question, he struck up: "As a rule, never fool With a buzz saw or a mule." "I expect that's excellent advice," laughed the old man's brother, "but now, ladies and gentlemen, as the excitement of the night seems to be over, I think we had better retire. Remember, an early start to-morrow, and if all goes well we ought to be at Steer Wells by nightfall." "If we steer well," muttered Jimsy, not daring to perpetrate the pun in a louder tone of voice. Fifteen minutes later, silence entrenched the camp, which seemed like a tiny island of humanity in the vast silence stretched round about. As they slumbered, the girls, with their silver-mounted revolvers--gifts from Mr. Bell--under their pillows, the clouds of the dry storm rolled away altogether, and the effulgent moon of the Nevada solitudes arose. Her rays silvered the desolate range of barren hills and threw into sharp relief the black shadows which marked the deep gulches, cutting the otherwise smoothly rounded surfaces of the strange formation. Suddenly, from one of the gulches, the figure of a man on horseback emerged and stood, motionless as a statue, bathed in moonlight on an elevation directly overlooking the camp. For perhaps five minutes the horseman remained thus, silent as his surroundings. But suddenly a shrill whinny rang out from one of the horses belonging to our party, who had seen the strange animal. Instantly the figure turned and wheeled, and when Mr. Bell, ever on the alert, emerged from his tent to ascertain what the noise might portend, nothing was to be seen. "That's odd," muttered the mining man, "horses don't usually whinny in the night except to others of their kind who may suddenly appear. I wonder--but, pshaw!" he broke off; "the thing's impossible. Even if our mission were known nobody would dare to molest us. "But just the same," he continued, as, after a careful scrutiny, he returned to the tent he shared with his brother, "but just the same I'd like to know just why that animal whinnied." Whoever the watcher of the camp had been, he did not reappear that night, but while old Mr. Bell prepared breakfast, and the girls were what the boys called "fixing up," the mining man summoned the boys to him and observed that he wished them to take a little stroll to see if better grass for the stock could not be found in the hills. This was so obviously an excuse to get them off for a quiet talk that the lads exchanged glances of inquiry. They said nothing, however, but followed Mr. Bell as he struck off toward the barren range. As soon as they were out of earshot of the camp the mining man informed them of his suspicions and of what he had heard the night before. "On thinking it over I am more than ever convinced that somebody must have been hovering about the camp last night," he declared, "but it is no use alarming the others unnecessarily, and, after all, I may be mistaken. In any event, from now on, we will post ourselves on sentry duty at night so as not to be taken by surprise in the event of any malefactors attacking us." "Then you really think, sir, that somebody may have wind of the object of our journey and molest us?" inquired Roy soberly. "I don't know; but it is always best to be on the safe side," was the rejoinder; "the towns on the edge of the desert are full of bad characters and it is possible that in some way the reason of our expedition has leaked out." By this time they had walked as far as the mouth of one of the bare canyons that split the range of low, barren hills. Roy, whose eyes had been thoughtfully fixed on the ground, suddenly gave a sharp exclamation. "Look here, Mr. Bell," he exclaimed, pointing downward, "what do you make of that?" He indicated the imprints of a horse's hoofs on the dry ground. "You have sharp eyes, my boy," was the reply; "those hoof-prints are not more than a few hot old, and certainly clinch my idea that someone on horseback was in the vicinity of the camp last night." Jimsy looked rather grave at this. Roy, too, had a troubled note in his voice as he inquired: "What do you make of it all, Mr. Bell?" "Too early to say yet, my boy," said the mining man, who had been studying the hoof-prints, "but I can tell you this, that only one man was here last night." "We have nothing to fear from one man," exclaimed Jimsy. "I know that," was Mr. Bell's response, "but this lone visitor of last night may have been only the scout or forerunner of the others, whoever they may be." "That's so," agreed Roy, "at any rate he must have had some strong object in spying on us." Nobody would come out into this desolate place without an aim of some sort." "No question but that you are right there," agreed Mr. Bell, whose face was grave, "I have half a mind to turn back and not bring the ladies further into what may prove to be a serious situation." "So far as Peggy is concerned you'd have a hard time trying to get her to turn back now," declared Roy; "her mind is bent upon helping to get the air line from the mine into working order, and I guess Jess feels the same way about it." "It would be a sad blow to them to have to go back now," agreed Jimsy; "suppose, Mr. Bell, we wait and make our suspicions more of a certainty before we decide upon anything." "Perhaps that would be the best course," agreed the lad's elder, "but I must confess I feel sorely troubled. It is agreed, is it not, that not a word of our suspicions are to be breathed to the ladies?" "Oh, of course," agreed Roy; "after all," he added cheerfully, "the man who left those tracks may have been a prospector or a desert traveler of some kind, and have had no sinister motives." "I am inclined to think that, too," said Mr. Bell, after a pause; "after all, nobody could have any object in attacking us at such a time." CHAPTER VII PROFESSOR "WANDERING WILLIAM" The ponies, and the larger steeds ridden by the elders of the party, were pushed forward at a rapid gait all the morning. As had been explained by Mr. Bell, it was necessary for them to reach Steer Wells by sundown, as they could not hope to encounter any more water holes till they gained that point. In the meantime, water was carried by means of an ingenious arrangement of Mr. Bell's. This was nothing more or less than two large bags of water-proof fabric, which could be filled and then flung on the pack burros' backs. In this way enough was carried for each of the animals to have a scanty supply, although there was none too much left over. That day's luncheon halt was made near a stony, arid canyon in the barren hills, along whose bases they were still traveling. While the others set about getting a meal, Peggy and Jess linked arms and wandered off a short distance from the camp, bent on exploring. All at once Peggy gave a sudden, sharp little cry. "Oh, Jess, look! What a funny little creature!" "Ugh, what a horrid looking thing! What can it be?" exclaimed Jimsy's sister. "It's--it's like a large spider!" cried Peggy suddenly, "and what horrid hairy legs it has, and--oh, Jess--it's going to attack us!" "I do believe it is o-o-o-h!" The cry was a long drawn out one of shrill alarm as the "large spider," as Peggy had termed it, tucked its legs under its fat, hairy body and made a deliberate spring at the two girls. Only their agility in leaping backward saved them from being landed upon by it. But far from being dismayed apparently, the creature was merely enraged by this failure. It was gathering itself for another spring when: Crack! There was a puff of smoke and a vicious report from Peggy's little revolver, and the next instant the thing that had so alarmed the two young girls lay still. At the same moment the rest of the party, frightened by the sound of the sudden shot, came running up. "A tarantula!" cried Mr. Bell, "and one of the biggest I have ever seen. It is fortunate for you, young ladies, that he did not bite you or there might have been a different tale to tell. Which of you shot it?" "Oh, Peggy of course," cheerfully admitted Jess; "I can't pull the trigger yet without shutting my eyes." "Hurrah for Peggy Prescott, America's premier girl rifle and revolver shot!" shouted Jimsy in blatant imitation of a show man. "What a pair of fangs!" cried Roy, who had picked up the dead tarantula and was examining it carefully. The girls could not repress a shudder as they looked at the dead giant spider, lying with its great legs outstretched, on Roy's hand. "The Mexicans have a superstition that even if one does not die from the effects of their bites that the tarantula can inoculate a person with dancing poison," said Mr. Bell. "Dancing poison?" they all cried in an astonished chorus. "Yes," explained the mining man, "that is to say, that its poison will cause a sort of St. Vitus's dance." "Good gracious! How unpleasant!" cried Jess. "I'm awfully fond of dancing, but I wouldn't care to come by my fun that way." "Better than being bitten by the kissing bug anyhow," teased Roy mischievously. The episode of the tarantula furnished plenty of conversation through the luncheon hour, and caused Miss Prescott many shudders. The poor lady was beginning to think that more dangers lurked in the desert than on any of her most dreaded street crossings in New York. But little time was spent over the midday meal, and then the final "leg" of their dash across the alkali to Steer Wells began. The sun was low, bathing the desert in a crimson glow, when Mr. Bell, who was riding in advance, gave a sudden shout and pointed ahead to a patch of forlorn looking trees in the distance. "Steer Wells," he announced. The boys gave a cheer and plunged forward, with Peggy and Jess close behind. But the others advanced more sedately. But as they drew closer to the clump of trees standing so oddly isolated amid the waste of alkali, they noted with surprise that they were not to be the only persons to share the hospitality of the oasis. From amid the foliage a column of blue smoke was rising, betokening the presence of other wayfarers. Instantly speculation became rife among the young folks. Who could be the sharers of their excursion into the untraveled wastes? They were soon to discover. A strange figure stepped from the trees as the ponies, in a cloud of dust, dashed up. It was that of a tall, angular man with a pair of iron-rimmed spectacles perched on a protuberant nose. He was clean shaven, except for a goatee, and his wrinkled skin was the color of old leather. Long locks of gray hair hung lankly almost to his narrow, sloping shoulders. Above these straggly wisps was perched jauntily a big sombrero of regulation plainsman type. But the strangest feature of this strange personage lay in the remainder of his attire, which consisted of a long black frock coat hanging baggily to his knees and a pair of trousers of the largest and most aggressive check pattern imaginable. His feet were encased in patent leather boots, over which were gaiters of a brilliant yellow. Under the trees could now be seen a small wagon painted a bright red, which bore upon its sides the inscription: "Professor Wandering William, Indian Herb Remedies. They make the desert of life to bloom like the Rose Gardens of Mount Hybla. 50 cents per bottle or half a dozen for $2.50." The professor's angular mule team were browsing on the scanty grass that grew within the circle of trees, while above a fire of chips and twigs there hung an iron pot, which evidently contained the professor's supper. As for the professor himself, he clearly stood revealed in the person of the strange character who now, taking off his sombrero, waved it three times around his head in solemn rhythm, and then, raising a high pitched voice, shouted: "Welcome! Thrice welcome to this fertile spot amid the stony desert. Like the Great Indian Herb Remedy, it blooms like the Rose Gardens of Hybla. Ahem!" The conclusion of this speech was a dry cough, after which the professor solemnly readjusted his hat, and coming forward, said in quite ordinary tones: "Howdy-do." By this time the remainder of the party had galloped up, and arrived just as the young folks, hardly knowing what to say, had responded "howdy-do" likewise. "I hardly expected to find anyone else here," said Mr. Bell, and then by way of introduction, he rattled off their names, the professor bowing low as each was presented. "And now," said he, "allow me to present myself, Professor Wandering William, proprietor and originator of the Great Indian Herb Medicine, good alike for man or beast, child or adult. Insist on the original and only. Allow me," and the speaker suddenly whisked round with unexpected agility and darting toward his wagon opened the back of the vehicle and presently reappeared with several small bottles. He handed one to each of the new arrivals. "Samples!" he explained, "and free as the birds of the air. If you like the samples, make a purchase. Money back if not exactly as represented." With as grave faces as they could assume, they all thanked this queer character, and then Mr. Bell asked. "May I inquire what you are doing in the desert, Professor. I should think you would find this part of the country a most unprofitable field." "My dear sir," rejoined the professor, "twice a year I make a pilgrimage into the desert to gather the ingredients of The Remedy. You behold me now almost at the conclusion of my labors. In a few days I shall return to the haunts of civilization and gladden the hearts of mankind by disbursing The Remedy on my terms as quoted on the wagon yonder." The professor lent a hand in unsaddling and unpacking the stock of the adventurers, and proved to be of great assistance in several ways. Evidently he was an experienced plainsman and he suggested many ways in which their equipment might be lightened and adjusted. His odd manner of talking only possessed him at intervals, and at other times he seemed to converse like any rational being. This put a queer idea into Peggy's head. "I wonder if he's acting a part?" she thought to herself. But the next minute the professor's exaggerated gestures and tones convinced her to the contrary. Although his manner was as outlandish as his choice of clothes, still there was a certain something about it which negatived the idea of its being assumed, unless the professor was a most consummate actor. He informed the party that he had set out to cut across the desert from California and had had several narrow escapes from death by reason of lack of water. I le appeared much interested when Mr. Bell in formed him that the party had started out from Blue Creek, adding--as he deemed wisest-- that they were a party of tenderfeet anxious to explore the desert at first hand. "So you were in Blue Creek recently, eh?" he said, with an entire lack of his exaggerated manner, but in crisp tones that fairly snapped; "didn't hear anything there of Red Bill Summers, did you?" With a half smile Mr. Bell replied that they had not had the pleasure of the gentleman's acquaintance. "Don't know about the pleasure part of it," shot out the professor, "he's the most desperate crook this side of Pikes Peak. I'd give a good deal for a look at him myself. I--I have a professional interest in him," he added, with a queer smile which set his eyes to snapping and crackling. "A medical interest, I suppose?" inquired Mr. Bell, "you think he'd make an interesting study?" "Most interesting," was the reply in quiet, thoughtful tones. But the next instant the professor was back at his old pompous, high-flown verbal gymnastics, and after supper he entertained them till bedtime with tales of his experiences, to which both boys and girls listened with wide-eyed astonishment. "The oddest character I have ever encountered," declared Mr. Bell, as the professor, after bowing low to the ladies and apostrophizing the male portion of his audience, retired to his red wagon, within which he slept. They all agreed to this, but Peggy said rather timidly: "Somehow I don't think he's quite as odd as we think him." "What do you mean, my dear?" asked Mr. Bell. "Why, when he spoke about that Red Billy whatever his name was, did you see how different he looked? Younger somehow, and--and oh, quite different. I don't know just how, but he wasn't the same at all." "Oh, Peggy's trying to work up a romantic mystery about the professor," teased Jess; "maybe he's a wandering British lord in disguise or the interesting but wayward son of a millionaire with a hobby for socialism." The others burst into laughter at Jess's raillery, but Miss Prescott gently said: "There is a great deal in womanly intuition, my dear, and for my part I had the same feeling as you. I mean that that man was not just what he appeared to be, namely, a chattering, ignorant quack." "Well, as we may have him for a neighbor for some days we shall have a chance to watch him closely," said Mr. Bell. But in this the leader of the party of adventurers turned out to be wrong, for when they awoke the next morning the grove did not contain the professor or his red wagon. Only the ashes of his fire were there to tell of his sojourn. But on one of the trees they found pinned a note. "Sorry to leave so abruptly, but circumstances compelled. Perhaps we shall meet again. Who knows!" And that, for many days, was to be the last they saw of the professor. When they re-encountered him--but of the surprising circumstances under which this was to take place we shall learn later. CHAPTER VIII A DESERT FIGHT There was too much before them for the party to spend much time in speculation concerning the professor's sudden disappearance. Immediately after breakfast Mr. Bell called the boys aside and said: "How long will it take to get an aeroplane ready?" The question came briskly, as did all Mr. Bell's speeches. "I think I can promise to have a machine ready for flight by noon," was Roy's rejoinder after a brief interval of thought. "Good! In that case we will waste no time in getting to work. I am anxious to reach the mine and stake it out properly for claim filing purposes. The less delay the better." It was news to both boys that the definite legal claim to his discovery had not yet been made by Mr. Bell. "Well, at any rate you are not likely to be bothered by claim jumpers away off here," commented Roy. "No, I hardly think so," was the response, "but in these matters one cannot be too careful. Since the news spread that I have struck it rich there are men capable of enduring any hardship if there exists a possibility of wresting it from me." "I should have thought that in order to be on the safe side you would have filed your claim before you came East," put in Peggy, who had joined the little group of consultants. "I would have done so were it not for the fact that to have filed my claim and given the location would have set on my track the entire, restless gold-seeking horde that hangs about desert towns," said Mr. Bell, with some warmth. "It is an outrageous thing, but nevertheless a fact, that the moment one files a claim it becomes public property. In my opinion the government should protect the locator of a gold find." "But would that be quite fair to the others," said Peggy softly. "Shouldn't everybody have an opportunity to develop natural resources?" Mr. Bell gazed at her admiringly. "You are right, my dear, and I'm a selfish old bear," he said, "but just the same, not all gold-seekers make desirable neighbors. Many desperate men are among them." Peggy's mind wandered back to that midnight conversation she had overheard on the porch of the National House. But the same dread of ridicule that she had experienced then still held her, and she refrained from mentioning it. By noon, with such good will did they work, that not only was one of the monoplanes erected and ready for flight, but a second was partially assembled, and only required the finishing touches to be in readiness for its aerial dash. While the boys, with the girls eagerly helping them, worked on the flying machine, Mr. Bell carefully studied a map he had made of the mine's location, and tested his compass. This done he--as sailors say--"laid out a course" for himself. From the springs the mine lay about due southeast and some hundred and twenty miles away. In case of accidents the mining man traced carefully a second map, which was to be left behind in the camp so as to be constantly available in case anything happened to the first one, it had been decided that Jimsy, who by this time had become quite a skillful aviator, was to accompany Mr. Bell in the preliminary flight. Roy and Mr. Peter Bell were to be left in charge of the camp, and in the event of the first aeroplane not returning that night the second, one was to be dispatched in search of it. As an old plainsman, Mr. Bell had not laid his plans without taking into consideration the possibility of accident to the aeroplane, and none realized better than he did what serious consequences such an accident might have. In the chassis of the machine with the travelers were placed a stock of canned goods, a pick and shovel and several hundred feet of fine but tough rope. A supply of water in stone jars and an extra stock of gasoline were also taken along. At the conclusion of the noon meal the motor was started and found to be working perfectly. Nothing then remained to be done but to bid hasty "au revoirs" and wing off across the barren wastes. "If all goes well we may be back to-night," said Mr. Bell as he slipped into the seat set tandem-wise behind Jimsy. "And if not?" inquired Roy. "In that case," and Mr. Bell's voice held a grave note, "in that case you will take the other monoplane and start out to look for us." The roar of the motor as Jimsy started it drowned further words. Blue smoke and livid flames burst from the exhausts. The structure of the flying machine shook and quivered under the force of the explosions. The next instant the first aeroplane to invade the Big Alkali scudded off across the level floor of the desert, and after some five hundred feet of land travel soared upward. In fifteen minutes it was a fast diminishing speck against the burnished blue of the Nevada sky. There was some feeling of loneliness in the hearts of those left behind as they turned back toward the camp under the straggly willows. But this was speedily dissipated by that sovereign tonic for such feelings-namely, work. Much was to be done on the remaining monoplane, and with the exception of brief intervals of "fooling" the young people spent the rest of the day on finishing its equipment. Sunset found the machine ready for flight and the girl aviators and Roy very ready indeed for the supper to which Peter Bell presently summoned them by loud and insistent beating on a tin pan. You may be sure that as the sun dipped lower, the sky toward the southwest had been frequently swept by expectant eyes, but supper was served and eaten, and the purple shadows of night began softly to drape the glaring desert and still there came no sign of the homing aeroplane. "Reckon they don't want to risk a night flight and so have decided to camp at the mine," suggested old Peter Bell in response to Miss Prescott's rather querulous wondering as to the reason of the non-return. "That must be it," agreed Roy easily, demolishing the last of a can of chicken. Truth to tell, inwardly he had not expected the travelers back that night, and perhaps there lingered, too, in his mind, a faint desire to test out the other aeroplane in a task of rescue, in the event of the one Jimsy was driving breaking down. But when morning came without a sign of the missing monoplane speculation crystallized into a real and keen anxiety. It was determined to delay no longer but set out at once in search of it. To this end the recently equipped airship was stocked with food and water, and shortly before noon Roy finished the final tuning up of the engine. The others watched him anxiously as he worked. It seemed clear enough that some real accident must have occurred to the other machine. "James would never keep us in suspense like this," said Mr. Bell, "if he could reach us and relieve our anxiety." Roy was just about to clamber into the chassis when Peggy and Jess, who had been missing for several minutes, emerged from their tent. Each girl wore an aviation hood and stout leather gauntlets. Plainly they were dressed for aerial flight. Roy gazed at them quizzically. "I hate to disappoint you girls," he said, "but I've got to play a lone hand in this thing." "No such thing," said Peggy in her briskest tones; "what if anything happened to you? Who would run the machine if we weren't along?" "That's quite true, Roy," struck in Jess, "and besides if--if anything has gone wrong with Jimsy who has a better right to be near him than I?" Roy looked perplexed. "What am I to do, Aunt Sally?" he appealed, turning to Miss Prescott. To Peggy's astonishment, as much as anyone else's, Miss Prescott did not veto their going. "I think it would be great folly for you to go on an expedition of this kind alone," she said, addressing Roy. "As Peggy says, if anything went wrong what could you do alone?" "Oh, aunt, you're a dear!" cried Peggy, giving the kindly old lady a bear hug. "But I make one condition," continued Miss Prescott, "and that is, that whatever you find, you do not delay, but report back here as soon as possible. I could not bear much more anxiety." This was readily promised, and ten minutes later the three young aviators were in the chassis of the big monoplane. After a moment's fiddling with levers and adjustments Roy started the motor. Heavily laden as it was the staunch aeroplane shot upward steadily after a short run. As it grew rapidly smaller, and finally became a mere black shoe button in the distance, Miss Prescott turned to old Peter Bell with a sigh. "Heaven grant they all come back safe and sound," she exclaimed. "Amen to that, ma'am," was the response, and then unconsciously lapsing into his rhythmical way of expressing himself, the old man added: "Though flying through the air so high they'll come back safely by and by." And then, while old Peter shuffled off to water the stock, Miss Prescott fell to continuing her fancy work which the good lady had brought with her from the Fast. An odd picture she made, sitting there in that dreary grove in the desert, with her New England suggestion of primness and house-wifely qualities showing in striking contrast to the strange setting of the rest of the picture. CHAPTER IX AGAINST HEAVY ODDS "Any sign of them yet, Roy?" Peggy leaned forward and gently touched her brother's arm. "I can't see a solitary speck that even remotely resembles them," he said. "It looks bad," he added with considerable anxiety in his tones. Peggy took a peep at the plan which was spread out before Roy on a little shelf designed to hold aerial charts. Then she glanced at the compass and the distance indicator. "We must be close to the place now," she said; "it's somewhere off there, isn't it?" "There" was a range of low hills cut and slashed by steep-walled gullies and canyons. In some of these canyons there appeared to be traces of vegetation, giving rise to the suspicion that water might be obtained there by digging. Roy nodded. "That's the place, and there's that high cone shaped hill that the plan indicates as the location of the mine." "But there's not a trace of them-oh, Jimsy!" Jess's tones were vibrant with cruel anxiety. Her face was pale and troubled. As for Peggy, her heart began to beat uncomfortably fast. But she wisely gave no outer sign. "Don't worry, girlie," she said in as cheerful and brisk a tone as she could call up on the spur of the moment, "it will be all right. I'm sure of it." Circling high above the range of barren hills they took a thorough survey of them. There was no sign of the missing aeroplane or her occupants, but all at once beneath them they saw something that caused them all to utter an astonished shout. In one of the shallower gullies there was suddenly revealed the forms of an immense pack of animals of a gray color and not unlike dogs. "Wolves!" cried Peggy. "No, they are coyotes," declared Roy; "I recollect now hearing Mr. Bell say that these hills were frequented by them." While they still hovered above the strange sight, a sudden swing brought another angle of the gully into view, and there, hidden hitherto by a huge rock, was the missing aeroplane. But of its occupants there was not a trace. "We must descend at once," decided Roy. "But, Roy, the coyotes!" It was Jess who spoke. The sight of the immense pack of the brutes thoroughly unnerved her. As they swung lower, too, they could hear the yappings and howlings of the savage band. "I don't think they will bother us," said Roy. "I've heard Mr. Bell say that they are cowardly creatures." "If they do we'll have to fly up again," said Peggy; "but we simply must examine that aeroplane for some clue of the others' whereabouts. Besides we have our revolvers." "And can use them, too," said Roy with decision. "Now look out and hold tight, for I'm going to make a quick drop." The gully seemed to rush upward at the aeroplane as it swooped down, coming to rest finally, almost alongside its companion machine. Luckily, the big rock before mentioned concealed the new arrivals from the view of the pack gathered further up the gully. No time was lost in alighting and examining the machine, but beyond the fact that none of the food or water had been disturbed there was no clue there. Another puzzling fact was that the rifles Mr. Bell and Jimsy had brought with them still lay in the chassis. This seemed to dispose of the theory that they had been attacked. But what could have become of them? Was it possible that the coyotes--? Roy gave an involuntary shiver as a thought he did not dare allow himself to retain flashed across his mind. And yet it was odd the presence of that numerous pack all steadily centered about one spot. "I'm going to try firing a shot into the air," said Roy suddenly; "if they are in the vicinity they will hear it and answer if they can." "Oh, yes, do that, Roy," begged Jess. "Oh, I'm almost crazy with worry! What can have happened?" The sharp bark of Roy's pistol cut short her half hysterical outbreak. Following the report they listened intently and then: "Hark!" exclaimed Peggy, her eyes round and her pulses beating wildly. "Wasn't that a shout? Listen, there it is again!" "I heard it that time, too," exclaimed Roy. "And I!" cried Jess. "It came from down the canyon where those coyotes are," went on Peggy. "That's right, sis, and it complicates our search," said Roy, "but we've got to go on now. You girls wait here for me while I investigate, and--and you'd better take those rifles out of the other aeroplane." "Oh, Roy, you're not going alone?" Peggy appealed. "I'm not going to let you girls take a chance till I see what's ahead, that's one sure thing," was the rejoinder. Before another word could be said the boy, revolver in hand, vanished round the big rock. Hardly had he done so, when there was borne to the girls' ears the most appalling confusion of sounds they had ever heard. The bedlam was, punctuated by several sharp shots, and Roy appeared running from round the rock. His hat was off, and as he approached he shouted: "Get back to the aeroplanes! The pack's after us!" At the same instant there appeared the leaders of the onrush. Great, half-famished looking brutes, whose red mouths gaped open ferociously and whose eyes burned wickedly. But Roy had hardly had time to shout his warning before an accident, entirely unexpected, occurred. His foot caught on a stone and he came down with a crash. The next moment the pack would have been upon him, but Peggy jerked the rifle she had selected to her shoulder and fired into the midst of the savage horde. With a howl of anguish one of the creatures leaped high in a death agony and came toppling down among his mates, a limp, inanimate mass. This checked the surging onrush for an instant, and in that instant Roy was on his feet and sprinting briskly toward the girls. Straight for the aeroplanes they headed. Reaching them they entrenched themselves in what they could not but feel was an immensely insecure position. "Thank you, sis," was all that Roy, with a bit of a choke in his voice, was able to gasp out before the leaders of the pack were on them. More by instinct than with any definite idea, the young people began desperately pumping lead into the seething confusion of gray backs and red gaping mouths. All at once poor Jess, half beside herself with terror, gave a throaty little gasp. "I think I'm going to faint," she exclaimed feebly. Peggy gave her a sharp glance. "You'll do no such thing, Jess Bancroft," she said sharply, although the pity in her eyes belied the harshness of the words, "if you do I'll--I'll never speak to you again!" The words had their calculated effect, and Jess made a brave rally. At almost the same instant a shot from Roy's rifle brought down the largest of the creatures of the desert, a big hungry looking brute with tawny, scraggy hair and bristling hackles. As he rolled over with a howl of anguish and rage a sudden wavering passed through the pack. It was like a wind-shadow sweeping over a field of summer wheat. "Hooray, we've got them beaten!" shouted Roy, enthusiastically. The lad was right. Their leader fallen, the remainder of the pack had seemingly no liking for keeping up the attack. Still snarling they began to retreat slowly--a backward movement, which presently changed into a mad, helter skelter rush. Panic seized on them, and down the dry arroyo they fled, a dense cloud of yellow, pungent dust rising behind them. In a few seconds all that remained to tell of the battle in the gulch were the still bodies of the brutes that had fallen before the boy and girl aviators' rifles. They were contemplating the scene when, from further up the gully, there came a sound that set all their pulses beating. It was the shout of a human voice. "Thank heaven you were not too late!" While they were still standing stock still in startled immobility at the recognition of Mr. Bell's voice, there came another hail. "Hello, Jess! Hello, Peggy and Roy!" Emerging from the cloud of dust which was still thick, there staggered toward them two uncanny looking figures in which they had at first some difficulty in recognizing Mr. Bell and Jimsy Bancroft. But when they did what a shout went up! It echoed about the dead hills and rang hollowly in the silent gully. An instant later the reunited adventurers were busily engaged in exchanging greetings of which my readers can guess the tenor. Then came explanations. "On arriving in the arroyo," said Mr. Bell, "Jimsy and I decided to set out at once to examine the mine site, and lay if off for purposes of proper location with the United States government. I must tell you that the mine--or rather the site of it--is located in that cavern yonder further up the arroyo." "Why it was round the entrance to that that the coyotes were gathered when we first dropped!" cried Peggy. "Exactly. And very much to our discomfort, too, I can tell you," rejoined Mr. Bell dryly. "They had you besieged!" exclaimed Roy. "That's just it, my boy. They must have been famished, or they never would have gathered up the courage to do it, for, as a rule, one man can put a whole pack of the brutes to flight. I suppose, however, they realized that they had us cornered, for, with a sort of deadly deliberation, they seated themselves round the mouth of the cavern, seemingly awaiting the proper time for us to be starved out or driven forth by thirst. Luckily, however, we had canteens with us and a scanty supply of food, otherwise it might have been the last of us." Jess shuddered and drew very close to Jimsy. "And you had no weapons," volunteered Roy. "Ah, I see you encountered our guns in the chassis of the aeroplane. No, foolishly, I'll admit, we omitted to arm ourselves for such a short excursion. Of course we never dreamed of any danger of that sort in this lonely place, and least of all from the source from which it came. But I can, tell you, it was an ugly feeling when, on preparing to emerge with some specimens of the ore-bearing rocks, we found ourselves facing a grim semi-circle, banked dozens deep, of those famished coyotes. They greeted our appearance with a howl, and when we tried to scare them off they just settled down on their haunches to wait." "Their silence was worse than their yapping and barking, I think," struck in Jimsy. "It certainly was," agreed Mr. Bell; "both of us tried to keep up good hearts, but when the night passed and morning still found the brutes there, things began to look bad. Of course we knew that you would set out to look for us when we did not return, but we did not know if you would reach here in time." "But you did," cried Jimsy, regarding the dead bodies of coyotes the vanquished pack had left behind. "And excellent work your rifles did, too," declared Mr. Bell warmly. "Our rifles and--the Girl Aviators," said Roy, and proceeded to tell the interested listeners from the cavern some incidents which caused them to open their eyes and regard our girls with unconcealed admiration. CHAPTER X RESCUED BY AEROPLANE "What's that down there?" Roy pointed downward from the aeroplane to a small black object crawling painfully over the glistening white billows of alkali far below them. The lad, his sister and Jess were on their way back from the arroyo in which the battle with the coyotes had occurred. Mr. Bell and Jimsy had been left behind, for the former was anxious to "prospect" his mine as thoroughly as possible in order to ascertain if it gave indications of living up to its first rich promise. A brief inspection of the cave had thoroughly disgusted Peggy and Jess. "Is this a rich gold mine!" Jess had cried, indignantly regarding the dull walls on which the torches had glowed unflatteringly; "it looks more like the interior of the cellar at home." "All is not gold that glitters," Mr. Bell had responded with a smile. At the same moment he had flaked off a chunk of dark colored metal with his knife. "There, Miss Jess," he exclaimed, handing it to the girl, "that is almost pure gold, and I am in hopes that there is lots more where that came from." And they had been kind enough not to laugh too immoderately at Jess's discomfiture. A short time later, having located a water hole and partaken of a good lunch, Roy and his companions had re-embarked and started back to camp with the joyful tidings that the missing adventurers had been found. They had been under way but a short time when Roy's attention had been attracted by the moving dot which had caused him to utter the exclamation recorded at the beginning of this chapter. Against the flat, baking, quivering expanse of alkali the crawling splotch of black showed up as plainly as a blot of ink on a sheet of clean white blotting paper. Peering over the edge of the chassis they all scrutinized it closely. "It's--it's a man!" cried Jess at length. "So it is!" declared Peggy, "and on foot. What can he be doing out in this desert country without a horse?" "He's in trouble anyhow," declared Roy, excitedly. "See, he's staggering along so painfully that it looks as if he couldn't go a step further. I'm going to drop and find out what the trouble is." As he spoke the boy threw in the descending clutch, and the big monoplane began to drop as swiftly as a buzzard that has espied some prey far beneath him. As they rushed downward the whirr of their descent seemed to arouse the being so painfully crawling over the hot waste beneath them. He looked up, and then, extending his hands upward in a gesture of bewilderment, he staggered forward and the next instant stretched his length on the alkali, falling face downward. "Oh, he is dead!" shrilled Jess, clasping her hands. "I don't think so," was Roy's grave reply, "but we must get to him as quickly as we can." There was no need to tell Peggy to get the water canteen ready. Her busy little, fingers were fumbling with it. As they touched the ground she leaped nimbly from the chassis and sped over the burning desert floor to the side of the recumbent wayfarer. A second later Roy and Jess joined her. Very tenderly they turned the insensible man upon his back and dashed the water upon his face. He was a short, rather stockily built man of middle age, and obviously, from his mahogany colored skin and lank black hair, a Mexican. He was dressed in a tattered shirt with a serape thrown about the neck to keep off the blazing rays of the sun. His feet were encased in a kind of moccasins over which spurs were strapped. Evidently, then, he had been mounted at some time--presumably recently, but where was his horse? How did he come to be wandering under the maddening heat of the sun over the vast alkali waste. But these were questions the answers to which had to be deferred for the present, for it began to appear doubtful if they had arrived in time to fan the wanderer's vital spark back into flame. But at length their ministrations met with their reward. The man's eyelids flickered and a deep sigh escaped his lips. Before long they could press the water canteen to his mouth. He seized it with avidity and would have drained it. "Only a little," cried Peggy; "I read once how a man, dying of thirst, was killed outright when he was given too much water to drink." So Roy wrenched the canteen from the prostrated man's feeble grasp before he had drained more than a mouthful or two. But even that had revived him, and he was able to sit up and gaze about bewilderedly. All at once his eyes rested on Peggy, and he seemed to regard her as the means of his salvation from a terrible death on the alkali. Kneeling down he cried out in a pitifully cracked voice: "You missie angel from heaven. Me Alverado your servant always. No go away ever!" "By ginger, Peggy, you've made a conquest!" cried Roy, half hysterically. Now that the strain of the struggle between life and death was over Peggy flushed and looked embarrassed. She was not used to the exaggerated character of the Mexican. But if she feared another outburst it did not come. Far too much exhausted to say more, Alverado--as he called himself--sank back once more on the alkali. "Quick! Carry him to the aeroplane and get him into camp," cried Roy, raising the half-conscious Mexican's head. "You girls take his feet and we'll put him in the bottom of the chassis on those cushions." Consequently, when the aeroplane once more took the air it was to fly lower than usual under its additional burden, but in the hearts of all three of its American occupants there rang the joy of having saved a human life from the unsparing alkali. "Aunt Sally! Aunt Sally! Everything's all right and we've got a patient for you," was Peggy's rather uncomplimentary greeting as the aeroplane alighted and came spinning across the dusty expanse toward the willow clump. Miss Prescott threw up her hands and old Mr. Peter Bell hastened from amidst his beloved horses. "Everything's all right but you've got a patient!" cried the New England lady, who looked very prim and unwesternlike in a gingham gown and sun bonnet to match. "No time for explanations now," cried Roy. "Come on, Mr. Bell, and help us get our sick man out and then we'll tell you all about how we found Jimsy and Mr. Bell at the mine." With Mr. Bell's assistance it did not take long to transfer Alverado from the aeroplane to a cot, and Miss Prescott, who, as Roy said, would "rather nurse than eat," ministered to him to such good effect that by nightfall he was able to sit up and tell his story. In the meantime the excited youngsters had related their narratives, which Miss Prescott interrupted in a dozen places by: "Land's sakes!" "Good gracious me!" "Oh, what a dreadful country!" and much more to the same effect. All the time he was relating his story Alverado kept his eyes fixed on Peggy's face, with much the same expression as that worn by a faithful spaniel. At first this fixed gaze annoyed the young girl not a little, but soon she realized that it was entirely respectful and meant as a tribute, for the Mexican evidently regarded her as his rescuer in chief. Alverado's story proved vague and sketchy, but he could not be induced to enlarge upon it. In brief his tale was that some years before, when crossing the desert on his way from a mine he owned, he had been attacked by a band of highwaymen. They had wrecked his wagon and murdered his family, who were traveling with him. They had attacked him because of their impression that he was carrying much gold with him, whereas, in reality, he had secured nothing but a living from his desert mine. In their rage at being thwarted, the miscreants had wiped out the Mexican's family and left him for dead with a wound in his skull. But a wandering band of Nevada Indians had happened along while the Mexican still lay unconscious and, reviving him, carried him with them over the border into California. He had parted from them soon after and drifted down into Mexico. In time he accumulated a small fortune, but the thought of the wrong he had suffered never left his heart. At last his affairs reached a stage where he felt justified in returning to Nevada to try to find some trace of his wrongers, and demand justice. He had set out well equipped, but, a few days before the young aviators encountered him, his water burro had stumbled and fallen, and in the fall had broken the water kegs it carried. From that time on his trip across the alkali had been a nightmare. First his pony had died, and then his two remaining pack burros. He had obtained a scanty supply of thirst quenching stuff from the pulpy insides of cactus and maguey leaves, but when the aviators had discovered him he had been in the last stages of death from thirst and exhaustion--the death that so many men on the alkali have met alone and bravely. "Do you know the name of the men who attacked you and treated you so cruelly?" asked Peggy, breaking the tense silence which followed the conclusion of the Mexican's dramatic narrative. A dark look crossed the man's swarthy features. "One name onlee I know, mees," he said, with a snarl which somehow reminded Peggy of the coyotes of the arroyo. "And his name was?" "Red Beel Soomers!" "'Red Bill Summers!" they all echoed, except Miss Prescott and old Mr. Peter Bell, the latter of whom had fallen into a reverie. As if they had been emblazoned in electric lights, the words of Professor Wandering William flashed across Peggy's brain. "The most desperate ruffian on the Nevada desert." And at the same time, with one of those quick, flashes of intuition which growing girls share with grown women, Peggy sensed a vague connection between that sinister conversation she had overheard on her wakeful night at the National House and the dreaded Red Bill. CHAPTER XI THE HORSE HUNTERS Bright and early the next day the aeroplane whizzed back to the arroyo, carrying a fresh supply of food and water, for Mr. Bell had decided to investigate his "prospect" thoroughly while he had an opportunity. To his mind, he had declared, the lead, or pay streak, ran back far into the base of the barren hills, and might yield almost untold of riches if worked properly. Among the supplies carried by the aeroplane, therefore, was a stock of dynamite from the red painted box. In the meantime Alverado had to be accepted perforce as a member of the party. In the first place, he showed no disposition to leave, and in the second, even had he done so, there was no horse or burro that could be spared for him to ride. When Mr. Bell heard of the new addition to the camp he was at first not best pleased. Every additional mouth meant an extra strain on their supplies, but he surrendered to the inevitable, and finally remarked: "Oh, well, I guess he'll be useful enough about the place. Anyhow, if we need him we can put him to work in the mine." Peggy and Jess had accompanied Roy over in the aeroplane to the mine, but Mr. Bell insisted on their returning. "This is not work for women or girls," he said, much to Peggy's inward disgust. Jess, with her daintier ideas, however, was nothing averse to the thought of getting back to the creature comforts of the permanent camp in the willows. "But who's going to get you back, I'd like to know," exclaimed Mr. Bell, shoving back his sombrero and scratching his head perplexedly; "it's important, for reasons you know of, that I should prospect this claim so that I can record it to the limit, and to do that I'll need Roy. Maybe after all, you'd better stay." Peggy's eyes danced delightedly, but Jess spoiled it all by saying: Why, Peggy can run the aeroplane better than either Roy or Jimsy, Mr. Bell." "O-h-h! Jess!" shouted Roy derisively. "Well, she can, and you know it, too," declared Jess loyally. "Why that's so, isn't it?" cried Mr. Bell, glad of this way out of his difficulty. After that there was nothing for Peggy to do but to give in gracefully. The two girls were ready to start back when Mr. Bell reached into his pocket and drew forth a bit of carefully folded paper. "I'll entrust this to you," he said to Peggy; "it's for my brother. It's a correct description of the mine's location so far as we have explored it. The plan is a duplicate one, and I'll feel safer if I know that, beside the original, my brother has a copy. In the event of one being lost a lot of work would be saved." Soon after this, adieus were said, and the aeroplane soared high into the clear, burning air above the desolate ridges. Under Peggy's skillful hands the plane fairly flew. At the pace they proceeded it was not long before the willows, a dark clump amid the surrounding ocean of glittering waste, came into view. A veteran of the air could not have made a more accurate or an easier landing that did Peggy. The big machine glided to the ground as softly as a feather, just at the edge of the patch of shade and verdure which made up Steer Wells. That afternoon, after the midday meal, a cloud of dust to the southward excited everybody's attention. After scanning the oncoming pillar closely Alverado announced that it was caused by a party of horsemen, and it soon became evident that the willow clump was their destination. "Oh, mercy, I do hope they aren't Indians and we shall all be murdered in our beds!" cried Miss Prescott in considerable alarm. The good lady clasped her hands together distractedly. "We might be murdered in our hammocks, aunt," observed Peggy, indicating two gaudy specimens of the hanging lounges which had been suspended under the shade; "but only very lazy people could be murdered in bed at two o'clock in the afternoon." "You know perfectly well what I mean," Miss Prescott began with dignity, when Alverado, who, like the rest, had been watching the advancing cavalcade eagerly, suddenly announced: "They vaqueros--cowboys!" "Cowboys!" shrilled Miss Prescott. "That's worse. Oh, dear, I wish I'd never come to the land of the cowboys!" "You speak as if they were some sort of animal, aunt," laughed Peggy. "I daresay there is no reason to be alarmed at them. I've always heard that they were very courteous and deferential to ladies." "What would cowboys be doing away out here where there isn't a cow or a calf or even an old mule in sight?" inquired Jess. "Maybe on wild horse hunt," rejoined Alverado with a shrug. "Are there wild horses hereabouts then?" asked old Mr. Bell, and then quite absent-mindedly he began murmuring: "Masseppa, Masseppa tied to a wild horse; In the way of revenge, as a matter of course." "Plentee wild horse," was the Mexican's rejoinder. "They cross the desert sometimes to get fresh range. Cowboy trail them and cut them off and lasso them. Then they break them to ride." "Oh, what a shame!" cried Peggy, impulsively. "No shame go-od," declared the Mexican stolidly; "bye an' bye wild horse all gone. Good." "I think it's hateful," declared Jess; "just the same I should like to see a wild horse hunt," she added with girlish inconsistence. "So should I if they'd let them all go again," agreed Peggy. Old Mr. Bell laughed, for which he was gently reproved by Miss Prescott. "I shall bring this matter to the attention of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals back home," she said somewhat snappishly. But there was no opportunity to exchange more remarks on the subject. Uttering a shrill series of "ye-o-o-ows" the riders bore down on the little desert camp. From the heaving sides of the ponies, plastered with the gray alkali of the desert, clouds of steam were rising. Their riders, with mouths screened from the biting dust with red handkerchiefs, were seemingly engaged in a race for the willow clump where water and shade awaited them. "Yip-yip-y-e-e-e-e-e-e!" The sound came raucously from behind a dozen bandaged mouths as the band swept down oil tile camp. And then suddenly: Bang! Bang! Bang! A volley of revolver shots resounded as the jubilant horse hunters-- as Alverado had shrewdly suspected they were--dashed forward. "Oh, Land of Goshen!" screamed Miss Prescott, as, with her fingers in her ears, she fled into her tent and pulled the flap to. Peggy and Jess stood their ground boldly enough, although Jess's face turned rather pale and her breath heaved in perturbation. "Keep still, honey, they won't hurt you," comforted Peggy amid the uproar. Suddenly the leader of the horsemen drew his pony up abruptly, throwing the cat-like little beast almost back upon his haunches. "Boys! Ladies!" he shouted. Instantly every sombrero came off and was swept round each rider's head in a broad circle. It was a pretty bit of homage and the girls bowed in acknowledgment of it. "Hooray!" yelled the horsemen as they flung themselves from their steaming but still active little mounts. "They're not so bad after all," breathed Jess, still, however, clinging to Peggy's shirt-waisted arm. But the leader, hat in hand, was now advancing toward the two girls. The others hung back looking rather sheepish. They were not in the habit of meeting ladies, and to encounter two young and pretty girls in the midst of the alkali was evidently a shock to them. The leader was a stalwart figure of a man, who might have stepped from the advertising matter of a Wild West show. Leather chaparejos encased his long legs. Round his throat was loosely knotted the red handkerchief which they all wore when riding to protect their mouths and nostrils from the dust. His shirt was once blue, but it was so covered with the gray of the alkali that it was difficult to tell what color it might have been originally. For the rest he wore a big sombrero, the leather band of which was spangled with stars worked in silver wire, and a pair of workmanlike-looking gauntlets covered his hands. "Beg pardon, ladies, for makin' sich a rough house," he said hesitating, "but, yer see, ther boys wall we didn't hardly expec' ter fin' ladies present." "I'm sure we enjoyed it very much," rejoined Peggy quite at ease and her own cool self now "It was like--er--like Buffalo Bill--" "Only more so," put in Jess, with her most bewitching smile. "Um--er--quite so," rejoined the plainsman, rather more at ease now; "ye see, we're a party that's out on a horse hunt. We got on ther tracks of the band ther other side of ther San Quentin range, and figgering thet they'd cut across here ter git to ther feeding grounds on ther Pablo range on t'other side of ther desert we stopped in here fer water an' shade." "My name's Bud Reynolds," he volunteered tentatively. Peggy took the hint conveyed. "And we are part of a scientific exploring party," she said. "College gals, by gee!" breathed Bud in what he thought was an inaudible aside. "The party is in charge of Mr. James Bell. This is his brother, Mr. Peter Bell--" "Glad ter meet yer, I'm sure," said Bud with a low bow as the poet hermit stepped forward. "I am Miss Margaret Prescott; this is my chum, Miss Bancroft, and there is my aunt, Miss Sally Prescott--" Peggy, with a perfectly grave face, indicated Miss Prescott's tent, from between the flaps of which that New England lady's spectacled countenance was peering. "Come out, auntie," she added. "Oh, Peggy, is it perfectly safe?" queried Miss Prescott anxiously. "Safe, mum!" exclaimed Bud expansively. "If it was any safer you'd hav ter send fer ther perlice. Jes becos we're rough and ain't got on full evenin' dress you musn't think we're dangerous, mum," he went on more gravely. "I'll warrant you'll fin' better fellers right here on ther alkali than on Fit' Avenoo back in New York." "Oh, do you come from New York," cried the romantic Jess, scenting what she would have called "a dear of a story." "A long time ago I did," rejoined Bud slowly. "But come on, boys," he resumed with a return to his old careless manner, "come up an' be interduced." The others, hats in hand, shuffled forward. It was plainly a novel experience for them. "And now," said Peggy cheerfully, when the ceremony had been concluded, "you all look dreadfully tired and hot. The water hole's right over there. When you've got off some of that dust we shall have something for you to eat and some coffee." This announcement took the horse hunters by storm. With yips and whoops they dashed off to the water hole, while Miss Sally and old Peter Bell began to prepare a hasty meal for the unexpected visitors. CHAPTER XII THE WATER THIEVES It was an hour or more later when, having inspected the aeroplane and marveled much thereat, the horse hunters arose to take their leave. They would have to press on, they explained, to reach the rendezvous of the wild horses in the San Pablo range. These hills lay far to the northeast. Bud perspiringly made the farewell speech. "Thankin' you one and all," he began, with perhaps a vague recollection of the last circus he had seen, and there he stopped short. "Anyhow we thanks you," he said, getting a fresh start and jerking the words out as if they had been shots from a revolver. "It ain't every day we has a pleasure like this here hes bin--" "Hooray!" yelled the other horse hunters, who, already mounted, stood behind their leader at the edge of the willows. "An'--an'--wall, ther desert hes dangers uv its own an' if at any time Bud Reynolds er ther boys kin help yer out send fer them to ther San Pablo Range and if we're thar we'll be with yer ter ther last bank uv ther last ditch." With a sigh of relief Bud flung himself upon his pony and drove the spurs home. Amidst a tornado of yells and shouts the rest, waving their sombreros wildly, dashed off after him. In a few moments they were only a cloud of dust on the alkali. "I declare I feel kind of sad now they're gone," said Miss Sally after an interval of silence. "Rough diamonds," opined old Mr. Bell guardedly. "But they've got warm, big hearts," stoutly declared Peggy. "I wish�" She stopped abruptly. "Wish what, Peggy dear?" asked Jess, noting the troubled look that had crept over her chum's face. "Oh, nothing at all," rejoined Peggy. But she was not speaking the whole truth, for the girl had been thinking what a bulwark of strength Bud and his followers would have been against the vague menace of Red Bill. It was late that night--after midnight as well as Peggy could judge--that she was awakened by Jess bending over her cot in the tent that both girls shared. "O-h-h! Peggy, Peggy! I'm frightened!" wailed the girl aviator's chum. "Frightened? Of what dear?" asked Peggy wide awake in an instant. "I--I don't just know," quavered Jess, "but, Oh, Peggy, you'll think I'm an awful 'fraid cat, but I'm absolutely certain I heard footsteps, stealthy footsteps outside just now." "Nonsense, girlie. It must have been a nightmare," rejoined Peggy with sharp assurance. "I might have thought so," went on Jess, "but I looked out through the flap of the tent to make sure and I'm certain as that I'm standing here now that I saw some figures on horseback over by the water hole." "Perhaps another party of horse hunters," suggested Peggy soothingly. "But, Peggy dear, they made hardly any noise. That is, the horses I mean. I heard men's footsteps, but after a minute they mounted and rode off, and--oh, it was too ghostly for anything--they made no noise at all." "You mean you couldn't hear any sound of the ponies' hoofs?" asked Peggy incredulously. "No, they moved in absolute silence. Peggy, you don't think it was anything supernatural, do you?" For answer Peggy drew her revolver from under her pillow and tiptoed to the tent flap. It faced the water hole and in the bright white moonlight a clear view of it could be obtained. But after a prolonged scrutiny Jess's plucky chum was unable to make out any objects other than the usual ones appertaining to the camp. "Imagination, my dear," she said, with positiveness. But Jess still shuddered and seemed under the influence of some strange fear. "It was not imagination, Peggy. It wasn't it really wasn't." "Well, we'll look in the morning and if we find tracks we shall know that you are right, and we'll get the boys back for a while anyhow," reassured Peggy. But in the morning it was Alverado who came to the tent and in an excited voice asked to see "missee" at once. Peggy hastily completed dressing and emerged, leaving Jess still asleep. Something warned her that it would be best not to arouse her chum just then. "What is it, Alverado?" she asked, as the Mexican, betraying every mark of agitation, hastened to her side. "Santa Maria, missee," breathed the Mexican, "water almost all gone!" "The water is almost all gone?" quavered Peggy, beginning to sense what was coming. "Yes, missee. Me go there this morning and--Madre de Dios--the water hole almost empty." "Were there any tracks?" inquired Peggy anxiously. "Plenty tracks, but the man's had the cavallos' feet bundled in sacks so make no noise--leave no tracks." "Let me have a look." With Alverado at her side Peggy hastened toward the water hole. She could hardly repress an exclamation of alarm as she gazed at the hole. Bare six inches of muddy water was on the bottom, where the day before there had been a foot or more. All about were vague blotty-looking tracks which showed plainly enough the manner in which the marauders had concealed all noise of their movements. The muffled hoofs would naturally give forth no sound. "So Jess was right after all," breathed Peggy softly; "but who could have done such a thing? And why?" But the latter question had not framed itself in her mind before it was answered. Without water they would not be able to exist at Steer Wells for twenty-four hours. A retreat would be equally impracticable. It was all horribly clear. The theft of the water was the first step in a deliberate plan to drive them out. The motive, too, was plain enough in the light of the overheard conversation at the National Hotel. The men who wanted Mr. Bell's mine had waited till he had located it before striking their first blow. What would their next be? Peggy's pulses throbbed and the grove seemed to blur for an instant. But the next moment she was mistress of herself again. Clearly there was only one thing to do. Lay the whole matter before Mr. Bell. "Alverado," said Peggy quietly, "after breakfast I am going to the range over yonder. You must guard the camp." "Yes, missee," replied the Mexican; "I take care of him with--with my life."' "I am sure you will," said Peggy in her most matter-of-fact tones, "and in the mean time say nothing to anyone else about what you have found. Bring up the water for breakfast yourself and don't let Mr. Bell come near the water hole if you can help it." "It shall be as the senorita wishes," rejoined Alverado in low tones; but there was a ring in his voice that told Peggy that she could trust the brown-skinned "Mestizo" to the utmost. CHAPTER XIII DANGER THREATENS Somewhat more than two hours later Peggy brought her aeroplane to the ground in the arroyo which had been the scene of the battle with the coyotes. The girl could not help giving an involuntary shudder as she thought of the narrow escape they had had on that occasion. But in the light of the other and more serious menace which now hung over them like a storm cloud, the adventure with the wild beasts faded into insignificance. Human enemies, more deadly perhaps than any of the animal kingdom, threatened, and if signs counted for anything it would be no long time before they would strike. Peggy had not been able to leave the camp without some resort to strategy. Naturally Jess had been anxious to come. But a quick flight had been imperative, and the presence of even one other person in the monoplane detracted somewhat from its speed. Then, too, Peggy had ached with her whole being to be alone--to think. She wanted to reconstruct everything in her mind so that when she told all to Mr. Bell there would be no confusion, no hesitancy in her story. Three sharp toots on the electric signaling horn the aeroplane carried--connected to a set of dry cells--resulted in an outpouring from the mine-hole of the three prospectors. Very business-like they looked, too, in khaki trousers, dust covered shirts and rolled up sleeves. "Well, well! Early visitors," exclaimed Mr. Bell jocularly, and then struck by Peggy's sober expression as she stepped from the car of the aeroplane he stopped short. "My dear child, what is it?" he demanded. "Where are the twin fairies of light that used to dance in your eyes?" "My goodness, Mr. Bell, you ought to have been a poet like your brother," laughed Roy coming forward with Jimsy to meet his sister. And then, like his senior, he, too, was struck by Peggy's anxious look. "What's the trouble, sis; bad news?" he asked. "Anything happened?" demanded Jimsy. "Oh, no, no; set your minds at rest on that," responded Peggy. "Everything is all right, at least--at least--" Her voice wavered a bit and Mr. Bell gently led her to a stool in front of the rough camp they had set up in the arroyo. "Now then, my dear," he said, "what is it?" Peggy faced her eager listeners, and, recovering from her momentary tremor, told her story from beginning to end in a clear, convincing way. "Do you think I did right in coming?" she concluded. Her gaze fell appealingly upon Mr. Bell. She did not wish this sinewy, wiry, self-reliant man to think that she was a victim of a school girl's hysterical fears. But the mining man's words speedily set her at ease on this point. "Think you did right!" he echoed, while a rather serious expression came over his face; "my dear girl, if you had not come to me I should have thought you did very wrong. You have made only one mistake and that was in not telling me before this time about what you overheard at the National House. This Red Bill, as they call him, is one of the most unscrupulous ruffians that cumber the face of the Nevada desert. In any other community he would have been brought up with a round turn long ago. But here," he shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose after all," he went on, "it's the old story of who'll bell the cat." "Do you think that we are in serious danger?" inquired Jimsy. His eyes were round as saucers and his usually good natured face look troubled. "Well, not in serious danger, my boy," rejoined Mr. Bell; "but, just between us four, mind, it behooves us to use all speed in getting the title of this mine recorded. This Red Bill is as resourceful as a fox, and what Miss Peggy has told us shows that he is closer on our trail than I should have imagined possible. The draining of the water hole is unfortunate in two ways. If, as I now suspect, he is camped in the hills to the east of the camp, it is plain that he has secured a supply of water sufficient to last him for some time. And this cuts both ways, for his gain in that respect means our loss. The more water he has the less we have. That much is clear." "Clear as mud," said Jimsy ruefully; but his tone robbed the words of any humorous significance. "You have reached a decision, Mr. Bell?" asked Roy. The boy had not spoken yet. Mr. Bell's mouth closed in a firm line and his chin came out in what Peggy described to herself as "a fighting bulge." "Yes," he said with characteristic vim, "I have. Steer Wells will not be safe after daylight to-day for the women of the party. Red Bill is dastard enough, through an attack on them, to try to intimidate me. We must shift to try to camp at once." "But where?" The question came blankly from Jimsy. "Here. We have a moderate supply of water and there is feed of a kind. Enough at least to keep the stock alive till our work is completed. You see," he continued, turning to Peggy, "the boys and I have struck a very interesting lead. How far it goes I have no idea, but my mining experience teaches me that it is an offshoot of the mother lode. Until we have tapped that I don't want to file a claim." Peggy nodded her head sagely. "I see," she said, "you don't want to file your claim and then have somebody else squat down beside you and win the biggest prize of all." "That's it exactly," said Mr. Bell, "but the question in my mind is whether I am right in exposing you, Miss Bancroft and Miss Prescott to what may be peril. And yet--" He broke off and a troubled expression crept over his weather-beaten face. "And yet," Peggy finished for him, "there's no way for us to go back now without abandoning the mine." "That's it. But if you--" "I vote to stick by the mine." There was no hesitation in Peggy's voice now. Mr. Bell's keen gray eyes kindled. "You're a girl of real grit," he said, "but the others?" "I'll answer for them. Miss Prescott need not know anything of the danger. After all, it may amount to nothing. As for Jess, she has as much, and more, nerve than I have." "When it comes to eating ice cream," put in Jimsy irrelevantly. Peggy, glancing about her, could not but reflect at the moment what a strange contrast the scene about them offered to the peaceful landscape and commonplace adventures of hum-drum Long Island. Not but what the Girl Aviators had had their meed of excitement there, too, as readers of the "Girl Aviators and the Phantom Airship" well know. But in the scoriated hills with their scanty outcropping of pallid wild oats, the fire-seered acclivities and the burning blue of the desert heavens above all, she beheld a setting entirely foreign to anything in her experience. "It's like Remington's pictures," she thought to herself as she gazed at the roughly clad group about her, the shabby tent, the mining implements cast about carelessly here and there and the smoldering fire with the blackened cooking pots beside it. Only one sharply modern note intruded-the two big, yellow-winged monoplanes. Even they appeared, in this wild, outre setting, to have taken on the likenesses of giant scarabs, monsters indigenous to the baked earth and starving vegetation. She was roused from her reverie by Mr. Bell's voice cutting incisively the half unconscious silence into which they had lapsed. "Roy, you and your sister will take the monoplane in which Miss Peggy rode over and bring Miss Prescott, Miss Bancroft and my brother over at once." "But the stock and Alverado?" The question came from Peggy. "Alverado, as you call him, can drive the stock across the desert. It should not take him more than twenty-four hours if he presses right ahead. We can send out an aeroplane scouting party for him if he appears to be unduly delayed." After some more discussion along the same lines Roy, nothing loth for an aerial dash after his hard work in the mine hole, made ready for the trip. From a locker he drew out his solar helmet and goggles and advised Peggy to don her sun spectacles also. But Peggy, as on several previous occasions, declined positively to put on the smoked glasses designed to protect the eyes from the merciless glare of the desert at noon day. "They'd make me look like a feminine Sherlock Holmes," she declared stoutly. "I hope that you won't take it amiss if I say that you have already proved yourself one, and a good one, too," laughed Mr. Bell as the brother and sister clambered into the chassis. But as Roy adjusted his levers for the rise from the depths of the sun-baked arroyo Mr. Bell held up his hand. "One moment," he said, "bring back some of the dynamite with you. We're almost out of it and it's needed badly. We've got to blast through that streak of hard pan." "We'll bring it," nodded Roy, "although I'm not going to tell Aunt Sally about it. I guess she wouldn't be best pleased at the idea of traveling in company with such a dangerous cargo." As he spoke the propeller began to whir, and after a brief run, the monoplane took the air, rising in a graceful angle toward the burning blue. As they rose above the hills a reddish haze that overspread the horizon became distinctly visible. Peggy viewed it with a little apprehension. "I hope that doesn't portend another electrical storm," she said rather anxiously, leaning forward and addressing her brother. Roy shook his head. "Guess it's just heat haze," he decided. "Mr. Bell says that those dry storms don't often come twice in one season." "Well, let's be thankful for small mercies anyhow," said Peggy with a return to her former cheerfulness. The news that camp was to be broken at once and the base of operations removed to the hills, came as a shock to those left behind in the camp. Somehow the pleasant shelter of the ragged willows had become a sort of makeshift home to them, and the idea of winging to the barren hills was not pleasing. Miss Prescott, however, was the only one who made an open wail about it. Old Mr. Bell took it as stoically as he did most things. Only, as he hastened about the camp making preparations for the departure, he could have been heard humming: "We've got to go far, far away, To the mountains, so they say; I hate to leave the willows' shade, But Brother James must be obeyed." Alverado received his instructions with a silent shrug. He informed Roy and Peggy that there was just enough water left to fill the bags for the dash across the desert. He said no more, but there was a curious kind of reticence in his manner, as if he was holding back something he did not wish to express outwardly. It was not till everything was packed ready for the start, and old Mr. Bell and Miss Sally had been hoisted and dragged into the chassis, that he drew Roy apart and spoke. Peggy was included in the confidence. "While you gone I follow up tracks from the water hole," he said; "bime-by I come to place where sacks slip off one pony's feet. Then I see a track that I make stick in my memory long, long ago. That day they leave me for dead on the desert." He stooped and drew the outline of a peculiarly shaped hoof on the Alkali-impregnated dust. The boy and girl watched him curiously. "Well?" asked Peggy, and she and her brother hung on the answer. Alverado's face became overcast by a black look. His eyes glowed like two live coals. "I think then I never forget that track. I think the same to-day. The pony that made that track was ridden by Red Bill." CHAPTER XIV LOST! Good news awaited them on their return to the camp in the arroyo. Mr. Bell and Jimsy, while working in a desultory fashion on the vein while awaiting their return, had struck what is known in desert parlance as a water-pocket. They had at once set to work excavating a fair-sized hole in the floor of the mine tunnel, and by the way in which the water gushed in it appeared as if there was a plentiful supply to draw upon. It is hard to convey how much this bit of news raised their spirits. "Isn't it queer to think how just finding a little water will make you feel good out here, while at home all we had to do was to turn a faucet and we got all we wanted and never dreamed of being thankful for it," observed Jess philosophically. "Wish we could strike an ice-cream soda pocket," observed Jimsy, who was vigorously scouring the dust off his classic lineaments. "Say, girls, how would you like right now to hear the cool, refreshing 'fiz-z-z-z' of a fountain, and then hear the ice clink-clinking against the sides of a tall glass of say--lemonade or--" "Jimsy Bancroft, if you say any more we'll duck you head first in that water hole," said Peggy with decision. "Go ahead," answered Jimsy quite unperturbed, "a cold plunge would go fine right now."' "Well, we shall have to think up some other punishment for you," decided Jess; "a quarter mile dash across the desert, for instance." "Well, isn't that the utmost," snorted Jimsy; "here I try to cool you girls off by describing the delightful surroundings of a soda fountain and then you threaten me with bodily violence. 'Twas ever thus,'" and Jimsy, with an assumption of wounded dignity, strode off to where old Mr. Bell was already busy over the cooking fire. The midday meal passed off more brightly than might have been expected considering the circumstances in which the adventurers found themselves. "At all events, we can't starve an the desert," Jimsy, "even if we do run short of water." "How is that?" inquired old Mr. Bell innocently, although the twinkle in Jimsy's eye had put the others on their guard. "Because of the sand-wiches there," rejoined the lad with a laugh, in which the others could not help joining. "I don't care about sandwiches, particularly ham ones," struck in Miss Prescott ingenuously, which set them all off again. "Looks to me as if there might be a jack-rabbit or two in these hills," observed Mr. Bell after the meal had been dispatched. "I know it's not good form in the West to eat jack-rabbits, but they're not so bad if you kill them when they are young. Anyhow, it would be a change from this everlasting canned stuff." "I'll go," Roy declared; "I'll take that twenty two rifle and Peggy can carry that light twenty-gauge shotgun. It's just the thing for girls and children." "Oh, indeed," sniffed the embattled Peggy scornfully; "I suppose you think I can't handle a man's size gun?" "I didn't say so, my dear sister, and I humbly beg your pardon for anything I may have said which may have hurt your feelings," said Roy with a low and conciliatory bow; "what I meant was that the light twenty-gauge doesn't kick so hard and, moreover, won't blow a rabbit to pieces if you happen to hit him." "Happen to hit him!" shouted Jess, going into a convulsion of laughter. "Oh, you know what I mean well enough," protested Roy, coloring somewhat under his tan. "Want to come, Jimsy?" he asked, after a moment's pause. "Tramp over those old hills that look as baked as a loaf of overdone bread?" snorted Jimsy. "No, thank you. I'm going to stay home and read a nice book about Greenland's icy mountains." "And I," declared Jess, vivaciously, "am going to persuade Aunt Sally to make us some vanilla and strawberry ice cream." So Roy and Peggy set off alone on their tramp in quest of game. It did not look a promising country for hunting; but, as Mr. Bell had pointed out, an occasional jack rabbit might be met with. It was rough going over the rocks and heavy sand, but Peggy stuck to it manfully, and as a reward for her perseverance, had the honor of bringing down the first game--a small jack rabbit, young and tender, that bounded almost under her feet from the shade of the sage brush in which he had been lying. This put Roy on his mettle, and brother and sister wandered further than they had intended, urged on by the hope of further success. But no more game of any kind was put up, if we except one distant view they had of a sage hen. This bird was "sage" enough to take wing long before they came within shot of her. "Good gracious, that sun is lower than I thought," exclaimed Roy, suddenly awakening to the fact that they had wandered a considerable distance from the camp. Several of the monotonous ground-swells of the desert hills, in fact, separated them from it. "We'd better hurry back," declared Peggy, "they'll be worrying about us at the camp." But to talk about hurrying back and doing it were two different things. Roy discovered, to his dismay, that not only had he lost the location of the camp, but that their footsteps, by which they might have retrailed their path, had been obliterated in the shifting sands. He said nothing to his sister, however, for several minutes, but plodded steadily on in the direction in which his judgment told him the arroyo of the gold mine lay. It was Peggy herself who broke the ice. "Roy, do you know where you are going?" Roy stammered a reply in what was meant to be a confident tone. But he felt it did not deceive the gray-eyed girl at his side. Evasion was useless. "Frankly, I don't, sis. Everything seems to have twisted around since we came this way earlier in the afternoon. I thought we could use the tops of the rises for land marks, but they all look as much alike as so many sea-waves." A sharp shock, which was actually physically painful, shot through Peggy at the words. The sun, a red-hot copper ball, hung in livid haze almost above the western horizon. On every side of them were scoriated hills, desolate, forbidding, sinister in the dying day, and all fatally similar in form. "We must try shooting. Perhaps they will hear us," suggested Peggy, a sickening sense of fear--fear unlike any she had ever known--clutching at her heart. Roy blazed away, but the feeble reports of the light weapons they had did not carry to any distance. Indeed, it was only the necessity of doing something that had impelled Peggy to make the suggestion. All at once an uncanny thing happened. A big, black desert raven flew up with a scream, almost under their feet, and soared above their heads, screeching hoarsely. To such a tension were their nerves strung that both boy and girl started and hastily stepped back. "Ugh, what a fright that thing gave me," exclaimed Peggy with a shudder that she could not control. "Nasty looking beast, and that cry of his isn't beautiful," commented Roy in as easy a tone as he could assume. "Alverado told me that those desert ravens were inhabited by the souls of those who had lost their way and perished on the alkali," shivered Peggy. "Say, sis, don't be creepy. You surely don't believe all the rot those superstitious Mexicans talk, do you?" "No, not exactly--but--oh, Roy," even plucky Peggy's voice broke and quavered, "it's so lonely, and whatever are we to do?" The last words came wildly. Peggy was not, as we know, a nervous girl, but the situation was enough to unstring the nerves of the most stolid of beings. CHAPTER XV THE PERILS OF THE HILLS Suddenly Roy gave a sharp exclamation. Something about a cone-shaped peak to the west of them appeared familiar. "The camp is in that direction, I'm sure of it," he declared, "come on, Peg, we'll strike out for it, and in half an hour's time we'll be telling our adventures over a good supper." By this time Peggy was willing to start anywhere if she was moderately sure the camp lay in that direction, and Roy's enthusiasm was contagious. Filled with renewed hope the brother and sister struck out for the cone-shaped peak. Its naked base showed violet in the evening shadows, while its sharply rounded top was bathed in a rosy glow of light. Even in her agitation Peggy could not help admiring the wonderful palette of colors into which the dying day transformed the dreary desert sea. Beyond the range the vast expanse of solitude spread glitteringly. All crimson and violet, with deep purple marking the depressions in its monotonous surface, and here and there the dry bed of one of its spasmodic lakes, showing almost black in its obscurity. These lakes were water-filled only in the early spring, and their moisture had long since died out of them. Under a noon-day sun they showed like shallow bowls filled with scintillating crystals. But, had they known it, Roy and Peggy were striking out on a course precisely opposite to that which they should have taken. Every step of the advance to the sugar-loaf shaped peak was a step in the wrong direction. Like many other travelers, whose bones whiten on the alkali, they had become confused by the monotonous similarity of one feature of the dreary hills to the other. The true extent of their blunder did not dawn upon them till they had reached the foot of the queer peak, and even the most minute survey of their surroundings failed to show them any trace of the camp. No cheerful glow of a fire illumined the fast darkening sky. For all the signs of human life they could discover, they might have been alone in a dead world. In fact, the scenery about them did resemble very closely those maps of the moon--the dead planet--which we see in books of astronomy. There were the same jagged, weird peaks, the same dark centers, dead and extinct, and the same brooding hush of mystery which we associate with such scenes. Somewhere off in the distance a coyote howled dismally as the sun rushed under the horizon and the world was bathed in sudden darkness. Peggy turned to her brother with a low little moan. She caught her arms about his neck and hung there sobbing. In his solicitude for her, Roy forgot his own dismay and misery, which was perhaps a good thing, for by the time Peggy recovered herself, the boy was already casting about for some means of passing the night as comfortably as possible. "We'll stick it out till daylight some how, Peg," he promised, "and I'm confident that by that time they'll send up one of the monoplanes, and from up in the air they'll have no difficulty in locating us." The thought was a comforting one, and Peggy's first flush of passionate grief and fear gave way to calmer feelings. No doubt it would be as Roy had forecast. After all, she argued, it was only one night in the open, and they had their weapons and plenty of ammunition. By a stroke of good luck, Roy had stuffed his pockets full of the hard round biscuits known as "pilot bread" before they left the camp. He also had matches and a canteen full of water. Poor Peggy still carried the lone jack-rabbit, the trophy of her gun, and Roy at once set about grubbing up sage brush and making a fire with the oleaginous roots as he had seen Mr. Bell do. Before long a roaring blaze was ready, and then the boy began the task of skinning and preparing the rabbit for cooking. Peggy turned away during this operation, but summoned up fortitude enough to gaze on while her brother spitted the carcass on the cleaning rod of his rifle and broiled it in primitive fashion. "First call for dinner in the dining car forward!" he announced in as gay a voice as he could command when the cooking seemed to be finished. "The first course is broiled jack rabbit with pilot bread and delicious, sparkling alkali water. The second course is broiled jack rabbit with--" "Oh, Roy, don't," cried Peggy half hysterically; "it reminds me of the train and the good times we had on the way out from the East. We didn't think then that--" "Let me give you some broiled jack-rabbit," proffered Roy, gallantly extending a bit of smoking meat on the end of his knife. Peggy bit it daintily, expecting to make a wry face over it, but to her surprise she found it not half bad. Between them, the two hungry young people speedily reduced that rabbit to first principles. "And now for dessert," exclaimed Roy, in a triumphant voice. "No, I'm not joking--look here!" He drew from his pocket a flat, pink box which, on being opened, proved to contain several cakes of chocolate of Peggy's favorite brand. "Oh, dear," sighed Peggy as she nibbled away at the confection, "if only I knew positively that we were going to come out all right I'd really be inclined to enjoy this as a picnic." "Hooray! here comes the moon," cried Roy, after an interval, during which the chocolate steadily diminished in quantity. Over the eastern horizon, beyond the desolate peaks and barren "ocean" of the desert, a silver rim crept. Rapidly it rose till the full moon was climbing on her nightly course and flooding the alkali with a soft radiance almost as bright as subdued electric light. Against the glow the weird, ragged peaks stood out as blackly as if cut out of cardboard. One could see the tracery of every bit of brush and rock outlined as plainly as if they had been silhouetted by an artist at the craft. All at once Peggy gave a frightened little cry and shrank close to Roy. The firelight showed her face drawn and startled. "Oh, Roy, over there! No, not that peak--that one to the right!" "Well, sis, what about it?" asked Roy indulgently. "Something moved! No, don't laugh, I'm sure of it." "A coyote maybe or another jack rabbit. In that case we'll have a chance at a shot." "No, Roy, it wasn't an animal." Peggy's tones were vibrant with alarm--tense as a taut violin string. "What I saw was a man." "A man. Nonsense! Unless it was someone from the camp looking for us." "No, this man was watching us. He may have been crouching there for a long time. I saw the outline of his sombrero black against the moonlight behind that rise. Oh, Roy, I'm frightened." "Rubbish," declared Roy stoutly, although his heart began to beat uncomfortably fast. "What man could there be here unless it was Alverado, and he couldn't possibly have arrived by this time." "But, Roy, it wasn't my fancy. Truly it wasn't. I saw a man crouching there and watching us. When I looked up he vanished." "Must have been a rock or something, sis. Moonlight plays queer tricks you know. Don't let's make the situation any worse by imagining things." "It was not imagination," repeated Peggy stoutly. But Roy, perhaps because he did not wish to, would not admit the possibility of Peggy's vision being correct. A long, loud cry like the laughing of an imprisoned soul cut the stillness startlingly. "Ki-yi-yi-yi-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" "Coyotes!" laughed Roy, "that's what you saw." Peggy said nothing. The sudden sharp sound had rasped her overwrought nerves cruelly. "Ki-yi-yi-yi-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" The demoniacal laughing, half howl, half bark, cut the night again. This time it came from a different direction. From other grim peaks the cry was caught up. It seemed that the creatures were all about them. "Surrounded!" muttered Roy a bit nervously. He had not forgotten the fight in the canyon, although, as he knew, coyotes, only on the very rarest occasions, when driven desperate by hunger, attack mankind. The cries appeared to come from all quarters now. And they were drawing nearer, course lay to the eastward there was no mistaking that. "They are closing in on us, sis. Better load up that gun." As he spoke Roy refilled the magazine of his little twenty-two rifle. "Ki-yi-yi-yi-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" This time the cry was quite close and behind them. Roy switched sharply round. The surroundings, the uncanny cries, the solitude were beginning to tell on his nerves, too. His self-control was being wrought to a raw edge. Was it fancy, or as he switched abruptly about did he actually see a dark object duck behind a rock? An object that bore a strange resemblance to a sombrero. "Good gracious, I musn't become as shaky as this," the boy thought, making a desperate effort to marshal his faculties, and then he sniffed sharply. "What is it, Roy?" asked Peggy strangely calm now in the face of what she deemed must prove an emergency. Roy's answer was peculiar. "I smelled tobacco just now, I'm sure of it," he whispered in a low tone. "I guess you were right, sis." "But the coyotes?" "Are men signaling to each other and closing in on us." As he spoke the boy scattered the fire, and seizing Peggy by the arm dragged her into the black shadow of the cone-shaped peak. CHAPTER XVI RED BILL SUMMERS A keen chill, sharp as if an icy wind had swept her, embraced Peggy. It was succeeded by a mad beating of her heart. Roy said nothing but clutched his rifle. He jerked it to his shoulder as, out of the shadows, a figure emerged sharp and black against the moonlight. As if she were in a trance Peggy saw Roy's hand slide under the barrel of the little repeater and then came the sharp click of the repeating mechanism, followed by the snap of the hammer as it fell forward. But no report followed. "Jammed!" exclaimed the boy desperately. At the same moment the figure approaching them, which for an instant had vanished behind a shoulder of rock, emerged boldly, the moonlight playing on a revolver barrel pointed menacingly at the brother and sister. "No foolin' thar, youngsters," came a harsh voice; "we've got you where we want you." Coincidently from all about them the rocks seemed to spawn figures, till half a dozen men in rough plainsman's garb stood in the moonlight. Resistance was useless; worse, it might have resulted in a calamity more dire than the one that had overtaken them. But curiously enough the very hopelessness of their situation inspired in Peggy a far different feeling to the terror that had clutched at her heart a moment before. She was conscious of a swift tide of anger. In one of the figures she had recognized the renegade guide. "Juan--you!" she exclaimed in tones in which scorn struggled with indignation. The guide turned away. Even his effrontery wilted before the young girl's frank contempt. It was all clear enough to Peggy now. Evidently, Juan had been bribed by these men to stay with the party till he had learned their plans, which he was then to betray to the band. For, in the moonlight Peggy had had no difficulty in recognizing the men whose conversation she had overheard at the National House. There was the red-headed man, with his coarse, bristling crop of hair, and the mustache like the stumpy bristles of an old tooth brush, the tall, dark young fellow with the red sash and the silver spurs, poor Peggy's "romantic brigand," and the hawk-nosed man with the drooping mustache, who had formed the red-headed one's companion on the train. "Hearn of Red Bill Summers, I op-ine," shot out the man with the red hair in a voice that rasped like a file on rusty iron. "I think so," rejoined Roy quietly, and Peggy rejoiced to hear her brother's calm, steady tones. "Wall, I'm him. You treat me right and don't make no fuss an' we'll git along all right. If not--" He paused significantly. "Whar's Buck Bellew?" The red-headed one gazed about him. From the shadows stepped Peggy's "romantic brigand." "Buck, you put a couple of half hitches about them kids." "The gal, too?" hesitated the silver-spurred one addressed as "Buck." "Sure. Didn't I tell yer to." "Wa-al, I won't. That's flat. I ain't never persecuted women folks an' I ain't goin' ter start now." Red Bill Summers paused and then grumbled out: "All right, then. She kin ride the greaser's horse. Juan, you yellow-skinned bronco, go git ther ponies." Juan flitted off and presently reappeared, leading half a dozen wiry little ponies. In the meantime the remainder of the band had gathered about Roy and Peggy, regarding them with frank curiosity. Except that their weapons were taken away from them no harm was offered them however, and Roy had not, so far, even been tied up. "This isn't a bit like the story-book hold-ups", thought Peggy. "If it wasn't for their rough clothes and fierce looks these men wouldn't be so very different from anyone else." "Now, miss, I'll help you to mount. Sorry we ain't got a side saddle, but we don't hev much use fer such contraptions with our outfit." It was the red-sashed man speaking. He held out a stirrup for Peggy, and the girl, perforce, mounted the pony. She caught herself wondering as she did so what her friends at home in the East would have thought if they could have seen her at the moment. It was Roy's turn next. Brother and sister were permitted to ride side by side. Juan, to Peggy's secret satisfaction, was compelled to give up his burro to one of the outlaws while he tramped along. "Serves him right," thought the girl. The man whose pony Roy bestrode leaped nimbly into the saddle behind Buck Bellew. Hardly a word was spoken, but their captors closed in silently about the boy and the girl prisoners. "Death Valley," ordered Red Bill briefly, swinging himself into the saddle. Peggy guessed that the sinisterly named place must be their destination. Amid the maze of pinnacles, minarets and spires of the desert range the horsemen forged slowly forward. From the fact that they traveled toward the newly risen moon Peggy surmised that their course lay to the eastward . But presently it shifted and they began moving north. "Where can we be going?" Peggy found an opportunity to exchange a word or two with Roy. Owing to the rough nature of the ground their rear guard had, of necessity, fallen back a bit. "No idea, sis. One thing seems certain, however, they don't mean to harm us, at least not yet." The rear guard closed up again, necessitating silence once more. All night they traveled, ambling at the plainsman's "trotecito" when opportunity offered, and then again slacking to a crawling walk where the baked ground grew uneven and criss-crossed with gullies and arroyos. At last, when Peggy's head was beginning to sway with exhaustion, the eastern sky began to grow gray. The coming day lit up the desert wanly, as if it had been a leaden sea. But with the uprising of the sun the familiar glaring white of the alkali blazed out once more. They had left the pinnacled hills and were now traveling over undulating country overgrown with rough brush. It was a sad, drab color, and smelled pungently where the ponies' hooves trampled it. But presently they broke into a different country. It was flatter than that which they had already traversed and, if possible, more desolate, sun-bleached and parched. The ponies stumbled over loose shale, raising clouds of suffocating dust that tingled in the nostrils. Down they rode into its basin-like formation. All about the depression arose the craggy, stripped hills. Their jagged peaks seemed to shut out the rest of the world and compress the universe into this baked, burning basin in the desert. Across the bottom of it the alkali swept in little vagrant puffs, proceeding from the gaps of the hills. It piled in little gray heaps like ashes. The air hung steady and still as a plumb line dropped from the sky. "We've got ter git across hyar muy pronto, (very quickly)," grunted the red-headed man, whose perspiring, fat face was coated gray with dust and alkali. "What a hole fer white men ter be in." "It's like a busted heat-blister on a big piecrust," commented Buck Bellew, whose jauntiness had wilted. His red sash was of a piece now with the rest of his garments-a dirty, dull gray. After a while a hot wind sprang up. It felt like the heated blast from an opened oven door. It tore in mad witch-dances about the dismal basin, sending whirling dust-devils dancing over that dreary place. They spread, gyrated, swelled to giant mushroom shape, and died down in a monstrous ballet. Peggy felt her senses slipping under the strain. But she kept a tight rein on herself. "I must brace up for Roy's sake," she thought. She stole a glance at her brother. Roy, despite his plight and the dust which enveloped him, was tight-lipped and defiant. No sign of a breakdown appeared on his features, for which Peggy breathed a prayer of thanks. "After all, God is near us even in this dreadful place," she thought, and the reflection comforted her strangely. Across the bottom of the bowl men and animals crawled like flies round the base of a pudding basin. From time to time the water kegs on the back of Juan's burro were sparingly tapped. At such times Buck Bellew never failed to be at Peggy's side with a tin cup of the warm, unpalatable stuff. But at least it was liquid, and Peggy thanked the man with as cheerful an air as she could assume. But, unending as the progress across the red hot depression seemed to be, it came to an end at last, and the ponies began to climb the steep walls on the further side. At the summit, a surprise was in store for them--for Peggy and Roy that is. To the others the place was evidently familiar. Some rough huts, half of canvas and half of brush, showed that it had long been used as a rendezvous by the band. The spot was a perfect little amphitheatre in the barren hills. Green grass, actual green grass, covered its floor and wild oats grew on the hillsides in fair plentitude. From the further end of the enclosed oasis arose clouds of steam which they afterwards learned came from boiling hot springs. But the waters of the hot springs soon lost their heat, and in the course of years had watered this little spot till it literally--in comparison with its surroundings--blossomed like the rose. Red Bill Summers threw himself from his pony and, lying full length beside the creek that trickled through the valley from the springs above, he reveled in the water. When he had drunk his fill he stood erect. "Wa-al," he drawled, running his hand through his stubbly red crop, "I reckon we're home again." CHAPTER XVII A FRIEND IN NEED From one of the huts at the upper end of the miniature valley an odd figure emerged. It was garbed in a blue blouse and loose trousers of the same color. Embroidered slippers without heels caused a curious shuffling gait in the newcomer. As he drew closer Peggy and Roy perceived that he was a Chinaman. His queue was coiled upon the top of his skull, giving a queer expression to his stolid features, over which the yellow skin was stretched as tightly as parchment on a drum. "Here you, Ah Sing, hurry muchee quick and cook us a meal," roared Red Bill as he perceived the newcomer. "Alee litee," was the easy-going response, "me catchum plentee quick." The Oriental, who was by this time quite close, allowed his slant eyes to rest curiously on the two young prisoners. His mask-like face, however, betrayed no emotion of any kind, and with a guttural grunt he was off; apparently to set about his preparations for obeying the orders of the outlaw leader. Red Bill turned to Peggy and Roy, who had dismounted. "I'll speak to you two after we've eaten," he said; "in the meantime the young lady kin take that hut thar." He indicated a tumble-down structure near at hand. "It ain't a Fift' Avenoo mansion," he grinned, "but I reckon it'll hev ter do." Then he switched on Roy. "You boy," he growled, "you kin hev thet other shack. If you want ter wash up thar's a bucket. We've hot and cold water in these diggin's, too, so take yer choice. Hot's above, cold's below. An' one thing. You ain't goin' ter be closely watched. It ain't needful. You rec'lect that red-hot basin we come through?" As the questioner seemed to pause for an answer Roy nodded. "Wall the country all around hyar's jes' like that, so thet if yer moseyed you wouldn't stand a Chinaman's chance of gittin' away alive." Red Bill, with a vindictive grin, turned on his heel abruptly and stalked off, followed by the others. Peggy and Roy were left alone. Seemingly no restraint was to be put upon them. In fact, it appeared, as Red Bill had pointed out, that an attempted escape could only result fatally for them. "Whatever will Aunt Sally and the rest be thinking?" exclaimed Peggy as the rough looking group, talking and gesticulating among themselves, made toward the upper end of the valley. "Poor aunt! She must be in a terrible state of mind," rejoined Roy dejectedly. "If only we could have got word to her or Mr. Bell--" "In that case we could have taken it ourselves," wisely remarked Peggy; "well, brother mine, there is no use in borrowing trouble. Let's make the best of it. I've an idea that that redheaded man means to offer us some sort of a proposition after dinner." "Wish he'd offer us some dinner first; I'm ravenous." "Well, I couldn't eat a thing till I've got some of this dust off me, so please get me a bucket of water." "Say, look at that Chinaman eyeing us," broke off Roy suddenly; "wonder what's the matter with him?" "Guess he isn't used to visitors," suggested Peggy. "So this is where this gang, we heard talked about in Blue Creek, have been hiding themselves. No wonder the sheriff couldn't find them." "It's an ideal hiding place," agreed Roy, "far too ideal to suit us. I don't see how we'd ever get out of here without help." "Oh, as for that, I kept careful track of the way we came. I noted all the landmarks, and I really believe I could pick up the trail--is that the way you say it?--again." "Good for you. I hope we have a chance to try out your sense of observation. But I'm off to get that water. Say, that Chinaman's staring harder than ever. What do you suppose he wants?" "I haven't an idea. Opium perhaps. Don't they eat it or do something with it and then have beautiful dreams? I've heard--oh, Roy," the girl broke off breathlessly, "I've got it! You know that little jade god that Clara Cummings brought back from China with her when her father resigned as consul there?" "Yes. But what--" "Well, look here, you silly boy, I've got it on now. Look on my watch chain. I wonder if that could be what--what that Mongolian was regarding so closely?" "Maybe," responded Roy carelessly, "but now I'm really off to get that water. Hot or cold?" "Both!" cried Peggy. The spirits of youth are elastic, and even in their predicament Peggy found her heart almost singing within her at the beauty of the green little valley after their long, dusty journey over the alkali barrens. "After all," she assured herself, "I don't believe they mean us any real harm and--oh, what an adventure to tell about when we get home again." A refreshing wash and a hasty adjustment of her hair before a mirror in a tiny "vanity box," which shared the watch charm snap with the little jade god, served to still further raise Peggy's spirits. Red Bill Summers and his followers ate at the upper end of the valley, but the Chinaman brought food on an improvised board tray to the captives. Having set down two dishes of a steaming stew of some kind, flanked with coffee, sweetened and flavored with condensed milk, and real bread, the Oriental glanced swiftly about him. Red Bill and his companions were noisily convivial, and paying no attention to what was transpiring at the lower end of the valley. Like a flash the Chinaman slid to his knees and extending his hands above his head touched his forehead to the ground three times in front of Peggy. Then rising he exclaimed: "Melican girl, gleat joss, mighty joss. Ah Sing he come bymby. Goo'bye." He turned swiftly and silently in his silken slippers and glided off without a backward look. "Well, what do you make of that?" wondered Roy. "Oh, Roy, don't you see. He was worshiping this joss, as he calls Clara's little jade god. Just think, this may be a way out of it. If we can make him believe that--that--" "That we stand in with his josh--joss--what do you call it?--you mean that we can scare him into letting us have horses to-night and escaping. "How you do run ahead, Roy. I hadn't thought of that yet. But it might be done. He said he was coming back by and by. I wonder what he wants?" "Maybe your blessing," grinned Roy. "But come on. Let's tackle this stew while it's hot. It looks great to me after that jack-rabbit supper." "And this is bread--real bread, too!" cried Peggy, following Roy's example of "tackling the stew." It was ten minutes after the last mouthful had disappeared that the tall, red-sashed young outlaw came toward the shack in front of which brother and sister were seated. "The boss wants to see you," he said briefly, and signed to them to follow him. Red Bill Summers sat alone before the remains of the Chinese cook's dinner. The other outlaws were busied staking out their ponies and removing the dust and perspiration from the little animals' coats. Far off, like a lost spirit, the treacherous Juan with his burro, could be seen. From time to time he cast a covert glance toward Peggy and Roy. In his own country treachery such as he had shown would have been visited with death even if the avenger had to die for it himself the next minute. The outlaw chief looked up as his dapper follower came up with the young Easterners. "Grub all right?" he asked. "Not bad at all," responded Roy non-committally. He didn't want to show this red-headed law-breaker that he was afraid of him. "Wa-al, thet's jes' a sample of ther way I'm willin' ter treat yer as long ez you're here. I've got a hard name around ther alkali, but I ain't ez black ez I'm painted." To this the two young prisoners made no reply, and Red Bill looked at them searchingly, but if he expected to read anything from their faces he was speedily undeceived. "Now, then," he went on, "as you'll have guessed, I didn't kidnap you two fer fun. I did it fer infermation. I reckin' you know pretty well the location of Jim Bell's mine.' "No better than you do," responded Roy boldly; "I guess that scoundrel Juan told you all you wanted to know." "Oh, as fur as thet goes," rejoined Red Bill easily, "I could ride right frum hyar to yer camp. But what I'm gittin' at is this: You've seen the papers Jim Bell is goin' ter file. You know ther exact location. Thet's what I want. Give it to me an' I'll hev my men take yer as close ter yer camp as it's safe ter go without kickin' up a rumpus." "In other words, you wish me to betray Mr. Bell's plans to you before he--" Roy stopped. He had been on the verge of saying, "Before he's filed the claim himself." just in time, however, he recollected that this might be news to the outlaw, and he stopped short. But Red Bill was as astute as a desert fox. "Before he files the claim himself, you wuz goin' ter say, I be-lieve," he drawled, purposely accentuating his words so that they fell like drops of ice water from his cold lips. Roy could have bitten his tongue out. Quite unmeaningly he had betrayed a secret which might prove of tremendous import in the desperate game Red Bill seemed bent on playing. "I said nothing about the filing or not filing of a claim," parried Roy, after a pause. "Yer don't hev ter say everything ter make yerself understood, younker," snarled Red Bill, facing the boy and blinking his little red-rimmed orbs into Roy's honest open countenance. "Thet's somethin' you've foun' out anyhow, Bill," drawled the red-sashed young outlaw, drawing his thin lips back in a sarcastic smile. Roy felt himself turning red with chagrin. He had intended to play a cunning game with Red Bill, but the outlaw seemed to be capable of reading his mind. Steeling himself to be more careful in the future he awaited the further questions of his inquisitor. Upon the manner in which he answered them he felt that not alone his safety and Peggy's depended, but also the security and possibly the lives of the party in the distant arroyo. CHAPTER XVIII AH SING'S JOSS "That'll be all on that line," said Red Bill presently. He turned to his companion. "Got a pencil and a bit of paper, Buck?" he asked. The red-sashed one produced the required pencil--a much bitten stub�and then set off toward the cook house for a bit of paper. He returned with the fly leaf out of an old account book. "Good enough," said Red Bill. "Now then younker," turning to Roy, "you take this pencil, lay that paper on that flat rock and write as I tell you." Wondering what was coming, Roy obeyed, while Peggy with wondering eyes looked on anxiously at the strange scene. It had grown quite still in the little valley. The only sounds that occasionally interrupted the hush were the shouts of the men tethering the ponies and the harsh scream of a buzzard swinging high against the burning blue of the desert sky. "Mister Bell, dear sir," began Red Bill, dictating in his rasping voice. "All right," said Roy, transcribing the words to the paper. The boy had an inkling of what was to come, but he didn't wish to make trouble before he actually had to. "Got that, did you?" 'Yes. "Very well. Now write this: 'Me an' my sister is in the hands of those who are our friends at present. It depends on you if they remain so. The messenger who brings you this will arrange for the transfer of the location papers of the mine to these parties. If you don't do this they will--'" Red Bill paused and shoving back his sombrero scratched his rubicund poll. "Make it 'they will-take other measures.' Jim Bell's no fool an' he'll know what's meant by that," concluded the outlaw of the alkali. "Why you ain't bin writing what I tole yer," he whipped out suddenly, just becoming aware that Roy's pencil had been idle. Peggy breathed hard. There was menace in the man's very attitude. Roy looked up boldly. "You don't suppose that I'm going to be party to any scheme like that," he demanded with flaming checks. Peggy, watching the little drama closely, saw that the ruffian was plainly taken off his feet by this. He had not expected--or so it seemed clear--that he would encounter any opposition in carrying out his rascally plan of playing off the safety of a boy and a girl who had never wronged him for the sake of gaining the title to a mine. "What, you won't write it!" he bellowed at length. The great veins on his neck swelled. His little pig-like eyes gleamed malevolently. Roy stood his ground firmly, although his heart was beating far faster than was pleasant, and a mist swam in front of his eyes. But he had seen Peggy watching, and knew that her trust in his integrity and honor had never faltered. Right then Roy took an inward oath that he would not destroy her faith. "No, I will not," he flashed back; "I don't see how you could expect me to take part in a plan to trap and trick my own friends." Red Bill's lip curled up, exposing a row of ragged yellow teeth. "Not even at the cost of your own life?" he snarled. Roy had half an idea that the ruffian was "bluffing" him. But even had he thought Red Bill in deadly earnest his reply would have been the same. "No!" The word was ejaculated like a pistol shot. "Then listen. Your sister--" To emphasize his words the outlaw launched his clumsy, thick-set frame forward. But the next instant he recoiled as if he had stepped on the edge of a fearful abyss. Simultaneously Roy and Peggy became aware of a curious buzzing, whirring sound like the rattling of dried peas on a griddle. A long dark body glided off through the yellow blades of sun-bitten grass. "It's--it's a rattler!" gasped Red Bill. He stooped as if to catch his ankle, and reeling fell in a clumsy huddled heap on the floor of the valley. As he fell a shot reverberated through the silent place. With one bullet from his revolver the tall young outlaw had dispatched the reptile, which had lain hidden in the grass. "Get you, Bill?" he asked laconically stooping over his chief. "Yes. I'm a gone coon I guess, Buck." His red face, contorted and purple from pain, the stricken man slid backward. His lips parted and became ashen. The poison was coursing through his veins with terrific rapidity. "Let me see. Maybe I can be of some use. Stand aside, please." It was Peggy. The group of outlaws that had gathered about the recumbent man gave place respectfully. From a bag at her waist Peggy drew out a little oblong leather case. It had been a present to her from Mr. Bell before they set out to cross the reptile-haunted desert. Opening the case she drew out a fairy-like little squirt, trimmed in silver. It was a hypodermic syringe. From a case she produced some crystals of a purplish color. "A cup of water, please," she begged. It was in her hand almost as quickly as she made the request. In the meantime, with a handkerchief she had deftly bandaged the outlaw's leg above the bite. This was twisted tightly with a stick and prevented the poison circulating above the wound. On Red Bill's ankle the reptile's bite was plainly to be seen. Two tiny blue punctures, fine enough to have been done with a needle. Yet through the fangs that gave the bite had been delivered enough poison to kill a strong man. With flying fingers Peggy immersed the crystals in the water, turning it a deep crimson. Then filling the syringe she pushed its needle-like point under the outlaw's skin and just above the wound. Then she injected the antidote which she had mixed--permanganate of potassium--and old plainsmen will tell you there is no better opponent of a rattler's poison than the one Peggy used, the method of utilizing which had been opportunely taught her by Mr. Bell. Red Bill's lips parted. His voice came through them painfully, hissingly. "Thank 'ee," he muttered, and then closed his eyes. They carried him into a shack a little way up the valley and laid him on a cot. "Anything else to be done, miss?" asked one of the outlaws in an awed tone. "No," answered Peggy with quite the manner of a professional nurse; "he'll do nicely now. In an hour or so he ought to be better. You can call me then." "Wa-al, I'll be all fired, double gosh-jiggered," Roy heard one of the men say as they left the shack and emerged into the late afternoon sunlight. The outlaws were all in the shack of their leader. All, that is, but the Chinaman, who had been an interested observer from the outskirts of the crowd. As the boy and girl came out of the shack he glided up to them as softly and silently as ever. "Me see. You welly good. Allee samee doctor. Joss he helpee you," he said in a low voice. Then glancing about he sank his voice to a whisper: "But you no tlustee Led (Red) Bill. Him plentee bad mans. He feelee sick now. Him plentee thank yous. When he well he do you muchee harm." "He could not be so ungrateful," exclaimed Roy; "my sister saved his life." "Umph. That plentee big pity. Why not let him die. Good liddance," opined the cold-blooded Ah Sing. "Listen, Melican boy an' girl, helpee you escape to-night you do one littlee ting for me." "You'll help us escape?" echoed Peggy, the blood beating in her ears. "How? We'd need horses, water, food and--" "Me catchee eblyting. Leve him all to Ah Sing, he git um." A cunning smile overspread his features. "But Ah Sing wantee some leward he do dis." "Of course. Any money you want you shall have in Blue Creek," burst out Roy. "Me no wantee monee. Me want lillee misses joss. Him plentee big joss my countlee. I have that joss I have plentee eblyting I want." "He means the little god that Clara gave me," whispered Peggy. "All right, Sing, you shall have it. You shall have it when you are ready to send us out of the valley." The Chinaman's face changed just the fraction of a muscle. That was as near as he came to permitting himself to show his gratification over the promise of the joss. "Allee litee," he said, "bymby he get dark. You wait in missees shack. When I ready I give one, two, tree knocks-so!" As silently as he had glided up he glided off again just as the crowd began pouring from the shack where the injured outlaw lay. Roy and Peggy could only exchange wild glances of astonishment at the surprising turn affairs had taken. But presently Peggy spoke. "I knew when I prayed in that terrible valley, Roy, that a way would be found," she said, and her voice was vibrant with reverence and faith as the brother and sister turned away. CHAPTER XIX THE ESCAPE AND WHAT FOLLOWED "Roy! Roy! Wake up!" Peggy shook the shoulder of her brother, who had dozed off in a rough chair formed out of an old flour barrel. She glanced at her watch. It was almost midnight, and half an hour since the steady footfall of the sentry, who was keeping desultory watch on the captives, had passed the hut. Roy was wide awake in an instant. He sat up staring wildly about, and then, casting sleep from him, he listened intently. Tap! Tap! Tap! The three raps came against the back wall of the shack, and then: "Missee all ledee. Man who watchee you him go sleep. Me got ponies, water, eblyting. Make um number one quick." With quick, beating pulses the brother and sister slipped from the door and out into the valley. It was moonlight-that is to say, the moon had risen, but a peculiar haze overcast the sky and the light of the luminary of the night only served to make the darkness more visible. Back of the shack stood a vague figure holding two ponies by the bridles. It was Ah Sing. "You give me lilly joss now, missee?" he asked eagerly. Swiftly Peggy stooped and unfastened the little jade god from far-off China. "Here, Sing," she said simply, "and thank you." The Chinaman bowed low three times before he took the precious symbol into his keeping. He slipped it inside his loose blouse. "All ledee now," he said, holding a stirrup for Peggy to mount. "But how will you explain it? Won't they kill you when they find the ponies are gone?" asked Roy. The Oriental laughed the throaty, mirthless chuckle of his race. "I tellee them you steal them," he said; "they no thinkee Ali Sing hab good sense enough to help you. All litee now. Good bye." Before they were thoroughly aware of it, so swiftly had the actual escape happened, Peggy and Roy found themselves moving out of the valley on their desperate dash for freedom. The ponies went silently as wraiths. The astute Ah Sing had bundled their feet in sacks so that they made no more noise than cats. In the faint light they could perceive the gateway of the little valley, and in a short time they had passed it and were beginning to traverse the gloomy stretches beyond. Suddenly there came a sound that sent every drop of blood in their bodies flying to their hearts, and then set it to coursing wildly through their veins again. Bang! The report, coming from behind them, cut the stillness of the night like a scimitar of sound. "A pistol!" exclaimed Roy. "They've discovered our escape." Peggy shuddered. Bending forward at the risk of the noise of their flight being heard, they began to urge their ponies faster. Behind them was pandemonium. Shouts, cries and shots mingled in a babel of sound. "The kids hev got away!" That cry sounded above all the others, and then, with sinister meaning, came another shout: "Saddle up and git arter 'em. Get 'em, dead or alive!" Sounds of galloping followed this order, and then came the shrill voice of Ah Sing: "Me see um. Me see um. They go that way! Over there! Over the hills!" "Good for Ah Sing," breathed Roy; "he has thrown them off the track. He's told them we went the other way. Come on, sis; now's our time to make speed before they discover their mistake." The two fugitives urged their ponies unmercifully over the shale. Fortunately, in the rarefied air of the desert, the nights are comparatively cool, and the tough little broncos sped along at a good gait without showing signs of distress. But it was a cruel race across the floor of the desolate valley, and when they e merged on to the comparatively easy going of the foothills of the barren range, the ponies were fain to slack up and draw long heaving breaths. "Poor little creatures," cried Peggy; "you've got a long way to go yet." By the moon, which showed through the haze in a sort of luminous patch, Roy gauged the way. Peggy's observations, too, made on the journey into the valley, helped. They kept the pinnacled steeps of the barren hills to their right and pressed forward among the undulating foothills. They had been traveling thus for perhaps an hour-pausing now and then to listen for sounds of pursuit when Roy suddenly became sensible of a change in the atmosphere. It grew warm and close and almost sticky. A puff of hot wind breathed up in their faces and went screaming off among the mysterious clefts and canyons above. "Are we going to have a storm?" wondered Peggy. "Don't know, sis, but the weather looks ominous. I don't like that wind. We must make more speed." "I hate to drive these poor ponies any faster," protested Peggy "But we must, sis. They'll have a good long rest when this is over. Come on." So saying Roy brought down his quirt--the long raw-hide whip used in the West--over the heaving flanks of his pony. The little animal gamely responded and plunged forward at a quick lope. Peggy, perforce, followed suit, although it made her heart ache to press the animals at such a gait. On and on they rode, while the weather every moment grew more peculiar. From the floor of the desert great dust-devils of white alkali arose and swirled solemnly across the wastes. In the semi-darkness they looked like gaunt ghosts. Peggy shuddered. It was like a nightmare. Once or twice she even pinched herself to see if she were awake. The night, from being cool, had now become blisteringly hot. The wind was like the fiery exhalations of a blast furnace. Grains of sand caught up by it drove stingingly against their faces. Each grain cut into the flesh, smarting sharply. "We must keep on." It was Roy's voice, coming after a long silence. Peggy answered with a monosyllable. A short distance further on they dismounted and allayed their thirst from the kegs Ah Sing had fastened to each saddle, and. then, although their supply was precious, they had to yield to the whinnied entreaties of the ponies. Into a small tin bucket each young rider emptied a modicum of the water and let the little animals drink. It seemed to refresh them--mere mouthful that it was--for they pressed on with more spirit after that. But there was no denying the fact that something serious was at hand. From desultory puff s the wind had now increased to a steady blow, which drove a stinging hail of sand all about them blindingly. Eddies of hot wind caught up larger grains and dried cactus stems and drove them in terrestrial water spouts across the face of the desert. The moon was quite obscured now, and it was as black as a country church at midnight. All at once Peggy's pony sank down, and with a long sigh stretched itself out upon the alkali. Roy's almost immediately did the same. As they did so the wind came more furiously. Half blinded and with nostrils, eyes and mouths full of sand particles, the two young travelers reeled about in the darkness. Suddenly what it all meant burst upon Roy with the suddenness of a thunder clap. "It's a sand storm, Peggy," he cried. A puff of wind caught up his words and scattered them over the desert. The words sent a chill to Peggy's heart. She had heard Mr. Bell tell of the sand storms of the Big Alkali--how sometimes they last for days, blotting out trails and burying those unfortunate enough to be caught in them. "Get your saddle off and keep your head under it," shouted Roy, recalling what he had heard Mr. Bell say of the only way to weather such disturbances. Peggy, half dead with horror, did as she was told. By the time the work of unsaddling had been accomplished the wind was driving furiously. It was impossible to hear unless the words were shouted. The ponies, who had obeyed their first instinct at the initial warning of what was to come, turned their backs to the storm and laid out straight, with their noses to the ground. Roy and Peggy drew the big flapped Mexican saddles over their heads. Under this protection they were sheltered from the cruel fury of the wind-driven sand and brush. It was suffocating under the saddle, but when Peggy protruded her face for even a breath of the superheated air, she quickly withdrew it. The wind was now a tornado in violence, and the sand stung like countless needles. Conversation was, of course, impossible, and they lay in silence while the suffocating gale screamed about them. Once or twice Peggy had to scrape away the sand from the front of the saddle. She could feel it rising all about her. With the sensation came a terrifying thought. She had heard Mr. Bell tell of men whose bones had been buried in the sand only to be exposed long afterward, white and bleached, when the wind-formed sand dunes had shifted and exposed them. All at once, above the wind and the steady roar of the furiously driven sand and alkali, Peggy thought she heard a wild screech or cry. It sounded like nothing human in its uncanny shrillness. Brave girl as she was, Peggy shuddered hysterically. Could she be losing her mind in the whirling confusion and elemental fury that waged all about her? CHAPTER XX THE PROFESSOR AGAIN The evening before the sand storm, a red wagon had been crawling over the alkali toward the barren hills. It was the eccentric vehicle affected by Professor Wandering William, and was headed for the barren range of hills in which lay the valley of the outlaws. Professor Wandering William, silently smoking, kept his keen eyes steadily fixed upon the distant hills as he drove, although from time to time he scanned the sky anxiously. "Going to be a sandstorm sure," he grunted. "Well, if I can make the lee of those hills by sundown I reckon I'll be all right. Too bad though. It'll give that precious outfit a chance to put a still further gap between themselves and me--phew! but it's hot!" The professor took off his big sombrero and placed it behind him in the wagon. He seemed to think a minute and then muttered: "Oh, well, I guess it's no harm. Nobody to see but a few old buzzards anyhow, and they won't tell." The professor, having concluded these self-addressed remarks, did a strange thing. He raised his hands to his head and the next instant his luxuriant long hair had vanished, revealing a close-cropped head of dark hair. This done, he removed his goatee with the same ease, and was revealed as a good-looking, forceful-faced young man of perhaps thirty-two or so. "Ah-h-h-h!" he breathed with intense satisfaction, "that's a whole heap better. However, I guess the time's coming pretty quick when I can do without this make-up altogether. I shan't be sorry either. Git up!" This last remark was addressed to the motive power of his jaunty red wagon. In obedience the wheels began to revolve faster. But press onward as he would, supper-time found the professor--so strangely shorn--still some distance from the hills. "That storm's coming right up, too," he said to himself over his after-supper pipe; "well, no help for it. I guess we'll have to push on." Watering his animals from a bucket previously filled at the spigot of a big water keg built into his wagon the professor hitched up and pressed on to his destination. Darkness came on, but still he drove steadily forward, seeking the shelter he knew he could find in the lee of the barren hills. "Going to be a hummer and no mistake," he commented half aloud; "good thing-it-didn't catch me out in the middle of the alkali or Red Bill and his cronies might have had a new lease of life." It was close upon midnight when the professor found a spot to his liking, and by that time the first desultory puffs of the coming storm were sighing in the nooks and crannies of the barren hills. He tethered his team, gave them their hay in the shelter of the wagon, watered them and then, after a good-night pipe, prepared to turn in. He woke from a troubled doze to find the wind rocking the wagon within which he slept. "Wonder what kind of weather the ponies are making of it?" he muttered, and rising he opened the canvas flaps at the front of the wagon and peered out. At that instant he saw, or thought he saw, two dark objects move by in the flying smother of sand. But the next moment he told himself it must have been imagination. "Guess being alone so much is getting on my nerve," he commented. Having seen that his stock were lying down and turning their backs on the flying drift, Wandering William, as he called himself, retired once more. But he couldn't sleep for thinking of the strange illusion he had had. "No, it wasn't an illusion either," he said stoutly to himself the next instant. "I'm prepared to swear that I really did see two figures on horseback, though what, in great ginger cookies, they were doing out in this I don't know. Appears to me though that they must have had to call a halt right around here some place. In that case I'm going to give 'em a hail, an' if they answer it invite 'em into the wagon. This is no weather to be out without an umbrella." Chuckling a little at his joke, Wandering William arose and went once more to the front of his wagon. Placing his hands to his mouth, funnel-wise, he sent a long, shrill cry vibrating out through the storm. Another and another he gave till he was hoarse, but there was no reply. "Guess I was dreaming after all," remarked Wandering William retiring once more to his blanket. A sickly yellow light struggling through the sand-laden air heralded the day. But the wind had died down and the particles still held in suspension were rapidly thinning out of the air. Roy thrust his head from under his saddle like a turtle from its shell. His lips were dry and cracked, his eyes smarted, his skin was irritated with the sand. The whole world seemed to have turned to sand. It was everywhere. "Peggy!" A similar turtle-like head projected from the other saddle. Poor Peggy, she would positively have screamed if she had known the appearance she presented. Her hair was tousled, her eyes red with irritation of the sand, and her lips dry and cracked like Roy's. "Is--is it all over, Roy?" she asked a bit quaveringly. "I think so. The wind has died down, and look, the ponies have gotten to their feet. I guess they know." "Wasn't it awful. I never thought we should live through it." "Nor did I. But there's one good thing, it has obscured our tracks. If any of Red Bill's gang tried to follow us now they'd have a lot of trouble." "That's so," agreed Peggy, and then went on to tell Roy of the terrifying screeches and yells she had heard in the night. "Nothing but the wind," opined Roy, with boy-like superiority. But the next instant it was his turn to start amazedly. Through the fog-like gloom that still overhung the desert a figure was making its way toward them. Roy's hand flew to the revolver with which the thoughtful Ah Sing had provided his saddle holster. At the same instant the figure, seemingly that of a young man, turned, and wheeling quickly, ran backward and was swallowed up in the obscurity. "Was that one of Red Bill's men?" gasped Peggy. "Impossible. They could not have traveled through that storm. But who can it be?" "What did he run like that for?" "I'm going after him to find out," declared Roy pluckily; "maybe it's somebody who has become crazed from the sandstorm." "Oh, Roy, a lunatic!" Peggy clasped her hands. But the next instant a fresh surprise greeted them. A tall figure with flowing gray locks and gray goatee, topped off with a big sombrero, was seen approaching from the same direction as that in which the youthful figure had vanished. "Wandering William!" exclaimed the two young adventurers in one breath. "Yes, Wandering William. The precise individual," was the rejoinder; "and just in time to invite you to breakfast. There, there, no explanations now. You both resemble the output of a threshing machine. But I have mirrors, soap, towels and water in my wagon. Come along, and if you feel ailing, for the insignificant sum of one dollar I will sell you a bottle of Wandering William's Wonderful Wonder Worker." Exhausted as both boy and girl felt, they could hardly maintain their gravity in the face of this eccentric individual. The very suddenness and utter unexpectedness of his appearance seemed of a piece with his other odd actions. But suddenly Roy recollected the figure that had appeared and then vanished. "I'd like to accept," said Roy, with vast cunning as he thought, "but what would your partner say?" "My partner?" Wandering William looked frankly puzzled. "Yes. That young chap who came toward us and then disappeared again when I came at him with a gun. Not that I blame him," Roy broke off with a laugh, "but I thought for a moment it was one of Red Bill's gang." Wandering William's keen gray eyes narrowed into two little slits. "What's that you're saying, boy," he exclaimed; "what do you know about Red Bill Summers?" "A good deal too much for our comfort," exclaimed Roy, and then he rapidly sketched events of the last twenty-four hours as the trio walked toward Wandering William's wagon. The strange vendor of medicine seemed to be deeply interested, although he confined his comments to "ums" and "ahs." "But about that other man," said Roy, returning to the charge when he had finished his narrative, "didn't you see him?" "My dear boy," said Wandering William seriously, "I think you had better invest in a bottle of Wandering William's Wonder Working Witch Oil for tired and shattered nerves. There is no one in the vicinity but our three selves." Boy and girl stared at him blankly. "But I saw him, too," said Peggy. "I dare say, I dare say," and Wandering William patted his luxuriant curls; "you had a night of strain. What you need is breakfast--hot coffee and all that. Now go in and get fixed up while I attend to your ponies, or rather, Red Bill's." The wind had by this time died down, and the sun struggled out through the clearing air. Nobody was in sight but themselves, and fain to believe that their sand-sore eyes must have played them a trick, the boy and girl proceeded to "fix up" in Wandering William's really comfortably appointed wagon. In the meantime one weight had been lifted from Peggy's mind. Wandering William had explained that it was he who had uttered the shouts and yells which had so alarmed her in the night. "If only it wasn't for that man whom I'm certain I saw," thought Peggy as she combed the sand out of her hair, "I should feel quite relieved, but as it is--Roy, are you still certain you saw that man--the one you pointed the revolver at I mean?" Roy looked dubious. "I--don't know," he confessed. "Oh, Roy Prescott," snapped Peggy, "I--I'd like to shake you." CHAPTER XXI OUT OF THE DESERT MAZE Twilight was descending on the camp in the arroyo when Jimsy, who had been stationed with a rifle on a butte overlooking the desert maze, gave a sudden shout. The next instant his rifle was at his shoulder and he began shooting into the air as fast as he could. As the rapid staccato volley of sound rattled forth all became excitement in the arroyo. The volley had been the signal agreed upon in case the young sentry caught sight of the missing ones. It came after a wearing night and a still more harrowing day. Following the non-arrival of Peggy and Roy in camp from their hunting excursion a search had at once been commenced, of course without result. An ascent had even been made in one of the monoplanes, but even a bird's-eye view of the surrounding country failed to discover their whereabouts. Then came the sandstorm, and hope that the missing ones could have weathered it was almost given up. Nevertheless, James Bell, in whom hope died hard, had set Jimsy as sentinel on the lofty butte in the wild hope that after all the castaways might turn up. And now, as the agreed signal rang out, there was a great outpouring from the camp. Aunt Sally, pale and red-eyed from weeping, Mr. Bell, with deep lines of anxiety scoring his face, Jess, troubled and anxious looking, and old Peter Bell, the former hermit, bearing an expression of mild bewilderment. Last of all came Alverado, the Mexican flotsam of the desert. His inscrutable countenance bore no sign of the suffering he had gone through at the thought that harm had come to his worshipped senorita, but in his heart the Mexican had suffered as much as the rest. He had arrived in camp with the stock the evening before, and had, with difficulty, been restrained from setting forth at once on a search. "Look!" cried Jimsy pointing as the others rushed up. They followed the direction of his finger and saw slowly crawling toward the arroyo a red wagon, dust-covered and travel-stained. In front of it were two young figures on horseback, waving frantically. As the volley rattled out they urged their little horses forward on a dash for the arroyo. "Thank God!" breathed Mr. Bell huskily. Aunt Sally fell into Jess's young arms and wept lustily while old Bell broke into a rhapsody: "Out from the desert safe and sound; Hooray! our boy and girl are found!" But nobody paid any attention to his verses, either to laugh or admire just then. After the cruel anxiety of the past hours the relief was too great for any of them to trust themselves to speak. But as Peggy and Roy--for of course our readers have guessed it was they--drew closer and their dust-covered features could be plainly seen, a great shout went up from the butte. And in it mingled the voice of Alverado, the unemotional. The girl and boy were fairly lifted from their ponies and carried in triumph into the camp. "Dig down into the stores," ordered Mr. Bell, "Get out all the delicacies we have been savin' for a big occasion." "We'll never have a bigger one than this," declared Jimsy; "tell us all about it, Roy." "Oh, Peggy, you darling, is it really you?" cried Jess for the 'steenth time, with brimming eyes. As for old Mr. Bell, as Jimsy observed afterwards, "he just wrapped poetical circles round himself. You couldn't see him for rhythm." "Hullo, folks!" The voice came suddenly from the shadows. It was Wandering William. In the general excitement everybody had forgotten him, and he, had driven up in his red wagon unheralded. But the warmth of his reception made up for any temporary slight. In fact, after supper, when Roy related their strange adventures, and told how, if it had not been for Wandering William, they might never have reached the camp, Wandering William's greeting reached an ovation. But while all this was going on one figure had remained crouched in the circle of firelight--or, rather, just beyond it--whose dark eyes had not for an instant left the face of Wandering William. The interested observer was Alverado. The Mexican puckered his brow as be gazed as if trying to recall something. But the effort seemed to be in vain, for at length he arose and, unnoticed, strode moodily off toward the ponies, which had been tethered high on the hillside and out of sight of the camp. He was gone but a few minutes before he came bounding back into the camp. "The ponies! The ponies are gone!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. In an instant everybody but Aunt Sally and old Mr. Bell was upon his or her feet. "Gone!" The exclamation came like a dismayed groan. "Yes, gone! Every one of them! The lariats have been cut. Ah, the ladrone, the cursed thieves! The--" "Some of Red Bill's work, for a million!" The exclamation fell sharp and clear from Professor Wandering William's lips. The tones were so unlike his usual ones that everybody looked up at him. But only for an instant; the next moment the professor had--dropped back into his pompous, drawling way of speaking: "It's a good thing we have a large supply of my wonder working remedies with us," he said; "they induce philosophy, smooth the thorny ways of life and make the old young and the young younger." Mr. Bell looked at him sternly for an instant, and then apparently decided that the man was a harmless fool, for with a quick exclamation he strode off toward his tent, which lay at some distance from the camp. The others excitedly discussed the alarming turn events had taken, while Aunt Sally showed strong symptoms of hysterics. But Alverado, whose face had taken on a startled expression at Wandering William's quick exclamation, darted to the long-haired herb doctor's side. "I know you now, senor, you are--" Wandering William caught the man's gesticulating hand with a grasp of iron. "Not so loud, Alverado," he whispered tensely, "the time isn't ripe for that yet." "But, senor, you will capture them, and--" The Mexican's manner had grown deferential, but Wandering William checked him with a glance from those keen eyes of his. "Don't mention a word of this, Alverado. I rely on you." "You can, senor. But hark! what is the matter with the Senor Bell?" Evidently something serious was the matter with the mining man. He came bounding out of the dark shadows of the upper end of the canyon as the Mexican spoke. His face was black as thunder. "More villainy!" he exclaimed as questions came pouring in upon him. "Something else missing?" It was Wandering William. His voice was as emotionless as if he had been a phonograph. "Yes, I should say there was. The plans of the mine and its location as prepared for filing have been taken from my tent!" "Stolen--oh!" Peggy's voice quivered. "Stolen," repeated Mr. Bell, "and undoubtedly by the same band of scoundrels that cut the ponies loose, knowing that we could not pursue them." "But we can overtake them in an aeroplane." It was Peggy who spoke. Her bosom heaved and her cheeks burned red with excitement. "True, my brave girl," rejoined Mr. Bell, "but of what use would that be? They have the papers and will file them. Without the papers you could do nothing, and I have no memoranda to draw up fresh ones." "But in my pocket--I'm cutting no capers--I have a set of duplicate papers!" Old Peter Bell, triumphant and poetical, stepped forward, at the same time drawing from his inner-coat pocket a bundle. It was the duplicate set which Mr. Bell had given Peggy to deliver to the former hermit, and which, up to that moment, had been forgotten in the excitement. "Thank heaven!" exclaimed Mr. Bell, snatching at them; "Peter, you're a brick. Hooray, now we have a chance to beat the scoundrels at their own game." "You mean if we can file those papers first they stand good in law?" asked Roy. "That's just what I do mean, and I think that with the aeroplane we can do it." "You can depend on it, Mr. Bell, that if there is a chance those papers get into Blue Creek first," cried Peggy ablaze with excitement. "But we can't start to-night." Roy's voice held a note of despair. "That's all right, my boy. You need a good rest anyway. Red Bill--if it is his gang that has taken them--cannot get to Blue Creek for two days anyway. If you start at dawn to-morrow you can outwit them." And so it was arranged. Roy and Peggy turned in early, while Jimsy worked all night getting the big monoplane in readiness. By earliest dawn all was ready and a hasty breakfast eaten. Then the monoplane was stocked with food and water and everything was ready for the dash across the desert. Peggy and Roy had slipped into their linen coats and donned their hideous masks with the blue sun goggles, when a figure slipped up on the other side of the chassis and clambered unobserved into the box-like structure. It was not till half an hour later, when they were dashing through midair, that the figure revealed itself. Then the form of Wandering William crawled from under a bit of canvas used as an engine cover, and in answer to the amazed exclamations of the young aviators said: "You'll have to forgive me. It'll be a good ad for my business to be able to say that Professor Wandering William has wandered along the aerial Pike." CHAPTER XXII MAROONED ON THE DESERT There was nothing to be done but to accept the situation, little as either Roy or Peggy relished the eccentric "professor" for an aerial traveling companion. Only Peggy remarked with withering scorn: "I think you might have waited till you were asked, don't you?" The professor's reply was characteristic. "My dear young lady, if I never sold anybody a bottle of my medicine except those that really wanted it I'd have a hard time getting along." Roy was on the point of exclaiming "Bother your old medicine," when he suddenly recollected that had it not been for this queer personage they might not have been in the aeroplane at all. Instead--but Roy didn't care to think further along those lines. Far below them suddenly appeared a giant halo of light. It hung above the desert, wheeling and gyrating about five feet above the glaring white of the alkali. "A halo," remarked Professor Wandering William gazing over the edge of the chassis. "A halo? Whose--Roy's?" inquired Peggy. "No, it is one of those halos peculiar to the desert," was the professor's rejoinder; "it is caused by heat refraction or something of the sort. I recall I did read a lengthy explanation of it somewhere once, but I've forgotten it now." "Does it portend anything?" asked Roy, turning round for a moment from his levers. "No. not that I know of, at least--except that it's hot." "Good gracious, we don't need a halo to tell us that," cried Peggy, and then regarding Professor Wandering William with that frank, straight "between the eyes" look, as Jimsy called it, Peggy remarked, "Do you know, Professor Wandering William, that you are a very odd person?" "Odd, my dear young lady. How so?" "Why at times you are quite different to--to what you are at others," stumbled Peggy lamely. It wasn't just what she wanted to say, but as she told herself it expressed it tolerably. "Almost human sometimes, eh?" chuckled Professor Wandering William with a very odd winkle of his gray eyes; "well, you are not the first person who has said that." To herself Peggy thought, "I'm sure that if he'd cut his hair and take off that dreadful goatee he'd be quite good looking. And his eyes, too, they twinkle and flash sometimes in a way very much out of keeping with his general appearance." But Professor Wandering William, seemingly quite oblivious to Peggy's frank gaze, was humming "Annie Laurie" to himself and gazing down at the flying desert as it flashed by below. "At this rate we'll be in Blue Creek long before those other varmints," he observed at length; "that is, if all goes right. Wonderful things these aeroplanes. Great scheme for selling patent medicine. Why I could scatter my advertisements over a whole county in a day's time if I had one of these. That is unless I scattered myself first." There was a sudden loud hissing sound from the motor. At the same instant the propeller ceased to revolve and the monoplane dashed downward with fearful force. Roy worked at his levers desperately, while Peggy, white faced but silent, clung tightly to the sides of the chassis. Professor Wandering William did not utter a word, but his lips moved, as, from a pleasing rapid forward motion their course suddenly changed to that fearful downward plunge through space. It seemed that in the molecule of time that intervened between the sudden stopping of the propeller and the moment that they reached the proximity of the ground that a whole lifetime flashed in front of Peggy. "Is this the end?" she caught herself thinking. But it was not. Roy's skill averted that. He handled the disabled aeroplane so that as it struck the alkali its landing wheels sustained the shock. But even with all his skill he could not entirely ward off the shock. The monoplane struck the alkali in a shower of white dust that hurtled high above it like a breaking sea wave. Peggy and the professor managed to hold on and resist the grinding shock, but Roy did not fare so well. Like a projectile from a catapult the shock flung him far. He came grinding down into the sand on one shoulder, ploughing a little furrow. Then he lay very still, while Peggy wondered vaguely if she was going to faint. To scramble from the stranded machine was the work of an instant for the erratic professor, and he extended his hand to Peggy. With a supreme effort she pulled herself together and accepted his proffered help. But agitated as she: was, she did not fail to notice a surprising fact, and that was that the professor's hair was on one side! The next instant he caught the girl's startled eyes fixed upon it, but in that space of time he readjusted it, so that he appeared exactly as usual. But to Peggy the recollection of that deranged hair was unforgettable. "It's--it's a wig!" she gasped to herself, and then, casting all other thoughts aside, sped to Roy's side. "Roy! Roy! are you badly hurt, dear?" she breathed, going down on her knees in the rough surface of the desert. The boy stirred uneasily and his eyes opened. "Oh, is it you, Peggy? I guess I was knocked out for a minute. It's my shoulder. Ouch! Don't touch it." The boy winced as Peggy's soft hand touched the injured member. "Allow me. I've got a little skill at surgery."' It was Professor Wandering William's voice, and Peggy caught herself wondering that he didn't make some reference to his infallible bone set or wonder-working liniment. But he didn't. Instead, he knelt by Roy's side, and with a few deft strokes of his knife had cut away the boy's shirt and bared a shoulder that was rapidly turning a deep blue. Tenderly as a woman might have, Wandering William felt the wound. "Hurt?" he asked, as Roy winced, biting his lips to keep from crying out under the agony. "Hurt?" echoed Peggy indignantly; "of course it does." Professor Wandering William looked up with an odd air of authority in his keen eyes. "Please fetch me some water from the aeroplane," he said, and Peggy had no choice but to obey. Professor Wandering William, picking Roy up in his arms as if he were a baby, instead of a 165-pound boy, carried him after her and laid the injured lad out in the scant strip of shade afforded by the aeroplane. Then, with bits of canvas ripped from the cover which had served to conceal him when he entered the aerial vehicle, the strange wanderer skillfully bathed and then bandaged the wound. "Nothing more than a bad sprain," he announced. Roy groaned. "And just as I was going ahead at such tiptop speed, too," he complained. "I won't be able to use this arm for a month the way it feels." "Never mind, Roy, I can drive the aeroplane," comforted Peggy. But Roy was fretful from pain. "What can a girl do?" he demanded; "this is a man's work. Oh, it's too bad! It's--" Suddenly the pain-crazed lad realized what he was saying and broke off abruptly: "Don't mind me, sis. I'm all worked up, I guess. But if it hadn't been for this delay we'd have beaten them out. And now--" "And now the first thing to do is to see what ails this old machine," said Professor Wandering William briskly. "Let me lift you into the what-you-may-call-um, my boy, and make you as comfortable as possible on this canvas." The professor skillfully arranged the canvas from which he had cut the bandages, and making a pillow for Roy out of his own coat, he lifted the lad into the chassis. "There now, you'll do," he said, as his ministrations were completed. "And now, young lady, as you know more about this thing than I do let's have a look at it and see what particular brand of illness it is suffering from." A brief examination showed Peggy that the radiator--the intricate mesh-work of pipes in which the circulating water for cooling the cylinders is kept at a low temperature--was leaking, and that almost all their supply of water had leaked out. This had caused the cylinders of the motor to overheat and had stopped the aeroplane in midair. "Bad--is it?"' Professor Wandering William noted the despairing look on Peggy's face as she discovered the cause of the stoppage. "As bad as bad can be," the girl rejoined seriously; "it means if we can't get water and something to stop that leak with that we can't go on or go back. We're stuck right here." "Phew!" Wandering William's lips puckered in a whistle. "I should just say that is bad." He looked about him. On every side stretched the dazzling white alkali, with here and there a little dust devil dancing as if in mockery at their plight. On all that vast expanse they seemed the only living things, and Wandering William knew the desert well enough to realize that it is not good to linger on its treacherous sands. CHAPTER XXIII BUD TO THE RESCUE "I'm going to look for water!" Wandering William spoke decisively after an hour or more of futile endeavors to start the motor with the little fluid they could spare from the water kegs. But even without the leaky radiator it would have been an impossibility to cool the cylinders with the small quantity they were thus able to command. "Look for water!" Peggy echoed the words blankly. In all that sun-blistered expanse it seemed to be an impossibility to even dream of discovering a drop of moisture. And they needed buckets full. Wandering William, perhaps deeming it wise not to strain the over-wrought girl's nerves further by keeping up the conversation, strode off. Apparently he wandered aimlessly, but in reality his keen, trained eyes were on the alert every instant. To the desert traveler the most insignificant signs may betray the presence of the life saving fluid. Peggy watched the strange figure till it vanished from view over a low rise, for although the desert seems flat on a superficial view, it is, in reality, no more level than the tossing sea. Rises and hollows make its surface undulating. In the meantime Peggy ministered to Roy as best she could. With a spare bit of canvas she made a shelter to keep off the blazing rays of the sun. Roy thanked her with a smile. The first sharp keen pain of his injury had gone, but he felt weak and dizzy. Presently he begged for a drink of water, and Peggy, not daring to tell him how low the supply was gave it to him. The boy was feverish from his injury, and almost drained the canteen of luke-warm stuff she held to his lips. Then he lay back with a satisfied smile. "Get the radiator fixed yet?" he asked presently. Peggy had told him that it would not be long before they were under way again. "Not yet, Roy dear. But don't worry about that. It will be fixed presently. Suppose you try to go to sleep." The boy closed his eyes and tried to compose himself to slumber. Before long he actually did doze off and lay in that state while the long hours dragged slowly by. Wandering William had not reappeared, and Peggy wondered in a dull, vague sort of sort of way if he ever would come back. Perhaps he had deserted them, she thought. But, even this reflection brought no poignant sensation of despair. The girl had sunk into a sort of apathy in which nothing' seemed to matter much. Only she fairly ached with thirst. But Roy would awake presently and want water. The little they had must be saved for him. And so the hours wore on and the sun marched blazingly across the sky. It was mid-afternoon, and Roy had not awakened, when Peggy was startled from her gloomy thoughts by a loud hail. "Hul-lo!" Springing to her feet she looked across the desert. On the summit of a distant earth wave she saw the figure of Wandering William. He was gesticulating frantically and shouting something. He had his hands to his mouth, funnelwise, to make the sound carry better. What was it he was crying out? It sounded like--yes, it was: "Water! I've found it! Water!" Peggy hastily snatched up the two buckets with which the aeroplane was equipped, and hurried toward the distant figure. She reached Wandering William's side in quicker time than she would have thought possible, such was the stimulating effect of the glad news. The strange "professor" said not a word, but took her by the hand and began striding in great steps across the sandy dunes. They had walked about a quarter of a mile when they reached a spot where yuccas and prickly desert plants of different varieties grew thickly. At the bottom of this desolate little valley was a pool on which the sunlight shone glitteringly. It was shallow and warm, and the color of rusty iron, but it was water. Taking the folding tin cup that Wandering William produced from one of his pockets, the girl drank eagerly. Never had sparkling spring, water in the fruitful Eastern country tasted half so good as that tepid, dirty alkaline stuff that Wandering William had so providentially stumbled upon. "How did you find it?" gasped Peggy. Wandering William indicated a tumble down sign post a few paces off. To it was nailed board with sun faded lettering on it. "Read it," commanded Wandering William. "'To the lost in the desert inferno,'" read Peggy, "'water is twenty paces to the west.'" "If it hadn't been for the white soul of the man who put that up there," commented the "professor," "we might have perished miserably. Heaven bless him, wherever he is." "Amen," murmured Peggy. They filled the buckets, and staggering under their weight, Wandering William led the way back to the aeroplane. Roy was awake and thirsty. He drank greedily of the turbid stuff they offered him. "And now," said the professor, "let's get to work on that radiator." But try as they would, they could not stop the leak. Indeed, so much water was wasted in their experiments that several more trips to the pool were necessary. "Looks like we have run into the worst streak of hard luck I ever heard of," sighed Wandering William despairingly, after the failure of the twentieth trial to get the cooling system to hold water. "We've just got to plug that leak somehow, or--" He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need for him to do that. Suddenly Peggy, who had looked up from the baffling task for an instant, gave a cry: "Look! Look there! What's all that dust?" "It's horsemen of some kind, and they're coming this way!" cried Wandering William. As he spoke his hand slid to his hip, and he drew out his well-oiled and worn old forty-four. "Do you think that they are--that they are Red Bill's men?" "Don't know yet. The dust's thick and the light's bad." "If they are?" "Then we are in for a mighty bad quarter of an hour. Consarn the luck, everything seems to be going wrong at once." On and on swept the dust cloud, growing close with great rapidity. With what anxious feelings the strange herb doctor and the girl watched its advance may be imagined. As for Roy, he lay on the floor of the chassis unaware of what was transpiring without. There seemed to be several of the riders--a dozen at least. "What beats me is, if those are Red Bill's men what are they doing in this direction?" said Wandering William, a puzzled look creeping over his weather-beaten countenance. "Perhaps they have seen that the aeroplane is stranded and are coming to destroy it," hazarded Peggy. "Maybe," rejoined Wandering William in a far-away voice. His eyes and mind were bent on the approaching cavalcade. If the riders were not Red Bill's men it meant succor and aid. If they were the outlaw's band, it meant-well, Wandering William did not care to dwell upon the thought. "A few seconds will tell now," he observed as through the dust cloud the outlines of the horsemen became visible. All at once a shrill series of cries rang out: "Yip-yip-yip-yee-ee-e-e-e-e-e-e!" There was something familiar in the sound to Peggy. She leaned forward, straining her ears. Suddenly an active little bronco seemed to separate from the ruck of the riders and dashed forward alone. On his back sat a familiar figure and not a beautiful one, but to Peggy no angel from heavenly regions could have appeared more, beatific just then, for in the rider she had recognized the redoubtable Bud, the leader of the horse hunters. Bud swept off his sombrero as he dashed up, and was apparently about to make some jocular remark, but he stopped short at the sight of Peggy's pale, anxious face. "Wa-al, what's all ther trouble hyar?" he demanded; "your sky bronco foundered? Why hello, thar's Wandering William. Didn't know as you was a sky pilot feller?" "I'm not, I guess," rejoined Wandering William quietly. "I wish I were, and then may be I could help out on this difficulty." "Wa-al, what's up?" drawled Bud, as his followers came loping up; "anything I kin do? We're on our way back to ther hills frum town," he explained. "We caught more than twenty wild horses and took'em inter Blue Creek. One of ther boys sighted you away off or we'd have missed yer I reckin. "Now, miss, I ain't one ter fergit a blow-out like thet yer gave us at Steer Wells. Jes say ther word an' if you like we'll tow this here cloud clipper back inter town." "Let's see if we can't hit on a way of fixing it first," said Wandering William; "you see," he explained to Bud, "the radiator--" "Hyar, hold on thar. Talk United States language. What's wrong with this arrangement meter. "It's sprung a leak," volunteered Peggy; "look here, you can see for yourself. The hole is tiny, but it's big enough to let out all the water that we need to cool the cylinders." "Humph," said Bud crossing his hands on the horn of his saddle and gazing abstractedly at the leak, "what you need is solder," he announced presently. "If we'd had any we'd been out of here long ago," rejoined Peggy, as Roy, hearing the unusual noise, peered over the edge of the chassis. "Hullo, kid; what's biting you?" demanded the breezy Bud. "Guess I'm out of commission for a while," rejoined Roy bravely. Peggy hastily explained the accident, and then, as she saw no harm in doing so, she gave Bud a hasty sketch of the events leading up to their being marooned on the alkali. "So you're after that ornery varmint, Red Bill, are yer?" remarked Bud as she concluded; "wa-al I'll do all in my power to help you. I've bin a studyin' that thar leak while you was a talkite. What you need is suthin' to stop it up." "Obviously," said Peggy with a trace of annoyance in her tone. "Now don't git riled, fer I've hit on a scheme ter git yer out of yer troubles." Bud shoved back his sombrero and gazed triumphantly at the astonished girl aviator. CHAPTER XXIV WHAT CHEWING GUM DID "But, Bud, how?" "Easy enough. Hyar," he exclaimed, looking back at the horsemen behind him, "whar's that dude Chick Berry?" "Here I be, Bud," replied a small, freckle-faced cowboy with blue silk ribbons on his shirt sleeves and other marks of the cowboy dude about him. "Got any of that thar gum you's always achewin' so as ter be agreeable to ther ladies?" demanded Bud. "Shore, Bud," rejoined Chick, pulling off an embroidered gauntlet and extracting a pink package from his breast pocket. "Wall, chaw some quick, and chaw it good. I need it." Chick's jaws worked overtime. Presently he handed a small wad of glutinous gum to his leader. "Na-ow then," announced Bud, dismounting, "I'm goin' ter show you a hurry up repair job." He squatted, cow-boy fashion, in front of the radiator, and with deft fingers pressed the gum into the leak. "Let it dry a minute an' I'll bet ye that what-you-may-call-um will be as tight as a drum. No, don't give me no credit fer ther idee. I seen a feller fix his gasoline gig that way one day when I was down in San Antone," At the expiration of a few anxious minutes, water was poured into the radiator, and, to their immense relief, Bud's hastily contrived bit of plumbing worked. The radiator held water perfectly and a few moments later Peggy started the engine. But at the first revolutions of the propellers a strange thing happened. On the spot where, a second before, had stood a group of interested horse hunters, not one remained after the propeller had whizzed round a couple of times. They were scattered all over the desert, their ponies maddened beyond all control by terror at the noise and smoke of the aeroplane's motor. Bud alone managed to spur his pony close to the throbbing machine. "Good bye and good luck!" he shouted, and waved his hat. The next instant his pony swung round on its hind legs and dashed off to join its terrified companions. With an answering wave of the hand Peggy threw in the clutch that started the aeroplane forward, and after their long enforced delay they once more took the air. But a day had practically gone--a day in which the fight for the mine might have been lost. Never had Peggy urged an aeroplane to greater speed than she did the fast monoplane, at the wheel of which she was now stationed. The desert floor flew by beneath them in a dull blur. The roar and vibration of the powerful motor shook the car like a leaf. Wandering William said nothing, but he gazed rather apprehensively over the side from time to time. Also he might have been observed to clutch at his hair occasionally. "Can you see anything of the town yet?" The professor leaned forward and shouted the question in Peggy's ear. He had to do so in order to make himself heard above the roar of the engine. Peggy shook her head, but motioned to a pocket in which were a pair of field-glasses. Wandering William understood, and raising them, held them to his eyes. The sun was low and a reddish haze overhung the desert. But presently into the field of the binoculars there swung a-tall water tower. It marked the site of Blue Creek. "I've got it," cried the observer; "swing off to the right a bit." Obediently the big flying thing turned and rushed through the air toward the distant landmark. "I can see the place now," cried Peggy. "Pray heaven we'll be in time." She tried to put on more speed, but already the big monoplane was doing all it could, and a more. Under their hood the cylinders were smoking. There was a smell of blistered paint about the aerial craft. But Peggy never slackened speed for an instant. With the time that had been lost with the leaky radiator, she knew it was possible that Red Bill's men were already in the town. If she had known that a speedy automobile had met the stealers of the location papers in mid-desert that afternoon and rushed them into Blue Creek she might have given up in despair. But, she knew nothing of Red Bill's ruse, and imagined that the trip with the stolen papers had been made on horseback all the way. Fifteen minutes after the little settlement been first sighted the aeroplane soared roofs in a long, graceful swing, and then swooped to earth in front of the National House. Cash and the usual group of loungers came rushing out in huge excitement. "It's an airship! Come and see the airship!" The cry spread through the town like wildfire. In five minutes quite a large crowd was swirling and surging about the machine and its anxious occupants. "Whar's the United States Assayer's office?" demanded Wandering William, above the hubbub and excitement. "Why it's two blocks to the right an' down that alley," volunteered Cash; "you're the second party as has bin askin' fer it ter day." Peggy's heart sank and Wandering William bit his lips. From the bottom of the chassis Roy demanded: "Are we too late?" "We don't know yet, Roy dear," Peggy found time to whisper, and then: "Who else was looking for the assayer?" "Feller in a big automobile. All dust-covered, too. Said he had a claim ter file." Wandering William actually groaned. But Cash went on speaking. "Funny, all this rush of business should come ter day." "How's that?" inquired Wandering William for want of something better to say. "Why 'cause ther assay office is closed up. Jim Dallam, as ran it, his mother is dead, an' he got leave ter go back East. Ther nearest assay office now is at Monument Rocks sixty miles east of hyar." Straw of hope as it was they clutched at it eagerly. There might be a train leaving within a reasonable time: "Can we get a train there?" asked Wandering William eagerly bending forward. "Reckon ye're jes' too late; one pulled out half an hour ago." "Did--did the man with the red auto catch it?" asked Peggy breathlessly. "Yes, mum--miss, I mean. He allowed he was going ter git them papers filed or bust." The blow had fallen. Peggy sat numb and limp in the chassis. But presently the necessity of attending to Roy aroused her from her lethargy. Under her directions the boy was removed to a bed in the hotel and a doctor sent for. The physician lived in the hotel, so no time was lost before he was at Roy's bedside. He had finished his examination and had pronounced the injury painful, but not dangerous, when, without ceremony, Wandering William burst into the room. "We can make it yet! We can make it yet!" he was shouting. The doctor looked up as if he thought he had another patient and a maniac to deal with. "I--I beg your pardon," stammered Wandering William, "but this is a vital matter to this young lady and gentleman." "Yes--yes, what is it?" asked Peggy eagerly. Her eyes burned with eagerness and suppressed excitement. Something in Wandering William's manner seemed to say that he had found a way out of their difficulties. "I've made inquiries," he repeated, "and I've found out that the train to Monument Rocks makes several stops. There's just a chance that we can beat it in the aeroplane." "You can!" Roy raised himself up in bed despite the pain. "I think so. But we must hurry." "Sis, do you mean you are going to try it?" "Of course. We must." "Then go in and win," cried the boy; "you can follow the tracks by the lights and once you overtake the train the rest will be easy." The amazed doctor fairly dropped his case of instruments at this whirlwind dialogue. "But--what--why--bless my soul," he gasped, but only the first part of his remarks was heard by Peggy. Followed by Wandering William she dashed from the room and into the street. In front of the hotel Cash was having a hard time keeping souvenir hunters from the aeroplane. But a pair of blue revolvers, like miniature Gatling guns, acted as powerful dissuaders of curiosity. CHAPTER XXV A RACE THROUGH THE NIGHT "All right. Stand clear, please!" The aeroplane had been tuned up, and now, panting like an impatient horse, it was ready to be off on its dash for Monument Rocks. But the crowd stupidly clustered about it like bees round a rose bush. The delay was maddening, but Peggy dared not start for fear of injuring someone. "Won't you please stand aside?" she begged for the twentieth time, but the crowd just as obstinately lingered. Suddenly an idea came to her. She cut out the mufflers and instantly a deafening series of reports, like a battery of Gatling guns going into action, filled the air. Tense as the situation was, neither Peggy nor Wandering William on the rear seat could keep from laughing as they saw the effect the bombardment of noise had. The inhabitants of Blue Creek literally tumbled all over each other in their haste to get out of the way. Five seconds after the deafening uproar commenced a clear path was presented, and, before the crowd could get used to the sound and come surging around again, Peggy started the aeroplane up. Amid a mighty shout it took the air and vanished like a flash in the gathering dusk. The race against time was on. Fortunately the telegraph poles along the right of way acted as guides, for, in the gathering darkness, the tracks were hardly visible. Peggy did not dare to fly too low, however, for it was only in the upper air currents that the monoplane could develop its best speed. But even with all her care she pressed the machine too hard, for half an hour after their departure from Blue Creek they had to alight to allow the cylinders to cool. Bud's makeshift stop for the leak, however, was acting splendidly, and Peggy mentally stored it away as a good idea for future use. The delay was annoying to the point of being maddening, but there was no help for it. To have taken the air with heated cylinders would have been to court disaster. While they waited out in the lonely Nevada hills beside the single-track railroad, Peggy's mind held a lively vision of the train speeding toward Monument Rocks and the Assay Office, bearing with it the stolen papers carried by Red Bill's agent. At last, after what seemed an eternity, they were ready to start once more. Peggy lost no time in taking to the air. With her every cylinder developing its full horse power, the aeroplane sky-rocketed upward at a rate that made Wandering William hold on for dear life. "W-w-w-what speed are we making?" The question was jolted out of the passenger. "About sixty," Peggy flung back at him. "Then we ought to overtake the train. I understand it only makes forty-five even on the most favorable bits of road, and the tracks are pretty rough out in this part of the country." On through the night they roared. It was quite dark now, and Peggy had switched on the search light with which the aeroplane was provided. It cast a white pencil of light downward, showing the parallel bands of steel. Somewhere ahead of them, on those tracks, was the train. But how far ahead? As yet no gleam of its tail lights had come through the darkness. All at once Peggy gave a triumphant cry. "Look!" she cried. "It's the train!" Far ahead gleamed two tiny red lights. They glowed through the darkness like the eyes of some wild animal. But the occupants of the aeroplane knew they were the tail lights of the train that was carrying the stolen papers to Monument Rocks. Peggy tried to put on still more speed, but the aeroplane was doing its best. But fast as it was going, it seemed to crawl up on the train at a snail pace. The tail lights still kept far ahead. But although the gain was slow, it was, steady. Before another dozen miles had been passed Peggy was flying above the train. In the glare of the furnaces as the fireman jerked the doors open, Peggy could see the engineer and his mate gazing up at them with something of awe in their expressions. Aeroplanes were not as common in the far West as in the East. Suddenly the girl noticed a figure emerge from the forward door of the front coach and clamber over the tender and drop lightly into the cab. A sudden gleam from the fire door served to light his features. Peggy recognized him instantly as the tall "romantic bandit," the one with the red sash. The girl saw him lean toward the engineer and thrust something into his hand. It looked like a roll of bills. The next instant the train's speed perceptibly increased. It was all the aeroplane could do to keep up with it. "He's given the engineer money, to go faster," exclaimed Wandering William. The tall figure now crawled back on the tender and gazed upward. His hand glided back to his hip. The next moment there was a flash, and a bullet zipped wickedly through the air past Peggy's ear. "The coyote, he's firing at us!" cried Wandering William. Z-i-n-g! Another bullet sang by the speeding aeroplane. Apparently the fireman and the engineer could not hear the shooting above the noise of the flying engine, for they did not turn their heads. Presently the fireman began shoveling on coal at a terrific rate. Sparks and flame shot from the smokestack of the locomotive. They streaked the night with fire. "Is he trying to kill us?" exclaimed Peggy as another shot winged past. "I hardly think he'd risk that," rejoined Wandering William, "but what he's up to is almost as bad. He's trying to disable the aeroplane." But before another could be fired the train began to slacken speed. Ahead and below the aeroplane could be seen a cluster of lights. "Monument Rocks!" exclaimed Wandering William; "here's where we play the hand out." Peggy, keeping a bright lookout for a good landing place, presently espied a sort of plaza in the center of the town. It was brilliantly illuminated by a number of arc lights and offered a fine spot for landing. She decided to risk a quick drop and swung the aeroplane downward at a rapid gait. As the whirring of the propeller--like the drone of a giant locust--resounded over the town, people came pouring out from houses and shops to witness the descent. The crowd gathered so quickly that Peggy had difficulty to avoid hitting some of them. However, she managed to bring the aeroplane to a standstill without an accident. A local policeman came up as they stopped, and to him Peggy entrusted the machine. Followed by Wandering William she darted off across the plaza and made for a cab stand immediately across it and just outside the depot. As she rushed up to the solitary rickety hack that was standing there and was about to step in a tall figure came rushing out of the station. The train had just pulled in, and long before its wheels had stopped revolving he had leaped from it. "Get to one side," he shouted, grabbing Peggy's arm roughly and swinging her aside. "I guess I'm first on this deal." "What do you mean," demanded Peggy angrily; "I had this cab first." "But now I dispossess you of it this way!" The ruffian had his hand raised to strike when something happened. A lithe, muscular form glided under the upraised fist, and the next moment there was a sharp crack as the newcomer's fist collided with the other's chin. He went staggering backward and fell in a heap on the sidewalk. A tall man with a broad brimmed hat came bustling up, followed by a small crowd attracted from the aeroplane by the disorder. "Here, here, what's all this?" demanded the tall man in an authoritative tone. "What does this mean?" "That this man I've just knocked down is under arrest for participation in the Laredo stage robbery and for numerous other crimes, including the larceny of some location papers he was about to file." The words came from an athletic young man who had felled Peggy's assailant. The girl looked up at him. In the electric light there was something familiar and yet strangely unfamiliar about his features, and his keen, kindly eyes. "Why," exclaimed Peggy wonderingly, "it's--it's--" "Wandering William, minus his wig and goatee, otherwise Sam Kelly, of the United States Secret Service," rejoined the other with a merry laugh. "I guess I'll go out of the doctor business now, since I've nabbed one of the men I was after. Now then, you rascal," addressing the "romantic bandit," who had scrambled to his feet, "where are the rest of Red Bill's precious gang?" "I don't know," sullenly rejoined the prisoner. "Oh, yes you do; but first of all give me those papers." "What papers?" "The ones you brought here to file in the Assay Office." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Yes you do. Come now, or I'll ask the sheriff to search you." With a very bad grace the outlaw dove into his pocket and handed over a bundle of papers. Wandering Will--we mean Detective Sam Kelly--took them and handed them to Peggy. "Those are more yours than mine," he said; "we'll file them in the morning or at any time there's no hurry now." "Now then," he resumed, turning to the tall outlaw whose arms were held by two of the sheriff's deputies, "are you going to answer my question, where is Red Bill and the rest of them now?" "Where you can't reach 'em in time to queer their game," came in a voice of sullen triumph; "they're at Jim Bell's mine picking up gold and silver." CHAPTER XXVI BESIEGED--CONCLUSION The sun rose redly and shone down into the arroyo on a group of sleepless, anxious persons. As the tall bandit had triumphantly announced, Jim Bell's mine was besieged. Since the evening before armed horsemen had surrounded it, but so far the little garrison had held out. If Red Bill had had any idea that he was going to find Mr. Bell an easy prey he must have revised his opinion. But he knew that it was only a question of time till he could starve him out and take possession of the mine. He was unaware of the departure of the aeroplane for Blue Creek, otherwise he might have kept a better look out. "I wonder if they got through?" It was Mr. Bell who spoke, making a brave attempt at indifference to the danger that hedged them in. Before anyone could reply a figure on horse-back appeared at the head of the arroyo. It was Red Bill himself. On his ankle was a bandage, but his amazing vitality had left no other traces of the bite of the rattlesnake. "Wa-al, Jim Bell," he demanded, "for the third an' last time, air you goin' ter give in peaceable? Ain't no sense in holding out. We've got your stock. We'll tap your water hole if we can strike the vein and it won't take us long. We've got you whar we want you, an' if you've got ther brains uv a yearling calf you'll throw up the sponge and give us the mine." "Not while I can raise a hand to fight you," rejoined Jim Bell boldly. "Ah! I might have expected some such trick!" A bullet had whizzed past his ear and flattened itself on the rock behind the mining man. If he had not caught the quick movement of Red Bill's arm just in time the moment might have been his last. "That's just a taste of what you'll git if you try to stick it out," bellowed Red Bill, and wheeling his horse he rode off. Two or three times that morning Jimsy tried the experiment of raising a hat on a rifle barrel above the top of the little canyon. Each time a bullet pierced it, showing that the place was well watched. Miss Sally lay on her cot in her tent. The venerable New England lady was literally half-dead from fright. Alverado, sullen eyed and apathetic, strode up and down the canyon all day muttering threats he was powerless to carry out. Jess, wide-eyed and white-faced, but brave, did her share of the work and kept Jimsy and Mr. Bell cheered up as well as she could. But the suspense of awaiting the return of Peggy and Roy was the hardest to bear. If they had gotten through safely and the papers were filed, then, even if Red Bill captured the mine he could not work it. A few nuggets would be his reward. But if the aeroplane had been disabled or had reached Blue Creek too late, why then Red Bill held all the cards. Mr. Bell had reasoned this out with himself over and over again, while his brother sat, staring and disconsolate, playing endless games of solitaire. It was past noon when Jimsy, who had taken an observation between two rocks, which acted as a bullet-proof sentry box, announced that the forces of the outlaws seemed to be massing. "Looks as if they were going to make an attack," he said. Mr. Bell clambered up and speedily confirmed the correctness of Jimsy's opinion. "Get everything ready," he ordered; "there's just a chance we can stand them off. If not, we'll have to trust to their mercy." A clatter of hoofs sounded above the arroyo and the next instant several horsemen appeared. Without knowing just what he was doing Jimsy, who had a rifle in his hands, pulled the trigger. He was amazed to see the giant form of Red Bill totter and reel in the saddle, and fall with a crash to the ground. The next instant horror at the idea that he had killed the man seized on him. His hands shook so that he almost dropped the rifle. But there was little time for reflection. The sight of their leader's downfall seemed to drive the other outlaws to frenzy. They poured a leaden hail into the arroyo that must have exterminated every living thing in it if they had not sought shelter behind a mighty mass of boulders. Hardly had they crouched there in temporary safety, before, far above them, came a familiar sound. The giant droning of an enormous beetle was what it seemed to resemble most. But Jess and Jimsy recognized it instantly. "An aeroplane!" shouted Jess. "It's Peggy and Roy!" cried Jimsy the next instant. Looking upward against the blue was outlined the scarab-like form of the monoplane. At the same moment a terrific trampling of horses' hoofs sounded above. Shots and shouts rang out in wild confusion. "What can be happening?" gasped Jess. Even Aunt Sally, cowering in her tent, summoned courage to peek forth. The sight they saw was an inspiring one. Bud and his horse hunters were riding down the outlaws in every direction. While this was going on, the aeroplane swung lower. From it there stepped as it alighted, not Roy and Peggy, but Peggy and a strange young man whom nobody recollected having seen before. Without a word he bounced from the chassis as the aeroplane struck the ground, and, revolver in hand, set off in hot pursuit of Bud and his men, who, from horse hunters, had become man hunters. The outlaws, outnumbered and outridden, were fain to cry for quarter. With the exception of three who escaped, the whole band was rounded up and made prisoners. Red Bill, who proved to be only slightly wounded, was captured by Sam Kelly himself. The presence of the horse hunters on the scene at the opportune moment was soon explained by Peggy, who spent a busy hour relating all that had occurred since they left the camp. Roy, she explained, was still at the hotel in Blue Creek, but mending rapidly. She and the detective had encountered the horse hunters as the aeroplane was on its return journey, and, guessing from the tall bandit's story that the camp in the arroyo must be besieged, they enlisted the services of Bud and his followers. There seems to be little more to tell of this portion of the Girl Aviators' adventures. The mine, in the developing of which they had played such striking parts, proved to be rich beyond even Mr. Bell's dreams, and when additional claims were taken up each of the young airship enthusiasts found that he or she had substantial shares in them. The aeroplane line from the mine to the railroad, which had been Mr. Bell's original idea, proved to be a great success. Under Roy's tuition three young aviators, who were brought from the East, were instructed in managing their lines. Alverado, it will be recalled, recognized Sam Kelly as an old acquaintance during lawless times in Mexico--he has been appointed to a position in the government service, where he has done good work in aiding to rid the Big Alkali of the rascals that formerly infested it. As for our young friends, when the aeroplane line was well established, they returned to the East, as Aunt Sally firmly refused to remain any longer in the far West, which she always scripturally refers to as a land of "the wicked and stiff-necked." But their adventures were by no means over, as perhaps might be expected in the case of those who dare the air in fast flying machines. Their experience on the great Nevada desert was not destined to be the only time that the Girl Aviators and their chums proved their worth in seasons of danger and necessity. Stirring aerial adventures lay ahead of them, still more exciting than the ones they had encountered while "On Golden Wings." What these were, and how our girls and boys acquitted themselves in facing and surmounting fresh difficulties and dangers--as well as their lighter moments--will be related in full in the next volume of this series: "THE GIRL AVIATORS' SKY CRUISE." THE END 
10954	----	[Illustration: AT THE CORRECT MOMENT PEGGY DROPPED THE WEIGHTED BUNDLE OVERBOARD.--Page 103.] THE GIRL AVIATORS' SKY CRUISE BY MARGARET BURNHAM AUTHOR OF "THE GIRL AVIATORS AND THE PHANTOM AIRSHIP," "THE GIRL AVIATORS ON GOLDEN WINGS," ETC. NEW YORK HURST & COMPANY 1911 CONTENTS CHAPTER I. A NEW VENTURE IN SANDY BEACH II. MR. HARDING DECLARES HIMSELF III. A NAVAL VISITOR IV. ALOFT IN A STORM V. PEGGY A HEROINE VI. FARMER GALLOWAY'S "SAFE DEPOSIT" VII. A CASE FOR THE AUTHORITIES VIII. MR. MORTLAKE LOSES SOME DRAWINGS IX. THE FLIGHT OF THE "SILVER COBWEB" X. AN AERIAL POST OFFICE XI. THE MARKED BILL XII. WHAT HAPPENED TO ROY XIII. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT XIV. HOW THEY WORKED OUT XV. WHAT MORTLAKE DID XVI. THE MISSING SIDE-COMB XVII. JIMSY'S SUSPICIONS ARE ROUSED XVIII. A BOLT FROM THE BLUE XIX. THE GATHERING OF THE MAN-BIRDS XX. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING XXI. THE START OF THE SKY CRUISE XXII. THE WHITE PERIL XXIII. OUT OF THE CLOUDS XXIV. FRIENDS AND FOES--CONCLUSION CHAPTER I. A NEW VENTURE IN SANDY BEACH. "It isn't to be a barn; that's one thing certain. Who ever saw a barn with skylights on it?" Peggy Prescott, in a pretty, fluffy morning dress of pale green, which set off her blonde beauty to perfection, laid down her racket, and, leaving the tennis-court, joined her brother Roy at the picket fence. The lad, bronzed and toughened by his trip to the Nevada desert, was leaning upon the paling, gazing down the dusty road. About a quarter of a mile away was the object of his contemplation--a big, new structure, painted a staring red. It had no windows, but in front were great sliding doors. On its flat roof the forms of a dozen or more glazed skylights upreared themselves jauntily. "No, it's a work-shop of some sort. But what? Old man Harding is interested in it, that's one thing sure. I heard, too, that while we were away, cases of machinery had arrived and been delivered there, and that active work of some sort had been going forward ever since," rejoined Roy, who was clad in white tennis flannels, with white shoes and an outing shirt, set off by a dark-red necktie. "See Roy," cried Peggy suddenly, "they're putting up some sort of sign on it, or else I'm very much mistaken." "So they are. I see men on some ladders, and now, look Peg, they are carrying up a big board with something painted on it. Perhaps at last the mystery will be solved, as they say in the dime novels." "Can you read the printing on that sign?" inquired Peggy. "Not a word. I can see the letters to know that they are printed characters, but that's all. Tell you what, Peg, just run and get those glasses we used on the desert--there's a good fellow--and we'll soon find out." "Isn't that just like a brother? Always sending his long-suffering sister on his errands." "Why, you know you are dying with curiosity yourself, to know what's on that signboard," parried Roy. "And I suppose you're not," pouted Peggy in mock indignation. "However, I'll get the field glasses to oblige you--just once." "As if you won't try to secure the first peek through them!" laughed Roy, as sunny Peggy tripped off across the lawn to a big shed in the rear of the Prescott home, where the aeroplanes and their appurtenances were kept. She soon was back with the field glasses, and, as Roy had prophesied, raised them to her eyes first. Having adjusted the focus, she scrutinized the sign carefully. By this time the big board had been raised horizontally above the doors and was being fixed in position. Suddenly Peggy gave a little squeal of astonishment and lowered the magnifiers. "Well, what is it?" chaffed Roy; "an anarchist bomb factory or an establishment for raising goats, or something that will "butt in" just as much on our peace and quiet, or----" "Roy Prescott," enunciated Peggy, severely shaking one pink-tipped finger under Roy's freckled nose, "this is not a subject for jesting." "Never more serious in my life, Sis. If you could have seen your own face as you peeked through those glasses----" Peggy stuffed the binoculars into her brother's brown hands. "Here, look for yourself," she ordered. Her voice was so imperious that Roy obeyed immediately. An instant later his sister's expression of dumfounded amazement was mirrored on his own straightforward, good-looking countenance. "Well, as Bud used to say out West, 'if that ain't the beatingest'!" he gasped. "What did you read?" demanded Peggy breathlessly. "Repeat it so that I may be sure my eyes didn't play me a trick." "Not likely, Sis; the letters are big enough. They show up on that red painted barn of a place like a big freckle on a pretty girl's chin." Then he repeated slowly, mimicking a boy reciting a lesson: "The Mortlake Aeroplane Company. Well, wouldn't that jar you?" "Roy!" reproved Peggy. "There's no other way to express it, Sis," protested the boy. "Why, that's the concern that's been advertising so much recently. Just to think, it was right at our door, and we never knew it." "And that hateful old Mr. Harding is interested in it, too, oh!" The exclamation and its intonation expressed Peggy's dislike of the gentleman mentioned. "It's a scheme oh his part to make trouble for us, I'll bet on it," burst out Roy. "But this time I guess it's no phantom airship, but the real thing. What time is that naval lieutenant coming to look over the Prescott aeroplane, Peggy?" "Some time to-day. He mentioned no particular hour." "Do you think it possible that he is also going to take in that outfit down the road?" "It wouldn't surprise me. Maybe that's why they are just putting up the sign. They evidently have refrained from doing so till now in order to keep the nature of their business secret. If we hadn't come back from Nevada sooner than we expected, we might not have known anything about it till the navy had investigated and--approved." Far down the road, beyond the big red building, came a whirl of dust. From it presently emerged a big maroon car. Peggy scrutinized it through the glasses. "Mr. Harding is in that auto," she said, rather quietly for Peggy, as the car came to a stop in front of the Mortlake Aeroplane Manufacturing Company's plant. Shortly before Peggy and Roy Prescott, their aunt, Miss Sallie Prescott, with whom they made their home, and their chums, Jess and Jimsy Bancroft, had returned from the Nevada alkali wastes, the red building which engaged their attention that morning had caused a good deal of speculation in the humdrum Long Island village of Sandy Beach. In the first place, coincident with the completion of the building, a new element had been introduced into the little community by the arrival of several keen-eyed, close-mouthed men, who boarded at the local hotel and were understood to be employees at the new building. But what the nature of their employment was to be, even the keenest of the village "cross examiners" had failed to elicit. Before long, within the freshly painted wooden walls, still sticky with pigment, there could be heard, all day, and sometimes far into the night, the buzz and whir of machinery and other more mystic sounds. The village was on tenter-hooks of curiosity, but there being no side windows to peer through, and a watchman of ferocious aspect stationed at the door, their inquisitiveness was, perforce, unsatisfied. Not even a sign appeared on the building to indicate the nature of the industry carried on within, and its employees continued to observe the stoniest of silences. They herded together, ignoring all attempts to draw them into conversation. What Peggy and Roy had observed that day had been the first outward sign of the inward business. From the throbbing automobile, which the boy and girl had observed draw up in front of the Mortlake plant, a man of advanced age alighted, whose yellow skin was stretched tightly, like a drumhead, over his bony face. From the new building, at the same time, there emerged a short, stout personage, garbed in overalls. But the fine quality of his linen, and a diamond pin, which nestled in the silken folds of his capacious necktie, showed as clearly as did his self-assertive manner, that the newcomer was by no means an ordinary workman. His face was pouchy and heavy, although the whole appearance of the man was by no means ill-looking. His cheeks and chin were clean shaven, the close-cut beard showing bluely under the coarse skin. For the rest, his hair was black and thick, slightly streaked with gray, and heavy eyebrows as dark in hue as his hair, overhung a pair of shrewd, gray eyes like small pent-houses. The man was Eugene Mortlake, the brains of the Mortlake Company. The individual who had just descended from the automobile, throwing a word to the chauffeur over his shoulder, was a person we have met before--Mr. Harding, the banker and local magnate of Sandy Beach, whose money it was that had financed the new aeroplane concern. CHAPTER II. MR. HARDING DECLARES HIMSELF. Readers of the first volume of this series, "The Girl Aviators and The Phantom Airship," will recall Mr. Harding. They will also be likely to recollect his son, Fanning, who made so much trouble for Peggy Prescott and her brother, culminating in a daring attempt to "bluff" them out of entering a competition for a big aerial prize by constructing a phantom aeroplane. Fanning's part in the mystery of the stolen jewels of Mrs. Bancroft, the mother of Jess and Jimsy, will likewise be probably held in memory by those who perused that volume. The elder Harding's part in the attempt to coerce the young Prescotts into parting with their aerial secrets, consisted in trying to foreclose a mortgage he held on the Prescott home, with the alternative of Roy turning over to him the blue prints and descriptions of his devices left the lad by his dead father. How the elder Harding was routed and how the Girl Aviator, Peggy Prescott, came into her own, was all told in this volume. Since that time Mr. Harding's revengeful nature had brooded over what he chose to fancy were his wrongs. What the fruit of his moody and mean meditations was to be, the Mortlake plant, which he had financed, was, in part, the answer. In the volume referred to, it was also related how Peter Bell, an old hermit, had been discovered by means of the Prescott aeroplane, and restored to his brother, a wealthy mining magnate. In the second volume of the Girl Aviators, we saw what came of the meeting between James Bell, the westerner, and the young flying folk. By the agency of the aeroplane, a mine--otherwise inaccessible--had been opened up by Mr. Bell in a remote part of the desert hills of Nevada. The aeroplane and Peggy Prescott played an important part in their adventures and perils. Notably so, when in a neck-to-neck dash with an express train, the aeroplane won out in a race to file the location papers of the mine at Monument Rocks. The rescue of a desert wanderer from a terrible death on the alkali, and the routing of a gang of rascally outlaws were also set forth in full in that book, which was called "The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings." The present story commences soon after the return of the party from the Far West, when they were much surprised--as has been said--to observe the mushroom-like rise of the Mortlake factory. But of what the new plant was to mean to them, and how intimately they were to be brought in contact with it, none of them guessed. "Well, Mortlake," observed Mr. Harding, in his harsh, squeaky voice--not unlike the complaint of a long unused door, "well, Mortlake, we are getting ahead, I see." The two men had, by this time, passed within the big sliding doors of the freshly-painted shed, and now stood in a maze of machinery and strange looking bits of apparatus. From skylights in the roof--there were no side windows to gratify the inquisitive--the sunlight streamed down on three or four partially completed aircraft. With their yellow wings of vulcanized cloth, and their slender bodies, like long tails, they resembled so many dragon-flies, or "devil's darning needles," assembled in conclave upon the level floor. At the farther end of the shed was a small blast furnace, shooting upward a livid, blue spout of flame, which roared savagely. Actively engaged at their various tasks at lathes and work-benches, were a dozen or more overalled mechanics, the most skillful in their line that could be gathered. Here and there were the motors, the driving power of the "dragon flies." The engines glistened with new paint and bright brass and copper parts. Behind them were ranged big propellers of laminated, or joined wood, in stripes of brown and yellow timber. Altogether, the Mortlake plant was as complete a one for the manufacture of aerial machines as could have been found in the country. "Yes, we are getting along, Mr. Harding," returned Mortlake, "and it's time, too. By the way, Lieut. Bradbury is due here at noon. I want to have everything as far advanced as possible in time for his visit. You won't mind accompanying me then, while I oversee the workmen?" Followed by Mr. Harding, he made an active, nervous tour of the work-benches, dropping a reproof here and a nod of commendation or advice there. When he saw a chance, Mr. Harding spoke. "So the government really means to give us an opportunity to show the worth of our machines?" he grated out, rubbing his hands as if washing them in some sort of invisible soap. "Yes, so it seems. At any rate, they notified me that this officer would be here to-day to inspect the place. It means a great deal for us if the government consents to adopt our form of machine for the naval experiments." "To us! To you, you mean," echoed Mr. Harding, with an unpleasant laugh. "I've put enough capital into this thing now, Mortlake. I'm not the man to throw good money after bad. If we are defeated by any other make of machine at the tests I mean to sell the whole thing and at least realize what I've put into it." Mortlake turned a little pale under his swarthy skin. He rubbed his blue chin nervously. "Why, you wouldn't chuck us over now, Mr. Harding," he said deprecatingly. "It was at your solicitation that the plant was put up here, and I had relied on you for unlimited support. Why did you go into the manufacture of aerial machines, if you didn't mean to stick it out?" "I had two reasons," was the rejoinder, in tones as cold as a frigid blast of wind, "one was that I thought it was certain we should capture the government contract, and the other was--well, I had a little grudge I wished to satisfy." "But we will capture the government business. I am not afraid. There is no machine to touch the Mortlake that I know of----" "Yes, there is," interrupted Mr. Harding; "a machine that may be able to discount it in every way." "Nonsense! Where is such an aeroplane?" "Within a quarter of a mile from here. To be accurate, young Prescott's--you know whom I mean?" The other nodded abstractedly. "Well, that youth has a monoplane that has already caused me a lot of trouble." The old man's yellow skin darkened with anger, and his blue pinpoints of eyes grew flinty. "It was partly out of revenge that I decided to start up an opposition business to his. He was in the West till a few days ago, and I never dreamed that he would return till I had secured the government contract. But I am now informed--oh, I have ears everywhere in Sandy Beach--that this boy and his sister, who is in a kind of partnership with him have had the audacity to offer their machine for the government tests also." "Audacity," muttered Mortlake under his breath, but Harding's keen ears caught the remark. "It is audacity," agreed the leathern-faced old financier; "and it's audacity that we must find some way to checkmate. I've never had a business rival yet that I haven't broken into submission or crushed, and a boy and a girl are not going to outwit me now. They did it once, I admit, but this time I shall arrange things differently." "You mean----" "That I intend to cinch that government business." "But what if, as you fear, the Prescotts have a superior aeroplane?" "My dear Mortlake," the pin-point eyes almost closed, and the thin, bloodless lips drew together in a tight line, "if they have a superior machine, we must arrange so that nobody but ourselves is ever aware of the fact." With a throaty gurgle, that might, or might not, have been meant for a chuckle, the old man glided through the doors, which, by this time, he had reached, and sliding rather than stepping into his machine, gave the chauffeur some orders. Mortlake, a peculiar expression on his face, looked after the car as it chugged off and then turned and re-entered the shop. His head was bent, and he seemed to be lost in deep thought. CHAPTER III. A NAVAL VISITOR Roy had departed, on an errand, for town. Peggy, indolently enjoying the perfect drowsiness of noonday, was reclining in a gayly colored hammock suspended between two regal maple trees on the lawn. In her hand was a book. On a taboret by her side was a big pink box full of chocolates. The girl was not reading, however. Her blue eyes were staring straight up through the delicate green tracery of the big maples, at the sky above. She watched, with lazy fascination, tiny white clouds drifting slowly across the blue, like tiny argosies of the heavens. Her mind was far away from Sandy Beach and its peaceful surroundings. The young girl's thoughts were of the desert, the bleak, arid wastes of alkali, which lay so far behind them now. Almost like events that had happened in another life. Suddenly she was aroused from her reverie by a voice--a remarkably pleasant voice: "I beg your pardon. Is this the Prescott house?" "Good gracious, a man!" exclaimed Peggy to herself, getting out of the hammock as gracefully as she could, and with a rather flushed face. At the gate stood a rickety station hack, which had approached on the soft, dusty road almost noiselessly. Just stepping out of it was a sunburned young man, very upright in carriage, and dressed in a light-gray suit, with a jaunty straw hat. He carried a bamboo cane, which he switched somewhat nervously as the pretty girl advanced toward him across the velvet-like lawn. "I am Lieut. Bradbury of the navy," said the newcomer, and Peggy noted that his whole appearance was as pleasant and wholesome as his voice. "I came--er in response to your letter to the department, in regard to the forthcoming trials of aeroplanes for the service." "Oh, yes," exclaimed Peggy, smothering an inclination to giggle, "we--I--that is----" "I presume that I have called at the right place," said the young officer, with a smile. "They told me----" "Oh, come in, won't you?" suddenly requested the embarrassed Peggy. "The sun is fearfully hot. Won't you have a straw hat--I mean a seat?" "Thank you," replied Lieut. Bradbury, gravely sitting in a garden bench at the foot of one of the big maples. His eyes fell on the book Peggy had been reading. It was a treatise on aeronautics. "It isn't possible that you are R. Prescott?" he asked, glancing up quickly. "Oh, no. I am only a humble helper. R. Prescott is in town. He--he will be back shortly." "Indeed. I had hoped to see him personally. I was anxious to inspect the Prescott type of monoplane before visiting another aeroplane plant in this neighborhood, the--the----" The officer drew out a small morocco covered notebook and referred to it. "The Mortlake Aeroplane Company," he concluded. "Oh, yes. They are just down the road, within a stone's throw of here. You can see the place from here; that big barn-like structure," volunteered Peggy, heartily wishing that the Mortlake plant had been a hundred miles away. "Indeed. That's very convenient. I shall be able to make an early train back to New York. Do you suppose that Mr. Prescott will be long?" "I don't really know. He shouldn't be unless he is delayed. But in the meantime I can show you the aeroplane, if you wish." "Ah!" the officer glanced at this girl curiously, "but you know what I particularly desired was a practical demonstration." "A flight?" "Yes, if it were possible." "I think it can be arranged." "You have an aviator attached to your place, then?" Peggy laughed musically. She had quite recovered from her embarrassment now. "No. I guess it's an aviatress--if there is such a word. You see I----" "You!" "Oh, yes. I have flown quite a good deal recently. I think it is the most delightful sport there is." A sudden light seemed to break over the young officer. "Are you Miss Margaret Prescott, the girl aviator I have read so much about in the technical publications?" "I believe I am," smiled Peggy; "but here comes my aunt, Miss Sallie Prescott." As she spoke, Miss Prescott, in a soft gown of cool white material, emerged from the house. Peggy went through the ceremony of introduction, after which they all directed their steps to the large shed in which the Prescott machines were kept. In the meantime, old Sam Hickey, the gardener, and his stalwart son Jerusah, had been summoned to aid in dragging out one of the aeroplanes. "We only have two on hand," explained Peggy; "my brother has forwarded the others that we built to Mr. James Bell, the mining man. They are being used in aerial gold transportation across the Nevada desert." "Indeed! That is most interesting." Sam Hickey flung open the big doors and revealed the interior of the shed with the two scarab-like monoplanes standing within. A strong smell of gasoline and machine-oil filled the air. The officer glanced at Peggy's dainty figure in astonishment. It seemed hard to associate this refined, exquisite young girl with the rough actualities of machinery and aeroplanes. [Illustration: When she emerged a very business-like Peggy had taken the place of the lounger in the hammock.] But Peggy, with a word of excuse, dived suddenly into a small room. While she was gone, Miss Prescott entertained the young officer with many tales of her harrowing experiences on the Nevada desert. To all of which he listened with keen attention. At least he did so to all outward appearance, but his eyes were riveted on the door through which Peggy had vanished. When she emerged a very business-like Peggy had taken the place of the lounger in the hammock. A linen duster, fitting tightly, covered her from top to toe. A motoring bonnet of maroon silk imprisoned her hair, and upon its rim, above her forehead, was perched a pair of goggles. Gauntlets encased her hands. "Looks rather too warm to be comfortable, doesn't it?" she laughed. "But we shall find it cool enough up above." "Perhaps the lieutenant----" ventured Miss Prescott. "Oh, yes. How stupid of me not to have thought of it!" exclaimed Peggy. "Mr. Bradbury, you will find aviation togs inside there." "By Jove; she knows enough not to call a naval officer 'lieutenant,'" thought the young officer, as, with a bow and a word of thanks, he vanished to equip himself for his aerial excursion. By the time he was invested in a similar long duster, with weighted seams, and had donned a cap and goggles, the larger of the two aeroplanes, named the _Golden Butterfly_, was ready for its passengers. Old Sam and his son, who had dragged it out--it moved easily on its landing wheels--stood by, their awe of the big craft showing plainly on their faces. A section of the fence had been made removable, so as to give the Prescott aeroplanes a free run from their stable to the smooth slope of the meadows beyond. This was now removed, and Peggy, followed by the young officer, took her place in the chassis. Peggy made a pretty figure at the steering wheel. "The first improvement I should like to call your attention to," she began, in the most business-like tones she could muster up, "is the self-starter. It works by pneumatic power, and does away with the old-fashioned method of starting an aeroplane by twisting the propeller." The girl opened a valve connected with a galvanized tank, with a pressure gauge on top, and pulled back a lever. Instantly, a hissing sound filled the air. Then, with a dexterous movement, Peggy threw in the spark and turned on the gasoline which the spark would ignite, thereby causing an explosion in the cylinders. But first the compressed air had started the motor turning over. At the right moment Peggy switched on the power and cut off the air. Instantly there was a roar from the exhausts and blue flames and smoke spouted from the motor. The aeroplane shook violently. It would have made an inexperienced person's teeth chatter. But both the officer and Peggy were sufficiently familiar with aeroplanes for it not to bother them in the least. "Magnificent!" cried the young officer enthusiastically, as he saw the ease with which the compressed air attachment set the motor to working. "It will do away with assistants to start the machine," he declared the next instant. "The importance of that in warfare can hardly be overestimated." Peggy was too busy to reply. So far all had gone splendidly. If only she could carry out the whole test as well! "Ready?" she asked, flinging back the word over her shoulder to Lieutenant Bradbury. "All ready!" came in a hearty voice from behind her. Peggy, with a quick movement, threw in the clutch that started the propeller to whirring. With a drone like that of a huge night-beetle, or prehistoric thunder-lizard, the machine leaped forward as a race-horse jumps under the raised barrier. In a blur of blue smoke it skimmed through the gap in the palings. Out upon the smooth meadowland it shot, roaring and smoking terrifically. And then, all at once, the jolting motion of the start ceased. It seemed as if the occupants of the chassis were riding luxuriously over a road paved with the softest of eiderdown. The sensation was delightful, exhilarating. Peggy shut off the exhaust, turning the explosions of the cylinder into a muffler. In almost complete silence they winged upward. Up, up, toward the fleecy clouds she had been lazily watching, but a short time before, from the hammock. The _Golden Butterfly_ had never done better. "You're a darling!" breathed Peggy confidentially to the motor that with steady pulse drove them upward and onward. CHAPTER IV. IN A STORM Dwarfed to the merest midgets, the figures about the Prescott house waved enthusiastically, as the golden-winged monoplane made a graceful swoop high above the elms and maples surrounding it. Other figures could be glimpsed too, now, running about excitedly outside the barn-like structure housing the Mortlake aeroplanes. "Guess they think you are stealing a march on them," drawled Lieut. Bradbury. A wild, reckless feeling, born of the thrilling sensation of aerial riding, came over Peggy. She would do it--she would. With a scarcely perceptible thrust of her wrist, she altered the angle of the rudder-like tail, and instantly the obedient _Golden Butterfly_ began racing through space toward the Mortlake plant. The naval officer, quick to guess her plan, laughed as happily as a mischievous boy. "What a lark!" he exclaimed. "It's contrary to all discipline, but it's jolly good fun." Peggy turned a small brass-capped valve--the timer. At once the aeroplane showed accelerated speed. It fairly cut through the air. Both the occupants were glad to lower their goggles to protect their eyes from the sharp, cutting sensation of the atmosphere, as they rushed against it--into its teeth, as it were. Peggy glanced at the indicator. The black pointer on the white dial was creeping up--fifty, sixty, sixty-two--she would show this officer what the Prescott monoplane could do. "Sixty-four! Great Christmas!" The exclamation came from the officer. He had leaned forward and scanned the indicator eagerly. "We'll do better when we have our new type of motor installed," said Peggy, with a confident nod. The young fellow gasped. "This is the twentieth century with a vengeance," he murmured, sinking back in his rear seat, which was as comfortably upholstered as the luxurious tonneau of a five-thousand-dollar automobile. Like a darting, pouncing swallow, seeking its food in mid-air, the _Golden Butterfly_ swooped, soared and dived in long, graceful gradients above the Mortlake plant. Once Peggy brought the aeroplane so close to the ground in a long, swinging sweep, that it seemed as if it could never recover enough "way" to rise again. Even the officer, trained in a strict school to repress his emotions, tightened his lips, and then opened them to emit a relieved gasp. So close to the gaping machinists and the anger-crimsoned Mortlake did the triumphant aeroplane swoop, that Peggy, to her secret amusement could trace the astonished look on the faces of the employees and the chagrined expression that darkened Mortlake's countenance. "I guess I've given them something to think over," she said mischievously, flinging back a brilliant smile at the dazed young officer. "Now," she exclaimed the next moment, "for a distance flight. I'm anxious to put the _Golden Butterfly_ through all her paces. Oh, by the way, the balancer. I haven't shown you how that works yet." If Peggy's bright eyes had not been veiled by goggles, the officer might have seen a mischievous gleam flash into them, like a wind ripple over the placid surface of a blue lake. Suddenly the aeroplane slanted to one side, as if it must turn over. Peggy had banked it on a sharp aerial curve. The young officer, in spite of himself, in defiance of his training, gave a gasp. "I say----" But the words had hardly left his lips before the aeroplane was back on a level keel once more. At the same time a rasping, sliding sound was heard. "Like to see how that was done?" asked Peggy, with a bewitching smile. "Yes. By Jove, I thought we were over for an instant. But how----" "That we shall be glad to show you when the United States government has contracted for a number of the Prescott aeroplanes," retorted Peggy. The young officer bit his lip. "Confound it," he thought, "is this chit of a girl making fun of me?" Young officers have a high idea of their own dignity. Mr. Bradbury colored a bit with mortification. But Peggy quickly dispelled his temporary chagrin. "You see," she explained, "it would never do for us to reveal all our secrets, would it? You agree with me, don't you?" "Oh, perfectly. You are quite right. Still, I confess that you have aroused all my inquisitiveness." Peggy being busied just then with a bit of machinery on the bulkhead separating the motor from the body of the chassis, made no reply. But presently, when she looked up, she gave a sharp exclamation. The sky, as if by magic, had grown suddenly dark. Above the pulsating voice of the motor could be heard the rumble of thunder. All at once a vivid flash of lightning leaped across the horizon. One of those sudden storms of summer had blown up from the sea, and Peggy knew enough of Long Island weather to know that these disturbances were usually accompanied by terrific winds--squalls and gusts that no aeroplane yet built or thought of could hope to cope with. "We're running into dirty weather, it seems," remarked the officer. "I thought I noticed some thunderheads away off on the horizon when we first went up." "I wish you'd mentioned them then," said the straightforward Peggy; "as it is, we'll have to descend till this blows over." "What, won't even the wonderful equalizer render her safe?" "No, it won't. It will do anything reasonable. But you've no idea of the fury of the wind that comes with these black squalls." "Indeed I have. Last summer I was off Montauk Point in the _Dixie_. Something went wrong with the steering gear just as one of these self-same young hurricanes came bustling up. I tell you, it was "all hands and the cook" for a while. It hardly blows much harder in a typhoon." Peggy gazed below her over the darkening landscape anxiously. There seemed to be trees, trees everywhere, and not a bit of cleared ground. All at once, as they cleared some woods, she spied a bit of meadowland. The hay which had covered it earlier in the summer had been cropped. It afforded an ideal landing-place. But the wind was puffy now, and Peggy did not dare to attempt short descending spirals. Instead, trusting to the balancing device doing its duty faithfully, she swung down in long circles. Just as they touched the ground with a gentle shock, much minimized, thanks to the shock-absorbers with which the _Golden Butterfly_ was fitted, the storm burst in all its fury. Bolt after bolt of vivid lightning ripped and tore across the darkened sky, which hung like a pall behind the terrific electrical display. The rain came down in torrents. "Just in time," laughed the young officer, as he aided Peggy in dragging the aeroplane under the shelter of an open cart-shed. It was quite snug and dry once they had it under the roof. A short distance off stood a farm-house of fairly comfortable appearance. Smoke issuing from one of its chimneys showed that it was occupied. "Let's go over there and see if we can dry our things," suggested Peggy. "I'm wet through." "Same here," was the laughing reply; "but a sailor doesn't mind that. One actually gets webbed feet in the navy--like ducks, you know." Ignoring this remarkable contribution to natural history, Peggy gathered up her skirts daintily and fled across the meadow to the farm-house. It was only a few hundred feet, but the rain came down so hard that both she and her escort were wetter than ever by the time they arrived at the door. It was shut, and except for the lazy wisps of smoke issuing from the chimney, there was no sign of life about the place. The lieutenant knocked thunderously. No answer. "Try again," said Peggy; "maybe they are in some other part of the house." "Perhaps they were scared of the aeroplane and have all retired into hiding," suggested Mr. Bradbury. He rapped again, louder this time, but still no reply. "They must all be asleep," he said, applying himself once more to a thunderous assault on the door, but to no avail. A silence hung about the place, broken only by the roar and rattle of the thunder. "It's positively uncanny," shuddered Peggy. "It's like Red Riding Hood and the Three Little Bears." "One would think that even a bear would open the door on such an occasion as this," said her companion, redoubling his efforts to attract attention. Finally he gave the door handle a twist. It yielded, and the door was speedily found to be unlocked. The officer shoved it open and disclosed a neat farm-house kitchen. In a newly blackened stove, which fairly shone, was a blazing fire. An old clock ticked sturdily in one corner. The floor was scrubbed as white as snow, and on a shelf above the shining stove was an array of gleaming copper pans that gladdened Peggy's housewifely heart. "What a dear of a place!" she exclaimed. "But where are the folks who own it?" "Haven't the least idea," said the officer gayly; "but that stove looks inviting to me. Let's get over to it and get dried out a bit. Then we can commence to investigate." "But, really, you know, we've not the least right in here. Suppose they mistake us for burglars, and shoot us?" "Not much danger of that. They'd shoot me first, anyhow, because I'm the most burglarious looking of the two. Queer, though, where they all can be." "It's worse than queer--it's weird. Good gracious!" exclaimed Peggy, as a sudden thought struck her, "suppose there should be trapdoors?" "Trapdoors!" Her companion was plainly puzzled. "Yes. You know in most books when two folks run across a deserted farm-house there's always a trapdoor or a ghost or something. Suppose----Good heavens, what's that?" From without had come a most peculiar sound. A whirring, like the noise one would suppose would be occasioned by a gigantic locust. Then something--a huge, indefinite shadow--darkened the windows of the farm-house kitchen. Peggy gave a shrill squeal of alarm, while Lieut. Bradbury gallantly ran to the door and flung it open. CHAPTER V. PEGGY A HEROINE. "It's--it's another aeroplane!" cried the officer, with a shout of amazement. "What!" Peggy sprang to her feet. "A large red one?" "Yes. Come here and look. They're just running it under the same shed as ours--yours, I mean." The girl aviator sprang toward the door. Through the rain she peered to where, across the meadow, two dim figures, clad in oilskins, could be seen shoving a big aeroplane under the same shelter that already protected the _Golden Butterfly_. "Well, if this isn't the ultimate!" she gasped. "I beg your pardon?" asked the young man at her side. "The ultimate! That's my way of expressing what the boys call 'the limit.' Why, that's Jess and Jimsy Bancroft, in their new aeroplane--the one Roy built for them. Well, did you ever! Oh, Jess! Oh, Jimsy!" Peggy raised her voice and shouted. In response they saw the oil-skinned figures turn, and through the driving downpour came an answering shout. Presently, across the dripping meadows, the two figures began advancing. All this time the lightning was ripping in a manner to make Peggy shield her eyes occasionally. The thunder, too, was terrific, and the earth seemed to vibrate to its rolling detonations. "Well, Peggy!" gasped Jess, her dark eyes peering from under her waterproof hood, as she and her brother arrived at the threshold of the farm-house, "what on earth does this mean?" "Yes, give an account of yourself at once," demanded Jimsy. "Roy had us on the phone. Asked if you'd flown in our direction. We said no, but we'd take a flight and look for you. In our enthusiasm, we didn't notice the storm coming up. But luckily, being young persons of forethought, we had oilskins in a locker of the machine, and----" "And here we are," finished Jess, shooting a "killing" glance from under her hood at the good-looking young man at Peggy's side. "Aren't you going to ask us in?" demanded Jimsy the next minute. "For hospitality, I don't think you rate very high. We----" "Well, you see, we are here ourselves without knowing if we have any right to be," rejoined Peggy. "But come in and I'll explain. First of all, I want you to meet Mr. Bradbury of the United States Navy. He came to test the Prescott aeroplanes. Mr. Bradbury, this is Miss Bancroft, and her brother----" "Jimsy," put in that irrepressible youth. "Glad to meet you, sir. Almost as much at sea here as in mid-Atlantic." Laughing, they all entered the farm-house kitchen, while Peggy hastily explained the state of affairs there. "Well, so long as they don't put in an appearance before we get dry, I'm sure I don't care," said Jimsy airily. "What a delightful old kitchen. It might have come out of a picture book." He and the naval officer were soon deep in conversation, leaving Peggy and Jess alone. "My dear Peggy," exclaimed Jess, with a smile that showed all her white even teeth, "what will you do next? Don't you think it's a bit--er--er--unconventional for one of the foremost members of Sandy Beach's younger set to be flying about the country with a good-looking young naval officer?" "Nonsense," retorted Peggy sharply, "as the only representative of the Prescott aeroplanes on the ground, I had to do it. If it hadn't been for this old storm, I'd have been home long ago." "So should we. What a coincidence we should have met here. Is this--this----" "Lieutenant," prompted Peggy. "Is this lieutenant going to stay long in Sandy Beach?" "Dear me, no. He is only on a flying visit--no pun intended. He was to have taken in the establishment of the Mortlake Aeroplane Company this afternoon. You know, they are in that red, barn-like place, down the road from our place, although Roy and I only found it out to-day." "That was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about, Peggy dear," said Jess, sinking into an old-fashioned Andrew Jackson chair by the hearth. "Dad said at dinner last night that he had heard in New York that a lot of their stock had been floated on Wall Street, and that that hateful old Mr. Harding was back of it." "They are actually selling stock?" asked Peggy, growing a bit pale. "Yes. They have half-page advertisements in a lot of papers, I believe. Dad said so. But why do you look so distressed, Peggy?" "Because they must be very sure of the merits of their machines, if they are going ahead so confidently." "Rumor has it that their make of aeroplane is the most up-to-date and complete yet constructed, but nobody knows the details so far. They have kept that part of it close." "They are making a bid for the navy contracts, at any rate," said Peggy presently, after a pause, during which both girls winked and blinked at the lightning and stared at the red glow of the fire. "So you said. But you stole a march on them by kidnapping your lieutenant in this way." "You ought to give the weather credit for that," laughed Peggy, "but seriously, Jess, there is no sentiment in things of this kind. If the Mortlake machine is a better machine than ours, the Mortlake will be the type adopted by the government." "I suppose that's so," agreed Jess, with a wry face. "But I hate to think of that old Harding creature getting any----" The door flew open suddenly, and a tall, thin-faced woman in a raincoat, and holding up an umbrella, stood in the doorway. "Well, for the land's sake!" she ejaculated, looking fairly dumfounded, as she comprehended the scene and the young folks enjoying the unrequested hospitality of her kitchen. But the words had hardly left her lips, and she was still standing there, like an image carved from stone, when a fearful light illumined the whole scene. It was followed almost instantaneously by a clap of thunder so deafening that the girls involuntarily quailed before it. A fiery ball darted from the chimney and sped across the room, exploding in fragments with a terrific noise on the opposite side, just above the heads of Jimsy and Lieut. Bradbury. Stunned by the shock, they both collapsed in heaps on the floor, while the farm woman's shrieks filled the air. At the same instant, a pungent, sinister odor filled the atmosphere. "The house is on fire!" shrieked the woman in a frenzied voice. Smoke rolled down into the room, and the acrid fumes grew sharper. "The house is on fire, and my baby is up-stairs!" "Where?" demanded Peggy. "In the room above this!" groaned the woman, taking a few steps and then fainting. "Jess," cried Peggy in a tense voice, "take that bucket and get water from that pump in the corner and then follow me." "But the boys!" gasped Jess. "They are only stunned. I saw Jimsy's arm move just now, and the lieutenant is breathing." With these words, she started from the room, darting up a narrow stairway leading from one end of the kitchen to the upper regions. "What are you going to do?" shouted Jess, her voice shaky with alarm. "Save that child if I can," flung back Peggy, plunging bravely up the smoke-laden stairway. In the unfamiliar house, and half blinded and choked by smoke and sulphurous fumes, Peggy had a hard task before her. But she pluckily plunged forward, feeling her way by the walls, and keeping her head low, where the smoke was not so thick. As she reached what she deemed was the top of the staircase, she thought she heard a tiny voice crying out in alarm. Following the direction of the sounds, she staggered along a hallway and then reeled into an open door. The smoke was not so thick in the room, but its fumes were heavy enough. In a crib in one corner lay a child of about two years of age. Its rose-leaf of a face was wrinkled up in its efforts to make its terrified little voice heard. Peggy darted upon it and hugged it close to her. Then, with renewed courage, she started to make her way back again. But more smoke than ever was rolling along the passage, and it was a hard task. "I must do it--I must," Peggy kept saying to herself, clinging the while to the terrified child. But at the head of the staircase the conditions appalled her. The smoke was thick as a blanket there. Yet plunge through it, Peggy knew she must. Still holding the child tightly, she bravely entered the dense smother, stooping as low as she dared. But before she had taken more than two steps in the obscurity, a dreadful feeling, as if a hand was at her throat and choking her, overcame the girl. She tried to call out, but she could not. Her head was reeling, her eyes blinded. All at once something in her head seemed to snap with a loud report. Still clutching her little burden tightly, Peggy plunged forward dizzily--and knew no more. CHAPTER VI. FARMER GALLOWAY'S "SAFE DEPOSIT." When she came to herself again, it was in a confusion of voices and sounds of hurrying footsteps. She was lying on a lounge in a stuffy "best" parlor, which smelled as moldy as "best" parlors in farm-houses are wont to do. Bending over her was the angular woman who had entered just as the bolt of lightning, that had caused all the trouble, struck the house. "Is--is the baby all right?" asked Peggy, as she took in her surroundings. "Yes, thanks to you, my dear. Oh, how can I ever thank you?" exclaimed the woman, a thrill of real gratitude in her voice. "And the fire is out, too. My husband and his men had been at work in a distant field and were sheltering themselves under a shed. I had just taken some water to them when the storm broke. When they saw the big flash and heard the crash, they knew that something right around the house must have been struck. They ran through the storm as fast as they could, and got here in time to put out the flames." "And Jess and Jimsy and----" "And that other young fellow? Why, they----" "Never felt better in their lives," came Jimsy's cheerful voice from the door, which framed, beside himself, Jess, and the young naval officer. "The first time I was ever knocked out by lightning," declared the latter, "and really it's quite invigorating." Jess glided across the room to Peggy's side and threw her arms about her neck. "Oh, Peggy, how brave and good you are!" she exclaimed. "I was dreadfully frightened, when you came plunging down through that smoke. I was just trying to make my way through it with a bucket, when you came toppling down the stairs. I managed to catch you and support you into the kitchen." "I think some one else is the bravest," smiled Peggy, patting her chum's shoulder. "I'm so glad that the baby wasn't hurt. Poor little thing, it looked so cute in its crib. I remember seizing it up and then the smoke came, and after a few minutes it all got black and----" "And all's well that ends well," declared Jimsy, capering about. "We've telephoned to your home to Roy, Peggy, and he'll be over in a short time with an auto." "But what about the _Butterfly_?" asked Peggy. "My dear girl," announced Jimsy, in his most pompous tones, "it would be impossible for you to guide her home this evening. Your nerves would not stand it. See, it's come out quite fine, now, after the storm, and Roy will spin you home in the machine in no time." "Perhaps that would be best," agreed Peggy. "And I can come out, or Roy can, to-morrow, and get the aeroplane--that is," she added, turning to the farm woman, "if it won't be in your way." "If you had a thousand of them air-buggies around here, miss, they wouldn't be in our way," came in a hearty, gruff tone from the door. They looked up to see a big farmer-like looking person, with a fringe of black whiskers running under his chin in a half-moon, standing there. "This is my husband, Isaac Galloway," said the woman, introducing the owner of the farm. "At your service, gents and ladies," said the farmer. "What that young woman did fer us ter-day ther' ain't no way of repaying; but anything Ike Galloway kin do any time ye kin count on him fer." He moved toward an object they had not previously noticed, an iron door in the wall. Turning a knob this way and that, he presently flung it open, revealing the inside of a wall safe. Thrusting his hand inside, he drew out a bundle of bills. Then, closing the door again, and adjusting the combination, he said: "Jes' goin' ter give ther boys a bit of thank you fer helpin' me put out ther fire. If any of you folks would like----" "Oh, no. No, thank you," laughed Peggy, sitting up and feeling, except for a slight dizziness, almost herself again. "Very well; no harm meant," said the farmer, as he shuffled out of the room and into the kitchen, where he distributed his largess. "Quite an idea," commented Jimsy, regarding the wall safe. "I suppose you have quite a lot of money on hand at times, and it is safest to keep it so," he added, addressing the farmer's wife. "Yep," was the rejoinder; "Ike got his money fer his corn crop ther other day--two thousand dollars, what with ther corn and ther early apples. It's all in thar, except what he's jes' took out." "Aren't you afraid of burglars coming and blowing the door of the safe off?" asked Peggy. "Lands sakes, no. We'd hear 'em. Besides, that's a patent safe, an' if it is opened without a knowledge of the combination, it would take a plaguey long time to do." Just then the farmer came back, and after some more general conversation the whir of an approaching automobile announced the arrival of Roy. The lad was naturally much interested in the doings of the afternoon, as excitedly related to him by everybody at once, and was favorably impressed with the young naval officer. Of course, he did not ask him his opinion of the Prescott aeroplane, but from remarks Lieut. Bradbury dropped, Roy gathered that he was much pleased with its performance. Soon afterward Jess and Jimsy shot skyward, in the now still air, in their red aeroplane--the _Red Dragon Fly_, as it had been christened, and amid warm farewells from the farmer and his wife, the auto buzzed off. They had traversed a mile or more, when, on rounding a corner at a narrow part of the road, they came almost head-on against another machine coming in the opposite direction. Both cars were compelled to slow down, so that the occupants had a good view of each other. Both Roy and Peggy were considerably astonished to see that the oncoming auto was occupied by old Mr. Harding, and that by his side was seated none other than the blue-chinned man, known as Eugene Mortlake. "Where can they be going?" wondered Roy, as old man Harding favored them with a scowl in passing, and then both cars resumed their normal speed. "I noticed that this is a private road leading only to that farm," rejoined Peggy; "the right-of-way ends there." "Then that must be their destination, for there are no other houses on this road." "Looks that way," assented Roy. "Queer, isn't it?" "Very," responded Peggy. For some inexplicable reason, as the girl spoke, a chill ran through her. She felt a dull sense of foreboding. But the next minute she shook it off. After all, why shouldn't Mr. Harding and Mortlake be driving to the farm? Mr. Harding's financial dealings comprised mortgages in every part of the island. It was quite probable that the farmer was in some way involved in the old man's nets. Possibly that was the reason of all that money being stored in the wall safe. Refusing courteously an invitation extended by Miss Prescott to spend the night at the homestead, Lieut. Bradbury was driven to the station by Roy, after they had dropped Peggy, and just managed to make a New York train. "I shall be back to-morrow," he said, "and have a look at Mortlake's machines. Of course, the government wants to give everybody a fair field and no favors." "Oh, of course," assented Roy, pondering in his own mind what sort of a machine this mysterious Mortlake craft was. Suddenly there flashed across his mind a thought that had not occurred to him hitherto. The _Golden Butterfly_ had been left under the shed at the farm. What was there to prevent Harding and Mortlake from examining it and acquainting themselves with the intricacies of the self-starting mechanism and the automatic balancing device? There was no question that the farm must have been their destination. Roy blamed himself bitterly for not foreseeing this. He had half a mind to return to the farm and bring the aeroplane home himself. But it was growing dark, and a distant rumble seemed to presage the return of the afternoon's storm. "Anyhow," the boy thought, and the thought consoled him, "all those devices are covered by patents, and even if they wanted to, they could not steal them. And yet--and yet----" But the storm came up sharper than ever that evening, and even had he wished to, Roy would have found it impossible to handle the aeroplane alone in the heavy wind that came now in puffs and now in a steady gale. So Roy put his tiresome thoughts out of his head. But he resolved to get the aeroplane the first thing the following morning. CHAPTER VII. A CASE FOR THE AUTHORITIES. It was just after breakfast the next morning that a big automobile skimmed past the Prescott home. Peggy and Roy saw it from the windows. "Why, that's Sheriff Lawley," exclaimed Peggy. "And look, old Mr. Harding is with him, and that Mortlake man." "That's right. Wonder where they can be going?" said Roy, sauntering out to the garage at the back of the house and giving the matter little more thought. It had been arranged that he was to bring the aeroplane back that morning, driving over with Peggy, Jimsy and Jess in the car, and skimming home in the _Butterfly_ while a part of the party brought the car back. They were to call for Jess and Jimsy at their home, a fine residence overlooking the Sound from a lofty hill. Jess and Jimsy were waiting for them, and, almost before the car had stopped, they were at its side. "Heard the news?" asked Jimsy breathlessly. "No. What is it?" demanded Peggy eagerly. "Why, that safe at the farm-house was robbed last night. All the money was taken, and they have no clue to the thief." "How did you hear of it?" asked Roy incredulously. Peggy had told him of the queer wall safe. "The 'central' told one of the servants and she told Jess. Strange, isn't it?" "It is odd," agreed Roy. "But if people will keep their money in such places, it is hardly surprising if they lose it. Did you hear any details?" "No, but no doubt we shall when we reach the farm-house," put in Jess; "isn't it thrilling, though?" "Not very thrilling for poor Galloway, who lost the money," said Peggy. "I expect he didn't make it any too easily." On their arrival at the Galloway farm-house, the young people found a scene of great excitement. The sheriff, red-faced and important, was examining several farm hands beneath one of the big elms, while in the background stood the farmer and his wife, looking somewhat perplexed, as well as worried. As the Prescott auto drove up, old Mr. Harding, in his usual rusty black suit, rose from his seat under the elm, and whispered something to the sheriff. The blue-chinned, thick-necked Mortlake arose also. All three turned and gazed curiously at the young occupants of the car, as it slowed down. "Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Galloway," cried Peggy. "We were dreadfully sorry to hear of your loss. Have you any clue yet?" There was something curiously cold in the woman's voice, as she replied in the negative. Her husband looked sullen and merely nodded. The sheriff now rose and came toward the machine. He knew all the young folks and greeted them briefly. At his heels pressed old Harding and his companion. They whispered in the sheriff's ear as he advanced, and seemed to be urging him to something. "I understand that you folks was in this house yesterday afternoon?" began the sheriff abruptly. "Why, yes, during the storm," said Peggy. "There was Lieut. Bradbury, of the United States Navy----" Harding and Mortlake exchanged annoyed glances. This was confirmation of their fears. "Yes, go on," urged the sheriff. "And myself, and Mr. Bancroft here and his sister, and later my brother came." "Do you recall the safe being opened while you were in the room? I presume from the remark you made when you drove up that you know of the robbery." "We heard of it at the Bancroft's, but we don't know the details." "That is not necessary. Answer my questions, please. Who was in the parlor beside yourself when Mr. Galloway opened the wall safe to reward the men who had helped him extinguish the fire?" "Why, Jimsy--I mean Mr. Bancroft--his sister and Lieut. Bradbury, beside, of course, Mr. and Mrs. Galloway." "What! Your brother was not there?" "Certainly not. He didn't come till later." "Then your brother didn't see the safe opened?" "Of course not," struck in Roy. "I was here only a very brief time. But what does all this mean? I don't understand." "It means that you are cleared of a grave suspicion," said the sheriff. "Mr. Harding and Mrs. Galloway's brother, Mr. Mortlake, here----" "Her brother!" exclaimed Peggy in an undertone. The sheriff went on: "Seemed to have an idea that Roy Prescott was here at the time. They even went so far as to intimate that----" But old Mr. Harding was tugging frantically at the sheriff's arm. He was seconded by Mortlake. Interpreting the signals aright, he stopped short. "In fact, it looked suspicious," he concluded lamely. He turned and went off, followed by Harding and Mortlake. "How did you ever come to make such a mistake?" snarled old Harding, as they walked away much crestfallen, "we haven't a leg to stand on, now." "Why, confound it all," retorted Mortlake, "my sister mentioned a young man being with the girl in the aeroplane, and I took it for granted that it was her brother." "And a nice mess you've got us both into, with your 'taking it for granted,'" snorted the old miserly financier of Sandy Beach. "It looks as if we'd got ourselves in a trap now." "Nonsense. Who's to know we have the money? I'll take the first opportunity to send it back, and no more will be heard of the matter. Lucky I didn't hide it in his aeroplane, as I intended to do." "Yes; but we've still got the cub as our rival. I wish I could think of some plan to choke him off. That scheme of yours to blame the robbery on him would have been all right if you'd only made sure of your facts first." "Don't worry. Our chance will come yet. I'll make that whole outfit regret bitterly that they ever stole a march on us by kidnapping that officer." "To have discredited him with the navy would have been the best way, however," said old Harding brusquely. "I'll find a way to do that yet," Mortlake promised. In the meantime, speculation and wonder had ruled among the occupants of Roy's auto. Everything seemed very much muddled, but one fact stood out clearly, and that was that an attempt had been made to cast suspicion, if not the actual guilt of the robbery, upon Roy. For what object? "I have it," cried Peggy suddenly. "If they could have placed Roy under a cloud of suspicion, it would have worked to his discredit with the naval authorities, and might have resulted in our aeroplane being denied a place in the trials. That seems plain enough." They all agreed that it did. But Jimsy said suddenly: "If that was the case, why didn't they try to make out that I stole it?" "Because--forgive me Jimsy--you're not Roy. Without him, the tests of the Prescott aeroplane could hardly be conducted. Unless----" "Unless a certain young person named Peggy Prescott undertook to take charge of them," cried Jess loyally. "Don't be foolish, Jess," warned Peggy; "but look, here is Mrs. Galloway coming to speak to us." The farmer's wife approached the automobile, from which none of the party had as yet alighted. She was followed by her husband. Both began apologizing profusely for the questions of the sheriff. "But land's sakes alive," exclaimed the farmer's wife, "I declar ter goodness, we've bin so flustered thet I don' know no more than a wet hen. My brother, that's Mr. Mortlake, was dead sot on it bein' one of you folks, but I knew that was reediculous." They hardly knew whether to be angry or to laugh at the woman's blunt frankness. But Roy struck in with a question: "Wasn't Mr. Mortlake, accompanied by Harding, out here last night?" "Why, yes," said the woman, with perfect candor. "They stayed quite a while. Harding hed some business with Ike, an'----" "An' Gene Mortlake said he'd like ter hev a look at yer aeroplane. Yer know he's in thet thar business hisself," volunteered Ike confidentially. Peggy felt as if she could have groaned aloud. Roy's fears, earlier confided to her, seemed to have been based on a true presentiment. The blue-jowled Mortlake had undoubtedly improved his opportunity to study the _Golden Butterfly_ at close range. The farmer's next words confirmed her. "Reckon he was powerful interested, too," the farmer went on, "fer he made a lot uv ther nicest droorings you ever seen, an'--why, what's the trouble?" For Roy, hardly knowing what he intended to do, had jumped from the machine and was sprinting toward the Harding car. But, as he neared it, the old financier, who with Mortlake was already seated in the tonneau, spoke a word in the chauffeur's ear, and the machine dashed off, leaving Roy enraged and nonplussed. "Too bad, Roy," breathed Peggy, as, rather crestfallen, the lad returned. "Oh, I don't know, Sis. Even if they hadn't sneaked off like that, and I'd caught the machine, I guess I'd have been like the dog that chased the train. I wouldn't have known what to do with it when I got it." "But Roy, their flight confirms their guilt!" "I know, Sis, but what possible way have we to prove it? The rascals have covered up their tracks cleverly." A sudden thought struck Peggy, and she turned to the farmer. "Did any of those bills have an identifying mark on it?" she asked. The farmer shook his head. But Mrs. Galloway had a better memory. "Why, yes, Ike," she exclaimed; "that twenty-dollar-bill you got frum Si. Giddens fer ther Baldwins. I re'klect thet it hed a big round O in red ink marked on ther back uv it. It was a bit rubbed out, an' hard ter see, but ef you knew it wuz thar an' luked fer it, you could see it plain enough." After inquiring about the baby, whose thankful mother declared it to be as well as ever, Roy and Jimsy dragged out the _Golden Butterfly_ and boarded it. It had been arranged that the two girls were to spin back to town in the car, the aeroplane following them as closely as possible from above. As they chugged out of the farm-yard gate and on to the rough road, Peggy's thoughts kept time to the rhythmic pulsations of the motor: "A-twenty-dollar-bill-with-a-red-round-O. A-twenty-dollar-bill-with-a-red-round-O." CHAPTER VIII. MR. MORTLAKE LOSES SOME DRAWINGS. Dashing along the rough country road, with every sense on the alert, Peggy found mental occupation enough to drive gloomier thoughts from her mind. The Prescott's car was a good one, with a powerful, sixty-horse motor, and splendidly upholstered. It was painted a dark blue, and was known in the surrounding country as "The Blue Bird." It had been purchased with the money made by the brother and sister from their shares in James Bell's desert mine. Far above them sailed the aeroplane, its two occupants from time to time waving at their pretty sisters below. But in the upper-air currents, it would have been dangerous to drive at a pace slow enough to keep level with the automobile, and so the aeroplane soon dashed on ahead. From time to time, however, it made circles and swoops, which brought it sometimes in seemingly dangerous closeness to the tree-tops. All at once Peggy stopped the automobile with a jerk which almost threw Jess, who was unprepared for the shock, out of the car. "Good gracious, Peggy, what are you trying to do?" she gasped. "Look!" cried Peggy, pointing with wide eyes. In the center of the road lay a rolled-up bundle of papers secured with a rubber band. "Somebody has dropped something from another auto or a wagon," cried Jess. "I think so," said Peggy in excited tones, as she descended from the car, "and I've an idea that these papers have been dropped from Mr. Harding's car. It must have been the only one to pass here recently, as this road runs direct to the farm and nowhere else." She stooped down in the road and picked up the bundle and then, with a beating heart, she opened it. But for an inward intuition of what its contents would prove to be, Peggy, with her rigid ideas of honor, could not have brought herself to do this. As her eyes fell on the first sheet, and she saw that it was covered with annotations and sketches, she gave a little cry. "Oh, Jess! The luck! The wonderful, wonderful luck!" "Why, what is it? A bundle of thousand-dollar bills, or----" "It isn't that or anything," cried Peggy; "it's--oh, Jess--it's the sketches and plans of our aeroplane that Mortlake and his accomplice Harding were spiriting away." "They must have dropped them from their automobile," said Jess. "Or, more likely, from the pockets of one of them. See, the ground is trampled about here. It looks to me as if they had had a break-down, and were fixing it when the papers fell out and were left behind unnoticed. Oh, what a bit of luck! If they had had those papers, it would have meant----" A shrill cry from Jess interrupted her. At the same moment Peggy became conscious of a presence behind her. She wheeled sharply and found herself facing two bloated-faced individuals, one of whom carried a heavy cudgel. Their clothes and broken boots, and their leering, odious appearance at once proclaimed them of the genus tramp. "Waal!" growled one of the men, with an ugly leer, "we didn't hardly expec' ter run inter such luck ez this. Foun' suthin' vallerable, hev yer? Reckin' it must hev bin dropped by that auto that jes' went round the corner beyond. We'll hev ter trouble you for it, miss." He held out a filthy hand, while Peggy, with a beating heart, fell back toward the car. "Frum what we hearn' yer sayin', I guess the papers is vallerable, all right," chimed in the first speaker's companion. "Come on, now. Fork over. You know it ain't honest ter take wot don't berlong ter ye, an' by yer own confession them papers don't." "What right have you to demand them?" asked Peggy boldly enough, despite her inward terror; "you had better go on at once, or----" "Waal, or what?" sneered the other. "We've got ye here on a lonely road. You can't escape us. Come on, hand over them papers. We'll see that ther rightful owners git 'em, and that we git er reward beside. See?" Peggy's reply was to leap nimbly into the machine. But to her horror the two tramps followed instantly. Jess cowered back in her seat. Her pale lips moved, but she said nothing. "Tell yer wot," burst out the man with the club, "you gals give us ten bones a piece--the money don't mean much to folks like you--an' we'll let yer go. If not----" A sudden inspiration came to Peggy--a flash of recollection. "Why didn't you say that before?" she said cheerfully. "I'll be glad to give you the money. Wait a minute while I get it out." She raised the cushion of the front "bucket seat," and dived beneath it with one hand. The men watched her with greedy, yet suspicious eyes. "Ain't tryin' ter fool us, are yer?" growled one of them, "'cos ef you air----" He raised his club threateningly, just as Peggy's hand withdrew from beneath the cushion. Something bright flashed in it. "Look out, Mike. She's got a gun!" shouted one of the men, falling back. The other whipped a hand amidst his rags and was just about to aim a pistol, when: "Phiz-z-z-z-z-z-z-z!" From the shiny object Peggy held in her hand, a fine stream of some sort of liquid jetted forcibly. The fellow with the gun threw his hands up to his face, and dropping the pistol, staggered back with a howl of agony. The other darted off without even looking at him. The air was filled with a pungent scent of ammonia, and a quiet smile of triumph curled Peggy's red lips as she started the car in motion once more. "Oh, Peggy, how brave you are!" gasped Jess. "Whatever was that you used? I hope the poor man isn't badly hurt, although he was so horrid." "I just remembered in time, Jess dear," said Peggy, as she sped the car along, "that we had under the seat an ammonia pistol for use on vicious dogs. I used it on another sort of a dog, that's all, and it proved equally effective." Just at this moment Peggy turned out to avoid another car that was approaching them from the opposite direction. In a second she saw that it carried Harding and Mortlake. They both looked angry and blank. Peggy guessed at once that they had discovered their loss. But she resolved not to stop unless they did and asked questions. She felt that such a despicable act as they had attempted to perpetrate deserved no help on her part. "Hey, there!" shouted old Mr. Harding, as his car was slowed down by the chauffeur. "Hey, stop! I want to speak to you!" "He's polite about it, isn't he?" whispered Jess. "Are you going to tell him, Peggy?" "Cer-tain-ly not," rejoined Peggy, with a tightening of her lips. "Why should I? He tried to fasten a theft on my brother this morning, and then caps the climax by instigating Mortlake to try to steal the ideas of our aeroplane." "Hey, girls, seen a package on the road?" bawled old Mr. Harding, as Peggy slowed up and stopped. "I recovered some of my own property, if that is what you mean," said Peggy slowly, a dull flush rising to her cheeks. "Well--well! What d'ye mean by that, hey? What d'ye mean by that?" "You may construe it any way you wish to, Mr. Harding," was the cold rejoinder, and to avoid further questioning, Peggy sped up her machine, and soon vanished in a cloud of dust. The old financier turned to his companion with a look of disgusted amazement. "What d'ye think of that, hey, Mortlake?" he snapped out. "What d'ye think of that? Fine young girls, eh? Nice products of the twentieth century, hey?" "Oh, let's get on and see if we can't find that roll of papers somewhere along here," rejoined Mortlake impatiently. "I don't think it's likely they could have seen it. It must have fallen from my pocket where the car broke down and I got out." "Hey? Oh, yes, yes. That's it. Drive on, Tom. Drive us to where the car broke down." In a few seconds they reached the spot just in time to see the two tramps who had molested the girls making off. "There they go!" shouted Mortlake, "those fellows must have found them. I wouldn't lose those sketches for a thousand dollars. Put on more speed, Tom, and overtake them." The chauffeur did as he was bid, and the car leaped ahead. In a few chugs it had reached the tramps' side, they having stopped, bewildered, in the meantime. "Why, blow me, Bill," said one to the other, as the car came up, "if it ain't the self-same gents as drove down the road a while ago." "Give me those papers, you rascals!" shouted Mortlake, almost flinging himself out of the car, "give them to me or----" "Hold your horses, guv'ner! Hold your hosses," counseled the hobo who had received the dose of ammonia, and whose eyes were still red from its effects. "Wot papers might you be lookin' fer?" asked this fellow cautiously, although he knew very well. "A bundle of papers I dropped," panted Mortlake. "Didn't you find them." "Naw!" grunted the red-eyed tramp. "Naw!" echoed the other. "Be careful what you say. If you are lying, it will go hard with you." The warning came from old Mr. Harding. "We know that, guv'ner. But we ain't got 'em. Search us, if yer like." The knights of the road spread their arms to signify their willingness to be searched. Mortlake groaned. It was evident that neither of the tatterdermalions had the papers. But what had become of them? In his distress and chagrin, Mortlake gave an audible groan. This the tramps seemed to construe as a favorable sign. One winked to the other, and the red-eyed one spoke. "Wots it worth if we tell yer where them papers are, guv'ners both?" "What, you know!" cried Mortlake, while old Mr. Harding spluttered: "Eh, eh? Hey, what's all this? What's all this?" "I didn't say we knew," was the cunning reply. "I said what's it worth if we did know." Mortlake drew out a yellow-backed bill. "Is this enough?" he asked. The tramps' eyes rounded as they gazed at the figure. "Perfec'ly satisfactory, guv'ner," said red eyes. "Well, where are those papers, then?" snapped Mortlake impatiently. "Thet thar purty gal wot jest went by in an autermobubble has 'em." "What!" "Yes. We saw her pick them up out of the road. We tried to convince her it was dishonest to keep 'em, but she wouldn't listen to us." "You've done well, and seem to be bright fellows," said Mortlake, handing over the bill to red eyes, who seemed to be the leader of the two, "by the way, you don't belong about here, do you?" "Oh, no, guv'ner. Our homes is whar we hangs our hats. My permanent address is care of the 'dicky birds.'" "Well, I may have some work for you to do----" "Work, guv'ner? Work's only for the workmen." "I know all that, but this work is on your own line. I'll pay well, too. If you want to talk it over, come to the Mortlake Aeroplane Factory, outside Sandy Beach at ten o'clock to-night. I'll be there to meet you." "All right, guv'ner; we'll be, thar. Till then we'll bid yer 'oliver oil,' as ther French say. Come on, Joey." The worthy pair shuffled off up the road, while Mortlake turned to Harding with a shrug. "There are two tools made to our hand. We may find them very useful." "I agree with you," was the dry and rasping reply; "at least, they have put us in possession of one valuable bit of knowledge, hey?" CHAPTER IX. THE FLIGHT OF THE "SILVER COBWEB." A week rolled slowly by. A week of suspense, during which they had one or two calls from Lieut. Bradbury, who had been busy down at the Mortlake plant. But the officer was naturally noncommittal concerning his opinion of the comparative merits of the two types of aeroplanes. Equally naturally, of course, the young Prescotts had not questioned him concerning them. But during this week they had had a glimpse of the Mortlake machine in flight. One still, breathless morning, the air had been filled, soon after dawn, with a vibrant buzzing sound, which Peggy's trained ear had recognized as the song of an aeroplane engine. She hastened to her brother's room and rapped upon the door. In reply to his sleepy query, the girl rapidly told him of what she had heard. Roy's window faced on the road, and a glance satisfied him that the Mortlake machine was to have its first try-out. Hastily as he dressed, however, he found that Peggy was before him on the dewy lawn, field glasses in hand. Down the road could be seen, in front of the Mortlake plant, a small crowd of mechanics with one or two dominant figures moving among them. With the glasses, they had no difficulty in making out Mortlake's heavy-shouldered figure, and the slender, upright form of Lieut. Bradbury. All at once the group opened up a bit and they saw a silvery, glittering aeroplane, agleam with new aluminum paint, throbbing and vibrating, as if anxious to be off. Blue smoke eddied up as the motor roared and whirred. The air seemed to vibrate under the sound as if a battery of gatling guns had been discharged. Fascinated, brother and sister watched the spectacle intently. They saw Mortlake clamber heavily into the machine, followed by Lieut. Bradbury. A mechanic started for the front of the plane and began swinging the propeller. "At least they haven't cribbed our self-starting device," exclaimed Peggy, as she saw. The next instant the propeller became a whirring blur, and the aeroplane, after a brief preliminary run, began to climb upward. The morning sun caught its silvered planes and turned them to gold. It was a beautiful and inspiring sight. Even with all that lay at stake, Peggy and Roy could not deny the machine a meed of praise. It was fairy-like in its delicacy of construction, and speedy as a flash. Thundering like an express train, it dashed above the Prescott home, leaving in its wake the pungent odor of burning castor-oil--the most suitable lubricant for aeroplanes. Then suddenly--as if a recollection of Peggy's mischievous flight of a few days previously had occurred to him--Mortlake swung the delicate silvery machine about and dashed straight down at the boy and girl standing by the garden gate. So close to their heads did he skim in his desire to show off, that he almost came too low. For one instant it looked as if the machine would be dashed to a premature end, but it recovered buoyancy like a keeled-over racing yacht, and tore upward into the sky at an increased speed. "Let's get out the _Golden Butterfly_ and follow the----" "_Silver Cobweb!_" cried Roy, the name occurring to him in a flash of inspiration as he watched the filmy outlines of the other aeroplane melt in the distance. "Oh, Roy, what a pretty name." "Isn't it? But somehow, I like _Golden Butterfly_ best. Our machine may be a bit heavier, but solidity counts in hard service." Scarcely ten minutes later, and while Mortlake's mechanics and assistants were still craning their necks skyward, another aeroplane, a yellow adventurer of the skies, thundered upward. Not to be outdone by Mortlake, Roy, who was at the wheel, swooped above the rival crowd. They did not take it with a good grace. Remarks, of which they could not catch the wording, but only the menacing intonation, were hurled upward at them. They received them with a laugh and a wave of the hand, which did not put the Mortlake crowd into any better humor. And then, with a graceful, swinging curve, that banked the machine almost on its beam ends, they were up, off and away in pursuit of the _Silver Cobweb_, which, by this time, was a mere shoe-button of a dot on the horizon. "Do you think we can overhaul her, Roy?" ventured Peggy, as they raced through the air, the fresh breath of morning coming refreshingly in their faces. "Not a chance," admitted Roy cheerfully, "but they'll turn after a while, I guess, and then we'll try the _Butterfly_ against the _Cobweb_." But they kept on and on unrelentingly, and still there was no sign of diminution of speed on the part of the _Silver Cobweb_. Nor did the other aircraft give any indication that she was preparing to put about. Below them, farms, meadows, villages and crowds of wondering country folk swam by in an ever-changing panorama. The earth beneath them looked like a big saucer divided up into brown, red and green squares, with tiny fly-like dots running and walking about. All at once Roy gave a shout and pointed. Dead ahead, and not more than a few miles distant, lay a silvery, gleaming streak. "The sea!" The exclamation came simultaneously from Peggy and Roy. They had been traveling due south across the island, and now the broad Atlantic lay stretched beyond the land, shimmering in the sunlight. Far off, they could make out the black smoke of a steamer, hovering above the ocean. "A mail boat, making for New York," announced Roy. So fast were they traveling that by this time they could plainly make out the ocean, which, from a silvery streak, was now changed into a dark-blue rolling expanse of salt water. And still the _Silver Cobweb_ kept on, and gave no sign of turning. Nor, for that matter, had her speed diminished appreciably. The rival aeroplane was now skimming above the water at a height of about a thousand feet. The _Golden Butterfly_ maintained about the same altitude, but the gap between the two aerial craft was not closing up. "Mortlake's taking a desperate chance to show Lieut. Bradbury what the _Cobweb_ can do," exclaimed Roy. "With a new engine, he's risking too much." "I guess he's seen us and means to beat us out at all hazards," conjectured Peggy. And she was right. Mortlake, glancing back a short time before the sea appeared on the horizon, had seen the other aeroplane, and guessing at once what its appearance meant, had determined to keep on, even at the risk of plunging himself and his passenger into the sea. That was Mortlake's character; he was a man who could brook no rivalry. Used all his life to sweep obstacles aside, he would rather have terminated his career than permit any one to pass him in the race for first place, no matter in what line that first place might lie. "Are you going to keep on, Roy?" The question came as a strip of white beach flashed beneath them, and Peggy, peering over the edge of the chassis, saw the big Atlantic swells rolling below them. The thunder of the surf on the beach came clearly to their ears, even at that height. "What do you think, Sis? We've got lots of gasoline. The motor is working without a hitch. I'd hate to turn back now, particularly with that officer's eyes upon us, as in all probability they are." "Oh, let's keep on," exclaimed Peggy, casting prudence to the winds. "I feel like you, Roy. If we turn back now, it would look as if we were afraid to trust the _Butterfly_ above the ocean, and, after all, it is a naval contest that we hope to be elected for." "Forward it is, then," cried Roy exultingly. The tang of the salt wind, the inspiration of the ocean, had come to him. He felt like a corsair--a very modern corsair--urging his craft above the ancient sea. The vessel, whose smoke they had espied at a distance, was quite close to them now. A huge, black hull, with white passenger decks, rising tier on tier, four huge red funnels with black tops, and slender masts, between which hung the spider-web aerials of her wireless apparatus. Her bow was creaming up the ocean into foam, as she rushed onward at a twenty-four knot gait. Roy, obeying a daring impulse, let the _Golden Butterfly_ descend. Now they could see her promenade decks lined with white faces peering upward. Here and there the sun glinted on the bright metal work of cameras, all aimed at the wonderful spectacle of the soaring, buoyant _Golden Butterfly_. "Oh, if only we could drop a message on her decks!" breathed Peggy eagerly. "I do wish we had a post-card or something----" "By ginger," cried Roy suddenly, "I do believe I've got some in my coat-pocket. I bought some in the village yesterday to mail to the chaps back at school. Yes. Here they are, and here's a fountain-pen. Now write all you want." Peggy took the cards her brother handed to her with his free hand, and, with the fountain-pen, sat down to compose some messages. After a few seconds' thought, she began to write busily. Card after card was covered with her neat penmanship. All this time Roy had kept the _Golden Butterfly_ hovering above the liner, from time to time taking swoops and dives around it like some monstrous sea gull. Suddenly, from the liner's whistle, a great cascade of white steam spouted. "Wough-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!" It was the vessel's siren blowing a greeting to the young adventurers of the air. At the same instant a deep-throated roar, a cheer from cabin and steerage passengers alike, winged its way upward. Roy acknowledged it by a graceful wave of his cap. Then the cheering broke forth afresh. The passengers of the newest ocean giant, the _Ruritania_, realized that they were seeing a spectacle that would remain in their memories all their lives. Having conquered old ocean with leviathan vessels, man was now seeking to subdue the air to his utility. CHAPTER X. AN AERIAL POST OFFICE. Peggy addressed half a dozen cards. Two, of course, went to Jess and Jimsy, another to Aunt Sallie Prescott; one to the captain of the _Ruritania_, and one other, which bore the address, "Eugene Mortlake, Esq." It was a mischievous freak that made Peggy write this last missive, which read: TO MR. EUGENE MORTLAKE, Per Steamer _Ruritania_--in Mid-air: Greetings from aeroplane _Golden Butterfly_. R. & M. PRESCOTT. That was all, but Peggy knew that it would serve its prankish purpose. All this time the _Silver Cobweb_ had been out at sea, but now, apparently detecting the maneuvers of the _Golden Butterfly_, she headed about, and came racing back. Peggy deftly attached weights--spare bolts from the tool locker--to each of the cards, and then, snatching up a megaphone, she hailed the uniformed figures on the bridge of the great vessel below them. "Will you be good enough to mail some letters for us?" "With pleasure!" came the reply in a big, bellowing British voice, from one of the stalwart figures beneath. "All right; Roy, come down as low as you dare," cried Peggy, catching her bundle of "mail." Roy threw over a couple of levers and turned a valve. Instantly the _Golden Butterfly_ began to drop in long, beautiful arc. She shot by above the liner's bridge at a height of not more than fifteen feet. At the correct moment Peggy dropped the weighted bundle overboard, and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the officers catch it. The gallant officers, now realizing for the first time that a girl--and a pretty one--was one of the passengers of the big aeroplane, waved their hats and bowed profoundly. And Peggy--what would Aunt Sallie have said!--Peggy blew them a kiss. But then, as she told Jess later: "I was in an aeroplane, my dear--a sort of an unattainable possibility, in fact." In the meantime, Mortlake, in the _Silver Cobweb_, had been duly mystified as to what the _Golden Butterfly_ was about when she swooped downward on the steamer. For one instant the thought flashed across him that they were disabled. An unholy glee filled him at the thought. If only the _Golden Butterfly_ were to come to grief right under Lieut. Bradbury's eyes, it would be a great feather in the cap of the Mortlake-Harding machine. But, to his chagrin, he saw them rise the next instant, as cleverly as ever. Lieut. Bradbury, who had been watching the maneuver of the _Golden Butterfly_, gave an admiring gasp, as he witnessed the daring feat. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed, and the evident note of astonishment and appreciation in his tones did not tend to increase Mortlake's self-satisfaction. "The pesky brats," he muttered to himself; "we've got to do something to put them out of the race. There isn't another American-built aeroplane that I fear except that bothersome kids' machine." And there and then Mortlake began to hatch up a scheme that in the near future was to come very nearly proving disastrous to Peggy and Roy and their high hopes. "Magnificently handled, don't you think so, Mortlake?" inquired the naval officer, the next instant. "Yes, very clever," agreed Mortlake, far too smart to show his inward feelings, or to wear his heart upon his sleeve; "very neat. But I can do the same thing if you'd care to see it?" The naval officer glanced at the puffy features of his companion and his thick, bull-like neck. "No, thanks," he said. "I've got to be getting back. There's another type of machine I've got to look over out at Mineola. It is really necessary that I reach there as quickly as possible." "Very well," said Mortlake, inwardly relieved, as he didn't much fancy duplicating Roy's feat, "we'll head straight on for the shore." "If you please." But what was the _Golden Butterfly_ doing? As the steamer raced onward, that aerial wonder had swung in a spiral, and was now seemingly hovering about, awaiting the arrival of the _Silver Cobweb_. As the two aeroplanes drew abreast, Mortlake muttered something, and bent over his engines. The _Cobweb_ leaped forward like an unleashed greyhound. But the _Golden Butterfly_ was close on her heels, and making almost as good time. Mortlake plunged his hands in among the machinery and readjusted the air valve of the carburetor. Another increase of speed resulted. The indicator crawled up to sixty-six, sixty-eight and then to seventy miles an hour. "Pressing her a bit, aren't you?" asked the officer, as they seemed to hurtle through the air, so fast did they rush onward. "Oh, no. She's built for speed," responded Mortlake, with a gratified grin; "she'll leave any such old lumber wagon as that Prescott machine miles behind her any day in the week." This seemed to be true. The _Golden Butterfly_, making about sixty miles, was being rapidly left behind. "I should think you'd be afraid of overheating your cylinders," volunteered the lieutenant. Now, this was just what Mortlake was afraid of. But, as has been said, he was the sort of man who, in sporting parlance, was willing always "to take a chance" to beat any one he considered his rival. He was taking a desperate chance now. Under the artificial means he had used to increase the speed of his engines, the motor was "turning up" several hundred more revolutions a minute than she had been built for. Now they shot above the strip of white beach, and, below them the pleasant meadow-lands and patches of verdant woods began to show once more. All at once, the sign for which Mortlake had been watching so anxiously manifested itself. A tiny curl of smoke ascended from one of the cylinder-heads. A smell of blistering, burning paint was wafted back to the nostrils of Lieut. Bradbury. "I thought so," he said; "overheating already. Better slow down, Mortlake." Mortlake glanced back. The _Golden Butterfly_, much diminished in size now by the distance, still hung doggedly on his heels. "I'll give her more air," he vouchsafed stubbornly, "that ought to cool her off a bit--that and advanced spark." He manipulated the necessary levers, but before many minutes it became apparent that, if urged at that rate, the _Silver Cobweb_ would never reach Sandy Beach without a break-down. "Hadn't you better shut down a bit? That paint's blistering, as if the cylinders were red-hot." Much as he disliked to interfere with the operation of the aeroplane, the young officer felt that it was necessary that some means should be taken to compel Mortlake to reduce speed. If the engine became so overheated that it stopped in mid-air, they might be caught in a nasty position, where it might be impossible to volplane--or glide--downward, without the aid of the engine. "It's all right, I tell you," said Mortlake stubbornly. "We'll beat those cubs into Sandy Beach, or----" Or what, was destined never to be known, for at that instant, with a splutter and a sigh, the overheated engines, almost at a red-heat, stopped short. The propeller ceased to revolve, and the aeroplane began to plunge downward with fearful velocity. But Mortlake, no matter what his other faults, possessed a cool head. The instant he lost control of the motor, he seized the warping levers, and began manipulating them. At the same time he set the rudder so as to bring the _Silver Cobweb_ to earth in a series of long spirals. The maneuver was that of volplaning, and has been performed successfully by several aviators whose engines have suddenly ceased to work while in mid-air. The young officer watched approvingly. Whatever else Mortlake might be--and Lieut. Bradbury had not taken a violent fancy to him--he was a master of the aerial craft. Despite the mishap to the engine--caused by his own carelessness--Mortlake managed to bring the _Silver Cobweb_ to a gentle landing in a broad, flat meadow, inhabited by some spotted cows, which fled in undignified panic as the monster, silent now, swooped down like a bolt from the blue. The instant the _Silver Cobweb_ came to rest Mortlake's restless eyes glanced upward. He was hoping against all common sense that the young Prescotts had not seen his mishap, or at least that they would pass on above him unnoticing. His first glance showed him the _Golden Butterfly_ still steadily plugging along, and a moment later it became apparent that they had seen the sudden descent of the _Cobweb_, for the aeroplane was seen to dip and glide lower, much as a mousing hawk can be seen to do. "Hard luck," murmured the young naval officer, as Mortlake, who had clambered out of the machine, stamped and fumed by its side. Inwardly Lieut. Bradbury was thinking how stubborn men invariably meet with some mishap or accident. "Yes, beastly hard luck," agreed Mortlake readily. "I see a farm-house over there, though, the other side of those trees. I guess I can get a bucket and some water over there. Once I've cooled those cylinders off, we'll be all right." "How long will that take, do you think?" inquired the officer, pulling out his watch and a time-table. "Not more than half an hour. It shouldn't take that." "That means I miss my train. If we don't get into Sandy Beach by eleven o'clock, I can't possibly make it. And there's not another from there for two hours. That would make me late for my appointment at Mineola." Mortlake's face fell. Here was a bit of hard luck with a vengeance. It might cost him a place in the contests. "We can make up time, once we get under way," he said tentatively. "That isn't it. I daren't risk it. I wonder if I can get an automobile or some sort of a conveyance about here." "Not a chance. I know this neighborhood. It is very sparsely settled." A sudden whir above them caused them both to look up. It was the _Golden Butterfly_, swooping and hovering above the disabled _Cobweb_. "Had an accident?" shouted down Roy. "What do you think? You can see we're not flying, can't you?" bellowed Mortlake, his face crimson with anger and mortification. "Can we do anything to help you?" came from Peggy, ignoring the fellow's insulting tones. "No!" "Yes!" The first monosyllable came from Mortlake. The second from Lieut. Bradbury. "If you don't mind accepting a passenger, I should be glad of a lift to Sandy Beach. I've got to make a train," explained the young officer. In five minutes the _Golden Butterfly_ was on the sward beside the crippled _Cobweb_. Mortlake's face was black as night. He fulminated maledictions on the young aviators who had appeared at--for him--such an inopportune moment. "Can I help you fix the machine?" asked Roy pleasantly. "There's nothing serious the matter, is there?" "Not a thing," asserted Mortlake. "It's all the fault of the men who made the carburetor. They did a bungling bit of work, and the cylinders have overheated." "Can we leave a message for you at your shops, or would you like a lift home with us?" asked Roy, who felt a kind of pity for the angry and stranded man. "You can't do anything for me except leave me alone," snapped out Mortlake; "you cubs are altogether too inquisitive. You're too nosy." "But not to the extent of making sketches and notes, Mr. Mortlake?" inquired Peggy sweetly--"cattily," she said it was, afterward. Mortlake started and paled. Then, without vouchsafing a reply, he strode off in the direction of the farm house to get the water he needed. "Now, Mr. Bradbury," said Roy, extending a hand. The young officer leaped nimbly into the chassis, and presently a buzzing whir told that the faithful _Golden Butterfly_ was taking the air once more. "Score two for us!" thought Peggy to herself. From a far corner of the pasture, Mortlake watched his young rivals climbing the sky. He shook his fist at them and his heavy face darkened. CHAPTER XI. THE MARKED BILL. Some two days after the events narrated in our last chapter, Lieut. Bradbury, sitting in the library of the New York Aero Club, on West Fifty-fourth Street, received a telegram from Eugene Mortlake. He was considerably astonished, when on tearing it open, he read as follows: "Must see you at once. Have positive proof that young Prescott is about to sell out his secrets to foreign government." "Phew!" whistled the young officer. "This is a serious charge. If it is proved, it will bar Prescott from bidding for the United States government contract. But I can hardly believe it. There must be some mistake. However, it is my duty to investigate. Let's see--three o'clock. I can get a train to Sandy Beach at four. Too bad! Too bad!" The young officer shook his head. He had come to have a sincere regard for Roy and his pretty sister, as well as admiration for their resourcefulness and pluck. When it is explained that during the time elapsing between his lucky lift in the Prescott machine and the reception of the note, that Lieut. Bradbury had notified Roy that he would be expected to report at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, his feelings on learning that there was suspicion directed against his young protegé, may be imagined. Mortlake, too, had received a notice that his machines were eligible for a test, so that there would have seemed to be no object for his acting treacherously. Otherwise, the young officer might have been suspicious. What he had seen of Mortlake had not particularly elevated that gentleman in his opinion. But if he had desired to wrong the Prescotts, reasoned the officer, such a resourceful man as he had adjudged Mortlake to be, would have sought a deeper and more subtle way of going about it. "And I'd have staked my word on that boy's loyalty; aye, and on his sister's too," muttered the officer, as he made ready for his hasty trip to Long Island. By this it will be seen that Lieut. Bradbury was by no means proof against the rather common failing of inclining to believe the first evil report we hear. It is a phase of human nature that is not combatted as it should be. In the meantime, Roy and Peggy had sustained a surprise, likewise. The day before that on which Lieut. Bradbury received the disturbing dispatch, an automobile had whizzed up to their gate and stopped. Roy, Peggy and Jess and Jimsy were at a game of tennis, when a rather imperious voice summoned them, from the tonneau of the machine. They looked up, to see a remarkably pretty young girl, who could scarcely have been more than eighteen years old. Her eyes were black as sloes, and flashed like smoldering fires. A great mass of hair of the same color was piled on the top of her head in grown-up fashion, and her gown, of a magenta hue, which set off her dark beauty to perfection, was cut in the most recent--too recent, in fact--style. "Can you direct me to Mr. Mortlake's aeroplane factory?" she demanded in an imperious tone. Evidently the flushed, healthy-looking young people, who had been playing tennis so hard, were very despicable in her eyes. "There it is, down the road there," volunteered Roy. "It's that barn-like place." The appellation was unfortunate. The girl's eyes flashed angrily. "My name is Regina Mortlake," she said angrily. "I am Mr. Mortlake's daughter. He is not in the habit of putting up barns, I can assure you." "I beg your pardon----" began Roy, quite taken aback by the extraordinary energy with which the reproof to his harmless remark had been given. But the dark-eyed beauty in the automobile had given a quick order to the chauffeur, and the car skimmed on down the road. Later that day the _Silver Cobweb_ ascended for a flight. It had nothing more the matter with it on the day of the break-down than the heated cylinders, which, as Mortlake had prophesied, soon cooled. But Mortlake himself did not take up the silvery aeroplane on this occasion. A new figure was at the wheel, clad in dainty dark aviation togs and bonnet, with a fluttering, flowing veil of the same color, which streamed out like a flag of defiance. The new driver was Miss Regina Mortlake. They learned later that the girl had taken frequent flights in the South, where her father had, for a time, entered into the business of giving aeroplane flights for money at county fairs and the like. His daughter had taken naturally to the sport, and was an accomplished air woman. She knew no fear, and her imperious, ambitious spirit made her a formidable rival even to the foreign flying women who competed at various international aviation meets. While his daughter spun through the air, Eugene Mortlake sat in his little glass-enclosed office in one corner of the noisy aeroplane plant. Four finished machines were now ready, and he would have felt capable of facing any tests with them had it not been for his uneasy fear of the Prescott aeroplane. But he had evolved a scheme by which he thought he would succeed in putting Peggy and Roy out of the race altogether. It was in the making that afternoon in the little office. Opposite to Mortlake sat two men whom we have seen before. But in the cheap, but neat suits they now wore, and with their faces clean-shaven of the growth of stubby beard that had formerly covered them, it would have been somewhat difficult to recognize the two ill-favored tramps who had been routed by Peggy in such a plucky manner. But, nevertheless, they were the men. "You thoroughly understand your instructions now?" questioned Mortlake, as he concluded speaking. The fellow who had been addressed by his companion as Joey, at the time they encountered Mortlake and Harding on the road to the Galloway farm, nodded. "We understand, guv'ner," he rasped out in a hoarse voice; "Slim, here, and me don't take long ter catch on, eh, Slim?" "No dubious manner of doubt about that," responded Slim. "An' although I'm a tramp now, guv'ner, I wasn't allers one. I've held my head as high as the rest of the good folks of the world. I can play the gentleman to perfection. Don't you worry." This Slim--or to give him his correct name--Frederick Palmer, was, as he declared with such emphasis, a man who had indeed "seen better days," as the phrase is. Now that he was invested in fair-looking clothes, and was graced with a clean collar and a smooth-shaven face, he actually might have passed for a person in fairly well-to-do circumstances. For the part Mortlake wished him to play, he could not have picked out a better man. Utterly unscrupulous, and with the best of his life behind him, "Slim"--as the tramp fraternity knew him--was prepared to do anything that there was money in. His companion possessed no such saving graces of appearance. Short, coarse, and utterly lacking in every element of refinement, Joey Eccles was a typical hobo. But Mortlake's shrewd mind had seen where he could make use of him, too, in the diabolical plan he was concocting, and the details of which he had just finished confiding to his unsavory lieutenants. "But say, guv'ner," struck in Joey Eccles, his little pig-like eyes agleam with cupidity, "we've got to have a bit more of the brass, you know--a little more money--eh?" He ended in an insinuating whine, the cringing plea of the professional beggar. Mortlake made a gesture of impatience. "I gave you fellows a twenty-dollar-bill a few days ago," he said, "in addition to that, you've been provided with clothes and lodging. What more do you want?" "We've got to have some more coin, that's flat," announced Slim decidedly; "come on, fork over, guv'ner. You've gone too far into this now to pull out." Mortlake's florid face went white. As if he heard it for the first time, the words struck home. He had indeed "gone too far," as the tramp sitting opposite to him had said. He was, in fact, completely in the power of these two unscrupulous mendicants. Making a resolve to get rid of them as speedily as possible, he dived into his breast pocket and drew from it a roll of bills that made Slim's and Joey's eyes stick out of their heads. He peeled off a twenty-dollar-bill, and flung it with no good grace down upon the table. "There," he said, "that's the last you'll get till the trick is done." "Thankee, guv'ner; I knowed you'd see sense. A man of your intelligous intellect, and----" "That will do," snapped Mortlake. "Do you think I've got nothing to do but talk to you fellows all day? You thoroughly understand, now, to-morrow night on the road to Galloway's farm?" "Yus, and we've got a nice little deserted farm house all picked out, where we can keep the young rooster on ice," grinned Joey. "Well, well," shot out Mortlake, "that will be your task. I've nothing to do with that. Do you understand," he rapped the table nervously, "I know nothing about it." "All right, all right; we're wise," Slim assured him confidently. "Don't you worry. Come on, Joey. Got the money?" "Have I? Oh, no; I'm goin' ter leave it right here," grinned Joey, enjoying his own irony hugely. Still chuckling, he arose and shuffled out, followed by the unsavory Slim. Outside, and on the road to the village, Slim began to be obsessed by doubts. "Some way, I don't jes' trust that Mortlake," he said. "You're sure that bill is all right, Joey?" "Sure? Well, you jes' bet I am. Here, look at it yourself. All right, ain't it?" He drew out the bill and handed it to Slim for his inspection. "And the best of it is," he chuckled, while Slim inspected the bill carefully, "the best of it is, that I wasn't conformin' to the exact truth when I told Mortlake that we'd spent all the other coin. I've got the best part of it left." "Good," grunted Slim, turning the twenty-dollar-bill over and examining the reverse side, "that being the case--hullo!" "What's up?" asked Joey. For reply Slim handed the bill to Joey, pointing with a grimy first finger at something on the reverse side. It was an "O," scrawled in dull red ink. "That would be an easy bill to identify," commented Palmer, uneasily, "wonder if this can be a trap?" "Well, keep your suspicions to yourself for a while," counseled Joey; "we don't need to break it till we make sure." CHAPTER XII. WHAT HAPPENED TO ROY. It was the next evening. Mortlake, sitting at his desk, looked up as a quick step sounded outside. The factory was in darkness as the men had gone home. Only a twilight dimness illuminated the little glass sanctum of the inventor and constructor of the Mortlake Aeroplane. "Come in," said Mortlake, as the next instant a sharp, decisive knock sounded. Lieut. Bradbury, in a mufti suit of gray, stepped into the office. "Ah, good evening, lieutenant," said Mortlake, rising clumsily to his feet and offering a chair, "I was beginning to despair of you." Bradbury, genuinely worried, lost no time in plunging into the object of the interview. "That message you sent me--what does it mean?" he asked. "I can scarcely believe----" "Nor could I, at first," said Mortlake, with assumed sorrow. "It cut me pretty deep, I tell you, to think that a boy who was in negotiations with his own government for a valuable implement of warfare, should deal with a foreign government at the same time. In brief, this young traitor is balancing the profits and will sell out to the highest bidder." "That's strong language, Mortlake," said the young officer, drumming the table with his fingers impatiently. Honorable and upright in all his dealings, the young officer had no liking for the business in hand. Yet it was his duty to see the thing through now, unpleasant as it promised to be. "Strong language?" echoed Mortlake. "Yes, it is strong language, but not a bit more emphatic than the case warrants. Did you know that for some days past a German spy has been in Sandy Beach?" "No. Certainly not." "Well, there has been. He visited this plant with proposals to turn over our aeronautic secrets to his government, but we refused to have anything to do with his scheming." "Yes, very good. Go on, please." The young officer felt that Mortlake was approaching the climax of his story. "One of our men," resumed Mortlake, in even tones, in which he cunningly managed to mingle a note of regret, "one of our men took upon himself--loyal fellow--to watch this spy. He reported to me some days ago that the man was in negotiation with young Prescott." "Good heavens!" "I know it sounds incredible, but we are dealing with facts. Well, more than this, my zealous workman ascertained that young Prescott is to meet this foreign agent at nine o'clock to-night on a lonely road, and is there to hand over to him the complete plans and specifications of the Prescott aeroplane." "It's unbelievable, horrible. And in the face of this, do you mean to say that the boy would dare to keep up his apparent negotiations with the United States?" "That's just the worst part of it, as I understand it," rejoined Mortlake. "The negotiations with this foreigner would, of course, be presumed by young Prescott to be secret. This being so, he would, if successful in the tests, sell his ideas to the United States also, without mentioning the fact that they had already been bought and paid for." "Monstrous!" "Just what I said when I heard of it. I could not believe it, in fact. The boy has always seemed to be all that was upright and honest. It just shows how we can be mistaken in a person." "I cannot credit it yet, Mortlake." "It was to give you proof positive that I summoned you here. We will take an automobile out to the spot where young Prescott is to meet the foreign agent. Of course, our arrival will be so calculated as to give us time to secrete ourselves before Prescott and the other meet. Are you willing to let your estimate of young Prescott stand or fall by this meeting?" "I am, yes," replied Lieut. Bradbury, breathing heavily. "The young scoundrel, if he is caught red-handed, I will see if there is not some law that will operate to take care of his case." Mortlake could hardly conceal a smile. His plan to ruin Roy was working to perfection. In his imagination he saw the Prescott aeroplane eliminated as a naval possibility, and the field clear for the selection of the Mortlake machine. Mentally he was already adding up the millions of profit that would accrue to him. Lieut. Bradbury left that meeting heavy of heart. Mortlake's story had been so circumstantial, so full of detail, that it hardly left room for doubt. And then, too, he had offered to produce positive proof, to allow the officer to witness the actual transaction. "Good heavens, isn't there any good in the world?" thought the officer, as the hack in which he had driven out to the Mortlake plant drove him back to the village. Mortlake had agreed to call for him at the little hotel at eight o'clock. The hours till then seemed to have leaden feet to the anxious young officer. It was shortly before this that Roy, returning from an errand in town in the Prescott automobile, was halted at the roadside by a figure which stepped from the hedge-row, and, holding up a cautioning finger, uttered a sharp: "Hist!" Roy, turning, saw a man, seemingly a workingman, from his overalls, at the side of the machine. "What is it? What do you want?" demanded Roy. "I have a message for you," said the man, speaking in a slightly foreign accent; "you are in great danger. Your enemies plot it." "My enemies!" exclaimed Roy. "Yes, your enemies at the Mortlake factory." "Let's see," said Roy thoughtfully, "you're one of the workmen at the Mortlake plant, aren't you?" "I _was_ once," said the man, with a vindictive inflection, "but I am so no longer. Mortlake discharged me." "Discharged you, eh? Well, what's that got to do with me?" Roy looked curiously at the man. "Just this much. I know the meanness that Mortlake plans to do to you. You have bad and wicked enemies at our place." "Humph! I guess there may be some truth in that," said Roy with a rather grim inflection. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?" "Just this: I am an honest man. I do not want to see harm come to you or to your sister." This was touching Roy in a tender spot. "To my sister!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say that Mortlake is scoundrel enough to plot against her, too?" "In this way," explained the man, "he means to destroy your aeroplane, leaving the field clear for his own type to be selected by the navy." "The--the--the ruffian!" panted Roy, now thoroughly aroused. "Tell me more about this." "I cannot," rejoined the workman, "but my partner--he was discharged too--he can tell you much, much more. Will you meet him? I can take you to him?" Roy thought a moment. The man seemed to be wholly honest and in earnest. "How far from here is the place where your partner is?" he asked. "Oh, not so very far. We soon get there in your fine machine. Will you go?" "Well, I--yes, I'll go. Come on, get in." The man obeyed the invitation with alacrity. Under his directions, Roy swung the car off upon a by-road after they had gone some few hundred yards. "Not long now," he said, as the vehicle bounced and jounced over the ruts and stones of the little-used thoroughfare. "This is a funny direction for your partner to live in," said Roy at length. "There are not many dwellings out this way, nothing but a big swamp, as I recollect it." "My partner, he poor man," was the rejoinder. "He live with cousins out here." The answer lulled Roy's rousing suspicions. "It must be all right," he thought. "There can't be any trick in all this. It's quite likely that Mortlake does want to play us a mean trick. I can't forget the look he flashed at me the day we took Lieut. Bradbury away from him in that meadow after we had made our first sea trip. Wow!" Roy could not forbear smiling at the recollection. They chugged along in silence for some little distance farther, and then the man beside him laid a detaining hand on Roy's arm. "Almost there now," he said. "Better slow up." Roy did so. The brakes ground down with a jarring rasp. At the same moment a dark figure stepped from behind a tree trunk. The man beside Roy held up a hand. "This is the young gentleman," he said. Through the gloom the other figure now approached the automobile. "Do you mind getting out?" it said. "We can talk better in the house." "Where is the house? I don't see one," said Roy, his suspicions rousing a little. "It's just behind that knoll. The path is just ahead," said the newcomer. Roy got out. He was determined to see the adventure through now. If Mortlake was plotting against him, he wanted to know it. As he reached the ground, the newcomer extended his hand, as if offering to shake Roy's palm. Roy put out his hand, which was instantly grasped by the other. "Your friend tells me that you have something interesting to tell me----" began Roy. "I--here, what are you trying to do? Stop it!" The other had seized his hand in a clutch of steel, and, before the astonished boy could offer any resistance, had wrenched it over in such a manner that, without exactly knowing what had occurred, Roy found himself sprawling on his back. The lad was helpless in this lonely place with two men who had now shown themselves in their true and sinister character. CHAPTER XIII. PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. The spot was fearfully lonely. Roy realized this to the full. Brave as the lad was, he felt suddenly chilled and creepy. Besides, the utter mystery that enveloped the affair was gruelling to the mind. "Now be still," pleaded the late guide, as Roy, full of fight, jumped to his feet and flung off the detaining hold which had been laid on him. "Yep. We don't want to hurt you," chimed in another voice, the voice of the powerful, stockily-built man who had thrown him, "be reasonable and quiet now, and you'll come to no harm. If not----" he drew a pistol and presented it at the boy's head. The hint was rough but effectual. Roy saw that it would be mere folly to attempt resistance. "What's the meaning of this rough behavior?" he asked in a steady voice, mentally resigning himself to the inevitable. "You just come with us for a little while," said the gruff-voiced one. "Don't worry; we ain't goin' ter harm you. You'll git loose agin after a while. Don't worry about that." This assurance, though mysterious, was more or less comforting. But Roy resented the utter mystery of the affair. "But what's it all for?" he protested. "Is Mortlake at the back of it; or--" "Now, you come along, young feller," said a gruff voice, "don't axe no questions and you won't git told no lies, see?" Roy saw. "Well, go ahead, since I'm in your power," he said. "But I warn you it will go hard with you if ever I am able to set justice on your track." "Hard words break no bones, guv'ner," came from the gruff-voiced man, who was none other than Joey Eccles, disguised with a big beard. The man who had escorted Roy into the trap was, in truth, a former workman at the Mortlake factory, who had been discharged for incompetency. He had applied at the plant to be taken on again, being well-nigh desperate with hunger, and Mortlake had assigned him to the present task, for which, if the truth be told, he had no great liking. "Where do you want me to go?" was Roy's next question, as neither of his captors had yet made a move. "We'll show you fast enough, young guv'ner," said Joey through his beard. "Come on, this way." He caught hold of Roy's arm and began piloting him along a path, or rather cow track, that ran across the meadow. It was now almost dark, and Roy, after they had gone a few steps, was only able to make out the dark outlines of what seemed to be a small hut on the edge of a dense woods lying directly ahead of them. "I suppose that's our destination," thought the boy. "Well, they have not attempted any violence, and I guess if they had meant me any physical harm they would have attacked me when they first trapped me. But what does all this mean? That's the question." Nothing more was said as the three, the captors and the prisoner, tramped across the dewy grass. As they drew closer to the building Roy had descried, he saw that it was a dilapidated looking affair. Shutters hung crazily from a single hinge, broken window-panes looked disconsolately out. In the roof was a yawning gap, from which a great owl flapped as they drew closer. Evidently the place had not been occupied as a dwelling for many years. The door, however, was open, and, with the pistol still menacing him, Roy was marched by his captors into the moldy, smelling place. Handing his pistol to the other man, gruff-voice--otherwise Joey Eccles--struck a match. Carefully screening it from the draughts which swept through the rickety building, he led the way into a bare room in which was a tumble-down table and two boxes to serve as seats. A pack of greasy cards lay on the table-top, showing that Joey had been passing his time at solitaire. This fact showed Roy that the plot had been carefully concocted, and that the trap was all ready to be sprung much earlier in the day. Only a brain like Mortlake's, he reasoned, could have thought out such an intricate plan. And yet, what could be Mortlake's object? "Now, then," announced Joey, when he had lighted the tin kerosene lamp, "I'll show you to your quarters, Master Prescott." A chill ran through Roy at the words. What could be coming now? With his pistol in his hand, Joey gently urged Roy into a rear room, his companion following with the lamp. Once in the room, Joey stepped forward, and, stooping down, raised a trap door in the centre of the floor. A rank, musty smell rushed up as he opened it. "Thar's your abode for the next three or four hours," he said with a grin to Roy and pointing downward. The boy shuddered. "Not in there?" he said. "Them's our orders," said Joey shortly. "There's a ladder there now. You can climb down on that. Don't be scared. It's only a cellar, and guaranteed snake-proof. When the time comes, we'll lower the ladder to you again, an' git you out." Roy looked desperately about him. Unarmed, he knew that he did not stand a chance against his burly captives, but had it not been for the fact that one of them had a pistol, he would have, even then, attempted to make a break for liberty. But as it was--hopeless! He nodded as Joey pointed downward into the dark, rank hole, and, with an inward prayer, he slowly descended the ladder. The instant his feet touched the ground, Joey, who had been holding the lamp above the trapdoor, ordered his companion to pull up the ladder. The next moment it was gone, and the trapdoor was slammed to with an ominous crash. Roy was enveloped in pitchy darkness. Suddenly, through the gloom, he heard a sound. It was the rasp of a padlock being inserted in the door above him. Then came a sharp click, and the boy knew that hope of escape from above had been cut off. If the men kept their promise, they would release him in their own good time, and that was all he had to buoy him up in that black pit. But Roy, as those who have followed his and Peggy's adventures know, was not the boy to weakly give way to despair before he had exhausted every possible hope, and not even then. But in the darkness he did bitterly reproach himself for falling into the rascals' trap so blindly. "Well, of all the prize idiots in the world," he broke forth under his breath in the blackness, "commend me to you, Roy Prescott. If you'd thought it over before you started--looked before you leaped--this would never have happened. Anybody but a chump could have seen that, on the face of it, the whole thing was a scheme to entice you away. Oh, you bonehead! You ninny!" The boy felt better after this outbreak. He even smiled as he thought how neatly he had walked into the spider's web. Then he shifted his position and prepared to think. But, as he moved his foot struck something. A wallet, it felt like; he reached down, and, by dint of feeling about, managed to get his fingers on it. The leather was still warm, and Roy realized that it must have been dropped into the cellar from the bearded man's pocket when he leaned over to see if Roy had reached the bottom of the ladder. "Queer find," thought the boy. "I'll keep it. Maybe there's something in it that may result in bringing those rascals to justice." He thrust it into his pocket and thought no more of it. His mind was busy on other things just then. If only he had a match! He felt in all his pockets without result, and was about giving up in despair, when, in the lining of his coat, he felt several lucifers. They had slipped through a hole in his pocket. "Gee whiz! How lucky that Aunt Sally forgot to mend that pocket," thought the boy, eagerly thrusting his fingers through the aperture and drawing out a dozen or more matches. "These may stand me in good stead, now. But I don't want to waste them. Guess I'll just light one to see what kind of a place I'm in, and then trust to the sense of touch if I see any means of escape." There was a scratch and a splutter, and the match flared bravely. Its yellow rays illumined a cellar very much like any other cellar. It was walled with stonework, well cemented, and there were two or three small windows at the sides. But these, which at first filled Roy with a flush of hope, proved, on examination, to have been bricked up, and solidly, too. "Nothing doing there," he muttered, and turned his attention to the rear of the underground place where there was a flight of steps leading up to a horizontal door, which, evidently, opened on the outerworld. But this door was secured on the under side by a rusty padlock of formidable dimensions. Roy tried it. It was solid as the Rock of Gibraltar, as the advertisements say. "Stuck!" he muttered disappointedly; and yet: "Hold on! What about that pocket tool kit I had when I started out on the auto? Hooray! Those chaps forgot to search me. Thought it was too much trouble, I guess. Now for a sharp file! Good! here's one! Now, then, if the luck holds, I'll be free in not much more than a long jiffy!" These thoughts shot through Roy's brain, as he selected a file from his fortunate find, and began working away at the hasp of the padlock. Above him he could hear the low grumbling growl of the voices of his guardians. But they came very faintly. "Lucky thing they are in the front room," thought Roy, as he worked on, "otherwise, they might hear this." At last the file had cut far enough into the hasp for Roy's strong fingers to be able to bend the metal apart. With a beating heart, he replaced the little tool in its case and pulled the ring of the padlock out of the hasp. Then he gave an upward shove, but very gently. For all he knew, the door he was pushing upward might open in another room. But when it gaped, an inch only, Roy saw the faint radiance of a clouded moon. A gust of fresh, clean air blew in his face, as if welcoming him from his noisome depths. An instant later, with throbbing pulses and flushed cheeks, Roy stood out in the open. Above him light clouds raced across the moon, alternately obscuring and revealing the luminary of the night. But Roy didn't linger. He crept across the field, keeping close to a tall, dark hedge-row till he reached the automobile. As he had guessed, neither of his captors knew how to run it, and it stood just where he had left it. "Glory be!" thought the boy, climbing in, "I'm all right, now. I don't know where this road goes to, and it's too narrow to turn round, but I'll keep straight on and I'm bound to land somewhere." He turned on the gasoline and set the spark. But the engine didn't move. "Queer," thought Roy. He got out and walked round to the front and then the rear of the car. There was a strong smell of gasoline there. Stooping down, he found the ground was saturated with the fuel. What had happened was plain enough. The cunning rascals who had captured him had drained the tank of gasoline. The auto was as helpless as if it had not had an engine in it at all. "Well, this is a fine fix," thought Roy. "However, there's nothing for it now, but to keep on. Those ruffians are cleverer than I gave them credit for." Stealing softly toward the woods, the boy sped into their dark shadows. Aided by the flickering light of the moon, he made good progress through the gloomy depths. He did not dare to slacken his pace till he had traveled at least half a mile. Then he let his footsteps lag. "Not much chance of their discovering me now, even if they have awakened to the fact that I have escaped," he said to himself, as he strode on. Suddenly he emerged on a strip of road that somehow had a familiar look. He was still looking about when a strange thing happened. There came the sound of rapid footsteps approaching him, and the quick breathing of an almost spent runner. Then came a sound as if somebody was scuffling not far from him and suddenly a voice he knew well rang out: "Prescott, you young scoundrel, I'll get you yet!" The voice was that of Lieut. Bradbury. "Well, how under the sun does Lieut. Bradbury know that I'm here?" marvelled the amazed boy, stopping short. At the same instant, from the direction in which the naval officer's shout had come, a slender dark figure came racing toward him. CHAPTER XIV. HOW THEY WORKED OUT. Roy made a desperate clutch at the figure as it raced past, evidently fleeing from an unseen peril. That that peril was Lieut. Bradbury, Roy did not for an instant doubt, as he could hear the officer's shouts in his undoubted voice close at hand. The boy's hands grasped the unknown's collar, but at the same instant, with an eel-like squirm, the figure dived and twisted. Suddenly it bent down and scooped up a handful of sandy gravel and flung the stuff full in Roy's face. Blinded, the boy staggered back and the other darted off like a deer. The next instant two heavy hands fell on Roy's shoulders and he felt himself twisted violently about. And then a voice--Lieut. Bradbury's voice--said: "Now then, you young rascal, I've got you. What does all this mean?" "That's just what I'd like to know," exclaimed Roy indignantly, brushing the gravel out of his smarting eyes, "I've been made prisoner and--." The officer's astonished voice interrupted him. "What! Do you mean to try to lie out of it? Didn't you just hand the plans of the aeroplane over to that representative of a foreign government whom Mr. Mortlake is now chasing?" Roy looked at the other as if he thought he had gone suddenly mad, as well he might. "I don't understand you," he gasped. "What is all this--a joke? It's a very poor one if it is." "I'll give you a chance to explain," said the officer grimly, tightening his hold on Roy's collar, "as things stand at present, I believe you to be as black a young traitor as ever wore shoe leather." The world swam before Roy's eyes. He sensed, for the first time, an inkling of the diabolical web that had been spun about him. But it is time that we retraced our footsteps a little and return to events which occurred after the lieutenant had been picked up by appointment in Sandy Beach. In the automobile which called for him were seated Mr. Harding, whom he already knew slightly from meeting him at the aeroplane plant, and Mortlake himself. "This is a very unfortunate business, hey?" croaked old Harding, as they spun along the road to the place where Mortlake, who was driving, declared Roy had made an appointment to meet the foreign spy. "It is worse than that, sir. It is deplorable," the officer had said. And he meant it, too. He had hardly been able to eat his dinner for thinking over the extraordinary situation. But the auto sped rapidly on. Now it had passed the last scattering houses outside the village, and was racing along a lonely country road. Finally, it turned off, and entered a branch thoroughfare which led from the main track. All this time but little had been said. Each occupant of the machine was busied with his own thoughts, and in the lieutenant's case, at any rate, they were not of the pleasantest. The road into which they turned was little more than a track, with a high, grass-grown ridge in the centre. It was a lonesome spot, and certainly seemed retired enough to suit any plotters who might wish to transact their business unobserved. "Bother such sneaky bits of work," thought the young officer to himself, as they rushed onward through the darkness. "I feel like a cheap detective, or somebody equally low and degraded. It's unmanly, and--oh, well! it's in the line of duty, I suppose, or hanged if I would have anything to do with it. Mortlake showed up as more of a gentleman in the matter than I'd have given him credit for. He seems to be genuinely cut up over the whole nasty mess. Well he may be, too." As described in another chapter, the sky was overcast with hurrying clouds, which, from time to time, allowed a flood of moonlight to filter through. By one of these temporary periods of light, Lieut. Bradbury was able to perceive that they were in a sort of lane with high hedges on each side. Suddenly Mortlake ran the auto through a gap in the hedge at one side of the road, and drove it in among a clump of alders, where there was no danger of it being seen. "This is the place," said he, as they came to a standstill. "And a nice, lonely sort of place, too, hey?" chirped old Harding; "just the place for a traitor to his country to----" "Hush!" said the young officer seriously. "Let us wait and see if young Prescott completes the case against himself before we condemn him, Mr. Harding." "Humph!" grunted the old money-bags. "In my opinion, he is condemned already. Never did like that boy, something sneaky about him. Hey, hey, hey?" The officer's heart was too sick within him to answer. He drew out his watch and looked at it in a fleeting glimpse of moonshine. It was almost the time that Mortlake had declared had been agreed upon for the consummation of the plot. "At all events, I shall know within a few minutes if this story is to be credited or condemned," thought Lieut. Bradbury. Old Harding and Mortlake, the latter leading and beckoning to Lieut. Bradbury, slipped cautiously through the alders, and took up a position in the clump at the edge of the road behind a big bowlder, where they could command a good view of the thoroughfare without being seen themselves. The officer, with a keener sense than ever of doing something dishonorable, joined them. "Hark!" exclaimed Mortlake presently. But, although they all strained their ears, they could hear no sound except the cracking of a tree limb, as it rubbed against another branch in the night wind. "You are sure this was the place?" asked the officer. "So my man told me," rejoined Mortlake. "You know, I relied absolutely on his word for this thing, all the way through. I, myself, know nothing of it." He emphasized these last words, as if he wished them to stick in his hearer's memory. Suddenly, however, a new sound struck into the silence. It was a heavy footstep, gradually drawing closer. Round the dark corner of the road came a tall form in a long coat and with a slouch hat pulled down well over its eyes. Lieutenant Bradbury could have groaned. Mortlake nudged him triumphantly. "Well," he said, "I guess part of it's true, anyhow." "I'm afraid so," breathed the officer. "I thought so. Hey, hey, I thought so," chuckled old Harding rustily. The tall figure came on until it was almost opposite the bushes where the three hidden onlookers were concealed. It looked about in some impatience, tapping one of its feet querulously. Then it fell to pacing up and down. "Evidently the boy is late," thought the lieutenant. And then a glad guess shot through his mind. "Perhaps the boy has thought better of it." But even as he felt a great sense of relief at this supposition, there came a low whistle from farther down the road. It was answered by the figure opposite the hidden party, which instantly stopped its pacing to and fro. "By the great north star, it's true!" gasped the officer, as, from round the bend in the road below where they were stationed, a slight, boyish figure, walking rapidly, came into view. It hesitated an instant, and then, perceiving the tall man, it came on again. "Have you got der plans?" The question came in a thick, guttural, foreign tone, from the tall figure. The boy, who had just appeared, showed every trace of agitation. "He's struggling with his better nature," thought Lieut. Bradbury. "I'll help him." He was starting forward with this intention, when Mortlake, prepared for some such move, dragged him back. "Don't interfere," he whispered, "if the lad is a traitor, as well know it now as at some future time." Lieut. Bradbury could not but feel that this was true. He sank back once more, watching intently, breathlessly, every move of the drama going on under his eyes. With a quick gesture, the boy seemed to cast aside his doubts. He muttered something in a low voice, and, as a ray of moonlight filtered through a cloud, Lieut. Bradbury distinctly saw him pass something to the tall man. "Goot. You haf done vell. Here is der money," said the man, in a low, but distinct tone, that carried plainly to the listeners' ears. He held out an envelope, which the boy took, with a muttered words of thanks, seemingly. Lieut. Bradbury could control himself no longer. Flinging Mortlake aside, as if he had been a child, he flashed out of his place of concealment, mad rage boiling over in his veins. What he had just seen had swept every doubt aside. His whole being was bent on getting hold of the young traitor and trouncing him within an inch of his life. He felt he would be fulfilling a sacred duty in doing so. But, as he sprang forward, as if impelled by an uncoiled steel spring, the two conspirators caught the alarm. While the officer was still rushing through the bushes, they dashed off, one in one direction, one in the other. "He's ruined everything," groaned Mortlake. "No, no; you can save the day yet if you act quickly," cried old man Harding in the same low, intense voice, "shout out that you are after the spy." "Right!" cried Mortlake, clutching at a straw. He, too, dashed out of concealment, and took off after the tall man, bellowing loudly: "You chase the boy, Bradbury. I'll get the spy. Stop you villain! Stop!" It was at that moment that Roy, just emerging from the woods, heard Lieut. Bradbury's angry challenge: "Prescott, you young scoundrel, I'll get you yet!" CHAPTER XV. WHAT MORTLAKE DID. "Look here," cried Roy, indignantly wiggling in the officer's strong grasp, "can't you see that this is all a mistake? If you hadn't grabbed me, I could have caught that impostor." A great light seemed to break on Lieut. Bradbury. "Why, bless my soul," he exclaimed, "that's so. I can see it all, now. That chap who got away wore a gray suit, while yours is a blue serge, isn't it?" "It was, before I was thrown into that cellar," said Roy ruefully. The moon was shining brightly now, and he saw that, in the semi-darkness, it would have been easy to mistake his blue serge, dust-covered as it was, for one of gray material. "Tell me exactly what has happened," urged the officer. "I must confess I am in a mental whirl over to-night's happenings." Roy rapidly sketched the events leading up to his capture and imprisonment, not forgetting to lay the blame on himself for being so gullible as to be led into such a pitfall. "Not a word more of self-blame, my boy," cried the young officer warmly. "Older persons than you would have stumbled into such an artfully prepared snare, baited as it was with the hope of catching Mortlake in a plot to destroy your aeroplane. But now I'm going to tell you my experiences, and we can see if they dovetail at any point." But when Lieut. Bradbury concluded his narrative, they were still at sea as to the main instigator of the plot. Of course, the finger of suspicion pointed pretty plainly to Mortlake, but the rascal had covered his tracks so cleverly that neither Roy nor the young officer felt prepared to actually accuse him. "But I can't see how an ordinary workman would have had either the brains or the motive to direct such an ingenious scheme to discredit me in your eyes," concluded Roy, as they finished discussing this phase of the question. "Nor I. But hark! Somebody's shouting. It must be Mortlake. Yes, it is. Hull--o--a!" "Hullo--a!" came back out of the night. "Come, we will retrace our steps to the auto and meet him there," said the lieutenant. "I wonder if he'll have the face to brazen it out?" thought Roy, by which it will be seen that his mind was pretty well made up as to the "power behind" the night's work. "Couldn't come near the fellow," puffed Mortlake, as they came up. "He ran like a deer. But--great Christmas--you've had better luck, I see!" For an instant, even in the semi-darkness, Roy saw the other's face grow white as ashes. "He thinks that Lieut. Bradbury has caught my impersonator," was the thought that flashed through the boy's mind. But the same sudden radiance that had betrayed Mortlake's agitation also showed him that it was the real Roy Prescott he was facing. Instantly he assumed a mask of the greatest apparent astonishment. "Roy Prescott, I am really amazed that you should be implicated in such a----" "Save your breath, Mr. Mortlake," snapped out the lieutenant, and his words came sharp as the crack of a whip; "this is the real Roy Prescott, and he has been the victim of as foul a plot to blacken an honest lad's name as ever came to my knowledge. The young ruffian who impersonated him to-night has escaped." "Escaped!" exclaimed Mortlake, but to Roy's quick ears, despite the other's attempt to disguise his relief, it stood out boldly. "Yes, escaped. Partly owing, I confess, to my overzealousness. There has been foul play here somewhere, Mr. Mortlake." The officer's voice was stern. His eye flashed ominously. Just then old Mr. Harding came puffing up. "Oh, so you got the boy, hey?" he cackled, but Mortlake shut him off with a quick word. "No. This is the real Roy Prescott. It seems that a trick has been put up on us all. The lad we mistook for Roy Prescott was some one impersonating him. This lad has been the victim of a vile plot. While we were watching here for his supposed appearance and the revelation of his treachery, some rascals had locked him in a cellar." The lieutenant's words were hot and angry. He felt that he was facing two clever rascals, whose cunning was too much for his straightforward methods. "You--you amaze me!" exclaimed old Mr. Harding, looking in the moonlight like some hideous old ghoul. "What game of cross-purposes and crooked answers is this?" "That remains to be seen. I shall see to it that an investigation is made and the guilty parties punished." Was it fancy, or did Roy, for a second, see Mortlake quail and whiten? But if the boy had seen such a thing, the next instant Mortlake was master of himself. "It seems to me to have been a plot put up by my workmen," he said. "If I find it to be so, I shall discharge every one of them. Poor fellows, in their mistaken loyalty to me, perhaps they thought that they were doing me a good turn by trying to discredit my young friend--I am proud to call him so--my young friend, Prescott." For the first time, Roy was moved to speak. "I hardly think that your workmen were responsible, Mr. Mortlake," he said slowly and distinctly. "You do not? Who, then?" "I don't know, yet, but I shall, you can depend upon that." "Really? How very clever we are. Smart as a steel trap, hey?" grated out old Harding, rubbing his hands. "Smart as a steel trap, with teeth that bite and hold, hey, hey, hey?" "Instead of wasting time here, I propose that we at once go to the house in which Roy was confined, and see if we can catch the rascals implicated in this," said Lieut. Bradbury. "Can you guide us, my boy?" "I think so, sir. It's not more than half an hour's tramp from here," said Roy. "Let's be off at once, otherwise they may escape us." "Ridiculous, in my opinion," said Mortlake decisively. "Depend upon it, those ruffians have found out by now how cleverly the boy escaped them, and have decamped. We had much better get back to town and notify the police." "I beg your pardon, but I differ from your opinion," said the naval officer, looking at the other sharply. "Of course, if you don't want to go----" "Oh, it isn't that," Mortlake hastened to say. "I'm willing, but Mr. Harding. He is old, and the night air----" "Mr. Harding can remain with the automobile. There are plenty of wraps in it. Come, Roy. Are you coming, Mr. Mortlake?" "Yes, oh, yes. Mr. Harding, you will make yourself comfortable till we return." Having said this, Mortlake came lumbering after the other two, as eagerly as if his whole soul was bent on capturing the two men who had been carrying out his orders. "I've got a revolver ready for them," he volunteered, as the party plunged through the woods along the little track Roy had followed. "Take care it doesn't go off prematurely and alarm them," said the officer. "We don't want to let them slip through our fingers." "Of course not; I'll be very careful," promised Mortlake. They trudged on in silence. Suddenly Roy halted. "We're near to the place now," he said. "Advance cautiously in single file," ordered the lieutenant. "I'll go first." In Indian file, they crept up on the house. Its outlines could now be seen, and in one window a ruddy glow from the lamp the two abductors of Roy had kindled. Evidently they had not yet discovered his escape. All at once Mortlake, who was last, stumbled on a root and fell forward; as he did so, his revolver was discharged twice. The shots rang out loudly in the still night. Instantly the light was extinguished. The next instant two dark figures could be seen racing from the house. Before Lieut. Bradbury could call on them to halt, they vanished in the darkness and a patch of woods to the north. "What a misfortune!" exclaimed Mortlake contritely, picking himself up. Lieutenant Bradbury could hardly restrain his anger. "How on earth did you happen to do that, Mortlake?" he snapped. "Those two shots alarmed those rascals, and now they're gone for good. It's most annoying." "I appreciate your chagrin, my dear Bradbury," rejoined Mortlake suavely, "but accidents will happen, you know." "Yes, and sometimes they happen most opportunely," was the sharp reply. Mortlake said nothing. In silence they approached the house, but nothing save the pack of greasy cards, was found there to indicate the identity of its late occupants. There was nothing to do but to return to the automobile. They found old Mr. Harding awaiting them eagerly. He showed no emotion on learning that Roy's captors had escaped just as their capture seemed certain. On the drive back to Sandy Beach, the old banker and Mortlake occupied the front seat, while Roy and Lieut. Bradbury sat in the tonneau. As they skimmed along, Roy drew something from his pocket and showed it to the officer. It was an object that glistened in the wavering moonlight. "It's a woman's hair comb!" cried the officer in amazement, as he regarded it. "Hush, not so loud," warned Roy. "I picked it up where I had the struggle with the other Roy Prescott. It may prove a valuable clue." CHAPTER XVI. MISSING SIDE-COMB. Some days after the strange and exciting events just recorded, Peggy burst like a whirlwind into the little room,--half work-shop, half study,--in which Roy was hard at work developing a problem in equilibrium. It was but a short time now to the day on which they were to report to the navy Board of Aviation at Hampton Roads, and submit their aerial craft to exhaustive tests. Both brother and sister had occupied their time in working like literal Trojans over the _Golden Butterfly_. But although every nut, bolt and tiniest fairy-like turn-buckle on the craft was in perfect order, Roy was still devoting the last moments to developing the balancing device to which he mainly pinned his hopes of besting the other craft. From the newspapers they had been made aware that several types, bi-planes, monoplanes and freak designs were to compete, and Roy was not the boy to let lack of preparation stand in the way of success. Detectives and the local police had been set to work on the mysterious plot whose object had been to entrap the boy. But no result had come of their work. Incidentally, it had been found, when the auto which Roy had driven to the deserted house was towed back for repairs, that the tank had been punctured by some sharp instrument. As for the clue of the brilliant-studded comb, Peggy on examining it, declared it to be one of a pair of side-combs, which only complicated the mystery. Roy had thought of surrendering this clue to the police, but on thinking it over he decided not to. He had an idea in regard to that comb himself, and so had Peggy, but it seemed too wild and preposterous a theory to submit to the intensely practical police of Sandy Beach. Roy looked up from the paper-littered desk as Peggy flung breathlessly into his sanctum. He knew that only unusual news would have led her to interrupt his work in which she was as keenly interested as he was. "What is it, Sis?" he asked, "you look as excited as if the Statue of Liberty had paid us a visit and was now doing a song and dance on the front lawn." "Oh, Roy, do be serious. Listen--who do you suppose has come back to Sandy Beach?" "Not the least idea. Who?" "Fanning Harding!" "Fan Harding! The dickens!" "Isn't it, and more than that, he is down at the Mortlake plant now. He is going to take up the _Cobweb_. And who do you think is to be his companion?" "Give it up." "Regina Mortlake!" "Phew!" whistled the boy, "a new conquest for the irresistible Fanning, eh?" "Don't be stupid," reproved Peggy, severely, "I've been thinking it over and I've just hit on the solution. Fanning, or so I heard, took up aviation when he was in the west. You know he always had a hankering for it." "Yes, I recollect his fake aeroplane that scared the life out of you," grinned Roy. "Well," pursued Peggy, not deigning to notice this remark, "I guess they decided that Mr. Mortlake would be a bit er--er--overweight isn't it called? so they sent for old Mr. Harding's son to manage the _Cobweb_ at the tests." "Jove, that must be it. Makes it rather awkward, though. Somehow I don't much fancy Master Fanning." "As if we hadn't good reason to despise him. Hark! there goes the _Cobweb_ now!" A droning buzz was borne to their ears. Running to the window they saw the Mortlake aeroplane whiz by at a fair height. It was going fast and a male figure, tall and slight, was at the wheel. In the stern seat Regina Mortlake's rubicund aviation costume could be made out. [Illustration: Running to the window they saw the Mortlake aeroplane whiz by at a fair height.] "Fanning has certainly turned out to be a good driver of aeroplanes," commented Roy, as he watched; "see that flaw strike them! There! he brought the _Cobweb_ through it like an old general of the upper regions." Peggy had to admit that Fanning Harding did seem to be an expert at his work; but she did it regretfully. "He gives me the creeps," she volunteered. "There's nothing creepy about his aeroplane work, though," laughed Roy, "I shouldn't have believed he could have picked up so much in such a short time." But a bigger surprise lay in store for the young Prescotts. That afternoon they had, as visitors, no one less than Fanning Harding and Regina Mortlake. While Peggy and the daughter of the designer of the Mortlake aeroplane chatted in one corner, Fanning placed his arm on Roy's shoulder and drew him out upon the veranda where Miss Prescott sat with her embroidery. "I know you don't like me, Roy, and you never did," he said insinuatingly, "but I've changed a lot since I was in Sandy Beach before. Let's let bygones be bygones and be friends again. More especially as in a few days we'll be pitted against each other at the naval tests." "Of course, if you are genuinely sorry for all the harm you tried to do us, I've nothing more to say," said Roy, "I'm willing to be friends, but although I may forgive, it's going to be hard to forget." "Oh, that will come in time," said Fanning, airily, "I'm a changed fellow since I went west." But in spite of Fanning's protestations Roy could not help feeling a sensation of mistrust and suspicion toward the youth. There was something unnatural even in this sudden move toward friendship. "It's ungenerous, ungentlemanly," Roy protested to himself; but somehow the feeling persisted that Fanning was not to be trusted. "How prettily you do your hair," Peggy was remarking to Regina Mortlake in the meantime. She looked with genuine admiration at the glossy black waves which the other had drawn back over her ears in the French style. "Oh, do you like it?" asked Regina eagerly, "I think its hideous. But you know I lost one of my combs and--but let's go and see what the boys are doing," she broke off suddenly, turning crimson and hastening to the porch. Once outside she plunged at once into conversation with the two boys, and Peggy had no opportunity of picking up the dropped stitches of conversation. She caught herself puzzling over it. Why had Regina been so mortified, and apparently alarmed, when she had announced the loss of one of her side-combs? Right there a strange thought came into Peggy's mind. The brilliant-studded comb that Roy had picked up! Could it be that--but no, the idea was too fantastic. In the pages of a book, perhaps, but not in real life. And yet--and yet--Peggy, as she watched the graceful, dark-eyed girl talking with splendid animation, found herself wondering--and wondering. The next day, just as Peggy and Roy were starting out for a run to the Bancroft place, Fanning Harding and Regina Mortlake came whizzing up to the gate in the latter's big touring car--the one in which she had arrived in Sandy Beach. The machine was the gift of her father. It was a commodious, maroon-colored car, with a roomy tonneau and fore-doors and torpedo body of the latest type. Beside it the Blue Bird looked somewhat small and insignificant. But Roy and Peggy felt no embarrassment. On the contrary, they were quite certain the Blue Bird was the better car. "Where are you off to?" asked Fanning in friendly tones, while Regina bowed and smiled very sweetly to Peggy. "Going to take a spin in the direction of the Bancroft's," said Roy, starting his car. "What fun," cried Regina Mortlake, "so are we. Let's race." "I don't believe in racing," rejoined Peggy. "No, of course it is dangerous," said Fanning, "I guess Roy is a bit timid with that old car, too. Besides it's all in the way you handle a machine;" Roy flushed angrily. "I guess this 'old car,' as you call it, could give yours a tussle if it comes down to it," he said sharply. Peggy tugged his sleeve. She saw where this would lead too. She saw, too, that Fanning was anxious to provoke Roy into a race. Presumably he was anxious to humiliate the boy in Regina Mortlake's eyes. "Well, do you want to race then?" asked Regina, provokingly, her fine eyes flashing, "there's a bit of road beyond here that's quite broad and one hardly ever meets anything." Now Roy was averse, as are most boys, to being thought a "'fraid cat," and the almost openly taunting air with which the girl looked at him angered him almost to desperation. "Very well," he said, "we'll race you when we get to that bit of road." "Oh, Roy, what are you saying," pleaded Peggy, "it's all a trick to humiliate us. The Blue Bird can't possibly keep up with their car, and----." But Roy checked her impatiently. "You don't think I'm going to allow Fanning Harding to scare me out of anything, do you?" he demanded in as near to a rough tone of voice as he had ever used to his sister. Poor Peggy felt the stinging tears rise. But she said nothing. The next moment the cars began to glide off, running side by side on the broad country road. Faster and faster they went. The speed got into Roy's head. He began to let the Blue Bird out, and then Fanning Harding, for the first time seemingly, realized what a formidable opponent he was placed in contact with. As they reached the bit of road previously agreed upon as a race course, the banker's son stopped his machine and hailed Roy to do the same. "Tell you what we'll do to make this interesting," he said, "we'll change machines. Or are you afraid to drive mine?" "I'll drive it," said Roy recklessly, in spite of Peggy's quavered: "Say no." "Good. That will give us a fine opportunity to compare the two machines," cried Fanning Harding. He jumped from the bigger car and handed out his companion. Then, for the fraction of a minute, he bent, monkey wrench in hand, above one of the forward wheels. "A bolt had worked loose," he explained. "Come on Peggy," urged Roy, and against her better judgment Peggy, as many another girl has done before her, obeyed the summons, although an intuition warned her that something was not just right. "Ready?" cried Fanning from the Blue Bird. "All ready"; hailed back Roy, who found the spark and throttle adjustments of the maroon car perfectly simple. "Then--go!" almost screamed Regina Mortlake. Peggy was looking at her at the moment, and she was almost certain she saw a look of hatred flash across the girl's countenance. But before she could give the matter any more thought the maroon car shot forward. Close alongside came the Blue Bird. Motor hood to motor hood they thundered along at a terrific pace. The road shot by on either side like a brown and green blur. "Faster!" Peggy heard Fanning shout somewhere out of the dust cloud. Whi-z-z-z-z-z-z! It was wild, exciting--dangerous! "Roy," gasped Peggy, "if----" But she got no further. There was a sudden soul-shaking shock. The front of the car seemed to plough into the ground. A rending, splitting noise filled the air. The car stopped short, and its boy and girl occupants were hurtled, like projectiles, into the storm center of disaster. CHAPTER XVII. JIMSY'S SUSPICIONS ARE ROUSED. Peggy, after a moment in which the entire world seemed spinning about her crazily, sat up. She had landed in a ditch, and partially against a clump of springy bushes, which had broken the force of her fall. In fact, she presently realized, that by one of those miraculous happenings that no one can explain, she was unhurt. The automobile, its hood crushed in like so much paper, had skidded into the same ditch in which Peggy lay, and bumped into a small tree which it had snapped clean off. But the obstacle had stopped it. One wheel lay in the roadway. Evidently it had come off while the machine was at top speed, and caused the crash. But Peggy noted all these things automatically. She was looking about her for Roy. From a clump of bushes close by there came a low groan of pain. The girl sprang erect instantly, forgetting her own bruises and shaken nerves in this sign that her brother was in pain. In the meantime, Fanning and Regina Mortlake had stopped and turned the Blue Bird. They came back to the scene of the wreck with every expression of concern on their faces. Roy lay white and still in the midst of the brush into which he had been hurled. There was a great cut across his forehead, and in reply to Peggy's anxious inquiries, the lad, who was conscious, said that he thought that his ankle had been broken. Peggy touched the ankle he indicated, and light as her fingers fell upon it, the boy uttered an anguished moan. "Oh, gee, Peg!" he cried bravely, screwing up his face in his endeavor not to make an outcry, "that hurts like blazes." "Poor boy," breathed Peggy tenderly, "I'm so sorry." "I'm so glad you're not hurt, Sis," said the boy, "I don't matter much. I wish you could stop this bleeding above my eye, though." Peggy ripped off a flounce of her petticoat and formed it into a bandage. "Can I help. I'm so sorry." The voice was Fanning Harding's. He stood behind her with Regina at his side. "Oh, how dreadful." exclaimed the dark-eyed girl, with a shudder, "my--my poor car." "And my poor brother," snapped out Peggy, indignantly, "if it hadn't been for your stupid idea of racing this wouldn't have happened. I just knew we'd have an accident." "It's too bad," repeated Fanning, "but can't I do something?" "Yes, get me some water. There's a brook a little way down this road. You'll find a tin cup under the rear seat in our machine." Fanning, perhaps glad to escape Peggy's righteous anger, hastened off on the errand. Regina flounced down on a stone by the roadside and moaned. "Oh, this is fearful. Why can't we get a doctor? Oh, my poor car. It will never be the same again." "Nonsense," said Peggy, sharply, "it can easily be repaired. But you don't think I'm worrying about your car now, do you?" "I don't know, I'm sure," quavered Regina, "I know it's all terrible. Is your brother badly hurt?" "No. Fortunately he only has this cut in his head and a broken ankle. It might have been far worse." Regina wandered away. Somehow she felt that Peggy had taken a sudden dislike to her. She sauntered toward the car. Suddenly she stopped and her large eyes grew larger. In the middle of the road, just as they had been hurled from Roy's pocket, lay a side-comb studded with brilliants and an old battered wallet. "Oh!" cried the girl, with an exclamation that was half a sob, "oh, what good fortune. So he was keeping that as evidence against me, eh? Well, perhaps this accident was providential, after all." She picked up the comb and then turned her attention to the wallet. Giving a quick glance around to see that she was unobserved the girl plunged her white fingers into the pocket case. They encountered something crisp and crackly. She drew the object out. "A twenty-dollar bill!" she exclaimed wonderingly, "and nothing else. I wonder if this can have anything to do with----." She was turning it over curiously as she spoke. Suddenly a red spot flamed up in her either cheek. "It's marked with a red round O," she exclaimed, "what a bit of evidence. So Master Roy Prescott, you were planning to unmask me by that side-comb, were you? Well, I shall play the same trick on you with this bill." Fanning Harding was coming back at that moment with the cup full of water. The girl checked him with an excited gesture. "Fortune has played into our hands," she cried, "look here!" "Well, what is it?" asked Fanning, rather testily. "This bill. Don't you see it's one of the stolen ones. Look at the red circle upon the back." "Jove! So it is. But, what, how----" "Hush! Don't talk so loud. This wallet, which contained it, was jolted out of Roy Prescott's pocket when he was hurled from the machine. The wallet and--and something else. But don't you see what power that gives us?" "No. I confess I'm stupid, but----" "Oh, how dense you boys are," exclaimed Regina, with an impatient stamp of the foot, "don't you see that this bill will come pretty close to proving Roy Prescott a thief, if we want to use it that way? You are a witness that I found it in his wallet which had been jerked out of his pocket. Isn't that enough?" "Well, men have been sent to prison on less evidence," said Fanning, with a shrug; "but I've got to hurry up with this water or they'll suspect something. I'll talk more with you about this later on. Your father and mine need every bit of fighting material they can get hold of, if we are to win the big prize for the Mortlake aeroplane." A shadow fell athwart the road as Fanning, an evil smile on his flabby, pale face, hastened down into the depression in which Roy, with Peggy bending above him, still lay. The girl looked swiftly up. A big, red aeroplane was hovering on high. Presently one of its occupants, a girl peered over the edge. The next minute she turned and said something in an excited tone to her companion. The aeroplane began to drop rapidly. In a few seconds it came to earth in the roadway, not a stone's throw from the wrecked auto and its uninjured Blue Bird comrade. The new arrivals were Jimsy and Jess. They had set out on a sky cruise to the Prescott home, and Jess's bright eyes had espied the confusion in the road beneath them as they flew over. The swift descent had been the result. Hardly noticing Regina, who regarded them curiously, the young sky sailors hastened toward the spot in which, from on high, they had seen the injured boy lying. A warm wave of gratitude swept over Peggy as she looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw who the newcomers were. In an emergency like the present one she could not wish for two better helpers than the Bancrofts. Jess and Jimsy had been off on a visit and so had not been made aware of the fact that Fanning had returned to Sandy Beach. Their astonishment on seeing him may be imagined. Jess regarded him with a tinge of disdain, but the frank and open Jimsy grasped the outstretched hand which the son of the Sandy Beach banker extended to him. Evidently Fanning's policy was one of conciliation and he meant to press it to the uttermost. "Well, this is a nice fix, isn't it?" murmured Roy, smiling pluckily, as the Bancrofts came toward him with pitying looks, "but where in the world did you come from?" "From yonder sky," grinned Jimsy, trying, not very successfully, to assume an inanely cheerful tone, "not badly hurt, old man, are you?" "No. Just this wallop over my eye and a twisted ankle. Thought it was broken at first, but I guess it isn't." "How did it all happen?" Peggy explained. Jimsy whistled. "What make of machine is your car, Fanning?" he asked. "A Dashaway," was the rejoinder. "The same type as ours," exclaimed young Bancroft. "They are the best and stanchest cars on the market. I can't understand how such an accident could have happened, unless----," he paused and then went on resolutely, "unless the car had been tampered with." "What an idea!" shrilled Regina, who had now joined the group, "you don't surely mean to insinuate? Why the damage done to my poor machine will cost a lot to repair, and----." "Don't mind if I have a look at it, do you?" asked Jimsy in his most careless manner, "I'm interested, you know. A motor bug is what dad calls me." "Well I----," began Fanning. But Regina interrupted him with strange eagerness. "Oh, by no means. Look at it all you wish. I only hope you can find some explanation for this regrettable accident." "I hope so, too," said Jimsy gravely, "but in the meantime let's make Roy comfortable in the Blue Bird. Then, if we can fix your car up, Miss----." "Oh, I beg your pardon," struck in Peggy, "Jimsy, this is Miss Mortlake, Fanning you know. Miss Mortlake these are our particular chums, Jess and Jimsy Bancroft." "Indeed. I have heard a great deal about you," vouchsafed Regina, as Jimsy and Fanning lifted Roy and carried him to the Blue Bird and made him comfortable on the cushions. "I'll attend to the other car," volunteered Fanning, readily. But Jimsy was not to be put off in this way. "I'd like to have a look at it before we try to put the wheel back," he said; "it may be a useful bit of experience." "All right," assented Fanning, rather sullenly, "if you insist; but I think we ought to hurry back at once." "By all means," quoth the bland Jimsy, "but--hullo, what's this!" He was stooping over the wheels now. "This wheel has been tampered with. The holding cap must have been partially unscrewed. Look here!" He held up the brass cap which was supposed to keep the wheel on its axle. "Some of the threads have been filed out of this," he said positively. "Let's have a look," said Fanning eagerly. He leaned over and scrutinized the part which Jimsy was examining. "Those threads haven't been filed," he said, "they've worn. Very careless not to have noticed that. It's surprising that it held on so long." "It might have held for a year if the car was run at average speed," said Jimsy slowly, "but the minute it was raced beyond its normal rate the weak part would have gone." "What do you mean to imply?" blustered Fanning, though his face was pale and his breath came quickly. "I don't imply anything," said Jimsy slowly, "but I'd like to know who filed this cap down." "Pshaw! You are dreaming," scoffed Fanning. A dull flush overspread Jimsy's ordinarily placid face. "After a while I'll wake up, maybe," he said, "and then----." He stopped. "Well, let's see about getting Roy home," he said, "Peggy, you can drive the Blue Bird and Fanning and Miss Mortlake can sit in the other machine as soon as we get the wheel back. Then Jess and I will go ahead in the _Red Dragon Fly_ and break the news to Miss Prescott." Shortly thereafter the two autos moved slowly off, while the aeroplane raced above them, going at a far faster speed. Regina turned to Fanning. "Do you think that odious boy suspects anything?" she asked. "I guess he does. But he can't prove a thing, so that's all the good it will do him," scoffed Fanning, "and besides, if they get too gay we've got a marked bill that will make it very unpleasant for a certain young aviator." CHAPTER XVIII. A BOLT PROM THE BLUE. The broken ankle which both Peggy and Roy had dreaded, turned out to be only a sprain--affecting the same unlucky ankle that had been injured on the desert. This was a big relief, as a broken joint would have kept Roy effectually out of the aeroplane tests, as part of the machinery of the _Golden Butterfly_ was controlled by foot pressure. A council of war was in progress on the porch of the Prescott home. The participants were the inseparable four. Peggy and Roy, the latter with his injured foot on a stool, and Jess and Jimsy. They had been discussing the case against Mortlake and Fanning Harding. All agreed that things looked as black against them as could be, but--where was the proof? There was not an iota of evidence against them that would hold water an instant before impartial judges. "It's positively depressing," sighed Jess, "to know that people have done mean things and not be able to get an atom of proof against them." "Never mind," said Peggy, "all's well that ends well. We start for Hampton to-morrow and once there they won't have a chance to try any more tricks. Luckily all their mean plans and schemes have ended in nothing. Roy will be as good as ever by to-morrow, won't you boy?" Roy nodded. "I've got to be," he said, decisively; "those tests have got to bring the _Golden Butterfly_ out on top." "And they will, too," declared Jess, with a nod of her dark head, "that poky old Harding and his crowd won't have a word to say when they are over." "Let's hope not. It doesn't do to be too confident, you know," smiled Peggy, throwing an arm round the waist of her enthusiastic friend. "As the man said when he thought he'd lassoed a horse but found he'd roped his own foot instead;" grinned Jimsy, "but, say, what's all this coming up the road?" Sure enough, a small crowd of ten or a dozen persons could be seen approaching the Prescott house. They were coming from the direction of the Mortlake plant. In advance, as they drew nearer, could be seen Mortlake himself, with a tall man by his side and Fanning Harding. The men behind seemed to be workmen from the plant. "Wonder where they can be going to?" queried Jess, idly. For a few moments more they watched the advancing throng, and then Jimsy cried suddenly: "Why, that's Sheriff Lawley with Mortlake, and there's Si Hardscrabble the constable, right behind them, what can they be after?" "Clues," laughed Peggy, but the laugh faded on her lips as she exclaimed: "Why--why, they're coming here!" "Here!" echoed the others. "Yes, that's what they are;" confirmed Jimsy, as the procession passed inside the wicket gate and came up the gravelled pathway toward the house. Sheriff Lawley had on his stiffest professional air and Si Hardscrabble's chest was puffed out like a pouter pidgeon. On it glistened, like a newly scoured pie-plate, the emblem of his authority--an immense nickel star as big as a sunflower. "Roy Prescott here?" demanded the sheriff in a high, official tone. He had known Roy since he was a boy, but seemed to think it a part of his majestic duties to appear not to know him. "Miss Prescott--I--that is--er--this is a very unpleasant business--I hope----." It was Mortlake stammering. He mopped the sweat from his forehead as the sheriff interrupted him. "That will do Mr. Mortlake. Leave the discharge of my official duties to me, please." "That's right, by heck," chorused the constable, approvingly. "What's the matter, sheriff?" asked Roy, easily. As yet not a glint of the truth of this visit had dawned upon him. "Why, Roy, it's about that thar robbery at Galloways t'other night," sputtered the sheriff, looking rather embarrassed, "we've come to the conclusion that you know more about it than you told, and----," he dived into a pocket and drew out an official-looking paper, "an' I got a warrant fer your arrest." "My arrest!" stammered Roy, "why you must be mad. What on earth do I know about it?" "Nothin', only you happened to hev' a marked bill in your pocket t'other day," shot out the sheriff, triumphantly. "Fanning Harding step forward. What do you know about this?" "Only this, that Miss Regina Mortlake after the automobile accident found a wallet belonging to Roy Prescott in the roadway. She opened it and discovered that it contained a marked twenty-dollar bill answering the description of one of the bills stolen from the Galloway farm house. She made me a witness of the find, and in line with my duty as a citizen, I thought it best to expose the thief, and----." Fanning stopped and turned pale as a boyish figure sprang toward him with doubled fists. He shrank back, turning a sickly yellow. "You contemptible sneak!" shouted Jimsy, whose fists it had been that threatened Fanning. "Sheriff, I claim protection," said the cowardly youth, shrinking behind the official. "Now, no fisticuffs here," warned the sheriff, "my only duty now is to preserve order and arrest Roy Prescott on a charge of grand larceny." Peggy turned white and sick. The veranda floor seemed to heave up and down like sea waves under her feet. But in the next few seconds she regained control of herself. "Why such a charge is absurd," she declared vehemently, "this is simply spite on the part of our rivals in the aeroplane business." "Don't know nuthin' about that," reiterated the sheriff, stolidly, "the warrant has bin sworn out an' it's my duty ter execute it. Constable, arrest that boy. Ef his foot is too bad hurt to walk, git a rig an' drive him in ter town." Hardscrabble, flushed and swollen with importance, stepped forward. He was about to place his hand on Roy's shoulder, but the boy checked him. "No need for that. Peggy, if you'll have them get out the auto, we'll drive into town at once." Mortlake stepped forward. "Prescott," he said, "I hope you don't hold this against me. I----." "I don't wish to speak to you, sir," shot out Roy, for the first time betraying indignation, "let that be your answer." "But I--really, I'm sorry to--Bancroft you'll listen----" But Jimsy turned his back on the flushed, overfed man whose eyes could not look him in the face. "In the future please do us the honor not to speak to us," he said, his voice vibrant with anger. "Why, if I may ask?" Jimsy flashed round. "Because, if you don't pay attention to my request I'm afraid I shall be unable to curb my desire to land both my fists in your eyes." Mortlake drew back and turned away among his workmen. He did not speak again. Before long the auto came round. In the meantime Peggy had taken upon herself the task of consoling Miss Prescott. Poor Aunt Sallie, she took the news very hardly. It was all Peggy could do to keep her from rushing out upon the porch and denouncing the entire assemblage. "That Mortlake," she cried, "I'd like to scratch his eyes out." The proceedings in Sandy Beach before the local magistrate, Ephraim Gray, were brief. Isaac Galloway, the farmer, told of the robbery and of his knowledge that the marked bill was among the money. He followed this up by relating the fact that Roy had been in the house in the afternoon and had seen the safe. Then came Fanning, and to the girl's astonishment, Regina Mortlake, both of whom swore to finding the marked bill in the wallet in the road. "Do you deny that this was your wallet?" asked the magistrate, holding up the leather case after he had examined the marked bill. "I do," declared Roy in a firm voice. "What! you did not drop it?" "I dropped it, but it is not mine," was the stout reply. "Then what was it doing in your possession?" "Do I have to answer that question, now?" "It will be better to--yes." "Well, then, I found it in the cellar of a house to which I was lured by two men whom I am confident were employed by this hound Mortlake." "Be careful," warned the magistrate, "Mr. Mortlake is a respected member of this community. Your display of ill-will does you no good. As for your story of how you found the wallet you can tell that to a jury later on. My present duty is to hold you in bonds of $2,500 for trial." A deep breath, like a sigh, went through the courtroom. In the midst of it an active, upright figure stepped forward. It was Lieut. Bradbury, who had arrived in the courtroom just in time to hear the concluding words. But he had already been informed of the facts, for the story was on every tongue in the village. "I am prepared to offer that bail," he said. But Peggy had been before him. With her mine shares she had a good bank account and was able to offer cash security. This was accepted almost before the young officer reached the judge's desk. Peggy thanked the lieutenant with a look. She could not trust herself to speak. "Of course," said the magistrate, "the fact that the defendant is under bonds will prohibit his leaving the state. That is understood." Mortlake nudged Fanning Harding. This was what they had cunningly calculated on. With Roy safely bottled up in New York state, it would be manifestly impossible for him to take part in the contests at Hampton in Virginia. While they conversed in low, eager tones, Peggy and Lieutenant Bradbury could be seen talking in another corner. Court had been adjourned, but the curious crowd still lingered. Jess and Jimsy stood by Roy, fencing off the inquisitive villagers and would-be sympathizers. The whole thing had taken place so rapidly that they all felt dazed and bewildered. Suddenly the thought of what his detention meant dawned upon Roy. "We'll be out of the race for the naval contracts," he almost moaned. It was the first sign he had shown of giving way. But Peggy was at his side in an instant. "No, we won't, Roy," she exclaimed, her eyes brilliant with excitement, "I've asked Lieutenant Bradbury, and he says it's unusual, but he doesn't see why a woman should be barred from flying in the contests. There's nothing in the rules about it, anyway." "Oh, Peg--gy!" gasped Jess, "you would----" "Do anything within reason to balk that Mortlake crowd in their trickery and deceit," declared Peggy, with flashing eyes. "And we'll stand by you," announced Jimsy, stepping forward; "we'll go with you to Hampton, and we'll bring home the bacon!" The inexcusable slang went unreproved. Jimsy's enthusiasm was contagious. "Thank you, Jimsy," said Peggy, winking to keep back the tears that would come, "we--we--I--that--is----" "We'll beat them out yet. The bunch of sneaks, and it's my opinion that Mortlake himself knows all about who robbed that safe!" cried Jimsy, not taking the trouble to sink his voice. He faced defiantly about and caught Mortlake's eye. It was instantly averted, and catching Fanning by the arm he hastened from the courtroom. "I wonder what mischief those young cubs are hatching up now?" he said, as the two hastened off, bending their steps toward old Mr. Harding's bank. "It doesn't make much difference," chuckled Fanning, "we've got that contract nailed down and delivered now." CHAPTER XIX. THE GATHERING OF THE MAN-BIRDS. The aeroplanes--a dozen in all, that had been selected by various naval "sharps" from all over the widely distributed portions of the country for the weeding out of the best type--were quartered in a broad meadow not far from the town of Hampton. The locality had been chosen as removed from the reach of the ordinary run of curiosity seekers, who had flocked from all parts of the country to be present at the first tests of aeroplanes as actual naval adjuncts. Sheds had been provided for the accommodation of each type. And above each shed was the name of the aeroplane it housed, printed in small letters. One of the first things that Mortlake and Fanning Harding proceeded to do on their arrival at this "bivouac" was to make a tour of the row of sheds in search of the Prescott machine. But to their joy, apparently, no shed housed it. There were machines of dozens of other types, monoplanes, bi-planes, machines of the helicopter type, and a few devices based on the parachute principle. But no Prescott. The names the various machines bore were weird: The _Sky Pilot_, the _Cloud Chaser_, the _Star Bug_, the _Moon Mounter_, the _Aerial Auto_, the _Heavenly Harvester_, and some titles even more far-fetched graced the sheds, so that it was small wonder that in this maze of high-sounding names a shed at the far end of the row bearing the obscure title of Nameless missed the scrutiny of Mortlake and his aide. "We've beaten them to a standstill this time," said Mortlake with intense conviction, "I feel that the _Motor Hornet_ has the contest cinched." The _Motor Hornet_ was the name that had been bestowed on the machine which Roy had poetically dubbed the _Silver Cobweb_. The shed of the mysterious Nameless was the only one of the long row that did not buzz with activity all that day, which was one assigned to preparation for the contests of the morrow. All the other aeroplane hives fairly radiated activity. Freakish-looking men hovered about their weird helicopters and lovingly polished brass and tested engines. The reek of gasolene and burning lubricants hung heavily over the field. Reporters darted here and there followed by panting photographers bearing elephantine cameras and bulging boxes of plates, for the metropolitan press was "playing up" the tests which were expected to produce a definite aerial type of machine for the United States Navy. But even the most inquisitive of the news-getters failed to get anything from within the mysterious realms occupied presumably by the Nameless. Its roller-fitted double doors remained closed, and no sign of activity appeared about it. This was conceded on all sides to be extraordinary, but all the speculation which was indulged in failed to elucidate the mystery. "The Nameless is also the Ungetatable," joked one reporter as he and a companion passed by. But if anyone had been about late that night, long after the aviators who had quarters at the hotels in town had quitted the field, he would have seen three figures--two girls and a boy, steal across the field from an auto which had driven up almost noiselessly, and unfasten the formidable padlocks on the doors of the Nameless's dwelling place. This done they vanished within the shed for a short time, and presently thereafter a dark and strangely shaped form slowly emerged from the shed. It was the _Golden Butterfly_, and the trio of young folks were, as you have already guessed, Peggy, Jess and Jimsy. They crawled noiselessly on board, and a few minutes later, with a soft whirring of the propellers, the _Butterfly_ shut down for precaution's sake to half speed, sped almost noiselessly upward. The night was a calm one. Hardly a leaf was stirring and the stars shone like steel points in a cloudless sky. The aeroplane, after it had attained a few hundred feet, seemed to merge into the dark background of night sky. Unless one had known of its flight it would have taken a sharp pair of eyes to have discerned it. "Say, this is glorious. It's like being pirates or--or something," said Jimsy enthusiastically, as soon as they had reached a height where they felt they could talk without difficulty. "It's great after being penned up all day at that hotel," agreed Peggy, who was at the wheel, "how beautiful the stars are. Poor Roy, I wonder how he is getting along?" "You know he was doing splendidly when we left, and he has our telegrams by this time," said Jess; "oh, Peggy, I'm so glad that the board of naval aviation said you could fly the _Golden Butterfly_." "Oh, weren't they taken aback, though, at the idea?" chuckled Jimsy; "I thought that dignified old officer would fall out of his chair at the idea of a girl daring to run an aeroplane. I'll bet if there'd been anything in the rules about it, Peggy, they'd have barred you." "I think so, too," laughed Peggy, "but, luckily, there wasn't. As Lieut. Bradbury pointed out, it was a case of an emergency. It isn't as if I'd tried to 'butt in,' as you say, Jimsy." "Well, I'm sure I don't see why a girl shouldn't run an aeroplane just as well as a boy. You certainly showed that you could, Peggy, when you raced that train back in Nevada." "In years to come," prophesied Peggy, "I dare say women as aviators will be as common as men. I don't see why not. Ten years ago a woman who ran an automobile would have been laughed at, if not insulted. But now, why lots of women run their own cars and nobody thinks of even turning his head." "Hear! hear!" cried Jimsy, "I declare I feel like a lone man at a suffragette meeting." "Then conduct yourself as if you were actually in that dangerous position," laughed Peggy. The girl's spirits were rising now under the excitement of the night ride. On the advice of Lieut. Bradbury the party from Sandy Beach had kept closely to their rooms at the hotel all that day. It was at the officer's advice, too, that their shed had been labeled the Nameless. "If Mortlake was, as I begin to think, concerned in these attacks on you," the officer had said, "I think it would be advisable not to appear any more than necessary. Let him think that you are out of the race." Accordingly, the _Butterfly_ had been transported secretly and placed in her shed at night. The secret had been well guarded and, as we know, neither Mortlake nor Fanning Harding had even an inkling that the Prescott machine was far--very far from being out of the race. On and on through the night throbbed the _Golden Butterfly_, making fast time. At last they decided that it was time to return. The object of the trip, to see that all was in running order, had been accomplished. Nothing remained to do now but to wait for the morrow and what it would bring forth. The nature of the tests had been carefully guarded, and not one of the contestants knew anything about what they were to be till the hour came at which they would be announced from the judges' boat. Suddenly, as they neared the environs of Hampton and the glare of electric lights could be seen on the sky, Jimsy gave a cry and pointed down below. They were flying pretty low, and in a road beneath them they could see an automobile. Its headlights shone brightly but it had stopped. All at once a sharp shout for help winged upward. "Hullo!" exclaimed Jimsy, "somebody's in trouble down there. Maybe we'd better descend. That is, if you girls aren't scared?" "Um--well," began Jess, but Peggy interrupted her: "Jess Bancroft, I'm ashamed of you. It's our duty to help out if we can." "At least if it gets too hot we can always retreat," muttered Jimsy. Under the covering of one of the lockers was a revolver. Under Peggy's directions Jimsy found it. The next moment they were descending rapidly. With hardly more noise than an alighting night bird, they dropped into the lane in which the auto was stalled. As they touched ground the sound of harsh voices caught their ears: "Shell out now, if you don't want to be half-killed!" "Yes, come on. Hand over your coin, or it'll be the worse for you," chimed in another ruffianly voice. "Good gracious!" gasped Jess, "it's a hold up!" But now another voice came through the darkness. "I suppose you fellows know that you are breaking the law and in danger of imprisonment if you are caught?" "Now, what is there that's familiar about that voice?" puzzled Peggy, racking her brains. "Aw, don't preach sermons to us, boss," came one of the gruff voices, "we needs the money and we ain't particular how we gits it, see. Fork over now, or----" The sentence was never completed. There was a sudden flash and a sharp report. The man in the automobile had defended himself apparently, for there came the sound of a heavy body falling, and then his voice: "I hope I haven't hurt you badly; but you brought it on yourself, as your companion can witness." The next instant, and just as Jimsy sprang forward from the clump of brush at the roadside which had hitherto concealed the aero party--there came a heavy rush of feet toward them. A dark form, running pantingly, appeared. Jimsy, with a dexterous outward thrust of his foot, tripped the fleeing man, who came down heavily in the center of the road and started howling for mercy. In the meantime, the occupant of the automobile had climbed down, and detaching one of the lamps, examined the wounded man lying in the road beyond Jimsy's capture. As the rays of his light swung to and fro they hovered for an instant on Peggy's white, strained face leaning forward above Jimsy's prisoner, upon whose neck the redoubtable young Bancroft was now sitting. "Miss Prescott, by all that's wonderful!" came an amazed voice. There was no mistaking that bold, straightforward voice now. It was James Bell, the mining magnate and their kind friend. "Oh, Mr. Bell," cried Peggy, half hysterically, "we're so glad you've come!" CHAPTER XX. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. As Mr. Bell spoke, the fellow who had apparently been shot, leaped to his feet and was about to make off, but the Westerner's iron hand seized him by the scruff of the neck, and brought him up "all standing." Simultaneously, Jimsy's captive gave a wrench and a twist and would have escaped but for Peggy. The girl seized a small nickled wrench out of the _Golden Butterfly_. In the dark it looked not unlike a pistol. "You'd b-b-b-better stay w-w-w-where you are," said Peggy, in a voice which, though rather shaky, was still courageous. The fellow took the hint, and just then Mr. Bell came up with his capture, who had merely been "playing possum." The two men were thoroughly cowed, and were trembling violently. "Don't be hard on us guv'ner," wailed one of them; "we didn't mean no harm." "No; it was just a little joke," protested Jimsy's prisoner, who was standing in the rays of the detached auto light, thoroughly subdued. "It's a joke that's liable to cost you dear," commented Mr. Bell. "Jimsy," he added, for by this time recognition and greetings had passed between the mining magnate and Jess and Jimsy, "Jimsy, have you got a bit of rope handy, my boy?" Jimsy rummaged in the _Golden Butterfly's_ tool and supply locker and presently unearthed a coil of fine cotton cord of stout texture. This was speedily applied to the hands of the two men, and loose thongs placed about their legs. While this work was going forward Peggy had been scrutinizing the faces of the two prisoners with a startled look. There was something very familiar about both of them. All at once it flashed across her where she had encountered them before. They were the two men who had held up Jess and herself in the road to the Galloway farm that eventful afternoon on which they had taken refuge from the storm. She whispered to Jess her suspicions. Her chum instantly confirmed them. Here was news indeed. After the men had been tied and placed in the tonneau of Mr. Bell's car, Peggy called a council of war. In a few words she told Mr. Bell of all that had happened since they had returned to the East, and narrated the part the two prisoners had played in it. "Good heavens, just to think I've come to the tame and effete east to plunge into the midst of such an exciting mix-up," laughed Mr. Bell, "I was in Roanoke seeing about the shipment of some supplies when I saw, in a newspaper, that the contests for the naval contract were to take place here. I had had no idea from your letters that they were so near at hand. As I had some time to spare, I thought I'd run over to Hampton in my machine and see how you made out." "And we providentially happened to fly across you!" cried Jimsy. "Truth is stranger than fiction, after all." "But what are we to do with those two rascals now that we have caught them?" wondered Peggy; "if we take them into Hampton and turn them over to the authorities Mortlake will know of it and may make more trouble. I wonder if they know much about him and his schemes. I recollect now that I've seen them hanging about his aeroplane plant. I couldn't call to mind then where I had seen them before, but I suppose the shock of coming upon them so unexpectedly to-night jogged my memory." "You say that they were hanging about Mortlake's place?" asked Mr. Bell, in an interested tone. "Yes, I'm sure of it," repeated Peggy; "I'm certain of it now." "We'll soon find out," said Mr. Bell in his old determined manner. He approached the car in which the two bound captives were still huddled. "Now, you fellows," he said in stern voice, "you know better than I do, most likely, what the penalty for attempted highway robbery is in the State of Virginia." "Oh, guv'ner, don't turn us over to the police," wailed one of the men, none other, in fact, than our old acquaintance, Joey Eccles. His companion, the angular and lanky Slim, remained silent. "I want you to answer my questions truthfully," snapped out the Westerner, "after that I'll see what I'll do with you. Now then--do you know a man named Mortlake?" "Y-y-y-yus, guv'ner," stammered the redoubtable Joey. "Good. You came here with him?" "Well, what if we did?" growled the hitherto silent Slim. Paying no attention to him Mr. Bell went on, while his young companions pressed eagerly about him. "What did you come for?" Joey seemed about to speak but Slim growled something in a low tone to him, and he was silent. "Come, are you going to answer?" demanded Mr. Bell. No reply. "Very well, I'll drive into Hampton and see if the Chief of Police can't get more out of you." The mining magnate made a step toward the car as if he were about to carry out his threat. This was too much for Joey's composure. "We came here with Mortlake to do a little job fer him guv'ner," he sputtered out. "Oh, you did, eh? Well, what was the nature of that employment?" "To disable one of them flying machines." "Which one?" "One that belonged to the Prescott kids. Mortlake said he'd make it worth our while--and--no, you can't stop me, Slim--and then when we couldn't find the machine we was to bust up he turned us loose without a cent of the money he promised us. We was broke, and----" "And so you thought you'd replenish your pockets by holding up some automobilist or traveller, eh? Humph, you're a nice pair." "You ain't goin' ter give us up guv'ner? I told you the honest truth, guv'ner. Didn't I, Slim?" "Yep," was the grunted reply; "and now Mister What's-Yer-Name, what are you going ter do with us?" "I'm going to take you on a trip," was the astonishing reply. "On a trip, guv'ner," stammered Joey, all his fears lively once more. "Yes, on a trip." The younger members of this strange roadside party stepped forward. As they advanced into the glare of the detached headlight, Joey and his companions saw them. Both men turned away and seemed much embarrassed. "What are you going to do, Mr. Bell?" asked Peggy, eagerly. The mining man's manner had become almost mysterious. "My dear, little girl," said James Bell, "can you trust me?" "Why, of course," came in a chorus. "Well, then, you'll let me work this thing out my own way and I'll guarantee that things will be straightened out for everybody--are you willing to let me do this and ask no questions till the proper time?" "Yes," came in a positive chant of assent. "Very well, then. You fly back to your shed. I'll continue into town. You may not see me for some time. But don't worry. I've got this job in hand now and I'll see it through." "We trust you absolutely," said Peggy, "and you'll trust us?" "To the last ditch," said the Westerner vehemently, "and now as there's no time to be lost, we'll go our respective ways. By the way, what time does the first test come off?" "We don't know yet; but some time before noon. It is rumored that it will be an easy one. They'll work up to the difficult flights by degrees," volunteered Jimsy. "Good. I'd like to have all the time possible as I wish to do what I have to do thoroughly." With this Mr. Bell adjusted the headlight he had removed and climbed into his car. With a wave and shouted farewell, he was off. "Gracious, I feel as if I'd been shaken up in one of those kaleidoscopes or whatever you call them," gasped Jess, "it all seems like part of a dream." "Things certainly have been happening quickly," agreed Peggy, "but I feel more at ease now than for a long time. Mr. Bell has the case in hand, and----" "He'll see it through and fix it right," interposed Jimsy, enthusiastically. As there was nothing to be gained by lingering about the scene of their strange encounter and stranger adventure, the party of youthful aviators clambered back into the _Golden Butterfly_ and once more winged aloft. It was a short dash to their shed and they reached it without incident. Then, with hearts that felt lighter for the brisk, healthy influence of breezy James Bell, they trudged to the small hotel at which they were stopping, in order to avoid being seen by Mortlake and his aides till the last moment. CHAPTER XXI. THE START OF THE SKY CRUISE. "The first flight is to be to Cape Charles and return, a distance of sixty miles, approximately," announced Jimsy the next morning. He held in his hand a small blue folder which had been issued to all the contestants. It contained the rules and regulations governing the first day's tests. A hasty breakfast was followed by a quick trip to the grounds in one of the ancient hacks that seem to swarm in Hampton. If the starting field had been a scene of confusion the day before, it was a veritable chaos now. Smoke and the fumes of gasolene hung like a pall above it. Through the bluish cloud could be seen dim figures hurrying with cans of fuel or lubricant, bags of tools and engine parts. "Reminds me of circus day," commented Jimsy, looking about him; "hullo, there's the _Cobweb_ out already," he exclaimed presently. Across the field could be seen the silvery wings of the Mortlake aeroplane. Several figures hovered about her, adjusting stays and putting finishing touches to her complicated mechanism. Presently a hush settled over the scene, and the party of naval officers, detailed to superintend the start and take the times of the competing craft, came through the crowd. They were directing their steps to an unpainted wooden structure at one end of the field. This building was equipped with various instruments for recording time accurately. From it also would presently be given out the wind velocity and any other data of interest to the aviators. The party in full uniform swung past our three young adventurers. Lieutenant Bradbury was among them. He bowed and was about to pass on when he stopped and fell back. "Now, don't get nervous, and do your best," he said to Peggy; "I'm sure that we shall all have reason to be proud of the _Golden Butterfly_ before these tests are over." "I hope so," rejoined Peggy; "we shall do our best, at any rate." "I know you will, and now if you'll excuse me I must be hurrying on. The board has an immense amount of work to do before ten o'clock, the official starting hour." The trio, left to themselves, made for the shed which bore the legend "Nameless" above its door. Many curious eyes followed them as they paused before it, and Jimsy inserted a key in the stout padlock. Who could the two pretty girls in natty motor bonnets, with goggles attached, the plain, heavy skirts and dark shirt-waists be? Speculation ran rife. There was a regular stampede of reporters and photographers to the shed of the Nameless. But when they arrived there, to their chagrin, they found that their prospective victims had slipped inside and only the blank doors greeted them. Among the crowd that hastened to try to solve the mystery of the Nameless was Fanning Harding, whose attention had been attracted by the rush of the crowd. At his side was Regina Mortlake. They arrived just in time to hear somebody say: "It's two pretty girls and a good-looking boy. They're just kids." Fanning and Regina exchanged glances. The girl actually turned pale. "They are here after all," she exclaimed, "and I thought you said they weren't." "Well, how on earth was I to know that they had hidden their machine under that name. There are so many freak craft here that----" "You are more of an idiot than I thought you," said the girl, impatiently; "all our work has gone for nothing." "No; there is time yet. If only Eccles and that other chap hadn't decamped like that last night, we might have put them to work to-night." "They decamped--as you call it--because your father wouldn't give them any more money," said Regina with flashing eyes, "that was inexcusable folly. They know too many of our secrets to allow them to wander about unwatched." "Oh, two tramps like that wouldn't have the sense to make any use of what they know," rejoined Fanning easily, "besides----" But Regina Mortlake's mind was busy on another tack. "Isn't it against the rules for women or girls to drive machines in this contest?" she asked. "Say!" Fanning's eyes glistened, "I guess it is. Let's find out. If Peggy Prescott is going to drive that machine we may be able to head them off yet." The two conspirators hastened across the field to the unpainted wooden shack that housed the committee. A crowd surged about it asking questions and demanding impossible things. It was some time before Fanning, elbowing people right and left as he was, could reach the front. He scanned a printed list of the entries for the contest hung on the wall. As he read it he blamed himself bitterly for not looking at it the day before. Near the bottom was the name "Nameless, entrant Miss Margaret Prescott." Suddenly the disgruntled youth spied Lieut. Bradbury. "A moment," he cried. As the young officer turned, Fanning, without a word of greeting, bellowed out: "Ain't it against the rules for a girl to drive an aeroplane in this contest." "Not that I am aware of," rejoined the officer. He reached over to a stack of pink booklets. "Here's a book of rules. Read it." "Hold on," cried Fanning, as the officer moved off, "I want to make a protest I----" "Make your protest in writing. No verbal ones will be considered," said the officer briefly. "But see here----" "I've no time to talk now, Mr. Harding. Good morning," and the officer passed on. The crowd began to grin, and soon laughed openly. This enraged Fanning the more. He angrily shoved his way to the outskirts where Regina was awaiting him. "Well?" she said, lifting her dark eyebrows. "Well," echoed Fanning in a surly tone, "it's no go." "No go. What do you mean?" "I mean that there isn't anything in the rules, apparently, to prevent a woman or a girl driving an aeroplane if she wants to." "Come and let's see my father," suggested the girl, presently, "he'll want to know about this. It may mean a complete change of our plans." "You'll have to change 'em to beat the _Golden Butterfly_," muttered Fanning; "if only those drawings hadn't been lost we'd have had that balancer, and it looks to me as if we might need it before we get to Cape Charles." "Why?" "The wind's freshening. Not more than a half dozen of these aeroplanes will venture up. Bother the luck, if it wasn't for the _Golden Butterfly_, we'd have a clean sweep." "This is only the first day," counseled Regina; "the points scored to-day will not count for so very much. There's plenty of time." "Humph," grumbled Fanning, and as this conversation had brought them up to the _Silver Cobweb_, he broke it off to communicate his intelligence concerning the Prescott aeroplane to Mortlake, who heard it with a lowering brow. Bang! A bomb shot upward and exploded, in a cloud of thick yellow smoke, in mid-air. "The half-hour signal," cried Jimsy; "everything ready?" "As ready as it ever will be," rejoined Peggy nervously fingering a stay wire. The navigators of the Nameless were still inside the shed. The doors were still closed. Peggy had decided not to risk having the machine damaged by the crowd by bringing it out before the very last moment. As the bomb sounded Jimsy drew out his watch. He kept it in his hand awaiting the elapse of the preliminary half-hour. Outside, as Fanning had prophesied, there had been a great and sweeping reduction in the number of aeroplanes that were to start. The puffy wind had scared most of the entrants of the freak types and only five of the more conventional kind of aircraft were on the starting line. The _Silver Cobweb_ was among them. Fanning was in the driver's seat. As a passenger he carried Regina Mortlake. She looked very stunning in her lurid aviation costume, and her handsome face was as calm as chiseled marble. Her nervousness only displayed itself by a constant tapping of her gauntleted fingers. Fanning finished oiling the motor and adjusting grease cups and timers, and straightening up, glanced nervously about him. Still no sign of the Nameless. "I guess they've got scared off by the wind," he grinned to Mortlake, who, with the elder Harding and several machinists, stood by the side of the _Cobweb_. "I doubt it," rejoined Mortlake; "it would take more than that to alarm those girls. And just to think that all our trouble to out-maneuver them has gone for nothing." "You did a bad thing when you let Eccles and that other chap get away," commented Fanning; "I don't like their disappearance at all." "Why?" "Well, for one thing, they know a good deal that would make it very awkward for us if they fell into the hands of anyone who disliked us. And again----" "Pshaw! You are alarming yourself over nothing. They were well paid and they wouldn't dare to make trouble. If they told about us they'd implicate themselves." "Just the same I don't feel easy. Hullo! there goes the second bomb. That fellow's just going to touch it off, and----" At the same instant the doors of the Nameless's shed were flung open. From them emerged the glistening form of the golden-winged _Butterfly_. Half a dozen men whom Jimsy had hired pushed the aerial craft rapidly across the field to the starting line. So engrossed was the crowd in watching the other machines that they hardly noticed the arrival of the added starter. But not so Mortlake and his companions. They watched, with jaundiced eyes, the forthcoming of their dreaded rival, and if wishes could have disabled her, the _Golden Butterfly_ would never have flown on that day. B-o-o-m! The echoes of the second bomb rang deafeningly. "They're off!" yelled the crowd, as if there might have been some doubt of it. Up into the puffy air winged six aeroplanes. It was a glorious sight. From the chassis of the various air craft the airmen waved farewells to the cheering crowd. Flying, wing and wing, they dashed off toward where the sea lay, a deep blue patch, beyond the shore. Presently they faded into dots and then were blotted out altogether. "There's a thick haze out there," said one of the officers, as the aeroplanes vanished. The word ran through the crowd and created a momentary sensation. Then the big throng dismissed the flying aeroplanes from its mind, and wandered about the grounds gazing openmouthed at the freak types, whose inventors were willing enough--too willing--to explain their remarkable points. It might be a long time before the first of the homing craft would come in sight and what was the use of worrying about them. Only in the wooden structure housing the naval officers was there any concern displayed. "If it's thick weather," said Lieutenant Bradbury, summing up a discussion, "they're going to have some trouble on their hands out there." CHAPTER XXII. THE WHITE PERIL. "What's that? No, not that schooner below there--I mean that sort of whitish drift--it looks like cotton--on the horizon?" Jess leaned forward and addressed Jimsy. "You've got me guessing," rejoined that slangy young person. "Ask Peggy." "No, I don't want to bother her now. She's got her hands full, I fancy." The _Golden Butterfly_ was swinging steadily onward above a sparkling sea. The slight haze perceptible from the land was not noticeable to the air voyagers. Below them a four-masted schooner was tacking in the light wind. Closer in shore lay several grim looking battleships and cruisers. In their leaden colored "war paint" they looked menacing and bulldoggish. Far off, a mere speck, could be seen a dim and indistinct object pointing upward from the cape like a finger. They guessed it was the light for which they were aiming. Peggy's last glance at the compass had confirmed this guess. Jimsy looked about him. About a quarter of a mile off, and slightly ahead was the _Cobweb_. The silvery aeroplane was rushing through the atmosphere at a great rate. But profiting by Mortlake's experience, Fanning was evidently not speeding the 'plane to its fullest capacity. On the other side was a large red biplane flying steadily and keeping about level with the _Golden Butterfly_. Far behind lagged a monoplane. The other contestants had dropped out of the race. They were so manifestly out of it that their drivers did not care to continue. A glance at the speedometer showed Peggy's two passengers that they were reeling off fifty-five miles an hour. The _Cobweb_ was doing slightly better. "We should round the light in a few minutes now," said Jimsy scrutinizing his watch anxiously. "Will they report us?" asked Jess. "Yes. There is a wireless rigged up there. The minute we round it on our return trip word will be flashed back to the starting point." Silently they sat counting the minutes roll by. All at once Jimsy noticed that the air had become strangely damp and moist. He looked up. He could not refrain a cry of astonishment as he did so. The _Golden Butterfly_ was enveloped in a damp, steamy sort of smother. The _Cobweb_ had been blotted out and so had the other aeroplanes. "Fog," he exclaimed. "What a bit of bad luck." "It's just as bad for the others," Peggy reminded him. "Have you got your course?" asked Jess anxiously. "Yes. Almost due east. But in this dense mist it will be hard to come close enough to the lighthouse to be reported without the danger of dashing into it." "Are you going to try for it?" "Of course," was the brief reply. Peggy slowed down the engine. The _Golden Butterfly_ now seemed to be gliding silently through lonely billows of white sea fog. It was an uncanny feeling. The occupants of the machine felt a chilling sense of complete isolation. Thanks to their barograph, however, they could judge their height above the sea. "Good thing we've got it," commented Jimsy; "otherwise we might have a thrilling encounter with the topmasts of some schooner." "I only wish we had some instrument to show us where the other aeroplanes are," said Peggy; "it's hard to hear anything in this fog." "Maybe it will clear off," suggested Jess hopefully. "Not unless we get some wind," opined Jimsy; "queer how quick that wind dropped and this smother came up." Nobody even hinted at the deadly danger they were in. But each occupant of the _Golden Butterfly_ knew it full well. Except for the compass, they had no way of guiding their flight, and to turn about would have been to court disaster. There was only one thing for it, to keep on. This Peggy did, grimly compressing her lips. "Hark!" exclaimed Jimsy suddenly. Far below them they could hear a mournful sound. It was wafted up to them in fits and starts. "Ding-dong! Ding-dong!" "A church bell," cried Jess, "we must be over land, Peggy!" The other shook her head. "That's a bell buoy, I guess," she said. "I wish he'd tell us how to get out of here," joked Jimsy, rather wearily. "Who?" asked Jess. "That bell boy." Never had one of Jimsy's jokes fallen so flat. He mentally resolved not to attempt another one. Presently he looked at his watch. "Almost eleven," he said, "we must have passed the light by this time." "I don't know," said Peggy helplessly; "if only the chart marked that bell buoy--but it doesn't." She again scrutinized the chart pinned before her on the sloping slab designed for such purposes. But no bell buoy was marked on it as being located anywhere near where they estimated they must be drifting. Drifting, however, is not quite the correct word. An aeroplane cannot drift. Its life depends upon its motion. The instant it stops or decreases speed beyond a certain point, in that same instant it must fall to the earth. This fact is what made the position of the young sky cruisers particularly dangerous. Although the gauge showed that they had plenty of gasoline, the supply--even with the use of the auxiliary tanks--would not hold out indefinitely. If the fog did not lift, or they did not land, sooner or later they must face disaster. Worse still, they were--or believed they were, navigating above the sea. Had the _Golden Butterfly_ been fitted with pontoons like some of the Glen Curtiss machines, this would not have been so alarming. But a descent into the ocean would inevitably mean a speedy death by drowning. Suddenly voices struck through the smother all about them. They seemed to come from below. "It's thick as pea soup, captain!" "Aye, aye; I'll be glad when we're out of it I kin tell yer. This bay's a bad place ter be in er fog." "A ship," cried Jimsy. "Quick, Peggy," he almost yelled the next instant. "Set your rising levers." The girl swiftly manipulated the machinery that sent the _Golden Butterfly_ on an upward course. But it was only just in time that this maneuver was carried out. All of them had a glimpse for an instant of the gilded ball on the main-mast head of the vessel beneath them. For an instant Peggy's watchful eye had been deflected from the height gauge, and she had allowed the _Golden Butterfly_ to drop almost on the top of some coasting vessel's mast. The danger over, they could not help laughing at the whimsical adventure. "Just to think how utterly unconscious those fellows were of the fact that three human beings were hovering right above them and listening to every word of their conversation," chuckled Jimsy; "isn't it queer?" A little while later a steamer's whistle boomed through the fog beneath them, but as the altitude register showed five hundred feet, they did not bother about it. "At all events we know we're still above the water and not in danger of colliding with any church steeples," said Jess, and she found consolation in the thought. "Have you any idea at all as to the direction of the light, Peggy?" inquired Jimsy at length. "I--I really don't know," confessed Peggy, with a gulp; "everything's mixed up. It's so thick I can't tell anything and I'm deathly afraid of running into the lighthouse by mistake." "Then for goodness sake give it a wide berth," cried Jimsy; "if we keep on cruising about for a while we'll be bound to land somewhere. Anyhow we've got lots of gasoline, that's one comfort." It was, indeed. In the steady hum of their powerful motor the young aviators found consolation in that lonely ride through the billowing fog-banks. At all events, there was no sign of a falter or skip there. "If only we could get some wind," sighed Jess. "Might as well wish for the moon," said Jimsy; "the air is as still as it used to be at noon out on the desert." "What a contrast between the Big Alkali and this!" cried Jess, half hysterically. The strain of the white drifting fog was beginning to tell upon her. Jimsy looked at her sharply. "Look here, Sis," he began and was going on when a sharp cry from Peggy arrested him. At the same instant the _Golden Butterfly_ swerved sharply, swinging over on her beam-ends almost. Right in front of them, for one dreadful instant, there loomed the outlines of another aeroplane. The next instant it was gone. But the picture of the deadly peril, its outlines exaggerated by the mist, was photographed in the minds of every one of them. "We must land somewhere, soon," said Peggy, in rather a faint voice; "I don't think I could stand many shocks like that. Another inch, and----." She did not complete the sentence. Her two listeners did not require her to. It did not take a vivid imagination to have pictured the result of that "other inch." CHAPTER XXIII. OUT OF THE CLOUDS. Ten minutes or so later, a puff of wind blew the folds of fog apart for a brief instant. Beneath them Peggy could see a sandy beach and some scrubby-looking brush. Like a flash she took advantage of the momentarily revealed opportunity. The _Golden Butterfly_, under her guidance, sank swiftly, grounding a few seconds later into a bed of soft sand. It was like lighting on a pillow of down, so gently had the glide to earth been made. Shutting off the engine, Peggy took hold of Jimsy's outstretched arm and, followed by Jess, she jumped lightly out upon the sand. The roar of the surf, as the big swells rolled upon the beach was in their ears. A wholesome, stinging tang of salt in their nostrils. "I wonder where on earth we've landed," said Jimsy, looking about him; "perhaps this is some enchanted land and we are to face new perils--dragons or something." "Well, gallant knight," laughed Jess, in the highest spirits to be back on the firm ground again--even if it was only shifting sand--"we trust to you." "And by my troth," exclaimed the mercurial Jimsy, "ye shall not be disappointed in me fair damsels. Hullo! an adventure already. Hark!" Through the smother a dull sound was borne to their ears. A sound that came in muffled but rhythmic thumps. At intervals it paused, but then was resumed again. "Somebody chopping wood!" exclaimed Peggy, recognizing the sound. "That's just what it is, if I ever wielded an axe in my life," agreed Jimsy; "now logic tells us that an axe can't work itself. Therefore somebody must be using it. Where there is human life there is--or ought to be--food. How about it girls, are you hungry?" "Hungry! I could eat anything," declared Jess. "I'm almost as bad," laughed Peggy. "Well," said Jimsy, "as there is no sign of the fog lifting yet awhile, what's the matter with our starting out to find the wood-chopper and seeing if he has anything to eat?" "Jimsy, you're a genius," cried Jess. "That's what all my friends tell me," rejoined the modest youth. They set off over rough sand dunes, overgrown with coarse grass, in the direction of the sounds of the axe. The sand was loose and their feet sank ankle deep in it, but they plodded along pluckily. All at once, just as if a curtain had been drawn, the outlines of a rough shanty appeared in front of them. It was a tumble-down sort of a place, seemingly made of driftwood and old sacks and bits of canvas. From a rusty iron stove-pipe on top, a feeble column of blue smoke was ascending. The noise of chopping had ceased on their approach and as they stood hesitating a strange figure suddenly appeared round the corner of the wretched rookery of a place. The man, who stood facing them, a startled look in his light blue eyes, was apparently about middle age. He wore a full beard of a golden brown color and was barefooted and hatless. His clothes consisted of a tattered shirt and a pair of coarse canvas trousers. "Well, shiver my toplights!" he cried as his eyes fell on the trio, "whar under ther sun did you come from? Drop from ther clouds?" "That's just what we did," said the debonnaire Jimsy, as the girls drew back rather affrighted at the weird looking figure and his queer, wild way of talking. "What's that? Don't try to fool with me young feller. I ain't as crazy as I reckon I looks." There was a certain dignity about the man when he spoke, that, despite his ragged clothing and miserable habitation, was impressive. "No, it's really so," Jimsy hastened to assure him, "we--we came in an aeroplane, you know." "Well, now," said the man scratching his head, "I reckon that's the first of them contrivances to reach Lost Brig Island." "Lost Brig Island," echoed Jess in an alarmed tone; "is this an island?" "If the geography books still define an island as a body of land surrounded by water, it is," rejoined the man, with a smile. "Are we far from Cape Charles?" asked Peggy, eagerly. "Why, no. Not more than six miles to the north. But what under ther sun air you young folks in your fine clothes a-doin' out here?" Peggy hastily explained, and the man said that he had seen some reference to the coming contests in a stray paper the light-keepers had given him the last time he passed the lighthouse in a small boat he kept. "Is the island inhabited?" inquired Jimsy; "we'd like to get something to eat. If there's a hotel or----." The man of the island burst into a laugh. Not a rough guffaw, but a laugh of genuine amusement. "I guess I'm the only hotel keeper on the island," he said, "and my guests is sea gulls and once in a while a turtle. But if you don't mind eating some fish and potatoes, you're welcome to what I have." "I'm sure that's awfully good of you," said Peggy, warmly, "and we love fish." "Well, come on in and sit down. This fog won't last forever. I was chopping wood to get dinner when I heard you coming over the sands. I don't often have visitors so you'll have to rough it." So saying, the strange, lone island dweller led them into his hut. It was rough inside but scrupulously clean. Some attempts had been made to beautify it by hanging up on the walls shells and curiosities of the beach. Here and there, too, were panels of rare woods, which the island-dweller explained had come from the cabins of wrecked ships. A big cat, his only companion, lay beside the fire and blinked at the visitors, as if they were an everyday occurrence. Chairs, fashioned out of barrels and boxes, stood about, some of them cushioned after a fashion, with sacking stuffed with dried sea weed. "Sit down," said their host hospitably, "ain't much to boast of in the way of furniture, but it's the best I can do. Can't expect to find a Waldorf Hotel on Lost Brig Island." "You have been in New York, then?" exclaimed Peggy, struck by the reference. The man's face underwent a transformation. "Once, many years ago," he said, "but I never like to talk about it." "Why not?" blundered the tactless Jimsy. "Because a wrong--a very great wrong--was done to me there," said the man slowly. Without another word he rose and left the hut. None of the visitors dared to speak to him, so black had his face grown at the recollections called up by Peggy's unlucky remark. After an absence of some moments he came back. He carried a string of cleaned fish in one hand and a tin measure of potatoes in the other. In the interval that had elapsed he seemed to have recovered his equanimity. "Well, here's dinner," he announced in a cheery voice, "it ain't much to boast of, but hunger's the best sauce." Sitting on an upturned box he started to peel potatoes, and presently put them on the fire in a rough iron pot. When they were almost done, a fact which he ascertained by prodding them with a clean sliver of wood, he set the fish in a frying pan or "spider," and the appetizing aroma of the meal presently filled the lowly hut. On a table formed of big planks, once the hull of some wrecked schooner, laid on rough trestles, they ate, what Peggy afterward declared, was one of the most enjoyable dinners of her life. Their host had at one time of his life been a sailor it would seem. At any rate, he had a fund of anecdote of the sea and its perils that held them enthralled. Every now and again, through the open door, Peggy cast a glance outside. But the fog still hung thick. Suddenly, in the midst of their meal, footsteps sounded and voices came to their ears. "Hullo, more visitors!" exclaimed the man of the island starting to his feet, "this is a day of events with a vengeance. Who can be coming now?" The footsteps had drawn close now and a voice could be heard saying: "What a rickety, tumble-down old place. I wonder what kind of savage lives here." "Fanning Harding!" gasped Peggy, as another voice struck in. A voice she instantly knew as Regina Mortlake's. [Illustration: The next minute the man of the island ushered in his two new guests.] "Oh, what a dreadful place. Why won't this miserable fog lift. I'll be dead before we get back to the hotel." The man of the island had hastened hospitably out to welcome the newcomers. Peggy, Jess and Jimsy exchanged glances. The prospect of spending the afternoon marooned on an island with Fanning Harding and Regina Mortlake, was not alluring. But there was no escape. The next minute the man of the island ushered in his two new guests. "What, you here?" said Fanning in an ungracious tone, while Regina Mortlake, more skilled at disguising her feelings, exclaimed: "Oh, how perfectly wonderful that we should both have landed on the same island." "It wasn't from choice," grumbled Fanning in a perfectly audible tone. Jimsy flushed a dark, dangerous flush. "Jess, tell me not to punch that chap," he muttered to his sister. "I certainly do tell you not to," whispered Jess emphatically. The man of the island looked on wonderingly. "Did you come in an aeroplane, too?" he asked Fanning in the manner of a man prepared to hear any marvels. "Yes. We had the race won, too. But this fog has delayed us. What can you give us to eat. I can pay for it," said Fanning in a loud, rude tone. "I don't take pay," said the hut-dweller in a quiet tone that ought to have caused Fanning to redden with shame, "but if you are hungry I can cook some more fish. There are plenty of potatoes left." "They'll be very nice, I'm sure," Regina had the grace to say. But Fanning mumbled something about "pauper's food." But nevertheless he ate as heartily as Jimsy himself, when the food was put on the rough table. It was hard work trying to be pleasant to the two young people who had so unexpectedly come into their midst, and the conversation languished and went on by fits and starts. "Hullo, the fog's lifting," cried Fanning suddenly; "I'm off. Come on Regina." The girl rose, and as she did so the trio from the Prescott machine noticed the island dweller's eyes fixed on her in a curious way. "Pardon me," he said, "but is your name Regina?" The girl looked at him in a half-startled way, while Peggy, as she said afterward, felt as if she was watching a drama. "Yes," she said; "why?" "Because," said the island dweller slowly, "because I once knew someone called Regina who was very dear to me." "Come on," called Fanning from outside, "we've got to win this race back." The girl lingered hesitatingly an instant and the next moment was gone. "The fog is lifting," said Peggy, "we must be going, too. Come along Jess. Come on, Jimsy, we don't want to let the Mortlake craft beat us at the eleventh hour." "What name was that you just mentioned?" asked the man of the island, quickly. He was bending forward eagerly, as if to catch the answer. "Do you mean Mortlake?" "Yes, that's the name. What of him? Do you know him?" The man's eyes gleamed brightly. He seemed to be much excited. Peggy answered him calmly, although she felt as if some sort of a life tragedy was working out to swift conclusion. "Of course, Mr. Eugene Mortlake is the man who is manufacturing the Mortlake aeroplane. He is our chief rival. That's the reason we must hurry off." "Why, did they?" the man nodded his head in the direction in which Fanning and Regina had vanished, "did they come in a Mortlake aeroplane?" "Yes," said Peggy, "didn't you know? That girl is Mr. Mortlake's daughter, Regina Mortlake." The man gave a terrible cry and reeled backward. Jimsy stepped forward quickly and caught him. For an instant they thought their host was going to swoon. But he quickly recovered. "Good heavens," he cried, "Eugene Mortlake is here. Close at hand?" "He is in Hampton--why?" "I must see him as soon as possible. No, I can explain nothing now. But I must see him." The man's manner showed that he was terribly in earnest. He seemed almost carried away by excitement. Outside came suddenly a whirring sound. "Fanning is starting his engine," exclaimed Jimsy; "we must hurry." "Will you do something for me--will you aid a miserable outcast to right a great wrong?" pleaded the ragged man who faced them. "What can we do for you?" asked Jimsy. "Take me back to Hampton in your aeroplane. I must see Mortlake at once. It is imperative I tell you. See, I am not poor, although I appear so." In two strides the man had crossed the room and lifting a board in the floor he drew forth bag after bag. The seams of some of them were rotten. Under the sudden strain they broke and streams of gold coin trickled out upon the floor. "Years ago when I was first an exile here," said the man, "a Spanish ship came ashore one stormy night. Not a soul of her crew was saved. I found this money in the wreck. I will give you half of it if you will take me to Hampton with you. The other half I must keep till--till I learn from Mortlake's lips the secret he holds." "Put your money back," said Jimsy quietly after a telegraphic exchange of looks with Peggy, "we'll take you to Hampton; but hurry!" Fifteen minutes later a golden-hued aeroplane flashed past the Cape Charles light. The announcer posted there, instantly sent in a wireless flash to Hampton. "Number Six has just passed. Two minutes behind Number Five (The _Silver Cobweb_), four persons on board." Mortlake was among the crowd that read the bulletin which was instantly posted upon the field outside Hampton. "I wonder who the fourth can be?" he thought, little guessing that through the air fate was winging its way toward him. "Anyway," he added to himself the next instant, "the _Mortlake_ is leading. Now if only----" But what was that roar, at first a sullen boom, gradually deepening into the excited skirling cheers of a vast throng. Mortlake looked round, startled. Out of the distance two tiny dots, momentarily growing larger, like homing birds, had come into view. Hark! What was that the crowd were shouting? Those with field glasses threw the cry out first, and then came a mighty roar, as it was caught up by hundreds of throats. "The Nameless! The Nameless wins!" Mortlake paled, and caught at a post erected to hold up a telephone line. He gazed at the oncoming aeroplanes. There were three of them now, but one was far behind, laboring slowly. But the first was unquestionably the _Golden Butterfly_. He could catch the yellow glint of her wings. And that second craft--its silvery sheen betrayed it--was the Mortlake _Cobweb_, as Roy had called it. "Come on! Come on!" shouted Mortlake, uselessly as he knew, "what's the matter with you?" But alas, the _Cobweb_ didn't "come on." Some three or four minutes after the _Golden Butterfly_ had alighted and been swallowed up in a surging, yelling throng of enthusiasm-crazed aero fans, the _Cobweb_ fluttered wearily to the ground, unnoticed almost amid the excitement over the _Golden Butterfly's_ feat. Mortlake raged, old Mr. Harding almost wept, and Fanning sulkily explained that it wasn't his fault, the cylinders having overheated again. But not all of this could wipe out those figures that had just been put up on the board, which proclaimed a victory for the Prescott aeroplane by a margin of three and twenty-one hundredths minutes! CHAPTER XXIV. FRIENDS AND FOES--CONCLUSION. The winning of the "Sky Cruise," as the newspapers had dubbed it, was the talk of Hampton that night. Not a small part of the zest with which it was discussed was caused by the fact that a young girl had driven the machine through its daring dash. The wires from New York, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Boston and Richmond were kept hot with instructions from editors to their representatives demanding interviews with the Girl Aviators. But to the chagrin of the newspaper representatives, after seeing their machine housed, the party had vanished. This, on investigation, was not as mysterious as it had at first appeared. There was a small door in the back of the Nameless's shed, and at this door there had been waiting, for some moments before the conclusion of the race, a big automobile. In it were seated a bronzed man, with broad shoulders, and an alert, wideawake expression, and a boy, whose foot was propped up on an extemporized contrivance affixed to the seat. While the crowd had hovered about the front of the shed, awaiting the reappearance of the girl aviator, whose feat had caused such a furore, this boy had limped from the machine, assisted by his stalwart companion, and had entered the shed by the rear door. It would have astonished the crowd, and delighted the reporters in search of a story, if they could have seen Peggy rush at the youth, and with a wild cry of: "Roy! You darling!" throw her arms about his neck. Mr. Bell, for he was the stalwart personage, stood aside with a look of warm satisfaction, as Peggy's turn over, Jess and Jimsy came forward. What a joyous reunion that was, I will leave you to imagine. Then came Mr. Bell's story of his telegram to Sandy Beach to the judge, who was a friend of his. The message had announced that he had obtained complete confessions from both Joey Eccles and the unsavory Slim. Roy's release from bail and suspicion at once followed. Eccles had owned up to his part in the mischief that had been wrought against the young Prescotts. Frankly, and without reserve, he had sworn to a statement before a local attorney, in which he admitted losing the bill with the mark upon it, on the night he had aided in decoying Roy to the old house. His assistant had been a cast off workman of the Mortlake plant, of whose whereabouts Joey said he was now ignorant. Then had come Slim's turn. Sullenly, but with the alternative of prison staring him in the face, he had admitted to impersonating the foreign spy. The part of Roy on that eventful night had been played by: "Guess whom?" said Mr. Bell, looking round. They all shook their heads. "I'll tell you about that part of it later," said Mr. Bell. "There are still one or two things to be cleared up in that connection. But," he continued, "Palmer confessed that it was Mortlake who robbed the farm-house safe, the object being, of course, not so much the money, as a chance to put Roy out of the race contest. It has been a record of vile plotting all the way through," said the Westerner warmly, "but the toils are closing in about Mortlake & Co. Of course, my first step was to take the fellows before an attorney--luckily I knew one in Hampton, and he, as it happened, was a friend of the Sandy Beach judge. We had to move quickly, but, thanks to the telegraph wire and fast trains, I got Roy released from bail and suspicion, and here in time to greet you." They could only look their gratitude. Just as the strain was becoming almost too taut, Mr. Bell, who had noticed it, broke the tension. "Let's sneak out of the back door," he said, "and all go to some quiet place to dine. Hullo, who's this?" he exclaimed, as the tattered figure of the man of the island appeared. "I am what is left of Budd Pierce, Jim Bell," said the man, in his queer, tired tones. "Budd Pierce!" exclaimed the mining man, falling back a step. "No--but, yes, now I look again--it is. But, man, what has happened to you? What are you doing here?" "It's a long story," said the ragged man, while the younger members of the party looked on in astonishment, "but I can tell you that Gene Mortlake has reached the end of his tether. I've heard all you said about him, and my interest in him you know already." "I know that you were swindled out of your fortune by some man years ago, and then disappeared," said Mr. Bell. "But I had forgotten the name of the rascal." "It was Eugene Mortlake," said the man of the island slowly. "After I knew I was ruined, I fled down here, where I was raised, and became a recluse on that island. It was cowardly of me, I know, but from now on I am going to lead a different life." "You have found yourself!" cried James Bell, gleefully clasping the other's thin, worn hand. "I have found something dearer to me," was the quiet reply; "but come, let us be going. I have much that is strange to tell you." With wondering looks, the young aviators--Roy leaning on Peggy's devoted arm--followed James Bell and the man from Lost Brig Island out of the aeroplane shed. * * * * * In his suite of rooms at the Hotel Hampton, the best hotel in the place, Eugene Mortlake sat opposite old Mr. Harding. His brow was furrowed, and little wrinkles that had not been there earlier in the day, appeared at the corners of his eyes. Old Mr. Harding seemed to be trying to cheer him up. In another corner of the room, sullen and depressed, Fanning Harding was standing puffing a cigarette and filling the atmosphere with its reeking fumes. "All is not lost yet, Mortlake, hey, hey, hey?" said the old man, laying a skinny, claw-like hand on the other's arm. "Why, to-night we'll put into execution a plan that will permanently put these young Prescotts out of it. Fanning knows what I mean. Hey?" He glanced up at his ill-favored son. "I know fast enough," said that young hopeful, "but it's a risky matter. Why don't you get somebody else to do it?" "Pshaw! It's only filing off a padlock and then smashing a few of the motor parts," said the old man, in as calm a tone as if he were proposing a constitutional walk, "that's soon done, hey?" A sharp knock at the door interrupted any reply Fanning might have been about to make. "Come in," snarled Mortlake. "It's the mail, I suppose," he said, turning to old Mr. Harding, but, to his surprise and consternation, the opened door revealed Roy Prescott. Close behind him came Mr. Bell and Peggy, with Jimsy and Jess bringing up the rear. "To what am I indebted for the pleasure of this visit?" asked Mortlake, glowering at the newcomers, as they filed in, and Mr. Bell closed the door behind them. "Why didn't you send up your cards, and I'd have torn them up and thrown them out of the window." "Just what I thought you'd do, so we came up ourselves," said Mr. Bell cheerily. "Now, look here, Mortlake--no, sit down. I've come up here to right a wrong. You've tried to do all in your power to injure these young people, whose only fault is that they have built a better aeroplane than you have. It's their turn now, and you've got to grin and bear it." Mortlake's jaw dropped. His old bullying manner was gone now. Old Man Harding cackled inanely, but said nothing. Only his long, lean fingers drummed on the table. Fanning turned a pasty yellow. He had some idea of what was to come. His eyes fell to the floor, as if seeking some loophole of escape there. "Well," growled Mortlake, "what have you got to say to me?" "Not much," snapped the mining man, "but I wish to read you something." He drew from his pocket a paper. "This is the confession of Joey Eccles," he said quietly. "I've another by Frederick Palmer." Mortlake leaped up and sprang toward the Westerner, but Mr. Bell held up his hand. "Don't try to destroy them," he said. "They are only copies. The originals are by this time in the hands of the authorities at Sandy Beach." Mortlake sank back with staring eyes and white cheeks. "What do you want me to do?" he gasped. "Listen to these confessions and then sign your name to them, signifying your belief that they are true documents." "And if not?" "Well, if not," said Mr. Bell, measuring his words, "do you recollect that wild-cat gold mine scheme you were interested in more years ago than you'll care to remember?" Mortlake seemed to shrivel. But he flared up in a last blaze of defiance. "You can't scare me by rattling old bones," he said, "What do you know about it?" For reply, Mr. Bell stepped to the door. "Mr. Budd," he called softly, and in response the man of Lost Brig Island, but now dressed and barbered into civilization appeared. "Pierce Budd!" gasped Mortlake. "Yes, Pierce Budd, whom you ruined," said Mr. Bell. "But for my persuasions, he would have sought to wipe out his wrongs in personal violence. But you needn't fear him now," as Mortlake looked round with hunted eyes; "that is, if you sign." "I'll sign," gasped out the trapped man. He reached for an inkstand. "Give them to me." "I'll read them first," said the mining man, and then, in slow, measured tones, he read out the contents of the convicting documents. As he concluded, Mortlake seemed about to collapse. But he took the papers with a trembling hand, and wrote: "All this is true.--Eugene Mortlake." "Good," said Mr. Bell. "Now your future fate is in the hands of these young people. Pierce Budd has forgiven you, though it has been a struggle to do so. But I have one surprise left for you all," said Mr. Bell, stepping to the door. "Regina," he called softly. In reply, the dark-eyed girl, in a sheer dress of soft, clinging stuff, glided into the room. She slipped straight to the side of the outcast Pierce Budd, and stood there, holding his hand. Peggy looking at her in amazement, saw that the hard, defiant look had vanished from the girl's face, and that its place had been taken by an expression of supreme happiness and peace. "Tell them about it," said Mr. Bell. "No. She has not yet recovered from the shock of the discovery," said Pierce Budd softly. "Let me do it. When Mortlake ruined me, and I fled from my former surroundings," he said, "I left behind me a baby girl. Mrs. Mortlake, a good woman if ever there was one, took care of that child. All this I have only just learned. She grew up with the Mortlake's, and when that man's wife died he did the only good thing I've ever heard of him doing--he took care of her and brought her up as his daughter. To-day in the hut you saw me looking at her closely. It was because I thought I recognized a bit of jewelry--a tiny gold locket she wore. It contained the picture of her mother, who died soon after her birth. When I heard her name was Regina, and on the top of that heard you mention the name of Mortlake, I knew that fate, in its strange whirligig, had brought my daughter back to me." "To-night, with Mr. Bell, I sought her, and she has consented to forgive me for my years of neglect. The rest of my life will be spent in atoning for the past. That is all." His voice broke, and Regina--a different Regina from the old defiant one, gazed up at him tenderly. "So," said Mortlake, "I'm left alone at last, eh? Regina, haven't you a word for me? Won't you forgive me for deceiving you about your father all these years?" "Of course I forgive, freely and wholly," said the girl, stepping toward him, "but it is hard to forget." Very tenderly, Mortlake raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he drew himself erect. "What do you want to do with me?" he said defiantly. "I've confessed everything. Why don't you call the police?" "Because we want you to have a chance to be a better man," said Mr. Bell. "The past is over and done with. The future lies before you. You can make it what you will--bad or good, we shall not interfere with you." Mortlake looked at them unsteadily. Then his voice broke and he stepped quickly toward Budd. The recluse of Lost Brig Island extended his lean palm and met the other's outstretched hand half way. "I bear no grudge, Mortlake," he said. "You will always be welcome at our home--Regina's and mine." "Oh, yes--always," cried the girl, with a catch in her voice. "Thank you," said Mortlake simply. "I don't--I don't dare trust myself to, speak now; to-morrow, perhaps----" He strode abruptly through the door and was gone. Old Mr. Harding arose to his feet. "After this affecting tableau, is there anything you wish to say to me, hey?" he grated out. "Nothing, sir," said Mr. Bell, turning his back upon the wizened old financier. "I have seen to it that the money taken from them has been returned to the Galloways." "Then, I'll bid you good-night, too, since you seem to have taken possession of these rooms. Come, Fanning." Without a word, Fanning shuffled across the room and reached his parent's side. Not till they were both at the door did he speak. Then, with a malevolent look backward, he paused. "Roy Prescott," he said, "you've always beaten me out--at school, at college, and twice since we've both lived in Sandy Beach. There'll be a third time, and you can bet that I'll not forget the injury you've done me. Good night." He was gone, a sinister sneer still curling his lip. "Well," said Mr. Bell, looking round him with a smile, "who says that all the adventure and excitement is in the West?" "Not the Girl Aviators, certainly," laughed Peggy, stealing a look at Regina. The girl colored, and then, after a visible effort, she spoke. "I want to say something," she said, and stopped. Her father bent on her an encouraging look. Bravely she nerved herself, and went on. "It--it was I who dressed up like you that night, Roy Prescott, and--and I'm awfully sorry." "Oh, that's all right," said Roy uneasily, and then, "say, you can run like a deer!" In the laugh which followed they left the room and adjourned to a jolly supper, at which, who should walk in but Aunt Sally Prescott and Mr. and Mrs. Bancroft. They had been reached by telegraph early that morning, and had started on the next train to Roy. How the hours flew! It was almost midnight before they knew it. In the midst of the feast, a waiter brought in a message to Mr. Bell. The mining man excused himself and left the room for a short time. When he returned he was smiling. "I've just signed on two new workmen for the mine," he said, "and I think they'll make good." "Who are they?" asked Roy. "Well, one answers to the name of Eccles. The other was, on one occasion, a foreign spy, but he bears the very American name of Palmer. They leave for the West to-night." How the Prescott aeroplane, under Roy's management, captured the coveted highest number of marks for proficiency, and how a sensation was caused by the sudden withdrawal of the Mortlake aeroplanes from the naval contest, all my readers are familiar with through the columns of the daily press. The paper, though, didn't print anything about an offer made by Pierce Budd to Eugene Mortlake to finance the _Cobweb_ type of machine. Needless to say, the offer was not accepted. Mortlake, a changed man, is now building and selling aeroplanes in a far eastern principality, and they are good ones, too. No letters are more welcome than those that arrive occasionally from him and are delivered at Pierce Budd's home in New York. Under Lieutenant Bradbury's kindly auspices, Roy instructed a class of young seamen in the management of the Prescott type of aeroplane, which has become the official aero scout of the United States Navy. From time to time improvements are added. But, as the young officer says: "It was really the Girl Aviators' Sky Cruise, that won out for the Prescotts." And here, though only for a brief period, we must bid _au revoir_ to our young friends. But we shall renew our acquaintance with them, and form some new friends, in the next volume of this series. This book will be replete with adventures encountered in the pursuance of the wonderful new science of aviation, as yet in its infancy. In the clouds and on the solid earth, the Girl Aviators are destined to have some more eventful times. What these are to be must be saved for the telling in--The Girl Aviator's Motor Butterfly. The End. 
53692	----	made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) The Flying Girl Series The Flying Girl and Her Chum [Illustration: "Well, I declare!" exclaimed Orissa, sitting up.] The Flying Girl And Her Chum BY EDITH VAN DYNE Author of The Flying Girl; Aunt Jane's Nieces Series Etc. Illustrated by Joseph Pierre Nuyttens [Illustration] The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago Copyright, 1912 by The Reilly & Britton Co. _The Flying Girl and Her Chum_ CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THE GIRL WITH THE YACHT 9 II THE GIRL WITH THE AËROPLANE 31 III A PRODIGY IN AERONAUTICS 46 IV THE ALUMINUM CHEST 54 V THE LAST DROP OF GASOLINE 63 VI CASTAWAYS 73 VII TWO GIRLS AND ONE ISLAND 87 VIII AN OWL CONCERT 97 IX MISS COLUMBUS AND MISS CRUSOE 106 X MADELINE DENTRY'S PROPOSITION 117 XI A GAME OF CHECKERS 126 XII THE QUEST OF THE "SALVADOR" 139 XIII CAPRICIOUS FATE 148 XIV ON THE BLUFF 159 XV BOAT AHOY! 166 XVI AN ISLAND KINGDOM 171 XVII DON MIGUEL DEL BORGITIS 183 XVIII THE MASK OFF 192 XIX AN EXCITING RACE 203 XX BESIEGED 211 XXI CAPTURING AN AËROPLANE 220 XXII RAMON GANZA 231 XXIII A DESPERATE ALTERNATIVE 243 XXIV THE DIPLOMACY OF CHESTY TODD 256 XXV SCUTTLED 270 XXVI ORISSA RETURNS 279 XXVII FACING THE CRISIS 286 XXVIII THE PRISONER 290 XXIX ORISSA DECIDES 304 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS "Well, I declare!" exclaimed Orissa, sitting up. _Frontispiece_ "It--it has run away with 'em, Steve. It's gone wrong, man; there's danger ahead!" _Page_ 120 Suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance. _Page_ 184 Madeline, seated at the table, studied the faces before her curiously, while an amused smile played around her lips. "We cannot accept our enemy's proposition," she announced. _Page_ 246 The Flying Girl and Her Chum CHAPTER I THE GIRL WITH THE YACHT Perhaps they call them "parlor" cars because they bear so little resemblance to the traditional parlor--a word and a room now sadly out of style. In reality they are ordinary cars with two rows of swivel seats down the center; seats supposed to pivot in every direction unless their action is impeded by the passenger's hand baggage, which the porter promptly piles around the chairs, leaving one barely room to place his feet and no chance at all to swing the seat. Thus imprisoned, you ride thoughtfully on your way, wondering if the exclusive "parlor car" is really worth the extra fee. However, those going to San Diego, in the Southland of California, are obliged to choose between plebeian coaches and the so-called "parlor" outfit, and on a mild, sunny morning in February the San Diego train rolled out of the Los Angeles depot with every swivel seat in the car de luxe occupied by a passenger. They were a mixed assemblage, mostly tourists bound for Colorado, yet quite unknown to one another; or, at least, not on speaking terms. There was a Spanish-looking gentleman in white; two prim, elderly damsels in black; a mamma with three subdued children and a maid, and a fat man who read a book and scowled at every neighbor who ventured a remark louder than a whisper. Forward in the car the first three seats were taken by a party from New York, and this little group of travelers attracted more than one curious glance. "That," murmured one of the prim ladies to the other, "is Madeline Dentry, the famous heiress. No one knows how many millions she has just inherited, but she is said to be one of the richest girls in America. The stout lady is her chaperon; I believe--she's a distant relative--an aunt, or something--and the thin, nervous man, the stout lady's husband, is Madeline Dentry's financial manager." "I know," replied the other, nodding; "he used to be her guardian before she came of legal age, a month or so ago. His name is Tupper--Martin J. Tupper--and I'm told he is well connected." "He is, indeed, to have the handling of Madeline's millions." "I mean in a family way. The Dentrys were nobodies, you know, until Madeline's father cornered the mica mines of the world and made his millions; but the Tuppers were a grand old Baltimore family in the days of Washington, always poor as poverty and eminently aristocratic." "Do you know the Tuppers?" "I have never met them. I strongly disapprove of their close association with Miss Dentry--a fly-away miss who kept Bryn Mawr in a turmoil while she was a student there, and is now making an absurd use of her money." "In what way?" "Haven't you heard? She has purchased Lord Tweedmonk's magnificent yacht, and has had it taken to San Diego harbor. I was told by the bell boy at the Los Angeles Hotel--bell boys are singularly well-informed, I have observed--that Madeline Dentry is to take her new yacht on a cruise to Hawaii and Japan. She is probably now on her way to see her extravagant and foolish plaything." "Dreadful!" said the other, with a shudder. "I wonder how anyone can squander a fortune on a yacht when all those poor heathens are starving in China. What a pity the girl has no mother to guide her!" "Tell me about the beautiful girl seated next to Madeline." "I do not know who she is. Some stranger to the rich young lady, I imagine. They're not speaking. Yes, she is really beautiful, that girl. Her eyes are wonderful, and her coloring perfect." "And she seems so modest and diffident." "Evidence of good breeding, whoever she may be; quite the opposite of Madeline Dentry, whose people have always been rapid and rude." The fat gentleman was now glaring at the old ladies so ferociously that they became awed and relapsed into silence. The others in the car seemed moodily reserved. Mr. Martin J. Tupper read a newspaper. His stolid wife, seated beside him, closed her eyes and napped. Madeline Dentry, abandoning a book that was not interesting, turned a casual glance upon her neighbor in the next chair--the beautiful girl who had won the approval of the two old maids. Madeline herself had a piquant, attractive countenance, but her neighbor was gazing dreamily out of the window and seemed not to have noticed her. In this listless attitude she might be inspected at leisure, and Madeline was astonished at the perfect profile, the sheen of her magnificent hair, the rich warm tintings of a skin innocent of powders or cosmetics. Critically the rich young lady glanced at the girl's attire. It was exceedingly simple but of costly material. She wore no jewels or ornaments, nor did she need them to enhance her attractiveness. Perhaps feeling herself under observation, the girl slowly turned her head until her eyes met those of Madeline. They were gloriously blue eyes, calm and intelligent, wide open and fearless. Yet with a faint smile she quickly withdrew them before Madeline's earnest gaze. "Will you have a chocolate?" "Thank you." The strong hand with its well-shaped fingers did not fumble in Madeline's box of bonbons. She took a chocolate, smiled again, and with a half shy glance into her neighbor's face proceeded to nibble the confection. Madeline was charmed. "Are you traveling alone?" she asked. "Yes. I am to meet my brother and--some friends--in San Diego." "I am Miss Dentry--Madeline Dentry. My home is in New York." "And mine is in Los Angeles. I am not straying very far away, you see." Madeline was piqued that her hint was disregarded. "And your name!" she asked sweetly. The girl hesitated an instant. Then she said: "I am Miss Kane." Mr. Tupper looked up from his newspaper. "Kane?" he repeated. "Bless me! That's the name of the Flying Girl." "So it is," admitted Miss Kane, with a little laugh. "But flying is not in your line, I imagine," said Madeline, admiring anew the dainty personality of her chance acquaintance. "At present our train is dragging, rather than flying," was the merry response. Mr. Tupper was interested. He carefully folded his paper and joined in the conversation. "The idea of any girl attempting to do stunts in the air!" he remarked disdainfully. "Your namesake, Miss Kane, deserves to break her venturesome, unmaidenly neck--as she probably will, in the near future." "Nonsense, Uncle!" cried Madeline; "Orissa Kane, so far as I've read of her--and I've read everything I could find--is not at all unmaidenly. She's venturesome, if you like, and manages an aëroplane better than many of the bird-men can; but I see nothing more unwomanly in flying than in running an automobile, and you know _I_ do that to perfection. This Flying Girl, as she is called, is famous all over America for her daring, her coolness in emergencies and her exceptional skill. I want to see her fly, while I'm out here, for I understand there's to be an aviation meet of some sort in San Diego next week, and that Orissa Kane is engaged to take part in it." "Flying is good sport, I admit," said Mr. Tupper, "but it would give me the shivers to see a girl attempt it. And, once a machine is in the air, you can't tell whether a man or woman is flying it; they all look alike to the watcher below. Don't go to this aviation meet, Madeline; you've seen girls fly. There was Miss Moissant, at Garden City----" "She barely got off the ground," said Miss Dentry. "And there was Blanche Scott----" "They're all imitators of Orissa Kane!" declared Madeline impatiently. "There's only one real Flying Girl, Uncle, and if she's on the program at the San Diego meet I'm going to see her." "You'll be disappointed," averred the gentleman. "She's a native of these parts, they say; I presume some big-boned, masculine, orange-picking female----" "Wrong again, sir! The reporters all rave about her. They say she has a charming personality, is lovely and sweet and modest and--and----" She paused, her eyes dilating a little as she marked the red flush creeping over Miss Kane's neck and face. Then Madeline drew in her breath sharply and cast a warning glance at her uncle. Mr. Tupper, however, was obtuse. He knew nothing of Madeline's suspicions. "Have you ever seen this dare-devil namesake of yours, Miss Kane?" he asked indifferently. "Yes, sir," she answered in a quiet tone. "And what did you think of her?" Madeline was powerless to stop him. Miss Kane, however, looked at her questioner with candid eyes, a frank smile upon her beautiful face. "She has a fine aëroplane," was her reply. "Her brother invented it, you know. It's the Kane Aircraft, the safest and speediest yet made, and Stephen Kane has taught his sister how to handle it. That she flies his Aircraft successfully is due, I am sure, to her brother's genius; not to any especial merit of her own." Mr. Tupper was staring now, and beginning to think. He remembered reading a similar assertion attributed to Orissa Kane, the Flying Girl, who always insisted on crediting her brother with whatever success she achieved. Perhaps this girl had read it, too; or, perhaps---- He began to "put two and two together." Southern California was the favorite haunt of the Flying Girl; there was to be an aviation meet presently at San Diego; and on this train, bound for San Diego, was riding a certain Miss Kane who answered to Madeline's description of the aërial heroine--a description he now remembered to have often read himself. Uncertain what to say, he asked haltingly: "Do you call it 'aviatrix' or 'aviatrice'? The feminine of 'aviator,' you know." "I should say 'aviatress,' now that you appeal to me," was the laughing reply. "Some of the newspaper men, who love to coin new words, have tried to saddle 'aviatrice' on the girl aviator, and the French have dubbed her 'aviatrix' without rhyme or reason. It seems to me that if 'seamstress,' 'governess' or 'hostess' is proper, 'aviatress' is also correct and, moreover, it is thoroughly American. But in--in the profession--on the aviation field--they call themselves 'aviators,' whether men or women, just as an author is always an 'author,' regardless of sex." Mr. Tupper had made up his mind, by this time. He reasoned that a girl who talked so professionally of aviation terms must be something more than a novice, and straggled to remember if he had inadvertently said anything to annoy or humiliate Miss Kane. For, if the little maid so demurely seated before him was indeed the famous Flying Girl, the gentleman admitted he had good reason to admire her. Madeline was watching his embarrassment with an expression of amusement, but would not help him out of his dilemma. So Mr. Tupper went straight to the heart of the misunderstanding, as perhaps was best under the circumstances. "Your first name is Orissa?" he inquired, gently. "It is, sir." "Won't you have another chocolate!" asked Madeline. Orissa took another chocolate, reflecting how impossible it seemed to hide her identity, even from utter strangers. Not that she regretted, in any way, the celebrity she had gained by flying her brother Stephen's Aircraft, but it would have been so nice to have ridden to-day with these pleasant people without listening to the perfunctory words of praise and adulation so persistently lavished upon her since she had acquired fame. "I knew Cumberford some years ago," continued Mr. Tupper, rather aimlessly. "Cumberford's your manager, I believe!" "Yes, sir; and my brother's partner." "Good chap, Cumberford. Had a queer daughter, I remember; an impossible child, with the airs of a princess and the eyes of a sorceress. She's grown up, by this time, I suppose." Miss Kane smiled. "Sybil Cumberford is my best chum," she replied. "The description still applies, so far as the airs and eyes are concerned; but the child is a young lady now, and a very lovable young lady, her friends think." "Doubtless, doubtless," Mr. Tupper said hastily. "If Cumberford is in San Diego I shall be glad to renew our acquaintance." "You are bound for Coronado, I suppose," remarked Orissa, to change the subject. "Only for a few days' stay," Madeline answered. "Then we expect to make a sea voyage to Honolulu." "That will be delightful," said the girl. "I've lived many years on the shores of the Pacific, but have never made a voyage farther to sea than Catalina. I'm told Honolulu is a fascinating place; but it needs be to draw one away from Coronado." "You like Coronado, then?" "All this South Country is a real paradise," declared Orissa. "I have had opportunity to compare it with other parts of America, and love it better after each comparison. But I am ignorant of foreign countries, and can only say that if they excel Southern California they are too good for humans to live in and ought to be sacred to the fairies." Madeline laughed gayly. "I know you now!" she exclaimed; "you are what is called out here a 'booster.' But from my limited experience in your earthly paradise I cannot blame you." "Yes, we are all 'boosters,'" asserted the younger girl, "and I'm positive you will join our ranks presently. I love this country especially because one can fly here winter and summer." "You are fond of flying?" "Yes. At first I didn't care very much for it, but it grows on one until its fascinations are irresistible. I have the most glorious sense of freedom when I'm in the air--way up, where I love best to be--but during my recent exhibitions in the East I nearly froze making the high flights. It is a little cold even here when you are half a mile up, but it is by no means unbearable." "They call you a 'dare-devil,' in the newspapers," remarked Mr. Tupper, eyeing her reflectively; "but I can scarcely believe one so--so young and--and--girlish has ventured to do all the foolish aërial tricks you are credited with." Mrs. Tupper had by this time opened her eyes and was now listening in amazement. "Yes," she added, reprovingly, "all those spiral dips and volplaning and--and--figure-eights are more suited to a circus performer than to a young girl, it seems to me." This lady's face persistently wore a bland and unmeaning smile, which had been so carefully cultivated in her youth that it had become habitual and wreathed her chubby features even when she was asleep, giving one the impression that she wore a mask. Now her stern eyes belied the smirk of her face, but Orissa merely smiled. "I am not a 'dare-devil,' I assure you," she said, addressing Mr. Tupper rather than his wife. "I know the newspapers call me that, and compare me with the witch on a broomstick; but in truth I am as calculating and cold as any aviator in America. Everything I do is figured out with mathematical precision and I never take a single chance that I can foresee. I know the air currents, and all their whims and peculiarities, and how to counteract them. What may seem to the spectators to be daring, and even desperate, is often the safest mode of flying, provided you understand your machine and the conditions of the air. To volplane from a height of five or ten thousand feet, for example, is safer than from a slight elevation, for the further you drop the better air-cushion is formed under your planes, and you ride as gently as when suspended from a parachute." Madeline was listening eagerly. "Are you afraid?" she asked. "Afraid? Why should I be, with my brother's wonderful engine at my back and perfect control of every part of my machine?" "Suppose the engine should some time fail you?" "Then I would volplane to the ground." "And if the planes, or braces, or fastenings break?" "No fear of that. The Kane Aircraft is strong enough for any aërial purpose and I examine every brace and strut before I start my fight--merely to satisfy myself they have not been maliciously tampered with." Then Madeline sprung her important question: "Do you ever take a passenger?" Orissa regarded Miss Dentry with a whimsical smile. "Sometimes," she said. "Do you imagine you would like to fly?" "No--no, indeed!" cried Mr. Tupper in a horrified voice, and Mrs. Tupper echoed; "How absurd!" But Madeline answered quietly: "If you could manage to take me I am sure I would enjoy the experience." "I will consider it and let you know later," said the Flying Girl, thoughtfully. "My chum, Sybil Cumberford, has made several short flights with me; but Sybil's head is perfectly balanced and no altitude affects it. Often those who believe they would enjoy flying become terrified once they are in the air." "Nothing could terrify Madeline, I am sure," asserted Mrs. Tupper, in a rasping voice; "but she is too important a personage to risk her life foolishly. I shall insist that she at once abandon the preposterous idea. Abandon it, Madeline! I thought your new yacht a venturesome thing to indulge in, but flying is far, far worse." "Oh; have you a yacht?" inquired Orissa, turning eagerly to the other girl. "Yes; the _Salvador_. It is now lying in San Diego harbor. I've not seen my new craft as yet, but intend it shall take us to Honolulu and perhaps to Japan." "How delightful," cried Orissa, with enthusiasm. "Would you like to join our party?" "Oh, thank you; I couldn't," quite regretfully; "I am too busy just now advancing the fortunes of my brother Stephen, who is really the most clever inventor of aëroplanes in the world. Don't smile, please; he is, indeed! The world may not admit it as yet, but it soon will. Have you heard of his latest contrivance? It is a Hydro-Aircraft, and its engines propel it equally as well on water as on land." "Then it beats my yacht," said Madeline, smiling. "It is more adaptable--more versatile--to be sure," said Orissa. "Stephen has just completed his first Hydro-Aircraft, and while I am in San Diego I shall test it and make a long trip over the Pacific Ocean to exploit its powers. Such a machine would not take the place of a yacht, you know, and the motor boat attachment is merely a safety device to allow one to fly over water as well as over land. Then, if you are obliged to descend, your aircraft becomes a motor boat and the engines propel it to the shore." "Does your brother use the Gnome engines?" inquired Mr. Tupper. "No; Stephen makes his own engines, which I think are better than any others," answered Miss Kane. By the time the train drew into the station at San Diego, Madeline Dentry and her companions, the Tuppers, knew considerably more of aëroplanes than the average layman, for Orissa Kane enjoyed explaining the various machines and, young and unassuming as she appeared, understood every minute detail of their manufacture. She had been her brother's assistant and companion from the time of his first experiments and intelligently followed the creation and development of the now famous Kane Aircraft. At the depot a large crowd was in waiting, not gathered to meet the great heiress, Madeline Dentry, but the quiet slip of a girl whose name was on every tongue and whose marvelous skill as a bird-maid had aroused the admiration of every person interested in aërial sports. On the billboards were glaring posters of "The Flying Girl," the chief attraction of the coming aviation meet, and the news of her expected arrival had drawn many curious inhabitants of the Sunshine City to the depot, as well as the friends congregated to greet her. First of all a tall, fine looking fellow, who limped slightly, sprang forward to meet Orissa at the car steps and gave her a kiss and a hug. This was Stephen Kane, the airship inventor, and close behind him stood a grizzled gentleman in a long gray coat and jaunty Scotch cap. It was Mr. Cumberford, the "angel" and manager of the youthful Kanes, the man whose vast wealth had financed the Kane Aircraft and enabled the boy and girl to carry out their ambitious plans. This strange man had neither ambition to acquire more money nor to secure fame by undertaking to pilot the Aircraft to success; as he stood here, his bored expression, in sharp contrast to the shrewd gray eyes that twinkled behind his spectacles, clearly indicated this fact; but a little kindness had won him to befriend the young people and he had rendered them staunch support. On Mr. Cumberford's arm was a slender girl dressed all in black, the nodding sable plumes of whose broad hat nearly hid Orissa from view as the two girls exchanged a kiss. Sybil Cumberford had no claim to beauty except for her dark eyes--so fathomless and mysterious that they awed all but her most intimate friends, and puzzled even them. And now an awkward young fellow--six feet three and built like an athlete--slouched bashfully forward and gripped Orissa Kane's outstretched hand. Here was the press agent of the Kane-Cumberford alliance, Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd; a most astonishing youth who impressed strangers as being a dummy and his friends as the possessor of a rarely keen intellect. Orissa smiled at him; there was something humorous about Radley-Todd's loose-jointed, unwieldy personality. Then she took her brother's arm and passed through the eager, admiring throng to the automobile in waiting. Beside Mr. Cumberford's car stood a handsome equipage that had been sent for Miss Dentry's party, and as Orissa nodded to her recent acquaintances Sybil Cumberford inquired: "Who is that girl?" "A Miss Dentry, of New York, with whom I exchanged some remarks on the train. She has a yacht in the bay here." "Oh, yes; I've heard all about her," returned Sybil, indifferently. "She's dreadfully rich; rather snubbed New York society, which was eager to idolize her--says she's too young for the weary, heart-breaking grind--and indulges in such remarkable fancies that she's getting herself talked about. I hope you didn't encourage her advances, Orissa?" "I fear I did," was the laughing reply; "but she seemed very nice and agreeable--for a rich girl. Tell me, Steve," she added, turning to her brother, "what news of the Hydro-Aircraft?" "It's great, Orissa! I put the finishing touches on it night before last, and yesterday Mr. Cumberford and I took a trial spin in it. It carries two beautifully," he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Did you go over the water?" asked Orissa. "Nearly half a mile. Then we dropped and let the engine paddle us home. Of all the hydro-aëroplanes yet invented, Ris, mine will do the most stunts and do them with greater ease." They were rolling swiftly toward the ferry now, bound for the Hotel del Coronado, a rambling pile of Spanish architecture that dominates the farther side of San Diego Bay. Presently the car took its place in the line of vehicles on the ferry and Mr. Cumberford, who was driving, shut off the power and turned to Orissa. "You are advertised to exhibit the new Hydro-Aircraft the first day of the meet--that's Monday," he announced. "Do you think you can master the mechanism by that time?" "Is it the same old engine, Steve?" she inquired. "Exactly the same, except that I've altered the controlling levers, to make them handy both in the air and on water, and balanced the weight a little differently, to allow for the boat attachment." "How did you do that?" "Placed the gasoline tanks in the rear. That makes the engine feed from the back, instead of from directly overhead, you see." Orissa nodded. "I think I can manage it, Mr. Cumberford," she decided. "Will Steve go with me on Monday?" "Why--no," returned the manager, a trifle embarrassed. "Our fool press agent had an idea the event would be more interesting if two girls made the flight out to sea, and the trip back by boat. Sybil has been crazy to go, and so I let Chesty Todd have his own way." "You see, Miss Kane," added Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd, who was seated beside Mr. Cumberford, while Stephen and the two girls rode behind, "the management of the meet couldn't get another aviatress to take part, because you had been engaged to fly. The other air-maids are all jealous of your reputation and popularity, I guess, so the management was in despair. The dear public is daffy, just now, to watch a female risk her precious life; it's more thrilling than when a male ventures it. So, as they're paying us pretty big money, and Miss Cumberford was anxious to go, I--er--er--I----" "It is quite satisfactory to me," announced Orissa quietly. "I shall enjoy having Sybil with me." "I knew you wouldn't object," said Sybil. "The only thing I don't like about it," observed Stephen, reflectively, "is the fact that you have never yet seen my Hydro-Aircraft. It's safe enough, either on land or water; but if the thing balks--as new inventions sometimes do--there will be no one aboard to help you remedy the fault, and the invention is likely to get a black eye." "Give me a tool bag and I'll do as well as any mechanician," responded Orissa, confidently. "And your Hy is not going to balk, Steve, for I shall know as much about it as you do by Monday." CHAPTER II THE GIRL WITH THE AËROPLANE The morning following Orissa Kane's arrival, which was the Saturday preceding the meet, she went with her brother Stephen to his hangar, which was located near the Glenn Curtiss aviation camp on a low bluff overlooking the Pacific. There the two spent the entire forenoon in a careful inspection of the new Hydro-Aircraft. As she had told Madeline Dentry, the Flying Girl never wittingly took chances in the dangerous profession she followed. The remarkable success of her aërial performances was due to an exact knowledge of every part of her aëroplane. She knew what each bolt and brace was for and how much strain it would stand; she knew to a feather's weight the opposition of the planes to the air, the number of revolutions to drive the engine under all conditions and the freaks of the unreliable atmospheric currents. And aside from this knowledge she had that prime quality known as "the aviator's instinct"--the intuition what to do in emergencies, and the coolness to do it promptly. Stephen Kane, who adored his pretty little sister, had not the slightest fear for her. As she had stood at his side during the construction of his first successful aëroplane and learned such mechanical principles of flying as he himself knew, he had no doubt she could readily comprehend the adaptation he had made to convert his Aircraft into the amphibious thing that could navigate air and water alike. "It seems to me quite perfect, Steve," was Orissa's final verdict. "There is no question but the Hydro-Aircraft will prove more useful to the world than any simple aëroplane. If we could carry gasoline enough, I would venture across the Pacific in this contrivance. By the way, what am I to do on Monday? Must I carry Sybil in any certain direction, or for any given distance?" "I'll let Chesty explain that," said Steve, turning to the youthful press agent, who had just then entered the hangar in company with Mr. Cumberford and Sybil. "Why, er--er--a certain program has been announced, you know," explained Chesty Todd; "but that doesn't count, of course. We'll say that owing to high winds, contrary air currents, or some other excuse, you had to alter your plans. That'll satisfy the dear public, all right." Orissa frowned slightly. "You mustn't compromise me in such ways, Mr. Todd," she exclaimed. "The Kane-Cumberford Camp has the reputation of fulfilling its engagements to the letter; but if you promise impossible things of course we cannot do them." The young man flushed. In the presence of Orissa Kane this big fellow was as diffident as a schoolboy. "I--I didn't think I promised too much," he stammered. "There are two or three islands off this coast, known as the Coronado Islands. The big one--you can see it plainly from here--is named Sealskin. No one knows why. There are seals there, and they have skins. Perhaps that's the reason. Or they may all be related, and the seals' kin play together on the rocks." "Be sensible, Chesty!" This from Mr. Cumberford, rather impatiently. "I'm quite sensible of Miss Kane's annoyance," resumed Mr. Radley-Todd, "but I hope she will find her task easy. She has merely to fly to Sealskin Island, a dozen or fifteen miles--perhaps twenty--and alight on the bosom of the blue Pacific. Mighty poetical in the advertisements, eh? Then she'll ride back in motor boat fashion. When she approaches the shore she is to mount into the air again, circle around the hotel and land on the aviation field before the grand stand. If any part of this program seems difficult, we can cut it out and tell the reporters----" "Steve," interrupted Orissa, "can I rise from the water into the air?" "Of course. That's my pet invention. While skimming along the water you lift this lever, free the propeller, then point your elevator and--up you go!" "Run out the machine. We will make a trial and you shall show me how it is done. The rest of Chesty's program seems easy enough, and if I master this little trick of rising from the water we will carry out our contract to the letter." "All right. Your costume is in that little dressing room in the corner, Ris." While his sister donned her short skirt, leggings and helmet, Stephen Kane called his mechanicians and had the Hydro-Aircraft rolled out of the hangar and headed toward the ocean. For himself, he merely put on a sweater and his cap and visor, being ready long before Orissa appeared. The inventor seldom flew his own craft, for an accidental fall had lamed him so that he was not as expert an aviator as his sister had proved to be. He was recovering from his hurt, however, and hoped the injured leg would soon be good as new. Meantime Orissa was doing more to render the Kane Aircraft famous than any man might have done. A wire fence encircled the Kane-Cumberford Camp for some distance, except on the ocean side, where the bluff protected it from invasion. There was an entrance gate adjoining the beach road, and while the assembled party awaited Orissa's appearance Steve noticed that a motor car stopped at the gateway and a man and woman alighted and entered the enclosure, leisurely approaching the spot where the Hydro-Aircraft stood. "Oh!" exclaimed Sybil, whose dark eyes were far-seeing; "it's that girl who owns the yacht, Madeline what's-her-name." "Dentry," said Steve. "I wonder if Orissa invited her here. Go and meet them, Chesty, and find out." Mr. Radley-Todd promptly unlimbered his long legs and advanced to meet Madeline and Mr. Tupper. The press agent had an unlimited command of language when driving his pen over paper, but was notably awkward in expressing himself conversationally. He now stopped short before the visitors, removed his hat and said: "I--er--pardon me, but--er--was your appointment for this hour?" "Is Miss Kane here, sir?" asked Madeline, unabashed. "She is, Miss--er--er----" "Dentry." "Oh; thank you." "Then I will see her," and she took a step forward. But Chesty Todd did not move his huge bulk out of the way. So many curious and bold people were prone to intrude on all aviators, and especially on Miss Kane, that it was really necessary to deny them in a positive manner in order to secure any privacy at all. The press agent, in his halting way, tried to explain. "We--er--Miss Kane--is about to--er--test the powers of our new Hydro-Aircraft, and I regret to say that--er--er--the test is private, you know." "How fortunate that we came just now!" cried Madeline, eagerly, as she flashed her most winning smile on the young man. "Please lead us directly to Miss Kane, sir." "Yes; of course; please lead us to Miss Kane," echoed Mr. Tupper pompously. Chesty succumbed and led them to the group surrounding the machine, just as Orissa emerged from the hangar. Recognizing her recent traveling companion, the Flying Girl ran up and greeted her cordially, introducing her and Mr. Tupper to the others present. "I'm going to try out our new Hy," she said, with a laugh. "'Hy,' you must know, is my abbreviation of the Hydro-Aircraft--too long a word altogether. If you will promise not to criticize us, in case we foozle, you are welcome to watch our performance." "That will be glorious," returned Madeline. "We have been to the bay to inspect the _Salvador_, my new yacht, but being anxious to see your new Aircraft and hoping to find you here, we ventured to stop for a few minutes. Forgive us if we intruded." She spoke so frankly and was so evidently unconscious of being unwelcome that the entire group accepted her presence and that of her uncle without murmur. Steve took his place in the "Hy" and Orissa sat beside him. The motor boat attachment, which took the place of the ordinary running gear, was of sheet aluminum, as light and yet as strongly built as was possible for a thing intended to be practical. Adjustable wheels, which could be folded back when the boat was in the water, were placed on either side, to give the craft a land start. The huge engine was beautiful in appearance, while the planes--a crossed arrangement peculiar to the Kane Aircraft--were immaculately white in their graceful spread. "This upper plane," said Steve, proud to explain the marvels of his latest mechanical pet, "is so arranged that its position may be altered by means of a lever. If you're on the water and want to save gasoline you adjust the plane as a sail and let the wind drive you." "Clever! Very clever, indeed," observed Mr. Tupper. "I had no idea these flying machines had been improved so much since I last saw an aviation meet, some six months ago." "The art of flying is still in its infancy, sir," replied Mr. Cumberford. "It is progressing with wonderful strides, however, and young Kane is one of those remarkable geniuses who keep a pace ahead of the procession." Even as he spoke Steve started the engine, and as the first low rumble of the propeller increased to a roar the machine darted forward, passed the edge of the bluff and, rising slightly, sped over the placid waters of the Pacific, straight out from shore. He did not rise very high, but half a mile or so out the aviator described a half-circle and then, as gracefully as a swan, sank to the surface of the ocean. Instantly a white wake of foam appeared at the rear of the boat, showing that the propeller was now churning the water. And now, with speed that to the observers appeared almost incredible, the Hydro-Aircraft approached the shore. A few yards from the bluff it abruptly rose from the water, sailed above the heads of the spectators, and after a circle of the field, came to a halt at almost the exact spot from which it had started. This remarkable performance had taken place in so brief a space of time that those on the bluff had scarcely moved during the entire period. They now hastened forward to congratulate the inventor. Mr. Cumberford's grim features were for once wreathed in smiles; Chesty Todd capered like a schoolboy and flung his hat into the air as he yelled "Hooray!" while Sybil impulsively grasped Steve's hand in both of her own. As for Madeline Dentry, she eyed the young man wonderingly, asking herself if the marvel she seemed to have witnessed had actually occurred. "Do you know," said Mr. Tupper, his voice trembling with excitement, "I wouldn't much mind a ride like that myself!" Orissa was much pleased with this successful test of the new machine's powers. As the men wheeled the Hydro-Aircraft back to its hangar she turned to Chesty and said: "I forgive you, sir. Really, you were too modest in your promises. Sybil and I will carry out your program to the entire satisfaction of the management and the public, I am positive." "I can hardly wait for Monday, Ris," exclaimed Sybil. "If father wasn't so afraid, I would learn to navigate the Hy myself." "Ah, you interest me, my dear," returned her father, blandly; "you do, really. But as your talents will never enable you to rival Orissa it will be well for you to curb your ambitions. I've conceded a lot, to allow you to go with her on that long jaunt Monday." "You have, indeed," laughed Orissa. "But Sybil and I will have a real joy ride, and be perfectly safe in the bargain. How long a time will the trip take us, Steve?" "Oh, a couple of hours, or so; it will depend on whether the current is favorable to your paddling back. In the air you can do forty miles an hour, easily." "We will take some lunch with us," said Sybil. "Don't forget to order it, Daddy." Mr. Cumberford nodded. Unimpressionable as this strange man seemed, his daughter was verily the "apple of his eye" and he was not likely to forget anything that might add to her comfort. Sybil's desire to aviate had been a constant source of disturbance to her father. He had worried a good deal over Orissa, during her first attempts to fly, but was now convinced of the girl's capability and, although he exhibited nervousness every time she gave one of her exhibitions, he had by degrees acquired supreme confidence in her skill. Still, being thoroughly experienced in all aviation matters, through his connection with the Kane Aircraft, Mr. Cumberford realized that flying is always accompanied by danger, and whenever an aviator met with an accident on the field he was wont to inform Sybil that on no account could she ever accompany Orissa again in a flight. He would even urge Orissa to abandon the dangerous work; but she answered him gravely: "This accident, as well as all others I ever heard of, was the result of carelessness and inexperience. The more flights I make the less liable am I to encounter accident. Perhaps I realize better than you do, Mr. Cumberford, the elements of danger, and that is the reason I am so careful to avoid every hazard." Flying was an intoxication to Sybil. She never had enough of it and always complained to Orissa that their flights were of too short duration. Each time she was obliged to plead and argue with her father for days, before obtaining his consent to let her go, and even now, when he had given his reluctant permission to Chesty Todd to advertise Sybil as the companion of the Flying Girl, he was frequently impelled to forbid the adventure. His only consolation was that the new invention seemed very safe and practical, and with Orissa's guiding hands at the levers his beloved daughter would be as well guarded as possible under such conditions. As a matter of fact, protests from Mr. Cumberford had little value, as Sybil possessed a knack of getting her own way under any and all circumstances. She had really no great desire to operate an aëroplane herself, being quite content to remain a passenger and enjoy the freedom of riding, untrammeled by the necessity of being alert every instant to control the machine. Orissa, excusing herself, retired to the hangar to change her costume, and the young inventor was left to listen to the enthusiastic comments of his friends. "When will your Hydro-Aircraft be on the market, Mr. Kane?" asked Madeline. "In the course of the next three months we expect to complete two other machines," he replied. "I want one of them," she said quickly. "Will you teach me how to operate it?" "Of course," he answered. "That is part of the bargain. But you have not asked the price, and for all business transactions I must refer you to Mr. Cumberford." "Madeline, my dear! My dear Madeline!" protested Mr. Tupper; "what in the world are you thinking of?" "That I would give Mr. Cumberford a check at once," she calmly answered. "But I--we--that is, I can't permit it; I--I really can't allow it, my dear!" asserted the gentleman, evidently alarmed by her positive attitude. Madeline's slight form stiffened and her eyes flashed defiantly. "Mr. Tupper," said she to her uncle, "do I employ you to advise me, or to manage my business affairs?" That he was greatly humiliated by this attack was evident. His face grew red and he half turned away, hesitating to make reply. Then Mr. Cumberford came to Mr. Tupper's assistance. "Your--eh--friend--is quite right, Miss Dentry; quite right to oppose your--eh--reckless impulse, if I may put it that way. Your enthusiasm interests me; it--eh--interests me greatly; but for your own welfare and the comfort of mind of your friends, I should advise you to--eh--curb your adventurous spirit, for the present. You have what is known as the 'Flying Fever,' which attacks the most conservative people when on the aviation field. Let it alone and it will dissipate, in time; but if you nurse it you--eh--buy a flying machine and become a slave. We have machines to sell, you know; we are anxious to dispose of all we can; but kindly keep your check for three months, and if at the end of that time you are still disposed to purchase, I will deliver the machine to you promptly." "How can you do that? The demand will be greater than your ability to build the Hydro-Aircraft, after the exhibition of next Monday," she affirmed. Mr. Cumberford regarded her thoughtfully. "I believe you are right," said he. "Anyhow, I hope you are right. But I'll promise to reserve a machine, pending your decision. Young ladies who are seriously determined to become aviators and who--eh--have the means to indulge the fad to any extent, are rare; very rare. Therefore, my dear Miss Dentry, you--eh--interest me, and I'll keep my promise." Madeline could not refuse to admit the fairness of Mr. Cumberford's proposition, and Mr. Tupper was grateful to him for his efficient support, so harmony was once more restored. Sybil, indeed, smiled derisively as she exchanged a meaning glance with Madeline--a glance that said as intelligently as words: "How clever these men think themselves, and how helpless they really are to oppose us!" Then Miss Dentry invited them all, including Chesty Todd, to dine on board her yacht the next day, which was Sunday, and the invitation being promptly accepted they all motored back to the hotel. CHAPTER III A PRODIGY IN AERONAUTICS San Diego Bay is always interesting, with its shipping from all ports of the world, but on this gorgeous Sunday afternoon there was no prettier sight among the scattered craft than the trim yacht _Salvador_, lying at anchor just north of the ferry path. The Kane-Cumberford party found a small launch awaiting them at the pier, which quickly took them aboard the big white yacht, where Madeline, attired in appropriate sailor costume, cordially welcomed them. "This affair is fully as great a novelty to me as it must be to you," she explained, as they cast admiring glances over the decks. "I bought the boat of an Englishman several months ago, with the understanding it should be delivered to me here; but I only arrived to claim it the day before yesterday. It has a crew of seven, besides the chef, who, I must admit, is my own selection, as I feared to trust the English taste in cookery. The English crew, however, seems capable and every man jack wants to stay with the boat; so I've agreed to keep them. I'll introduce you to the skipper presently. He rejoices in the title of 'Captain' and has quite awed me with his superior manner and splendid uniform. But I'll introduce you to the creations of my chef, first, for dinner is waiting. Forgive Monsieur Champetre, if he falls down occasionally; he is as unused to the kitchen--or is it scullery? Oh, I know; the 'galley'--as I am to the cabin." Really the chef needed no excuses, and after the meal they made a thorough inspection of the beautiful craft, peeping into the state-rooms, the men's quarters and even into the sacred galley. Everyone aboard, including the big, bluff skipper, was so proud of the boat that he delighted to have it exhibited, and when it was understood that the slim, beautiful young lady guest was the famous Flying Girl the deference shown Orissa was amusing. "I had intended to test the _Salvador_ to-morrow and make a short run to sea in it," said Madeline; "but I am so eager to witness the aërial exhibitions that I shall postpone the voyage until later. My yacht is permanent, but this Aviation Meet is temporary." The visitors returned to their hotel early in the afternoon, for Orissa and Sybil had still a few preparations to make for the morrow's trip, while Steve and Mr. Cumberford decided to pay a visit to the aviation field, to which both the Kane Aircraft and the Kane Hydro-Aircraft had been removed by the mechanicians in charge of them. Chesty Todd's labors that Sunday evening were perhaps more onerous than those of the others of his party, for he had to meet an aggressive band of newspaper reporters and load each one to the brim with material for a double-header next morning. Having served as a journalist--and an able one--himself, Mr. Radley-Todd understood exactly the sort of priming these publicity guns required. The home of the Kanes was a delightful orange ranch near Los Angeles, where the blind mother of Stephen and Orissa--their only parent--lived surrounded by every comfort and devoted attendants, while her boy and girl were engaged in the novel and somewhat hazardous exhibitions of the new Kane Aircraft. Orissa had remained at home with her mother while Stephen was perfecting his latest machine at San Diego, and had not left there until it was necessary to prepare for the Meet, in which she had engaged to take part. Mrs. Kane, perhaps because of her blindness, seemed to have little anxiety on account of her daughter's ventures, although at the time of Orissa's first flights her nervousness had been poignant. Assured of her girl's skill and coolness, the mother had come to accept these occasions philosophically, as far as the danger was concerned, and she was naturally interested in Steve's inventions and overjoyed at the financial success which Mr. Cumberford's business ability had already insured the firm. This Sunday evening Orissa wrote a long letter to her mother, telling how perfectly her brother's new machine worked, and assuring Mrs. Kane of her confidence in winning new laurels for Stephen on the morrow. "The latest engine, made for the Hy, is more powerful than were the others," she added, "but its operation is practically the same and while the combination of boat and aircraft necessitated a more complicated arrangement of the control, I have easily mastered all the details and could take the whole thing apart and put it together again, if obliged to do so." The girl slept peacefully that night and neither she nor Sybil were in the least nervous when they went to the aviation field, overlooking the sea, after an early luncheon on Monday. They found the Kane Hydro-Aircraft reposing majestically in its hangar, in perfect order and constantly surrounded by a group of admiring and interested spectators. The little band of professional aviators present at the Meet welcomed Orissa very cordially, for every one of them knew and admired the brave girl who had so often proved her ability to manage her brother's machines. The grand stand was packed with spectators, and long rows of automobiles lined the edge of the enclosure reserved for the exhibitors. The "Kane Event," as it was called, was early on the program of the day, for it was understood that the flight over the ocean and the voyage back would consume much of the afternoon. Many had brought binoculars and other powerful glasses to watch the Flying Girl and her chum during their progress. Sealskin Island lay a little to the south of the aviation field and was one of a group of barren rocks jutting out of the sea and plainly visible from the mainland. The Coronado Islands, which have little or no value, belong to Mexico, as the Mexican boundary is only twelve miles south of San Diego, and this group, although not appearing to be so far south, is below the line claimed by the United States. Therefore Orissa's flight would be in a southwesterly direction and most of her journey made in plain view of every spectator. As the "Hy" was run out to the center of the field Steve said to Orissa: "I've anchored an aluminum chest just back of your seats, at the suggestion of Mr. Cumberford. In it are all the tools you could possibly need in case of emergency, a couple of warm blankets to use if your return trip proves chilly, and enough 'lunch'--which I think Sybil pleaded for--to last you both a week. The chest enables you to carry all this safely and comfortably, and it won't be at all in your way. Personally, I think such a precaution wholly unnecessary, but Mr. Cumberford is a good deal of an old woman where Sybil is concerned and it is easier to give up to him than to try to argue him out of an idea. Take the trip easy, Ris; we don't need to make time. What we want to demonstrate is the practicability of the machine, and we ourselves already know that it is thoroughly practical, and we therefore ought to be able to convince the world of the fact." Orissa nodded. "How about gasoline?" she asked. "Both tanks are filled. There's enough to run you a hundred miles in air and fifty miles in water, which is far more than you will require. Be gentle with the steering gear; it is such a long connection that it doesn't respond as readily as the old one, and I guess I've made the rods a trifle too light. I mean to rig up a more substantial device as soon as I get time, but this will do you all right if you don't jerk it. Put a little more strength to the wheel and turn it gradually, that's all." "I understand," she replied. "Are you ready, Sybil?" "Waiting on you, Ris." "And I think the crowd is waiting on us." The band was at this moment playing its loudest and most stirring tune and as the two venturesome girls, dressed in appropriate aërial costume, appeared on the field, wildly enthusiastic shouts rose from ten thousand spectators. Chesty Todd had decorated the braces of the machine with bunches of fresh violets and the aluminum and nickeled parts shone gloriously in the sun. "Be good, Sybil," said Mr. Cumberford. "Take care of her, Orissa." The girls laughed, for this was the old gentleman's customary parting warning. "All right, Ris," said Steve. She applied the power and one of the mechanicians gave the propeller a preliminary whirl. Then Orissa threw in the automatic clutch that started the machine and it ran forward a few feet and promptly rose into the air. A moment later it was speeding straight out to sea, at an altitude of a hundred feet, and the wonderful voyage of Stephen Kane's new Hydro-Aircraft was begun--a voyage destined to vary considerably from the program mapped out for it. CHAPTER IV THE ALUMINUM CHEST Orissa realized quite perfectly that Sealskin Island was much farther away from the mainland than it appeared, so on leaving the shore she pursued a direction straight west for several miles, intending to make a turn and proceed south to the island which was the terminus of her flight. That prolonged the trip somewhat, but she figured it would prove more interesting to the spectators, since for a part of the journey she would be flying parallel with the coast. On the return she planned to run straight back from the island. When she decided they had reached a point about as far out as was the island, she attempted to make the turn--a mere segment of a circle--but in spite of Steve's warning Orissa was surprised at the stiffness of the steering gear. The engines were working beautifully and developing excellent speed, but the girl found she must apply all her strength to the wheel to make the turn. She succeeded, and brought the head to bear directly upon the island, but the gear grated and stuck so persistently that Orissa's effort sent the entire craft careening at a steep angle. Sybil gave a gasp and clung to the supporting rods and both girls heard a loud "chug" that indicated something was wrong; but the Kane balancing device was so perfect that almost immediately the machine righted itself and regained its equilibrium, darting swiftly and in a straight line in the direction of the island. "What was it?" asked Sybil, putting her head close to Orissa's to be heard above the whir of the motors behind them. "The steering gear binds; that's all," was the quiet response. "I think it will work better when we are in the water." "But what made that noise? Didn't something give way?" persisted Sybil. "Glance behind us, dear, and see." Sybil carefully turned so as to examine the parts of the aëroplane. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Well?" said Orissa. "That chest that Steve loaded us with. It has broken away from its fastenings and is jammed edge downward against your gear." Orissa thought about it. "That's unfortunate," said she. "I suppose the bolts broke when we tipped so badly. But it hasn't interfered with our engines any." "No," answered Sybil, still examining the conditions; "but it has interfered seriously with your control, I fear. Both your levers are thrown out of position and even the front elevator bars are badly bent." For the first time a worried expression appeared on Orissa's face. "If that is true," she said, "our best plan is to return at once." "Do," urged Sybil, her dark eyes very serious. Orissa tried to turn the wheel. It resisted. She applied more strength. Something snapped and the released wheel whirled so freely that the girl nearly lost her seat. Recovering instantly she turned a pale face to her companion and said: "We're wrecked, Sybil. But don't worry. With the boat under us and in this quiet sea we shall be quite safe." "I'm not worrying--especially--Ris," was the reply; "but it occurs to me to wonder how you're going to get down to the ocean." "Why?" "You can't stop the engines, unless one of us crawls back over the planes." "I can cut off the spark." She tried it, but the engines chugged as merrily as before. "Guess there must be a short circuit," gasped Orissa. "And you can't depress your elevator, I'm sure." "I'll try it," announced Orissa, grimly. But the fatal chest balked her attempt. The elevator was steadfastly wedged into its present position; the engines were entirely beyond control and the two helpless girls faced one of the most curious conditions ever known in the history of aviation. At an altitude of perhaps a hundred and fifty feet from the water the aëroplane sped swiftly on its way, headed a trifle to the west of south. It passed Sealskin Island even while the girls were discussing their dilemma, and stubbornly maintained its unfaltering course. The air conditions were perfect for flying; scarcely a breath of wind was felt; the sky above was blue as azure. Suddenly Sybil laughed. "What now?" demanded Orissa. "I was thinking of the consternation on shore at about this moment," explained Miss Cumberford. "Won't they be amazed to see us continue this course, beyond the island? Not understanding our trouble, Daddy will think we're running away." "So we are," replied Orissa. "I wish I knew where we are running to." "I suppose we can't stop till the gasoline gives out," said Sybil. Orissa shook her head. "That's what scares me," she admitted. "Even now the Mexican shore is a mere line at the left. We're gradually diverging to a point farther out at sea, and when at last we alight, drained of the last drop of gasoline, how are we to run the boat back?" "We can't. Steve's wonderful Hy will become a mere floating buoy on the bosom of the rolling blue," responded Sybil lightly. "Oh, I'm so glad I came, Ris! I'd no idea we were going to have such fun." Orissa did not return her chum's smile. "Sit still and balance her, Sybil," she said. "I'm going to make an investigation." Exercising the necessary caution she turned and knelt upon the foot bar, clinging to the seat rail and in this position facing the Aircraft so she could examine its mechanism. Sybil had described the condition of things quite accurately. The engine control was cut off and as the gasoline tanks fed from the rear Orissa had no way of stopping the flow. The steering gear was broken and the front elevator firmly wedged in position by the chest. "I wonder if we could manage to move this thing," she said, and getting a hand on one corner of the aluminum chest she gave a tug and tried to raise it. It proved solid and unyielding. Not heavy in itself, or perhaps in its contents, the thing was caught between the rods in such a manner that no strength of the girls, limited in movement as they were, could budge it a particle. Realizing this, and the folly of leaving the seats to get at the gasoline feed, Orissa resumed her place and faced the inevitable as bravely as she could. "Steve told me," she said to Sybil, "that the gasoline would last a hundred miles in air and fifty in water; that's at least two hundred miles in an air line. Have you any idea where we shall be by that time?" "Not the slightest," responded her companion, cheerfully. "Ocean, of course; but latitude and longitude a mystery--and not important, anyhow." Sybil Cumberford was a reserved and silent girl on most occasions. Few were attracted toward her, on this account. Her dark eyes seemed to regard the world with critical toleration and she gave one the impression of considering herself quite independent of her fellows. Moreover, Sybil was eccentric in character and prone to do and say things that invoked the grave displeasure of her associates, seeming to delight in confusing and annoying them. But there was a brighter side to this queer girl's nature, which developed only in the society of her trusted friends. On any occasion that demanded courage and resourcefulness she came to the front nobly, and at such times Sybil Cumberford became vivacious, helpful and inspiriting. Here was such an occasion. Danger was the joy of Sybil's heart and the "breath of her nostrils." Indifferent to the ordinary details of life, any adventure that promised tribulation or disaster was fervently welcomed. Then the girl's spirits rose, her intellect fairly bristled and she developed an animation and joyous exhilaration entirely at variance with her usual demeanor. So now, as Orissa Kane, a girl of proved courage and undaunted spirit, grew solemn and anxious at the perilous condition that confronted them, Sybil Cumberford became gay and animated. "It's such an unusual thing, and so wholly unexpected!" she said blithely. "I'm sure, Ris, that no two girls who ever lived--in this world or any other--ever found themselves in a like dilemma. We're as helpless as babes, chummie dear; only no babes were ever forced to fly, willy-nilly, for hundreds of miles through the air to some forlorn spot in the dank, moist ocean." Orissa let her chatter. She was trying to realize what it might mean to them and how and when, if ever, they might be rescued from their difficulties. "Our great mistake," continued Sybil, as they swept along, "was in not rigging the machine with a wireless outfit. To be sure, neither of us could operate it; but a wireless, in such a case--if we understood its mysteries--would solve our problem." "How?" asked Orissa. "We could call up the shore at San Diego and tell them what's happened, and give them the direction in which we are flying; then they could send a fast steamer for us, or perhaps Madeline Dentry would loan her yacht." "They may follow us with a steamer, anyhow," said Orissa, thoughtfully. "If we manage to land safely, Sybil--which means if we drop to the water right-side-up--we could float for some days, until we were found and rescued." "Thirst is a terrible thing, at sea; and hunger is almost as bad." "But in that dreadful chest, which has caused all our trouble, Steve told me he had packed provisions. Probably there is water there, too," asserted Orissa, hopefully. "Yes, Dad said there was lunch for two. Well, that's one good feed we shall have, anyhow, provided the chest doesn't get away from us entirely, and we can manage to open it. In its present position, neither event is at all probable." She seemed to love to discover and point out the gloomy side of their adventure, that she might exult in the dangers that menaced them. Meantime, swift and straight as an arrow the Aircraft continued on its course. Not a skip to the engines, not an indication of any sort that the flight would be interrupted as long as a drop of gasoline remained in the tanks. They could only be patient and await the finale as bravely as possible. CHAPTER V THE LAST DROP OF GASOLINE Hour after hour they flew, while each hour seemed, to Orissa, at least, a month in duration. Sybil chatted and laughed, refusing to take their misfortune seriously. "But," said she, "I'm getting famished. An air-trip always stimulates the appetite and that lunch of Steve's is so very near to us--and yet so far! I How did he expect us to get at the repast, anyhow?" "Why, in water," replied Orissa, "the chest and its contents would be handy enough. I do not think it would be safe for us to creep into the boat underneath us now, for we must maintain the aërial balance; but, even if we could get below, we couldn't open the chest while it is wedged crosswise among the braces and levers." "All true, milady," commented Sybil, her usually pale cheeks now flushed with excitement. "Our present stunt is to 'sit still and take our medicine,' as the saying goes." By this time the Mexican coast had vanished entirely and only the placid blue waters of the Pacific remained visible, even from the altitude of the Aircraft. Once or twice they sighted a small island, bleak and bare, for this part of the ocean is filled with tiny islets, most of which are unfertile and uninhabited. Farther along, in the South Pacific, such islands have verdure and inhabitants. At about four o'clock a change occurred in the atmospheric conditions. A brisk wind arose, blowing steadily for a time from the southwest and then suddenly developing puffs and eddies that caused the Aircraft to wobble dangerously. One powerful gust seized the helpless flying-machine and whirled it around like a toy balloon, but failed to destroy its equilibrium because the girls balanced it with their bodies as well as they might. When their craft was released, however, it pointed in a new direction--this time straight west. An hour later a similar gust swept its head to the southward, and in this direction it was still flying when the red sun dipped into the water and twilight fell. "I don't like this, Syb," said Orissa, anxiously. "If the gasoline holds out much longer it will be dark, and when we drop our danger will be doubled." "What will be the fashion of our dropping, anyhow?" asked Sybil. "We can't volplane, with no control of the rudder. Chances are, dear, the thing will just tip over and spill us in the damp." "Hold fast, if it does that," cautioned Orissa. "If we become separated from the boat we will drown like rats. The engine may swamp the boat, in any event, but it has air compartments which will keep it afloat under any favorable conditions, and we must trust to luck, Sybil--and to our own coolness." "All right, Ris. A watery grave doesn't appeal to me just now," was the reply. "I'm too hungry to drown comfortably, and that's a fact. On a full stomach I imagine one could face perpetual soaking with more complacency." "Huh!" cried Orissa. "Listen!" Sybil was already listening, fully as alert as her chum. The speed of the engine was diminishing. Gradually the huge propeller slackened its rapid revolutions, while its former roar subsided to a mere moan. "Thank goodness," said Sybil, fervently, "the gasoline is gone at last!" "Look out, then," warned Orissa. With a final, reluctant "chug-chug!" the engine stopped short. Like a huge gull the frail craft remained poised in the air a moment and then a sudden light breeze swept it on. It was falling, however, impelled by its own weight, and singularly enough it reversed its position and proceeded before the wind with the stem foremost. Splash! It wasn't so bad, after all. Not a volplane, to be sure, but a gentle drop, the weight of the heavy engine sustained by the "air-cushions" formed beneath the planes. Orissa wiped the spray from her eyes. "That would have been a regular bump, on land," Sybil was saying affably, "but the old ocean has received us with gracious tenderness. Are we sinking, Ris, or do we float?" How suddenly the darkness was falling! Orissa leaned from her seat and found the water had turned to a color nearly as black as ink. Beneath her the bow of the aluminum motor boat was so depressed that it was almost even with the water and as it bobbed up and down with the waves it was shipping the inky fluid by the dipperful. She scrambled out of the seat, then, to step gingerly over the unlucky chest and crouch upon a narrow seat of the little boat, near the stern. "Come, Sybil," she called; "and be very careful." Sybil promptly descended to the boat, which now rode evenly upon the waves. In this position the propeller was just under water and the engine rested over the center of the light but strong little craft. But propeller and engine were alike useless to them now. Overhead the planes spread like huge awnings, but they carried so little weight that they did not affect the balance of the boat. "Steve planned well," murmured Orissa, with a sigh. "If only he had never thought of that dreadful chest, we would not be in this fix." As she spoke she kicked the chest a little resentfully with her foot, and it seemed to move. Sybil leaned forward to eye it as closely as the gathering darkness would allow. "Why, Ris," she exclaimed, "the thing has come loose. Help me to tip it up." Between them they easily raised the chest to its former position, where it rested just before them. Steve had bolted it at either end, but one of the bolts had broken away and the other had bent at almost a right angle. Perhaps this last bolt would have broken, too, had not the chest, in falling, become wedged against the braces. "This horrid box has heretofore been our dire enemy," remarked Sybil; "but let us be forgiving and encourage it to make amends--for it holds eatables. How does the cover open, Ris?" Stephen had shown Orissa how to work the sliding catch and in a moment the girl had the lid open and held it upright while Sybil searched within. "Hooray! We've discovered a regular cafeteria," said the latter, jubilantly, as she drew out a number of parcels. "I was afraid we'd have to nibble, Orissa, so as not to gorge ourselves to-night and starve to-morrow; but I reckon there's enough to last two delicate girls like us a week. What shall we tackle first?" "Let us plan a little, dear," suggested Orissa, restraining her own eagerness, for she was hungry, too. "We cannot possibly tell to-night what this precious chest contains or how much food there really is. We must wait for daylight to take an inventory. But here are some tins, we know, which will keep, and that package of sandwiches on your lap is perishable; so I propose we confine our feast to those for to-night." "Perishable it is, Cap'n," answered Sybil, consuming half a sandwich at a single bite. "If there's only a pickle to go with these breadspreads I shall be content. It's not only luncheon that we're indulging in, you know; it's our regular dinner, as well, and there ought to be two courses--pickles and sandwiches--at the least." "You must feel for the pickles, then," returned Orissa, intent upon her own sandwich, "for it's too dark to use eyes just now." Sybil found the pickles--who ever put up a lunch for two girls without including pickles?--and declared she was quite content. "If we hadn't discovered the eats, my dear Cap'n," she remarked with cheery satisfaction, "I think I could have dined on my own shoes. That's a happy thought; we'll keep the shoes in reserve. I'd no idea one's appetite could get such an edge, after being tantalized for a few hours." "Do you realize, Sybil," asked Orissa in a grave tone, as she took her second sandwich, "that we must pass the night in this wiggly, insecure boat?" "What's insecure about it?" demanded Sybil. "It won't stand much of a sea, I fear. This attachment to the Aircraft was intended for pleasant weather." "All right; the weather's delightful. Those long, gentle rolls will merely rock us to sleep. And--Oh, Ris!--we'll have rolls for breakfast." "Do be serious, Syb! Suppose a storm catches us before morning?" "Then please wake me up. Where do you suppose we are, anyhow?" "I've no idea," answered Orissa, soberly. "We must have traveled a couple of hundred miles, but it wasn't in a straight line, by any means. Let's see. Perhaps a hundred miles on our first course--over Sealskin Island and nearly south--then forty or fifty miles north----" "Oh, no; west." "Yes; so it was. Then twenty-odd miles south, ten miles or so east, a couple or three miles west again, and then--and then----" "Dear me! Don't bother your head with it, Orissa. We zigzagged like a drunken man. The only fact we can positively nail is that we were getting farther away from home--or our friends, rather--every minute. That's a bad thing, come to think of it. They'll never know where to search for us." "True," responded Orissa. "But I am sure they will search, and search diligently, so we must manage to keep afloat until they find us. What shall we do now, Sybil?" "Sleep," was the prompt reply. "If we lift this seat off--it seems to be removable--I think there is room enough for us both to cuddle down in the bottom of the boat." "Oh, Sybil!" This from Orissa, rather reproachfully. "Well, I can't imagine anything more sensible to do," asserted her chum, with a yawn. "These air-rides not only encourage hunger, but sleep. Did you cork that bottle of water? I want another drink." "I--I think we'd better economize on the water," suggested Orissa, "at least until morning, when we can find out if there's any more in the chest." "All right. Help me bail out this overflow and then we'll cuddle down." "Steve said there were two blankets in the chest," said Orissa, presently, when the bottom of the boat was dry. "I'll search for them." She found the blankets easily, by feeling through the contents of the chest. Offering no further objection to Sybil's plan, she prepared their bed for the night. Neither of these girls had ever "roughed it" to any extent, but in spite of the peril of their situation and the liability of unforeseen dangers overtaking them, they were resourceful enough and courageous enough to face the conditions with a degree of intrepid interest. Afloat on an unknown part of the broad Pacific, with merely a tiny aluminum boat for protection, with final escape from death uncertain and chances of rescue remote, these two carefully nurtured young girls, who had enjoyed loving protection all their lives, were so little influenced by fear that they actually exchanged pleasantries as they spread their blankets and rolled themselves in the coverings for the night. "The lack of a pillow bothers me most," remarked Sybil. "I think I shall rest my head on one of those cans of baked beans." "I advise you not to; you might eat them in your sleep," was Orissa's comment. "May I rest my head upon you, chummie dear?" "You may not. Try the engine." "That's hard. And there are enough wheels in my head already, without pounding my ear with them. Suggest something else." "Your own elbow, then." "Thanks, dear. Where's that slab of aluminum that used to be a seat?" It was a happy thought and furnished them both with a headrest. The seat was not an ideal pillow, but it answered the purpose because there was nothing better. CHAPTER VI CASTAWAYS "Well, I declare!" exclaimed Orissa, sitting up. After a moment Sybil said, sleepily: "Go ahead and declare it, Ris. Only, if we're drowned, please break the news to me gently!" "How strange!" muttered Orissa, still staring. Sybil stirred, threw off the blanket and also rose to a sitting position. "If it's a secret," she began, "then--Oh, goodness me!" During the night the boat with its great overhead planes had gently floated into a little bay, where the water was peaceful as a millpond. Two points of black rock projected on either side of them, outlining the bay. Between these points appeared an island--a mass of tumbled rocks guiltless of greenery. There was a broad strip of clean, smooth sand on the shore, barely covering the slaty ledge, but back of that the jumble of rocks began, forming irregular hillocks, and beyond these hillocks, which extended for some distance inland, there seemed to be a great dip in the landscape--or rockscape--far back of which arose a low mountain formed of the same unlovely material as all else. "It's an island!" gasped Sybil, rubbing her eyes to make sure they were working properly. "Now, see here, Cap'n Ris, I want it understood right now which one of us is to be Robinson Crusoe and which the Man Friday. Seems to me, I being the passenger and you the charioteer, the prestige is on my side; so I claim the Crusoe part. I can't grow whiskers, and I'm not likely to find a parrot to perch on my shoulder, but I'll promise to enact the part as well as circumstances will permit." "I can't see a sign of life," announced Orissa, regretfully. "There isn't even a bird hovering over the place." "Lizards and snakes among the rocks, though, I'll bet," responded Sybil, with a grimace. "All these rocky Pacific islands are snaky, they say. I wonder if I can learn to charm 'em. You don't object to my being Crusoe, do you?" Orissa sighed; then she turned to her cheery comrade with a smile. "Not at all," said she. "But I'll be Columbus, the Discoverer, for I've discovered a desert island while you were peacefully dreaming." "There's no desert about your island," stated Sybil. "A desert would be a relief. What you've discovered, Miss Ris Columbus--or what's discovered us, rather--is a rock heap." "Desert or not, it's deserted, all right," maintained Orissa. "And you may not have discovered it, after all," said Sybil, musingly examining the place. "These seas have been pretty well explored, I guess, and although no nation would particularly care to pin a flag to this bunch of rocks, the maps may indicate it clearly." "Ah, if we only had a map!" cried Orissa eagerly. "What good would it do us?" asked Sybil. "It couldn't help us to find ourselves, for we don't know what especial dot on the map we've arrived at. With Muggins' Complete Atlas in hand, and a geography teacher thrown in, we wouldn't be able to pick out this island from the ones that litter these seas." "That is, unfortunately, quite true," sighed Orissa; "and anyhow it's not worth an argument because we have no map. But we must be up and doing, Sybil. If we are to keep ourselves alive, we must take advantage of every favorable circumstance." "What time is it?" yawned Sybil. Orissa looked at her watch. "A little after six." "Call me at eight. I can't get up at six o'clock; it's too early, entirely." "But you went to bed at about seven." "Did I? Well, how about breakfast?" "We must inspect our stores and take inventory. Then we must plan to make the provisions last as long as possible." "How dreadful! Why, this is a real adventure, Ris--threatened famine, and all that. We're regular castaways, like we read about in the fifteen-cent story magazines, and I wouldn't be surprised if we had to endure many inconveniences; would you?" "Sybil," said Orissa earnestly, "we are face to face with privation, danger, and perhaps death. I'm glad you can be cheerful, but we must understand our terrible position and endeavor to survive as long as possible. We know very well that our friends will have a hard time finding us, for they cannot guess what part of the ocean we descended in. It may take days--perhaps weeks--for them to discover us in this dreary place, and meantime we must guard our safety to the best of our ability." "Naturally," agreed Sybil, duly impressed by this speech. "Your head is clearer and better than mine, Orissa; so you shall take command, and I'll gladly follow your instructions. You mean to land, don't you? I'm tired of this cramped little boat and even a rocky island is better than no refuge at all." "Of course we must land," replied Orissa; "and that, I think, must be our first task. The shore is only a stone's throw from here, but we're fast on a sand bar, and how to get off is a problem." Sybil began to take off her leggings, then her shoes and stockings. "We'll wade," she said. Orissa peered over the side. "It's very shallow. I think we can wade to shore, Syb, and pull the Hy in after us. We must get the whole thing high and dry on the beach, if possible." Sybil plumbed the water by tying a can of sardines to a cord from around one of the parcels. "I guess we can make it all right, Cap'n," she said. "It's not very deep." "It may be a lot deeper closer in. But I guess we'll have to take a chance on it. And if the worst comes to the worst we _can_ dry our clothes on the beach." The sun was showing brilliantly above the horizon as the two girls stepped into the water. Both could swim fairly well, but where the boat was grounded on the sand bar the water was scarcely knee-deep. They dragged Steve's invention over the bar with little difficulty, the wheels materially assisting their efforts. Beyond the bar the water deepened in spots, and once, as they drew the wrecked Hy after them, the waves reached perilously high. Then they struck the shelving beach and found hard sand under their feet. By pushing and hauling energetically they managed to run the boat, with its attached planes, to the shore, where the wheels on either side enabled them to roll it up the slope until, as Orissa said, it was "high and dry." "Seems to me," remarked Sybil, panting, "we ought to have breakfasted first, for all this exercise has made me ravenous. That'll diminish our precious store of eatables considerably, I fear." With the machine safely landed they proceeded to dress themselves, after which Orissa arranged upon the sand the entire contents of the aluminum chest. A kit of tools, adapted for use on the Aircraft, together with some extra bolts, a strut or two and a coil of steel wire were first placed carefully on one side. "With these," said the girl, "I can easily repair the damage to our machine." "But what's the use, without gasoline?" asked Sybil. Orissa had no reply to this. She proceeded to inspect the provisions. Mr. Cumberford had a way of always providing enough for a regiment when he intended to feed a few, so in ordering lunch for two girls on an aërial voyage his usual prodigality had been in evidence. Perhaps with an intuition that a delay or even an accident might occur to Sybil and Orissa, the old gentleman had even exceeded his record, in this instance. A big box of dainty sandwiches had been supplemented by three cartons of biscuits, a whole Edam cheese, a bottle of pickles, two huge packages of cakes and eighteen tins of provisions, provided with keys for opening them. These consisted of sardines, potted ham and chicken, baked beans, chipped beef and the like. In another parcel was a whole roasted duck, in still another an apple pie, while two jars of jam completed the list of edibles. For the voyagers to drink Mr. Cumberford had added two half-gallon jars of distilled water, a bottle of grape juice, two of ginger ale and one of lemonade. The girls examined this stock with profound gravity. "I wish," said Orissa, "there had been more bread and biscuits, for we are going to need the substantials rather more than the delicacies." "Thank goodness we have anything!" exclaimed Sybil. "I suppose we must breakfast on the cakes and jam, and save the other truck until later." "That's the idea," approved Orissa. "The cakes won't keep for long; even the sandwiches will outlast them, I think." "True, if I eat all the cake I want," added Sybil. "Cakes and jam make a queer breakfast, Orissa. In New England the pie would be appropriate." "Let's save the pie--for lunch." "Agreed. Breakfast isn't usually my strong point, you know." As they ate, seated together upon the sands, they cast many curious glances at the interior of the island--a prospect forbidding enough. "Do you know," said Orissa, "the scarcity of food doesn't worry me so much as the scarcity of water. Grape juice and ginger ale are well enough in their way, but they don't take the place of water." "We may possibly find water on this island," replied Sybil, after a little thought. "I don't believe it. I've an idea that, hunt as we may, we shall find nothing more than rocks, and rocks, and rocks--anywhere and everywhere." "That's merely a hunch, and I distrust hunches. It will be better to explore," suggested Sybil. "Yes; I think we ought to do that. But--the snakes." "Ah, the exclusive rock theory is already exploded," said Sybil, with a laugh. "Yet even snakes can't exist without water, can they? Just the thought of the wrigglers makes me shudder, but if they are really our co-inhabitants here we won't be safe from them even on this shore. Have we anything in the way of clubs?" Orissa considered the question. Then she went to the machine and with a wrench unfastened the foot-bar, which was long enough to extend across both seats and was made of solid steel. She also took the bolts out of one of the levers, which when released became an effective weapon of defense. Thus armed, and feeling somewhat more secure, the girls prepared to move inland to explore their new habitation. They found the climb over the loose rocks adjoining the shore to be quite arduous, and aside from the difficulties of the way they had to exercise constant caution for fear of snakes. They saw none of these dreaded reptiles, however, and when they came to the hillocks they selected a path between the two most promising and began the ascent, keeping close together. So jagged were the tumbled masses of rock and so irregular in their formation that it was not a question of walking so much as crawling, but with their leggings, stout shoes and thick cloth skirts they were fairly protected from injury. The silence throughout the island was intense. The girls spoke in hushed tones, awed by their uncanny surroundings. From a clear sky the sun beat down upon their heads and was refracted from the rocks until the heat was oppressive. Added to this a pungent, unrecognized odor saluted their nostrils as they progressed inland. "Reminds me of the smell of a drug store," asserted Sybil; but Orissa replied: "It's more like the smell of a garage, I think." After a long and weary climb they reached the brow of the rock hills and were able to look down into the "dip" or valley which lay between them and the mountain. The center of the depression, which was three or four miles across, appeared to be quite free from rocks except in a few places where one cropped up in the form of a hummock. Elsewhere the surface seemed smooth and moist, for it was covered with an oozy, stagnant slime which was decidedly repulsive in appearance. Looking beyond this forbidding valley they discovered the first interesting thing they had yet observed. At the right base of the far-away mountain, lying between it and the sea, was a patch of vivid green, crowning an elevation that distinctly separated it from the central depression of the island. It might be grass or underbrush, this alluring greenery, but in any event it proved a grateful sight to eyes wearied by the dull waste of rocks. From the point where the girls stood they could also see the top of a palm tree which grew around the edge of the mountain. "Well!" said Orissa, drawing a long breath, "there is the first sign of life--animal or vegetable--we have found in this wilderness. That tree must indicate water, Sybil." "Whatever it indicates," was the reply, "yonder bluff is a better place for our camp than the bay where we floated ashore. How shall we get to it, though? It will be a heart-breaking climb cross-lots over these interminable rocks." "An impossible climb," Orissa agreed. "I think our best plan will be to go around the island, following the sandy beach. It seems from here as if that bluff drops sheer down to the sea, but it will be much easier for us to climb a bluff than to navigate these rocks. Let's go back and try it." Cautiously and laboriously they made their way back to the beach, feeling considerably cheered by what they had seen and reassured by the total absence of the dreaded "wigglers." After resting a little from their exertions they prepared for the more important journey of discovery. Sybil carried some food and the bottle of lemonade, while Orissa secured two straps from the aëroplane and the coil of wire. Then, still armed with their steel bars, they set out along the beach. Their first task was to climb the rocks of the point which formed the bay, where it jutted out from the shore. This being accomplished they encountered another stretch of smooth beach, which gradually circled around the north end of the island. Here it was easy walking and they made good progress, but the coast line was so irregular that it wound in and out continually, and in places huge boulders interrupted their passage and obliged them either to climb or wade, whichever seemed the most desirable. "Already," sighed Sybil, "we have tramped a thousand miles. Did you mark that place, Orissa, so we will know when we come to it?" "Yes; I can tell it by the position of the sun. That side of the island faces the northwest." "And we haven't passed it?" "No; but we must be drawing near to it. I've been looking for the bluff the last half hour. The green place was quite elevated, you remember, and must be well above the sea level. Look ahead; you'll notice the rocks are gradually rising, from here on." Sybil nodded and again they trudged on. As the rocks grew higher at their left, the girls kept to the narrow strip of beach, which was beginning to be washed by an occasional wave. "The tide is rising," announced Orissa; "but we shall be at the bluff very soon, and can then climb above this moisture. Feet wet, Syb?" "Pickled in brine. Wet feet signify a cold; cold signifies la grippe; la grippe signifies a doctor; the doctor signifies a depleted bank account. Science of deduction, Ris. It's only a step from wet feet to poverty." "I prefer a doctor to an undertaker," said Orissa, "but as neither profession is represented here I advise you to forego the pleasure of taking cold." "Right you are, Cap'n Columbus. No doctor, no cold. Banish the thought! We can't afford the luxury of illness, can we? Oh, here's the bluff." There it was, indeed; but absolutely unclimbable. It was sixty feet high, at least, and overhanging the sea like a shelf, the waves having cut it away at the base. "Now, then," said Orissa, after a careful inspection, "we must either go back or go on, in order to find a way up. As we haven't passed any steps or easy inclines, I propose we advance farther and see what the west end looks like." "I'll follow the leader; but the waves are already covering the beach," asserted Sybil, with a grimace. "Then let us wade; and don't lose any precious time, for the tide will come in faster every minute. Shoes off, Crusoe!" "Aye, aye, Columbus." With shoes, leggings and stockings in hand they began the advance, hugging the wall of rock and proceeding as swiftly as they could. At times one or the other would cry out as she stepped on a sharp bit of rock, but this was no time to shrink from petty trials and they bore up with admirable fortitude. CHAPTER VII TWO GIRLS AND ONE ISLAND Plodding along the narrow ledge of beach and constantly soused by the waves, the girls began to fear, as afterward proved to be fact--that the bluff covered the entire west end of the island. The water beneath their feet grew deeper and the undertow stronger with every step they advanced, but fortunately for their safety they finally came to a crevasse that split the bluff in twain, and down this rift trickled a rill of pure water. They both exclaimed with delight as they crept into the shelter of the crevasse. The fissure was not level, but extended upward at an acute angle, yet there was room enough at its mouth for the girls to creep above the wash of the waves. Examining the place carefully, Orissa thought they might be able to follow the rift up to the top of the bluff, and so at once they began the ascent. The two walls were so close together that they could touch both by extending their arms, and there was room, by stepping occasionally into the shallow brook, for them to climb from shelf to shelf without much difficulty. At the very top, however, they were brought to an abrupt halt. A waterfall leaped from the edge of the bluff, dropping a good ten feet to the point they had now reached, from whence there seemed no way of gaining the top. Orissa and Sybil looked at each other and laughed, the spray from the waterfall wetting their cheeks, which were now rosy from exercise. "Trapped, Cap'n!" cried Sybil, merrily. "What next?" "We can't go back, you know." "Not unless we prefer Davy Jones' locker to this stronghold--which I, for one, don't. Therefore, let's eat." "That seems your resource in every emergency, Sybil." "Naturally. Feasting stimulates thought; thought develops wit; wit finds a way." Orissa raised herself to a seat upon a projecting crag and then, swinging her feet, proceeded to think while Sybil brought out the food. "Could you climb a wire, Syb?" "Not without years of practice. Have you positively decided to establish a circus in these wilds, Ris?" Orissa stood upon the crag, examined the face of the rock and then drove the end of the bar she carried into a small fissure that was nearly on a level with her head. Sybil observed the horizontal bar and laughed gleefully. "Have a sandwich, chummie, and curb your imagination," said she. "I catch your idea, but respectfully decline to accept the hazard." Orissa ate her sandwich and drank from the bottle of lemonade. Then she rinsed her fingers in the brook, dried them on her handkerchief and again mounted the crag. "Listen, Crusoe: I'm going to make an attempt to break out of jail," she said impressively. "If I can reach to the top I'll find some way to get you up. As soon as I get my feet on that bar, you are to come up on this crag and hand me your lever. If I can find a pocket to stick that into, the deed is done." "Bravo, Ris! What a pity you haven't any spangles on your skirt. If you fall, fall gradually, for I'll be afraid to catch you." Orissa's fingers clutched at the rough projections of rock and with some difficulty she gained a footing on the bar. Then, still clinging to the face of the rift, she made a further examination. There seemed a small hole at the right, about breast high, and she called for the lever. This Sybil promptly passed up. Orissa thrust in the lever and the next instant nearly lost her footing, for with a bewildering hoot a white owl of monstrous size fluttered out and tumbled almost at Sybil's feet, who uttered a shriek like an Indian war whoop. The creature was blinded by the glare of day and went whirling down the incline of the crevasse until it was lost to sight. "First sign of life," called Sybil. "Don't look so scared, Ris; there's nothing more harmless than an owl." "Did you yell because _I_ was scared?" inquired Orissa. "No, I was reproving the owl, who has a voice like a steam calliope. It would take more than a blind bird to scare either of us; wouldn't it, Cap'n?" "I--I wish it hadn't been so--so unexpected," muttered Orissa, feeling her way up to the second projection. With her feet on the lever she found her head well above the edge of the precipice and the first glance showed her a good hold for her hands. Orissa Kane was no skilled athlete, but her experience in Steve's workshop, together with her aërial exercises and constant outdoor life, had given her well developed muscles which now stood her in good stead. She drew herself up, got her knee on the edge of the rock, and a moment later was on level ground at the top of the bluff. Then she leaned over and called to Sybil: "Can you manage it?" "What a question!" retorted Sybil, indignantly. "I stood below to catch you in case you slipped; but who is there to catch _me_, I beg to inquire?" "The owl," said Orissa. "Will you try it?" "Is it worth while? Tell me what you've found up there." Orissa turned and examined the scene now spread before her. "Better come up, Syb," she said. "But wait a moment and I'll help you." She attached one of the straps to the coil of steel wire and passed the end down to her chum. "Buckle the strap around you--just under your arms," she called. "I'll hold fast the wire at this end. You can't fall, then; but be careful, just the same." With this support Sybil gained confidence. Exercising extreme caution she followed Orissa's example in scaling the cliff and as fast as she mounted her companion took up the slack in the wire and kept it taut. As soon as Sybil stood on the upper bar Orissa grasped her arms and drew her up beside her in safety. "There!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "Where there's a will, there's a way. It wasn't such a difficult feat, after all." "There isn't enough money in the world to hire me to do it again," panted Sybil, trembling a little from the giddy experience. "That may be true, but if our safety requires it we may repeat the performance more than once," declared Orissa. "Unfortunately, we have lost our weapons of defense." "Can't we recover the bars?" "Not without going down for them. If you think you could lower me over the edge----" "I just couldn't, Ris. Don't mention it." "Very well; then we will proceed unarmed. Look, Sybil! Isn't it a glorious prospect?" "In point of comparison, yes," admitted Sybil, speaking slowly as she gazed around her. They were standing on a level table-land which lay between the base of the mountain and the sea. The "mountain" was really a great hill of rock, rising only a hundred and fifty feet or so from the table-land. The level space before them was clothed with a queer sort of verdure. It was not grass, but plants with broad and rather crinkly leaves, so tender that wherever the girls stepped the leaves were broken and crushed. Nor was the color an emerald green; it was rather a pale pea-green and the plants grew not in soil but sprang from tiny cracks and fissures in a sort of shale, or crushed slate, which was constantly kept moist by the seepage of the little stream. The island here made an abrupt curve to the west and a little farther along the girls saw patches of bushes and several small groups of tall, tropical trees, resembling plantains, or palms. There were vines, too, which grew in rank profusion among the rocks and helped relieve the dismal landscape by their greenery. But nowhere appeared any earth, or natural soil; whatever grew, grew among the crushed rock, or shale, which seemed to possess a certain fertility where moisture reached it. "This part of the island seems by far the best," asserted Sybil. "Let us explore it thoroughly." They set out to skirt the edge of the bluff and on reaching the first group of trees found they were bananas. Several bunches of plump fruit hung far up among the branches, quite out of reach. "We'll find a way to get at them if we are detained here long enough to need them," said Orissa. A half mile beyond the place where they had so laboriously climbed the bluff they came upon a broad ravine which led directly down to the water's edge. It appeared as if a huge mass of rock had at some time become detached from the mountain and, sliding downward, had cut away the bluff and hurled itself into the sea, where it now lay a few rods from the water's edge and formed a sort of breakwater. The swirl of the waves around this mass of rock had made a small indentation in the shore, creating a tiny bay with a sandy beach. "Ah," said Orissa, examining this place, "here is where we must establish our camp; there is room enough to float our boat into the bay, where the water is calm, and on that smooth beach I can repair the Hy at my leisure." "Also, from this elevation," added Sybil, "we can fly a flag of distress, which would be seen by any ship approaching the island." Orissa nodded approval. "Here is also water and food," said she. "If we can manage to navigate the Hy to this place we have little to fear from a temporary imprisonment." "We must wait for low tide before we start back," observed Sybil. "Meantime, let's run down to the beach and see how it looks." The descent to the water's edge was easy, and they found the little bay ideal for their purpose. But they could hear the waves breaking with some force against the face of the cliff, just outside their retreat, and it would be hours before they might venture to return to the other side of the island. So again they ascended the bluff and selected a place for their camp, beneath the spreading foliage of the tall bananas. Afterward they sought the source of the little brook, which was high up on the mountain and required a difficult climb to reach it. A spring seemed to well up, clear and refreshing, from a cleft in the rock, but even at its source there was no more water than would run from an ordinary house faucet. "Isn't it astonishing," said Orissa, "how much moisture is dispersed from this tiny stream? I think it never rains here and this spring of water supplies all the island." "This part of it, anyhow. It's mighty lucky for us the babbling brook is here," declared Sybil, drinking deeply of the cool water and then bathing her heated brow with it. "But what stumps me, Ris, is the lack of any life on the island. With water and green stuff both animals and birds might thrive here--to say nothing of bugs and lizards and serpents galore--yet aside from that great white owl we've not seen a living thing." "It really _is_ curious," admitted Orissa. Then, turning her gaze seaward, she exclaimed: "See there, Sybil! Isn't that another island?" "It surely is," was the reply; "and only a few miles away. It's a big island, too, Ris--far bigger than this. Did you bring along your glasses?" "No; they are in the boat." "When we get them we can inspect that island better. Perhaps we could manage to get to it, Ris." "We'll see," was the doubting answer. "I imagine, if that island is so much larger, and proves to be more fertile than this, that we have discovered the reason why the live things, such as birds and animals, prefer it as a place of residence." They made their way back to the bluff and waited patiently for the tide to ebb. According to Orissa's watch it was quite four o'clock before they deemed it safe to venture on the sands, and even then they went barefooted, as an occasional wave still crossed their narrow path. By the time they reached the bay and their boat the two girls were very tired with their long tramp and as it was nearly sundown they decided to spend the night in this location and make the attempt to shift camp next day. CHAPTER VIII AN OWL CONCERT While daylight lasted Orissa was busy examining the injury to the Aircraft and attempting a few preliminary repairs. Her long mechanical experience in the workshop with her brother enabled her to determine accurately what was required to put the machine into proper working order, and she thought she could accomplish the task. "I can't see that it matters, anyhow," said Sybil, watching her chum from a seat upon the sands. "We can't fly, and the boat is our only refuge. Even that we must manage to row or sail in some way." "All very true," returned Orissa, "but I can see no object in neglecting these repairs when I am able to make them. I can take off the bent elevator rods and straighten them, after which the elevator and rudder may assist us in sailing, as we can oppose them to the wind. The engine control is a more serious matter, for the wheel connection was broken off short. But I shall take a rod from a support and fit it in place and then replace the support with our steel wire. That is a sort of makeshift and will require time and nice adjustment, but I can do it, all right. The tools Steve supplied were quite complete; there's even a box marked 'soldering outfit.'" "Is there?" asked Sybil, eagerly. "See if any matches are in it, Ris." "Matches?" "Yes. The lack of matches has disturbed me considerably." "Why, Syb?" "We can't cook without them." "Cook! why, I never thought of such a thing," said Orissa, truly astonished. "What is there to cook, in this place?" "Fish," answered Sybil. "And what would you use for fuel?" "Fuel?" "Yes; what is there to make a fire with?" "Never mind that. Just see about the matches." Orissa opened the soldering case and found an alcohol torch, a flask of alcohol, solder, acid and a box of matches. "Good!" cried Sybil, joyfully. "Don't you dare do any wasteful soldering, Orissa Kane. Save every drop of that alcohol to cook with." Orissa laughed. "I have nothing to solder, just yet," said she. "And you've nothing to fry." "I soon shall have, though," was the confident reply. "We've assured ourselves of one thing, Miss Columbus, and that is that we can sustain life, in case of necessity, on bananas and spring water. So I propose we have one good, luxuriant square meal this evening by way of variety. We've done nothing but lunch for two whole days and I want something hot." "I'm willing, Sybil. Can you catch a fish?" "If there's one in our neighborhood. I'll try it while you are tinkering." Among the tools was a ball of stout cord, and for hook Sybil cut a short length of wire and bent it into shape with a pair of nippers, filing a sharp point to it. Then she opened a can of chipped beef and secured a couple of slices for bait. Going to the point of rock she found a place on the ocean side where a projecting shelf afforded her a seat above fairly deep water, and here she dropped her line. Mr. Cumberford was an enthusiastic fisherman and while Sybil had never cared particularly for the sport she had accompanied her father on many a piscatorial expedition. A tug. The girl hauled in, hand over hand, and found she had captured a large crab, which dropped from the hook to the rocks and with prodigious speed made for the water and disappeared. "Good riddance, old ugly!" laughed Sybil. Scarcely had she thrown her line when another tug came. A second crab floundered upon the rocks, but fell upon his back and lay struggling to turn himself. Sybil ruefully contemplated the empty hook. "I can't feed all our good beef to horrid crabs," she exclaimed; "but the beef seems a good bait and I'll try again." Another crab. Orissa came clambering over the rocks to her friend's side. The sun was sinking. "What luck, Syb?" "Only three crabs. I'm afraid it's too shallow here for fish." Orissa leaned over the still struggling crab--the only one that had not escaped. "Why, we pay big money in Los Angeles for these things," said she. "They're delicious eating; but they have to be boiled, I think, and then cracked and newburged or creamed." "Keep an eye on the rascal, then," said Sybil. "Can't he be eaten just boiled?" "Yes; with mayonnaise." "There's none handy. Let the high-brow go, and we'll fish for something that doesn't require royal condiments." But Orissa weighted the crab with a heavy stone, to hold him down. Then she sat beside Sybil and watched her. "I'm afraid our fish dinner must be postponed," began Miss Cumberford, sorrowfully; but at that moment the line jerked so fiercely that she would have been pulled from her seat had not Orissa made a grab and rescued her. Then they both clung to the line, managing to draw it in by degrees until there leaped from the water a great silvery fish which promptly dove again, exhibiting a strength that nearly won for him his freedom. "Hold fast!" gasped Sybil, exerting all her strength. "We mustn't let him escape." The fish, a twelve-pound rockcod, made a desperate fight; but unfortunately for him he had swallowed the entire hook and so his conquest was certain if the girls could hold on to the line. At last he lay flopping upon the rocks, and seeing he was unable to disgorge the hook, they dragged him to the beach, where Orissa shut her eyes and beheaded him with a hatchet from the tool chest. In the outfit of the chest, which had evidently been intended by Steve and Mr. Cumberford for regular use in connection with the Hydro-Aircraft, they had found two aluminum plates, as well as knives and forks and spoons. Sybil cut two generous slices from the big fish and laid them upon one of the metal plates. Then they opened a can of pork and beans and secured a lump of fat to use in frying. Orissa lighted the alcohol torch and Sybil arranged some loose rocks so that they would support the plate suspended above the flame of the torch. The intense heat melted the fat and the fish was soon fried to a lovely brown. They ate it with biscuits and washed it down with ginger ale, confiding the while to one another that never had they eaten a meal so delicious. They let the torch flicker during the repast, for night had fallen, but when from motives of economy Orissa had extinguished the flame they found a dim light suffused from a myriad of stars. Later a slender crescent moon arose, so they were able to distinguish near-by objects, even with the shadow of the bleak mountain behind them. They had arranged their blankets in the boat and were sitting upon them, talking together in the starlight, when suddenly an unearthly cry smote their ears, followed by an answering shriek--then another, and another--until the whole island seemed echoing with a thousand terrifying whoops. "Ku-whoo-woo-oo-oo! Ku-whoo! Ku-whoo-oo!" The two girls clung together tremblingly as the great chorus burst upon them; but after a moment Sybil pushed her companion away with a nervous little laugh. "Owls!" she exclaimed. "Oh!" said Orissa, relieved as the truth dawned upon her. "I--I thought it was savages." "So it is. I challenge any beings to yell more savagely than those fearful hoot owls. Something must have happened to them, Ris, for they've never made a mutter all day long." "Because they have been asleep," answered Orissa. They had to speak loudly to be heard above the turmoil of shrieks, although the owls seemed mainly congregated upon the distant mountain. The rocks everywhere were full of them, however, and hoots and answering hoots resounded from every part of the island. It was fairly deafening, as well as annoying and uncanny. They waited in vain for the noise to subside. "There must be thousands of them," observed Sybil. "What's the row about, do you suppose!" "Perhaps it's their nature to, Syb. I wonder why we didn't hear the pests last night. When we wakened this morning all was silent as the grave." "I think we floated into the bay about daylight, when all the big-eyes had ducked into their holes. Do you know, Ris, the owls must be responsible for the absence of all other life on the island? They dote on snakes and lizards and beetles and such, and they'd rob the nests of any other birds, who couldn't protect themselves in the nighttime. So I suppose they've either eaten up all the other creatures or scared them to death." "That must be so. But, oh, Sybil! if this racket keeps up every night how are we going to be able to sleep?" "Ah. Just inquire, Cap'n, and if you find out, let me know," replied Sybil, yawning. "I got up so early this morning that I'm dead for sleep this blessed minute." "Lie down; I'll keep watch." "Thank you. This lullaby is too entrancing to miss." The air grew cool presently, as it often does at night in the semi-tropics, and the two girls crouched down and covered themselves to their ears with the blankets. That deadened the pandemonium somewhat and as the owls showed no tendency to abate their shrieks, an hour or two of resigned submission to the inevitable resulted in drowsiness, and finally in sleep. As Sybil said next morning, no one would have believed that mortal girl could have slumbered under the affliction of such ear-splitting yells; but sleep they did, and when they wakened at daybreak profound silence reigned. CHAPTER IX MISS COLUMBUS AND MISS CRUSOE Sybil cooked more fish for their breakfast, although Orissa objected to the extravagant waste of alcohol. But her chum argued that they must waste either the alcohol or the fish and as they had a strenuous day before them a substantial breakfast was eminently desirable. They now packed the aluminum chest and made arrangements for the voyage, for the sea in the bay was smooth as glass and the ocean seemed nearly as quiet outside. Orissa had straightened and repaired the elevator rods and firmly bolted the chest in its original position, but the control must be a matter of future tinkering, the rod needed for its repair being at present stuck in the side of the bluff. It was easy to roll the machine down the beach into the water and set it afloat, but the difficult matter was to propel their queer, top-heavy craft through the water. A quiet sea meant no wind, nor could they feel the slightest breath of air stirring. Oars they had none, nor any substitute for such things; nor could they find anything to pole the boat along with. "There's just one thing to be done," announced Orissa, gravely, "and that is for us to take turns wading behind the thing and pushing it along. By keeping close to the shore we ought to be able to accomplish our journey in that way." "Suppose we strike deep water?" suggested Sybil. "We'll stay close to shore. There seems to be a beach all the way." "I'm game to try," declared Sybil, in a brisk tone, "but it seems at first sight like an impossible task. I'm glad, Miss Columbus, that under these circumstances your island is uninhabited--except by owls who can't see in the daytime." "Were there other inhabitants," returned Orissa, "we would not be undertaking such a thing. The natives would either eat us or assist us." "True for you, Cap'n. I'm going to keep my stockings on. They'll be some protection against those sharp rocks which we're liable to tread on." "I shall do the same," said Orissa. "Take your seat in the boat, Syb, and I'll do the first stunt shoving. After we get around the point I will give you a chance to wade." "Unanimously carried," said Sybil. This undertaking did not appear nearly so preposterous to the two castaways as it may to the reader sitting quietly at home. Except that circumstances had made Orissa and Sybil aëronauts at a time when few girls have undertaken to fly through the air--as many will do in the future--they were quite like ordinary girls in all respects. A capricious fate had driven them into a far-away, unknown sea and cast them upon an uninviting island, but in such unusual circumstances they did what any girls would do, if they're the right sort; kept their courage and exercised every resource to make the most of their discouraging surroundings and keep alive until succor arrived. So far, these two castaways had shown admirable stamina. Had either one been placed in such a position alone, the chances are she might have despaired and succumbed to girlish terrors, but being together their native pride forbade their admitting or even showing a trace of fear. In this manner they encouraged and supported one another, outwardly calm, whatever their inward tremors might be. Orissa Kane was habitually dainty and feminine in both appearance and deportment, yet possessed a temperament cool and self-reliant. Her natural cleverness and quickness of comprehension had been fostered by constant association with her mechanical, inventive brother, and it seemed to her quite proper to help herself when no one was by to render her aid. To wade in the warm, limpid water of the Pacific, at a place far removed from the haunts of humanity, in order to propel the precious craft on which her life and that of her companion might depend, to a better location, seemed to this girl quite the natural thing to do. Sybil's acute sense of humor led her to recognize the laughable side of this queer undertaking; yet even Sybil, much more frail and dependent than her beloved chum, had no thought of refusing her assistance. The aluminum boat rode lightly upon the surface of the sea, the broad, overhanging planes scarcely interfering with its balance. Indeed, the planes probably assisted in keeping the boat upright. Orissa, knee-deep in the water, was not called upon to exert herself more than to wade; but this was a slow and tedious process and required frequent rests. At such times she would sit in the back of the boat and let her feet dangle in the warm water. Gradually the Hy was propelled around the point of rock into the open sea, and by keeping close to shore the girl seldom found herself out of her depth, and then only temporarily. Sybil kept up a constant chatter, inducing Orissa frequently to laugh with her, and that made the task seem more an amusement than hard labor. They took turns at the wading, as had been agreed upon, but because Orissa was much the stronger her periods of playing mermaid were longer than those of her chum. In this manner they made good progress, and though Sybil made a great deal of fun of what she called her "patent propeller," she took her turn at wading very seriously and pushed the strange craft through the water at a good rate of speed. By midday they reached the point where the bluff began to rise and here they sat together in the boat, shaded by the planes, and ate their luncheon with hearty appetites. They found it high tide, yet the water was more quiet than on the preceding day, and when they resumed their journey their progress was much more rapid than before. By two o'clock they had cautiously propelled the boat around the huge boulder that marked the ravine they had found and soon after had rolled it upon the sandy beach and anchored it securely beyond the reach of the tide. "If it would fly," said Orissa, "I think we could push it to the top of the bluff; but if we use it at all, before our friends arrive, it must be as a boat, and not an aëroplane." "Then," returned Sybil, "let's remove the canvas from the lower plane and make a tent of it." "I've been thinking of that," said Orissa, "and I'm sure it is a wise thing to do. I know how to take the clips off, and it won't injure the cloth in the least." "Then get busy, and I'll help you." So, after a good rest on the beach in the sun they resumed their clothing. The wet stockings were thoroughly dried by the sun by the time they were ready for them, and presently they set to work removing the cloth from the lower plane. The task was almost completed when Sybil suddenly exclaimed: "How about a frame for our tent?" Orissa looked puzzled. "Come up on the bluff," she proposed. The incline was not at all difficult and they soon stood on top the bluff. A thorough examination of the place disclosed no means of erecting the tent. A few dead branches that had fallen from the banana trees lay scattered about and there was a quantity of anæmic shrubbery growing here and there, but there was nothing to furnish poles for the tent or to support it in any way. "Stumped, Columbus!" laughed Sybil, as they squatted together in the shade of the trees. "We shall have to drag up the aëroplane, after all, and use the plane-frame for our ridge-pole." Orissa demurred at this. "There is always a way to do a thing, if one can think how," she said. "In this case, chummie dear, magic or legerdemain seems the only modus operandi," maintained Sybil. But Orissa was thinking, and as she thought she glanced at the trees. "Why, of course!" she exclaimed. Sybil's eyes questioned her gravely. "Come on!" cried Orissa, jumping up. "Not a step, Miss Columbus, until I'm enlightened." "Oh, Crusoe, can't you see? It is so extremely simple that I'm ashamed of our stupidity. We've but to stretch our coil of wire between these two trees, throw the canvas over it and weight the bottom with rocks to hold it in place." Sybil sighed. "It was _too_ easy," she admitted. "I never _could_ guess an easy conundrum; but give me a hard nut to crack and I'm a regular squirrel." They returned to the beach for the canvas and wire and Orissa took several of the clips, with which to fasten together the ends of their tent. Ascending once more, this time heavily loaded, to the group of bananas on the bluff, they proceeded to attach the wire to two of the trees. The plane-cover was large enough to afford a broad spread to their "A" tent and when the lower edges were secured by means of heavy stones, and the scattered rocks cleared away from the interior, their new domicile seemed roomy and inviting. Their next task was to fetch the aluminum chest from the beach, and after they had lightened its weight by leaving in the boat all the tools except the hatchet and a small hack saw, they were able to carry the chest between them, although forced to make frequent stops to rest. "The lack of a bedstead worries me most," remarked Sybil. "I don't like the idea of sleeping on the bare ground. How would it do, Ris, to build a stone bed--something like an altar, you know, with a hollow center which we could fill with sand?" "That is a capital idea, Crusoe, and will help clear our front yard of some of those flat stones. They are mostly slate, I think, instead of rock formation. Heave-ho, my hearty, and we'll do the job in a jiffy." The girls lugged into the tent a number of stones of such size as they could comfortably move, and then Orissa, who could put her hand to almost any sort of work, planned and built the extraordinary bedstead. It was laid solid, at first, but when about a foot from the ground she began to extend the sides of the pile and leave a hollow in the middle. This hollow they afterward filled with sand, carrying it in their dress-skirts from the beach. When finally the "Altar to Morpheus"--as Sybil persisted in calling it--was completed, they spread their blankets upon it and it made a very comfortable place to sleep. They also erected a small rock stove, for there was enough firewood to be gathered, in the way of fallen branches, dead leaves and "peelings" from the tree-trunks, to last them for several days. The hatchet and hack saw helped prepare these scraps to fit the stove and by sundown the girls felt quite settled in their new residence. "We ought to fly a flag of distress from some place high up on those trees," observed Orissa; "but we've no flag and no way to shin up the tree." "Couldn't any ship see our white tent from the ocean?" asked Sybil. "Yes; I think so." "As for climbing the tree," continued Sybil, "I wish your creative brain would evolve some way to do it. Those fat, yellow bananas look mighty tempting and they would serve to eke out our larder. Supplies are beginning to diminish with alarming rapidity, Ris. Only a box and a half of those biscuits left." "I know," said Orissa, soberly. "To-morrow we will see what may be done to capture the bananas." After a time Sybil said, softly: "By to-morrow we may begin to look for Daddy and Steve. Of course it will take them some time to find us, but----Don't you think, Orissa, they're quite certain to find us, in the end?" Orissa looked at her companion with a gleam of pity in her deep blue eyes; but she had no desire to disturb Sybil's confidence in their rescue, whatever misgivings oppressed her own heart. "I believe they will find us," she affirmed. "It may not be to-morrow, you know, nor in a week, nor--perhaps--in a month----" "Oh, Orissa!" "But they'll cover the entire Pacific in their search, I am positive, and sooner or later they'll come to this island and--take us away." "Alive or dead," added Sybil, gloomily. "Oh, as for that, we are perfectly safe, and healthy--so far--and I imagine we could live for a long time on this island, if obliged to." Again they sat silently thinking, while twilight gave way to darkness and darkness was relieved by the pale moonlight. Suddenly a shriek sounded in their ears. A great white bird swooped down from the mountain and passed directly between their two heads, disappearing into the night with another appalling cry. This shriek was answered by another and another, until the whole island resounded with the distracting "Ku-whoo-oo!" "The owls are awake," said Orissa, rising resignedly. "Come into the tent, Sybil. I'm not sure they wouldn't attack us if we remained in the open." CHAPTER X MADELINE DENTRY'S PROPOSITION At the aviation field the crowd had watched the departure of the two girls, flying the famous Kane Hydro-Aircraft, with eager interest but assured confidence in their making a successful trip. The Flying Girl never indulged in accidents, and her skill was universally admitted. To be sure, there was an added risk in flying over the water, but with a motor boat to sustain them when they alighted, the danger was reduced to a minimum and, in the minds of nearly all the spectators, a triumphant return was unquestioned. Hundreds of glasses followed the flight and although the management sent several bird-men into the air to amuse the throng the real interest remained centered on the dim speck that marked the course of the Flying Girl. No sooner had Orissa and Sybil started on their voyage than Stephen Kane and Mr. Cumberford ran to the bluff overlooking the sea, where with powerful binoculars they could obtain an unobstructed view of the entire trip to the island and back again. Presently Madeline Dentry joined them, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Tupper, all standing silently with leveled glasses. "She's working beautifully," muttered Steve, referring to his invention with boyish delight. "I'm sorry Ris didn't make a straight line of it, but she always likes to give the dear public the worth of their money.... Ah-h!" "By Jove! that was an awkward turn," cried Mr. Cumberford, as they saw the Aircraft keel at a dangerous angle and then slowly right itself. "I'm surprised at Orissa. She usually makes her turns so neatly." "I've an idea that blamed steering gear stuck," said Steve, ruefully. "I've been a little afraid of it, all along. But the girls are all right now. They're headed dead for the island and if Orissa makes a neat drop to the water the rest is easy." No one spoke again for a time, all being intent upon the flying-machine. When it had seemed to reach the island, and even to pass over it, without a halt, there was an excited hum of amazement from the grand stand. Madeline glanced at Stephen Kane's face and found it as white as a sheet. He was staring with dilated eyes toward the Aircraft. "What in the mischief is Orissa up to now?" questioned Mr. Cumberford, uneasily. "Wasn't she to alight this side of the island?" "Yes," answered Steve hoarsely. "Then----She can't be joking, or playing pranks. It isn't like her. Why, they haven't swerved a hair's breadth from the course, or even slackened speed. They--they----" "They're in trouble, I'm afraid," said Steve in trembling tones. "The control has failed them and they can't stop." "Can't stop!" The little line of observers on the bluff echoed the thrilling words. From the grand stand came a roar of voices filled with tense excitement. Some thought the Flying Girl was attempting a reckless performance, with the idea of shocking the crowd; but Stephen Kane knew better, and so did Mr. Cumberford. As the two men held their glasses to their eyes with shaking hands, straining to discover a sign that Orissa had altered her course and was coming back, Madeline Dentry turned to look earnestly at the brother and father of the girls, knowing she could read the facts more truly from their faces than by focusing her own glasses on that tiny speck in the sky. The moments dragged slowly, yet laden with tragic import. The powerful lenses lost the speck, now found it again--lost it for good--yet the men most affected by this strange occurrence still glared at the sky, hoping against hope that their fears were unfounded and that the Aircraft would come back. Some one plucked Steve's sleeve. It was Chesty Todd, his big body shaken like an aspen. "It--it has run away with 'em, Steve. It's gone wrong, man; there's danger ahead!" "Eh?" said Steve, dully. "Wake up and do something!" Steve lowered his glasses and looked helplessly at Mr. Cumberford. Cumberford returned the stare, glowering upon the inventor. "That's right; it's up to you, Kane. What are you going to do?" he asked coldly. "There's no other hydro-aëroplane on the grounds," said the boy brokenly. "Then get an aëroplane," commanded Cumberford, sharply. "It would mean death to anyone who ventured to follow our girls in an aëroplane--not rescue for them." Cumberford moaned, as if in pain; then stamped his foot impatiently, as if ashamed of his weakness. "Well--well! What then, Stephen Kane?" he demanded. [Illustration: "It--it has run away with 'em Steve. It's gone wrong, man; there's danger ahead!"] Steve wrung his hands, realizing his helplessness. "Gentlemen," said Madeline Dentry, laying a gentle hand on Mr. Cumberford's arm, "let me help you. There is no reason for despair just yet; the condition of those girls is far from desperate, it seems to me. Did I understand you to say, Mr. Kane, that your sister is unable to stop the engine, or to turn the machine?" Steve nodded. "That's it," he said. "Something has broken. I can't imagine what it is, but there's no other way to explain the thing." "Very well," rejoined Madeline, coolly, "let us, then, try to consider intelligently what will happen to them. Will they presently descend and alight upon the surface of the water?" "I'm--I'm afraid not," Steve answered. "If that were possible, Orissa would have done it long ago. I think something has happened to affect the control, and therefore my sister is helpless." "In that case, how long will they continue flying?" persisted Madeline. "As long as the gasoline lasts--three or four hours." "And how fast are they traveling, Mr. Kane?" "I think at the rate of about forty-five miles an hour." Miss Dentry made a mental calculation. "Then they will descend about a hundred and fifty miles from here, in a straight line over that island," said she. "Having a boat under them, I suppose they will float indefinitely?" Again Steve nodded, looking at the girl curiously and wondering at her logic. "If--if they manage to alight upon the water in good shape," he replied more hopefully, "they'll be safe enough--for a time. And they have food and water with them. The only danger I fear for them, at present, is that when the gasoline is exhausted the machine will be wrecked." "Don't you aviators often shut off your engine and volplane to the ground?" asked Madeline. "Yes, with the elevator and rudder in full control. But that isn't the case with Orissa. I'm certain her elevator control has bound in some way. Were it broken, and free, the Aircraft would have wobbled, and perhaps tumbled while we were looking at it. The elevator is wedged, you see, and my sister can't move it at all. So, when the gasoline gives out, I--I'm not sure how the machine will act." "Anyway," exclaimed Madeline, with sudden determination, "we are wasting valuable time in useless talk. Follow me at once." "Where to?" asked Steve, in surprise. "To my yacht. I'm going after the girls. Please come with us, Mr. Cumberford--and you, too, Mr. Todd. Aunty," turning to Mrs. Tupper, "if you require anything from the hotel for the journey I will send you there in the car; but you must hurry, for every moment is precious." Mr. Cumberford straightened up, animated and alert, while his face brightened with a ray of hope. "We will take my car to the bay," said he, eagerly, "and Mr. and Mrs. Tupper can use your own car to visit the hotel. Will you accompany us, or ride with your aunt?" "With you," decided Madeline. "I must have the captain get up steam and prepare to sail. It won't take long; I've ordered them to keep a little steam all the time, in case I wish to take a party out for a ride." Even as they were speaking all walked rapidly toward the long line of motor cars. Mrs. Tupper, who had not ventured a remark or made any protest--quite contrary to her usual custom--now astonished her niece by saying: "Never mind the hotel; let us all go directly to the yacht. With those two poor girls in danger I couldn't bear to think I had caused a moment's delay. It is very comfortable on the yacht and--we'll get along all right for a day." "To be sure; to be sure," agreed Mr. Tupper, nervously. "I shall be seasick; I'm bound to be seasick; I always am; but in this emergency my place is by Madeline's side." Of course no protest would have affected Madeline's determination, and the worthy couple recognized that fact perfectly; hence they diplomatically abetted her plan. Captain Krell had attended the exhibitions at the aviation field, but while there he kept one eye on Miss Dentry. During the panic caused by the runaway aëroplane he saw Miss Dentry in earnest conversation with Cumberford and Kane and marked their hurried departure from the field. So the gallant captain scuttled back to the yacht at his best speed, to find Miss Dentry already aboard and the engineer shoveling in coal. Both Mr. Cumberford and Steve knew that the _Salvador_ was by odds the fastest ship in the bay, and Madeline's prompt offer to go to the rescue of their imperilled daughter and sister awakened hope in their breasts and aroused their lively gratitude. After all it did not take the yacht long to get under way. It was so perfectly manned and in such complete readiness that steam was the only requisite to begin a trip instantly. Madeline could scarcely wait while with aggravating deliberation they hoisted anchor, but she became more composed as the yacht slowly headed out of the bay, the crew alert and the big captain as eager as any of them to rescue the daring bird-maids. By the time the _Salvador_ reached the open sea the shore was lined with thousands of spectators, and the sight of the graceful yacht headed in chase of the two girls raised a cheer so lusty and heartfelt that it reached Madeline's ears and caused her to flush with pleasure and renewed determination. CHAPTER XI A GAME OF CHECKERS "Nine o'clock!" cried Orissa, giving Sybil a nudge. "Are you going to sleep all day, Crusoe, like those dreadful owls?" "I'd like to," muttered Miss Cumberford, regretfully opening her eyes. "My, what a blessed relief from that night of torture! Don't you think, Ris, that those feathered fiends only stopped the concert because they'd howled until their throats were sore?" "I fear we made a mistake in changing our camp," returned Orissa, busy with her toilet. "The shrieks sounded much louder than they did the night before." "Question is," said Sybil, rolling off the improvised bed, "how long we are to endure this imprisonment. If it's to be a mere day or so, don't let's move again. However, if you think we're here for life, I propose we murder every owl and have done with them." "We can't read the future, of course," remarked Orissa thoughtfully, as she stroked her beautiful hair with her back-comb--the only toilet article she possessed. "Steve may get to us any day, or he may have a hard time finding us. He will never give up, though, nor will your father, until our retreat is located and--and--our fate determined." "Poor Daddy!" sighed Sybil; "he'll be worried to death. I've led him a dog's life, I know; but he's just as fond and faithful as if I'd been a dutiful daughter." "I hope they won't tell mother," said Orissa. "The anxiety would be so hard for her to bear. _We_ know we're fairly comfortable, Syb; but they can't know that, nor have any clear idea what's become of us." They fell quiet, after this, and exchanged few words until they were outside the tent and had made a fire of twigs and leaves in the rock stove. Sybil warmed the last of the baked beans, adding a little water to moisten them. With these they each ate a biscuit and finished their breakfast with a draught of cool water from the spring. After the meal they wandered among the queer greenery they had before observed and Sybil called attention to the fact that many of the broad, tender leaves had been nibbled at the edges. "The owls did that, of course," said Orissa, "and if it is good food for owls I'm sure it wouldn't hurt us." "Doesn't it look something like lettuce?" asked Sybil. "Yes; perhaps that is what it is--wild lettuce." She plucked a leaf and tasted it. The flavor was agreeable and not unlike that of lettuce. "Well," said Sybil, after tasting the green, "here's an item to add to our bill-of-fare. If only we had dressing for it a salad would be mighty appetizing." "There's the vinegar in the bottle of pickles," proposed Orissa. "It won't go very far, but it will help. Let us try the new dish for luncheon." "And how about the bananas?" asked Miss Cumberford. "I'll proceed to get them right now," promised Orissa, walking back to the group of trees. The bare, smooth trunks extended twenty feet in the air before a branch appeared. The branches were broad, stout leaves, among which hung the bunches of fruit. "I hate to ruin a perfectly good tree," declared Orissa, picking up the hatchet, "but self-preservation is the first law of nature." "Goodness me! You're not thinking of chopping it down, I hope," exclaimed Sybil. "No; that would be too great a task to undertake. I've a better way, I think." She selected a tree that had three large bunches of bananas on it. One bunch was quite ripe, the next just showing color and the third yet an emerald green. Each bunch consisted of from sixty to eighty bananas. First Orissa chopped notches on either side of the trunk, at such distances as would afford support for her feet. When these notches rose as high as she could reach, she brought two broad straps from the Aircraft, buckled them together around the tree-trunk, and then passed the slack around her body and beneath her arms. Thus supported she began the ascent, placing her feet in the notches she had already cut and chopping more notches as she advanced. In this manner the girl reached the lower branches and after climbing into them removed the strap and crept along until she reached the first bunch of bananas. "Stand from under!" she cried to Sybil and began chopping at the stem. Presently the huge bunch fell with a thud and Sybil gleefully applauded by clapping her hands. "The lower ones are a bit mushy, I fear," she called to her chum, "but that can't be helped." "We will eat those first," said Orissa, creeping to the second bunch. She managed to cut it loose, and the third, after which she replaced the strap around her body and cautiously descended to the ground. The two girls then rolled over the ripest bunch and found the damage confined to a couple of dozen bananas, the skins of which had burst from the force of the heavy fall. A moment later they were feasting on the fruit, which they found delicious. "I've read somewhere," said Sybil, "that bananas alone will sustain life for an indefinite period. They are filling and satisfying, and they're wholesome. We needn't worry any longer for fear of starvation, Ris." "I imagine we'd get deadly tired of the things, in time," replied Orissa; "but, as you say, they'll sustain life, and just at present they taste mighty good." They drew the ripest bunch into the tent, but left the others lying in the bright sunshine. "Now," announced Orissa, "we must make an expedition to that crevasse and rescue the bar and the lever, which we left sticking in the rocks. The tide is low, so we may go around by way of the shore." A leisurely walk of fifteen minutes brought them to the crevasse, down which tumbled the tiny brook. Orissa, as the most venturesome, climbed to the bar, from whence she managed to pull the lever out of the owl's nest into which she had formerly thrust it. If the owl was hidden there now it failed to disclose its presence and on descending to the rocks Orissa easily released the bar. So now, armed once more with their primitive weapons, the girls returned to their camp. "I can attach these to our machine at any time," said the air-maid, "so I think it may be best to keep them beside us, to use in case of emergency. I haven't felt entirely safe since we lost them." "Nor I," returned Sybil. "We haven't encountered anything dangerous, so far, but I like to feel I've something to pound with, should occasion arise." That afternoon Orissa worked on the Aircraft, repairing the damage caused by the sliding chest. She also took apart the steering gear, filed the bearings carefully, and afterward replaced the parts, fitting them nicely together and greasing them thoroughly. As a result of this labor the gear now worked easily and its parts were not likely again to bind. "Steve made it altogether too light for its purpose," said the girl. "On the next machine I must see that he remedies that fault." Sybil had been lying half asleep on the sands, shaded by the spreading plane of the Aircraft. She now aroused herself and looked at her companion with a whimsical expression while the other girl carefully gathered up the tools and put them away. "All ready to run, Ris?" she asked. "All ready." "I suppose with the gasoline tanks filled we could go home?" "Yes; I think so. With the wind in our favor, as it was when we came, we ought to cover the same distance easily." "Very good. I hope you are now satisfied, having worked like a nailer for half a day, getting a machine in order that can't be utilized. Gasoline doesn't grow on this island, I imagine--unless it could be made from bananas." "No; it doesn't grow here." "And none of the department stores keep it." "True." "But we've got a flying-machine, in apple-pie order, except that we're using one of the plane coverings for a tent and a lever for a weapon of defense." "Absolutely correct, Crusoe." "Hooray. Let's go to sleep again, dear. Those screechers will keep us awake all night, you know." She closed her eyes drowsily and Orissa sat beside her and looked thoughtfully over the expanse of blue ocean. There was nothing in sight; nothing save the big island at the west, which seemed from this distance to be much more desirable than the bleak rocks on which the adventurers had stranded. Orissa got her binoculars and made a careful inspection of the place. Through the powerful glasses she could discover forests, green meadowland and the gleam of a small river. It was a flat island, yet somewhat elevated above the surface of the sea. She judged it to be at least four times bigger than the island they were now on. The distance rendered it impossible to discover whether the place was inhabited or not. No houses showed themselves, but of course she could see only one side of the island from where she sat. Orissa did not feel sleepy, in spite of her wakeful night, so she took Sybil's fishline and baited the hook with a scrap of beef. Going to the top of the bluff she began to fish, and as she fished she reviewed in mind all the conditions of their misfortune and strove to find a way of relief. Being unsuccessful in both occupations she finally came back to the little bay and waded out to the big rock that guarded the mouth of the inlet. On the ocean side there was good depth of water and in the course of the next half hour she landed a huge crawfish, two crabs and a two-pound flat fish resembling a sole. This last is known as "chicken-halibut" and is delicious eating. She aroused Sybil, and the two girls built a fire, using dry twigs from the brushwood, a supply of which they had gathered and placed near their tent. In the fat taken from the crawfish they fried the halibut for supper. Then among the coals and hot stones they buried the crabs, keeping a little fire above them until they were sure the creatures were thoroughly roasted. Next day they cracked the shells and picked out the meat, deciding they might live luxuriously even on an island of rocks, provided they exercised their wits and took advantage of all conditions Nature afforded them. At dark thousands of great owls came from their retreats among the rocks and flew ceaselessly about the island, uttering their distracting cries. Nor was there a moment's peace again until daybreak. The birds were evidently in search of food, and found it; but what it consisted of the girls could not imagine. Singularly enough, the castaways were growing accustomed to the deafening clamor and as they felt quite safe within their enclosed tent they were able to sleep--in a fitful, restless way--a good part of the night. The following day they began to find the hours dragging tediously, for the first time since their captivity. Arm in arm the two girls wandered around the elevated end of their island, exploring it thoroughly but making no new discoveries of importance. The barren, slimy hollow that lay inland had no temptations to lure them near it and so there remained little else to do but watch the ocean and prepare their meals. "This is our fourth day of isolation," announced Sybil, in a tone more irritable than she was wont to use. "I wonder how long this thing will last." "We must be patient," said Orissa, gently. "Our dear ones are making every effort to find us, I'm sure, and of course they will succeed in time. We are at some distance from the usual route of ships; that is evident; and for this reason it will be more difficult for our friends to locate us. I suppose that a few days more may easily pass by before we catch sight of a boat coming to get us. But they'll come, Syb," she repeated, confidently, "and meantime we--we must be--patient." Sybil stared across the water. "Do you play checkers?" she asked abruptly. "Steve and I used to play, long ago. I suppose I could remember the game, and it might amuse us; but we have no checkerboard, nor men for it." "Pah! and you the sister of an inventor!" cried Sybil scornfully. "I'm astonished at you, Miss Kane. Haven't you enough reflected ingenuity to manufacture a checkerboard?" "Why, I think so," said Orissa. "The idea hadn't occurred to me. I'll see what I can do." "You make the board, and I'll find the men," proposed Sybil, and springing to her feet she ran down to the beach, glad to have anything to occupy her and relieve the dreary dragging of the hours. Orissa looked around her, pondering the problem. Material for a checkerboard seemed hopelessly lacking, yet after a little thought she solved the problem fairly well. First she ripped the flounce from her black silk petticoat and with the jackknife from the tool kit she cut out thirty-two black squares, each two inches in diameter. Then she took a tube of prepared glue that was in the outfit and walked up the incline to their tent, in the center of which stood the aluminum chest. This chest, being of a dull silvery color, and quite smooth on all its sides, was to be the groundwork of the checkerboard squares, as well as the board itself and the elevated table to play on. Orissa glued the squares of black silk to the cover of the chest, leaving a similar square space on the aluminum surface between each one. When this was accomplished she pasted a narrow edge of black around the entire sixty-four squares, thus marking their boundary. She was very proud of this work and was regarding it admiringly when Sybil entered. "How clever!" cried her chum, genuinely enthusiastic. "Really, Miss Columbus, you have done better than I. But here are the checker-men, and they'll do very nicely." As she spoke she dumped from her handkerchief upon the board twenty-four shells which she had carefully selected from those that littered the beach. Twelve were dark in color and twelve pearly white and being of uniform size they made very practical checkers. "Now, then," said she, squatting beside the chest and arranging her shells in order, "I'll play you a series of games for a box of bonbons, to be purchased when we return to civilization." "How many games?" asked Orissa, seating herself opposite. "Let us say--the best three in five. If that's too rapid we will make the next bet the best six in ten, or twelve in twenty. Agreeable, Columbus?" "Entirely so, Crusoe." It was really a capital diversion. Sybil played very well and it required all Orissa's cleverness to oppose her. At times they tired of the play and went for a stroll on the bluff; and always, no matter how intent they were upon the game, they kept watchful eyes on the ocean. And in this manner the days dragged on their weary lengths and the nights resounded to the shrill cries of the owls. One morning Sybil asked: "Isn't to-day Tuesday, Orissa?" "Yes," was the quiet reply. "We've inhabited this wilderness just a week." CHAPTER XII THE QUEST OF THE SALVADOR On the roomy forward deck of the _Salvador_ an earnest conference was held. "How fast are we going?" asked Steve. "The captain says about fifteen miles an hour. That's our best clip, it seems," replied Madeline. "And very good speed," added Captain Krell, proudly. "So it is, for an English yacht," agreed Mr. Cumberford. "In that case," said Steve, "we are moving one-third as fast as the Aircraft did, and we were about two hours later in starting. Provided the girls exhaust their gasoline in flying, they will make a hundred and fifty to two hundred miles, requiring five or six hours' time. Then they will alight, bobbing upon the water and helpless to move in any direction except where the current carries them. It will take us eighteen hours to reach that same spot, and we will therefore be twelve hours behind them. Do you all follow me?" They nodded, listening intently. "Now, the girls left at about one thirty this afternoon. If my calculations are correct, they'll take to the water anywhere from six thirty to seven thirty this evening. We shall overtake them at about the same hour to-morrow morning. Unless they drift considerably out of their course we shall see the white planes at daybreak and have no trouble in running alongside. But there's always the chance that through some cause they may manage to drop to water sooner, and perhaps run the boat toward home. Orissa is a very clever girl, as you all know; calm and resourceful; quick-witted and brave. She will do all that anyone could do to bring the Aircraft under control. So the one danger, it appears to me, is that we may pass them during the night." "That danger, sir," said Captain Krell, "may be reduced to a minimum. We carry a very powerful searchlight, which shall be worked by my men all night, illuminating not only the course ahead, but the sea for miles on every side. As you say, Mr. Kane, the white planes may be easily seen against the blue water, and we positively cannot miss them during the night." "You--er--interest me," said Mr. Cumberford, looking more cheerful. "We seem to have everything in our favor, thanks to Miss Dentry's generosity." "I'm _so_ glad I bought this yacht!" exclaimed Madeline, fervently, "for it enabled me to go to the assistance of those poor girls. I'm sure it was all providential." "Let us hope," said Mr. Tupper pompously, "the young women will survive until we reach them. However, we shall learn their fate, in any event, which will afford us a certain degree of satisfaction." That speech was like a douche of cold water, but although the gentleman received various indignant and reproachful looks he had "sized up the situation" with fair accuracy. Mr. Cumberford, however, since those first despairing moments on the aviation field, had recovered command of his feelings and seemed hopeful, if not confident, of his daughter's ultimate escape from serious mishap. He was exceedingly fond of Orissa, too, and even had not Sybil been with her it is certain that he would have been much worried and eager to go to her assistance. Stephen Kane, on the contrary, grew more nervous as time passed. Better than the others he knew the dangers that threatened the girls if, as he suspected, the steering gear had broken and the elevator and engine control been rendered useless. He racked his brain to think what could have caused the trouble, but never a hint of the truth dawned upon him. The third member of the Kane-Cumberford party, Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd, had maintained a discreet silence ever since Miss Dentry had invited him to join the rescue party. This she had been led to do by the look of abject misery on the boy's face, and he had merely pressed her hand to indicate his thanks. Chesty Todd was never much of a conversationalist and his appreciation of his own awkwardness rendered him diffident unless occasion demanded prompt and aggressive action, when he usually came to the front in an efficient if unexpected manner. Madeline Dentry, seeing Chesty Todd merely as he appeared, wondered in a casual way why such a blundering, incompetent booby had been employed by the Kane-Cumberford firm, but as the big boy was a part of the "camp" and was so evidently disturbed by the accident, she was glad to relieve him to the extent of adding him to the party. Very soon after the _Salvador_ started, however, nearly every one on board began to feel the presence of the youthful press agent. It was Chesty Todd who discovered the searchlight aboard and long before the conference on the deck he had primed the captain to use it during the coming night. It was Chesty Todd who sat on a coal-bunker in the hold, swinging his long legs and inspiring the engineer, by dark insinuations concerning the _Salvador's_ ability to speed, to give her engines every pound of steam she could carry. It was Chesty who pumped the steward to learn how well the boat was provisioned and supplied the deck hands with choice cigars until they were ready to swear he was a trump and imagined him quite the most important personage aboard, after Miss Dentry. The chef served an excellent dinner in the cabin, to which no one did full justice except Mr. Tupper. All were loth to leave the deck long enough to eat, although they knew a watch was stationed in the "crow's nest" with powerful glasses. When night fell the searchlight came into play and the entire party sat huddled forward, eagerly following the sweep of light across the waters. It was ten o'clock when Mr. and Mrs. Tupper retired, and midnight when Madeline went to her room, leaving orders to call her if the Aircraft was sighted. Stephen Kane, Mr. Cumberford and Chesty Todd sat by the rail all night, wide-eyed and alert. Once the searchlight caught the sails of a ship and they all leaped up, thinking it was the Aircraft. Again, something dark--a tangled mass of wreckage--swept by them and set their hearts throbbing until they held the light steadily upon it and discovered it to be a jumble of kelp and driftwood. Daylight came and found them wan but still wakeful, for now they were getting close to the limit of flight possible to the Aircraft. Captain Krell was a skillful navigator and, having taken his course in a direct line from Sealskin Island, following the flight of Orissa's Hydro-Aircraft, had not swerved a hair's breadth from it the entire voyage. "You see," said Steve, peering ahead in the strengthening daylight, "the _Salvador_ hasn't dodged a bit, and the Aircraft couldn't. So we're bound to strike our quarry soon." "Wind," suggested Chesty. "Yes; the wind might carry them a little out of their course, to be sure," admitted Steve; "but I think--I hope--not far enough to escape our range of vision." At about seven o'clock, at Chesty Todd's suggestion, the engines were slowed down somewhat, that the lookout aloft might have better opportunity to examine the sea on all sides of the ship. The yacht still maintained fair speed, however, and the call to breakfast finding no one willing to respond, Madeline ordered coffee and rolls served on deck, where they could all watch while refreshing themselves. "What's your run, Captain?" asked Steve, nervously. "Hundred and forty miles, sir." "Indeed! Go a little slower, please." The captain rang the bell to slow down. Presently the _Salvador_ was creeping along at the rate of ten miles an hour. "The gasoline," said Steve, "may have carried them farther than I figured on. It's a new machine and I haven't had a chance to test the exact capacity of the tanks." The moments dragged tediously. Every person aboard was laboring under tense excitement. "What's the run, Captain?" "One fifty-two, sir." "Ah." Nothing was in sight; only an uninterrupted stretch of blue sea. Hour after hour passed. At noon the run was two hundred and twenty miles and the aëroplane had not been sighted. Steve turned and faced those assembled. "It's no use going farther in this direction," he said, the words trembling on his lips. "I'm very sure they couldn't have made this distance." "Evidently their course has been altered by the wind," added Mr. Cumberford. "Gusty, at times, last night," asserted Chesty. Steve nodded. "A strong wind might do what the girls couldn't," said he. "That is, it might alter the direction of their flight. How did it blow?" "At four o'clock, from the north; at five fifteen, from the west; at six, due south," said Chesty. There was silence for a few minutes. The engines had been shut down and the boat lay drifting upon the water. "I think it will be well to examine the charts," suggested Mr. Todd, "and find out where we are." "I know where we are," said Captain Krell. "Wait a moment; I'll get the chart, so you may all study it." He brought it from his cabin and spread it upon a folding table on the deck. A penciled line ran directly from the port of San Diego to a point south by southwest. "A few more hours on the same course and we'd sight the little island of Guadaloup, off the Mexican coast," explained Captain Krell. "But the aëroplane couldn't go so far; therefore we must search on either side the course we've come." They all bent their heads over the map. "What are those unmarked dots which are scattered around?" inquired Mr. Cumberford. "Islands, sir. Mostly bits of rock jutting out of the sea. They're not important enough to name, nor do they appear on an ordinary map; but a seaman's chart indicates them, for unless we had knowledge of their whereabouts we might bump into them." "They're mostly to the south of us, I see," remarked Mr. Tupper. "Yes, sir." "And it's south we must go, I think," said Steve, looking at Chesty Todd for the youth to confirm his judgment. "There was no wind to take them to the west of this course, I believe." "That's my idea," declared the press agent. "I would suggest our doubling back and forth, on the return trip, covering forty or fifty miles at each leg. Seems like we couldn't miss 'em, that way." After much consultation this plan was finally agreed upon. The captain outlined his course and followed it, so that during the next four days not a square yard of ocean escaped their search. But it was all in vain and at the end of the fourth day, with the California coast again in sight, there was scarcely a person aboard who entertained the slightest hope of finding the missing girls. CHAPTER XIII CAPRICIOUS FATE A wireless was sent to the shore, reporting the failure of the _Salvador_ to locate the runaway aëroplane and asking if any tidings had been received of Orissa Kane and Sybil Cumberford. There was no news. Madeline called her passengers together again for a further consultation. "What shall we do?" she asked. Neither Steve nor Mr. Cumberford could well reply. Miss Dentry had generously placed her splendid yacht at their disposal and in person had conducted the search, neglecting no detail that might contribute to their success. But failure had resulted and they could not ask her to continue what appeared to be a hopeless undertaking. Steve, who had had ample time to consider this finale, tried to answer her question. "We are very grateful to you, Miss Dentry," he said, "and both Mr. Cumberford and I fully appreciate the sacrifice you have made in so promptly trying to rescue our girls. That we face failure is no fault of yours, nor of your crew, and I realize that you have already done all that humanity or friendship might require. Of course you understand that we cannot give up until my sister's fate, and that of Miss Cumberford, is positively determined. Therefore, as soon as we reach shore we shall organize another expedition to continue the quest." "You are doing me an injustice, sir," returned the girl gravely. "Whatever my former plans may have been I am now determined not to abandon this voyage until we have found your sister and her companion. I was greatly attracted by Orissa Kane, and grieve over her sad fate sincerely. Moreover, I do not like to put my hand to the plow without completing the furrow. Unless you believe you can charter a better boat for your purpose than the _Salvador_, or can find a crew more devoted to your interests, I shall order Captain Krell to turn about and renew the search." That, of course, settled the matter. The _Salvador_ put about and returned to a point where the see-sawing must be renewed and extended to cover more expanse of ocean. Chesty Todd, coming to where Madeline stood beside the rail, looked into her piquant face with frank admiration. "Excuse me, Miss Dentry," said he, "but you're what I'd call a brick. I knew, of course, you'd stick it out, but there's no harm in congratulating a girl on being true blue. I'm awfully glad you--you had the grit to tackle it again. I'll never be myself again until those girls are found." She looked up at him reflectively. "Which of the young ladies are you engaged to?" she asked. "Me?" blushing like a schoolboy; "neither one, if you please. They--they're only kids, you know." "Then which one do you love?" "Both!" said Chesty Todd, earnestly. "They're splendid girls, Miss Dentry; _your_ sort, you know." She smiled. "Then it's the 'sort' you love?" she asked. "Yes, if you'll allow me. Not the individual--as yet. When I love the individual I hope it'll be the right sort, but I'm so humbly unlucky I'll probably make a mistake." For the first time since their acquaintance Madeline found the big boy interesting. She knew very little of the history of the Kanes and Cumberfords, but found Chesty eager to speak of them and of his past relations with them, being loud in his praise for the entire "combination." Cumberford was an eccentric fellow, according to Mr. Radley-Todd, but "straight as a die." Steve was chock full of ability and talent, but not very practical in business ways. Mrs. Kane, Orissa's blind mother, was the sweetest and gentlest lady in the world, Sybil Cumberford a delightful mystery that defied fathoming but constantly allured one to the attempt, while Orissa---- "Orissa Kane is a girl you'll have to read yourself, Miss Dentry, and the more you study her the better you'll love her. She's girl all over, and the kind of girl one always hopes to meet but seldom does. Old-fashioned in her gentleness, simplicity, truth and candor; up-to-the-minute in the world's latest discovery--the art of flying. Modest as Tennyson's dairymaid; brave as a trooper; a maid with a true maid's heart and a thorough sport when you give her an aëroplane to manage. Excuse me. I don't often talk this way; usually I can only express myself in writing. But a fellow who wouldn't enthuse over Orissa Kane could only have one excuse--total dumbness." "I see," said Madeline, slyly. "Miss Kane is the type of the 'sort' of girl you love." "Exactly. But tell me, since you've started on such an indefinite cruise, is the _Salvador_ well provisioned?" "From the sublime to the ridiculous! We have stores to last our party six weeks, without scrimping." "Good. And coal?" "Enough for a month's continuous run. I had intended a trip to Honolulu--perhaps as far as Japan--and had prepared for it even before I was privileged to lay eyes on my yacht." "How fortunate that was, for all of us! Somehow, I've a feeling we shall find those girls, this time. Before, I had a sort of hunch we were destined to fail. Can you explain that?" "I shall not try." "We didn't allow enough for the wind. A sudden gust might have whirled the Aircraft in any direction, and it would jog along on that route until the next blow." "Do you believe they are still alive?" she asked softly. "Yes; I've never been able to think of them as--as--otherwise. They are wonderfully clever girls, and Orissa knows aëroplanes backwards and forwards. She's as much at home in the air as a bird; and why shouldn't the machine fall gently to the water, when the gasoline gave out? If it did, they can float any length of time, and the Pacific has been like a mill pond ever since they started. According to Mr. Cumberford, they have enough food with them to last for several days. I've an idea we shall run across them bobbing up and down on the water, as happy and contented as two babes in the wood." The big fellow sighed as he said this, and Madeline understood he was trying to encourage himself, as well as her. In spite of Chesty Todd's prediction, day followed day in weary search and the lost aëroplane was not sighted. Captain and crew had now abandoned hope and performed their duties in a perfunctory way. Stephen Kane had grown thin and pale and deep lines of grief marked his boyish face. Mr. Cumberford was silent and stern. He paced the deck constantly but avoided conversation with Steve. Madeline, however, kept up bravely, and so did Chesty Todd. They were much together, these trying days, and did much to cheer one another's spirits. Had a vote been taken, on that tenth dreary day, none but these two would have declared in favor of prolonging what now appeared to be a hopeless quest. "You see," said Chesty to Madeline, yet loud enough to be heard by both Cumberford and Steve, "there's every chance of the girls having drifted to some island, where of course they'd find food in plenty; or they may have been picked up by some ship on a long voyage, and we'll hear of 'em from some foreign port. There are lots of ways, even on this trackless waste, of their being rescued." This suggestion was made to counteract the grim certainty that the castaways had by now succumbed to starvation, if they still remained afloat. Several small islands had already been encountered and closely scanned, with the idea that the girls might have sought refuge on one of them. The main thing that kept alive the spark of hope was the fact that no vestige of the Aircraft had been seen. It would float indefinitely, whether wrecked or not, for the boat had enough air-tight compartments to sustain it even in a high sea. On the evening of this tenth day the _Salvador_ experienced the first rough weather of the trip. The day had been sultry and oppressive and toward sundown the sky suddenly darkened and a stiff breeze caught them. By midnight it was blowing a hurricane and even the sturdy captain began to have fears for the safety of the yacht. There was little danger to the stout craft from wind or waves, but the sea in this neighborhood was treacherous and full of those rocky islets so much dreaded by mariners. Captain Krell studied his chart constantly and kept a sharp lookout ahead; but in such a night, on a practically unknown sea, there was bound to be a certain degree of peril. There was as little sleep for the passengers as for the crew on this eventful night. The women had been warned not to venture on deck, where it was dangerous even for the men; but Madeline Dentry would not stay below. She seemed to delight in defying the rage of the elements. Clinging to the arm of Chesty Todd, the huge bulk of whose six-feet-three stood solid as a monument, she peered through the night and followed the glare of the searchlight, now doubly useful, for it showed the pilot a clear sea ahead. Mr. Tupper bumped into them, embraced Chesty for support and then bounded to the rail, to which he clung desperately. "Why are you on deck?" asked Madeline, sternly. "Go below at once!" Just then a roll of the yacht slid him across the deck, tumbled him against the poop and then carried him sprawling into the scuppers. When he recovered his breath Mr. Tupper crawled cautiously to the companionway and disappeared into the cabin. Steve and Mr. Cumberford had lashed themselves to the rail and in spite of the drenching spray continued to peer into the wild night with fearful intensity. Both were sick at heart, for they knew if the girls had managed to survive till now, their tiny boat would be unable to weather the storm. Every shriek of the wind, which often resembled a human cry, set them shivering with terror. It was toward morning when the glare of the searchlight suddenly revealed a dark peak just ahead. Stephen Kane and Mr. Cumberford saw it, even as the warning scream of the lookout rang in their ears. Captain Krell saw it, and marveling at its nearness, sprang to the wheel. Madeline and Chesty saw it, too, and instinctively the big fellow put his arms around her as if to shield her. Wild cries resounded from the deck; the bells rang frantically; the engines stopped short and then reversed just as a huge wave came from behind, caught the _Salvador_ on its crest and swept her forward in its onward rush. Two men threw their weight upon the wheel without effect: the propeller was raised by the wave above the water line and whirred and raced madly in the air, while beneath the gleam of the searchlight a monstrous mass of rock seemed swiftly advancing to meet the fated ship. Past the port side, where Madeline and her escort clung, swept a jagged point of rock; the yacht bumped with a force that sent everyone aboard reeling forward in a struggling heap; then it trembled, moaned despairingly and lay still, while the wave that had carried it to its doom flooded the decks with tons of water and receded to gloat over the mischief it had caused. The searchlight was out; blackness surrounded the bruised and bewildered men and women who struggled to regain their feet, while in their ears echoed a chorus of terrifying shrieks not of the wind, but so evidently emanating from living creatures that they added materially to the panic of the moment. Chesty Todd released Madeline, gasping and half drowned, from the tangle of humanity in the bow, and succeeded in getting her to the rail. The bow of the yacht was high and it lay over on one side, so that the deck was at a difficult angle. "Are--are we sinking?" asked the girl, confused and unnerved by the calamity. "No, indeed," replied Chesty, his mouth to her ear. "We can't sink, now, for we're on solid ground and lying as still as a stuffed giraffe." "Oh, what shall we do?" she cried, wringing her hands. "If we are wrecked we can't save Orissa--perhaps we can't save ourselves! Oh, what shall we do?--what shall we do?" The boy saw that the shock had destroyed her usual poise and he could feel her trembling as she clung to him. "My advice," he said quietly, "is that we all get to bed and have a wink of sleep. It has been a long and exciting day for us, hasn't it?" CHAPTER XIV ON THE BLUFF Sybil clapped her hands gleefully and looked at Orissa in triumph. "The rubber is mine!" she cried. "You now owe me sixteen boxes of chocolates, nine of caramels and twelve of mixed bonbons--enough to stock a candy store. Tell you what I'll do, Commodore Columbus; I'll pit my desert island and my man Friday against your fleet of galleys and the favor of Queen Isabella, and it shall be the best three out of five games. Are _you_ game, my dear Discoverer?" Orissa laughed. "You ought to give me odds, Crusoe, for you are the more skillful checker player," she replied. "But I won't play any more to-day. This heat is dreadfully oppressive and from the looks of the sky I'm afraid a storm is brewing." "What? A rain storm?" asked Sybil, jumping up to go outside the tent and examine the sky. "Rain, hail, thunder, lightning and tornadoes; anything is likely to follow a storm in this latitude," declared Orissa, following her. "I think, Sybil, we ought to make all as safe and secure as possible, in case of emergency, while we have the time." "What can we do?" asked Sybil. "I won't mind the storm very much, if it doesn't have lightning. That's the only thing I'm afraid of." Orissa examined the sky critically. "I predict high winds," she presently said, "and high winds might endanger our property. Let us get to the beach, first, and see what may be done to protect the Aircraft." They found the flying-machine fairly well protected by the walls of the ravine in which it lay, but as the big upper plane offered a tempting surface to the wind Orissa set to work and removed it, a task that consumed two full hours. Then she wired the framework to a big rock, for additional security, and carrying the canvas from the plane between them, the girls returned to their tent. "Will our house stand much of a wind?" asked Sybil. "It is rather exposed, on this bluff," replied Orissa, doubtfully. "I think it will be wise for us to pile more rocks upon the edges. The wire will hold, I'm sure, for it is nickel-steel, and if we close the ends of the tents securely we may escape damage." "All right; I'm glad to have something to do," cried Sybil, picking up a rock. "We'll build a regular parapet, if you say so." This was exactly what they did. In spite of the oppressive heat the two girls worked faithfully piling the rocks around the tent, until they had raised a parapet nearly half its height. They were inspired to take this precaution by the glowering aspect of the sky, which grew more threatening as the afternoon waned. Finally Orissa wiped the perspiration from her brow and exclaimed: "That'll do, I'm sure, Syb. And now I'm ready for dinner. What's to eat?" Sybil made a grimace. "Bananas and jelly," she replied. "Could you conceive a more horrible combination?" "Meat all gone?" "We've part of a baked crab; that's all." "And the lettuce. I shall have crab salad, with bananas for dessert." "A salad without lemon or vinegar is the limit," declared Sybil. "I shall stick to bananas and jelly." Their appetites were still good and Orissa really enjoyed her salad, which she seasoned with salt which they had obtained by evaporating seawater. The bananas were getting to be a trifle irksome to the palate, but as food they were nourishing and satisfying. Neither of the castaways grumbled much at the lack of ordinary food, being grateful at heart that they were able to escape starvation. The storm burst upon them just after dark and its violence increased hour by hour. There was little rain, and no lightning at all, but the wind held high revel and fluttered the canvas of the tent so powerfully that the girls, huddled anxiously in bed, feared the frail shelter would be torn to shreds. But the plane-cloth used by Stephen Kane was wonderfully strong and had been sized with a composition that prevented the wind from penetrating it. Therefore it resisted the gale nobly, and after a time the fears of the two girls subsided to such a degree that they dozed at times and toward morning, when the wind subsided, sank into deep sleep. The hooting of the owls no longer had power to keep them awake, and on this night the owls were less in evidence than usual, perhaps deterred from leaving their nests by the storm. Weather changes are abrupt in the semi-tropics. The morning dawned cool and delightful and the sun shone brilliantly. There was a slight breeze remaining, but not more than enough to flutter Orissa's locks as she unfastened the flap of the tent and walked out upon the bluff to discover if the Aircraft was still safe. It lay at the bottom of the ravine, in plain sight from where she stood, and seemed quite undisturbed. Orissa turned her eyes toward the distant island, let them sweep the tumbling waves of the ocean and finally allowed them to rest upon the bay at the east, where they had first landed. Then she uttered an involuntary cry that echoed shrilly among the crags. A ship lay stranded upon the shelving beach--fully half its length upon dry land! The cry aroused Sybil, who came running from the tent rubbing her eyes and with an anxious face. "What's up, Ris?" she demanded. Orissa pointed a trembling finger across the rock-strewn plain to the bay, and Sybil looked and gave a gasp of delight. "Oh, Orissa, we're saved--we're saved!" she murmured. Then, sinking upon the sand, she covered her face with her hands and began to cry. But the air-maid was too interested to weep; she was looking hard at the boat. "Isn't it Madeline Dentry's yacht?" she asked. "Yes; I'm sure it is. Then they've been searching for us and the storm has wrecked them. Sybil, your father and Steve may be on that ship, alive or--or----" Sybil sprang up. "Do you see anyone?" she asked eagerly. "No; it's too far away, and the sun interferes. I'll get the glasses." She was quite composed now and her quiet demeanor did much to restore Sybil's self-possession. Orissa brought the binoculars, looked through them for a time and then handed the glasses to her chum. "Not a soul in sight, that I can see," she remarked. "Try it yourself." Sybil had no better luck. "Can they all be drowned?" she inquired in horrified tones. "I think not. They may have abandoned the wreck, during the storm, or they may be hidden from us by the side of the boat, which lies keeled over in the opposite direction from us." "Can't we go there, Orissa, and find out?" "Yes, dear; at once. The tide is out, and although there is quite a sea left from last night's hurricane I think we can manage the trip, by way of the sands, with perfect safety." Each tore a couple of bananas from the bunch and then they ran down the incline to the beach. Knowing every turn in the coast and every difficult place, they were able to scorn the waves that occasionally swept over their feet, as if longing to draw them into their moist embraces. CHAPTER XV BOAT AHOY! The first indication of dawn found anxious faces peering over the side of the _Salvador_. Passengers and crew gathered at the lower angle and inspected the position of the boat with absolute amazement. "Never, in all my experience," said Captain Krell, "have I heard of so remarkable a wreck. We struck the only channel that would have floated us; a few yards to either side and we would have been crushed to kindling wood. As it is, we lie high and dry on this shelf--a natural dry dock--and not a timber is cracked." "Are you sure of that?" asked Madeline. "Quite sure, Miss Dentry. We have made a thorough investigation. But I do not wish to create any false hopes. Our condition is nearly as desperate as if we were a total wreck." "You mean we can't get the yacht off again?" "I fear not. Even a duplicate of that gigantic wave which hurled us here would be unable to float us off, for our tremendous headway carried us beyond the reach of any tide. This island is of rock formation. I know at a glance that a solid bed of rock is under us. Therefore we cannot dig a channel to relaunch the _Salvador_." "Couldn't we blast a channel?" asked Mr. Tupper. The captain merely gave him a reproachful glance. "To be sure," replied Chesty Todd, seriously. "We'll have Kane invent a sort of dynamite that will blast the rocks and won't hurt the ship. Good idea, Mr. Tupper. Clever, sir; very clever." Mr. Tupper glared at the boy resentfully, but his wife said in a mild tone of rebuke: "Really, Martin, my dear, the suggestion was idiotic." The steward came crawling toward them with a coffeepot, followed by a man juggling a tray of cups. It was quite an acrobatic feat to navigate the incline, but they succeeded and everyone accepted the coffee gratefully. "This place is nothing but a rock; an extinct volcano, probably," remarked Madeline, gazing thoughtfully over the island. Chesty, having finished his coffee, climbed to the elevated side opposite. "Here's a far better view of the place," he called. "It's quite a----" He stopped short, staring fixedly at a white speck far up on the bluff beside the low mountain. They waited breathlessly for him to continue. Then Steve, reading the expression on Chesty's face, quickly clambered to a place beside him. As he looked he began to tremble and his face grew red and then pallid. "Mr. Cumberford," called the press agent, "bring your glasses, please." "What is it?" pleaded Madeline. "Why, something--just--curious, Miss Dentry. We can't say what it is, as yet, but----" They were all scrambling up the incline by this time and soon all eyes were directed upon the white speck. Mr. Cumberford focused his glasses upon the spot. "Ah," said he presently; "this interests me; it does, indeed!" "Is it a--a--tent?" inquired Steve, a catch in his voice. "Looks like it," was the reply; "but not a regulation tent. Seems more like--like----Here, see for yourself, Steve." Steve seized the binoculars. "I think--it's--the--plane-cloth!" he gasped. Mr. Tupper lost his balance and slid down the deck, landing with a thud against the opposite rail. That relieved the tension and a laugh--the first heard on the _Salvador_ since she left port--greeted the gentleman's mishap. "Why--if it's the plane-cloth, the girls are alive!" cried Madeline. "To be sure," added Chesty, with joyful intonation, "and doubtless enjoying their outing." The discovery changed the current of all thoughts and led them to forget their own calamity. The _Salvador_ carried a small gasoline launch and two life-boats, all of which were in good condition. "May we take the launch, Miss Dentry?" pleaded Steve. "I was about to order it lowered," she said. "Can you run it, Mr. Kane?" "Certainly," he replied. "Then I shall go with you. It will carry six comfortably, and more uncomfortably; but as we may have passengers on our return trip only four had better go." Steve ran to assist in lowering the launch. It had to be unlashed from its rack, first of all, and the tank filled with gasoline, the engine oiled and the boat prepared for action. The men worked with a will, however, and within half an hour the launch was lowered to the rocks and slid safely into the water. The landing-steps being impracticable, a rope ladder was lowered and by this means Madeline easily descended to the launch. Mr. Cumberford followed, as a matter of course, but Chesty Todd modestly waited to be invited to make the fourth voyager. "Come along, sir," said Miss Dentry, and he eagerly obeyed. "How about food?" he suggested. The chef, a fat little Frenchman who was much interested in the fate of the Flying Girl and her chum, had foreseen this demand and now lowered a hamper. "Any water in it?" asked Chesty. "Certainmente, monsieur." "All right. Let 'er go." Steve started the engine and the little craft quickly shot out of the bay into the open sea and took the long swells beautifully. Bounding the point, Kane kept as close to the shore as he dared, making for the place where the bluff began to rise. "Boat ahoy!" cried a clear voice, so suddenly that they nearly capsized the launch in their first surprise. And there were the two lost damsels prancing and dancing up and down the beach, waving their handkerchiefs and laughing and crying with joy at beholding their friends. CHAPTER XVI AN ISLAND KINGDOM It was a merry reunion, in spite of the dangers that were past and the tribulations that threatened. Because the yacht's deck afforded precarious footing they all landed on the flat rocky shore, where the breakfast, hastily prepared by the chef, was served to the united company. "My greatest suffering," said Sybil, nestling close to her father, "was for want of coffee. I've dreamed of coffee night after night, and hoped I would be privileged to taste it again before I was called to the happy hunting grounds." "Ah; that interests me; it does, really," said Mr. Cumberford, filling her cup anew. "But--who knows, dear?--you might have reached the happy coffee-grounds." They laughed at any absurd remark just now, and when Orissa related how they had subsisted of late on bananas and jelly you may be sure the castaways were plied with all the delicacies the ship's larder afforded. Most of the day was spent in exchanging stories of the adventures both parties had encountered since the Hydro-Aircraft ran away. Everyone wanted to add an incident or tell some personal experience, and it was all so interesting that no one was denied the privilege of talking. But afterward, when an elaborate dinner was served in the cabin--the table having been propped level to hold the plates--they began to canvass the future and to speculate upon the possibility of getting to civilization again. "Our situation is far from hopeless," remarked Steve, who was now bright and cheery as of old. "We have the launch and the life-boats, and Orissa says the Aircraft is in fine condition again. All the trouble was caused by that unlucky aluminum chest--and the fact that my steering gear was too frail." "I wouldn't call the aluminum chest unlucky," said Sybil. "Without it we should have suffered many privations, for it carried our blankets and provisions as well as our tools." "But it was unfortunate that you didn't bolt it securely," added Orissa. "Could we venture some two hundred and eighty miles in open boats?" inquired Madeline. "We could if obliged to," asserted young Kane. "Of course, after we got into the track of coastwise ships, we might be picked up. But I do not like to abandon this beautiful yacht, which must be worth a fortune and is not damaged to any extent. I believe the best plan will be for me to fly home in my machine and secure a boat to come here and pull the yacht off the beach. There is a whole barrel of gasoline aboard, intended to supply the launch, so there is no longer any lack of fuel for our Aircraft." They canvassed this plan very seriously and to all it seemed an excellent idea. But the engineer, an Irishman named O'Reilly, respectfully suggested the possibility of getting the yacht launched by means of a tackle, using her own engines for power. Steve caught at this idea and said they would try it the following morning. Everyone retired early, for one and all were exhausted by the trying experiences they had passed through. The girls, however, warned them that the owls would interfere seriously with their sleep. It was not an easy matter to rest, even in the comfortable berths, on account of the slanting position of the ship. Those berths on the right side tipped downward and the mattresses had to be bolstered up on the edges to prevent the occupants from rolling out. On the opposite side the sleeper was pushed to the wall and the mattress had to be padded in the corner where the wall and bunk met. But they managed it, after a fashion, and Sybil and Orissa, at least, slept soundly and peacefully, the luxury of a bed being so great a relief from their former inconvenient rock "altar." The hoots of the owls proved very distracting to the newcomers, and Mrs. Tupper declared she would go mad, or die painfully, if obliged to endure such a screeching for many nights. Even the crew grumbled and there were many tired eyes next morning. As soon as breakfast was over they set to work to right the yacht, Steve overseeing the work because of his mechanical experience. A pulley was attached, by means of a chain, to a peak of rock on the point opposite the high side of the yacht, and then a strong cable was run through the pulley, one end being fastened to the mainmast and the other to the anchor-windlass, which was operated by the engine. The stoker got up steam and then O'Reilly started the engines very slowly. Lying as it did on a shelf of solid rock, which had been washed smooth by centuries of waves, there was only the resistance of the yacht's weight to overcome; and, although it required all the power the cable would stand, the boat gradually came upright until it stood upon a level keel. Then the men braced it securely with rocks, on either side the bow, to hold it in position, after which Steve declared that part of the task had been accomplished to his entire satisfaction. It was indeed a relief to all on board to be able to tread a level deck again, for, although there still remained a decided slant from bow to stern it did not materially interfere with walking, as had the sharp side slant. The next task was to arrange the tackle so that the engines would pull the yacht off the beach into deep water. But in spite of every effort this plan failed entirely. The boat would not budge an inch and after breaking the wire cable again and again, until it was practically useless, the undertaking had to be abandoned. "It's up to the airship to rescue the party, I guess," sighed Steve, as they sat at dinner after the energetic and discouraging day's work was over. "Do you know, there's a big island just west of here," said Orissa, thoughtfully. "Through our glasses we could see that it is green and fertile, and I've an idea it is inhabited. Wouldn't it be a good idea to run the launch over there before Steve undertakes his journey, and see if we can't secure help to get the yacht off the beach?" They all became interested in the proposition at once. "How far is the island?" asked Mr. Cumberford. "Only a few miles; perhaps an hour's run in the launch." "Then let us try it, by all means," proposed the captain. "We will run over there the first thing in the morning, with Miss Dentry's consent," decided Steve. Madeline heartily agreed and as the sea was enticingly calm the next morning a party was made up to visit the larger island in the launch. At first Captain Krell suggested he should go with part of his crew, saying that no one could tell what sort of people might inhabit the island, if indeed any inhabitants were to be found there; but Steve scorned the notion of danger. "We are too near the American coast to run against cannibals or hostile tribes," he argued; "and, in any event, our mission is a decidedly peaceful one. I'll take my revolver, of course, but it won't be needed. What do you say, Mr. Cumberford?" "I quite agree with you," replied that gentleman. "I'm going along, if only for the ride." "So am I," said Madeline. "Really, my dear!" began Mr. Tupper; but she silenced him with a single look. "That means I must go as chaperon," sighed Mrs. Tupper. "I'll be chaperon," laughed Sybil; "but as we shall go and return in a couple of hours I don't believe Madeline will really need one." "You shall stay comfortably on the yacht, Aunt Anna," said Madeline. "Who else wants to go? We can carry six, you know." It was soon arranged to add Mr. Radley-Todd and Orissa to the four, thus completing the complement of the launch. Just before they set off Monsieur Rissette, the alert chef, appeared with his hamper of lunch, for he had an established idea that no one should depart, even on an hour's journey, without a proper supply of food. Then, merrily waving adieus to those on board, the explorers glided out of the bay into the open sea. Rounding the north end of their islet they saw clearly the large island ahead, and Steve headed the launch directly toward it. The trip consumed rather more than the hour Orissa had figured on, but it was a light-hearted, joyous party, and they beguiled the way with conversation and laughter. "I am quite sure," said Madeline, "that I am enjoying this experience far more than I would a trip to Hawaii. Think of it! A chase, a rescue and a wreck, all included in one adventure. I'm rather sorry it's about over and we are to return to civilization." "Sybil and I have had a glorious time," added Orissa. "Barring the fact that we were a bit worried over our fate, those days when we played Crusoe and Columbus on a forsaken island were full of interest and excitement. I know now that I enjoyed it thoroughly." "I quite envy you that delightful experience," asserted Madeline. "Don't," said Sybil. "The adventure wasn't all pleasant, by any means. The hoots of those dreadful birds will ring in my ears for years to come; the food was far from satisfying and I piled rocks and tramped and sweated until I was worn to a frazzle. If we had not invented our checker set I believe we would have become raving maniacs by the time you found us." As they drew near to the island they found it even more green and beautiful than they had suspected. "It's queer," said Steve, eyeing the place thoughtfully, "how very imperfect those seamen's charts are. The one Captain Krell has indicates nothing but barren rocks in these seas. Not one is deemed important enough to name; yet here is a good-sized island that is really inviting enough to attract inhabitants." "And, by Jove, it has 'em!" cried Chesty Todd, pointing eagerly to a thin streak leading skyward. "See that smoke? That means human beings, or I'm a lobster." "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Cumberford. "That interests me; it does, really. Head around to the right, Steve; that's where we'll find the natives." Steve obeyed. Skirting the shore of the island he rounded the northern point and found before him a peculiar inlet. The shore was rocky and rather high, but in one place two great pillars of rock rose some fifty feet in the air, while between them lay a pretty bay which extended far inland. They afterward found this was the mouth of a small river, which broadened into a bay at its outlet. As the launch turned into this stretch of water, moving at reduced speed, their eyes were gladdened by one of the loveliest natural vistas they had ever beheld. The slope from the table-land above to the inlet was covered upon both sides with palms, flowering shrubs and fruit trees, all of which showed evidence of care. A quarter of a mile up the little bay was a little dock to which were moored several boats. The largest of these was a sixty-foot launch, which made Madeline's little craft look like a baby. Two sailboats and a trio of rowboats, all rather crude in design, completed the flotilla. On the end of the dock two men stood, motionless, as if awaiting them. "Why, they're not natives at all," exclaimed Sybil, in a low voice. "They--they're clothed!" So they were, but in quite a remarkable fashion. Their feet were bare, their trousers ragged and soiled; but they wore blue vests highly embroidered in yellow silk, with velvet jackets and red sashes tied around their waists. Add to this outfit, peaked Panama hats with broad, curling brims, and a revolver and knife stuck in each sash, and you will not wonder that our friends viewed this odd couple with unfeigned amazement. One was a tall, thin man with but one good eye, which, however, was black and of piercing character. His face was sullen and reserved. The second man was short and fat, with profuse whiskers of fiery red and a perfectly bald head--a combination that gave him the appearance of a stage comedian. The skin of both was of that peculiar dingy brown color peculiar to Mexicans and some Spaniards. The little one, with hat in hand, was bowing with exaggerated courtesy; the taller one stood frowning and immovable. When Steve steered the launch alongside the dock a broad roadway came into sight, leading through the trees to the higher elevation beyond, where stood a white house of fair size which had a veranda in front. The architecture was of Spanish order and in its setting of vines and trees it looked very picturesque. There were climbing roses in profusion and gorgeous beds of flowers could be seen in the foreground. Despite the appearance of the two men, who might easily be taken for brigands, the place was so pretty and peaceful and bore such undoubted evidences of civilization that the visitors had no hesitation in landing. Chesty leaped to the dock first and assisted the three girls to alight beside him. Mr. Cumberford followed and Steve tied up to an iron ring in the dock and also stepped ashore. The tall man had not moved, so far, except that his one dark eye roved from one member of the party to another, but the little fat man continued to bow low as each one stepped ashore, and they accepted it as a sort of welcome. Neither had uttered a word, however, so Mr. Cumberford stepped forward and said: "Do you speak English?" They shook their heads. "Ah! that is unfortunate. Can you tell me, then, the name of this island, and who inhabits it?" "Of course not, Daddy," cried Sybil. "Try 'em in Spanish, Steve." But before Stephen, who could speak a little Spanish, had time to advance, the men turned abruptly, beckoned the strangers to follow, and deliberately walked up the broad pathway toward the dwelling. "Well?" inquired Steve, doubtfully. "Let's follow," said Chesty. "I've an idea these are hired men, and they're taking us to be welcomed by their master." "Interesting, isn't it?" muttered Mr. Cumberford, but with one accord they moved forward in the wake of their guides. CHAPTER XVII DON MIGUEL, DEL BORGITIS Halfway up the road they noticed on the left a large clearing, in which stood a group of thatched huts. Some women and children--all with dark skins and poorly dressed--were lounging around the doorways. These stood silently as the strangers passed by. A little farther along three men, attired in exactly the same manner as the two who were escorting them, were cultivating a garden patch. They gave no indication they were aware of the presence of strangers. There was something uncanny--wholly unnatural--about the manner of their reception and even about the place itself, that caused some of them to harbor forebodings that all was not right. Yet they had experienced no opposition, so far--no unfriendliness whatsoever. Up to the broad veranda they were led, and this, now viewed closely, showed signs of considerable neglect. The house, built of rough boards, needed whitewashing again; the elaborate stained-glass windows were thick with dust; the furnishings of the wide veranda, which were somewhat prodigal, seemed weather-stained and unkempt. On a small wicker table was a dirty siphon bottle and some soiled glasses with bugs and flies crawling over them. Beside these stood a tray of roughly made cheroots. The fat man at once disappeared through the open doorway of the dwelling, but the tall man faced the strangers and, spreading out his arms as if to forbid their entrance, pointed to the chairs and benches scattered in profusion about the veranda. "Invited to sit," interpreted Mr. Cumberford. "Interesting--very." Suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance. The man was nearly as tall as Chesty Todd, but not so well built. Instead of being athletic, he possessed a superabundance of avoirdupois, evidently the result of high living. He was clothed all in white flannel, but wore a blue linen shirt with a soiled collar and a glaring red necktie in which glittered a big diamond. Jewels were on his fingers, too, and even on his thumbs, and a gold chain passed around his neck fell in folds across his breast and finally ended in his watch-pocket. On his feet were red slippers and on his head a sombrero such as the others had worn. A man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, rather handsome with his large eyes and carefully curled mustache, but so wholly unconventional as to excite wonder rather than admiration. [Illustration: Suddenly a huge form filled the doorway, inspecting the newcomers with a quick, comprehensive glance.] He had merely paused in the doorway for that one rapid glance. Immediately he advanced with a brisk step, exclaiming: "Welcome, señors and señoritas--Americaños all--most joyous welcome. You the Spanish speak? No! It cannot matter, for I speak the English. I am so pleasured that my humble home is now honored by your presence. You make me glad--happy--in rapture. You do not know to where--to whom--you have come? Imagine! I am Don Miguel del Borgitis, and this"--extending his arms with a proud gesture--"my own Island of Borgitis--a kingdom--of individual property, however small, for it owes allegiance to no other nation on earth!" This was spoken very impressively, while the shrewd eyes read their faces to determine the degree of awe created. "Yes," he went on, giving them no chance to reply, "I am really King--King of Borgitis--but with modesty I call myself Don Miguel del Borgitis. As such I welcome you. As such I take you to my arms in friendship. Observe, then, all my kingdom is yours; you shall reign in my place; you shall command me; for does not Don Miguel ever place his friends above himself?" This seemed cordial enough, certainly, but it was rather embarrassing to find an answer to such effusiveness. Don Miguel, however, did not seem to expect an answer. With merely an impressive pause, as if to drive the words home, he continued: "May I, then, be honored by a recital of your names and station?" "To be sure," said Mr. Cumberford. "You--er--interest me, Don Miguel; you do, really. Quite a relief, you see, to find a gentleman, a civilized gentleman, in these wilds, and----" "My island kingdom is very grand--very important--Señor Americaño," interrupted Don Miguel, evidently piqued at the use of the term "wilds." "In effect have I reign over three islands--the one from which you now come, the one to the west of here, and--the Grand Island Borgitis! Three Islands and one owner--One King--with privilege to decree life and death to his devoted subjects. But you have more to say." They were a bit startled to hear that he knew they came from the island of the owls. But they reflected that some of his people might have watched the progress of their launch. Mr. Cumberford introduced his party to Don Miguel, one by one, afterward briefly relating the aërial trip of the two girls, the search for them by the yacht and the unfortunate beaching of the _Salvador_ on the island during the recent storm, ending with the surprising reunion of the party and their desire to secure help to get the launch into deep water again, that they might return home. To all this Don Miguel listened intently, his head a little to one side, his eyes turning critically to each person mentioned during the recital. Then said he, more soberly than before: "How unfortunate that your ship is wreck!" "Oh, it is not wrecked," returned Madeline. "It is merely stuck on those rocks--'beached' is, I think, the proper word." "Then, alas! it is wreck." "It is not injured in the least, sir," declared Steve. Don Miguel's face brightened at this statement, but he controlled his elation and responded sadly: "But it is no longer a ship, for you cannot get it off the land." "Not without your kind assistance, I fear," said Miss Dentry. "Make me obliged by resuming your seats," requested Don Miguel. Then he clapped his hands, and the red-bearded man appeared. "Refreshments, Pietro!" He offered the cheroots to the men, and when they refused selected one for himself and lighted it. Then, leaning back in his arm-chair, he regarded his guests musingly and said: "It is laughable. Really, it amuses one! But under the Spanish Grant by which I hold my islands--my kingdom--I am exclusively owner of all wrecks on my shores. In fact, were you not my dear friends, I could take your yacht, which I now own because it lies wreck on my coast." "But it is _not_ wrecked!" asserted Steve, frowning, for he was beginning to suspect Don Miguel. "Perhaps not, since you tell me so; but I will see. I will see for myself. Ah, the poor refreshments--the offering of hospitality to a king's friends. Partake, is my earnest implore, and so honor your humble host--Don Miguel del Borgitis." The tall man and the short man brought wines, liquors and glasses, with a fresh siphon of clear water. Following them came a sour-faced woman of middle age and a pretty young girl of perhaps sixteen years--pretty in the Spanish fashion, with plump cheeks, languid dark eyes and raven hair. These last carried trays of fruits and cake, which they passed to the company. The woman's face was expressionless; that of the girl evinced eager curiosity and interest; but neither spoke nor seemed to receive the notice of the royal Don Miguel. When they had all positively refused to accept any of the strong drink, the Don helped himself liberally to a milky liquor diluted with water, which he called pulque. As he sipped this he said to them: "The life here on Borgitis is grand--magnificent--entrancing--as you will easily conceive. But it is also lonely. I have here no equals with whom I may freely associate. So it delights me to receive you as guests. May you long enjoy my hospitality--it is a toast which I drink with fervency." "We return to the yacht at once," said Steve, stiffly. "My mansion is roomy and comforting," continued the other, as if he had not heard, "and here are no owls to annoy one. Some day I will take you to visit the third island of my kingdom. It is called Chica--after my daughter, here." He glanced at the young girl, as he spoke, and she cast down her eyes, seeming frightened. Mr. Cumberford arose. "Sir," said he, "we thank you for your hospitality, which we regret we are unable to further accept. Let us come to the point of our errand. We need your assistance and are willing to pay for it--liberally, if need be. You have plenty of men here, I observe, and a large launch. Send a crew with us to our island----" "My island, señor, if you please." "Very well. Send a crew of men to help us, and come along yourself, if you like. But whatever you do, kindly do it at once, as we have no time to waste." He spoke positively, in a way that required an answer; but Don Miguel merely took a cake from the tray, and as he munched it said casually in Spanish, as if addressing the air: "Prepare my launch; have the men in readiness; lock the little boat securely." Without a glance at his master, the one-eyed man deliberately left the veranda and walked down the path. Steve pricked up his ears. He understood the carefully veiled command, and it nettled him. "What little boat do you refer to, sir?" he pointedly asked. Don Miguel gave a start, but tossed off the contents of his glass, and rose. "I shall prepare to go at once to visit your yacht, with my own men and in my own launch," said he. "You will be good enough to amuse yourselves here until I send you the word that I am ready to depart." With this he lazily stretched his big body, yawned, and turned his back on his "beloved guests," to leave the veranda and proceed leisurely down the path to the inlet. CHAPTER XVIII THE MASK OFF "Come!" cried Steve, impatiently. "The Don is either a fool or a rascal, and in either event I propose to keep an eye on him." "Quite right," said Chesty Todd, nodding approval. As with one accord they rose and started to leave the veranda the fat little man with the red whiskers barred their way, removing his hat to indulge in his absurd bow. "My noble master has desire that you remain his guests," said he in bad English. "Some time will he send word he is ready for you to depart." "Out of the way, fellow," said Chesty, pushing him aside. "My noble master has desire that you remain his guests," repeated the man, moodily, and there was a defiant twinkle in his pig-like eyes that indicated he had received positive orders to detain the strangers. But Mr. Radley-Todd's ire was aroused. "Stand back!" he cried threateningly. "Your master is not our master." "Very true, Chesty," said Mr. Cumberford; and then they all hurried down the path toward the inlet. They were not three minutes behind Don Miguel, yet as they reached the dock the big launch left it, filled with dark-skinned men. In the stern stood Don Miguel, smoking his cheroot, and he made them an elaborate bow. "Have patience, dear guests," said he. "I will satisfy myself if your boat is wreck or is not wreck, and soon will I return to consult with you. Kindly excuse until I have investigation made. Oblige me to use my island as if it were your own." "The rascal!" cried Mr. Cumberford, as the boat of Don Miguel swept down the inlet. "Tumble into the launch, girls, quick! I believe we can get to the yacht before he does." But the girls hesitated to obey, for Steve and Chesty Todd were bending over the bow of the launch, where the rope hawser had been replaced by a heavy chain, which was fastened by a huge padlock. Steve picked up an iron bar, twisted it in the chain and endeavored to wrench the iron ring from its socket; but it was firmly embedded in the dock, being held by a powerful cement. Then he tried breaking away the launch, but the fastenings held firmly. "No use, Steve," said Chesty, squatting down on the dock. "We must have the key. Question is, who's got it? That pirate, or--or----" "He's a pirate, all right," said Sybil, angrily. "What do you think he intends to do?" Madeline quietly asked. "Take the folks on the yacht by surprise, capture the ship and then claim it is his, because it is beached upon his island," replied Steve. "How absurd!" exclaimed Orissa. "Yes; but the scoundrel knows no law," declared Mr. Cumberford. "In this lost and forgotten island he has played the tyrant with a high hand; I can see that by the humble subjection of his people; and so he thinks he can rob us with impunity." "He is mistaken, though," asserted Madeline greatly annoyed. "If this is really an independent island, I shall send an armed ship here to demand reparation--and force it. If the Don lies, and he is under the domain of any recognized nation, then our government shall take the matter up." "To be sure," said Mr. Cumberford. "Interesting; very. Provided, of course, we--we----" "Go on, sir." "Er--er--it is really a pretty island, and--interesting," he mumbled. "Daddy means," said Sybil, "that Don Miguel has no intention of letting us get back to civilization again, provided the yacht proves to be worth taking--and keeping." "That's it, exactly," said Chesty; "only Mr. Cumberford did not like to disturb your equanimity. But he sized up the situation, as we all did. Eh, Steve?" Steve nodded, looking gloomily at the three girls. "How many men did he take with him?" asked Madeline. "About fifteen. I tried to count 'em," said Mr. Todd. "But they did not seem to be armed." "There are seven on the yacht, besides Mr. Tupper, who doesn't count; and they have no arms, either, that I know of." "They won't be expecting to defend themselves, anyhow," observed Chesty. "Therefore the yacht is as good as captured." "And with the noble Don in possession," added Sybil, "our plans for a homeward voyage are knocked sky-high." "The yacht will be a great find for him," remarked Mr. Cumberford; "so I imagine he will condemn it as 'wreck' on his shores and keep it for himself." "With certainty, señor," said a soft voice beside him. They all turned to find that the Spanish girl had quietly joined their group. Behind her came limping the Red-beard, sullen and muttering at his rebuff. The girl faced Pietro and uttered a sharp command in Spanish. He hesitated, mumbled a reply and retreated up the path. "So you think Don Miguel will keep my yacht?" asked Madeline, approaching the pretty child and speaking in a kindly tone. "I do, señorita. But his name is not Don Miguel del Borgitis, as he said. He is Ramon Ganza, a fugitive from Mexico, where he robbed a bank of much money and escaped. He came here in his launch with ten men, and has been hiding for many years in this island, where no people lived before he came." "Dear me!" exclaimed Madeline; "a criminal and a refugee! And you are his daughter?" "No, señorita. He said so, but he lied. He lies always, when he speaks. He coaxed me away from my people in Mazatlan, when he came there to buy provisions, saying I would become a princess. But I am merely a housemaid, in truth." "How many years has he lived on this island?" inquired Mr. Cumberford. "I do not know, señor. But it is many. He has built the house, yonder, or rather he has forced his poor men to build it. Ramon loves to pose as a royal Don, but I do not think he is of noble birth. Once every year he goes to Mexico or the United States for supplies, and sometimes he coaxes others to come back with him, and be his slaves." "And do the people love their master?" asked Madeline. "No. They hate him, but they fear him. Not one who has ever come here has gone away again, for he dares not let them return to tell where he is hiding. Now there are seventeen men and nine women here. With you, and those he will fetch from your yacht, there will be many more; but none of you will ever leave here with Ramon's consent," declared the girl. "Then we will leave without it," remarked Mr. Todd, easily. She gave him a quick, eager look. "Will you dare to oppose Ramon, then?" she asked. "On occasion we are rather daring," said Chesty, smiling at her simplicity. "The fellow ought to be arrested and given up to justice." "Oh, if you would do that, we could all go away!" said the child, clasping her hands ecstatically. "Please arrest him, sir; I beg you to." "We'll see about it, little one. Meantime, how can we get the key to unlock this chain?" "Would you follow Ramon?" she asked. "That is our greatest ambition, just now." "Then I'll get you the key. Pietro has it." "The Red-beard?" "Yes. Pietro is my friend. He is not so bad as some of the other men." "They must be a sorry lot," decided Chesty. "Come on, then, Chica; I'll help you to interview Pietro." The man was sitting on a rock nursing his grievances. "The key, Pietro," said Chica. "No," he answered surlily. "I want it, Pietro." "He'll whip me. But then, he'll whip me anyhow, for not to stop his 'guests.' Take the key, Chica. Pah! a few lashes. Who care?" He tossed the key upon the ground at her feet and Chesty promptly picked it up. The girl looked hard at Red-beard. "You will not be whipped," she said softly. "It is all right, Pietro. The Americaños will arrest Ramon Ganza and deliver him up to justice; they have promised it; so you will be safe. Come with me. Our new friends need guns." "What!" The man fairly gasped in his amazement at her temerity. "Our new friends shall take all they need of Ramon's store of guns. They are not like the others who come here; the Americaños are not cowards. You will see them conquer Ramon very nicely, and with no trouble at all. Come, Pietro--the guns!" The man slowly rose and led the way to the house, while Chesty called for Steve and then followed. In ten minutes Chesty and Steve returned to the dock where the others awaited them, and both were loaded with rifles, revolvers and ammunition, ruthlessly abstracted from the private stores of the island magnate. When these were distributed, the launch unlocked and they were ready to start, Madeline turned to Chica. "Get in, dear," said she. "I think it will be best for you to come with us. Provided we ourselves manage to escape, I promise to take you to Mazatlan and restore you to your own people." The child hesitated, looking at the little fat Red-beard. "I--I'm afraid Pietro will suffer for helping us," she said. "Ah; 'tis true," agreed Red-beard. "Unless you please will arrest Ramon, Ramon will whip me until I faint. I know; it is his habit when he is opposed." "Get aboard, then," said Steve, impatiently. "There's room enough, and your service may come handy to us." Somewhat to their surprise the man came aboard without an instant's hesitation, and at once Steve started the engine. "Are any other men left upon this island?" asked Mr. Cumberford, as the launch gathered way and darted down the inlet. "Two," said Chica. "But they have no orders to interfere with you, so they will be blind. Fourteen have gone with Ramon." "Are they armed?" asked Orissa. "I do not know, señorita. Francisco may be, and perhaps Tomas; but Ramon is afraid to trust many of his men with guns." Heading out of the inlet they rounded the pillar of rock and skirted the shore until the open sea lay between them and Owl Island. Now they were able to see plainly the big launch of Ramon Ganza plodding along in advance. It had fully half an hour's start of them, yet from the distance it had gone Steve awoke to the fact that it was not nearly so speedy as Madeline's little boat. Although the big launch had gasoline engines of comparatively modern pattern, the lines of the boat were broad and "tubby," in strong contrast with the slender, graceful waist of the _Salvador's_ launch. Moreover, Ramon had neglected his machinery, as he had everything else on the island, and the engines did not work as well as they should. "I've an idea that I can beat the pirate to the _Salvador_," said Steve. "By Jove!" cried Chesty; "if you could do that, old man, you'd save the day." "What difference would it make?" inquired Madeline. "Their plan is to take our crew by surprise, board the yacht and make prisoners of every man jack--also of Mrs. Tupper," explained Chesty. "Then, when we arrive, our capture could be easily accomplished. But if we manage to get there first, warning our men and taking them these weapons, we stand a good chance of beating off the rascally potentate and holding possession." "They are not really pirates, I suppose," remarked Sybil. "According to this child's story," declared Mr. Cumberford, "the man is a fugitive from justice and so has no respect for the rights or property of anyone. Mexico, his own country, has outlawed him and doubtless if the authorities could put their hands on the fellow they'd clap him in jail and keep him there." They considered this statement gravely. "For which reason," remarked Chesty Todd, "Ramon Ganza is desperate. He can't afford to let us get away and carry the news of where his island retreat may be located. Therefore, good people, this is going to be a lively little scrap, so let's grit our teeth and do our level best." CHAPTER XIX AN EXCITING RACE Steve was giving the engine all his attention and coaxing it to develop all the speed of which it was capable. Even with eight people aboard--two more than its regular complement--it was beginning to gain on the big boat ahead. Orissa, at the steering wheel, was also intent upon her task. Mr. Cumberford turned to Chica. "How did Ramon manage to build that house, and make such a big settlement on the island, all in secret?" he asked. "Pietro knows," said she. "In Mexico," stated Red-beard, halting at times in his English, "Ramon rob bank of much money. Then he escape in boat an' find islan'. He think it fine place for hide. So he go to Unite' State--to San Pedro--an' buy much thing with his money--much lumber--much food in tin can--many thing he will need. He hire ship to take all to his islan'. It big sail-ship, but it old an' not ver' good. In San Pedro Ramon find some Mexicans who do bad things an' so are afraid to go back to Mexico. He say he make them rich, so they go with him on ship. I go, too. "Storm come an' make ship leak, but we get to islan' an' unload ever'thing. Captain start to go back, but ship leak so bad he run on rocks at West Islan'. Ship go wreck an' men drown. By'mby Ramon go out to wreck, take all thing he want an' let wreck go. It now on rocks at West Islan'. No good, now." This terse recital was listened to with astonishment. "Interesting--very," was Mr. Cumberford's comment, and they all supported his verdict. "Then Ramon make us build house an' make garden," continued Red-beard. "When we get mad an' not mind Ramon, he whip some of us with his own hand, an' then others scare an' work hard. Two, three time, Ramon go in launch to Mexico. He land secret, in night time, and get more men to come back with him to islan'. Nobody know him in the places he goes. One time he coax Chica from her nice home, that way, an' bring her to islan', to make her help the women work in his house." Chica nodded. "But now I go home," she said, confidently. "When kind Americaños arrest Ramon, I go free." But arresting Ramon was not so much in the thoughts of the Americaños just then as the result of the race to reach the _Salvador_. Madeline's launch was gaining steadily, but both boats were gradually drawing nearer to their destination and the problem was which could arrive first? Already the little boat had been seen and its purpose understood by the wily Mexican. He could not know how it was that the Americans had managed to secure their boat and were able to follow him so soon, but the fact that they were in his wake and quickly closing the gap between the two launches was sufficient information for the time being, and it did not particularly disturb him. Ramon Ganza reasoned that in order to beat him to the yacht the little launch must pass near him, but in doing so he would intercept it and by grappling it with boat-hooks take it and its occupants along with him. If the Americans kept out of range and gave his boat a wide berth, he would be able, in spite of their superior speed, to beat them to the yacht by maintaining his course in a straight line. This danger was soon appreciated by the pursuers; for, whenever they altered their course, Ganza altered his, to head them off by getting directly in their way. "Ah," said Mr. Cumberford, grimly, "this interests me." "It interests us all," observed Steve, dryly. "The big boat is like a rock in our path." Orissa looked at her brother inquiringly. "How shall I steer?" she asked. "We shall have to circle around them, to keep out of their way. They think that they will beat us, and they may; but I'm not sure of it--as yet." "Is it best to argue the point, Steve?" asked Chesty. "I really think our salvation depends on our getting to the yacht first," was the reply. For some time after this no one spoke. The engine, under Steve's skillful handling, was doing its utmost, with never a skip or protest of any sort. The man who was running the larger boat was also crowding his engines, urged thereto by his domineering master. The sea was ideal for the race and favored both boats alike. They continued the dodging tactics some time longer, the smaller boat being forced to the outside and unable to cut in ahead. "Confound it!" cried Steve, much chagrined, "here's the island, and they've got the inside track." "Yes; but something's wrong with them," remarked Mr. Cumberford. "They're slowing down." "By Jove, that's a fact!" cried Chesty, elated. Steve stood up and shaded his eyes with his hand. "Their engines have stopped," he said. "That's a streak of luck I hadn't banked on. Head in, Orissa. We're all right now, if they don't start again promptly." There was evident excitement on board the larger motor boat. Ramon kicked the new engineer away and himself took his place. The engine revolved, made a brief spurt--and stopped dead. Ramon made another attempt, while his boat bobbed placidly up and down on the waves. Meantime the launch, still keeping to its wide circle, rounded the point of rock and headed into the bay, where the _Salvador_ lay with her trim white sides glistening in the sunshine. "Quick!" cried Steve, as soon as he could be heard by those at the rail, "let down the ladder. They're after us!" "Who is it?" demanded Mr. Tupper, curiously; but Captain Krell marked the panic on the faces of those on board the launch and issued prompt orders. The aft davits were run down in a jiffy and Steve and Chesty hooked them to the launch, which was quickly raised with all on board and swung over the rail to the deck. There were a few tumbles and some scrambling to get out of the boat, but at that moment Ramon Ganza's big launch swept into the bay, and the Mexican, assured by one sharp glance that his clever plan to surprise the yacht was thwarted, shut down the engines and halted his craft while he examined the situation at his leisure. Madeline Dentry's superb yacht was indeed a prize worth winning. It was even worth running some risks to acquire. Ramon reflected that the _Salvador_ and her helpless crew were really at his mercy, for they were unable to float the ship and were at present securely imprisoned. He laughed rather maliciously at their vain opposition, and said to his lieutenant, the one-eyed man: "Very good, Francisco. Everything comes my way, you see. A little patience and the beautiful ship is ours, for it surely is wreck, and I justly claim all wrecks on my islands. There will be rum aboard, or at least plenty of liquors and wines. Champagne, perhaps. You shall have all the spirits for your drink if you back me up firmly in my demands." "What will you do, señor?" "Insist on taking possession of the ship, which, according to my law, is mine," he answered, with grim humor. "Perhaps they may object, in which case you will stand by your chief. But understand: you must use no knives or pistols; I can't afford to have murder added to the charges against me. If diplomacy fails, we will fight with our bare fists, in American fashion, and our numbers will suffice to conquer those insolent strangers who come here uninvited and then refuse to abide by my laws." He took from his pocket a note-book and with a fountain pen wrote upon one of the leaves as follows: "To my beloved Friends, the Americaños: Alas, your ship is hopeless wreck. I, the lord and ruler of these islands, behold the sad condition and with grief, for I must condemn the ship as wreck, which I do by right of Spanish Grant to me, from which is no appeal. With pain for your loss, I am obligated to confiscate the ship that before was yours, with all it contains, and to declare it is now mine. I demand that you deliver my property into my hands at once, in the name of law and justice, and I believe you will do so, because otherwise you will become the enemies of the kingdom of DON MIGUEL DEL BORGITIS, Rex." He tore out this leaf, folded it neatly and then boldly ran his launch to the side of the yacht. Francisco stuck the paper on the point of a boat-hook and standing on a seat thrust the epistle so far up the side that Captain Krell was able to lean over and grasp it. Then the launch returned to its former position, while the captain carried the note to Madeline. She read it aloud and their anxiety did not prevent the Americans from laughing heartily at the preposterous claim of this audacious Mexican refugee. "At the same time," said Miss Dentry, resuming her gravity, "our case appears to be somewhat serious. The man has unmasked and shown us clearly his intentions. He believes we can expect no succor from outside, and in that he is quite correct. Only by our own efforts and the exercise of our wits may we hope to circumvent his intentions and retain our freedom and our property." CHAPTER XX BESIEGED Disregarding the lordly disposal of the yacht and its contents so coolly outlined by Señor Ramon Ganza, those aboard the _Salvador_ began to face the probability of a siege. They all gathered aft, where, shielded by the bulwarks from the view of the Mexicans, they could converse at leisure and with safety. At Madeline's suggestion, every member of the crew, seven in number, was present while the details of their visit to the larger island were related by his principals. The character of the lordly islander, and his history as gleaned from Pietro and Chica, were likewise canvassed, and his evident intention to add the strangers to his band of cowed subjects was impressed upon the entire company in a most forcible manner. "It would have been serious, indeed," continued Madeline, "had Ganza arrived here before us and found you unwarned and unarmed, for you could not have resisted his invasion. But his clever scheme was frustrated by an accident to the engines of his launch, and now we must bend our every energy to driving him away and making our escape from this dreadful island." "We don't know yet, of course, how that can be done," added Mr. Radley-Todd, reflectively; "but there's no hurry about deciding it. We are pretty well provisioned for a siege, and Steve and I captured from the enemy and brought with us nine rifles, half a dozen revolvers, and some ammunition." "We have also a small supply of arms and ammunition in the storeroom of the yacht," said Captain Krell. "The former owner was something of a sportsman, and I think you will find the guns to be shotguns." "All the better," said Chesty. "These fellows may decide to board us, in which case the shotguns, at short range, will scatter their loads and do fearful execution. Get 'em up, Captain. Let's have on deck, where it's handy, every offensive and defensive weapon aboard." "I don't want any shooting," protested Madeline; "I'd rather give them the yacht." "We won't need to shoot," returned Steve. "A big bluff is all that is necessary." The entire company now understood the importance of a successful resistance, and aside from the fact that Mrs. Tupper had violent hysterics, which lasted several hours and nearly caused her devoted husband to jump overboard, the situation was accepted by all with philosophical composure. A definite plan to guard the deck and prevent the foe from scaling the sides was adopted and each man given his position and instructed what to do. As they were dealing with a desperate and unscrupulous man, a self-constituted autocrat in this practically unknown group of islands, they realized the wisdom of being constantly alert; so all the men, passengers and crew alike, were divided into watches during every hour of day and night, and those not on duty slept in their clothing that they might respond instantly to any call to action. The Mexican, however, proceeded very deliberately with the siege, believing his victims were trapped and unable to escape him. He withdrew for a time around the rocky point, where he disembarked ten of his fourteen men. With the other four he ran the launch to the mouth of the bay again and dropped anchor, evidently intending to block any egress by the boats of the yacht. That night, under cover of the darkness, for the moon was often obscured by shifting clouds, Ramon's men deployed among the rocks on both sides of the narrow channel, where they erected two miniature forts, or lookouts, by piling up the loose rocks. Behind each rock barrier some of the men were stationed, with instructions to watch every movement on the deck of the _Salvador_ and report to their master. The Mexicans were well protected by the rocks from the firearms of those on board, if the defenders resorted to their use, and because of the slant of the deck from fore to aft Ramon could himself command almost the entire deck as he sat in his launch. Realizing this disadvantage, Radley-Todd and O'Reilly, the engineer, crept down to the stern and by pushing the ends of their rifles through the hawser-holes were able to bring the launch under such direct fire that the outlaw decided that discretion was the better part of valor and withdrew his boat to a safer anchorage around the point, where he might still intercept the passage of any boat that ventured to come out. The next morning Francisco of the one eye and a comrade took the launch back to the other island for a store of provisions. When they returned, at noon, they brought the two men who had been left behind when the first expedition set out, and also one of the rowboats, which was allowed to trail behind the launch. With the Americans surrounded and on the defensive Ramon felt that he could safely remove his entire force from his home island and leave the place to the keeping of the women. If it came to a fight he would need every man he had. On that first day those on the yacht were alert and excited, but the marked composure on the part of their besiegers gradually quieted their fears of immediate violence. The decks were not really dangerous, although constantly under the observation of the men in the rock fortresses, so they ventured to use them freely. At one time, when Chesty Todd made a feint of landing on the shore, a group of Mexicans quickly gathered to prevent his leaving the ship, thus demonstrating their open enmity. "This won't do!" declared Steve, savagely, as he faced the company assembled around the cabin table that evening. "Those infernal bandits mean to keep us here till doomsday--or until we go crazy and surrender. They'll make our lives miserable unless we dislodge them from those rocks." "I prefer them there to having them attempt to scale the sides of our ship," returned Chesty. "A hand-to-hand fight would be far more serious." "Interesting, isn't it?" said Mr. Cumberford. "I don't think they care for a hand-to-hand fight," observed the captain. "Such fellows as this Ramon Ganza are always cowards." "I don't know about that," said Madeline. "He has faced all the men he brought here and in spite of their numbers and their hatred of him has cowed them, every one, single-handed." "Ramon is not a coward," the child Chica declared very positively. "He is bad; yes. But not a coward." "He has sixteen men--with himself, seventeen--and we have but eleven," said Steve. "However, the advantage is with us, because the yacht is a fort." "You spoke a moment ago of dislodging them," remarked Radley-Todd. "Can't we manage to do that, Steve?" "How?" "If we could make some bombs," suggested the press-agent, slowly, "and hurl them among those rocks, I've an idea we could drive them away." Steve was thoughtful a moment. "We'd need nitro-glycerine for that," said he. "I suppose there's none aboard, Captain Krell?" The captain shook his head. "Plenty nitro-glycerine at big islan'," announced Pietro. "Ramon use it to blast rock." "Ah, but that's a good way off," declared Steve. Chesty drummed on the table, musingly. "If Pietro will go with me," he said presently, "I'll get you the nitro-glycerine." "You're crazy, man!" "Not quite," said Chesty, with a smile. "Every man belonging to Ramon's band is now here. I'm not afraid of the women he has left back there." "But how will you get there--swim?" "We'll take the launch, Pietro and I, and run the blockade at dead of night." "No," said Madeline, with decision, "I can't allow that. It would be too dangerous an undertaking. You might be captured." "I don't think so. If we are discovered, your launch can outrun theirs and I'll lead them a merry chase and come back again. What do you say, Pietro?" "Who? Me, Señor? Why, Ramon my enemy now. So I go with you." "You needn't fear Ramon, Pietro," said Madeline, gently. "We shall manage in some way to get you safely back to Mexico." The man's expression was stolid and unbelieving. "Perhaps he doesn't dare go back to Mexico," said Sybil. "Oh, yes;" replied Pietro. "I not 'fraid of Mexico. I smuggle, sometimes, before Ramon get me; but they forget all that by now. It is Ramon I fear. He is very bad man, as little Chica say. Always he wins, never he loses, in what he tries to do. For me, I have disobey an' defy him, so Ramon he whip me sure, when he catch me, an' when Ramon whip it is as bad as to die." It was impossible to overcome this stubborn belief in Ramon's omnipotence and they did not argue with the man further. But Orissa, who had been thoughtfully listening to the conversation, now said: "I do not like the plan of bringing nitro-glycerine here, even if Chesty could succeed in getting it. The stuff would be dangerous to us and to our enemies, for a slight accident would explode it or careless handling might blow us all to eternity. But, admitting you made the bombs, without accident to any of our party, what would be the result of exploding them among those little rock forts yonder? Wouldn't the rocks scatter in every direction and bombard us and the ship, perhaps causing damage that would be fatal to our hopes of escape?" "Orissa is quite right," said Mr. Cumberford, decisively. "We must abandon the idea at once." "I know it appears a desperate measure," admitted Radley-Todd, "but something must be done, both to drive away our enemies and get the _Salvador_ afloat again. Cut the explosives, and what remains for us to do?" "Make a sortie and drive them away from here," replied Cumberford. "I'm a little old for a pitched battle or guerrilla warfare, but this extraordinary Mexican--er--er--interests me. I'm willing to have it out with him here and now." "One white man is worth six Mexicans," declared Captain Krell, belligerently. "Won't do at all," asserted Steve. "We can't afford to take the chances of defeat, gentlemen, while we have these girls in our care. The ship is a fort that is almost impregnable, and we mustn't leave it for an instant--under any circumstances." CHAPTER XXI CAPTURING AN AËROPLANE As they sat with downcast countenances, reflecting upon their uncomfortable position, Orissa said quietly: "I've thought of something to relieve us. The idea came to me when Chesty insisted our launch could run the blockade." "Speak out, Ris," exclaimed Steve. "Your ideas are pretty good ones, as a rule. What's the proposition?" "Why, we all seem to have forgotten the Hy." "The Hydro-Aircraft?" "Yes. It is lying quite safe, and in apple-pie order, in the little ravine at the foot of the bluff where we camped." "But it is minus its plane-cloths," added Sybil. "Our tent is still standing, for I saw it from deck only an hour ago." "It won't take long to attach the plane-cloths," said Steve, "provided those brigands will let us do it. It's rather odd they haven't taken the trouble to capture the Aircraft already. It would be easy for Ramon to declare it 'wreck.'" "What would be the use?" asked Madeline. "They could not fly it, even if they knew how to put it in order; and, as they imagine we cannot get to it, they are not worrying about the thing. Of course they are able to see that tent on the bluff as easily as we can, and by and by they will go there and capture whatever the girls left." "True. That is why we must lose no unnecessary time," observed Orissa. "I do not yet see what the proposition is," asserted Chesty, in a puzzled tone. "I know what Orissa means," returned Steve quickly. "There's plenty of gasoline on board--I think nearly a barrel--intended for the use of the launch. If I could get to the Aircraft and fill its tanks with gasoline no one could prevent my flying home, where I could get a ship and men to come to our rescue." "That interests me; it does, really!" said Mr. Cumberford. "It's so easy and practical I wonder none of us thought of it before." "I've had the possibilities in mind for some time," declared Orissa, "but I had no idea we could get to the Aircraft until Chesty proposed running the blockade in our launch." "It's a fine idea," said Chesty, with enthusiasm. "I mean both our ideas--the combination, Orissa." "I believe it will solve all our difficulties," added Madeline, confidently. "But will not this journey be a hazardous one for Mr. Kane to undertake?" "I think not," replied Orissa. "The same amount of gasoline that brought Sybil and me to this place will carry the machine back again, and Steve can go more directly than we came, for he knows exactly how to head." "Then!" said Chesty Todd, "the plan is this: We'll put enough gasoline in cans to fill the tanks of the aëroplane, load 'em into the launch, and to-night Steve and I will sneak out of this inlet, slip past the Mexican's launch and hie us to that ravine of yours. Is there room enough for our boat to enter the bay you described, or is that big rock too close to shore to let us pass?" "There will be just about room for you to pass in, I think," answered Orissa. "But the big launch couldn't do it?" "Ramon's? No, indeed." "Very good." "Who will fly with me to San Diego?" asked Steve. "The Aircraft carries two, you know. One of the women ought to go. I wish we could carry them all away from this dangerous place." "Let them draw cuts for it," suggested Chesty. "You can let me out," said Sybil; "I won't leave Daddy." "Nonsense!" cried her father. "Then I'm nonsensical," laughed Sybil, "for I won't budge an inch without you. That wicked Mexican might capture you in a jiffy if I wasn't here to look after you. Not a word, sir; the thing is settled, as far as I am concerned." "I cannot go, of course," said Madeline. "This is my yacht and I must stand by it, and by my men, to the last. Nor could I with courtesy escape and leave my guests in danger." "Then it shall be Mrs. Tupper," proposed Orissa. "Me? Me? Goodness sakes, child," cried Mrs. Tupper, in great alarm, "do you think I'd risk my life in that dreadful airship?" "You'll risk it by staying," suggested her husband. "But there's a chance of salvation here," asserted the lady, with nervous haste. "I'd get light-headed and tumble out of that aëroplane in two minutes. And they'd hear me yell from Japan to San Francisco, I'd be so scared. I can stand death, Mr. Tupper, with Christian fortitude; but not torture!" "Orissa?" said Steve, inquiringly. "Yes; I'll go. I may be of more assistance to you all by going than by staying. And I will run the machine, Steve, and take you as a passenger. I've tinkered that steering-gear until I know just how to manage it." Steve nodded. "As I understand it, Miss Dentry," said he, "my mission will be to charter a fast steamship, for which Mr. Cumberford and I will pay, and bring it here to drag the _Salvador_ off this beach. The crew, which I will see is well armed, will work in conjunction with yours and when we outnumber Ramon Ganza's band of rascals he will probably run away to his den without attempting to fight." "Ramon never run," protested Pietro, shaking his head. "You cannot scare Ramon. The more men you bring, the more he has to fight; that is all." This gloomy prophecy made them look grave for a time. "Our Pietro is a pessimist," said Chesty, with assumed cheerfulness. "But some day the Mexican government will find this invincible hero and send a warship to blow his island out of the water." "Why--yes!" exclaimed Madeline, with sudden inspiration; "the Mexican government is interested in this affair. Why not fly to the nearest point on the Mexican coast, Mr. Kane, and from there telegraph President Madero? I believe he would send a warship at once, both to capture Ramon Ganza and to rescue us from his clutches." "Um-m. Madero has his hands full, just now, putting down revolutions at home," Mr. Cumberford reminded her. "And maybe he isn't interested in Ganza, who was convicted of a felony under the régime of Diaz." "I can try him, anyhow," said Steve. "The Mexican coast is about fifty miles nearer than San Diego." "Madero has offer one thousan' dollar--Mexican--for capture of Ramon," said Pietro, proudly. "So much money shows Ramon is great man." "In that case you'd better give Madero a chance at him, Steve," decided Mr. Cumberford. "A man-o'-war would be more effective here than a trading ship, and in the interests of humanity we should put an end to this fellow's cruel tyranny for good and all. He's far better off in jail." After some further discussion this plan was finally decided on and preparations were begun for the adventure. During the afternoon the cans of gasoline were placed in the launch and Steve went over the machinery of the little boat with great care, to assure himself it was in perfect order. The nights were never really dark until toward morning, when the stars seemed to dim and the moon dipped below the horizon. Sometimes there were a few drifting clouds, but they never obscured the sky long enough to be utilized as a mask. So Steve decided to make his attempt at the dark hour preceding dawn and made Orissa go to bed and get what sleep she could. She said her good-byes to the others then, so it would not be necessary to disturb them at the time of departure. At three o'clock her brother called her and told her to get ready. Chesty and Steve were seated in the launch when the girl arrived on deck, and she quickly took her place. While it was much darker than it had been earlier in the night, Orissa found she could see near-by objects quite distinctly. Four of the crew, headed by Captain Krell, were standing by to lower the launch over the side, and as the owls were hooting their most dismal chorus their screams drowned any noise made by the windlass. No sooner had the launch touched the surface than Chesty dipped his scull in the water and with a dexterous motion sent the little craft forward toward the mouth of the inlet. They might have been seen from the shore had the Mexicans been alert, but at this hour many who were supposed to be watching had fallen asleep, and if any remained awake their eyes were not turned upon the waters of the tiny bay. Quite noiselessly the launch moved on and presently turned the point of rock at the right. Orissa stifled a cry and Steve's heart gave a bound as the bow of the launch pointed straight at the big boat of Ramon, scarcely ten feet distant; but Chesty saw the danger, too, and a sharp swing of the scull sent the light craft spinning around so that it just grazed the side of the Mexican's boat, in which all the occupants were fast asleep. Next moment they had passed it, and still Chesty continued sculling, as it was not safe as yet to start the engines. But when they had skirted the shore for such a distance that the screeching of the owls would be likely to drown the noise of their motor, Steve started the machinery and the launch darted away at full speed. Half an hour later they crept between the big rock and the bluff and were safe in the deep hollow at the foot of the ravine, having accomplished the adventure so easily that they marvelled at their own success. "Strikes me as a good omen," remarked Orissa, cheerfully, as they disembarked and drew the launch upon the sands. "I hope the luck will follow you on your return, Chesty." "Me?" replied the big boy. "Why, nothing ever happens to me. Let us hope the good luck will follow you and Steve, on whom the safety of the entire party now depends. What first, Steve? "The tent. We must get that down before daybreak, so they won't see us working on it from the bay, and interfere with our proposed flight." Orissa led the way to the bluff and at once Steve and Chesty began tumbling the rocks from the edges of the canvas. This was no light task, for the girls had erected a solid parapet in order to defy the wind; but just as the first streaks of dawn appeared the tent came down and they hastily seized the canvas, added it to the covering of the upper plane, which had been inside the tent, and lugged it all down the incline to where the frame of the Aircraft lay. "Very good," said Steve. "We'll need the daylight now, in order to attach the cloth." They had not long to wait, and while Steve, assisted by Radley-Todd, fastened the cloth in place with the clips provided for that purpose, which Orissa had carefully saved, the girl herself inspected the machinery and all the framework, even to the last brace, to be sure it was in condition for the long trip. She also oiled the steering gear and thoroughly tested it to see that it worked freely. By nine o'clock the planes were tautly spread and the tanks had been filled with gasoline. "I think we are all ready for the start," said Steve. "But how about you, Chesty? As soon as we roll the Aircraft to the top of the bluff the Mexicans will see us and start for this place to try to intercept us. Orissa and I will be gone, when they arrive; but they may find you, unless you make tracks." "How do you expect to regain the ship?" asked Orissa, who had not considered this matter before. "Don't worry about me, I beg of you," retorted the boy, hastily. "I shall be all right. All ready, Steve?" Steve looked at him thoughtfully. "I think that when they see us fly away they may give up the idea of coming here," said he; "and, in that case, you'd better lie here in the ravine until night, when you can try to steal back in the same way we came." "All right, old man; never mind me." "But we _do_ mind you, Chesty," said Orissa, earnestly. "You've been a faithful friend ever since we got into this difficulty--and before, too--so we can't have anything happen to you." He blushed like a girl, but declared he would be perfectly safe. "Don't take any foolish chances," urged Orissa. "I won't." They rolled the Aircraft up to the top of the bluff and set it with the head facing the sea. Then Steve and Orissa took their places and Chesty, giving them each a hearty handclasp, spun the propeller blade as Steve started the engine. At once the aëroplane darted forward, rose as it passed the bluff, and sailed gracefully into the air. Chesty hid his six-feet-three behind a boulder, to shield himself from observation, while he watched the splendid machine turn upon its course and speed away over the Pacific on its errand of rescue. Then, with a sigh of relief and elation, the boy crept into the ravine and descended to where his boat lay. Seated in the launch, calmly awaiting him, were three of the Mexicans, headed by the one-eyed Francisco. CHAPTER XXII RAMON GANZA When Madeline came on deck, soon after daybreak, Captain Krell reported the successful departure of the launch. "Are you sure they were not seen?" she asked. "Quite sure, Miss Dentry, for we heard not a sound, either from our party or from the besiegers, although we listened intently." Long before Steve could have prepared the aëroplane for the journey those on board the yacht were gazing expectantly at the bluff. The tent had disappeared, which was proof that the undertaking had so far been successful. At this time there seemed to be a little stir among the Mexicans and Mr. Cumberford suggested, rather nervously, that they also had noticed the absence of the tent, without understanding what could have become of it. At half-past eight they heard the sound of the engines of Ramon's big launch, and that made them worry more than ever until Sybil suddenly cried: "There they are!" Upon the distant bluff appeared the Aircraft. A little cheer, which none could restrain, went up from the deck of the yacht. There was no delay. Scarcely was the machine in position when it mounted into the air and headed directly toward the east. Every eye watched it eagerly until it had become a dim speck against the blue sky and finally disappeared from view altogether, flying steadily and with a speed that raised their hopes to the highest pitch. Then, with one accord, they returned to the cabin to discuss the chances of Radley-Todd's getting back to them safely with the launch. "I don't worry much about that young man," said Cumberford. "He's as full of resources as a pincushion is of sawdust, and I'll bet my hat we shall soon see him again, safe and sound." The captain now entered with an anxious face. "That confounded Mexican king is signaling us with a flag of truce," he reported. "What, Ramon?" exclaimed Madeline. "Yes. What shall we do?" "Stay here, Miss Dentry," said Cumberford, rising. "I'll go and see what the fellow wants." "I will go with you," returned Madeline, quietly. "I wish you would not." "Why?" she asked. "If he bears a flag of truce there is no danger." "I do not believe he would respect a flag of truce--nor anything else," asserted Mr. Cumberford. "Do you, Captain?" "No, sir. He's tricky and unreliable. Don't trust him for a moment." But Madeline would not be denied. She accompanied the captain and Mr. Cumberford to the deck. Just beside the yacht floated the little rowboat which had been brought from Ramon's island, and in it sat Ramon himself, all alone, holding aloft a handkerchief attached as a flag to a boat-hook. As they peered over the side at him he bowed profoundly and removed his hat to Miss Dentry. He was still clothed in his white flannels and his fingers glittered with jewels. "What do you want?" demanded Mr. Cumberford sharply. "The pleasure of conversing with you, señor," was the confident reply. "If you will kindly let down your ladder I will come on board. You see, myself I place in your power. We have, I much regret, some slight misunderstanding between us, which a few words will assuredly correct." "Don't let him up, sir," advised Captain Krell, in a low voice. "But he is unarmed," said Madeline. "I think it will be best to confer with him." "Then do it from a distance," grumbled the captain. "Sir," called Mr. Cumberford, "if you have any apologies to make, you may speak from where you are." "Then, alas, my overtures of peace are refused?" said Ramon, not defiantly, but in a tone of deep regret. "No; we don't refuse any sincere overtures of peace; but you have treated us in a scoundrelly manner, and we don't trust you." "Such a terrible mistake, señor; so sad! But I cannot explain it from here. With utmost trust in your honor I offer to come to you alone, and--see!--unarmed. Will not you, for the sake of the ladies who are with you, encourage my friendliness?" "Let him come up," said Madeline again. There seemed a veiled threat in Ramon's appeal. "Very well. But tell your men to watch his every movement, Captain, and if he makes a treacherous move shoot him down without hesitation." The rope ladder was cast over the side and Ramon promptly seized it and climbed to the deck. "Follow us below," commanded Mr. Cumberford, turning toward the cabin. The man hesitated, casting a shrewd, quick glance around. Then he bowed again and said: "I thank the señor for his courtesy." In the cabin were assembled Mr. and Mrs. Tupper and Sybil Cumberford. Chica and Pietro discreetly kept out of view. Mr. Cumberford entered first, followed by Madeline. Then came Ramon Ganza and behind him the captain and little O'Reilly, the Irish engineer. This last personage was virtually "armed to the teeth," for he carried one of Ramon's own rifles and a brace of revolvers. "Be seated," said Mr. Cumberford, pointing to a chair. "And now, sir, state your errand." Ganza's comprehensive glance had taken in every member of the party, as well as the luxurious furnishings of the _Salvador's_ cabin, which seemed to please his aesthetic taste. "I ask to be inform, being in ignorance, if three people may ride in one flying-machine," he blandly announced, looking from one face to another as if uncertain whom to address. "Three?" asked Cumberford, as if puzzled. "Yes. I see that one young lady and two men are missing from your party." "I suppose three can ride, if need be," muttered Cumberford. "Is your mission here to gain information concerning aëroplanes?" "Only in part, señor." The Mexican's features had hitherto been composed and smiling, despite the stern and mistrustful looks he encountered on all sides. But now, perhaps understanding that these Americans were not easily to be cajoled, his own face grew somber and lowering and he said in a sharp, incisive manner: "You prefer to discuss business only?" "We do, sir," was the reply, Mr. Cumberford continuing to act as spokesman. "Very nice. I have a wish to invite you all to my island, where you shall be my respected guests. My mansion shall be at your service; my servants shall obey your commands; you shall delight in the grand scenery and enjoy yourselves as you will." "Thank you; we decline your hospitality." "But I fear in that you make bad mistake, señor," continued Ramon Ganza, unabashed by the rebuff. "My island is a pleasant place, and where else can you find so much happiness when my ship, which you now inhabit, is destroyed?" "Oh; that's the idea, is it?" exclaimed Mr. Cumberford. "You interest me, sir; you do, really. Perhaps you will state how you intend to destroy our ship, which is not, permit me to say, your ship as yet." "Is it necessary to say more?" asked the Mexican, spreading out his jewelled hands with a deprecating gesture. "I think it will enable us to understand you better." As if in deep thought, Ganza drummed upon the cabin table with his fingers. "I am very sad at your refusal to be my guests," he said after a time. "This, my ship, is in a most dangerous position. It is half out of water, on an island that is a bleak rock. I come here from the island where I reside to befriend you--to offer you my humble hospitality--when I have taken possession of the wreck--and in your blindness--do you call it fatuity?--you receive me as an enemy. Some of your people chase my boat, as if I have no right to sail the seas of my own islands! Yet I am not resentful; not at all. I enjoy some humor and I am good man, with much respectability. When your ship catches on fire, as it will probably do very soon, you must escape to these bare rocks, where you can find no assistance, no food to keep you alive. Then perhaps you will feel more kindly toward poor Don Miguel del Borgitis--your humble servant--and find willingness to accept his beautiful home as your own. But why wait for fire to drive you to death most terrible or to my great hospitality? Is it not the best to accept my offer, and so save yourselves from--inconvenience?" Beneath the smooth words the ugly threat was so visible that even brave Madeline paled, and Mr. Tupper shuddered vigorously. But Mr. Cumberford, gazing critically into the man's face, replied: "I see. Interesting; very. You want to save this yacht. You would like to drag it afloat and carry it away to your own island, where we, accepting your hospitality, would become your prisoners. But if we refuse to surrender the ship, you say you will set fire to it, in which case you would burn us up or force us to land. If we land, you will capture us and force us to become your unwilling subjects. Is that a clear understanding of your statement, Ramon Ganza?" The outlaw gave a start as he heard his true name mentioned, but quickly recovered his assurance. "The señor is very intelligent," he said. "At any rate, the señor is not demented," retorted Cumberford, grimly. "Why did you venture to place yourself in our power, Ramon Ganza, and then threaten us as you have done?" "I came under flag of truce." "And you think, on that account, we will let you go again, to carry out your cowardly designs?" "I am certain of that. Before I came I took care to protect myself." "In what way?" He looked at his watch, a huge jewelled affair. "Underneath your ship," said he quietly, "is anchored a mine of very much power. It lies under that part which is in the water--I think just below the place where we now sit. If I do not depart from here in safety within fifty minutes from now, my men will kindly explode this mine and blow us all to--well, where we go. The poor ship, alas, will be destroyed with us." "Would your men execute such an absurd order?" asked Cumberford sneeringly. "With much satisfaction. You see, it would make them free. They do not love me very much. If I die, they will have my beloved island and all my possessions--so they think." "And you would be willing to forfeit your life as the alternative of not getting control of this yacht? Do you expect us to believe that?" The outlaw's glittering fingers drummed upon the table again. "The señor is not so wholly intelligent as I believed," said he. "I do not contradict his statement that he is not--eh--what you call it?--demented, or a fool; but the statement seems open to suspicion." "Ah; that interests me." "It ought to. You seem to know my name, señor; therefore you doubtless know my history. Pietro will have told you, or Chica, for both are now with you. My safety has depended on my keeping hidden upon my island. I must not let any who has seen me there, and recognized Ramon Ganza, depart to carry the tale to the mainland. In Mexico a price is set upon my head and they have condemned me to years in prison. But--there! I assure you all that I am good man, and honest; but my enemies have conspired to destroy me. "As Don Miguel del Borgitis I have lived very respectable until, unfortunately for us all, you came here. I knew two girls had been wreck on this island in a flying-machine--a very strange and exciting invention, is it not?--but I did not disturb them nor allow them to become aware of my existence. Why? All I wish is safety. When some of you people, after this yacht is driven ashore in storm, intrude on me by coming to my hiding-place, I was obliged to protect myself. I started to come here to get every one on board and invite them to my island--where I meant to keep you all indefinitely, for I did not dare allow you to return to America and say where you had found Ramon Ganza. This yacht I could use to advantage, I admit; but I would be better pleased had I never seen it--nor you. "Almost at once you are my enemies, and defy my laws. That did not change my plans except to make them harder. In this unknown island I am really king. I must conquer you, which I thought with good reason I could easily accomplish in time. So I make siege to your boat, laughing to think you cannot escape me. But one man cannot comprehend all things, señor, and I failed to consider that devilish contrivance, your flying-machine. I thought it was wreck, and no good any more. Some time last night three of your party get away and go to flying-machine, and this morning some of them--one, two, three; it does not matter--have fly away in it. Of course they will go to the mainland. That means they send assistance to you. They float your ship, take you back to America and you all have knowledge where Ramon Ganza may be found by those that seek his capture. Now you understand me, do you not? You have make it very unpleasant for me. If I escape from my island in little boat, where can I got? If I stay I will be arrest and carried to Mexico to be put in prison. Very well; I must escape. But not in my launch, which is old and not very good. I must have this yacht, which will carry me to any far part of the world, where Mexico is not known. Perhaps in it I could be privateer, if that seemed best way to protect my liberty--which is dearer to me than life. With this yacht I could defy all enemies; without it--I face death, or at least ruin. You have driven me to this desperation, so I come to make you my proposition. Now that I have explained all with much frankness, you will understand I mean what I say, for I am talking for my liberty--the liberty of a man who would soon die in confinement, for I am used to the open and could not exist as a convicted felon, in chains and abused by dogs of jailers. For your party I have no especial enmity; neither do I care for you the snap of my fingers. But believe this: Either I will save myself in this yacht, as I have proposed, or I will die in your company." CHAPTER XXIII A DESPERATE ALTERNATIVE Ramon Ganza had spoken slowly and with deliberation, choosing his words with care. His story seemed plausible, except where it referred to the planting of the mine, which he claimed to be the last resort of a man so desperately situated. Some of his hearers were quite convinced of his sincerity in making this statement, but Mr. Cumberford was not among them. He remembered Chica's artless statement: "Ramon lies; he always lies," and it confirmed his skepticism. "As I understand you," he made answer, after a little thought, "you consider your retreat no longer safe because we have discovered it. Therefore, on obtaining possession of this yacht, you propose to sail to parts unknown, leaving us stranded on this rocky island." "From whence you will soon be rescued," added the outlaw, with a bow. "The siege which you had planned, in order to force us to surrender through starvation, is no longer practical; for time presses and if you delay you will be surprised by the ship sent to rescue us--perhaps a Mexican man-o'-war." The man nodded, watching the speaker's face with an eagerness he could not dissemble. "For which reason," continued Mr. Cumberford, "you decided to force a climax by coming on board and threatening us--as you have done. Well, we intend to force your alternative, Ramon Ganza. You are our prisoner, and if your men blow up this yacht you shall go to eternity with us!" The Mexican's face grew rigid a moment. Then he smiled in a sardonic way and shrugged his shoulders. But Mr. Tupper, white and trembling as with an ague, leaped to his feet and cried: "In heaven's name, Cumberford, what do you mean? Would you destroy us all in this heartless fashion?" "No. There is no mine; or, if there is, it will not explode." "I--I differ with you. This--er--person--is desperate. He--he knows what he's talking about. I refuse to ta-ta-take the chances, sir! I must consider the safety of my wife and myself, and of our niece, Miss Dentry. This is our yacht, Cumberford, not yours, I beg to remind you, and we shall decide this important question ourselves." Even before he ceased speaking Mrs. Tupper, whose eyes had been wild and staring, uttered a piercing shriek and tumbled to the floor of the cabin in violent hysterics. Sybil and Madeline rushed to her assistance and this confusion further unnerved Mr. Tupper. With sudden energy he pounded his fist upon the table and cried: "I won't allow it! I won't allow this sacrifice. Madeline is rich; what does she care for this miserable yacht? Take it, you Mexican thief, if you want it! Our lives are far too precious to be put in peril." Ramon Ganza's face showed his satisfaction but his eyes expressed nothing but contempt for the terrified Mr. Tupper. Mr. Cumberford sat calmly regarding the contortions of the afflicted lady, as if wondering how much was involuntary and how much pure perversity. The captain twirled his thumbs and seemed absolutely unconcerned, while little O'Reilly's attention was fixed, in keen amusement, on the scene before him, as if it were a vaudeville act performed for his especial edification. As Mrs. Tupper continued to pound the floor with her heels Madeline first emptied the water pitcher over her aunt and then slyly pinched her, which torture may have been responsible for some of the frantic screams. Mr. Tupper bowed his head despairingly on the cabin table, in an attitude so pitiable that it should have aroused the sympathy of all beholders, as he intended it to do. But meanwhile his good wife gradually recovered; her screams subsided to heart-rending wails and then to moans, after which she became quiet except for a series of nervous sobs. Madeline and Sybil now raised the poor woman and supported her to her stateroom, where she fell exhausted upon the berth. It was not until the girls returned to the cabin that the discussion of Ramon Ganza's proposition was renewed. Miss Dentry gave him a searching look as she entered and noted the outlaw's smirk of satisfaction and the triumphant glitter of the dark eyes beneath their half closed lids. Then her own expression hardened and she turned to Mr. Cumberford, as if inviting him to proceed. "Madeline," implored Mr. Tupper, "be good enough to assure this man--Mr.--Mr.--eh--Ganza--that the yacht, which is your property, is at his disposal in return for our--safety." "The yacht is really Miss Dentry's property," added Mr. Cumberford coolly. "She will dispose of it as she thinks fit." [Illustration: Madeline, seated at the table, studied the faces before her curiously, while an amused smile played around her lips. "We cannot accept our enemy's proposition," she announced.] Madeline, seated at the table, studied the faces before her curiously, while an amused smile played around her lips. She knew she was enjoying the scene, and also knew the moment was critical, but no fear of consequences caused her courageous heart to falter an instant. "We cannot accept our enemy's proposition," she announced. "Ramon Ganza is not the man to abide by any promises he makes, and if once we left the protection of this yacht we would probably be treated with little mercy. It would not save a single life, Uncle Martin, to agree to Ganza's proposal. Threatening and browbeating those weaker than himself seems to be the man's pet recreation and before he left the island he would leave us to our fate, virtual prisoners. It might be years before any ship chanced to sail this way." "I give you my pledge of honor to send word to your friends where you are," protested Ganza, eagerly. "As you have no honor, sir, your word has no value. But I have a counter-proposition to suggest which will, I think, satisfy all concerned. Order your men, Ramon Ganza, to lay down their arms and surrender themselves to our keeping and to obey us unreservedly. Then, under command of Captain Krell, all hands must attempt to get the yacht afloat in deep water. When that is accomplished we will take you with us back to the United States and secretly land you in any port you select. Afterward we will not betray you nor attempt to hunt you down. If you need money, I will even supply you with a small sum that will enable you to flee to Europe or South America. That is fair. It is more fair than you deserve. But, if you accept our terms, we will abide by them faithfully." The Mexican was intensely annoyed. "No!" he exclaimed, abruptly. "If you cannot trust me, why should I trust you?" "Because my plan is by far the better way," she rejoined. "If you seek liberty, if you desire to avoid arrest, this plan will surely accomplish your purpose. You cannot prefer prison to assured freedom, and the alternative, if you reject my plan, is simply to explode your mine." He drummed on the table again, rather nervously. "Pardon me, Miss Dentry," said Cumberford, "but you are proposing to aid and abet the escape of a condemned criminal. You will render yourself, and us, liable to punishment." "I know," she answered. "I despise myself for treating with this scoundrel, but do it to relieve the fears of the Tuppers and perhaps others aboard who have not yet protested. If I dared follow my own counsel I would defy him, as you have done." "My dear sir," said Mr. Tupper, looking at the Mexican beseechingly, "accept Miss Dentry's terms, I implore you. She will do exactly as she agrees; she always does!" "Puh!" muttered Ganza, uneasily shifting in his chair; "perhaps we can arrange. But the trust shall not be all on one side. If I trust you, you must trust me--to an extent--a few more details. Instead of giving you my men, you must give me yours, and place all weapons in my control. Also I will take command of this yacht, for I am good sailor. In an hour's time I will float the ship; then, with my men, I will sail it back to United States, to land your party on the coast near to some city which you can reach easily by walking. After that I will sail away in this yacht, which you will present to me in return for my services to you. You see, in this way you assure absolute safety to yourselves. As this wise and agreeable gentleman," indicating Mr. Tupper, "has with cleverness stated, the young lady is rich enough to afford the loss of her boat, so you can have no objection to my generous proposition." "None whatever!" exclaimed Mr. Tupper. "Agree, Madeline, agree!" "No," she said, shaking her head, "I will not. The man is not sincere, or he would not require us to place ourselves in his power." "But I insist, my dear. He--he seems quite honest. I--I----" "Be quiet, confound you!" roared Cumberford, losing patience. "You're a doddering old idiot, Tupper, and if you don't shut up I'll gag you." He turned to Ganza. "Miss Dentry's proposition still stands, and it's the final word. You'll either accept it--right now, on the spot--or take the consequences." "Already I have refuse," said the outlaw calmly. "Very well. O'Reilly, march this fellow to the cage, for'ard, and lock him in. Then stand guard before the door and shoot him if he bothers you." "Thank 'e, sor; it's proud I am to do that same," answered the engineer, gleefully. "One moment, please," said Ganza. "You make doubt of my saying that you all face a most horrible death. You are stupid Americans, and must be convinced. Come with me on deck and I will prove to you your danger." "No harm in that," replied Cumberford. "It's on your way to the cage." With one accord they all accompanied O'Reilly and his prisoner to the deck. "Now," said Ramon, standing by the rail, "I have some men hid in those rocks yonder. Their names are Paschal, Mateo, Gabrielle, Gomez, Francisco, Pedro, Gonzales, Juan and Tomas. Tell me which one I shall call--I care not which, myself--and the man will assure you my orders are positive to them, and that they will carry out the explosion of the mine as I have arranged, provided I do not return in safety." Cumberford was curious to learn the extent of the rogue's bravado. "Call Mateo," he suggested. The Mexican did so, raising his voice to utter the summons. From behind a pile of rocks nearly opposite them sprang a thin, gaunt man. He ran down to the water's edge, saluted his chief and stood at attention. "Come here, Mateo," commanded Ganza. Without hesitation the man waded into the inlet and swam to the rope ladder which dangled over the side. This he seized and climbed on deck, where, dripping with water, he again faced his master and saluted him. "Tell me, Mateo," said Ramon Ganza, "where is it, beneath this boat, that the mine has been planted?" "Fourteen feet from the stern, Capitan." "And is it powerful enough to destroy the ship?" "To make it in small pieces, Capitan--an' ten ship like it, if ten ship were here." "Very nice. You know what time the mine is to explode?" "At eleven o'clock, Capitan, unless you come ashore to countermand the order." "Ah yes; so it is. You may go back to your post, Mateo." The man, looking neither to right nor left, descended the ladder, swam to shore and retreated behind the rocks again. Ramon turned to Mr. Cumberford, showing the open face of his watch. "In five minutes it will be eleven o'clock," he quietly announced. "Take him to the cage, O'Reilly!" Two other armed men had joined the engineer on deck and the three now surrounded Ganza and started forward with him. "Mercy, Cumberford! Save us--save us!" howled Mr. Tupper, frantic with fear. "I can't die now--we ought none of us to die! Give him the launch. Give him the----" A cry interrupted him. Mason, the man nearest the rail, dropped his gun and staggered back with his hands clasped to his side, from which a stream of blood gushed forth. At the same moment the huge form of Ramon Ganza leaped the rail and dove headforemost into the water. But everyone else was more interested in the wounded man, who seemed to be badly hurt. Ramon Ganza was forgotten as the girls bent over the poor fellow with anxious looks. "Have Mason brought to my own cabin, at once," said Madeline to Captain Krell. They carried the wounded man below, to be placed in Madeline's roomy cabin. Mr. Cumberford was not a surgeon, but there was no one aboard who knew more of surgery than he and so he went to Mason's side at once. Ganza had struck the man with a knife of the stiletto type, the narrow blade of which had penetrated his side just above the hip joint. Mr. Cumberford's "first aid" outfit, which the captain was able to supply, enabled him to stop the bleeding, but he was unable to tell how serious the injury might prove. The man was in considerable pain, which Cumberford partially relieved with a hypodermic injection of morphine. During this interesting period no one gave a thought to the escaped Mexican, but when nothing more could be done for his patient Cumberford left the girls to watch over him and walked into the cabin, where he found Mrs. Tupper sobbing as if in great grief while her husband sat in his favorite despairing attitude, his head bowed on his arms. "What's wrong?" demanded Cumberford, in surprise. "Wrong!" cried Tupper, lifting his head; "why, at any moment may come the crash of the explosion that will send us all to eternity. We--we can't escape it. It's inevitable!" Cumberford looked at his watch. "It's a quarter to twelve," he said. "The explosion was due at eleven." "But the Mexican brigand--the pirate chief--the----" "He has escaped, so there'll be no explosion at all. I believe he threatened to fire the ship; but he won't do that. Ganza's sole ambition is to capture this boat, so he can sail away from his countrymen, escape imprisonment, and perhaps become a really-truly pirate. Interesting, isn't it? Forget the explosion, Tupper; if you must worry, worry about our real danger." "What is that, sir? What is our real danger?" cried Madeline's uncle, springing to his feet in a new access of terror. "There'll be fighting, presently," predicted Mr. Cumberford. "Having failed in all else, the Mexican will find a way to board us--in the night, probably--and will try to slice us to goulash or pepper us with bullets, as opportunity decides." "Great heavens!" "To be sure. To avoid getting to those great heavens, where you don't belong, I advise you to arm yourself properly and be ready to repel the attack." Then Cumberford went on deck and found the captain. "How about Ramon Ganza?" he asked. "I think Ganza kept swimming and reached the shore, where his men dragged him to cover. The fellow seems to bear a charmed life." "That's bad," observed Cumberford, shaking his head regretfully. "I've an idea, Captain Krell, that unless we manage to capture Ramon Ganza during the next twenty-four hours, he will manage to capture us." "So soon?" asked the captain. "He won't dare to wait longer. There's help coming." "Well, sir, in that case----" The captain hesitated. "In that case it will be pleasanter and more satisfactory for us to capture Ganza," said Mr. Cumberford. "Interesting; isn't it?" "How can we do it?" asked Captain Krell. "I don't know," replied Cumberford. CHAPTER XXIV THE DIPLOMACY OF CHESTY TODD When Mr. H. Chesterton Radley-Todd discovered the one-eyed Francisco and his two comrades calmly seated in the _Salvador's_ launch, engaged in nonchalantly smoking their brown-paper cigarettes, he merely raised his eyebrows and continued down the slope. They had seen him as soon as he saw them and, confident in their superior numbers, awaited his advance with serenity. Chesty knew there was little chance of escape, and he knew the men knew he knew it. The launch was his sole resource, and the enemy had captured it. He might, perhaps, dodge behind the rocks on the mountain for an indefinite period, but they'd get him in the end, so such an undertaking was scarcely worth the exertion it required. Therefore, on he came, walking leisurely and picking his way deliberately down the incline until he stood beside the launch, which was still beached upon the shore of the little pocket-like bay. Then he drew out a silver case and, choosing a cigarette with solicitous care, turned to Francisco and said: "Will the señor favor me with a light?" The men grinned. They enjoyed the humor of the situation. Francisco, with a bow of mock deference, furnished the required light from his own cigarette. Chesty climbed into the launch, took a seat facing Francisco and remarked: "Fine day, señors." "Good to fly in air," nodded one of the men, with a laugh and a glance skyward. "Oh; did you see the machine fly? Pretty sight, wasn't it? And you boys saw it for nothing. In the United States we charge fifty cents to tickle the vision like that." Francisco looked at him, meditating. "Where they go?" he asked. "To Mexico, to ask President Madero for a battleship." The men exchanged significant glances. "For why, señor?" inquired one of them. "To come and get Ramon Ganza and clap him in prison. Perhaps hang him to one of those banana trees, on the bluff up there." The Mexicans looked their consternation. "If that is true," said Francisco, slowly, "then I may be capture an' put in prison, too." "I suppose so; because you belong to Ganza's gang and have probably broken the laws more than once." "I not murder," protested the man. "Ramon do that, I know; but not me. I very hones' an' good. But come," he added, throwing away his cigarette and rising. "We mus' go back. You are our prisoner, señor." Chesty did not move. He took the silver case from his pocket and offered it to the Mexicans. "Help yourselves, boys," he said. "There's no hurry. Let us sit here and have a little talk. When you get back to Ramon he'll be sure to keep you busy enough. This is a good time to rest." They hesitated a little, but took the cigarettes and lighted them. "I suppose," remarked Mr. Todd, leaning back with his arms clasped around his knees, "if I asked the warship to take Ganza, and let my friends--you are my friends, I suppose?" They all nodded, watching his face eagerly. "And let my friends escape--with me, in our yacht, the _Salvador_--they would do so without question. Madero knows me, and he usually does what I ask." "You know Madero?" asked Francisco, his back against the boat and his elbows resting on the gunwale, in a lounging attitude. "We are like twin brothers," asserted Chesty. "That is why he will send a warship to take Ramon Ganza and all his gang--except those who are my friends." They smoked a while in silence and Chesty noted that they now forbore meeting one another's eyes. "Ramon great man," said one, presently, as if to himself. "Ramon bad master; his people are dogs; but Ramon have his own way, an' nobody dare stop him." "Wrong, my friend," rejoined Mr. Todd. "Ramon is stopped right now. His time is up; his days are numbered. He has run the length of his rope. Presently he'll be confined in a dungeon, on bread-and-water, or breaking stone on the roads--in chains and very miserable. Poor Ramon. What a fool he was to break the law--which leads to breaking stones!" "Ramon very clever," suggested another man, but in a doubtful tone. "Cleverness has failed him this time," said Chesty. "Your leader is caught like a rat in a trap. If he could get hold of our yacht he'd skip out and save himself; but he can't do that in a thousand years." "An' why not, señor?" "We're too strong for him." They pondered this. "Ramon have sixteen men," said Francisco, presently. "You had 'leven; but one fly away, an' one--that is you, señor--is now capture. That make you nine. Nine to sixteen--an' Ramon to lead those sixteen!" "You didn't remain in school long enough to complete your education, Francisco," declared the prisoner, calmly. "In other words, you can't figure. Here's the real situation, and it's worth your while to study it: The yacht has a crew of seven--all splendid warriors. Then there's General Cumberford, a terrible fighter, and Major-General Tupper, who cries every night if he can't kill a man before he goes to bed--it makes him sleep better, you know--and the invincible Captain Krell, who once cut down a whole regiment with his own saber--chopped them into mince-meat by the hundreds, and was given a gold medal with his monogram engraved on it, to commemorate the event. That's an even ten defenders. And then there's myself. I won't say much about myself, but you might look me over carefully. It is possible that if I was aroused I might crush you three in my arms until your bones cracked like walnuts." They did look at him, and it seemed as if the big fellow might do it, exactly as he said. But Chesty continued, reassuringly: "However, I never injure my friends. I'm noted for that. Let's see; ten in our party, so far, wasn't it? Then there's that Red-beard--Pietro--who has been given a charm by one of our witch-women which will not only preserve his life but enable him to defeat all his enemies. Pietro desires to return to civilization, a free man, and we will allow him to do so." They were much impressed by this statement. Chesty's idea of the "witch-woman" was destined to prove his most forceful argument. "Pietro makes eleven," he continued, "and you three bring the number up to fourteen, which leaves Ramon but thirteen followers to be arrested with him--unlucky number, thirteen. Haven't you noticed it?" "You think we join you, then?" asked Francisco, curiously. "I'm sure of it. You are no longer afraid of Ramon, for his jig is up. You don't want to go to prison with him, because it is very disagreeable to break stone on the roads, I'm told, and in prison they deprive a man of even his cigarettes. I know you have been bad boys, all three of you, and until now the law has threatened you. But you have reformed. Remember, señors, you have reformed, and are now honest men. I will tell Madero, my friend the president, what honest men you are, and how you have helped to defy Ramon, the outlaw, and give him up to justice. Madero will then reward you, and you will live happy ever after." It was an enticing picture. The men looked grave and undecided. In their hearts they hated Ramon; but they also feared him. For years they had lived in daily terror of the tyrant who ruled them with an iron hand, who whipped a man brutally if he incurred his anger, who dominated them so utterly that they grovelled at his feet like the curs they were. If they could be sure of Ramon's downfall; if they could believe this big American boy, who was fully as powerful of frame as Ramon himself, then they would gladly desert the tyrant and save themselves by joining his enemies. It was only their inbred fear of Ramon and their confidence in his cleverness in defying justice, that made them hesitate. Chesty saw this. He racked his brain to find other arguments. "You have witch-women?" asked one of the men, in an awed tone. "Three of them, all very bewitching." "One has fly away." "Yes; to cast a spell over the captain of the Mexican battleship, and make him hurry. The two most powerful are still here on this island." "Then why they not use their witchcraft to push your ship into deep water!" inquired Francisco, his one eye flashing triumphantly. "Why the witch-women let Ramon make trouble for you? Eh? Tell me, señor." Chesty looked at the man reproachfully. "How stupid you are, Francisco. Must we not keep Ramon busy, to hold him here until the warship comes? Why do you suppose we came to this island at all, and ran our ship high on the beach, without hurting it in any way! Did we lay a trap for Ramon? Did we coax him to come and try to capture us, that we might prove he is a wicked law-breaker? We do not seem much afraid of your Ramon, do we? Am I frightened? Do I grow pale, and tremble? Here--feel my pulse--does my blood beat faster in my veins because Ramon Ganza, the trapped criminal, is waiting here to be captured, and thinks he is making us worry?" The two men exchanged a few sentences in Spanish. Francisco listened to them and nodded approvingly. "The case is this, señor," he announced, addressing Mr. Todd. "We would like to leave Ramon. We would like to join your ship an' go back to Mexico, an' have pardon. But Ramon is not trap yet. Ramon great man. Many time he escape. If we leave him, an' he then capture your ship, Ramon flog us with whip, which make great pain in us." "True, that might be the result if Ramon captures the ship; but he can't do that--not in a century of Sundays, which is a long time. And if you stay with Ramon you will surely be made prisoners when the warship comes, which will be in another day or two. You must make up your minds which is the most powerful--we and our witch-women, with the Mexican government and its warships to back us, or poor Ramon, who is caught in a trap. I like you, all three--but not too much. You are fine men--unless I am lying--and I would grieve to see you imprisoned with Ramon. But otherwise I do not care what you decide to do. Come with me and I will save you, just as I intend to save myself, from Ramon's anger. But if you stick to your old master I cannot say one good word for you when you face the Mexican authorities. Now I am tired talking. Make up your minds and let me know." He carelessly rose, lighted another cigarette and strolled down to the water's edge, where he stood with his back to them. The three rascals took advantage of the opportunity and argued among themselves for half an hour. "Señor!" called Francisco, who, as a trusted lieutenant of Ramon Ganza, was the more important of the three. Mr. Radley-Todd came back to the launch. "It is this way," explained Francisco. "We desire to be save, señor, but we have caution. We believe you speak true, but not yet have you conquer Ramon; not yet has the warship come to take him to prison. So we think of a way to be safe if Ramon win, an' safe if you win. It is but just to us, as honest men, that we do that way." Chesty smiled, really amused. "How childlike and bland you naughty, naughty men are!" he exclaimed. "But let me hear your clever plan to play both sides and win hands down." "When we find you escape from ship," began Francisco, "then Ramon think you have come here, for the tent is gone from the top of the bluff. So Ramon tell us to come here in big launch, to see what you do, an' he say capture you an' bring you back to him. When we get here we find this boat; but two fly away in air-machine, an' only one is left to capture. But Ramon not know if we come before the two fly away or not; he not know if we three, who come to capture, get capture ourselves. So that is what we mus' do. We get capture. You tie up our arms an' our legs an' put gag in our mouth. Then you put us in boat an' take us away to your ship. If Ramon stop us, we say we have been capture. If Ramon see you take us on your ship, he think we have fight hard an' been capture, an' he sorry but not mad. Then, if he take your ship, he set us free; if warship come an' capture Ramon, we safe on your ship an' be hones' men, like you say, an' get reward from Madero. Is it not good way, señor?" Chesty's sentiments wavered between indignation and admiration. Such a combination of low cunning, cowardice and absence of all shame he had never encountered in any being of human origin. But his cue was not to quarrel with the men at this time. It was enough to realize that instead of becoming a prisoner he was to carry his three captors, bound, to the ship, and so deprive Ramon of that many assistants. In the outlaw's big launch, which was anchored just outside the tiny bay in the open sea, were plenty of stout ropes. Francisco waded out and got a supply, and then he proceeded deftly to bind his two comrades, trussing their arms to their bodies and their legs together, so that they were helpless. The fellows grinned with delight at this experience, thinking how cleverly they were fooling Ramon Ganza, and when they were laid side by side on the beach Chesty stuck a lighted cigarette in the mouth of each, to afford them comfort and render them patient. Then Francisco bound his own legs and turned to Mr. Radley-Todd, who at once completed the operation and fastened Francisco's arms to his body--not too tightly, but in a very secure manner. When this was done the big boy breathed a sigh of contentment and set himself down beside his captives. "Now," said Francisco, "you mus' put us in big boat an' go back to ship with us." Chesty shook his head. "Not yet, old man," said he. "Not yet?" "No; I shall wait for night. It will be safe in the darkness." "Then you are 'fraid of Ramon?" "Not much. Just a little." The prisoners wriggled uneasily. "Listen, then, Señor American," observed Francisco. "If we not go before night, then release our bonds--make loose the ropes--so we will rest more easy. When night come you will again tie us up." Mr. Todd was unresponsive. "Too much trouble, Francisco," he remarked, with a yawn. "Why do the work twice?" "But--to lie here all day? San Sebastian, it is too horrible!" "Fortunes of war, my dear boy. Ramon might appear unexpectedly, you know. We made a bargain, to ensure your safety, and we're going to keep it." All three turned their heads to regard him with interest. There were sparks of glowering resentment in their dark eyes. Presently one of them said in humble tones: "With your kind permission, Señor Americaño, I think I will change my mind." "Certainly," replied Chesty; "do anything you please with your mind. It's yours, you know." "I think, then, señor, I will not be your prisoner--until night." "Don't think any such thing. It's wicked of you. Try to guide your thoughts into right channels. Make up your mind to be true to your bargain, because--you have to be." Francisco groaned. "All masters are cruel," he muttered. "This Americaño is as bad as Ramon!" "But he's going to preserve your liberty and keep you out of jail," Chesty reminded him. "And now, boys, try to sleep, for I'm going to take a little walk and stretch my legs." CHAPTER XXV SCUTTLED A modicum of truth had been included in Ramon Ganza's recital of falsehoods during his interview with those on board the yacht. The outlaw was really in a tight place and only by forcing, in some way, the capture of the yacht could he hope to escape in a manner at all agreeable to his requirements. By this time he was fully aware of the situation that confronted him. The flying-machine, if it encountered no accident, would reach the mainland and secure assistance for the stranded Americans. Perhaps it was true that President Madero would send a warship to capture him. Like most fugitive criminals, he had an exaggerated idea of his own importance. In any event he must abandon his island kingdom and seek another hiding place. His first intention--to make everyone of these intruders prisoners and subjects, so they could not betray him--was frustrated by the escape of the two in the aëroplane. It would be useless to capture the others when these two had already carried the news to the authorities who were seeking him. Two courses of procedure were, open to Ganza. One was hastily to outfit his sixty-foot launch and run it to the South Pacific in search of some other island that was uninhabited, taking with him enough men and women to start a new colony. The other was to capture the yacht, put his most cherished possessions on board and then make off in it before any help could arrive from the mainland. The first was by far the most sensible course, but the beauties of the _Salvador_ had so enraptured him and he was so well aware of the value a yacht would prove to him that he could not bring himself to abandon the idea of securing it until the last moment of grace had arrived. This led him to consider how much time remained to him in which to carry out his intentions. He figured that at least thirty-six hours must elapse before any ship could possibly arrive. It was unlikely that the messengers would find a ship prepared to sail at a moment's notice, and therefore three or four days might pass before he would be disturbed by any outside foe. Ramon had hoped to frighten the Americans into surrender and therefore had arranged the little drama so lately enacted; but the finale had disappointed him. There was no mine planted beneath the yacht, but he had instructed one of his men to answer to his call, no matter what name he cried out, and to make the statement to the Americans which he had so cleverly invented. He made a mistake in thinking the flag of truce would protect him, for these strangers were not so simple as he had believed; so he had been forced to attempt a desperate escape, which succeeded because it was so bold and unexpected. Recovering his breath as his white flannels dried upon the rocks, Ramon Ganza carefully considered his next move in the game. The yacht was a glorious prize. He must certainly have it for his own. The people on board seemed unequal to a successful defense. There might be half a dozen determined men among them, but the rest were women and cowards. He laughed as he recalled Mr. Tupper's terror at his threats. The outlaw decided to carry the ship by assault. A night attack would be best. As soon as Francisco returned with the launch he would call his men together and instruct them what to do. Being informed of every movement on the part of the besieged, Ganza was aware that three people had escaped in the small launch to the bluff where the flying-machine lay. As soon as he discovered that the tent was gone he had dispatched Francisco with two men to capture the three, or as many as he could find. When the aëroplane ascended Ganza watched it carefully and decided it contained but two people; therefore Francisco would find the other and presently return. But Francisco failed to put in an appearance, to his master's great annoyance. That old tub of a launch was precious to him, for if all else failed he must use it to make good his escape. Also he needed the three men to assist in boarding the yacht in the night attack. His men were unarmed, while the yacht's crew seemed well provided with weapons of defense. As the day wore on he considered sending the rowboat to search for Francisco's party, but decided not to risk it. Of course Francisco would come, in time; doubtless he was delayed because he experienced difficulty in capturing his man. Evening came, but no Francisco. Ramon Ganza was perplexed; he was even somewhat troubled. He must defer the attack until the launch arrived, for he intended to use it to carry his men to the side of the yacht. His plan was to have the launch run up to one side and make a noisy attack, to create a diversion and concentrate the attention of those on board, while he and a party of picked men stole silently to the other side in the rowboat, climbed to the deck and overcame all who opposed them. The bow was too high to scale, where it rested on the beach; the attack must be made near the stern, which sat low in the water. Therefore the launch was quite necessary, as were the three men who were absent with it, so Ramon was angry with Francisco for not returning more promptly. The outlaw paced up and down the rocks in the starlight and cursed his dilatory lieutenant most heartily. But the launch was coming. In fact, two launches were coming to the bay. As soon as night had really settled down, Mr. Radley-Todd quit loafing and suddenly became active. He carried his trussed and helpless prisoners, one by one, to the small launch and laid them gently along the bottom. He had already, during the afternoon, waded out to the larger launch of Ganza, bored a large hole in its bottom and then stopped the inrushing water with a plug. He chuckled while doing this, being greatly pleased by what he called his "foxy plan to fool the pirate." With his prisoners aboard, the boy shoved the _Salvador's_ launch into the water and cautiously paddled it between the rocks and to the side of the big launch, to which he attached it by means of a rope. "I think I shall gag you boys, as you suggested," he said to the prisoners, who by this time had become sullen and decidedly unfriendly. "No!" cried Francisco, partly in anger and partly in fear; "it is not necessary. We know what to do." "Will you promise not to cry out and attract Ramon's attention?" "We swear it!" they all cried eagerly. "Then I think I shall gag you. Not because I doubt your word but because I've whittled out three lovely gags and I'm anxious to see how they work." They began to protest vigorously at such unkind treatment, but Chesty gagged them, by turns, and they were effectually silenced. "You boys are splendid actors," he told them, admiringly, "and you are performing your parts with great credit to us all. No one would guess this was your plan, would he? Ramon least of all. If we are not captured, you will make an important addition to our party on the yacht. If we are, you will lie gloriously to Ramon and say I sneaked up behind you and sandbagged all three before you saw me. Eh? Never mind answering, for you can't." As he spoke, Chesty climbed into the big launch and started the engines. They grumbled and refused to act, at first, but finally overcame their reluctance and the boat chug-chugged on its way to the south bay, making such a racket that the owls thought it was defying them and redoubled their frantic screeches. "Ramon will be certain to hear me coming," reflected the boy as the boat swept on. "He's a clever scoundrel, that Mexican; exceptionally clever; but if he guesses this riddle he's a wizard." He kept the launch well out from the shore and as it approached the points of rock behind which the yacht lay hidden he set the steering wheel to carry the boat a couple of hundred yards past the entrance to the bay, lashing it firmly in place. Then, while the engines continued their monotonous "chug-chug," he pried the plug out of the bottom of the boat, crept aboard the _Salvador's_ launch and unfastened the rope, cutting the two craft apart. The big launch quickly forged ahead and Chesty sat down and let the smaller boat drift peacefully where it lay. Ramon Ganza had heard his boat coming, as Chesty had intended he should. Greatly relieved, but still angry with Francisco, he ran as far out upon the point as the rocks would permit and peered through the starlight to catch sight of the approaching launch. Presently it appeared, making good time, the old engines working steadily and doing their full duty. But it did not turn into the bay, for some extraordinary reason; instead, it kept straight on and headed for some indefinite point out at sea. "Francisco!" shouted Ganza, in a rage; "Francisco--villain--fool! What are you doing? Wake up, Francisco! The idiot is asleep." As the precious launch did not halt, the outlaw ran along the shore, following its track and shaking his fist at the perverse Francisco with vengeful energy. Most of his men, attracted by their chief's excitement, left their posts to join him on the shore; the others gazed wonderingly in the direction of the disappearing launch. Meantime, Chesty Todd cautiously paddled his little boat into the bay, crept to the side of the yacht and uttered a low whistle--the signal agreed upon. Those on board, who had been interested in Ramon's shouts and suspected something was about to happen, lost no time in lowering the davits and Chesty promptly attached the grappling hooks. A few moments later the launch and its occupants were safely on deck and the boy stepped out to be greeted by hearty handshakes and congratulations on his safe return. "You'll find three prisoners in the launch, Captain Krell," he said. "When you remove their gags they'll protest they are our friends; but I wouldn't trust 'em. Better lock 'em in the cage until this cruel war is over." "What has become of the Mexican's launch?" asked Mr. Cumberford. "The pirates seem to be having some trouble over it." "It won't bother 'em for long," replied Mr. Todd, complacently. "The boat is headed out to sea, all by its lonesome; but there's a hole in the bottom and it's fast filling with salt water. I imagine that within the next fifteen minutes it will go to Davy Jones's locker, and be out of commission." CHAPTER XXVI ORISSA RETURNS If ever man was thoroughly perplexed it was Ramon Ganza the outlaw. He heard his launch proceed for a distance out to sea, then listened while the engines hesitated and stopped, and saw the boat on which his liberty might depend whirl slowly around and disappear beneath the waves. What could it mean? Were his men on board, and had they met with some astonishing accident, or had they deliberately committed suicide? The curses died on his lips; the affair was too startling and too serious for mere raving; he must try to think of a logical solution of the problem. The loss of the launch, his last refuge from captivity and imprisonment, left him caught like a wolf in a trap--in case he failed to get possession of the yacht. All night long he sat on a rock by the sea, smoking his black cheroots and thinking--thinking--thinking. Neither he nor his men knew that Chesty Todd had returned to the yacht; but if Ramon had known it he would not have attached especial importance to the fact. It would merely mean one more person to capture during the assault. Morning found Ganza still deep in thought. He glanced rather uneasily at the ocean and at times swept the horizon with his glasses, which were slung by a strap to his shoulder. His men brought him food and a cup of hot coffee, but dared not speak to him in his present mood. They suspected his case was growing desperate, yet they still retained confidence in their resourceful, clever master, who had never yet failed to accomplish whatever he undertook. In this crisis of his career the fugitive, usually irritable and quick to act, proved his strength of mind by taking time to consider his position from all points and to weigh carefully the merits of the different plans that suggested themselves. He realized that an error at this time would prove fatal. The hours wore on until, at about the middle of the afternoon, as Ganza made one of his periodic inspections of the horizon, his glasses caught a speck in the sky--a speck that moved and grew larger. At first he thought it a gull or an eagle; later he changed his mind, for the speck rapidly increased in size and took form, and the form was that of an aëroplane. Those on the yacht saw it now and great was the wonder and excitement it caused. Here was a messenger from the great world, bringing them hope of succor or black disappointment. Presently the broad spreading planes bore down upon the island and circled gracefully over the ship. "It's Orissa!" they cried in chorus and Chesty Todd added: "She wants to land on deck. Clear a space--quick!" They did the best they could. It seemed like a tiny place for that great sweeping thing to land on and even Sybil exclaimed: "She'll never make it in the world!" But Orissa, hovering above them in her Aircraft, observed carefully the conditions below and shutting off her engine began to volplane. The huge machine settled quietly down and alighted fairly upon the deck. One rail caught the lower plane and tipped it, but the girl leaped lightly from her seat and was caught by Mr. Cumberford, whose gray eyes sparkled with joy from behind their spectacles. You may be sure the brave girl received a glad welcome, but as soon as her safety was assured she was deluged with questions. The ping of a rifle ball warned them to scuttle below to the cabin, where Orissa tried to explain. "Why on earth did you venture to come back?" demanded Madeline. "We had told ourselves that you, at least, were safe from the dangers that menace us, and it pleased us to know that. But where is your brother?" "Did you get to land?" cried half a dozen voices, eagerly. "What did you do? Tell us!" Orissa laughed and held up both hands, imploring silence. "I came to bring you good news," she began. "And now that you are assured of that, please let me tell the story my own way, or I shall bungle it." "Go ahead," they answered and settled themselves to listen. "We followed the route Captain Krell had mapped out for us," said Orissa, "and in four hours after leaving here we sighted the Mexican coast. Fifteen minutes' run to the north brought us to the village of San Blas, where there is a telegraph office. We landed and had some difficulty in satisfying the authorities that we were harmless Americans, but finally they agreed to escort us to the telegraph office under guard. We wired our story direct to President Madero, putting it as briefly as possible and asking him for a warship to rescue our friends and capture Ramon Ganza. There was no answer until evening, when we received a message from the Secretary of the Navy saying he had conferred with the President and Secretary of State and would be glad to accede to our request. In eight or ten days he thought he could spare a warship to go to the island for Ganza. Unfortunately, the entire navy was in use at the present time. "That dashed our hopes, you may be sure, for we feared you couldn't hold Ganza at bay for so long; so Steve and I determined to fly to San Diego and secure help there. The Secretary of the Navy had wired the authorities of San Blas to afford us every consideration and hospitality, so we filled our tanks with gasoline and slept at a little inn until daybreak. Then we were off for the north, and in two hours met the United States torpedo fleet, on its way to Magdalena Bay for target practice. We made out the flagship and dropped to the water beside it. Commodore Davis at once laid to and sent a boat to us. Steve went aboard and explained fully to the commodore our story and the need for immediate help. As a result the _Mermaid_ was signaled and its captain presently came aboard and received his orders. He was to take us directly to this island, drive off Ganza or fight him, as circumstances might require, and then assist in getting the _Salvador_ afloat again. If he captures Ganza he is to carry him away a prisoner and turn him and his men over to the Mexican authorities at Magdalena. "Captain Swanson undertook the adventure gladly and is now on his way here with the _Mermaid_, with Steve to guide him. My brother and I thought it best for me to come on ahead and tell you the good news, for we have worried about you and knew that with rescue at hand you would have courage to hold out, no matter how desperate your condition. So here I am, and the _Mermaid_ will arrive either to-night or early in the morning." They were indeed delighted with this assurance and it put new heart into the most timorous of those aboard. "However," said Chesty Todd, "we seem to be in no danger, just now, and since our clever enemy has failed to scare us into surrender he has remained quiet and behaved himself as well as could be expected." They told Orissa all that had transpired in her absence and the conversation continued all during the dinner--on which the chef exercised his best talents, in honor of Orissa's return--and even until bedtime, there was so much to say. Chesty went on watch at eleven o'clock, and as he leaned silently over the rail at a point near the bow of the launch he detected a series of queer sounds coming from below. This part of the yacht was high on the shelving beach and it was here that they had arranged huge piles of rock, on either side, to hold the keel level. It sounded to Mr. Todd as if some one was at work near these rocks, for on account of the swell of the boat's side it was impossible to see, from the deck, anyone below, in case he kept close to the keel. So Chesty crept aft, held a whispered conversation with Captain Krell, and quickly divested himself of his clothing. At the stern, which was settled quite close to the surface of the water, the boy let himself down by means of a rope, descending hand under hand, and silently dropped into the dark water. Swimming was one of Radley-Todd's principal accomplishments and he scarcely made a ripple as he crept alongside the boat until the bow came into full view. The night was somewhat darker than usual, but the American had sharp eyes and it did not take him long to discover that the besiegers were employed in removing the rocks from the right hand side of the keel. Instantly comprehending their purpose in this, Chesty turned and quickly regained the stern, climbing to the deck. His report to Captain Krell seemed so serious, because it meant a desperate attack presently, that it was promptly decided to arouse the entire party and warn them that a crisis was at hand. CHAPTER XXVII FACING THE CRISIS Consternation reigned in the cabin when the principals assembled there with white and startled faces. On deck Captain Krell was instructing his men how to act in the threatened emergency. Pietro was among them, accepting his rifle and his instructions willingly, but shaking his head at what he considered a vain attempt to resist Ramon Ganza. "Ramon great man!" he said to Captain Krell. "Ramon always win; nobody can conquer him. I knew Ramon would win this time, an' when he does he will capture me an' whip me hard. All right; I know I am to be whipped at the time Chica tell me to leave Ramon. Never min'. Pietro can stand it, for others have been whipped by Ramon an' lived--with marks like a zebra's on their skins." In the cabin Chesty was trying to explain the situation. "It's this way," he said; "when the rocks are all removed the yacht will fall over on her side, as she was at first, with the rail quite near to the water. You remember how she lay before we propped her up. Well, that means we have no secure footing on deck and that the pirates can easily climb aboard and have the best of the argument. If we slip, we fall into their arms; if we stick to the deck--like flies to a ceiling, they'll rush and get us." "We can't fight from the deck," declared Cumberford. "Tell Captain Krell to come here." The captain arrived and after a consultation it was decided to gather all hands in the cabin and fortify it as strongly as possible. The roof projected a few feet above the deck and there was a row of small windows on either side, but these were supplied with heavy shutters designed for use in case of storms, when the shutters were readily fixed in place. The stairway might be well guarded by one man, and above the windows were small ventilators through which several rifles could be pointed. By standing upon the cabin table the defenders could command the deck in this way. They were instructed not to shoot, however, unless absolutely obliged to. All the hatches were battened down, so that if Ganza gained the deck he could not get below and was welcome to remain aboard until the rescuers arrived. Orissa, who had listened silently, now approached Mr. Cumberford and said: "When the yacht tips, our Aircraft will be ruined, for the chances are it will slide overboard. Even if it doesn't, those scoundrels will wreck it completely, for it will be quite at their mercy. So I've decided, while there is yet time, to fly it across to the bluff, where I can remain until you are rescued." "Can you manage to get away from the deck?" "Easily." "Then I think it best for you to go." "May I take Sybil with me?" He hesitated a moment; then replied: "Yes. It will be a good thing to have you girls away from here when the attack is made. Here you could be of no service whatever, and your absence will--eh--give us more room to defend the cabin." "You will have to act quickly, Miss Kane," suggested Chesty. "I know. Come, Sybil." They drew on their jackets as they went on deck, both girls realizing that no time must be lost if they hoped to get away. Once the yacht tipped on her side it would be impossible to fly the machine. As they took their places Mr. Radley-Todd inquired: "Plenty of gasoline?" "I think so," said Orissa. "I'm not sure how much is left in the tanks, but it ought to be enough to get us to the bluff. Whirl the propeller, Chesty." He did so, and the engine started with a roar. Cumberford and Chesty steadied the Aircraft until the motor had acquired full speed and then Orissa threw in the clutch and the big aëroplane rose as easily as a bird takes flight and ascended into the starlit sky at a steep angle. This feat is what is called "cloud climbing" and Orissa understood it perfectly. It seemed a bold thing to undertake such a flight in the nighttime, but the Flying Girl's friends had so much confidence in her skill that they never considered the danger of the undertaking. Across the barren island to the bluff was so unimportant a flight to one of Orissa's experience that when she was once away they believed her quite safe. While the men stood watching the Aircraft mount into the dim sky the yacht suddenly trembled and keeled over, throwing them all flat upon the deck. With one accord they scrambled up and dashed into the cabin, which they reached just as Ramon Ganza and his men swarmed over the rail. CHAPTER XXVIII THE PRISONER "What's wrong, Ris?" asked Sybil, as the engine skipped and wavered. "Gasoline," was the brief answer. "Oh. Can you get to the bluff?" "I--don't--know. There!" as the propeller ceased to whirl; "now I'll volplane. It's a long reach, Syb; but we'll land somewhere--right side up." The dim mountain seemed far ahead of them; below was the "dip," or valley, which lay between the rock ridges and the mountain. As they had casually glanced toward it in former times, it seemed a forbidding place, slimy and moist, devoid alike of any green thing or living creature. Even the owls shunned the "dip." To-night, when everything was obscure, they seemed gliding into a black pit. Orissa had to manipulate her levers cautiously, for she could not tell just when they would reach the ground. As it was they bumped, bounded forward, bumped again and brought up suddenly between two boulders that topped a rugged knoll. "Any damage?" asked Sybil, catching her breath. "Not much, I'm sure," replied her chum. "But here we are; and here we'll stay until some one comes with gasoline. Can you see anything, Syb?" "The mountain, over there against the sky. It seems so near I could almost touch it. It wouldn't have taken but a few drops more to have landed us on the bluff, drat the luck!" "See anything else?" "Where?" "Around us." "No; but I can smell something. Smells like spoiled gasoline. Does gasoline ever spoil, Ris?" "Not to my knowledge. But come; let's crawl into the boat and get the blankets out. Wherever we are, it's our hotel, and we must make the best of it." Skyward, there could be distinguished the mountain at the west and the rock hills at the east; but the pocket in which they lay was black as ink. From the boat Orissa managed to open the aluminum chest and take out the blankets. They then arranged a temporary bed in the bottom of the boat and covered themselves up. "Anyhow, I managed to save the Aircraft," sighed Orissa, contentedly. Then she sat bolt upright and cried: "Listen!" "The battle's on," answered Sybil, as a succession of wild shouts reached their ears. It was very aggravating to be so ignorant of what was happening to their friends. The shouts continued, at intervals, but there was no sound of firearms. Evidently the Mexicans had gained the deck but had found it a barren victory. On the mountain the owls were hooting and flying about as usual, but the shouts that had come from the bay were of such a different nature that the shrieks of the night-birds did not drown them. Suddenly a broad streak of light shot over them, rested a moment on the mountain, swayed to right and left and then sank below the ridges of rock. Above the bay where the _Salvador_ was beached thin shafts of white light radiated, illuminating the sky like an aurora borealis. "A searchlight!" "The torpedo boat!" the girls cried in one breath; and then they sat trembling and straining their ears to listen. A dull, angry "boom!" rent the air and echoed from the mountain. It was a warning gun from the _Mermaid_. The shouts became screams of fear. Then silence followed, complete and enduring. Orissa breathed heavily. "It's all over, Sybil!" she gasped. "I--I wonder if--anyone was--hurt." "Any of our people?" "Of course." "I think not. That gun was merely a signal and I imagine the Mexicans ran like rats. How fortunate it was that Captain Swanson arrived with the _Mermaid_ so soon!" "How unfortunate he didn't come sooner. We wouldn't have been in this awkward predicament. It will take them hours to get to us over those sharp rocks." Orissa did not reply. She was trying to understand the events transpiring around the _Salvador_. Had there been a tragedy? Or had the torpedo boat merely frightened the outlaws, as she had imagined, and driven them away? There was no sleep for the isolated girls during the brief hours preceding the dawn. As it gradually lightened they peered about them to see where they were, and by degrees made out their surroundings. There were fewer rocks in this cup-shaped hollow than in other parts of the island. On the knoll where the Aircraft rested were the two big rocks which had arrested its progress, and between these the body of the aluminum boat was tightly wedged. At intervals throughout the valley were similar rocky hummocks, but all the space between consisted of an oozy, damp soil of a greenish-brown color, with glints of red where the sun caught it prismatically. Looking at this ooze critically, as the light strengthened, it seemed to the girls to shift somewhat, showing here and there a thick bubble which slowly formed and disappeared. Orissa put her hand over the side of the boat and withdrew it again. "Look, Sybil," she exclaimed. "It's oil." "Hair or salad oil, Ris?" Orissa sniffed at her dipped finger. "Petroleum. This is the crude article, and seeps up from some store of oil far down in the earth. There would be a fortune in this find, Syb, if it happened to be in America. Out here it is, of course, valueless." "Don't they make kerosene and gasoline of it?" "Yes; of course." "Then make some gasoline and let's fly away." Orissa laughed. "If you will furnish the distillery, Syb, I'll make the gasoline," she said; "but I believe it's a long, slow process, and----" "Look!" cried Sybil, with a start, as she pointed a slim finger toward the east. From a far distant ridge a man came bounding over the rocks, leaping from one to another with little hesitation in picking his way. He was a big man, but as the light was still dim they could see no more than his huge form. Presently he paused to look behind him; then on he dashed again. He had come from the direction of the bay and was at first headed toward the mountain, but in one of his pauses, whether to regain his breath or look behind, he caught sight of the aëroplane and at once turned directly toward it. "Do you think," asked Sybil, uneasily, "it is one of our people come to look for us?" "No," returned Orissa, positively. "That man is a fugitive. He has escaped over the rock hills and is trying to find some hiding place." "Then I wonder he dares come in our direction." "It is _strange_," agreed Orissa, with a shudder as she remembered how helpless they were. Then, with fascinated gaze, the two girls fell silent and watched the approaching fugitive. As he neared that part of the valley where the oil seeped up he proceeded more cautiously, leaping from one point of rock--or hummock--to another. Once, when forced to step on the level ground, the oil tripped him. He slipped and fell, but was instantly up again and bounding on his way. It seemed no easy task to make speed over such a rough and trackless way, yet here it was easier to proceed than back in those almost impassable hills. It was wonderful that he had succeeded in crossing them at all. "I think," said Orissa, as she sat cold and staring, "it is Ramon Ganza." "The outlaw? But he wears white flannels." "Not now. He probably changed them for the night attack; but I can see the rings glitter on his fingers, and--none of the other Mexicans is so big." Sybil nestled a little closer to her friend. "Have you a revolver, Ris?" Orissa shook her head. "No arms at all--not even a hatpin?" "Nothing whatever to use for defense." The man was quite near now. Yes; it was Ramon Ganza. His clothes were torn by the rocks and hung around him in rags, and where he had fallen the thick, slimy oil clung to them. His face was smeared with dust and grime and the whole aspect of the outlaw was ghastly and repulsive--perhaps rendered more acute by the jewelled rings that loaded his fingers. He was obliged to step with more care as he neared the aëroplane, in which crouched the two girls, and finally he came to a halt on a hummock a few paces away. The oil lay more thickly around the Aircraft than elsewhere, and Ramon Ganza eyed it suspiciously. Then he spoke, resting his hands on his hips and leering insolently at Sybil and Orissa. "So, I have caught you, then," he cried. "Why did you try to escape?" "For the same reason you are trying to escape, perhaps," retorted Orissa, summoning what courage she could command. "But I warn you that our friends will presently come for us, and--you may not care to meet them." He uttered an angry snarl and cast a quick glance around the valley. In all its broad stretch not a person other than themselves was visible. Ramon sat down on his knoll, breathing heavily from his long run. "Yes, I have run away," he admitted, bitterness and hate in his tone. "I can fight ten--or twenty, perhaps--with my single hand; but not fifty. They have come to put me in prison, those fiends over there," jerking his thumb toward the bay, "and seeing they were too strong for me to oppose, I came away. It is what you call discreet--eh?--which is more safe, if less noble, than valor. But they have the island and they will hunt me down. And once more I shall laugh at them--once more Ramon Ganza will defy them all!" "How?" asked Orissa, curiously. "Have you not the flying-machine--the airship?" he asked, simply. "And are you not here alone, and in my power? It carries but two, I see, so one of you shall stay here. The other must fly with me to my own island, where I will take a sailboat and--vanish from the dogs who are hounding me." "That," said Orissa, with forced calmness, for her heart was beating wildly, "is impossible." He uttered a fierce growl. "It is _not_ impossible," he cried. "I have seen your machine fly, and know it can fly when you want it to. It must fly now, or by San Filippe I will tumble you both out and fly it myself. It is best that you not arouse my anger, for Ramon Ganza is desperate and will not be denied. Get ready, girl! We will fly to my island, or----" He laughed harshly. "Or you will both ruin your beautiful toilets, and--the mire is dangerous," he added. "We have no gasoline," pleaded Orissa. "Pah! a trick to deceive me." "No; it is true," cried Sybil, who grew more quiet as fear possessed her. He hesitated, a look of despair flashing across his features. Then he said with grim determination: "I will see for myself," and stepped recklessly into the pool of oil that lay between him and the hummock where the aëroplane perched. The slime reached to his ankle, but he kept doggedly on. The second step sent him knee-deep into the ooze and he had to struggle to wade farther in. But now he sank nearly to his waist and the sticky soil held him fast. Then suddenly the man seemed to realize his peril and uttered a shrill cry of terror. "Help, young ladies! For the love of humanity--help! Will you see me die like this?" he screamed. Orissa and Sybil, both horrified, had risen to their feet. The sinking outlaw was fully five yards distant and there seemed no possible way to aid him. But it was terrible to allow a human being to perish in such a way, even when it was a confessed enemy who stood in peril. Orissa caught up a blanket and hurled it toward him, and he seized it eagerly and spread it around him for support. Next moment Sybil had hastily folded the second blanket and cast it with all her strength toward Ganza. One corner he caught and in a moment had added it to the first, now becoming saturated with oil. Yet the blankets would not have availed much had not Ramon's feet now rested upon a rock far beneath the surface, effectually preventing him from sinking any lower. Almost waist-deep in the putty-like mire he stood a fast prisoner, for no effort of his own could enable him to free himself. He realized, presently, that he was not fated to be entombed in the mire, so part of his old assurance returned to him. As he stared at the girls and they returned his gaze with horrified looks, he remarked: "Well, I am caught, as you see; but it was no officer of the law that did it. Ramon Ganza can defy mankind, as he has often proved, but he bows to Nature. Also, young ladies, I beg to point out that--if you have spoken truly--you are likewise caught, and alas! we cannot assist one another. What, then, shall we do for amusement?" "I think," said Sybil gravely, "you ought to pray." "I? I have forgotten how. What then? Shall we sing songs? If you will accompany the chorus I will delight your ears with my excellent tenor voice." This bravado, coming from a man stuck fast in the mire, was so gruesome that it made the girls shudder with aversion. But Sybil, happening to glance up, cried with sudden animation: "Look, Orissa!" and pointed with a trembling finger. In the distance a group of men had appeared over the edge of the rock hills. They saw the stalled aëroplane and waved their arms encouragingly. Ganza screwed his head around with some difficulty and also observed the rescue party. "It cannot matter," he said coolly. "As well one prison as another, and no Mexican dungeon could hug me tighter than this." He fell silent, however, and no further remarks were exchanged as the distant party drew nearer. They were forced by the treacherous nature of the valley to move cautiously and when they entered the area of oil seepage more than one slipped in the slimy pools. But gradually they approached the spot where the aëroplane rested and now Orissa and Sybil could make out Stephen Kane, Mr. Cumberford, Captain Krell, Chesty Todd and an unknown man in uniform, who were accompanied by several seamen. The girls stood up and waved their handkerchiefs and then cried out warnings to beware the mire. Not until the rescuers were quite near to the place did they perceive the upper half of Ramon Ganza protruding from the imprisoning slime. "Dear me," cried Mr. Cumberford; "this is interesting; very! How are you, girls? All right?" Through the bombardment of eager questions they assured their friends that they had suffered no serious discomfort because of the accident to the Aircraft. "But," added Sybil, "we had a good fright when Ramon Ganza threatened us, unless we assisted him to escape in our aëroplane. Fortunately the mire came to our assistance, for he stepped into a soft place and it held him fast--as you see." All eyes turned upon the helpless outlaw, who nodded his head with astonishing nonchalance. "I bid you good morning, señors," said he. "When you are sufficiently rested from your walk, be kind enough to pull me out of this loving embrace; but gently, or you may dislocate my bones." "Who is this?" asked the officer in uniform, a fine featured young man. "The rascal who has so boldly annoyed us, regardless of consequences," replied Cumberford, frowning upon the Mexican. "He escaped us last night, but we have him now, sure enough, and I intend to see he is handed over to the authorities of his country, whose laws he has defied." "What did he do?" the officer inquired, gazing at Ganza curiously. "Permit me to explain that I robbed a bank--a bank engaged in robbing others under government sanction," said Ganza. "To rob is a small thing, señors; but it is a crime to be discovered robbing. That was my fault. Others in my native land, who are more successful embezzlers than I, are to-day respected, rich and happy." "Was that your only crime?" "So far as is known, señor. Otherwise I am very good man and quite respectable." "He is a tyrant and a bully, and whips his men if they disobey him," declared Steve. "Pah! they are curs. The whip is less than they deserve," retorted Ganza. "But permit me to remind you of my present discomfort, señors. I will gladly exchange this bog for a Mexican prison." They managed to drag him out, none too gently, and the seamen scraped the oily slime from his legs and body so that he could stand erect. Then they turned to examine the condition of the aëroplane. CHAPTER XXIX ORISSA DECIDES Only by taking the Aircraft entirely apart, decided Steve, might he hope to remove it to the bay, for it could not be flown from the hummock where it was wedged between the rocks. But they could not wait to do that now. The girls were very near one of those feminine crises so familiar to Mrs. Tupper, and their friends realized the nervous strain they had endured and made haste to lead them back to the yacht. The seamen looked after Ramon Ganza, who was so physically exhausted by his late experience that he made no endeavor to escape. It was a tedious climb, by no means devoid of danger, but so anxious were Orissa and Sybil to escape from the dread valley that they energetically persevered until the last rock hill was passed and they descended the slope to the inlet. There lay the _Salvador_; keeled over, indeed, but safe and sound. Just without the bay floated the _Mermaid_, and one of her boats was run upon the beach and another clung to the _Salvador's_ side. A hearty cheer greeted the return of the rescue party when Orissa and Sybil were observed approaching with them, and Captain Swanson himself came forward to offer his congratulations. On their way, Steve had briefly related the events of the night attack and told how the defenders, fortified within the cabin and below decks, had been quite safe from Ganza until the arrival of the torpedo boat relieved the situation. Then the Mexicans fled and made frantic attempts to escape, hiding themselves in the wilderness of rocks that littered the island. When Captain Swanson learned of the capture of Ramon Ganza and the rescue of the young ladies he decided to attempt no pursuit of the scattered Mexicans but to apply himself promptly to the task of floating the yacht, which he succeeded in doing before night. The _Salvador_ was in no way injured and as soon as she had anchored outside the bay was again in commission and fully able to care for herself. Madeline invited the officers of the _Mermaid_ to dine aboard her yacht and Monsieur Risette prepared a repast that surprised even his employer, so elaborate and delicious it proved. As they conversed together afterward, commenting upon the exciting experiences of the yacht and her company and the daring flights of the Kane Hydro-Aircraft, Madeline said to Captain Swanson: "What shall we do with Ramon Ganza?" "Where is he, Miss Dentry?" "Locked up in our cage. But I don't want him aboard. Won't you take him to Magdalena and turn him over to the Mexican police?" "I am not sure I have authority to arrest the man," replied the captain gravely. "I will send a wireless to the fleet to-night and endeavor to get the admiral and receive his instructions concerning Ganza." He wrote out a message at once and dispatched it to his ship by one of his men, that the wireless operator aboard might repeat it a number of times in the attempt to reach the ship for which it was intended. A wireless message travels farther by night and is more distinct. Madeline now urged Captain Swanson to carry Chica and Pietro to Magdalena, which would enable them to reach their homes quickly and he agreed to do this. Miss Dentry supplied the two with sufficient money for their needs and the Red-beard and the child said their good-byes and were rowed to the _Mermaid_. The yacht party, now reunited and safe from further molestation, thoroughly enjoyed the evening and expressed their gratitude again and again for the prompt assistance rendered them by their fellow countrymen. Madeline had already written a nice letter to the admiral, which she entrusted to Captain Swanson. As Orissa and Sybil, as well as many others of the party, had passed a trying and sleepless night, the officers thoughtfully retired early, returning to their quarters on the _Mermaid_. Breakfast was in progress on the _Salvador_ next morning when a note was brought from the captain of the torpedo boat. "I was fortunate in reaching the admiral," it said, "and I beg to enclose you a copy of the message I have received from him in reply. I further regret to state that I am ordered to rejoin the fleet without delay and must therefore bid you all adieu." The wireless read: "President Madero proclaimed a general amnesty to Mexican refugees some three months ago. On the list of pardons appears the name of Ramon Ganza." Madeline drew a long breath. "I'm sorry for that," she said. "Ramon Ganza has escaped the penalty of breaking his country's laws and we are powerless to punish him ourselves--even though he struck poor Mason with a knife." "How is Mason getting along?" asked Orissa. "Very nicely," stated Mr. Cumberford. "It was a deep cut, but reached no vital organs and the man will soon be as good as new." "That does not alter the fact that Ganza is a wicked desperado," said Sybil. "It's a shame to allow him to escape," exclaimed Mr. Tupper, indignantly. "Can't we arrest him for disturbing the peace, and trying to capture our yacht, and attempting to murder one of the crew?" "No," replied Mr. Cumberford. "This island doesn't belong to the United States. I believe it is Mexican territory. But if we can prove damages we might be able to recover from the Mexican government--and then, again, we might not." "I'll never put in a claim, for my part," said Madeline, laughing. "But what are we to do with Ramon Ganza--and those three rascals imprisoned with him, whom Chesty captured and brought to us?" "Let Chesty get rid of them; they're his prisoners," suggested Sybil. "The chief bandit is your own prisoner--and Orissa's," declared Chesty. "What do you intend to do with him, Miss Cumberford?" Sybil laughed. "It's a problem," she confessed. "Can you solve it, Miss Dentry?" "I fear not," answered Madeline, indeed puzzled. "Our prisoners are likely to prove white elephants on our hands. To carry them to America would involve us in endless difficulties, and--I have other plans, wherein their presence is better dispensed with." "Then," said Chesty, after due reflection, "let us leave them all behind us, on the island. Not this island, where they would be prisoners and perhaps starve, because I have sunk their gasoline launch and they cannot get away, but on Ramon Ganza's own island. Then the fellow may decide his future as he deems best and we may wash our hands of the whole disagreeable affair." "I hope you won't inform him that he is pardoned," said Mr. Tupper, earnestly. "Why not?" asked Madeline. "Let us return good for evil. Perhaps, when Ramon Ganza is no longer a refugee and can face the world a free man, he will redeem his past and become honest." "I doubt it," declared Mr. Cumberford; "but I think you are right to give him the chance." It was so decided. There remained on Owl Island but one of Ganza's rowboats which would be available for use by the men hidden among the rocks, but at the larger island was a small sailboat in which, during calm weather, the chief might go for his men and transport them to their former quarters. Next morning a party accompanied Steve into the valley once more, where the Aircraft was taken apart and brought with considerable labor to the bay, from whence it was conveyed to the yacht and compactly stored away below decks. "There's no use putting it together until we get back home," said the inventor; and his partner, Mr. Cumberford, agreed with him. This task had consumed the entire day, during which Orissa and Sybil had kept to their state-rooms, trying to quiet their nerves and get some much-needed sleep. Madeline, in the meantime, had ordered a store of provisions placed on the beach for the use of the band of Mexicans until they were rescued by their leader, as she did not wish them to suffer for lack of food, however mischievous and lawless they might be. The following day Captain Krell hoisted anchor and headed for the larger island, and it was good to all to feel the water slipping along underneath the _Salvador's_ thin keel again. Ramon Ganza accepted his liberty with the same stoical indifference that characterized all his actions. He strutted a bit when Chesty told him of his pardon, but declared he would continue to inhabit the island where he was virtually a king. "With no fear of a prison to haunt me," he said, "I can make the island a paradise. Many Mexicans will settle there and become my subjects." "You'll have to cut out the flogging, then," suggested Chesty. "It will gratify me to do so. Before, I have the obligation to flog the disobedient ones because I dared not send them away; but now, if they prove obstinate, I may send them back to Mexico." He took off his hat with an elaborate bow as the _Salvador's_ boat left him standing with his three men on the little dock below his residence; but Francisco and the other two scowled fiercely at Mr. Todd, whom they reproached for deceiving them about Madero's reward, although they had elected to remain with their old master rather than be taken to America. "It's a good thing for civilization that those villains are sequestrated on a far-away, unknown island," remarked Chesty, when he had regained the yacht's deck. "I suppose anyone can reform, if he tries hard, but I'll bet a hat that Francisco and his comrades never make the attempt." "We are well rid of them, in any event," asserted Mr. Cumberford. Orissa and Sybil appeared at dinner, both considerably improved in spirits after their long rest. "When do we sail for San Diego?" Sybil asked Madeline. "Captain Krell is ready. I am waiting for Orissa and you to decide," was the reply. Orissa looked up in surprise. "What have we to decide?" she inquired. "Merely which way we shall proceed. My yacht hasn't had a fair trial yet and I had in mind a trip to Honolulu before we went in chase of two runaway girls. We still have on board enough coal and supplies for such a trip and I have resolved to invite you all to make it in my company--in which case we will head directly for Hawaii from here." Orissa was thoughtful for a time and looked inquiringly at Steve, who smiled in return. "I think such a trip would do us all good," he suggested. "The Flying Girl has no important engagements, at present," added Mr. Todd, the press agent. "If she had, I think she deserves a little recreation after her late trying experiences," said Mr. Cumberford. "Why, Orissa, it has all been decided in advance," exclaimed Sybil. "They're merely asking our consent out of politeness." Orissa turned to Madeline and pressed her hand gratefully. "You've really been our guardian angel, Miss Dentry," she said. "We can never repay your great kindness and generosity, nor properly thank you for what you have done for us." "Why should you?" asked Madeline. "Think what a splendid time I've had during this adventure, all due to the Flying Girl and her chum--and to a defect in the famous Kane Aircraft. But if you sincerely wish to please me, come with me on the trip to Honolulu." "Of course I will," Orissa responded. "I've always longed for an ocean voyage, and in such company, and on the dear old _Salvador_, the trip will be delightful." The others of the Kane-Cumberford party, who were every one eager to go, rapturously applauded this decision. THE END. * * * * * =_Exhilarating Books for Girls of Today_= The Flying Girl Series _By_ EDITH VAN DYNE _Author of "Aunt Jane's Nieces" Series_ Capital up-to-the-minute stories for girls and young people, in which the author is at her very best. Thrilling and full of adventure, but of that wholesome type parents are glad to put in the hands of their daughters. Two titles: The Flying Girl Orissa Kane, self-reliant and full of sparkling good nature, under-study for her brother, prospective inventor and aviator whose experiments put the Kane family into great difficulties, in the crisis proves resourceful and plucky, and saves the day in a most thrilling manner. [Illustration] The Flying Girl and Her Chum This story takes Orissa and her friend Sybil through further adventures that test these two clever girls to the limit. A remarkably well told story. _12mo. Bound in extra cloth with design stamping on cover and fancy jacket. Printed on high grade paper. Illustrated in black and white._ _Price 60 cents each. Postage 12 cents._ Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago * * * * * =_Books for Older Children by L. Frank Baum_= The Daring Twins Series _By_ L. FRANK BAUM In writing "The Daring Twins Series" Mr. Baum yielded to the hundreds of requests that have been made of him by youngsters, both boys and girls, who in their early childhood read and loved his famous "Oz" books, to write a story for young folk of the ages between twelve and eighteen. [Illustration] =A story of the real life of real boys and girls in a real family under real conditions= _Two Titles:_ =The Daring Twins= = Phoebe Daring= While preparing these books Mr. Baum lived with his characters. They have every element of the drama of life as it begins within the lives of children. The two stories are a mixture of the sublime and the ridiculous; the foibles and fancies of childhood, interspersed with humor and pathos. _Price 75 cents net each_ Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago * * * * * ANNABEL _By_ SUSANNE METCALF A girls' book with a clever, quick-moving plot is unusual. ANNABEL is that kind. The heroine is a lovable girl, but one with plenty of snap--her red hair testifies to that. Her friend, Will Carden, too, is a boy of unusual qualities, as is apparent in everything he does. He and Annabel make an excellent team. [Illustration] The two, the best of chums, retrieve the fortunes of the Carden family in a way that makes some exciting situations. The secret of the mysterious Mr. Jordan is surprised by Annabel, while Will, in a trip to England with an unexpected climax, finds the real fortune of the Cardens. ANNABEL is a book whose make-up is in keeping with the high quality of the story. _Beautiful cover and jacket in colors, 12 mo._ _Illustrated by Joseph Pierre Nuyttens. Price 60 cents_ Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago * * * * * =Popular Memory Books for Girls= =My Golden School Days= _By_ JANET MADISON A Very attractive memory book for girls, in which they can keep a record of happy school days. There are places and departments for every item of interest--classmates, colors, yell, photographs, autographs, dances, etc. Appropriate decorations and headings for each department, with verses and poems. In special box. Two bindings. _Half Cloth, 60 cents. Swiss Velvet Ooze, $1.25_ * * * * * My Sorority _Designed by_ LOUISE PERRETT A complete and cleverly designed memory book for girls who are members of the well-known "Greek Letter" Societies in high school or college. A record book with appropriately decorated headings for name, colors, secret motto, pin, grip, initiation, spreads, banquets, etc. In three styles. _Cloth, $1.50. Swiss Velvet Ooze, $2.50_ _De Luxe, Flexible Morocco, $3.00_ Publishers The Reilly & Britton Co. Chicago Transcriber's Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_. Bolds are indicated by =equal signs=. Small capitals have been rendered in full capitals. A number of minor spelling errors have been corrected without note. 
33605	----	Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.net THE GIRL AVIATORS AND THE PHANTOM AIRSHIP BY MARGARET BURNHAM M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY CHICAGO--NEW YORK Made in U.S.A. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The Girl Aviators and the Phantom Airship CHAPTER I. THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY. "Roy! Roy! where are you?" Peggy Prescott came flying down the red-brick path, a rustling newspaper clutched in her hand. "Here I am, sis,--what's up?" The door of a long, low shed at the farther end of the old-fashioned garden opened as a clattering sound of hammering abruptly ceased. Roy Prescott, a wavy-haired, blue-eyed lad of seventeen, or thereabouts, stood in the portal. He looked very business-like in his khaki trousers, blue shirt and rolled up sleeves. In his hand was a shiny hammer. Peggy, quite regardless of a big, black smudge on her brother's face, threw her arms around his neck in one of her "bear hugs," while Roy, boy-like, wriggled in her clasp as best he could. "Now, just look here," cried Peggy, quite out of breath with her own vehemence. She flourished the paper under his nose and, imitating the traditional voice of a town crier, announced: "Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! Roy Prescott or any of the ambitious aviators--now is your chance! Great news from the front! Third and last call!" "You've got auctioneering, the Supreme Court and war times, mixed up a bit, haven't you?" asked Roy with masculine condescension, but gazing fondly at his vivacious sister nevertheless. Peggy made a little face and then thrust forth the paper for his examination. "Read that, you unenthusiastic person," she demanded, "and then tell me if you don't think that Miss Margaret Prescott has good reason to feel somewhat more enthusiastic than comports with her usual dignity and well-known icy reserve--ahem!" "Good gracious, sis!" exclaimed the boy, as he scanned the news-sheet, "why this is just what we were wishing for, isn't it? It's our chance if we can only grasp it and make good." "We can! We will!" exclaimed Peggy, striking an attitude and holding one hand above her glossy head. "Read it out, Roy, so that Monsieur Bleriot can hear it." M. Bleriot, a French bull-dog, who had dignifiedly followed Peggy's mad career down the path, gazed up appreciatively, as Roy read out: "Big Chance for Sky Boys! "Ironmaster Higgins of Acatonick Offers Ten Thousand Dollars In Prizes for Flights and Planes." "Ten thousand dollars, just think!" cried Peggy, clasping her hands one minute and the next stooping to caress M. Bleriot. "Oh, Roy! Do you think we could?" "Could what? you indefinite person?" parried Roy, although his eyes were dancing and he knew well enough what his vivacious sister was driving at. "Could win that ten thousand dollars, of course, you goose." Roy laughed. "It's not all offered in a lump sum," he rejoined. "Listen; there is a first prize of five thousand dollars for the boy under eighteen who makes the longest sustained flight in a plane of his own construction--with the exception of the engine, that is; and here's another of two thousand five hundred dollars to the glider making the best and longest sustained flight, and another of one thousand five hundred to the boy flying the most carefully constructed machine and the one bearing the most ingenious devices for perfecting the art of flying and--and--oh listen, Peggy!" "I am--oh, I am!" breathed Peggy with half assumed breathlessness. "There's a prize offered for girls!" "No!" "Yes. Now don't say any more that girls are downtrodden and neglected by the bright minds of the day. Here it is, all in black and white, a prize of a whole thousand to the young lady who makes a successful flight. There, what do you think of that?" "That Mr. Higgins is a mean old thing," pouted Peggy, "five thousand dollars to the successful boy and only one thousand to the successful girl. It's discrimination, that's what it is. Don't you read every day in the papers about girls and women making almost as good flights as the men? Didn't a--a Mademoiselle somebody-or-other make a flight round the bell tower at Bruges the other day, and hasn't Col. Roosevelt's daughter been up in one, and isn't there a regular school for women fliers at Washington, and--and----?" "Didn't the suffragettes promise to drop 'Votes for Women' placards from the air upon the devoted heads of the British Parliament, you up to date young person?" finished Roy, teasingly. Peggy made a dash for him but the boy dodged into the shed, closely followed by his sister. But as she crossed the threshold Peggy's wild swoop became a decorous stroll, so to speak. She paused, all out of breath, beneath a spreading expanse of yellow balloon silk, braced and strengthened with brightly gleaming wires and stays,--one wing of the big monoplane upon which her brother had spent all his spare time for the past year. The flying thing was almost completed now. It stood in its shed, with its scarab-like wings outspread like a newly alighted yellow butterfly, which, by a stroke of ill luck, had found itself installed in a gloomy cage instead of the bright, open spaces of its native element. In one corner of the shed was a large crate surrounded by some smaller ones. The large one had been partially opened and Peggy gave a little squeal of delight as her eyes fell on it. "Oh, Roy, that's it?" "That's it," rejoined the boy proudly, lifting a bit of sacking from the contents of the opened crate, "isn't it a beauty?" The lifted covering had exposed a gleam of bright, scarlet enamel, and the glint of polished brass. To Roy the contents of that crate was the splendid new motor for his aeroplane. But to Peggy, just then, it was something far different. A bit of a mist dimmed her shining eyes for an instant. Her voice grew very sober. "Three thousand dollars--oh, Roy, it scares me!" Roy crossed the shed and threw an arm about his sister's neck. "Don't be frightened, sis," he breathed in an assuring tone, "it's going to be all right. Why, can't you see that the very first thing that happens is a chance to win $5,000?" "I know that. But that contest is not to come off for more than a month and--and supposing someone should have a better machine than you?" For an instant that air of absolute assurance, which truth to tell, had made Roy some enemies, and which was his greatest fault, left him. His face clouded and he looked troubled. But it was as momentary as the cloud-shadow that passes over a summer wheat field. "It'll be all right, sis," he rejoined, confidently, "and if it isn't, I can always sell out to Simon Harding. You know he said that his offer held good at any time." "I know that, Roy," rejoined Peggy, seriously, "but we could never do that. We could neither of us go against father's wishes like that. He--well, Roy, it's not to be thought of. Poor dad----" Her bright eyes filled with tears as her mind travelled back to a scene of a year before when Mr. Prescott had ceased from troubling with the affairs of this world, and commended his children to the care of their maiden aunt--his sister with whom, since their mother's death some years before, the little family had made their home. Poor Mr. Prescott had been that hopelessly impracticable creature--an inventor. Fortunately for himself, however, he had a small fortune of his own so that he had been enabled to carry on his dreaming and planning without embarrassing his family. Roy and Peggy had both been sent to good boarding schools, and had known, in fact, very little of home life after their mother's death which had occurred several years before, as already said. Mr. Prescott, in his dreamy, abstract way, had cared dearly for his children. But those other children of his--the offsprings of his brain--that surrounded him in his workshop, had, somehow, seemed always to mean more to him. And so the young Prescotts had grown up without the benefit of home influences. On Peggy's naturally sweet, vivacious character, this had not made so much difference. But Roy had developed, in spite of his real sterling worth and ability, into a headstrong, rather self-opinionated lad. His success at school in athletics and the studies which he cared about "mugging" at had not tended to decrease these qualities. It had come as a shock to both of them a year before when two telegrams had been despatched--one to Peggy's school up the Hudson, and the other to Roy up in Connecticut, telling them to return to the Long Island village of Sandy Bay at once. Their father--that half-shadowy being--was very ill. The messages had not exaggerated the seriousness of the situation. Three days after his children reached his side Mr. Prescott gently breathed his last, dying, as he had lived, so quietly, that the end had come before they realized it. But in those last brief moments Roy came to know his father better than ever before. He learned that the dream of his parent had been to produce an aeroplane free from the defects of its forerunners,--a safe vehicle for passengers or freight. How far he had progressed in this there was no time for him to tell before the end came. But Roy, interested already in aeronautics at school, where he had been president of "The High Fliers"--a model aeroplane association,--eagerly took up his father's desire that he would try to carry on his work, and began to take lessons in flying. In the shed which had been Mr. Prescott's workshop the framework of an aeroplane already stood. And with the aid of what money his father had left him, Roy had carried on the work till now it was almost completed. But the three thousand dollars which had gone for the motor had completely exhausted the lad's legacy. As Peggy put it, all their eggs were in an "aerial basket." But how much Peggy had aided him, in what had, in the last few months possessed all his thoughts, Roy did not guess. To what extent her encouragement had spurred him on to surmount seemingly unconquerable difficulties, and how she had actually aided him in constructing the machine, his ambition never realized. Not innately selfish, Roy was yet too used to having his own way to attribute his success to any one but himself. Sometimes, brave, loyal little Peggy, try as she might, could not disguise this from herself, and it pained her a good deal. But she had uncomplainingly, ungrudgingly, aided her brother, without hoping for, or expecting, the appreciation she sometimes felt she was really entitled to. But her great love for her brother kept Peggy from ever betraying to him or any one else an iota of her inner feelings. So intent had the brother and sister been on their talk that neither of them had noticed, while they conversed, that a big four-door touring car, aglitter with gleaming maroon paint, and with a long, low hood concealing a powerful engine, had glided up to the white gate in the picket fence surrounding Miss Prescott's old fashioned cottage. From it a frank, pleasant-faced lad and an unusually striking girl, tall, slender and with a glossy mass of black hair coiled attractively on her shapely head, had alighted. Hearing the sound of voices from the open door of the shed in which The Golden Butterfly, as Peggy had christened it, was nearing completion, they, without ceremony, at once made their way toward it. Peggy, glancing up from her sad reverie at the sound of footsteps, gave a glad little cry as she beheld the visitors standing framed in the sunlight of the open door. While she and the tall, dark-haired girl mingled their contrasting tresses in an exuberant school-girl caress, the lad and Roy Prescott, were, boy fashion, slapping one another on the back and shaking hands with just as much enthusiasm. "Why, if this isn't simply delightful, Jess, you dear old thing," cried the delighted Peggy, as, with both hands on her chum's shoulders, she held Jess Bancroft off at arm's length, the better to scrutinize her handsome face, "and Jimsy, too," as she turned to the lad with a bright smile of welcome; "wherever did you two come from?" "From the clouds?" demanded Roy. "No, hardly, although I don't wonder at your asking such a question," laughed Jess, merrily, exchanging greetings with Roy. "Roy Prescott, positively I can see your wings sprouting." They all laughed heartily at this, while Jess ran on to explain that she and her brother were stopping for the summer at Seaview Towers, a summer estate which their father, a Wall Street power, had leased for the season. Of course, explained the merry girl, who had been Peggy's closest chum at school, her first thought had been to take a spin over in her new motor car and look up her friends, for Roy and James--or Jimsy--Bancroft had been almost as close chums as the girls. "And so this is the wonderful Golden Butterfly that you wrote to me about?" exclaimed Jess enthusiastically after the first buzz of conversation subsided. "Yes, this is it," said Roy with great satisfaction in his tones, "and I'm proud of it, I can tell you. I think I've made a success of it." Jess and Jimsy exchanged glances. And then Jess stole a look at Peggy, but no cloud had crossed the face of Roy's sister. "Oh, you darling," thought Jess, "you're too sweet for anything. I just know how much you contributed to the Golden Butterfly's existence, and yet you won't detract a bit from Roy's self satisfaction." As for Jimsy Bancroft, he said nothing. He glanced rather oddly at Roy for an instant. Then his eyes turned to Peggy's face. Perhaps they dwelt there for rather a long period of time. At any rate, they were still fixed on her brave beauty when a sudden shadow fell across the stream of sunlight that poured into the open portal of the workshop. "Ah! So this is the place in which young genius finds its habitation;" grated out a rather harsh, unpleasant voice. They all looked up. Perhaps none of them--Jimsy least of all--was pleased at the interruption. The newcomer was a tall, angular man, with a withered, clean-shaven face,--what Peggy called a "money making face"; and surely that described Simon Harding, as he stood there in his black, none-too-new garments, and his square-toed shoes. One could fairly catch the avaricious glint in his eyes as he squinted rapidly over the new aeroplane's outlines. By his side stood a youth who was, so far as dress went at any rate, the exact opposite of the elder man. Fanning Harding--or Fan as he was usually called--was dressed in elaborate motoring costume. His goggles, of the latest and most exaggerated design, were shoved up off his countenance now, exposing to view a good-looking browned face. It was marred, however, by the same restless, strained look that could be seen on his father's visage. "We're not intruding, I hope," he hastened to say, coming forward with a cordiality that seemed somewhat forced. "Not in the least," said Peggy, hastily, realizing that none of them had perhaps looked very cordial, "won't you come in?" Fan Harding, bestowing an admiring glance on her, seemed to be about to accept. His father, however, struck in: "I'll leave you with the young folks, my boy, while I go up to the house. I have some business with Miss Prescott." As he shuffled off, Peggy and Roy exchanged somewhat uneasy glances. What business could this old man--in some respects a power financially and otherwise in Sandy Beach--have with their aunt? "Say Peggy," spoke up Fan Harding, suddenly, "ain't you going to introduce me to your friends? And how about inviting us all to have some of those strawberries Pop and I noticed as we came down the path?" "Well, he isn't a bit backward about coming forward!" thought Jess as the young people, with due formality, went through the ceremony of introductions. CHAPTER II. SUSPENSE AND ACHIEVEMENT. It was a week after Fan Harding's visit to the Prescott home, on one windless, steamy morning, when the pearl-gray mist still lay in the smooth hollows running back from the coast, that The Golden Butterfly was wheeled out of her cocoon--so to speak--and dragged up the hillside at the back of the white, green-shuttered cottage. Miss Prescott, a sweet-faced old lady, whose cheek was still blooming despite the passage of the years, stood on the back porch of the house watching the process. If Miss Prescott's face had been somewhat less cheerful than usual since her talk with Mr. Harding, all the clouds had been chased from it now. She watched as eagerly as a girl while Roy and Peggy, aided by Jess and Jimsy and two other lads, friends of Roy's from the village, dragged the brand new aeroplane up the hillside. The excited chatter and laughter of the young folks rang out merrily as they worked--for it was work to get the 'plane, light as it was, up the grade. Fortunately--for Roy had no desire of a crowd to witness his initial ascent in the new 'plane--the Prescott house was some distance out of the village, and there were no near neighbors. The place had, in fact, once been a farm house, and although the acreage still was in the possession of Miss Prescott it was not worked. A more ideal place for flying could not be imagined. Smooth slopes--unwooded, except in clumps--were all about. To the north glimmered the sparkling waters of Long Island Sound, while to the south stretched fertile farming land, devoted to crop-raising and pasturage. Very business-like the young people looked as they hauled the monoplane up the hill. Roy and Jimsy wore leather puttees, trousers fashioned somewhat like riding breeches, and leather coats. On their heads were caps of the latter material, well padded within and provided with visors pierced with goggles. The girls wore shirt waists, outing skirts and "sensible" walking boots. Jess had on her "Shaker" motoring bonnet, in which she looked very captivating indeed. Peggy's glossy hair, unadorned, but tightly confined in a net, formed her hair covering. Both girls were all a-tiptoe with excitement, for although Roy had had experience with aeroplanes, and so, in a limited way, had Jimsy, this feature of the sport was new to them. At last the summit was reached, and Roy, after calling a halt, took a brief but comprehensive survey of the Golden Butterfly. This done, he climbed into the chassis--or body--of the thing, and leaning over the machinery he rapidly tested all the adjustments and examined the lubricating devices to see that all was in order. Everything appeared to be. "Well," said Roy, with some self complacency, stepping out of the machine, "everything seems to be ready for the initial flight of the Golden Butterfly, my lords and gentlemen." "And ladies, if you please," put in Jess, in a voice that was vibrant with excitement, despite her endeavor to keep calm. "And ladies," added Roy, with a gallant bow in her direction. Peggy in the meantime, like an anxious little mother fussing over dolls, had been examining the aeroplane once more. Suddenly she gave a little cry. The exclamation interrupted Roy who was explaining, with great satisfaction, that everything was all right. "I've looked it over and if there had been anything wrong it couldn't have escaped my notice," he observed rather pompously. "Oh, Roy! Just look here! The spring of this landing wheel is all slack!" This was the exclamation from Peggy that brought up Roy somewhat shortly in the midst of his self-confident harangue. "By George, so it is, sis!" exclaimed Roy, reddening a little, while Lem Sidney, one of his chums, observed with a chuckle to Jeff Stokes, that Peggy appeared to know as much, if not more, about the machine than did Roy. The spring was soon tightened by means of a monkey wrench. But that did not prevent them all realizing that had it not been for Peggy's acute observation a serious accident might have occurred. This done, even Peggy's anxious glances could not detect any other flaw in the machine. "What time did that aviator fellow say he would show up?" then demanded Jimsy, abruptly. "He should be here now," rejoined Roy. "I've half a mind to start anyhow. I can manage the machine I am very certain." "Oh, Roy!" cried Peggy, reprovingly, "you know you promised aunty that you wouldn't do anything till Mr. Hal Homer got here." "All right, sis," put in Roy, hastily, "don't be scared. I'll stick to my word." "Hullo!" cried Jimsy, suddenly, "there comes an auto now." "So it is," exclaimed the others, as a black touring car came whizzing down the road below them. It soon halted, and a figure in leather garments with gaitered legs alighted and hastened across the fields toward the party clustered about the aeroplane. The car was left in charge of the chauffeur. As Jimsy had guessed, the new arrival proved to be Hal Homer, the well-known cross country flier, from whom Roy had taken some vacation time aviation lessons. "He's awfully good looking," whispered Jess to Peggy, after introductions to the dapper young aviator had been extended by Roy. "Oh, so--so," rejoined Peggy, with a toss of her head. "Maybe you know some one who is handsomer?" questioned Jess with a mischievous side glance of her fine eyes. Peggy flushed under her fair skin. But Jess laughed with good-humored raillery. "Jimsy surely is a good-looking boy," she said, "if he hadn't a pug nose." "A pug nose!" flared up Peggy. "Oh, Jess, how can----" Then she stopped short in confusion while Jess laughed the more at her discomfiture. Young Mr. Homer lost no time in starting operations. He ordered his helpers to secure the machine to a small tree growing nearby by means of a stout rope Roy had brought with him. This done, and the monoplane thus secured from flying away when her engine was started, he set the sparking and gasolene levers and threw in the switch. Roy and Jimsy, the latter acting under Roy's instructions, flew to the propeller. The Golden Butterfly being a monoplane, this was in front of the machine. "Be careful when you feel it start, to leap aside," warned Roy, "or you might be beheaded." "I never lose my head in an emergency," joked Jimsy. But just the same his heart beat, as did those of all of them but Hal Homer's, as he and Roy started to swing the great shiny wooden driving appliance. Once, twice, three times they swung it round, exerting all their force. The fourth time they were rewarded by a feeble sigh from the engine--a sixty horse power motor. All at once--Bang! "Let go!" yelled Roy, jumping backward. Jimsy in his hurry to obey stumbled and fell backward in a heap. He rolled some distance down the hill unnoticed, before he succeeded in stopping his motion. In the meantime the others--even Peggy--were too absorbed in the sight before them to watch Jimsy. Simultaneously with the sharp report the propeller had whirled around swiftly. The next instant it was a mere gray blur, while a furious wind from its revolving blades swept the onlookers. Blue smoke spurted from the exhausts, mingled with flame, and the uproar was terrific. The Golden Butterfly, like a thing of life, struggled at her moorings. The rope stretched and strained, taut as a violin string, under the pull. But it held fast, and after a while Aviator Homer slowed down the engine and finally stopped it, after adjusting a miss-fire in one of the cylinders. As the propeller became once more visible and then came to a stop, the boys broke into cheers, while the girls, too, voiced their enthusiasm. "Oh, Peggy, isn't it a darling!" cried Jess. "Aeroplanes are not usually called 'darlings,'" responded Peggy with assumed severity, "but--oh, Jess, it's--it's--a jewel and----" "I'm dying for a ride in it!" burst in Jess. "Then if you will consent to live a little longer I hope to have the pleasure of saving your life," put in Roy, gallantly. "Oh, Roy! I can ride in it now!" gasped Jess, while Peggy clasped her hands and snuggled up close to her chum. "Well, no, hardly just yet," laughed Roy, "but after Homer has tested her thoroughly out I guess you girls can take a spin." "You know I'm going to learn to handle one," declared Peggy, as Roy made off once more. "I know a good deal about the theoretical part of it already." "Well, theory wouldn't do you much good in a mile-long tumble," quoth Jess, sagely. "Nonsense," rejoined Peggy. "Mr. Homer says one is as safe in an aeroplane, if one is careful, as in an auto." "Safer I guess, the way that brother of mine drives sometimes," replied Jess. "He calls it 'burning up the road.' But--oh, look, they're casting off, or whatever it is you do to an airship when you turn her loose. Oh!" Snatching off her motoring bonnet Jess began waving it furiously. While they had been talking the rope had been cast loose, and now, with Mr. Homer himself at the driving wheel, in cap and goggles, the engine was being started once more. In wrapt excitement both girls stood breathless. So intent were they on the scene transpiring before them that they had not noticed the approach of a second auto on the road below. From it Fan Harding had alighted and hastened up the hill, after "parking" his machine, as if in fear that he would be too late to view the proceedings. A sneering look was on his rather handsome face as he rapidly climbed the hill. He reached a position behind the two girls just as the aviator gave the signal to let go of the machine--to the rear structure of which Lem Sidney and Jeff Stokes were perspiringly clinging, their heels digging into the soft turf to steady themselves. As Mr. Homer's hand swung backward and downward they let go. Instantly, like an arrow from a bow, the monoplane--the work of Peggy and Roy--was off. How it scudded across the hill top! Blue smoke and flame shot from its exhaust. Its operator sat hunched over his machinery looking, with his goggles, like some creature of the lower regions. Peggy clasped her hands and stood a-tiptoe breathlessly as it scudded along. "Oh, will it rise?" she breathed, her color coming and going in her excitement. "I'll bet ten dollars it won't fly any more than an earthworm." Peggy turned swiftly, indignantly. Her color flamed and her eyes blazed angrily. Jess, hardly less indignant at the sneering tone and words, also faced about. "Good morning, girls," said Fan Harding, easily, raising his motoring cap nonchalantly, "I came to see the ascension, but I'm afraid that it's going to be a descension." "I think you're hateful to talk like that," cried Peggy, angrily, stamping her foot. "Our aeroplane will rise. It just will, I tell you--oh, gracious!" She broke off in confusion and stood aghast for a moment. The swiftly scudding aeroplane had stopped its skittering over the grass and had come to an abrupt stop at a distance of about five hundred yards. Already the boys were running across the turf toward it at top speed. The girls could see Mr. Homer clambering out of the chassis as the machine came to a standstill. "Ha! Ha! just as I thought," chuckled Fan Harding, viciously, "that thing is a dead failure." Poor Peggy, tears in her eyes at this seeming disaster, was stung fairly out of herself. She switched round on Fan Harding with a suddenness that made her skirt fly out and that young gentleman step precipitately backward. "It isn't a failure, Fan Harding," she cried, with blazing eyes. "How dare you come here to sneer at us. We didn't invite you. Oh, I could----" But Jess had seized her arm and succeeded in checking Peggy just in time. She whispered something to the indignant girl, who, with a scornful look at Fan Harding, turned and, with her friend, ran lightly off toward the stranded aeroplane. "By Jove, I really thought for a minute she was going to slap my face," chuckled Fan Harding to himself. "How pretty she is when she is angry. But I guess if she knew what I do about certain affairs she wouldn't be quite so fresh with me." He cast a glance at the aeroplane around which the anxious young people were now clustering thickly. "If that thing is a success," he mused, as he strode off to join them, "so much the better for me. I think I could use an aeroplane. I don't see why I should let Roy Prescott beat me out at anything. Ah! They've started the engine again and--by ginger, she's rising! She's going up! She's flying!" The small irregularity in the working of the engine, which had brought the plane to a stop, had been quickly remedied. Even Fan Harding, little as he liked Roy, could not help but join in the cheers as the Golden Butterfly, swinging in an easy circle, began to climb--higher and higher toward the fleecy clouds that flecked the blue dome above. As for Peggy, she jumped up and down in her enthusiasm till her golden hair was tumbling in a tangle about her pink shells of ears. "Oh, goody! goody! goody!" she squealed in the intensity of her joy. CHAPTER III. THE CLOUDS GATHER. "And so unless we can raise that money somehow within a short time we shall have to leave dear old Shadyside!" It was Roy who spoke, in troubled tones, some days after the successful flight of the Golden Butterfly. They were seated in the cool-looking living room of Miss Prescott's home. The sun filtering in through the Venetian blinds, fell in patches on the polished floors--Peggy's work, for Miss Prescott's circumstances had been for some time too straitened to afford the servants she formerly had. But she had kept all knowledge of her struggle from her nephew and niece, until now the time had arrived when she felt that she could conceal no longer the object of old Sam Harding's visit to her. The old man, among other things, was President of the Sandy Bay Bank. This bank, although the children did not know it, had long held a mortgage on Miss Prescott's property. The kindly, sweet-souled lady had incurred the debt to forward her brother's dreams. For poor Mr. Prescott had always been "just on the verge of making a fortune." Mr. Harding's errand was to state that the interest being long overdue and there being no immediate prospect of settlement the bank would have to foreclose. The real reason for this anxiety, which of course Miss Prescott, simple-minded lady, could not know, was, that a real estate concern wanted to purchase the property to erect a summer colony. "But what of my securities in----and----and----?" inquired poor Miss Prescott, who really knew no more of business than Peggy's French bull-dog. "In the depressed state of the market that class of securities are worth nothing, madam," was the response, "in addition, though I have refrained from telling you so till now, your account at the bank is much overdrawn. However," he had continued, "to show you that we mean to be fair with you we will say nothing about that, but unless the bank gets its interest we must have the land." It was Miss Prescott's relation of the true state of affairs to Roy and Peggy that sunny afternoon that had brought forth Roy's exclamation recorded at the beginning of this chapter. "But, auntie," burst out Peggy, blankly, "does the man mean to say that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, on which we can realize anything?" Miss Prescott shook her head slowly. "There is nothing we can do," she rejoined, sadly. "We shall have to leave dear old Shadyside and the land will be cut up and sold to strangers. Land which the first Prescott settled on and which has been in the family ever since. Oh, dear!" and Miss Prescott, never the most strong-minded of women, drew out her handkerchief and began to sniff ominously. Peggy, looking bewitchingly pretty in a simple muslin frock, wrinkled her forehead seriously. "It can't--it simply can't be as bad as all that," she persisted. "We can raise the money somehow." "Five thousand dollars!" cried Miss Prescott. "Phew! That is a lot of money," from Roy. But Peggy had jumped up from her chair. "The contest, Roy! The contest!" she was exclaiming. "We must write this very day for particulars. If the Golden Butterfly can win that prize----" "By Jove, sis, it's five thousand dollars, isn't it?" burst out Roy, almost equally excited. "I'd forgotten all about it up till now. What an idiot I am. If only----" He stopped short suddenly, struck by a depressing thought. Probably there were plenty of machines, most of them far better than the Golden Butterfly, entered in the contest which they had read about. His enthusiasm died away--as was the way with Roy--almost as quickly as it had flamed up. But Peggy would not hear of hesitation. She made Roy sit down that very night and write to the committee in charge of the Higgins' prize. Under her brave, independent urgings things began to look brighter. It was a fairly cheerful party that sat down to a simple supper that evening. "Oh, dear," sighed Peggy, in the course of the meal, "if only I knew some one who needed a bright young woman to run an aeroplane, how I'd jump at the job." "You ought to get a high salary at it anyhow," rather dolefully joked Roy. "And make a high jump, too," laughed Peggy; "but seriously, auntie, I can run the Butterfly almost as well as Roy. Mr. Homer said so before he left. He said: 'Well, Miss Prescott, I've taught you all I know about an aeroplane. The rest lies with you, of course.'" Peggy went on modestly: "I could run an auto before. I learned on the one that Jess had at school, so it really wasn't hard to get to understand the engine. Don't you think I'm almost as good a--" Peggy paused for a word--"a--sky pilot!" she cried triumphantly, "as good a sky pilot as you are, Roy?" "Almost," modestly admitted Roy, his mouth full of strawberry shortcake, "but never mind about that now, sis. There are more important things to be thought of than that. I'm going into town to-morrow for two things. One is to see Mr. Harding myself. It takes a man to tackle these things----" "Oh, dear!" sniffed Peggy. "The other bit of business I have to attend to," went on Roy, "is to get a position. It's time I was a breadwinner." Roy thought that sounded rather well and went on--"a breadwinner." "Oh, Roy!" cried his aunt, admiringly, "do you think you'll be able to get a position?" "Without a doubt, aunt," rejoined Roy, confidently; "no doubt several business houses would be glad--to have me with them," Roy was going to say but he thought better of it and concluded, "to give me a chance." Peggy said nothing, which rather irritated the boy. He concluded, however, that being a girl, she could hardly be expected to appreciate the responsibilities of the man of the household. For since that afternoon and its disclosures, Roy had, in his own mind, assumed that important position. Somewhat to Roy's surprise he found no difficulty in obtaining access to Mr. Harding at the bank. On the contrary, had he been expected he could not have been ushered into the old man's presence with greater promptness. He stated his business briefly and straightforwardly. "Now, Mr. Harding," he concluded, "is there no way in which this matter can be straightened out?" The old man, in the rusty black suit, picked up a pen and began drawing scrawly diagrams on the blotter in front of him. Apparently he was in deep thought. But had Roy been able to penetrate that mask-like face he would have been startled at what was passing in Simon Harding's mind. At last he spoke: "I understand that you have built an aeroplane which is a success?" he questioned. "That's right, sir," said Roy, flushing proudly; "but the ideas we put into it were my father's--every one of them. He practically made it his life work, you see, and----" "And you beggared yourself carrying those ideas out, eh?" snarled the old man. "Oh, you need not look astonished. I know all about your affairs. More than you think for. And now having expended a wicked sum for the engine of this flying thing where do you expect to reap your profit?" Roy was rather taken aback. In the past days--since the first wonderful flight of the Golden Butterfly--he had not given much thought to that part of it. He realized this now with a rather embarrassed feeling. Old Harding eyed him keenly. "Why--father, before he died, spoke of the government, sir. He wanted the United States to have the benefit of the machine if it proved successful." "Bah!" sneered old Harding, scornfully, "a mere visionary dream of an inventor. Now I have a business proposition to make to you. I myself am interested in aeroplanes--or rather in their manufacture." "You, Mr. Harding!" Roy looked his astonishment. The last vehicle in the world one would have thought of in connection with "Old Money Grubber," as he was sometimes called, was an aeroplane. If he had been given to such things Roy would have concluded the old man was joking. "Yes, sir," snapped Mr. Harding, "I am. But not directly. It's on Fanning's account. He tells me that he has a chance to organize a company to give aeroplane exhibitions and also to manufacture them. But he has not been able to find a suitable machine, or one that was not fully covered by patents till he saw yours in flight the other day." Suddenly he raised his voice: "Fanning! Come here a minute." Almost immediately, through a door which Roy had not hitherto noticed, but which evidently led into an adjoining office, the figure of Simon Harding's son appeared. To his chagrin, Roy realized that almost every word he had said to the father must have been overheard by the son. Young Harding, who was dressed in a flashy gray suit, with trousers rolled up very high to exhibit electric blue socks of the same hue as his necktie, greeted Roy, who felt suddenly very shabby and insignificant, with a patronizing nod. "Sorry you're in difficulties, Roy," he said, "but you never were a business chap even at school." The memory of certain monetary transactions in which young Harding had been concerned occurred to Roy. The other's patronizing air angered him. He would have liked to make some sharp, meaning retort. But the thought of Peggy and his aunt restrained him. Roy was beginning to learn fast. "You needn't bother to tell me anything about the case," went on the younger Harding. "I accidentally overheard all that you said. Now, Roy, my father has stated the case to you correctly. I've got a chance to make money with aeroplanes if I can only get hold of a new model. You've got just what I want." "Come to the point, my boy, come to the point," urged his father. "I'm getting there, ain't I?" snarled the dutiful son. "Well, Roy, you're in pretty tight straits. We can foreclose on that mortgage any day we want to. But we won't do it if you give us a square deal. Forget the government. Make a deal with us consigning to me the right to manufacture and exhibit those aeroplanes and I'll set aside that mortgage and give you a thousand dollars to boot." "And suppose I won't accept that offer?" asked Roy, slowly. "Then we shall have to go ahead and foreclose. We want that land anyhow, but I am even more anxious to set up my son in a paying business," exclaimed old Harding. "Our offer is a fair one. It amounts to giving you six thousand dollars for a thing of canvas, wire and clockwork." "Rather more than that, sir," said Roy, in a steady voice, although he was inwardly blazing. "Well, what do you say?" asked Fanning, eagerly. "We'll draw up the papers right now if you say so." But Roy was learning fast. He knew that the offer just made him had been an inadequate one. "I'd like to have time to think it over," he said, hesitatingly. "Take all the time you want," said old Harding, with a wave of his shrivelled, claw-like hand. But Fanning did not seem so pleased. It flashed across his mind that Roy wanted to consult with Peggy, and somehow Fanning felt that in that case his offer would meet with refusal. He therefore resolved to put in a heavy blow. "But I want to start at once," he said. "I can't wait any length of time. When you think that if you don't accept my offer you'll all be without a roof over your heads I should think that for the sake of your sister and your aunt you'd accept." "They'll never be in that position while I can work," rejoined Roy, with a flushed face. He rose and picked up his hat. Somehow he felt that he could not stand Fanning very many minutes more. "Yes, very fine talk, but what can you do?" snarled Simon Harding. CHAPTER IV. JESS AND ROY. Roy flung back some sort of answer and hastened out of the office. As he made his way up the sunny street outside, however, he could not get out of his mind the words of Simon Harding. After all, they were true; "what could he do?" Mentally, as he walked along, Roy ran over the list of his accomplishments. He came to the conclusion that aeroplane building and flying was where his greatest strength lay. But how was he to proceed to make money with his knowledge? At this point in his meditations, when, unnoticed, he had almost reached the end of the elm-shaded village street, a loud "Honk! Honk!" suddenly startled him. He looked up, and his gloom vanished like a summer cloud as he saw smiling down on him from the driver's seat of the big auto which had just rolled up beside him, the sunny countenance of Jess Prescott. She was in automobile attire and looked unusually attractive. "Oh, I am so glad I've run across you," she exclaimed. "You almost did," laughed Roy. "Did what?" "Run across me, of course," was the response. "But what are you doing in town? And driving your own car, too. Where is Jimsy?" "Oh, he had to do an errand for father." "And so you are acting as chauffeur?" "Yes, don't I make a nice one?" "You certainly do," rejoined the lad with a great deal of emphasis. "Well, that being the case, you are commanded to jump in by me at once. I've got an errand or two to do and then I'm driving home. We'll go by your place and I can drop you there." "That's very good of you----" began Roy, but Jess cut him short. "It's really selfish," she exclaimed. "I was looking for an escort. I really need one. You haven't got a revolver with you, have you?" "Good gracious," exclaimed the astonished boy as he climbed into the big car; "no, of course not. Whatever do you want one for?" "Why," confided Jess, as they sped along, "I'm on my way to the bank. Mother is going to a big dinner party to-night and I volunteered to fetch out her jewels for her from the safe deposit vault where she keeps them." "And you were afraid of robbers holding you up?" "Of course not," laughed the girl, skillfully dodging a vagrant dog that sped across the road in front of the big car; "but just the same, I'm glad to have a nice big boy like you with me. You see, some of the jewels are very valuable, and one never knows what might happen." "No," agreed Roy; "but in broad daylight, on the road between Sandy Bay and your home, there could hardly be any risk. For instance, who would know that you had valuables in the car?" "Nobody, except some of the servants at home probably," responded Jess. "But here's the bank." As she spoke she skillfully manipulated her levers and pedals and brought the car to a stop against the curb as neatly as any driver could have accomplished it. The car had hardly come to a stop before the bank door flew open and Fanning Harding emerged, his features drawn up into what he meant to be a pleasing smile, but which more resembled a smirk. Jess, ignoring his proffered hand, leaped lightly to the sidewalk and, responding somewhat frigidly to his pleasantries, made her way into the bank. A cold nod was all that had passed between Fanning and Roy, though young Harding had looked astonished at beholding the other in Jess's car. Before long the girl tripped out of the building once more. But this time she carried with her a black leather case. Fanning was once more at her side and insisted on helping her into the car, holding her arm rather tightly as he did so. "I wish I could accompany you," he said. "Ten thousand dollars' worth of jewels is a rather risky thing to carry about." "Oh, I have a splendid escort, thank you," spoke up Jess, frigidly. She drew on her gauntlets and began fumbling with the levers. Roy was already out of the car and cranking up. "It would be the pleasure of the ride," said Fanning, in a low voice. "If I were with you I could almost wish somebody would try to hold us up so that I could show you what I could do in your defence." "Just as you did that day at school when poor little Henry Willis was being beaten by that big bully Hank Jones?" asked Jess, quietly. Fanning's glances, and the emphasis he threw into what he said, were very distasteful to her, and she took what proved an effectual means of squelching him. "You know I had a sore wrist that day and couldn't get into a fight with Hank," said Fanning, but his eyes were downcast and he had not much more to say. Presently the auto chugged off, leaving the disgruntled youth standing on the sidewalk following it with his eyes. "So you're trying to win out Jess Bancroft, are you?" the over-dressed lad thought to himself. "Well, Roy Prescott, I guess that settles you. I've never liked you, and now that I've a chance to get the upper hand of you I'm going to use it. You'll regret this auto ride to-day in days to come, or I'm very much mistaken." He turned and reëntered the bank, but presently emerged again in a leather coat of black material, black leggings and black cap and goggles. Hauling out his motor-cycle from a rack in front of the bank he wheeled it into the street, and with an admiring crowd of small boys looking on, started the swift, four-cylindered machine. In a cloud of dust he vanished in the same direction as had Jess Bancroft's car. Jess, once the confines of the village were past, "let the car out." They sped along, chatting merrily. The roads about Sandy Bay were ideal for automobiling, and perhaps neither of the young occupants of the car noticed how fast they were going when the vehicle topped a small rise and began descending a long steep grade at the bottom of which the railroad, which approached on a curve, was visible in two shining parallel streaks of metal. Suddenly there came a shrill, long drawn whistle. "Hullo, a train!" exclaimed Roy. "Must be a freight; there's no regular passenger scheduled to run at this time of day." "That's right," agreed Jess. "I guess I'll slow down a bit till we see how close it is to the crossing." She pressed her foot on the brake pedal and shoved hard. But to her astonishment there was no diminution in the speed of the car. It plunged forward down the hill, gaining impetus every second. "Better slow up, Jess," warned Roy, who had not noticed the girl grow white and faint, as the possibility of what might occur if she could not control the car flashed before her. "I--I can't!" she gasped. "The emergency brake!" almost shouted Roy. Below them he had seen a swiftly moving column of white smoke. It was the approaching train. Now it whistled once more. That meant it was close upon the crossing toward which the car was racing at terrific speed. "I've--I've tried it. It's jammed or something! Oh, Roy! the train!" Before she could say any more Roy had risen from his seat, and gently, but firmly, removed the girl's trembling hands from the steering wheel. With might and main he tried to check the car. But all he did was in vain. Drops of perspiration stood out upon his forehead. Jess, utterly unnerved, sank back in her seat and hid her face with her gloved hands. Above the roar of the on-dashing car could be heard the sharp puffing of the approaching locomotive. Roy tugged as if he would tear his muscle out at the brake lever, but it refused to budge. A sort of desperate coolness came over him. But Jess, who had uncovered her eyes for an instant, gave a sudden shrill scream. "Oh, we'll be killed! Look,--the train! We'll crash into it!" "Sit down, Jess," ordered Roy, sternly, for the excited girl had seemed to be on the point of jumping from the car as it swayed and bumped toward what seemed certain annihilation, at a terrific rate. Roy glanced desperately about him. The hill was enclosed by steepish banks with hedgerows at the top. But at one point he thought he saw a chance of escape. As he despairingly changed the direction of the car two figures sprang from behind the hedge and gazed in amazement at the runaway auto. "They'll be killed to a certainty!" cried one. Indeed it seemed so. With Jess in a dead faint and Roy looking straight into the dark face of danger the uncontrolled car tore onward toward the train. The engineer saw it now and blew his whistle shrilly. CHAPTER V. A NARROW ESCAPE. But Roy's quick eye had noted one loophole of escape,--a gap in the bank. Truly it was taking a terrible risk to dash the car through it. The boy did not know what lay beyond, and in taking the chance he was running almost as great a risk of annihilation as if he kept straight on. But to have done the latter would have been to crash into a solid wall of moving freight cars as they bumped across the grade crossing. It was almost certain that they would be thrown out and maybe injured. But Roy did not hesitate. With a quick twist of his steering wheel he sent the car spinning on two wheels for the gap. For an instant it seemed as if the vehicle would capsize under the sudden change of direction. But it did not, although it tilted over at a dangerous angle. Whiz-z-z-z-z! In a flash they were through the gap, the landscape blurring, so terrific was the speed. The next instant there was a sickening shock. Instinctively Roy threw out an arm to protect his fair companion. Hardly had he done so before he felt himself impelled through the air as if from a catapult, and all grew blank. When Roy came to himself his head ached as if it would burst. It was some few seconds, in fact, before he realized what had occurred. When he did he looked about him. A few paces away lay the still form of Jess Bancroft. She was stretched out on a cushion upon which she must have fallen. For an instant, as he gazed at her features as pale as marble, and her closed eyes, a dreadful thought flashed across Roy's mind. What if she were dead? But to his great relief he speedily ascertained that the girl was breathing. An ugly bruise on her forehead may have accounted for her continued swoon although she had fainted with terror the instant the train appeared beneath them on the crossing. The car, its hood crumpled up as if it had been made of paper instead of metal, stood at the foot of a tree not far off. "No wonder we were thrown out," thought Roy, as he gazed at the wreck and considered the speed at which they had encountered the obstruction. "The wonder is we escaped with our lives." After a brief and ineffectual attempt to arouse the girl the boy looked about him for some means of assistance. The cowardly train crew had not stopped when they saw the accident. Visions of damage suits and summary discharges may have drifted through their minds, for extra freights were supposed to send flagmen to the crossing to warn all traffic of the train's approach. Suddenly Roy recollected the two men he had seen spring from behind the hedge as the runaway auto approached the gap. What had become of them? Apparently they had taken to their heels also, for not a sign was to be seen of them. "Odd," thought the boy to himself; "one would think the first instinct of a human being at seeing an accident like this would be to stay and help. But, hold on, maybe they've gone for a doctor. A retired physician, Dr. Mays, lives not far from here. In the meantime if I could only get some cold water." Suddenly he spied a small brook at the foot of the hill. Ill and dazed as he felt Roy sprinted toward it, and wetting his handkerchief hastened back to Jess. Kneeling by her side he bathed her forehead. He was rewarded in a few moments by beholding her eyelids flutter and open. In a few seconds more she was fully conscious, but weak and shaken. Roy collected the scattered cushions from the wreck, and placing them like a mattress laid the girl upon them. She thanked him with a wan smile and then lay still once more. Roy wisely did not speak. He judged that perfect quiet was what she wanted at that moment. While he sat by her side meditating what to do a sudden noise caused him to look upward. It was a noise like the drone of a giant bumble bee. It came from directly above his head. "The Golden Butterfly!" shouted Roy, springing to his feet. Above him, at an elevation of some thousand feet, the yellow wings of the Prescott aeroplane were outlined against the blue, like the form of one of her namesakes. Roy shouted and waved frantically. Presently he was rewarded by the flutter of a handkerchief from the chassis of the 'plane. At the same instant it was swung about, and revolving in graceful circles began to spiral down to the earth. "Hooray! It's Peggy and Jimsy!" cried Roy. "I recollect now Jess told me that Jimsy was to have a lesson to-day." Ten minutes later the aeroplane lighted in the field not a hundred yards from the wreck. As it reached the ground Peggy started the engine at reduced speed. The aerial marvel began to scoot across the field toward Roy as obediently as if it had been an automobile under perfect control. Agitated as he was Roy could not help feeling enthusiastic as the huge, glittering, flying thing came closer, its engine roaring and its propeller whirring angrily, and yet, the dainty girl in the motor bonnet who was driving it had it under perfect control every second. Throwing back a lever and cutting off the spark and the gasolene, Peggy brought the aeroplane to a stop with a jerk. Jimsy, with alarmed questions on his lips, sprang out, while Roy helped his sister to alight. "Good gracious, whatever has happened?" gasped the girl, as she stood on the ground and viewed the still form of her chum Jess, over which Jimsy was bending in genuine alarm. "It's all right, sis," Roy assured her, "Jess is not badly hurt. See--she is looking up at you." Peggy sped lightly over the turf to her chum's side. "Oh, Peggy, dear, I'm so glad you've come. It was dreadful. But Roy was so brave. I'm sure I owe my life to him, for the last thing I recollect we were heading direct for the train." She would have said more, but Peggy held up an admonitory finger. Turning to Roy she sought an explanation of all that occurred. It was soon told, and then the question of summoning a physician came up. In the midst of the discussion Peggy gave a glad little cry. "The aeroplane! I can fly over to Doctor Mays' house. There's a dandy big pasture in the rear in which to alight." "By George, that's so," agreed Roy, "and I guess, although it sounds a bit startling, it's the only thing to do. We can't run the car and nobody will be along here for hours perhaps. This road isn't travelled much." But Peggy, with that quick decision which was characteristic of her, was already half way to the aeroplane. A moment more and she was in the chassis, and slipping into the driver's seat began adjusting the motor. "I'll leave you to look after Jess," said Roy to Jimsy, "while I go along with Peggy. I'm not sure that she is as expert in managing an aeroplane as she thinks she is." "Well, she brought me over here at a great rate, anyhow," put in Jimsy, loyally. "And in the nick of time, too," said Roy, warmly pressing the other's hand. "Oh, do be back as quickly as possible, my foot hurts dreadfully," moaned poor Jess, "and my head feels as if a thousand dwarfs were hammering away inside it." "We'll be back before you expect us," Roy said, cheerily. Jimsy shouted something, but his words were drowned in the roar of the motor as Roy clambered into the Golden Butterfly and Peggy started the engine. The aeroplane dashed forward over the smooth turf and then seemed to take the air as lightly and easily as a bit of gossamer. Straight up it soared, high above the tree tops, and was speedily reduced to a fast diminishing speck in the northwest in which direction lay Doctor Mays' home. Looking downward from the speeding flyer the boy and girl aviators could see, spread out below them like a checkerboard, the fertile Long Island landscape. Through it ran the railroad, looking like a glittering ribbon of steel. Off to the north the sea sparkled, a few white sails dotting its surface. The Black Rock lighthouse, painted in bands of red and white, formed a conspicuous object. All at once, on the road beneath them, Roy spied a solitary motor-cyclist whom, even at the height to which they had now risen, he recognized as Fanning Harding. He called his sister's attention to the rider. "He must have passed right by where the accident happened," he remarked; "that road has no outlet for some distance. Funny that he didn't come to help us." "You must remember that the banks and hedge hid the place from the road," Peggy reminded him. "Even Fanning Harding wouldn't have willfully passed by you when you were in such straits." "I don't think so, either," agreed Roy, "and come to think of it, bending over his handlebars as he is, he would not be likely to have noticed the gap we ploughed through." "Look," cried Peggy suddenly, "he's stopping." The girl was right. The motor-cycling boy, whose pace had hitherto been as fast as that of the aeroplane, could now be seen to slacken his machine and finally stop it. Leaning it against a fence he clambered into an adjoining field, and with every evidence of extreme caution he crept toward a patch of woods at no great distance. "What can he be doing?" exclaimed Peggy. As she spoke they saw the boy below them take something from his hip pocket. "A pistol!" cried Roy. The next instant Fanning Harding had vanished into the patch of woods without having noticed the aerial observers, or, at least, so it appeared. CHAPTER VI. A ROADSIDE MYSTERY. "Now, what could he be up to?" Roy wondered as they sped on. "Give it up," laughed Peggy, "unless he was going rabbit shooting." "Rabbit shooting with a pistol--and in June--oh, Peggy, I thought you were more of a sport than that." "Well, can you suggest any solution?" "Frankly--no. But I've been forgetting something which the sight of Fanning Harding reminded me of," and Roy at once plunged into an account of his interview with the banker and his son. To his great relief Peggy agreed with him that on no account must the aeroplane be turned over to the Hardings, but her mind was sadly troubled, nevertheless, by what her brother told her concerning Simon Harding's attitude. "It looks as if he was bent on hounding us," she sighed. "It surely does," agreed Roy, "but look, sis--there's Doctor Mays' house off there. You'll have to make a landing in that field back of the barn." Peggy nodded and deftly touched a lever or two. The aeroplane began to descend. "Want me to take the helm?" inquired Roy. If Peggy had dared to turn her head she would have flashed an indignant glance at her brother. As it was she had to content herself with a very haughty, "No, indeed." Roy laughed. "You surely are the original Girl Aviator," he exclaimed. "Huh!" cried Peggy, "by no means the original one, my dear. There are lots of them in Europe and there soon will be in this country, too." "I hope so," responded Roy, "riding with a pretty girl in an aeroplane just suits me." But Peggy did not reply, and for a good reason. They were now just above the pasture lot in which she meant to descend, and below them, as they dropped, an amusing scene was transpiring. The Doctor's horse, old Dobbin, was dashing madly around in circles, faster than he had gone in twenty years of solid respectability; the two cows, and an old mother pig with her family, joined him as the strange whirring thing from the sky dropped lowering above them. As for the chickens, they flew wildly in every direction, clucking as if they had gone mad. In the midst of the turmoil a rear door opened and a kindly-faced old man with white whiskers and a pair of big spectacles perched on his nose, emerged, to see what could be causing all the disturbance. He fairly dropped the big book he was holding, in his astonishment as he beheld a glistening object, like a huge yellow and spangled bird, dropping in his very back yard, so to speak. But the next instant he recovered himself. "Bless my soul," exclaimed Dr. Mays, for it was the retired physician himself, "I thought for a moment that the fabled days of the gigantic Roc, with which Sinbad the sailor had his adventures, had returned. "It must be those Prescott children. Ah!" he exclaimed, as the aeroplane alighted and came to a standstill, "it is! Dear me, what a century we are living in! Boys and girls flying about like--like--my chickens!" He "clucked" reassuringly to the terrified birds as he hastened toward the now stationary machine. Roy and his sister came forward to greet the venerable old doctor as he approached. Roy hastily explained their errand, being interrupted constantly by the physician's exclamations of astonishment. "Go back with you? Of course, I will, my children. Will one of you help me catch old Dobbin and harness him? My man Jake is in town to-day." "Oh, doctor," cried Peggy, entreatingly, "can't we persuade you to go back with us in the Golden Butterfly?" "To fly! Good heavens!" The aged physician threw up his hands at the idea. "It is perfectly safe, sir," put in Roy. "Safer than old Dobbin in his present frame of mind, I should imagine." They all had to laugh as they looked at the hitherto staid and sober equine careening about the pasture with his tail held high, and from time to time emitting shrill whinnies of terror at the sight of the strange thing which had landed in his domain. "I don't know, I really don't," hesitated Dr. Mays. "The very idea of an old man like me riding in an aeroplane. It's--it's----" "Just splendid," laughed Peggy, merrily, "and, doctor, I've often heard you say to father that it was a physician's duty to keep pace with modern invention." "Quite right! Quite right! I often told your poor father so," cried Dr. Mays. "Well, my dear, it may be revolutionary and unbecoming to a man of my years, but I actually believe I will brave a new element in that flying machine of yours. More especially as we can reach my young patient much quicker in that way." While Dr. Mays, who was a widower and childless, went to hunt up an old cap, as headgear for his novel journey, Roy obtained permission to use the doctor's telephone. He called up Jess's home and related briefly to Mrs. Bancroft what had occurred, and asked that an automobile be sent to the scene of the accident. Mrs. Bancroft, who at first had been seriously alarmed, was reassured by Roy's quiet manner of breaking the news to her, and promised to come over herself at once. By this time Doctor Mays was ready, and the young people noted, not without amusement, that under his assumed air of confidence the benevolent old gentleman was not a little worried at the idea of braving what was to him a new element. The Golden Butterfly was equipped with a small extension seat at the stern of her chassis, and into this Roy dropped after it had been pulled out. Dr. Mays was seated in the centre, as being the heaviest of the party, while Peggy resumed her place at the steering and driving apparatus. "All ready behind?" she called out, laughingly, as they settled down. "All right here, my dear," responded the doctor with an inward conviction that all was wrong. "Go ahead, sis," cried Roy. "Hold tight, doctor, to those straps on the side." With a roar and a whirring thunder of its exhausts the motor was started up. Dr. Mays paled, but, as Roy afterward expressed it, "he was dead game." Forward shot the aeroplane across the hitherto peaceful pasture lot which was now turned into a crazy circus of terrified animals. "Wh-wh-when are we going up?" The doctor asked the question rather jerkily as the aeroplane sped over the uneven ground, jolting, and jouncing tremendously despite its chilled-steel spiral springs. "In a moment," explained Roy; "the extra weight makes her slower in rising than usual." "Look out, child!" yelled the doctor, suddenly, "you'll crash into the fence." He half rose, but Roy pulled him back. "It's all right, doctor," he said reassuringly. But to the physician it seemed far otherwise. The fence he had alluded to, a tall, five-barred, white-washed affair, loomed right up in front of them. It seemed as if the aeroplane, scudding over the ground like a scared jackrabbit, must crash into it. But no such thing happened. As the 'plane neared the obstruction something seemed to impel it upward. Peggy pulled a lever and twisted a valve, and the motor, beating like a fevered pulse, answered with an angry roar. The Golden Butterfly rose gracefully, just grazing the fence top, like a jumping horse. But, unlike the latter, it did not come down upon the other side. Instead, it soared upward in a steady gradient. The doctor, his first alarm over, gazed about him with wonder, and perhaps a bit of awe. Many times had he and his dead friend, Mr. Prescott, talked over aerial possibilities, and he had always listened with interest to what the inventor had to say. But that he should actually be riding in such a marvellous craft seemed like a dream to this venerable man of science. After his first feeling of alarm had worn off the physician found that riding in an aeroplane after the preliminary run with its bumps and jouncings is over, is very like drifting gently over the fleeciest of clouds in a gossamer car, if such a thing can be imagined. In other words, the Golden Butterfly seemed not to be moving fast, but to be floating in the crystal clear atmosphere. But a glance over the edge of the high-sided chassis soon showed the physician that she was tearing along at a great rate at a height of about five hundred feet. Fields, woods, streams and small farmhouses swam by beneath their keel. "Well, doctor, how do you like it?" Roy ventured, after a few moments. "Like it!" repeated the physician; "my lad, it's--it's--it's bully!" And thus did his dignity fall like a mantle from Doctor Mays after a few moments in Peggy Prescott's, the girl aviator's, Golden Butterfly. A few moments later they came in sight of the field in which they had left poor Jess lying by the side of the wrecked automobile. Hardly had they alighted before Jimsy, a rather worried look on his face, was at the side of the aeroplane. "Say, Roy," he exclaimed, "you didn't happen to put that jewel case in your pocket for safe keeping after the accident, did you?" "Why, no. Jess had it and slipped it under the seat while she was driving," cried Roy. "Why?" "Because it's gone!" exclaimed Jimsy, somewhat blankly. "Gone! Impossible!" protested Roy. "But it is. I've searched the field thoroughly in the vicinity of the car, and I can't find a single trace of it." "It couldn't have been stolen." It was Peggy who spoke. Roy thought a moment. All at once the recollection of Fanning Harding's queer actions when they had seen him on the road below them flashed into his mind. The road, as he had observed, led past the scene of the accident. Would it have been possible for Fanning to enter the field while they lay unconscious there? After an instant's figuring Roy had to dismiss the idea. Had such been the case, the son of the banker would have been much further off when they observed him from the aeroplane than he had been. The speed he was making would have carried him far from the wrecked auto had he been near it at the time the accident occurred. What, then, could have become of the jewel case? "It must be here," exclaimed Roy, positively; "nobody could have taken it." While Dr. Mays bent over Jess and examined her injured ankle the others searched the field in every reasonable direction. But not a trace of the jewel case could they find. All at once, the noise of a horse's hoofs coming at a rapid trot was heard from the road. Roy, thinking it might be some one of whom he might make inquiries, hastened to the hedge and peered over. He saw, coming toward him, a disreputable-looking old ramshackle rig, driven by a red-haired man of big frame who was slouchily dressed. His chin had once been shaven, but now the hair stood out on it like bristles on an old tooth brush. By the side of this individual was seated none other than the immaculate Fanning Harding, in his motor-cycling clothes. "Why, that's Gid Gibbons, the most disreputable character about here," exclaimed Roy, in amazement. "What can Fan Harding be doing with him?" He now noted, to his further astonishment and perplexity, that there was a third person in the rig--Gid Gibbon's daughter, a pretty girl in a coarse way, and given to loud dressing. She had plenty of black hair and a pair of dark eyes that might have been beautiful if they had not had a certain hard, defiant look in them. As they drew near Fan Harding turned and seemed to whisper something to the girl, whose name was Hester, at which they both laughed heartily. CHAPTER VII. PEGGY IS PUZZLED. "Hello, Gid," hailed Roy, thinking that perhaps the ne'er-do-well, who conducted a small blacksmith shop some distance off, might be able to throw some light on the mystery. "Hello, yourself," was the response in a harsh, gutteral voice as Gid drew in his reins and the conveyance came to a stop. Roy raised his hat to Hester Gibbons and nodded coldly to Fan Harding. "Good gracious, what's been happening?" shrilled out the girl. "An accident," said Roy, and went on rapidly to explain what had occurred. "And the worst of it is," the boy went on, "that besides the accident Miss Bancroft has suffered a serious loss. A wallet containing valuable jewelry has vanished entirely." Roy watched Fan Harding closely as he spoke and thought that he saw him change color. It might have likewise been fancy, but he could have sworn that the girl, too, looked confused. Gid puckered up his lips and emitted a whistle. "Lost a wallet with jewelry in it, eh?" he repeated. "Have you looked everywhere for it?" asked Fan Harding, with an appearance of great solicitude. "Everywhere we can think of," rejoined Roy. He turned to Jimsy, who had just joined him. Jimsy looked despondent and worried. A glance at his countenance convinced Roy that the jewel case was still missing. "I'll get out and help you look for it myself," said Fan Harding suddenly. "It's awfully queer. Miss Bancroft remarked when she left the bank that she would take particular care of the jewels." "I wonder if any one passed on this road while we were unconscious?" queried Roy, looking narrowly at Fan. To his surprise, the other answered with a great show of frankness. "It's very odd," he exclaimed, "but I myself must have gone by this place not more than a few moments after the smash-up. I was on my way to Gid Gibbons's blacksmith shop to get a part of my motor-cycle fixed up. I guess if I hadn't been bending over my brakes as I rode down hill I'd have seen the place myself." "Guess so," struck in Gid, with a grin; "no one never accused you of being blind." "My motor-cycle was in worse repair than I thought," went on Fan, "and so I left it at Gid's place and accepted his offer to ride into town with him." This all sounded plausible enough. Yet Roy noted that Fan had not mentioned his little excursion into the wood with the pistol. What was he trying to conceal? What had been his mission there? While these thoughts flashed through Roy's mind Gid and his daughter had followed Fan's example and now joined the searchers. By this time, Jess, under the doctor's ministrations, was able to sit up. Her face was pale as marble, partly from suffering, for her ankle still gave her considerable pain, and partly from agitation at the loss of the jewels. There was a sudden puffing of an auto, and presently Mrs. Bancroft herself, in a smaller car than the wrecked one, was driven into the group by one of the employees of her husband's estate. As gently as possible, after first explanations had been made, Jess broke the news to her. Mrs. Bancroft, a tall, stately woman, went white as she heard. "One of those jewels, a ruby, was an heirloom that has been in the family for years," she exclaimed. "I would not have lost it for all the others. Has every place been searched thoroughly?" "Everywhere, mamma," responded Jess. "Bin over ther ground with a fine tooth comb, mum," said the uncouth Gid. Mrs. Bancroft raised her lorgnette and regarded the unabashed Gid with a look tinged with some disgust. But Gid merely showed his yellow fangs, in what he intended to be a pleasant smile, in reply, and lifted his hat with clumsy gallantry. "What was the last you saw of the jewels?" asked Mrs. Bancroft of her daughter, after Jess had been tenderly carried to the other auto and made comfortable. "It was just before we started down the hill," was the reply. "I felt to see if it was safe under the seat just before the car got away from me." "Then they were there just before the accident, of course," put in Mrs. Bancroft. "And now they are missing in this mysterious way." "Well, they couldn't have walked off," said Fan; "somebody may have taken them while you were unconscious. Unless----" He stopped and glanced at Roy, who felt his face flushing angrily. There had been a queer intonation in Fan Harding's tones. "Unless what?" put in Jess, looking at Fan Harding directly in the eyes. His dropped under the scrutiny of the straightforward girl. "I suppose you mean unless I took them," struck in Roy, angrily. There was a hard note of defiance in his tones which sounded strange there. Fan Harding glanced at him quickly and then said in a low voice: "Well, it does look odd, you know, and----" "Don't dare to say another word like that!" Peggy, her soft eyes blazing, stepped forward before Mrs. Bancroft could stop her. Gid Gibbon's daughter watched the angry girl with a contemptuous smile. But Fan Harding went white and shrank back. "I--I didn't mean anything," he stammered. "Children! Children!" exclaimed Mrs. Bancroft, "no more of this. It seems that there is a mystery here, and perhaps some day it will be solved. But in the meantime I wish no suspicion, or doubt even, cast on any one." If they had been watching Fan Harding they would have seen his face brighten up at this. Muttering something in an undertone to Gid, he slunk off, accompanied by his disreputable blacksmith companion and the latter's daughter, Hester, as she went, flung back a glance of contempt at the others, of which they took not the slightest notice. Dr. Mays elected to return home by means of Mrs. Bancroft's auto. He declared, laughingly, that he had had quite enough excitement that morning for a man of his years. A few moments after the departure of Fan and his strange companions therefore, Mrs. Bancroft's auto, towing the injured car by means of a rope brought along for that purpose, set out on its return journey. Jimsy rode beside his sister, who made a brave effort to bid a cheery good-bye to the young aviators. But, somehow, all of them felt that a constraint had been suddenly born among them, arising out of the mystery of the missing jewels. The next day posters, announcing a reward for the recovery of the jewels, were hurriedly struck off at Sandy Bay printing office, and distributed throughout the town and the surrounding country. In due course the Prescott household, of course, received one, and the perusal of it did not add to their cheerfulness. The bills gave a description of the accident and the circumstances, and Roy could not but feel that any logical person reading the things would come to the conclusion that Roy Prescott probably knew more about the facts of the case, at least, than any one else. In addition to the disconcerting bills the regular police officials of Sandy Bay visited the Prescott home and interrogated Roy, to Peggy's huge indignation. But worse was to come; private detectives also came and questioned and cross-questioned him at great length. Roy could not but feel with all this that he was an object of suspicion, but he bravely went about as before and tried to hide his inner thoughts as closely as possible. Jess soon recovered and was up and about once more. The four young folks interchanged visits and motored and "aeroed" together as freely as before, but they somehow all felt that the air was charged with some influence that made things quite different to what they had been before the accident and the subsequent mysterious vanishing of the jewels. Peggy privately made up her mind, with a truly feminine intuition, that Fanning Harding had something to do with the affair. Recalling his strange visit to the wood, she even visited the place by herself one day to see if she could light upon any clew that might serve to clear things up. But, as might have been expected, she found nothing. Her trip over had been made in the Golden Butterfly. Disappointed at her lack of success, for she had almost allowed herself to believe that she would, in some queer fashion, happen upon a clew, the girl was preparing to return, when something happened. A rod, connecting a warping lever with the right wing of the monoplane, snapped with a sharp crack. "Oh, dear!" exclaimed Peggy to herself, "what shall I do?" She looked about her as if seeking for information from her surroundings. All at once she became aware that two men had emerged from the wood behind her and were watching her closely. Plucky as the girl was, she felt her heart beat a little quicker as she gazed. There was something so very piercing in their scrutiny. Suddenly one of them stepped forward, and Peggy saw, to her astonishment, that she knew him. More astonishing still, the man was trembling and whitefaced as if in alarm at something. It was Morgan, the butler at Mrs. Bancroft's. "Why, Morgan, whatever are you doing here?" exclaimed Peggy as she breathed more freely. The man hesitated. His companion, whom Peggy could now see was an employe about the Bancroft stables, came to his rescue. "Why, miss, we've been doin' a bit of trapping in the woods there." "Yes, miss, that's hit," struck in Morgan, a stout, puffy-faced Englishman with "side burns." "A bit o' poaching, as you might say, miss. I 'opes you won't tell on hus." "Good gracious, no," laughed Peggy, immensely relieved to find that the two men were not strangers. "I thought you looked scared when you saw me, Morgan." "Yes, miss. You see, I haint used in hold England ter see young ledies a flyin' round like bloomin'--bloomin' pertater bugs, hif you'll pardon the comparison, miss. But 'as yer 'ad han h'accident?" "I have," rejoined Peggy, restraining an impulse to say "I 'ave." "It's not much. If there was a blacksmith shop round here I could get it fixed in a jiffy. It's just this rod that's snapped." "Why, miss," puffed Morgan, "Gid Gibbon's place isn't more than a few paces, as you might say, from 'ere. Why don't you take that rod there? Hi'll h'escort yer." "Why, that's so," agreed Peggy, "how stupid of me not to have thought of it. Gid can fix it in a few minutes." Selecting a small wrench from the tool box Peggy deftly unbolted the broken rod, and then, with Morgan and his companion as guides, she set off across the fields for Gid's shop, which she now recalled was a short distance up the road, but hidden from the spot where the Butterfly had dropped by a patch of woods. "By the way, Morgan," the girl asked, suddenly, "has anything more been heard of the missing jewels?" To Peggy's astonishment the man started and stammered. "Yes, miss--that is--no, miss. I means, miss, that there ain't been no news, miss, hof hany kind, miss." Peggy nodded without appearing to note the man's confusion. "It's a queer affair, miss," put in Morgan's companion, whose name was Giles. "It is, indeed," rejoined Peggy. "I do wish it could all be cleared up." "Same 'ere, miss, hi'm sure," struck in Morgan, mopping his puffy face. He seemed to have, in great part, recovered his composure. "Well, there is the blacksmith shop," said the other man presently, as they emerged from the fields upon the road through a sliding gate. He pointed to a long, low, ramshackle structure at the cross-roads. Beside it stood a fairly neat cottage and beyond this again a brand new shed, from which proceeded a great sound of hammering. As Morgan and Giles left her, to make a shortcut home across lots, Peggy set off at a brisk pace, holding the broken rod in her hands. She almost dropped the bits of metal an instant later in a great surprise that she encountered. The door of the brand new building opened and out stepped Fanning Harding, in overalls and jumper. Suddenly he became aware of Peggy's advancing figure and halted, staring at her. CHAPTER VIII. HESTER'S RUBY. The door of the shed had been opened wide, but Fanning closed it swiftly as if in great anxiety to conceal what was within. Then it was that Peggy first became aware of something she had not noticed before. Above the portal was a signboard upon which was painted in staring red letters: "Office and Works of the Fanning Harding Aeroplane Co." Hardly had Peggy digested this astonishing sign before Fanning, his look of startled surprise replaced by a smile, advanced, cap in hand, to meet her. "Why, what ever brings you here?" he asked, with the air of easy familiarity which Peggy disliked so much. "I guess that that sign gave you a kind of a start, eh?" "It certainly did," agreed Peggy, "and it gives me even more of a start to see you working, Fanning." "Huh," grunted the youth, beneath whose blue overalls were visible a pair of gaudy socks of the kind he affected, "I guess you think that I can't make good as well as any one else when I try. Roy wouldn't go into a deal with me on that aeroplane of his, so I just got busy and started a concern of my own." "Do you mean you are actually building an aeroplane?" "Yes. Got orders for several of them," rejoined the swaggering youth. "So far I've only had Gid to help me, but I guess I'll have to enlarge the plant pretty soon. You see that Roy would have been wiser to sell me that 'plane of his at the start-off. As things are now, the Harding Aeroplane Company is going to discount anything in its line." "Well, I am glad of that," said Peggy, briskly, and with some trace of asperity. Fanning's conceited, confident air jarred upon her sadly. "But I came over here to find Mr. Gibbons. I want him to repair this rod for me." "Why, that's off an aeroplane!" exclaimed Fanning, eagerly; "you must have come to earth in the Golden Butterfly quite close to here." "Why, yes. In that field yonder," rejoined Peggy, some instinct telling her not to disclose the true object of her visit there; "my motor went wrong and I had to descend." "What field did you come down in? That one by the clump of woods round the bend in the road?" asked Fanning, with just a trace of anxiety in his tone. "Yes. It was lucky I was so close. Morgan and Giles----" "What, Morgan and Giles were there?" Fanning seemed tremendously excited all of a sudden. "Why, yes. What of it?" But Fanning had pulled himself together. "Oh, nothing," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "I only thought they were a long way from home, that's all. But here comes Gid now. Hey, Gid! Miss Prescott wants a rod welded. Can you do it for her right away?" "Sure," responded the ill-favored blacksmith, shuffling up. His chin was more bristly than ever, and his shifty blue eyes blinked like a rat's beady orbs as he took the bits of metal. "A flaw," he declared, examining them; "wonder it didn't break sooner. Come on to the forge, miss, and I'll fix it for you in a brace-of-shakes." Off he shuffled toward the ramshackle forge, Peggy following. Behind her came Fanning. As they passed the cottage Hester Gibbons came flying down the path, but stopped at a sign from Fanning. The youth dropped further behind, and as Peggy followed Gid into the forge and the bellows began roaring, they began to talk in low tones. "Do you think she can suspect anything?" asked Hester at one point. "Not a thing," was the confident response. "That pale-faced old gopher, Morgan, was in the wood this afternoon, though. She told me that. The existence of the Harding Aeroplane Company has become known rather before I wanted it to, also. However, they may as well know now as any other time that they aren't the only fliers in the air. I guess the Harding aeroplane will beat anything in its line ever seen." "I guess it will," laughed Hester, and then, for some unknown reason, they both burst into fits of immoderate laughter. Evidently something connected with Fanning's new enterprise was deemed highly amusing by both of them. Peggy left without seeing Hester, although from behind a blind in the cottage, the girl watched her closely enough. Gid, whatever his other shortcomings might have been, was a good blacksmith, and the rod was well repaired. Peggy soon had it adjusted, and was about to clamber into the chassis and start home when a shout from the road made her look up. An automobile stood there, and in it were Jess and Jimsy. They hailed her excitedly, and Peggy hastily threw out the switch which she had just adjusted and hastened across the field to them. She soon saw that Jess was waving a leather pocket case above her head and that her face was flushed and excited. "My dear Jess, whatever has happened?" she cried, as she came up to the side of the auto. "Happened!" echoed Jess. "Why, my dear, the most extraordinary, inexplicable thing you ever heard of." "In other words, 'we are up in the air,'" quoth the slangy Jimsy, "even if we don't own an aeroplane." "You see this case," cried Jess, extending the leather wallet for Peggy's inspection. "Well, that's the case that held mamma's jewels. It was returned most strangely to us this afternoon. We found it on the porch after lunch. "Oh, Jess! the jewels were in it. I'm so glad." "No, girlie, it was empty." "Empty!" echoed Peggy, "and nobody knows how it came there?" "No, we must have been at lunch at the time. None of the servants know anything about the matter, either. It's a real, dark and deep mystery." "It's all of that, my dear Watson," proclaimed Jimsy, folding his arms and scowling in imitation of a famous detective of fiction. "Why on earth should the thief want to return the wallet? You'd think he'd dodge such a risk of being arrested." But Peggy had been looking at the wallet which had so amazingly reappeared. "Why, Jess," she cried, "it's all mud-stained. It looks as if it had been buried somewhere." "It certainly does," agreed Jimsy, "but even that doesn't give us any more to go on than the theory that the jewels have been buried some place." "And been dug up again," put in Peggy, quickly. After some more conversation the group was about to break up, when Jess exclaimed suddenly: "Oh, by the way, did you hear about Jeff Stokes? No, I see you haven't. Well, he's been appointed wireless operator at Rocky Point." "Oh, I'm so glad," cried Peggy, impulsively; "that's been his ambition for a long time." Rocky Point was a projecting neck of land about two miles east of Sandy Bay. It was quite an important signalling station for ships passing up and down the Sound. The position which Jeff Stokes had secured was a lucrative one in a way, and, at any rate, was in direct line of promotion. The two Bancrofts waited to watch Peggy take the air in her now staunch aeroplane. It was not until she had vanished with a whirr and a whiz that Jimsy thought of starting his own car. "Gracious," cried Jess, as they sped along, "how I wish that the mystery of those jewels could be cleared up." As she spoke they were passing by the cottage occupied by Gid Gibbons. "Oh, look, there's that horrid Fanning Harding and Gid Gibbons's daughter at the gate," cried Jess. At the same instant as she uttered the exclamation, Hester Gibbons looked up in time to see Jess's gaze concentrated upon her. She whisked about, her skirts swinging as she did so. But she did not turn quickly enough for Jess's sharp eyes not to see that she snatched at something she had been wearing at her throat. The millionaire's daughter was almost certain that the object Hester snatched at in such a hurry was a ruby brooch, or at least an imitation of one. She had distinctly caught a ruddy flash as Hester's hand moved to her throat. Jimsy, too, had noticed it, it seemed, for he suddenly observed: "Seems queer for Hester to be wearing jewelry. Her father must be making money fast nowadays." "Yes," said Jess, but her voice was distant and preoccupied. She was certain that her eyes had not deceived her. It had been a ruby that Hester Gibbons had pulled off and hastened to conceal. Obeying an impulse, she turned and gazed back over the top of the tonneau. Through the dust cloud behind the car she could see that Hester and Fanning Harding were once more in deep conversation at the gate. She wondered what they could find so engrossing to talk about, and also speculated on several other things. She, however, avoided mentioning her suddenly aroused suspicions to Jimsy. He was so hasty. Inwardly she made a resolve to seek out Peggy the first thing the next day and compare notes with her. She could not help feeling that matters were assuming a very complicated aspect. CHAPTER IX. A RACE AGAINST TIME. One evening, a week later, Peggy and her brother were tightening up some braces on the Golden Butterfly after an afternoon's flight along the coast, when the sharp "honk! honk!" of an automobile from the road attracted their attention. Running to the door, Peggy saw Jimsy and his sister in the "Gee Whizz," as their red auto had been christened. But that there was something the matter with the Gee Whizz was evident. The motor, ungeared, was coughing and gasping in a painful manner. Jimsy shouted as he saw the two young Prescotts. "Say, you aviators, come here and see what you can do to doctor a poor creeping earthworm of an auto." Laughing at his tone and words, Peggy and her brother hastened down the path and through the gate. "Something's wrong with the transmission," explained Jimsy. "What's the trouble?" asked Roy. "What a question, you goose?" cried Jess; "if we knew we'd have fixed it long ago." "It's doubly annoying," said Jimsy, in an impatient voice, "because we got a wire from father to-night, saying that he would take us on a trip to Washington with him if we arrived in New York by eight-thirty." "Oh, you poor dears," exclaimed Peggy, "and if you don't get there at that time?" "We can't go, that's all," said Jess, tragically clasping her gloved hands. "Bother the luck," muttered Jimsy, with masculine grumpiness. "Found out what's the trouble, Roy?" "Yes," was the response; "one of your gears is stripped. I'm afraid that there'll be no Washington trip for you folksies." The tears rose in Jess's fine eyes. Jimsy looked cross, and an abrupt silence fell. It was Peggy who broke it with a suggestion. "There's a train leaves Central Riverview junction at six, isn't there?" "I believe so," rejoined Jess, in a doleful voice; "we took it one night, I remember, when we missed the through cars from Sandy Bay." "It's five now," nodded Peggy, examining the dial of a tiny watch, one of the last presents her father had given her. "Fat chance of getting this old hurdy-gurdy fixed up in time to make it," grumbled Jimsy. "You don't have to," cried Peggy, with a note of triumph. "Don't have to!" It was Jess who echoed the remark. "No, indeed. Our aerial express will start for the junction in a few minutes, and----" But the rest was drowned in an enthusiastic shout. Jess threw her arms about her chum and fairly hugged her. "You darling. We can make it?" "We must," was the business-like rejoinder. "Roy, you get the Butterfly out and fill the lubricator tank. We've got enough gasolene." Roy and Jimsy, arm in arm, hastened off to the shed. The two girls followed more leisurely. It was not long before everything was in readiness, but fast as they worked it was nearly half an hour before preparations were all complete. Then they climbed in and Peggy started the engine. But the next instant she shut it off again. "The second cylinder is missing fire," she pronounced. Roy bent over the refractory part of the motor and soon had it adjusted. Then the motor settled down to a steady tune, the regular humming throb that delights the heart of the aviator. "All ready?" inquired Peggy, adjusting her hood and goggles and turning about. "Right Oh!" hailed Jimsy. "Now, boys and girls, prepare for a long run," warned Peggy; "with this load it will take a long time to rise." The aeroplane was speeded up and soon traversed the slope leading from the back of the shed to the summit of the little hill at the rear of the Prescott place. As it topped the rise Peggy turned on full power. The Golden Butterfly dashed forward and then, after what seemed a long interval, began to rise. Up it soared, its motor laboring bravely under its heavy burden. In the dusk blue flames could be seen occasionally spurting from the exhausts. It would have been a weird, perhaps a terrifying sight to any one unused to it--the flight of this roaring, flaming, sky monster, through the evening gloom. "We've got half an hour to make the twenty miles," shouted Roy, from his seat beside his sister. Peggy set her little white even teeth and nodded. "I'm going to make for the tracks and follow them. That's the quickest way," she said. It seemed only a few seconds later that the red and green lights of a semaphore signal flashed up below them. "Bradley's Crossing," announced Roy. Swinging the aeroplane about, Peggy began flying directly above the tracks. "No sign of the train yet--we may make it," said Jimsy, pulling out his watch. It showed a quarter to six, and they had fifteen miles to travel, or so Roy estimated the distance. "Let her out for a mile-a-minute," he exclaimed. Peggy only nodded. She was far too busy getting all the work she could out of the motor. An extra passenger makes a lot of difference to an aeroplane, and the Butterfly was only built to accommodate three. But she was answering gallantly to the strain. On she flew above the tracks, every now and then roaring above some astonished crossing keeper or track-walker. Suddenly, from somewhere behind them, they heard a long, moaning whistle. "The train!" shouted Jess. In her excitement she gripped Roy's arm tightly and peered back. All at once, around a curve, the locomotive came into view--black smoke spouting from its funnel and a column of white steam pouring from its safety valves. "She'll beat us," cried Jimsy, despairingly, as the thunder of the speeding train grew louder. The setting sun flashed on the varnished sides of the cars. The engineer thrust his head out of the cab window and gazed upward. His attention had been attracted by the roaring of the motor overhead. He broke into a yell and waved his hand as he saw the flying aeroplane dashing along above him. The next instant his hand sought the whistle cord. "Toot! toot! toot!" The occupants of the aeroplane waved their hands. To their chagrin, however, they saw that, overloaded as the aeroplane was, the train was gaining on them in leaps and bounds. Its windows were black with heads now as passengers, regardless of the danger of encountering some trackside obstacle, leaned out and gazed up at the Golden Butterfly roaring along like some great Thunder Lizard of the dark ages. "Don't they stop anywhere between here and the junction?" gasped Jimsy. Roy shook his head. "It's a through train from Montauk," he said; "they make all the speed they can." "Two minutes," cried Jess, suddenly; "we won't do it." But Peggy had suddenly swung off the tracks and was cutting across country. She had seen that the track took a long curve just before it entered the junction. By taking a direct "crow flight" across country she might beat it after all. And she did. As the train came thundering into the station and stopped with a mighty screaming of brakes and hiss of escaping steam, the aeroplane came to earth in the flat park-like space in front of the depot. "Tumble out quick!" shouted Roy, "she only stops a jiffy." Jess and Jimsy lost no time in obeying. "Good-bye, you darlings!" cried Jess, as she sped after her brother toward the station. "We'll get our tickets on the train!" shouted Jimsy, as they vanished. "All ab-o-a-r-d!" The conductor's voice ran peremptorily out. He had seen the race between the aeroplane and the train, but even that could not disturb a conductor's desire to start on time. As the wheels began to revolve, Jimsy and Jess swung on to the steps of the rear parlor car. As they did so the passengers broke into an involuntary cheer. The shouts of approval at the up to date manner in which the young folks had "made their train," mingled with the puffing of the locomotive as it sped off. Among the spectators of the sensational feat had been a broad-shouldered, bronzed man in a big sombrero hat, who sat in the same parlor car which Jimsy and Jess had entered. He looked like a Westerner. As the train gathered headway he suddenly, after an interval of deep thought, struck one big brawny hand upon his knee and exclaimed to himself: "It's the very thing--the very thing. With a fleet of those I could develop the Jupiter and astonish the mining world." He rose, with the slowness of a powerful man, and made his way back to where Jimsy and Jess were sitting. Raising his broad-brimmed hat with old-fashioned courtesy, he addressed himself to Jimsy and was soon deep in conversation with him. CHAPTER X. THE RIVAL AEROPLANE. In the meanwhile, the exciting race against time had resulted in overheating the Golden Butterfly's cylinders, and a stop of an hour or more at the junction was necessary. Thus it was quite dark when the young Prescotts were ready to make for home. A small crowd had gathered to see them start, for there was a little community of houses scattered about the junction. They decided to go the way they had come, namely, to follow the tracks to the crossing and then turn off for home. It was their first experience in night piloting, and when they were ready Peggy switched on the tiny shaded bulb that illuminated the compass. This done, she started the engine, and the Golden Butterfly shot into the air under its reduced load with an almost buoyant sense of freedom. The crossing was reached in several minutes less than it had taken them to reach the junction on the going trip. Peggy turned off as she marked the glowing lights beneath her, and presently the Golden Butterfly was skimming along above dark woodlands and gloom-enshrouded meadows. There was something awe inspiring about this night flying. Above them the canopy of the stars stretched like a mantle spangled with silver sequins. Below, the earth showed as a black void. They were flying slowly to avoid overheating the cylinders again. Suddenly a bright glare shot up against the night from below, and a little ahead of them. It died down almost instantly, only to flash up once more. "Gid Gibbons's forge!" exclaimed Roy. "Let's fly over by there and see what he's doing." "All right," agreed Peggy; "ever since my visit there I have felt a great interest in Mr. Gibbons. But we'll have to make haste, there's some wind coming before long." The girl was right. A filmy mist, like a veil, had spread over the stars, dimming their bright lamps, and a wind was beginning to sigh in the trees under them. But they had not reached Gid Gibbons's place, or rather a location above it, when an astonishing thing happened. From the ground a red light and a green light set at some distance apart began to rise. Up and up they climbed through the night in long, swinging circles. Between them was dimly visible the dark outlines of some fabric. "An aeroplane!" cried the boy and girl, simultaneously. "Fan Harding's aeroplane!" cried Peggy, an instant later. "And--oh, Roy--it can fly!" she added, admiringly. "No doubt of that," was the rather grudging reply, as the red and green lights soared up and up. "Keep clear of it, sis, we don't want a collision," warned Roy. "Oh, I'd like to get close and see it," breathed Peggy. "I never would have credited Fan Harding with being able to do it." "Nor I," exclaimed Roy, his dislike of Fan Harding giving place to admiration--genuine admiration--of the other's ingenuity. "Well, he's beaten me out at my own particular specialty," he exclaimed presently, after an interval in which the lights had climbed far above the Golden Butterfly. "That's a better machine than ours, Peg." "I guess we'll have to admit that," rejoined the girl, with a sigh. "I wonder if he'll enter for the prize?" "Of course. With a craft like that he'd be foolish if he didn't. Odd that he's trying it out at night, though." "I suppose he wants to keep secret what it can do and then spring it on an astonished world," rejoined Peggy. "Good gracious!" she broke off hurriedly. The aeroplane had given a sudden lurch, and at the same instant a sharp puff of wind struck them both in the face. Peggy's hands fairly flashed among her levers, and she averted what might have been a bad predicament. Involuntarily, at the same instant, Roy had glanced up at the other aeroplane to see how it was faring. To his astonishment the lights did not seem to waver. "Wow, Peg!" he cried, "that puff didn't even bother Fan Harding's craft. It was uncanny to see her weather it." "There's something uncanny about it altogether," sniffed Peggy; "it's a regular phantom airship." "That's just what it is," agreed Roy, "but I'm afraid it is a substantial enough phantom to carry off that $5,000 prize." Another puff prevented Peggy from replying just then. Once more the Golden Butterfly careened violently, and then, under Peggy's skillful handling, righted herself. But this time the puff was followed by a steady rush of wind. "Better turn, Peg, before it gets any worse," advised Roy; "we're off our course now." "I--I tried to," exclaimed Peggy, desperately, "but the wind won't let me. I don't dare to." "We must," exclaimed Roy, with a serious note in his voice; "if this wind freshens much more we won't be able to turn at all." He leaned forward and took the wheel from his sister. But the instant he tried to steer the aeroplane round, the wind, rising under one wing tip, careened her to a perilous angle. "No go," he said; "we've got to keep on going." "But where can we land?" asked Peggy, a little catch in her voice. "We'll have to take chances on that," decided Roy. "It would be suicidal to try to buck this wind." The breeze had now freshened till it was singing an Aeolian song in every wire and brace of the Golden Butterfly. Brother and sister could feel the stout fabric vibrate under the strain of the blast. The aeroplane was moving swiftly now. But it was the toy of the wind, which grew stronger every minute. The dark landscape beneath fairly flew by under them. Neither of them thought to look back at the red and green lights in the sky behind them. All at once, Roy, who had leaned over his sister's shoulder and glanced at the compass, gave a sharp cry. "We've got to turn, sis," he said, in a tense, sharp voice. "What do you mean, Roy? Are we in any very serious danger?" The girl's voice shook nervously in response to the anxiety expressed in her brother's tone. "Danger!" echoed Roy. "Girlie, we are being blown out to sea!" Blown out to sea! The words held a real poignant terror for Peggy. "Oh, Roy, we must do something!" she cried, helplessly. "Yes, but what? We can't, we daren't turn about. The machine would tip like a bucket. No, we must keep on and trust to luck." Peggy shuddered. Hurtled along in the wind-driven darkness, brother and sister sat in silence, waiting for the first warning that they were approaching the sea. In the blackness it was impossible to see anything ahead, and the starlight, which, dim as it was, might have helped, had been overcast by a filmy covering of light clouds. Once or twice as they were hurried helplessly along, the propeller beating desperately against the wind, they saw, far below them, the cheerful lights of some farmhouse. Further off a glare against the sky indicated the lights of Sandy Bay. How they wished that they were safe and sound at home, as they were blown onward by the wind, going faster and faster every minute. Roy, his pulses beating hard, and every nerve at tension, had taken the wheel from his sister, even at the risk of careening the aeroplane when they shifted their positions. Every now and then he tried to turn ever so little, but each time a tip at a dangerous angle warned him not to attempt such a thing. All at once Peggy uttered a shrill cry. "Oh, Roy! The sea!" Above the screeching of the wind and the hum of the motor they could now hear another sound, the thunder of the surf on the beach. Straining his eyes ahead Roy could see now the white gleam of the breakers as they broke in showers of spray on the seashore. A real sense of terror, such as he had never felt before, clutched at his heart as he heard and saw. But controlling his voice, he turned to Peggy. "Be brave, little sister," he said; "we'll pull through all right." Peggy said nothing in response. She dared not trust her voice to speak just at that moment. White faced and with staring, fixed eyes, she sat motionless and silent, as the Golden Butterfly was driven out above the roaring surf and the tossing waves. To her alarmed imagination the sea seemed to be reaching up hungry arms for the two daring young aviators. Suddenly she was half blinded by a brilliant flash of light which bathed the aeroplane in a flood of radiance. The next instant it was gone, but they could see the great shaft of radiance sweeping around the compass. "It's the light!" cried Roy. "The Rocky Point light!" CHAPTER XI. IN DIREST PERIL. "Oh, if we could only work round and land on the point," exclaimed Peggy. "There's a fine, smooth field there; in fact, it's all bare ground, without rocks or trees." "Yes, and Jeff Stokes is wireless operator there, too," rejoined her brother. "Hullo," he exclaimed an instant later, "the wind is shifting a bit. I almost got her head round that time." "Then there is a chance, Roy!" "Yes, sis, but don't count too much on it." Like a skillful jockey handling a restive horse, Roy worked the Golden Butterfly about on the shifting air currents. If once he could turn her nose toward the land he was sure that he would be able to make the ground by driving the aeroplane down on a slanting angle. Once or twice, while he strove with hand and brain against the elements, he caught his breath with a gasping intake--so near had they come to overturning. But, thanks to the wind eddies of the point, it was possible, after a deal of breathless maneuvering, to get the aeroplane headed for the land. The instant he found himself in this position Roy threw on all his power and then, "bucking" the wind, like a ship beating up to windward, he rushed down through the night upon the point. As he did so the rays of the slowly revolving light flashed brightly upon the laboring aeroplane. In the radiance it looked like some struggling night bird beating its way against the storm and darkness. As Peggy had said, the point was clear of rocks or brush, and a landing was made without much difficulty once the aeroplane had been turned. Just as a ship can face the waves with comparative security, so an aeroplane, being driven into the teeth of a gale, is secure so long as she does not "broach to"; in other words, get sidewise to the blast. It was touch and go with the Golden Butterfly for several minutes, though, during that struggle with the elements, and two more thankful young hearts rarely beat than Peggy's and Roy's as they stepped from the machine and made it fast by pointed braces provided for the purpose. Hardly had she touched the ground before a door in the lower part of the lighthouse opened and the form of Jeff Stokes emerged. He told them that the struggle with the wind had been seen by the light-keeper and himself, and he was warm in his congratulations of the daring young aviators. The light-keeper, a grizzled man named Zeb. Beasley, followed close on Jeff's heels. "Come right into the house and hev some supper," he said warmly. "It's only rough fare, but you're welcome. My misses will be glad to have you." Truth to tell, both Peggy and her brother were almost famished and worn out after the tension of the struggle with the wind. This being so, they were glad enough to accept the light-keeper's kind invitation. Peggy's first action, however, was to hasten to the 'phone in the lighthouse and call up their aunt. Miss Prescott, who had been badly worried over their prolonged absence, was much relieved to learn that they were safe and sound. Mrs. Beasley, a motherly woman of middle age, took charge of Peggy while Jeff Stokes entertained Roy. Jeff said that he liked the life at the light, lonesome as it grew sometimes. When he felt blue he used to relieve the monotony by talking, by means of invisible waves, with other operators. He wiled many a weary hour away in this manner, he said. Suddenly, in the midst of their talk, he excused himself and hastened to the small room in which his instruments were. The place, filled with shiny, mysterious apparatus and networked above with wires, was as neat as a pin. "Some one's calling," Jeff explained. His quick ear had caught the faint "tick-tick" hardly audible to the untrained ears, which told him that a message was vibrating through the night. Slipping over his head a metallic apparatus, not unlike the telephone receivers worn by "Central," Jeff began listening intently. Drawing a pad toward him, he was soon writing down the message as it was ticked off. Presently it was completed, by which time Peggy was one of his audience. "'Steamer Valiant, Captain Briggs, of London, wishes to be reported as passing Rocky Point, bound for Boston,'" read off Jeff. "Hum--nothing very exciting there." "What are you going to do now?" asked Peggy, as Jeff, the message in his hand, turned to another table, one on which were arranged some ordinary telegraph instruments. "Send it by ordinary wire telegraphy into the head office in New York," he said. "Why not send it by wireless?" asked Peggy. "Too much chance of delay and getting cross currents," explained Jeff. "We found that for quick transmission of ordinary business, that the wire is best, unless the atmospheric conditions are just right." Suddenly, one of the telegraph instruments began to crackle and click loudly. "Phew!" said Jeff, listening intently; "here's something that will interest you folks." "What is it?" asked Peggy, eagerly. "It's--wait a minute till I catch the last----" Jeff listened a few seconds more and then faced about. "Why, that message was a despatch from the Sandy Bay correspondent of the New York Planet to his paper," he said. "It was an article telling that Fanning Harding has completed a successful aeroplane which made a wonderful flight to-night in a stiff wind. He says that Harding has formed a company and means to manufacture similar craft. Then there was a lot of taffy about what a fine young fellow Harding is, and how bright, and so on. Wonder if it's true?" "I can vouch for that," said Peggy. "I've seen his factory. It's out by Gid Gibbons's shop." "So that's where Gid is getting all his money," exclaimed Jeff. "I saw him spending it like water in Sandy Bay the other day. Hester's got a lot of new dresses and hats, too." Peggy's heart beat a little faster. This sounded like a corroboration of her suspicions. Where could such a man as Gid Gibbons be getting such large amounts of money as he seemed to have recently? But before she could ask any more questions Mrs. Beasley announced supper. Speculation was rife in Peggy's mind as they sat down to the broiled sea bass, freshly caught, home-grown potatoes and string beans and other good things which the light-keeper had designated as "rough fare." Peggy was fain to admit afterward, and so was Roy, that never had she enjoyed anything so much as that meal in the old lighthouse with the wind roaring about it and the rough, kindly faces of their entertainers smiling on them. Good-natured Mrs. Beasley soon after arranged sleeping accommodations for her young guests, and that night the young aviators slumbered peacefully, while above them the great revolving light swept steadily in slow circles, warning vessels passing up and down the Sound of the dangerous proximity of Rocky Point. The next day dawned bright and fair. The sea lay like a sheet of blue glass, with scarcely a ripple to mar its polished surface. The last trace of the wind had died down. "We'll have no more breeze till sundown," announced Mr. Beasley at breakfast. Like most men of his profession, he was an earnest and accurate student of the weather. After breakfast Jeff Stokes, who had been on duty all night, was relieved by his assistant, a young man who boarded in the village and rode over to his duty on a motor-cycle. "Well," said Roy, after they had thanked their good-hearted entertainers warmly, "I guess it's time for us to be getting home." But Peggy had noted a wistful look in Jeff Stokes's eyes as he stood by the side of the aeroplane, which an examination had already shown to be none the worse for its buffeting of the night before. "Would you like to try a little flight, Jeff?" she asked. "Would I?" echoed the youth; "will a duck swim?" "Yes, I believe so," laughed Roy, "and so can a certain young wireless operator fly." "Gee, Roy, you mean it?" "Of course, if you're not scared." There was a mischievous twinkle in Roy's eye as he bent over the engine. "How would you like a ride, Mr. Beasley?" asked Peggy presently, while Roy adjusted the engine. The weather-beaten old fellow fairly threw up his hands. "Land of Goshen, miss!" he exclaimed, "I've lived on the earth and sea, man and boy, for fifty years, and I ain't agoin' ter tempt Providence by embarking in a sky clipper at this late day." "You bet you ain't," put in Mrs. Beasley with deep conviction. "Why, if you ever done such a thing we'd be like to be read out of church--not but what it's all right for young folks if they know how to manage the contraptions." "Now, then, Jeff, if you are ready will you get in?" said Roy presently. The slender young wireless operator hopped into the chassis with alacrity. But his face was a bit pallid from excitement at the idea of the new method of locomotion he was about to test. Last good-byes were said, and the motor began to whirr like a gigantic locust. There was a grinding and buzzing as the gears meshed and the aeroplane began to scud off. "Fer all ther world like some big, pesky grasshopper," declared Mrs. Beasley, as it scudded off across the smooth turf. But if the good lady was astonished, then it was nothing to her amazement when a moment later the Butterfly soared up into the air, lifting as gently on the windless atmosphere as a bit of drifting gossamer. Up and up it swept in graceful hawk-like circles. "Dear Suz!" shrieked Mrs. Beasley presently, "if they ain't agoin' out ter sea!" "Just what they air," shouted her husband, shading his eyes with a wrinkled hand. "I never thought ter have lived ter have seen such a thing!" Roy had been unable to resist the temptation to take a little spin out above the glassy, scarcely heaving water. The gulls, soaring above it, viewed with amazement the invasion of their realm by this buzzing, angry looking monster. They flew about it shrieking. "Goodness, I hope they don't attack us," exclaimed Peggy. "Not likely," was Roy's response. "They think we are some kind of big bird, I guess, and want to have a game with us." As they swept on, all agreed that never had they felt such a feeling of exhilaration as came to them as they swooped and swung above the glistening blue water, for all the world like some huge bird. Once or twice motor boats went by beneath them, and the occupants looked up at first in wonderment and then in enthusiasm at the sight the Golden Butterfly and her three young occupants presented. But all at once the steady song of the engine began to grow different. It "skipped" and sputtered and coughed. Blue smoke rolled from the exhausts. The aeroplane began to waver and sag. Jeff Stokes turned rather pale. "What is the matter?" he gasped, steadying his voice as much as he could as the aeroplane began to drop steadily down toward the water beneath them. "The gasolene's given out," rejoined Roy in a voice which was full of anxiety. "Oh, Roy, what shall we do?" Peggy gasped as the aeroplane, its propeller beating the air more and more feebly, began to descend with greater rapidity. "We'll have to volplane to some land if we can, and if we can't we must take our chances for it in the water," was Roy's grim reply. CHAPTER XII. WHAT HAPPENED ON THE ISLAND. "Look," cried Peggy suddenly, "isn't that a small island below there? Maybe we can make that?" "I'll try to," was the answer, as Roy gripped the steering wheel more firmly. At the same instant the motor, with a gasp and a sputter, gave out altogether. But Roy knew how to volplane; that is, to reach the earth by swinging the aeroplane in circles so that her stability was maintained even with the power cut off. He began to execute this maneuver now. The island which Peggy had indicated was a small spot of land some five miles off the shore. It was sandy and barren looking on one side, though at the further end from them there grew some trees and scrubby looking bushes. If he could only keep the aeroplane from sagging down into the sea Roy was confident he could land at the place in safety. But it was still some distance off and the aeroplane was still dropping with much greater rapidity than seemed comfortable. Both Roy and his sister were expert swimmers, and the boy knew that Jeff was at home in the water. But at the same time, if they struck the surface of the sea, there was the chance that they might become entangled in the aeroplane and drowned before they had an opportunity to save themselves. So it was with a keen sense of apprehension that the boy exercised all the air craft of which he was master in bringing his sky cruiser downward. "Oh!" cried Peggy suddenly as the Golden Butterfly gave a sickening downward drop like a stone plunging to vacancy. But the empty "air pocket" which the craft had struck was a small one, and the next instant the atmosphere caught the broad wings and buoyed the aeroplane up from what seemed to be destined to be a disastrous fall. The drop had, however, had one good effect. It had thrown the aeroplane almost on end, and in that manner drained a few last driblets of gasolene from the depleted tank into the feed pipes. It was only a little fuel, but it was enough to cause the engine to resume operations for a couple of minutes. Taking advantage of this lucky accident, Roy drove forward, and as the propeller came once more to a standstill the Golden Butterfly sank down into a bed of sand which made her almost at once stationary. "Well, we are--aerial Robinson Crusoes," exclaimed Peggy as, having clambered out of the chassis, she stood surveying the little island which they had so fortunately landed upon. "Yes, and if we don't get some gasolene pretty quick we'll be Crusoes in a mighty uncomfortable sense," commented Roy, moodily gazing about at the surrounding sea, smooth as a sheet of glass and without the sign of a boat upon it. Far off on the horizon there hung a three-masted schooner, all her sails set, in the flat calm. But she was too far off to aid them even had she been able to. "Tell you what we'll do, let's explore the island," said Jeff Stokes suddenly. "Of course," cried Peggy, clapping her hands, "that's what everybody does in story books when they are stranded on a desert island, and right after that they always find just what they want, even down to a silver-mounted manicure set." "I'd like to see a tin-mounted can of gasolene," grunted Roy. Nevertheless after seeing to the engine of the aeroplane he was willing enough to set out with the others to explore this little spot of land in the Sound. It was so small that it did not take them long to reach the summit of the low peak into which it rose in the centre. "Oh, there's a little hut!" cried Peggy, suddenly. Sure enough, below them, and half overgrown with tall weeds and scrub growth, was a half ruined hut. It was doubtless the relic of some fisherman who had once used the island as headquarters. But it had, apparently, long lapsed into disuse. Hardly had they spied it before Roy made another discovery. Drawn up in a miniature cove not far from the hut was a trim and trig white motor boat, seemingly, from her long narrow shape and powerful engines, capable of great speed. Here was a discovery! A motor boat meant gasolene and companionship. With a soft cry of joy Peggy was dashing forward toward the hut, from which they could now hear proceeding the hum of human voices, when Roy suddenly checked her. From the doorway there had suddenly issued the figure of Morgan, the Bancrofts' butler. He gazed about him with a look of half alarmed suspicion on his flabby face. The young aviators instinctively crouched back behind a screen of green brush. They felt a suddenly aroused premonition that everything was not as it should be. "H'its nothink," said Morgan, addressing someone within the hut, after he had gazed about a little more without seeing anything to further alarm his suspicions. "All right, if that's the case come back in here," came another voice from inside the hut. "Giles!" recognized the astonished Peggy. But another and a greater surprise was yet in store for them when they heard another voice strike into the conversation. There was no mistaking the tones for any others than Fanning Harding's. "You chaps are nervous as kittens," he was saying, "who on earth would come to this island? We are as private here as if we were in the South Seas. Now go ahead, Morgan, with what you were saying." "Well, what h'I says is this," spoke up the English butler, "a fair diwision and no favoritism. You say you want a third? You ain't h'entitled to h'it. H'it was h'only by h'accident that you found h'out h'our secret h'and h'I thinks you ought to be content with what you can get." "Very well," was the rejoinder, "but as you fellows know, I've got you in my power. You daren't make a move without consulting me. If you try any monkey tricks I'll crush you so quick you won't know what struck you. The police are still carrying on their investigation, and----" But here the voices sank so low that the eager young listeners could hear no more. But their eyes shone as they exchanged glances. Somehow both Peggy and Roy felt that the conversation had related to the mysterious vanishing of the jewels. This at least appeared clear from Fanning Harding's reference to the police. "We'd better get back to the other side of the island before they come out and see us," counseled Peggy. "If they were to find out we had been spying on them they might get frightened and spirit the jewels away from wherever they have them concealed, for I'm just as sure now that they are all three mixed up in it as I am that--that----" "We have no gasolene," put in Roy. "But you have no proof and nothing to go upon," objected Jeff Stokes who was, like most folks around Sandy Bay, familiar with the details of the strange occurrence. "That's just the trouble," said Peggy, "and it is just as impossible to go ahead in the case as it is for us to fly without fuel." "Peg!" cried Roy, suddenly, "look at that!" "That" was a ten gallon can of gasolene standing on the beach by the side of the motor boat. Evidently, to drag her bow up on the beach, they had lightened the craft so as to make the task easier, for several ropes, water jars and other bits of marine tackle lay about. "If we could only get it," sighed Peggy. "Yes, if," was the rejoinder from Roy, "but we can't steal it, and, as you say, it might spoil everything if Fanning Harding thought that we had overheard any of his talk." "Look out!" warned Jeff Stokes in a whisper the next instant. The warning did not come a bit too soon. The door of the hut opened and the party which had been in conference inside emerged. They made straight for the motor boat, which Jeff Stokes had, in the meantime, recognized as one that was for hire at Sandy Bay. "Come on, boys, we've got to be getting back," urged Fanning moving quickly and preparing to shove the craft off. "Wait till I chuck some of this truck in," grumbled Giles. He stooped and rapidly threw in the ropes and other gear scattered about. Then as Fanning Harding and the flabby-faced butler shoved the craft off he made a hasty scramble for the boat's bow, leaping in as she floated free of the beach. "H'I soy," shouted Morgan, "you forgot the bloomin' gasolene." "Better put back and get it," growled Giles; "if you fellows had helped me a bit instead of givin' advice it wouldn't have bin forgotten." "Oh, we can't bother with it now," struck in Fanning, impatiently, "we've plenty in the tank to take us back. I'm not going to delay any longer." He spun over the fly wheel as he spoke and the motor boat began to cut rapidly through the water headed for Sandy Bay. As soon as it had gone a safe distance the three stranded young adventurers joined hands and executed a wild war dance of joy. By a means almost miraculous they had fallen across the very thing they needed. "It's just like the story books!" cried Peggy, delightedly. They raced down toward the coveted can, which was half full of the precious fuel. Enough to get them ashore at any rate. Before returning to the stranded aeroplane they examined the hut, but found nothing in it but a few broken-down bits of furniture. "Queer," commented Jeff, "I half expected to find something." "Not likely," laughed Roy, "they're too foxy for that." "What do you suppose they came to the island for?" asked Peggy. "To get a quiet place to talk where they would not be observed by any one who knew them, I guess," rejoined her brother. "Oh, if only we could solve the mystery. It's tantalizing to be so close to it and yet with so many tangled ends left ravelled." "Be patient," advised Peggy, "it will all come out in time. And now I'm as famished for lunch as the Golden Butterfly is, so lets fill up the tank and then head for home." "Second the motion," laughed Jeff Stokes. Half an hour later the Golden Butterfly once more rose, and without incident or mishap winged her way back to Rocky Point. CHAPTER XIII. JUKES DADE APPEARS. The aviation field at Acatonick a few days before the big contests for juvenile aviators was alive with action and color. The spot selected was a flat, smooth field of some fifty acres on the outskirts of the town. The grass spread a green carpet, thickly sprinkled with wild flowers, while at one side of the place was a row of green-painted sheds known as the "hangars." "Hangar is French for shed," Peggy had explained to a group of friends from Sandy Bay whom she was showing over the grounds, "and I think that _shed_ is a whole lot better word than 'Ongar,' which is the way you are supposed to pronounce it." One of the sheds--as in deference to Peggy we shall call them--was of a different color, and stood somewhat apart from the rest. It was also much larger and bore in consequential-looking letters over its door the words: "Harding Aeroplane Company. Keep Out." And to see that this notice was enforced to the letter, Fanning Harding had installed a red-nosed watchman with a formidable club at the portal. Considerable secrecy, in fact, had been observed concerning his aeroplane. Several large boxes had arrived one night and been hustled as quickly as possible into the shed. The shed assigned to Roy Prescott, happened, by an odd coincidence, to be next door to the Harding one. The second day of their stay at Acatonick, Roy, on coming down to the field from the hotel at which he and Peggy and Miss Prescott were stopping, was much surprised to be greeted by Fanning, with some effusiveness. After a lot of preliminary hemming and hawing, Fanning broached to Roy once more the proposition of selling the Golden Butterfly. "But I thought you had a fine type of aeroplane of your own," said Roy, wondering at this renewal of Fanning's offer. "So I have," was the rejoinder, "but now that I have established my business on a paying business basis I can handle another type. You know mine is a biplane model." Roy nodded. He had no liking for Fanning, but the other was so effusive that he felt it was incumbent on him to meet the other lad half way, as the saying is. "I'd like to have a look at your craft sometime," he said. "Not much you won't," rejoined Fanning, quickly, "you'll see her on the day she wins the big prize and not before." "You seem to have it won already," rejoined Roy, rather contemptuously. "Oh, yes," was the confident reply, "I'm going to simply fly rings round you and the rest, so you'd better take up my offer now, for after the race your Golden Butterfly stock won't be worth a penny." "I'm not so certain about that," was the answer. "Then you won't take up my offer. I'll raise it another two hundred." Roy smiled and shook his head. Something in his refusal angered the other lad. "Well as you wish," he said, strolling off, "but dad has been pretty lenient with you up to date. As you won't meet us half way, though I'm going to advise him to force you to sell the Golden Butterfly." "How?" "By foreclosing that mortgage without further delay." Fanning whipped the words out with a vicious intonation. All his mean nature surged up into his face as he spoke. Roy breathed a little quicker. But outwardly he was calm and cold as ice. "That's your privilege," he said shortly, turning away, but that night he and Peggy had a troubled discussion about ways and means, and it became more than ever evident to them how much depended on winning the five thousand dollar prize. There were several aspirants in the juvenile class on the grounds as well as fliers of more mature years, for Mr. Higgins had interested some other capitalists, and it had been decided to make quite an event out of the aerial meet. On the day before the race, which meant so much to them, Peggy and Roy decided to take a practice spin across country in their 'plane. The capable looking machine excited much favorable comment when it was wheeled out of its shed. Several of the other competitors gathered about it while the engine was being tuned up. Among them was a surly looking chap with a dark, roughly-shaven chin and a pair of shifty eyes. He stood beside Fanning Harding, who was also in the crowd about the Golden Butterfly. The Sandy Bay boy gazed on with a sneering look while our two young aviators got everything in readiness. This took some time for everybody was anxious to take a hand in the work, and it was quite a task to kindly, but steadfastly, reject these offers, well meant as they were. At last everything appeared to be in good shape and with a buzz and a whirr the engine was tried out. It worked perfectly, and before the crowd had had time to cheer, the aeroplane shot up from the ground in front of its shed with hardly any preliminary run. Then came a belated cheer. "That's the craft that wins the big prize," said a stout, good-natured looking man. "Don't you be so certain," snapped out Fanning Harding, who stood close by, and to whom the words were gall. "Why, what's the matter with you, my young friend," asked the jovial man; "you must be meaning to get it yourself." "That's right," was the confident reply. "Well, don't count your aerial chicks before they're hatched," was the merry rejoinder. A laugh at Fanning's expense went up from the crowd. The boy flushed angrily and strode off in the direction of his hangar. "Confound that young Jackanapes of a Roy Prescott," he muttered, as he went; "he gets ahead of me every time. But I'll fix him. Pop needs that land, and if Roy wins this race the Prescotts can pay off that mortgage and be on the road to riches. Well, I guess I'll settle all that. But I'll have to act quickly." "You seem to be sore on that Prescott boy," came a voice at his shoulder suddenly. Fanning turned quickly to find himself confronted by the unprepossessing individual who had stood at his side during the start of the Golden Butterfly, which was by this time almost out of sight in the eastward. "Why, what do you know about it?" he asked, sharply. "Well," was the rejoinder, "being an observing sort of an individual I figured out that you were not best pleased at seeing what a fine aeroplane that kid has. Right, ain't I?" He coolly took from his pocket a disgusting-looking cigar stump and proceeded to light it, leering impudently into Fanning's face the while. "Well, may be you are and then again you may not be," was the Sandy Bay youngster's cautious reply; "but how does it interest you?" "Because I haven't any more use for him than you have, and if you make it worth my while I'll give you a bit of information that will be of value to you." "What do you mean?" inquired Fanning, beginning to listen with more attention than he had hitherto shown. "Just this, that I'm Jukes Dade, who used to work for Mr. Prescott years ago, but he discharged me for--for--well for a little fault of drinking I had. Come now, don't you recognize me?" "By George, I do," exclaimed Fanning; "but it was so many years ago you were with Mr. Prescott that I hardly knew you. You have changed greatly." "I may have," was the reply in bitter tones. "I've been through enough. But there's one thing I ain't never forgotten in all these years, and that is my resolve to get even on old man Prescott." "But he is dead," put in Fanning, wondering at the baleful expression of hatred that had come into the man's face. "All true enough. I heard that some time ago. But if I can injure the son in any way, I'd like to do it. I've got a wrong to avenge, and if you want to pay well to have Roy Prescott put out of the race to-morrow I'm your man." "Hush, don't talk so loud. Some folks over there are looking at us." "Oh, well, if you're afraid to----" "No, no, that isn't it. I must prevent Roy winning that race to-morrow at all hazards. Come into my hangar and we can talk quietly." "Ah, that's the talk," was the rejoinder, and Jukes Dade chuckled with grim delight. "You want a little job of work done to settle our friend's hash. Well, you've come to the right shop when you meet up with old Jukes Dade who has an axe of his own to grind." CHAPTER XIV. A GIRL AVIATOR'S ADVENTURE. In the meantime, Peggy and Roy, the former at the steering wheel and controls, were skimming through the air above the charming country surrounding Acatonick. The exhilaration of flying, the thrill and zest of it, were strong upon them as they glided along, and they made an extended flight. "She is working like a three-hundred-dollar watch," cried Roy joyously as the speedy monoplane flew onward. "She's a darling," was Peggy's enthusiastic response. "I'm sure that if nothing happens you'll win that race to-morrow, Roy." "I hope so, little sister," was the response, "for there's a whole lot depending on it." "But just think. If you only do we shall be at the end of our troubles." "Not quite, sis," Roy reminded her, "that affair of the missing jewels is still a mystery, and as long as it stays so some folks will always be suspicious of me." "Oh, Roy, don't say such things. Nobody but the horridest of the horrid would----" "Unluckily," struck in the boy, "there are a lot of the horridest of the horrid in this world, and some of them are in Sandy Bay." He laughed and then went on more seriously: "It's a pretty nasty feeling, I can tell you, to know that you are unjustly suspected by several folks of--of--er--knowing more about an affair of that kind than you tell." "What can have become of the jewels?" "Ah, that's just it. Of course we have our suspicion, based really on nothing, that Fanning Harding knows something about them. But if he did why would he place that wallet on the porch of Jess's home?" "It's beyond me." "And beyond me, too. I'm quite sure that nobody was about the place when the accident happened, and I could not have been unconscious more than a few seconds. Now who could have stolen the wallet in that time?" "It will all come out in time. I'm sure of it, Roy, dear," said Peggy, earnestly. "Perhaps it will turn out to be not such a mystery after all." "I don't know," was Roy's rejoinder. "Mr. Bancroft has had some of the cleverest detectives in the country on the case, and a description of the jewels, some of which were heirlooms, has been wired everywhere broadcast. But up to date none of them have turned up at any pawnshops or other likely places." For some moments more they talked in this strain, when Peggy suddenly gave a cry and pointed below. They were passing over a tiny lake surrounded by steeply sloping banks, wooded with beautiful trees. It was an isolated spot, no human habitation being near at hand apparently. "Oh, isn't that pretty?" cried Peggy delightedly. "It looks as if it might have come out of a picture book." "And the sight of that water reminds me that I'm terribly thirsty," said Roy. "I bet there are some springs by that lake, or if there are not maybe the water is good to drink from the lake itself." "Let's go down and see," said Peggy, with a bright smile, and setting over a lever and twisting a couple of valves she began to depress the aeroplane. "There's a good landing place off there to the right of the end of the lake," cried Roy, indicating a bare spot where some land seemed to have been cleared at one time. "All right, my brilliant brother," laughed Peggy merrily. "I saw it at least five minutes ago. Hold tight, I'm going to drop fast." To any one less accustomed to aerial navigation than our two young friends, the downward plunge would have been alarming in its velocity. But to them it was merely exciting. Within a few feet of the ground, just when it seemed they must dash against the surface of the earth with crushing force, Peggy set the planes on a rising angle and the Golden Eagle settled to earth as gracefully as a tired bird. "Well, here we are," exclaimed Roy, looking about him at the sylvan scene as they alighted; "and now what comes next?" "A hunt for the spring, of course," cried Peggy, placing one hand on her brother's shoulder and nimbly leaping from the chassis to the soft, springy ground. And off they set toward the margin of the little lake below them. "Reminds me of Ponce de Leon's hunt for a spring," laughed Roy, who felt in high spirits over the fine way the Golden Butterfly had conducted herself. "But he was looking for the Fountain of Eternal Youth," said Peggy, quickly. "Wonder if he'd have been any happier if he'd found it," murmured Roy, philosophically. "If he'd been a woman he would," said Peggy. "Would what? Have found it?" "No, you goose, but have been perfectly happy if he had attained perpetual youth. Why, I think----Why, whatever was that?" The girl broke off short in her laughing remarks and an expression of startled astonishment crept over her features. "Why, it's some one groaning," cried Roy, after a brief period of listening. "Yes. Some one in pain, too. It's off this way. Come on, Roy, let us find out what is the matter." Without a thought of personal danger, but with all her warm girlish sympathy aroused, plucky Peggy plunged off on to a path, from a spot along which it appeared the injured person must be groaning. But Roy caught her arm and pulled her back while he stepped in front of her. "Let me go first, sis," he said; "we don't know what may be the matter." Peggy dutifully tiptoed along behind, as with hearts that beat somewhat faster than usual they made their way down the narrow path which led them into the deep gloom of the deeper woods. All at once Roy halted. They had arrived on the edge of a little clearing in the midst of which stood a tiny and roughly built hut with a big stone chimney at one end. Although the place was primitive it was scrupulously neat. Painted white with green shutters, with a bright flower garden in front, it was a veritable picture of rural thrift. The boy hesitated for an instant as they stood on the opposite edge of the cleared ground. There was no question but that they had reached the place whence the groans had proceeded. As they stood there the grim sounds began once more, after being hushed for an instant. Now, however, they took coherent form. "Oh, help me! Help me!" Roy was undetermined no longer. Directing Peggy to remain outside till he summoned her, he walked rapidly, and with a firm step, up the path leading to the hut, and entered. It was so dark inside that at first he could see nothing. But pretty soon he spied a huddled form in one corner. "Oh, don't hurt me! I'm only a harmless old man! I have no money," cried the cringing figure, as Roy entered. "I don't want to hurt you," said the boy kindly; "I want to help you." He now saw that the form in the corner was that of an old man with a silvery beard and long white hair. From a gash on his forehead blood was flowing, and the wound seemed to have been recently inflicted. "What is the matter? What has happened?" asked Roy, gently, as he raised the old man to a chair into which he fell limply. "Water! water!" he cried, feebly. Roy hastened outside saying to himself as he went: "This is a case for Peggy." Summoning her he hastily related what had occurred and the warm-hearted girl, with many exclamations of pity, hastened to the wounded man's side. "Get me some water quick, Roy," she exclaimed, tearing a long strip from her linen petticoat to serve as a bandage. Outside the hut, Roy soon found a spring, back of a rickety stable in which the old man had a horse and a ramshackle buggy. When he returned with the water the poor old fellow took a long draught from a cup Peggy held to his lips and the girl then deftly washed and bandaged his wound. This done the venerable old man seemed to rally, and sitting up in his chair thanked his young friends warmly. Roy, in the meantime, had been looking about the hut and saw that it was furnished in plain, but tidy style. Over the great open fireplace, at one end, hung a big picture. Evidently the canvas was many years old. It was the portrait of a fine, self-reliant looking young man in early manhood. His blue eyes gazed confidently out from the picture and a smile of seeming satisfaction quivered about his lips. "I'll bet that's a fellow who has got on in the world," thought Roy to himself as he scanned the capable, strong features. "Ah," said the old man, observing the lad's interest in the painting, "that picture is a relic of old, old days. It is a portrait of my brother James. He----But I must tell you how I came to be in the sad condition in which you found me. Have you a comfortable chair, miss? Yes, very well, then I will tell you what happened this afternoon in this hut, and will then relate to you something of my own story for I was not always a hermit and an outcast." CHAPTER XV. THE HERMIT OF THE WOODS. "My name is Peter Bell," began the old man, "and many years ago I was like any other happy, care-free young man, who is the son of well-to-do parents. I had a brother named James Bell, who was much younger than me. We were very fond of each other and inseparable. "Our home was on the Long Island coast and we often went boating. One day when we were out in my boat a storm came up and she capsized. I tried to save my brother who was a poor swimmer. But in the midst of my efforts the bulwark of the wave-tossed boat struck my head and rendered me insensible. It seems, however, I must have clung to the boat, for when I came to myself I had almost been blown ashore, and, striking out, I soon reached it. "But to my horror I soon saw that people shunned me. In some way the story got about that I had saved myself at the expense of my brother's life. Such stories are always readily credited among the majority of people in a small town and the tale spread like wildfire with exaggerations. Driven half wild by the general contempt which I met on every side I left home one night, and having a sum of money in my own right I decided to live the life of a recluse. "I recollected this spot to which I had come on hunting expeditions in brighter days. Not long after, grief over my brother's death resulted in my mother's life coming to a close, and shortly afterward my father's demise occurred. "They left but little, but I managed to secure that portrait of my brother you see hanging up there and a few bits of favorite furniture associated with happier times. "I have lived here ever since and have become reconciled to my fate. From time to time I used to advertise for news of my brother, offering rewards, but long ago I stopped that, and have no doubt that he perished in the storm, although for a time I comforted myself by thinking that he might, by some strange chance, have been saved. "In some way a rumor has spread through the countryside that I have much wealth hidden here, and this afternoon four masked men entered the hut and when I protested, in reply to their demands, that I had no money, they struck me down and searched the house. Then cursing me for a fraud and an impostor because they found no gold they left, leaving me to my fate." "You have no idea who the men were?" asked Roy who, like Peggy, had listened with close attention to the old man's story. "Yes, I think they were young men of bad reputation from a neighboring village; however, I am not sure. I am certain that I recollected hearing the voice of one of them when I was in the market in that village some time ago." "Oh, then, you do go into town sometimes?" asked Roy. "Oh, yes," rejoined the hermit, "but no more than I can help. I have long since departed from the ways of the world and the habitations of men. But I gather herbs in the woods for miles about and sell them to folks in the villages." "I suppose that is why you have the horse and cart?" put in Peggy, who had been gazing out of the window and had noticed the tumbledown barn. "Yes," rejoined the old man. "I am not as active as I was once and my old bones will not carry me as far as they used to. So I drive old Dobbin when I have a journey of any length to make." The hermit would not hear of any help being summoned for him. He said that he was in no danger of a second attack, as the search of his little property had been thorough and had resulted in the rascals, who had invaded his haunts, getting nothing for their pains. Refusing some refreshment the old man offered, the young aviators soon after left the hut, promising to call in again in a few days and give the hermit an opportunity to see the aeroplane in which he was much interested. The old man asked them many questions about the races of the next day and seemed interested in hearing the details. The Golden Butterfly they found just as they had left her, and clambering on board they were soon winging their way back to Acatonick where, as you may imagine, they had an interesting story of the incidents of the afternoon to relate to Miss Prescott that evening. "I never saw such children for adventures in all my born days," she declared, "but I have a letter here which I must show you. I am afraid it means that we shall have to leave the old home." She drew an envelope from her handbag which lay on a table of the hotel room and handed it to Roy. On opening it, he found that it contained a formal notice from the Sandy Bay Bank, that unless the accumulated interest and other moneys owing them were paid up within a week that foreclosure proceedings would be taken. The boy gave a disconsolate whistle as he finished reading the letter aloud and handed it back. He had hardly done so when there came a rap on the door of the room. "I wonder who that can be so late?" thought Roy, getting up and going to the door. A bellboy stood there with a note. "A messenger just brought this from the aviation grounds," he said. "Any answer?" "Wait a minute," said Roy, skimming hastily through the note. It was typewritten and signed:--James Jarvis, Superintendent of Arrangements. "Dear sir: You are requested to report at the executive tent at once. An important meeting will take place affecting the competitors in the races to-morrow." This was what Roy read. Then he turned to the bellboy and told the lad to inform the messenger that he would be there as soon as possible. "Queer though," he said to Peggy and his aunt. "I didn't know of any meeting that was scheduled to take place to-night. I guess it's one that's been called at the eleventh hour to make some arrangements." "That must be it," agreed Peggy. "Shall I come with you?" "No, thanks, sis," rejoined the boy; "you'd better get to bed. It's going to be an exciting day to-morrow for us all." The boy snatched up his cap and with a hasty good-bye, was off. Downstairs in the lobby of the hotel he found the messenger awaiting him,--a shifty-eyed man with a blue chin. It was, in fact, Jukes Dade, who, in a different suit of clothes and with a clean shave and haircut, looked a trifle more presentable than he had earlier in the day when he made himself known to Fanning. "This way, sir," he said, with a fawning sort of bow. "Out of this door is the quickest," said Roy quickly, with a feeling that he would rather walk to the grounds alone than with such a companion. "But we're not going to walk, sir. The committee has sent an auto for you." "A car, eh?" said Roy; "well, that's considerate of them. I'll tell my sister. She might like to come along, too." The messenger shook his head. "Sorry, sir; but we've got to pick up some other aviators on our way and every bit of room in the car will be taken." "Oh, very well, then," said Roy, "lead on." The blue-chinned Dade shuffled across the lobby with a furtive air. "Funny," thought Roy. "I've seen that chap some place before, but to save my life I can't place him." Cudgelling his brains to try to recall where he had met the man, Roy passed through the hotel lobby and out into the street. In the lamplight he saw a big car standing at the curb, shaking as its ungeared engine puffed and chugged. A chauffeur, with an auto mask and goggles on, sat on the front seat. Roy got in behind in the tonneau while the messenger took his seat by the chauffeur. He said something in a low whisper to the driver and the next instant there was a grinding whirr as the gears were connected and the car rolled forward. "Well, they've got a good fast car here," thought Roy, as the machine sped along over the roads. "At this rate we ought to be at the grounds in----" But what was this? Surely the road they were on was not the right one. Leaning forward he touched the chauffeur on the shoulder. "This isn't the road to the grounds," he said. "Oh, yes it is," put in the messenger; "it's a short cut, though. Isn't it, Fred?" The chauffeur did not speak but merely nodded his head. Although by no means satisfied with the explanation, Roy made no immediate comment. In the meantime they had passed the outskirts of the little town and were now whizzing along an unlighted road bordered with big trees. On and on they went, and Roy, every minute, grew more uneasy. Where could they be taking him? "Where are you going?" he demanded suddenly, his suspicion showing in his tone as he rose in the tonneau and leaned forward. "I want you to know that----" But before he could utter another word the blue-chinned messenger did an astonishing thing. With a quick, imperceptible movement he produced a revolver and thrust its gleaming barrel up under Roy's nose. "Sit back and keep quiet," he warned, "and you'll be all right. If you make a holler you'll get what's in this barker." As he spoke the auto began to slow down, and presently a dark form stepped from the shadows of the trees ahead and stood awaiting its coming. CHAPTER XVI. THE ENEMY'S MOVE. Roy's first feeling was one of indignation at the fellow's impudence. "What do you mean by such conduct," he blurted out angrily. "Take me to the aviation grounds at once, or----" "That's just where we are taking you away from, young fellow," sneered the man behind the pistol. "Ah! Don't move. I'm very nervous and if I get excited this pistol might go off. It's very light on the trigger." As he spoke the auto slowed down almost to a standstill, and the man who had evidently been waiting for it, swung himself on the running board and joined the others on the front seat. Like the driver, he wore a motoring mask and goggles which effectively concealed his features, and yet to Roy there was something familiar even about the muffled up figure. Once the third man was aboard, the auto plunged forward once more at breakneck speed. It rocked from side to side on the rough road as it flew along. But the man with the pistol kept his weapon levelled at Roy throughout all its jouncings and joltings. Like a wise boy, Roy had concluded that it would be worse than foolish to attempt any resistance to his abductors. So he sat motionless and silent as the car tore onward through the night. He had not the least idea where they were, nor for what place they could be bound. Nor had he yet had time to think over the reason for this bold kidnapping. Now, however, it was plain that the object of the trip was to take him to some place and hold him prisoner till the aero race was over. It struck him with cruel force that, unless he could manage to escape, the object of the expedition seemed very likely to prove successful. All at once the car struck a bump in the road with a violent wrenching thud. It leaped into the air like a live thing while a frightened shout burst from the throats of the men on the front seat. Mechanically Roy gripped the sides of the tonneau to avoid being thrown out like a missile. The next instant, with a rasping grind and a sickening swaying and jouncing the car tore full tilt down the side of the road, which, at this point, was banked, and fetched up motionless and hub-deep in a pool of dark water. "Don't let the kid escape," came a shout from the man who had boarded the car on the roadside, as the auto ceased to move. But before the words had left his lips Roy had perceived that the water in the pond was not much more than knee high. Quick as a cat he was out of the tonneau before any of the others had time to collect their wits. As the man shouted his warning the lad struck out through the oozy ground, seeking, with every ounce of his strength, to shroud himself in the darkness at the pond edge before the pistol wielder could locate him. But he had not gone more than a few steps when-- Bang! A red flash cut the night behind him and a bullet whistled by his ear. "Look out, you fool, you don't want to kill him," came a voice behind him. "Gid Gibbons," flashed through Roy's mind. He was almost at a thick clump of alders now. As he heard the splashing of the bodies of the abductors, as they took to the water after him, he plunged into the coppice and pushed rapidly on into its intricacies. Shouts and cries came from behind him, and suddenly a blinding shaft of white radiance cut through the blackness. They had turned on the searchlight of the car in a determined effort to locate their escaped prisoner. As the light penetrated among the maze of alder trunks, Roy threw himself flat. While his pursuers hunted about, muttering and angrily discussing the situation, he crouched in his shelter, hardly daring to breathe. After what seemed an eternity of suspense he heard one of the men, whose voice he seemed to recognize as that of the pistol carrier, angrily declaiming. "Aw, what's ther use, ther kid is a mile off by this time, worse luck." "Hush, don't talk so loud," came another voice. "You don't know who may be about." "Well, we'd better be getting that car out of the mud and making ourselves scarce," came in the tones which Roy was certain were those of Gid Gibbons. "If there's a hue and cry raised about this and they find that car stranded here they can easy trace us." "That's so," was the response in the voice of Jukes Dade. "Come on, boys, we'll get her out of this confounded slough if we can, and get back to town." The voices died away as they retreated, splashing like water animals through the mud and ooze. As silence fell once more Roy straightened up from his unpleasant situation and looked about him. The night was starry, and above his head he could see The Dipper. He knew that the outside stars of this constellation pointed to the North Star and he soon had the latter located. This gave him the points of the compass, and figuring that Acatonick must lie to the east of his present position, he struck out in that direction as nearly as he could. He had no idea of the time, to his great chagrin, for in his haste to obey the forged summons to the flying track he had forgotten to bring his watch. In fact, in his hurry, he had slipped into an old coat, the pockets of which contained nothing more useful to him than a packet of chewing gum. He slipped a wad of this into his mouth to "keep him company" as he expressed it to himself, and grittily went forward. The wood ended presently, and he found himself in a field with woods on all three sides, except that on which the swamp impinged. Little as he liked the idea of plunging into pathless woods, with nothing to guide him but the stars, as he glimpsed them through the trees, there was no help for it. Go on he must. Crossing the field rapidly he soon reached the border of the tangle and entered its black shadows. Keeping as straight a line as he could he hastened forward, and to his great delight, soon saw that the trees were beginning to thin out, and that beyond lay, apparently, open country. "Hooray, I'm bound to strike a road before long now," thought Roy gleefully and quickened his pace. He had not gone more than a few paces, however, when through the trees he heard a strange sound. It was a clinking sound like the rattling of a chain. The boy was bold enough, but the mysterious sound on the edge of that dark wood caused his pulses to beat a bit quicker. What could it be? Gradually, as he stood still among the trees, the sound drew closer. "Ghosts in story books always clank chains," thought Roy, to himself. "Now if I believed in such things, I----" He stopped short abruptly, as, from behind a clump of brush in the direction from whence the clanking had proceeded, there suddenly emerged a tall form all in white. "Good gracious!" cried Roy, considerably startled by the sight of this sudden apparition. "I do believe----" But at the sight of the white form he had involuntarily given a backward step. Without the slightest warning he felt the ground suddenly give way under his feet, and his body shot down through space. Down, down he shot, a hundred mad thoughts twisting dizzily in his head. All at once his progress was arrested. Before he could realize what had happened he felt a flood of icy cold water close over his head and a mighty ringing and roaring in his ears. But Roy was used to diving, and he automatically, almost, held his breath till he shot to the surface again. Then he extended his hands and found that his fingers encountered a rough stone wall of some kind. "I'm in an old well," gasped the boy as the truth suddenly flashed across him. He looked upward. Far above him, as if seen through a telescope, he could see the glittering stars. They were reflected, also, in the agitated water about him. Somewhat to his astonishment, for the thought of death itself had been in his mind as he hurtled downward, Roy found that he was unhurt. But his present position was by no means one to invite congratulations. At the bottom of an old well in the midst of lonely fields he might stay a long time before rescue would arrive. And in the meantime,--but Roy bravely put such thoughts resolutely out of his head, and began to feel about him to see if it was not possible to find some rough places in the sides of the excavation by which he might clamber to the surface. But his fingers only encountered stonework set far too smoothly to be of any service to him. Then he suddenly noticed what he had not observed before, and that was that a rope depended from above, trailing its end down into the water. It was too thin to bear his weight, but the boy thought he could utilize it to keep himself above the surface without effort. Tying a loop knot in it he thrust an arm through the noose and found that he could sustain himself very comfortably. Then he began to shout. Loudly at first--and then more feebly as his voice grew tired. But no answering sound came back to him. For the first time since he had found himself in his predicament cold fear clutched at the young aviator's heart. What if nobody heard him and he was compelled to remain at the bottom of the old well? As this thought shot through his mind Roy noticed, too, that a deadly chill was beginning to creep up his limbs. He shivered waist deep in the chilly water as if he had an ague. CHAPTER XVII. A COWARD AND HIS WAYS. Peggy awoke the next day with a feeling of distinct uneasiness. She and her aunt had sat up till after midnight awaiting Roy's return, but, as we know, the lad was in a position from which he could not extricate himself. An attempt had been made to communicate with the aviation grounds, but an unlucky aeroplane had blundered against the telephone wire during an afternoon flight, snapping the thread of communication. In spite of the late hour at which they had retired, however, Miss Prescott and her niece were up betimes. But early as it was they found the little town all astir. Excursion trains were already pouring their crowds into the place and the streets were fairly alive with humanity. Peggy's first act on awaking was to gaze out of the window, beneath which some fine trees grew. Not a breath of wind stirred their leaves. The air was as clear and undisturbed as it was possible for it to be. Donning a white duck skirt and a plain shirt waist, and dressing her hair in a becomingly simple style, Peggy hastened to the office of the hotel, and going to the telephone switchboard asked the operator to put her in communication with Roy's room. But after several minutes spent in a vain attempt to obtain an answer Central had to inform the anxious girl that there was no reply. Thinking that after his late absence of the night before Roy might have overslept, Peggy despatched a bellboy to his room. But the report came back that the room was empty and that Roy's bed had not been slept in. "See if you can get the executive office on the aviation grounds," said Peggy to the 'phone girl. But although the wire had been repaired and communication was easily established, there was no news of Roy. Worse still for Peggy's peace of mind, she learned now, for the first time, that there had been no meeting at the aviation field the night before. "If your brother got a note to that effect it was a forgery," said the official who answered the call. Peggy fairly flew upstairs to her aunt's room. Rapidly she informed Miss Prescott of what had happened. "Oh, I'm certain now that that hateful Fanning Harding has something to do with it," she almost sobbed. "Hush, dear," said her aunt, although in the gentle lady's breast a great fear had arisen, "everything may be all right. At any rate, I do not believe that any one, no matter how anxious they were that you should not compete in the race, would dare to resort to such methods to keep Roy out of the contest." "I don't know so much about that, auntie," rejoined the girl. "I was in our hangar yesterday afternoon and I noticed a horrid looking man prowling about with Fanning Harding. If it had not been too improbable I should say that I knew the man's face." "My dear!" exclaimed the good lady in astonishment. "Well," rejoined Peggy with conviction, "I'm almost sure that the man was Jukes Dade, a workman who once was employed in his laboratory and workshop by my father. He was a skillful mechanic, but dad had to discharge him because he drank fearfully. He swore at the time that he would get even with us in some way. But we never heard any more of him. Yet if that really was him with Fanning Harding yesterday I'm awfully afraid that there is some mischief stirring." "What you say, my dear, makes me also very anxious," responded Miss Prescott. "Perhaps we had better communicate with the police at once." "Not yet, aunt," breathed Peggy; "you see, Roy may turn up in time for the race, and if he does, everything will be all right." "But, Peggy----" "On the other hand, if we spread an alarm that he is missing we shall be declared out of the contest." "I see what you mean, my dear," was the response, "and I suppose that what you say is best. I feel positive, somehow, that we shall have news of Roy before long, and that no harm has come to him." But the morning wore on, and no word came. In the meantime, every available source of information had been canvassed thoroughly without result. Roy Prescott had totally vanished; or so it seemed. Peggy, as in duty bound, spent all she could spare of the morning at the aviation field, putting the finishing touches on the Golden Butterfly. The big contest was not to be held till the afternoon, and in the meantime, some of the smaller events were flown off. But Peggy was too heartsick to watch the aeroplanes thunder around the course, which was marked out by red and white "pylons" or signal towers. Instead, she remained in the hangar and kept a watchful eye on Fanning Harding, who, with some mechanics and the same man she had noticed about the hangar the day before, was very busy over his machine, apparently. But no one obtained even a glimpse of Fanning's air craft, for it was not wheeled out, and, except when one or the other of his party dodged in or out, the doors of his hangar were closed. In the course of the morning Fanning's father arrived, and not long after, to Peggy's unbounded delight, Jess and Jimsy and a party of friends drove up to the Prescott hangar. "Why, Peggy, what is the matter with you? You look positively--er--er--dowdy!" exclaimed Jess, gazing at her friend after first greetings were over. "And Roy, where is Roy?" demanded Jimsy. "Yes, where is he? We want him to explain the points of this gasolene turkey-buzzard to us," cried Ed. Taylor, one of the gay party. "I expect him here any minute," rejoined Peggy, and then drawing Jess and Jimsy aside she related to them, in a voice that shook in spite of herself, the mysterious occurrences of the night, and Roy's total disappearance. "I'm going right over now and ask Fanning if he knows anything about it," announced Jimsy indignantly as soon as the girl had concluded. "Oh, don't, please don't," begged his sister. "I don't think it would be wise to, now," put in Peggy. But Jimsy was not to be shaken in his purpose. Fanning was outside his hangar smoking a cigarette and swaggering about when Jimsy approached him. Perhaps the self-assertive youth felt a bit alarmed at the look in Jimsy's eye as he stepped up, but he assumed an impudent expression and blew out a puff of smoke which he did not try to avert from Jimsy's face. "Good morning, Fanning," said Jimsy, bottling up his temper at the other's insulting manners, "can you give me a few minutes of private conversation?" "Hum, well I don't know. What's it about?" inquired Harding more impudently than ever. "It's about Roy, Fanning," said Jimsy seriously. "I want you to tell me on your word of honor that you don't know where he is." "Oh, you do, eh? Well, you have an awful nerve to come to me with such questions. How do I know where he is?" This question was somewhat of a poser for Jimsy. That impetuous youth had approached the other more or less on an impulse, and now that the direct question was put to him he felt that he could not, for the life of him, put his suspicions into so many words. "Well--er--you see," he said somewhat confusedly, "I had an idea that you might have seen him." "Well, I haven't, and what's more I don't want to," snapped Fanning aggressively. He was quite cool now that he saw that Jimsy had nothing definite against him in his mind, but only a vague suspicion. "You really mean that, Fanning?" rejoined Jimsy earnestly. "His sister is terribly worried. He hasn't been seen since last night." "Is that so?" asked Fanning with a sudden accession of interest; "then he can't race to-day, can he?" "I wasn't thinking about the race," said Jimsy; "it was Roy himself I was worrying about." "Well, you may as well stop your anxiety," chuckled Fanning; "how do you know he isn't off on a little spree, and----" "That's enough, Fanning. Roy Prescott does not do such low-down things. He----" "Oh, you mean to imply that I do, eh?" Fanning came forward pugnaciously. "I'll tell you what it is, Jim Bancroft, you just take yourself away from this hangar as quickly as possible. I don't want anything to do with you, do you understand? It's none of my business if Roy goes off and forgets to tell you where to find him. How do you know he hasn't gone off with those jewels?" "What do you mean?" Jimsy's tone was as angry in reality now as Fanning Harding's had been for effect a few seconds before. But Fanning, in his bitter enmity toward Roy, could not see the danger signals in Jimsy's honest gray eyes. "What do I mean?" he drawled; "why, just this, that the investigation of the police has taken a new turn in the last few days, and that Roy is likely to be arrested within the next twenty-four hours for robbery. I'll bet he got wind of it and skipped out. I'll bet----" "How dare you?" Peggy, eyes aflame, stepped up. Her bosom heaved angrily. "How dare you say such things? You--you coward." "Well, I ain't coward enough to steal a girl's jewels and then----" "Hold on there, Fanning. Stop right there." It was Jimsy's turn. But Fanning was too much worked up in his vindictive anger to stop. "I won't stop," he shouted. "I'll say it right out. Roy Prescott is a----" But before he could utter another word Jimsy's fist had shot out, and Fanning's chin happening to be in the way he felt himself suddenly propelled off his feet and elevated into the air. He sought to recover his balance as he reeled, but his foot caught in a bit of turf, and whirling his arms about like one of those figures on the top of a barn he measured his length. "Had enough?" asked Jimsy mildly, rolling up his sleeves. "No, you despicable young whelp!" roared Fanning, utterly throwing aside all prudence. "I haven't." He leaped to his feet and rushed toward Jimsy. As he did so Jess gave a shriek. In the angry, half-crazed youth's hand there glistened a long clasp knife. "Jimsy! Look out!" cried the girl. But before the frenzied Fan could spring upon Jimsy, who was utterly unprepared for the production of the deadly weapon, a dainty foot in white canvas outing shoes and silk stockings flashed out from under Peggy's skirt. It caught Fanning as he sprang, and the next instant, for the second time that day, he fell sprawling on the ground. CHAPTER XVIII. THE DARING OF PEGGY. By the time he had risen to his feet several of the officials of the track were seen approaching, and Fanning, with a scowl of deep disgust at our party, who paid little attention to him, shuffled off. At first Peggy thought that the officials had seen something of the trouble and would be angry. But it turned out that they were only coming to announce a few minor changes in the rules governing the race, and to distribute printed copies of the same. As they passed on one of them turned and remarked casually: "By the way, as the wind is so light we have decided to have the big contest an hour earlier than was announced, and eliminate the girls' contest, so that everybody can get home from the grounds in good time for dinner." He hastened on to join his companions on their journey down the line of hangars, outside of which aeroplanes were sputtering and smoking, and excited aviators and mechanics hustling about. All at once a big biplane was wheeled out and soared into the air. It carried a blue and gold streamer. "That's Steiner of the Agassiz High School in New York City," explained Jimsy; "he's confident of winning the big prize." Peggy made some reply. She didn't know just what. Her mind was throbbing with the idea that Roy's inexplicable absence meant that harm had come to him, and that even if he were safe the advancing of the hour of the race would put them out of it if he did not make haste. "Look, there goes Banker of the Philadelphia Polytechnic, and Rayburn of the Boston Tech," cried Jimsy the next instant as a biplane and a graceful white-winged monoplane shot aloft on trial trips, their motors exploding loudly and a tail of blue smoke streaming out behind them. A slight cheer came from the grand stands, which were already beginning to fill, as the boy aviators shot upward. "Oh, Roy! Roy, where are you?" sighed Peggy to herself, as she watched the young aspirants for aerial honors swinging around the course. "I'm going over to the stand and 'phone to the police station," said Jimsy presently; "they may have news of him over there by this time." "Oh, yes, please do," cried Peggy, as Jimsy hastened off. When he had gone the two girls turned troubled countenances to each other. "You poor honey," cried Jess, "I know how you are suffering. But don't worry, Peggy, I'm sure it will come out all right." "Yes, but--but you don't know what depends on Roy's winning this race," cried Peggy. "I am sure that some of our rivals in the race--I need not mention who--have something to do with his disappearance." "What do you mean by saying 'a lot depends on it,' girlie?" asked Jess, drawing Peggy's arm within her own. With brimming eyes Peggy told her friend frankly and fully what she had not before, namely, the exact circumstances of the Prescott family and the threat which old Harding held above their heads. "So, you see, Jess," she concluded sadly, "this could not have happened at a worse time for us." "I see that," gently rejoined the other girl, "but listen, dear, you may have a chance to win it after all if you will trust to us to find Roy." "Trust to you?" repeated Peggy in a puzzled tone. "Trust to you to find Roy?" "Yes, my dear, while you--go in and win the race!" "Why, what are you talking about?" gasped Peggy. "A brilliant idea that has just occurred to me. You are about Roy's height, and if your hair was cut short you'd look enough like him to be his twin brother instead of his sister. But that doesn't matter, for you wear goggles and a helmet in driving that thing, anyway, don't you?" "Yes. But,--oh, Jess, I couldn't do that." "Not even for your aunt's sake, Peggy, and to show those whom you suspect that they could not put a Prescott out of the race, however hard they tried? Come into the shed with me. I am going to persuade you, if I can, to do a brave thing." With their arms about each other's waists the girls walked toward the hangar and entered it. As they did so the figure of Jukes Dade glided from a place of concealment close at hand, and slipping behind some low bushes he gained the rear of the Prescott shed unperceived. Once there he placed an ear to a crack in the structure, from within which could be heard the murmur of girlish voices. Whatever he heard seemed to strike him with astonishment at first and then with a malicious glee. "So," he muttered, "that's your scheme, is it? Well, I guess we'll be able to head that off. That aeroplane of yours won't go in that race if I can help it, and even if it did I know enough now to head you off from getting the big prize. That young Harding ought to pay me well for this." So saying, Jukes Dade shuffled off toward Fanning's hangar, still chortling evilly to himself. Jimsy returned to the shed without any good news. In fact, the doleful expression on his usually merry face would have told them that long before he opened his mouth. In the midst of the general gloom a merry face was suddenly obtruded through the swinging doors. "Hullo! hullo! young folks, what's the trouble? You look as if you were going to attend a funeral." They looked up to see the figure of Hal Homer, clad in white flannels, and with a checked cap on his curly head, standing in the doorway. "Can I come in?" he asked, and without waiting for an answer in he came. "Oh, Mr. Homer," cried Jess, fairly pouncing on him, "we're so glad you've come; we are in a dreadful fix." "A dreadful fix? Why, my dear young lady, I read in the local paper that I bought on my way from the depot that Roy's machine, judging from the trials, was going to have things all her own way." "So much so," struck in Jimsy, "that it looks as if some of Roy's enemies have spirited him away." "What? I'm afraid I hardly understand." The aviation instructor looked at Jimsy in a puzzled way, rather as if he thought the youth might be having some fun with him. "No, no, this is serious. I mean it," spoke Jimsy quickly. "Roy has gone!" "Gone!" "Yes. He vanished last night. But sit down and we'll tell you all about it. Maybe you can help us out." Absolutely "flabbergasted," to use his own expression, the good-looking young flying man sank down on an upturned case, while Jimsy went on to relate all that had occurred, with Peggy every now and then striking in with additions and corrections. Another ear also took in the conversation--that of Jukes Dade--who had seen the arrival of the well-dressed young aviator, and had instantly slipped back to his eavesdropping post to learn what the newcomer's business might be. It might have been an hour later that a chauffeur, summoned by 'phone from the grandstand, brought the Bancrofts' car up to the hangar and Hal Homer, Jess and Jimsy emerged. "Drive to the police station," ordered Hal Homer as he stepped in, leaving Jess and Jimsy behind. Jukes Dade, peering around a corner of the hangar, heard the order and grew pale. "Looks bad," he muttered as the car rolled off; "I wonder if they know anything. If they do, I'm off. This isn't a healthy part of the country for Jukes Dade from the minute that kid is found. He didn't recognize Gid or young Harding, but he knew me all right. I could tell it by the way he looked at me, and if he's found the first man they'll hunt for is me." With snake-like caution he glided behind the hangar once more. It was not long after this that the Golden Butterfly was wheeled out by some of the mechanicians attached to the track, whose services were furnished free by the aviation officials. Jess and Jimsy emerged from the hangar at the same time, in company with a boyish figure in aviator's clothing, leather trousers cut very baggily, fur-lined leather coat and big helmet of leather, well padded, completely obscuring the features. After a few words in a low tone with its companions, this figure clambered lightly into the aeroplane, leaned forward, adjusted some levers, and the next instant, amidst a shout from several hastily gathered onlookers, the Golden Butterfly skyrocketed upward, her engine roaring like an angry giant hornet. All this was watched by Fanning Harding, Jukes Dade, and Gid Gibbons. "A nice mess you've made of it," growled Harding angrily to his companions. "You've succeeded in getting me suspected, and in trouble, while the boy is safe and sound and on the scene." "Wonder how he got back," grunted Gid speculatively; "he must have looked a sight when he crawled out of that swamp." "Say, Dade, you'd better be off," said Fanning suddenly; "you were the only one of us whose face wasn't covered. He would swear to you." "Oh, I ain't worrying yet," grinned Dade easily. "You're not, eh? Well, you are a cool hand," rejoined Gid admiringly. "If I were in your shoes I'd clear out before that aeroplane lands again." "You would, eh?" scoffed Dade. "Well, what would you say if I told you that that ain't Roy Prescott in the Golden Butterfly at all?" "That you were crazy with the heat," was the prompt and impolite answer. "Then you'd be crazy yourself. That's his sister in that aeroplane, and if he don't show up in time for the race she's going to fly it herself and win it." If a bombshell had fallen at Fanning's feet he could not have been more thunderstruck. But he recovered in an instant. "If she does I'll protest to the judges," he said angrily; "they can't prove that I know anything about her brother's disappearance, and that Golden Butterfly won't win this race if I can help it." CHAPTER XIX. BROTHER AND SISTER. The first gleam of the summer dawn shining into Roy's place of imprisonment at the bottom of the old well revealed to him only too clearly into what a trap he had fallen. The well seemed to be about fifty feet or more in depth, and the sides were smooth and slippery. The chill he had felt spreading through his limbs earlier was gone now, but a numb sensation was setting in which did not leave them even when the boy wriggled his legs about. "Phew!" thought Roy. "I stand a fair chance of being turned into a pollywog or something if I stay here long enough." Somehow, with the coming of daylight, the buoyant spirits of youth had returned to the boy and his predicament did not seem nearly so serious as it had during the dark hours. But it was bad enough, as Roy realized. From time to time he tried shouting, but no one came to the edge of the well and peered over, although he anxiously kept his eyes riveted on the disc of sky above him. How long this went on Roy had no idea, but he had sunk into a sort of semi-doze when a sudden sound aroused him. A tinkling, metallic sound, not unlike the rattling of the chain the night before that had, in reality, caused his trouble. "Help! Help!" shouted Roy. It was perhaps the five hundredth time he had uttered the cry since he had tumbled into the well. But this time there came a response. "What is it? What's the trouble?" The voice sounded rather shaky, and as if the utterer of the words was somewhat scared. "It's a boy who has fallen into the well," shouted Roy. "I'm almost exhausted. Get me out." A face suddenly projected over the well curb--a face which Roy recognized with astonishment as that of old Peter Bell, the hermit. "Mr. Bell, it's Roy Prescott," he shouted; "can you get a rope and get me out?" "Good heavens!" cried the hermit; "it's the boy whose sister was so kind to me. However did you--but never mind that now. Can you hold on for a time?" "Yes, but my strength is almost gone." "Well, summon up all your courage. There is a farm house not far off. I'll go there and get a rope and be back as quick as I can." Without wasting more words the old man hastened to his little cart. He had been out since dawn gathering herbs and roots and had taken a short cut home through the field in which the old well was located. Muttering excitedly to himself, he climbed somewhat stiffly into his rickety conveyance and urged his old horse forward with gently spoken commands. As the animal broke into a trot the little bell about its neck began to jangle not unmusically. This was the sound which, fortunately for him, had notified Roy that some human being was at hand. In the near distance, half hidden in trees, could be seen the red-roofed gable of a farm house. Toward this old Peter Bell directed his way. Farmer Ingalls was only too glad, when he heard of the accident, to secure a long rope, used in hoisting hay to the top of his big barns. "Bless my soul!" he exclaimed, "a lad tumbled into my well! Mommer," turning to a motherly-looking, calico-clad woman, "you always told me to cover that well up, and I never did, and now thar's a poor young chap tumbled into it." "Hurry," urged old Peter Bell; "he was almost exhausted, poor lad. We must get back as quick as possible." Summoning his two hired men the farmer set off at a run across the fields, easily keeping pace with old Peter's decrepit horse. As they neared the well they began shouting, and a feeble cry from the depths answered them. "Cheer up, my lad, we'll have you out of that in a brace-of-shakes," cried Farmer Ingalls encouragingly, as they reached the curb and peered over into the dark hole. "I hope you will," cried Roy. "It's getting pretty monotonous, I can tell you." "Don't know what mon-ount-on-tonous means, but I'd hate to change places with you," agreed the farmer. Presently the rope came snaking down, with a loop in its lower end. Roy was directed to place his foot in the loop and hold on tight. When this had been done he shouted up: "All right! Haul away!" The stalwart farmer and his two assistants began to heave with all their might, while old Mr. Bell encouraged them. Before long, by dint of hard exertions, they succeeded in dragging Roy to the surface, and dripping and shivering he could stand once more in the blessed air and sunlight. "But how in the world did you come to get in there?" asked the farmer, as he paced along by the side of the hermit's little cart, in which the half-exhausted Roy had been placed. "Well," said the lad with a rather shamefaced laugh, "I'm really half ashamed to say. But it was this way. Some bad men who have an interest in putting me out of an aeroplane contest, of which Mr. Bell knows, had run off with me in an automobile. It was wrecked, and I escaped. I struck out toward town, as I thought, but as I came through that patch of woods by the wall I saw something that startled me so much that I stepped back and fell down the well." "What did you see, my lad?" asked the farmer with half a twinkle in his eye. "Something like a story-book ghost," smiled Roy; "it was tall and all in white and clanked a chain." "Ha! ha! ha!" roared the farmer; "I half suspected as much. Why, that ghost was my old white mule Boxer. He managed somehow to snap his chain last night and we found him careening around the fields this morning. Don't color up, my boy," for poor Roy's face had turned very red, as the hired men guffawed loudly; "older men than you have been startled at far less. And now, here's the farm, and I'll bet mommer has a fine breakfast all ready for you." The half-famished boy ate hungrily of the substantial farmhouse fare Mrs. Ingalls provided for him, and as he ate he made inquiries about the distance to the aviation grounds, which, he found to his dismay, were further distant than he had imagined. "I'll never be able to make it in time without an automobile," moaned Roy to himself; "what shall I do?" He cast about in his mind for some way out of his difficulty, but he could find none. Nor could the farmer help him. There were no automobiles in that part of the country, and in a horse-drawn vehicle he would never be able to make it in time. All at once a queer sound filled the air. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with it as it does on a still summer day when a threshing machine is buzzing away in a distant field. "Land o' Goshen, what's that?" cried Mrs. Ingalls running to the door. "Lish! Lish! come here quick!" she shouted the next instant. Followed by the old hermit and Roy, Mr. Ingalls ran to the door. But his exclamations at the sight he saw were drowned by Roy's amazed cry: "It's the Golden Butterfly!" "An aeroplane!" shouted the farmer. "By gosh, she's like a pretty bird." "It's my--our aeroplane," went on Roy; "who can be in it? Oh, if it's only Peggy I may not be too late after all." He ran out into the door yard of the farm house and, snatching off his coat, began waving it desperately. Would the occupant of the aeroplane see his frantic signals? With a beating heart Roy watched the winged machine as it droned far above him. All at once he gave a delighted shout. The aeroplane was beginning to descend. Down it came in big circles, while the farmer, his wife and the old hermit gazed open mouthed at it, as if half inclined to run. But as it drew closer to the ground Roy noted a puzzling thing. A helmeted and goggled person was driving it, evidently a boy or man and not Peggy at all. Who could it be? For an instant a queer thought flashed through his head. Possibly somebody had stolen it and was making off across country with it so as to put it out of the race. More and more rapidly the aeroplane began to drop as it neared the ground, and before many minutes it alighted in the patch of meadow in front of the farm house, gliding gracefully for several feet before it stopped. But the rubber-tired landing wheels had not ceased revolving before Roy was at its side. "Say, who are you, and what are you doing with my aeroplane?" he demanded in heated tones, for the helmeted aviator had not yet even deigned to notice him, but seemed to be busy with various levers and valves. "Well, are you going to answer me?" sputtered Roy, while the farmer, his wife, the old hermit and the hired men gazed on curiously. For answer the mysterious aviator raised his helmet and a cloud of golden curls fell about a milk-and-roses face. "By gum, a gal and a purty one!" cried the farmer capering about. "Peggy!" shouted Roy. "Yes, Peggy," cried the girl. "Oh, Roy, what has happened to you? When you didn't come back Jess and Jimsy persuaded me to put on your clothes and at least try the Butterfly out. But I was so miserable that I could not try her out on the track, so I flew off across country. I saw you waving far below me and--oh, Roy!" Peggy could go no further and half collapsed in Roy's arms as he tenderly lifted her out. "Great hopping water millions!" cried the farmer, "if this ain't a day of wonders. This must be ther lad's sister he told us about, and ter think she come flopping down out of ther sky like a seventeen-y'ar locust." Peggy was quickly her usual strong, self-reliant self again. With indignation blazing in her kind eyes she heard Roy's account of the happenings of the night. At its conclusion she announced with decision: "We must defeat them, Roy." "Yes, but how? There's only a scant half hour before starting time if you said they'd changed it." "Even so you can make it. You must take these clothes, get into the aeroplane and fly back to the track. If you go alone the 'plane will be light and you can make it in time." "But you, Peggy?" "I guess I can borrow a dress from Mrs. Ingalls here," said the girl briskly. "Of course, you kin," put in Mrs. Ingalls, but surveying her own ample form rather doubtfully the while. "You kin give her one of daughter Jenny's dresses," said the farmer. "Then that is settled, thanks to you," said Peggy with characteristic decision. They all entered the farm house, from which, a few seconds later, Roy emerged, clad in the garments his sister had donned a short time before. He climbed into the aeroplane amid the admiring comments of the farm hands, who, by this time, had come in from the fields, drawn by the wonderful airship, and stood all about it gaping and wondering. Peggy, in a dress belonging to the farmer's daughter, who was away on a visit, stepped quickly to Roy's side as, after glancing at the clock attached to the front of the aeroplane, he started the engine. As it started its uproarious song, the farm hands jumped back in affright. But Peggy clasped her brother's hand. "Win that prize, Roy," she said. "I'll do my best, little sister." And that was all, but as Peggy Prescott gazed a few minutes later at the fast diminishing form of the speeding aeroplane she felt that all she had braved and dared that day had not been in vain. CHAPTER XX. IN THE NICK OF TIME. Excitement had reached its topmost pitch on the aviation field. It was but a few minutes to starting time for the great contest, and already four young aviators had their winged craft in line before the judge's stand. Engines were belching clouds of acrid blue smoke heavily impregnated with oily, smelling fumes. The roar of motors shook the air. Folks in the grandstand and on the crowded lawns excitedly pointed out to one another the different machines, all of which bore large numbers. Excited officials, red-faced and perspiring, bustled about importantly, while from the top of the judge's stand a portly man bellowed occasional announcements through a megaphone. Suddenly he made an announcement that caused a hum of interest. "Machine number seven--mach-ine num-ber sev-en! Fanning Harding, owner, has withdrawn from the race," he announced. A buzz of comment went through the crowd. Jess, Jimsy and Hal Homer, standing in a group by the empty Prescott hangar, exchanged astonished glances as they heard the news. What did that mean? Fanning had been swaggering about, boasting of his wonderful aeroplane, and now it appeared at the eleventh hour he had decided not to enter it. "Must have had an accident," opined Jimsy. "Maybe he gave it one of those pleasant looks of his," suggested Jess. "Wherever can Peggy be," exclaimed the girl the next minute; "she's been gone for more than an hour. I do hope nothing has happened to her." "Not likely," rejoined Jimsy, although he looked a little troubled over the non-appearance of the Golden Butterfly. "The police said they had a dragnet out in every part of the vicinity," volunteered Hal Homer, who had returned only a few minutes before from the station house. Bang! A bomb had been shot skyward and now exploded in a cloud of yellow smoke. "Three minutes to starting time," cried Hal Homer anxiously; "where can Miss Prescott be?" "Look!" cried Jess suddenly, dancing about. "Oh, Glory! Here she comes!" Far off against the sky a speck was visible. Rushing toward them at tremendous speed it swiftly grew larger. The crowd saw it now and great excitement prevailed. The word flew about that the machine was the missing Number Six. Would it arrive in time to participate in the start and thus qualify? This was the question on every lip. Hal Homer jumped into the auto and sped over to the judge's stand. "Can't you delay the start for five minutes?" he begged. "Impossible," was the reply. "But that aeroplane, Number Six, has been delayed by some accident. If you start the race on time it may not arrive in time to take part." "Can't be helped. Young Prescott--that's the name of the owner, isn't it?--shouldn't have gone off on a cross country tryout." Back to the hangar sped Hal, where Jess and Jimsy, almost beside themselves with excitement, were watching the homing aeroplane. "She'll be on time," cried Jimsy as the graceful ship swept over the distant confines of the course and came thundering down toward the starting point. A great cheer swept skywards as the aeroplane came on. "She'll make it." "She won't." "Where has the thing been?" "Why is it so late?" These and a hundred other questions and remarks went from mouth to mouth all through the big crowd. "It's all off," groaned Jimsy suddenly. He had seen the signal corps man, whose duty it was to fire the bombs, outstretching himself on the ground awaiting the signal to touch off the starting sign. But even as Jimsy spoke, the Golden Butterfly made a swift turn and, amid a roar from the crowd, shot whirring past the grandstand and alighted in front of the stand on the starting line. Hardly had the wheels touched the ground before the judge in charge of the track raised his hand. A flag fell and the signal corps man jerked his arm back, firing the bomb that announced the start. B-o-o-o-o-m! As the detonation died out the aeroplanes shot forward, rising into the still air almost in a body, like a flock of birds. It was a spectacle never to be forgotten, and the crowd appreciated it to the full. But up in the grandstand, in inconspicuous places, sat three persons who did not look as well pleased as those about them. "So the girl is going to take a chance," muttered Fanning Harding; "well, so much the worse for her. If she wins I'll put in a protest and compel her to unmask." "Won't that Prescott and Bancroft bunch be astonished when they find out that we are on to their little game," chuckled Jukes Dade; "it'll be as good as a play." "That's what it will," grinned Gid. "They'll find out that they can't humiliate me and not suffer for it," grated out Fanning. "Wonder where that girl went to on her tryout spin?" inquired Dade. "It doesn't make much difference where, but she certainly came back with a grandstand play," rejoined Gid. "Well, if she wins the race it will be our turn," Fanning assured him. They then turned their attention to the contest, two laps of which had been made while they were talking. Number One, a small white Bleriot type of monoplane, seemed to be making the pace for the rest, and word flew about that it had gained half a lap on Number Four, its nearest competitor so far. "But it will be a long contest," said the wiseacres in the crowd, "and accidents may happen at any time." On the fourth lap Number One was seen to descend over by the hangars. Something had gone wrong with its lubricating valve. By the time the difficulty was adjusted it was hopelessly out of the race. Number Three was the next to drop out. This machine was driven by one of the high school lads, and his contingent of rooters in the grandstand set up a woeful noise as he dropped to earth in the middle of the course. A broken stay had made it dangerous for him to remain longer in the air. This left number Six, the Prescott machine, Numbers Two, Four and Five still in the air. "Number Six has gained a lap on Number Five!" went up the cry presently as Number Five, so far the leader, was seen to lose speed on the fifteenth lap. The Golden Butterfly was in truth doing magnificently, but try as her operator would it did not seem possible to shake off Number Five, another high school boy's machine, which clung persistently to its stern. Number Four alighted for more gasolene on the twentieth lap and lost a round of the course thereby. A few seconds later Number Two was also forced to descend with heated cylinders. This practically left the race between Number Five and the Golden Butterfly. Round and round they tore, neither of them gaining or losing a foot apparently. The thunder of their engines grew deafeningly monotonous and the crowds watched them as if hypnotized by the whirring aerial monsters. All at once, though, a mighty roar proclaimed that something was happening, and gazing down toward the further end of the track it could be seen that Number Six, the Golden Butterfly, had made a daring attempt to gain on the other machine, and had succeeded. So close did the two aeroplanes edge to the end pylon in the effort to secure the inside plane that for an instant it looked as if a crash must result. A thunder of cheers greeted the Golden Butterfly as she swept by the grandstand on the next lap. "That girl can drive all right," grudgingly admitted Fanning Harding. "Yes, and she's pretty as a picture, too," put in Gid Gibbons; "guess you were stuck on her once, weren't you, Fan?" "Oh, shut up," growled Fanning angrily. "It makes no difference to you, does it?" The aeroplanes had been racing for an hour now, and neither showed any signs of slacking speed. On the contrary, as they "warmed up," they seemed to go the quicker. All at once an incident occurred which brought the crowd to its feet yelling and cheering as if wild. The driver of Number Five, as the two machines passed the grandstand, had made a deliberate attempt to prevent the Golden Butterfly overhauling him by jamming his aeroplane over toward a pylon and directly in front of the Butterfly. For an instant it looked as if a crash must be inevitable, but just as the spectators were beginning to turn pale and the more timid to hide their eyes, the Butterfly was seen to make a graceful dip and dive clean under the other aeroplane. It was a magnificent bit of aerial driving, and the crowd appreciated it to the full. A roar and a shout went up, to which the driver of Number Six responded with a wave of a gloved hand. Ten minutes later Number Five, two laps behind, and with a leaking radiator, dropped out of the race, leaving the Golden Butterfly the winner. Fanning Harding was white as a sheet as he saw an official with a black and white checkered flag step out into the field. This was the signal to the Golden Butterfly, which was still in the air, that the race was over. As the Prescott aeroplane dropped to earth in front of the grandstand amid rapturous plaudits, the son of the Sandy Bay banker deliberately arose and made his way toward the judges' stand, to which Hal Homer and the Bancrofts, the core of a shouting, yelling mob of enthusiasts, were already conducting the daring driver of Number Six. Special policemen made a path for the aviator and his friends, while cries of: "Take off your helmet!" "We want to see you!" "What's the matter with Number Six?" and a hundred other cries arose. But the driver of Number Six did not respond, and with his helmet still on his head was conducted before the judges to receive their congratulations. The helmet was still in place when Fanning Harding came shoving through the crowd and finally reached the little group. "As a competitor I demand that Number Six take off his helmet!" he cried. The judges turned to him in astonishment. "This is most unseemly, sir," said one of them; "no doubt in good time Mr. Prescott will take off his helmet." "Oh, no, he won't," shouted Fanning, at whom all the group was now gazing. "He won't, I tell you, and for a good reason, too. _That's not Roy Prescott at all, but his sister Peggy._" But the words had not left his lips before Jimsy, with a quick motion, jerked off the aviator's helmet and disclosed the handsome, perspiring features of Roy himself. In the few minutes he had had, Roy had found time briefly to explain how he and his sister had changed garments. "Well, I guess that settles that question," cried Jimsy triumphantly, as a mighty shout went up. "It certainly does," said one of the officials. "Where is that young scamp? Officer, find the young man who made that accusation and bring him here to explain himself." But the disgruntled Fanning had dived off into the crowd the instant he saw into what a tremendous blunder he had fallen. And although a strict search was made for him he was not to be found. CHAPTER XXI. THE PHANTOM AIRSHIP. In the midst of the hum and excitement and the crossfire of questions which immediately followed, there occurred a startling interruption. From the further side of the grounds there arose a cry, which swelled in volume as it advanced. "Fire! One of the hangars is on fire!" The group immediately broke up and orders and commands flew thick and fast. In the midst of the excitement Roy and his chums found an opportunity to slip away. "There's the fire. Off by our hangar!" shouted Hal Homer, pointing across the field. By the side of the Prescott's green aero shed a big cloud of smoke was ascending, mingled with yellow flames. It seemed to be a hot blaze. "It's Fanning Harding's hangar!" cried Roy suddenly; "come on, let's go over and see what the matter is." "I've got the car right here," said Jimsy. "I'll get you over in a jiffy." Soon they were speeding across the field toward the blaze. In the meantime an emergency fire corps, composed of men employed on the grounds, had attached a line of hose to a hydrant and were drenching the flames. Such good work did they do that it was not long before they had the fire under control. As soon as it was out our party, which had managed to get through the lines formed to keep back the curious, gazed into the ruins with some interest. "Why, say!" cried Jimsy suddenly, "the place was empty." "So it was!" cried Roy in astonished tones, "except for that big box kite over in the corner there. Whatever kind of a game of bluff has Fanning Harding been playing?" "I guess I can imagine it," struck in Hal Homer. "From what you have told me his little game was to bluff you into thinking he had a fine airship that could beat yours, and in that way induce you to sell out to him." "By George, I never thought of that!" exclaimed Roy, "but--hullo, here comes Peggy in the farmer's wagon!" He ran through the crowd to the side of the wagon, which had been driven in by Farmer Ingalls. "You dear, dear boy, I've heard all about it already," cried Peggy, throwing her white arms about Roy's neck, while Miss Prescott, whom they had picked up at the hotel, sat by, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to cry, as she expressed it later. I am not going to describe that reunion by the side of Fanning Harding's burned hangar, but each reader can imagine for herself what a joyous one it was. "I know a place in town where they sell the bulliest sodas and sundaes," cried Jimsy suddenly. "Everybody come up there in the car and we'll celebrate!" "In one moment, Jimsy," said Roy. "There's one thing still I don't understand about this whole business, and that is this. It is clear enough that Fanning Harding was bluffing about having an aeroplane in that shed, but how was it that he made a night ascent with red and green lanterns?" "Oh, you mean the time you saw him in the air at night, the time we went to Washington?" asked Jimsy. "That's it. How do you account for it?" "Give it up," rejoined the other lad. "Perhaps this may help to explain it." Hal Homer came up carrying two much scorched lanterns he had found in the debris of the hangar. One was red, the other was green. "I don't quite see," said Peggy, but Hal, with an apology interrupted her. "It's plain as day to me," he said; "these two lanterns attached to that big box kite on a breezy night would certainly give any one the impression that an aeroplane was sailing about. Harding knew you would be flying home in that vicinity on that night and rigged up this contrivance to delude you." "A phantom airship!" cried Peggy. "That's about the size of it," put in the slangy Jimsy, "and I think that friend Homer here has hit on the correct solution." "But if that were so, why did Fanning fit up a shop out at Gid Gibbons's place?" asked Jess in a puzzled tone. "I guess that shop had no more in it than this hangar," was Roy's reply. "Gid Gibbons is a bad character who would do anything for money, and I think it likely that he fell in with Harding's schemes because he had no great liking for any of us." "Looks that way," agreed Jimsy. "But that doesn't explain that ruby which Hester was wearing," thought Peggy to herself as the laughing party of young folks drove off up the town, followed by Farmer Ingalls and his good wife, who had been invited to take part in the little celebration of their triumph. Here and there they were recognized and cheered, but among the crowds on the sidewalks all discussing the thrilling race, there were three that took no part in the good-natured jubilation. Who these were we can guess. Jukes Dade at Fanning's side had to listen to some savage abuse as they slunk along, avoiding as far as possible the crowds. "I told you to burn up the hangar so that there would be no trace left of the bluff we had been putting up," he growled. "Well, didn't I soak the place with gasolene," protested Dade; "how was I to know a kid would come along and give the alarm before it got fairly alight?" "It's been a dismal failure all the way through," lamented Harding, as if he had been engaged on some praiseworthy enterprise. "Incidentally," purred Jukes Dade, but with a menace under his silky tones, "I'd like to see some of that money you've been promising me all along." "You'll have to wait till I see my father," snapped out Fanning savagely. "Well, see him quick then, or I may have to take other means of getting it," snarled Dade. "What do you mean?" "Why, by telling a few things I know. About the loss of a certain lady's jewels, for instance." Fanning went white as ashes. "You sneak! You've been listening at keyholes!" he cried. Dade returned him look for look defiantly. "Well, what if I have?" he snarled. "I've got a hold on you now, Master Harding. I've got you where I want you and I'm going to keep you there." CHAPTER XXII. JIM BELL OF THE WEST. Some days after the events described in the last chapter, and following the receipt by Roy of a pink check for $5,000.00, a strange visitor arrived at the Prescott home--their very own home now, for the mortgage had been paid off, much to Mr. Harding's disgust. The stranger was a bronzed man and wore a broad-brimmed sombrero which would have marked him anywhere as a Westerner. Of Miss Prescott, who, in a new lavender silk dress, came to the door, he inquired if he could see Mr. Roy Prescott. Miss Prescott smiled at this ceremonial way of mentioning her young nephew, but directed the stranger with the breezy Western manner to the workshop at the rear of the house, where Roy and Peggy were "fussing," as Jess called it, with their beloved Golden Butterfly. "Good morning," he said, doffing his sombrero with a sweep and a flourish; "can I have a word with you?" "Certainly. Two or three if you want them," rejoined Roy, while Peggy gazed in some surprise at the queer-mannered newcomer. "The fact is," went on the stranger, "that I'm in the market for aeroplanes such as yours. I happened to be on the train some nights ago when you came flying through the air with two belated young passengers. Well, sir, thinks I, if such a machine can make a train on schedule time it ought to be good for other purposes. I took the liberty of making some inquiries about you from your two young friends after the train had started, but asked them not to mention the matter to you yet awhile. "In New York I looked up my partner and we discussed the plan and he agreed with me that it was a good one. Now, I'm down here this morning to offer you $10,000 outright for the use of half a dozen of your aeroplanes, and a salary of $5,000 as instructor to the aviators I shall have to have to run them. How does the offer strike you?" "I--er--well, I hardly know what to say," responded Roy; "you see, it's a bit sudden. It rather takes my breath away." "Well, that's a way we have in the West," was the response, "but maybe I'd better tell you a little more about myself. My name is Jim Bell. I'm worth a couple of million or thereabouts. You can verify that by referring to the First National Bank of 'Frisco, or the East Coast Bank of New York City. I've got interests in cattle, wool and mines, but the very best mining proposition I ever struck I ran across out on the Nevada alkali desert in a range of barren hills. We were prospecting there when I was told about it. After untold hardships I found the spot and staked it out. But there arose the difficulty of transportation. There was the gold all right, but how was I to get it out?" "I came East to see if I couldn't get some sort of automobile built that would travel the desert, but when I saw that aeroplane of yours droop down at that jerkwater junction, I realized I had found what I wanted. Now, are you on?" "You'll have to give us a little time to think, sir," rejoined Roy; "it's a very flattering offer and I'd like to accept it, but I'll have to think it over." "Quite right, quite right," rejoined the other, "nothing like thinking it over. If every one did that fewer accidents and mishaps would occur in life. Take my own life, for instance. I've often thought I'd go back to see the old folks, but in that case I thought it over too long, for when I went to the old home the other day it was all gone. Not a stick or stone remained. My parents were dead and my only brother was no-one-knew-where." Jim Bell's voice shook strangely. He blinked his eyes once or twice and then resumed briskly: "You see, I left home in a mighty queer way. I was out in a boat with my brother when it got overturned. He was drowned, I guess, but anyway I found myself drifting about on the Sound. I managed to seize hold of a bit of floating driftwood and in that way kept my head above water till a ship came along and picked me up. "She was a big vessel bound for China and her captain was a brute. On our arrival in the Far East he bound me out as a sort of apprentice to a rich Chinaman living in the interior. I was with him for ten years before I escaped. I worked my way to the coast, got another ship and headed for California. "On the way across there was a mutiny and I saved the life of a wealthy passenger, who turned out to be a mining man and who, when he died two years later, left me most of his property. That gave me my start in life, and now I'm a millionaire. But I'd give it all if I could get some news of poor brother Peter and find out if he is dead or alive." "Maybe we can help you," cried Peggy, her eyes shining and her white hands clasped excitedly. While the rugged Westerner had been talking the story of the old hermit came back to her. "What do you mean?" asked the other; "do you know where my brother is?" "I'm not certain," cried Peggy, "but the old hermit, Peter Bell, is he almost beyond a doubt." "My brother a hermit!" cried the wealthy mining man. "If it is your brother," put in Roy, "I hope for your sake it is. But his story tallies absolutely with yours. He told us that after he had missed you in the water he thought that you were drowned. Returning home he was shunned on every side, for the villagers accused him of having deserted you to save his own life." "My poor Peter," breathed the miner. "Miserable and made morose by the contempt he met with on every side he became a hermit and now lives in a hut near the town of Acatonick." "How long does it take to get there? I must lose no time in finding out," exclaimed Jim Bell. "You can get there in two or three hours from here if you can catch a train," said Roy. "If you like I'll phone for you and find out." "Say, boy, that would be mighty white of you. I tell you it hurts to think of poor Peter living all alone like that in poverty while I've been rich all these years. But it wasn't for lack of trying to locate him, for I've advertised and had detectives searching every likely place." Roy found that there would be a train to Acatonick in about half an hour, and their new found friend hastened off, after warm farewells, to catch it. He promised to be back within a few days and let them know of his success, and also inform them of any further arrangements he might be prepared to make about his offer. "Well," said Roy, after he had gone, "the skies are beginning to clear, sis." Peggy sighed. "Yes, but there is still one thing to be cleared up, Roy," she said. "I know--the disappearance of those jewels," rejoined Roy. "Oh, if only we had something more to go upon than mere suspicions." "Perhaps we will have before long," said Peggy, musingly. CHAPTER XXIII. LIKE THIEVES IN THE NIGHT. "Heard anything of Fanning Harding?" asked Jimsy, one bright morning, as he stopped his car at the Prescotts' gate and he and Jess got out. "Not a thing since that day at Acatonick," responded Roy, who with his sister had hastened to meet the other two. "Why, Jess, how charming you look this morning." "Meaning that you notice the contrast with other mornings," laughed Jess merrily; "oh, Roy, you are not a courtier." "No, I guess not yet--whatever a courtier may be," was the laughing rejoinder; "but I always like to pay deserved compliments." "Oh, that's better," cried Jess; "but have you heard anything more from Mr. Bell?" For, of course, Jimsy and Jess by this time knew about the visit of the mining man. Mr. Bancroft had looked up his standing and character and had found both of the highest. On his advice Roy had about decided to accept the unique offer made him by the Western millionaire. Peggy shook her head in response to Jess's question. "No, dear, not one word," she said; "isn't it queer? However, I guess we shall, before long. Oh, I do hope that that poor old hermit turns out to be Mr. Jim Bell's brother." "So do I, too," agreed Jimsy. "It would be jolly for you and Roy to think that you and your aeroplane had been the means of righting such a succession of mishaps." "Indeed it would," agreed Peggy, warmly; "but now come into the house and have some ice cream. It's one sign of our new prosperity that we are never without it now." "I've eaten so much of it I'm ashamed to look a freezer in the face," laughed Roy, as they trooped in, to be warmly welcomed by Miss Prescott. In the midst of their merry feast the sound of wheels was heard and a rig from the station drove up. Out of it stepped a venerable old gentleman in a well-fitting dark suit, with well blackened shoes and an altogether neat and prosperous appearance. Peggy and Jess who had run to the window at the sound of wheels saw him assisted to the ground by a younger man whom they both recognized with a cry of astonishment. "Mr. Jim Bell. But who is the old gentleman?" "Why it's--it's the hermit!" cried Roy. "Good gracious, is that fashionable looking old man a hermit?" gasped Jimsy. "He was, I guess, but he won't be any more," laughed Peggy, happily, as she tripped to the door to welcome the visitors. The Prescotts had a maid now; but Peggy preferred to be the first to greet the newly united brothers for it was evident that Jim Bell's quest had been successful. What greetings there were to be sure, when the two brothers were inside the cool, shady house! The old hermit's eyes gleamed delightedly as he gallantly handed Miss Prescott to a chair. As for Jim Bell, he was happy enough to "dance a jig," he said. "I'll play for you, sir," volunteered Jimsy, going toward the piano. "No, no," laughed Jim Bell; "I'm too old for that now. But not too old for Peter and I to have many happy days together yet, eh, Peter?" He turned tenderly toward the old man whose eyes grew dim and moist. "I wish dad and mother could see us now," he said, sadly, as his thoughts wandered back over the long bitter years he had spent in solitude. "Perhaps they can," breathed Peggy, softly; "let us hope so." "Thank you," said the old hermit, with a sigh. But the conversation soon turned to a merrier vein. And then it drifted into business. Mr. Bancroft happened to stop in on his way into town and after a long talk with Jim Bell he seriously advised Roy to accept the mining man's proposal. "I'll put you up a factory any place you say," said the millionaire, "and you can turn out all that we require. I've a notion, too, that they might be used as general freight carriers over arid stretches of country where there are no railroads, and feed and water for stock is scarce." "Not a doubt of it," said Mr. Bancroft. Before he left the preliminary papers had been drawn up and signed, and Roy Prescott found himself fairly launched in business. But in all this success he did not forget how much he owed to Peggy. Recent events had softened the boy's character and reduced his conceit wonderfully. "I owe it all to you, little sis," he said that evening. "I don't know about all," cried Jimsy, who was present; "but you do owe a whole lot to her, old man, and I'm glad to see you acknowledge it at last." "I always have," cried Roy, turning rather red, though. "Hum," commented Jimsy; "I'm not so sure about that." But Peggy put her hand over his mouth and it took Jimsy what seemed an unduly long time to remove it. As for Jess, she stalwartly declared that if it hadn't been for Peggy there would have been no Golden Butterfly, no five thousand dollar prize, and, as she said, "no nothing." But to this loyal little Peggy would not assent. In her eyes Roy would always remain the most wonderful brother in the world. Soon after this Jimsy and Jess took their leave and it was not long before the last light was extinguished in the happy little household and deep silence reigned. About midnight, as nearly as she could judge, Peggy awoke to find the moonlight streaming into her room and upon her face. "Good gracious, I'll get moonstruck," she thought, and throwing on a wrap she went to the window to pull down the shade which had been raised to admit the cool air. The window commanded a view of the workshop, in which the Golden Butterfly was kept, and Peggy, as she looked out, was astonished to see that the door of the work shop which housed the precious craft was open. "Goodness!" thought the girl, "how careless of whoever left it that way. The night air will rust the stay-wires and the steel parts of the motor terribly. I guess I had better slip downstairs and close it." Partially dressing herself the girl noiselessly tiptoed down the stairs and out into the moonlit night. For one instant she was startled as she thought she saw a dark form dodge swiftly behind a corner of the workshop as she appeared. "I must be getting as nervous as poor Roy when the mule frightened him down the well," she thought to herself as she advanced toward the shed. Reaching it she raised her hand to shut the door when, to her astonishment, she discovered that it had apparently been locked,--at least a broken bit of the padlock dangling from the portal seemed to indicate this. "Somebody's filed that through," was Peggy's thought. But before she could make any further investigation a pair of hands grasped her from behind, pinioning her arms to her side. At the same instant an old coat was flung over her head and pulled close, stifling her outcries. "We won't hurt you if you keep quiet," hissed a voice in her ear, "but if you don't, look out for trouble." "What are you going to do?" cried Peggy, through the muffling medium of the coat. "You'll soon find out," was the rejoinder. "Jukes, bring her inside the shed and keep her quiet." Jukes! The name struck a familiar chord in Peggy's memory. She knew now why the face and form of the man hanging about Fanning's "Phantom" hangar at the aviation field had seemed so familiar to her. It _was_ Jukes Dade, the man her father had peremptorily discharged. Peggy could not repress a shudder as she thought of the desperate character of the man. Suddenly, as her captors half dragged, half carried her into the workshop, her body grew limp, and she fell in an insensible heap forward. She would have struck the ground had not a pair of hands caught her. "She's fainted," cried Jukes, alarmedly. "So much the better," growled out his companion; "she won't give us any trouble now. We can do what we've got to do and get away. Got the files?" "Here they are," responded Jukes; "just let me lay her down here while I hand 'em to you." He deposited Peggy's limp form on a long box on which some sacks had been strewn. The next instant the sharp rasping of a file could be heard in the silent workshop. "I guess this Golden Butterfly will have its wings clipped for some time to come," chuckled Jukes' companion, whom Peggy, of course, had not yet seen. "I guess that's right," laughed the other; "just wait a jiffy while I lay down this gun of mine and I'll give you a hand." He stepped over and put down a wicked-looking pistol on the rough bench on which Peggy lay. Then he turned and began to help his companion. The two worked by the light of a dark lantern which they had brought with them on their rascally expedition to ruin the Golden Butterfly. But suddenly a slight noise behind him made Jukes turn his head. As he did so he gave a startled yell. Peggy, her eyes bright and wild-looking, was standing up behind them. In her hand was the pistol which Jukes had laid down beside her when she had seemed to faint a few moments before. But Peggy's faint had been a simulated one. Realizing that harm was meant to the Golden Butterfly, she had imitated unconsciousness as a means to possible escape and giving the alarm. "Don't move, either of you," said Peggy, in a firm voice. "I'm only a girl, but I can use a pistol." But Jukes and his companion, with a wild yell, made a dash for the door. "Good gracious, I can't shoot them," thought Peggy. "Help! help!" she began to cry at the top of her voice. But the next instant the whirr and roar of a motor from the road apprised her that the two rascals had made their escape in an auto and that pursuit was useless. Thus it was that when the aroused household came pouring excitedly out of the house they found a brave, if a rather tremulous, girl awaiting them with a pistol in her hand on the stock of which were engraved the initials "F. H." "So that's who Jukes's companion was," exclaimed Roy, angrily. "Oh, if you had only awakened me, sis." "My dear Roy," rejoined Peggy, with dignity, "don't you think that I am capable of taking care of myself?" CHAPTER XXIV. HESTER MAKES AMENDS--CONCLUSION. A few days later Peggy borrowed Jess's car and went out for a long, lonely spin along the country roads. She wanted to think. Roy and Jimsy were at home repairing the damage wrought to the Golden Butterfly, which, it turned out, was very slight. She was driving along a pretty stretch of road when she came across a veritable fairyland of delicate pink wild roses intertwined with honeysuckle and woodbine. "Oh," cried Peggy, who simply worshipped flowers, "how beautiful; I must take some of these home. They'll make all our garden things look mean and shabby." Stopping the car she alighted and was soon deep in her occupation of gathering the fragrant posies. Suddenly she was startled by the sound of a sobbing voice close at hand, and the next minute an angry male voice could be heard also. "I tell you I'll do nothing of the sort," the man was saying; "why should I go and own up that I'm a thief or the next thing to it? At any rate they'd have me put in jail for all the attempts I've made to interfere with their aeroplane." "It's Fanning Harding!" gasped Peggy, amazedly, "and Hester Gibbons," she added the next instant as the girl's voice sobbed out: "Well, if you won't, I will. I've been weak and foolish but I'm not wicked. I'm going to tell Peggy Prescott all about it to-day and ask her to forgive me." "You'd better not," Fanning Harding's tone was threatening now. "Well, what if I do?" "You won't, I tell you. I'll have you locked up and charged with the theft yourself." "You wouldn't dare." "Oh, yes, I would. You've got that ruby and that is pretty good proof that you stole it." "It isn't so and you know it. I have been a weak, silly girl, that's all, but I see it all now. And just to think if I hadn't overheard you and my father talking that I might have gone on admiring you." "Tell me you won't go to the Prescotts with the story or I'll----" "Help! Help!" The shrill cry came in Hester's tones. Without quite realizing what she was doing, Peggy stooped and picked up a heavy bit of stick that lay in the road beside her. Then she stepped forward around a bend which had hitherto hidden the other two from her sight. As she appeared Fanning had his hand on Hester's wrist and was wrenching it cruelly. "Oh! oh! Fanning, please let go!" Hester was crying. "I will if you'll promise not to tell." "There's no need for her to promise that, Fanning," said Peggy, "for I have already heard enough for me to know that she has some connection with the disappearance of the Bancroft diamonds." "Oh, Peggy!" cried Hester, running to her side. "See here," began Fanning, swaggering forward threateningly toward the two girls. "My brother is just 'round that corner," said Peggy, boldly; "he'll be here in a minute. If you don't wish to be arrested for what you did the other night you had better get away from here, Fanning Harding." A scared look crossed Fanning's face and he turned and fairly took to his heels. "Now, Hester," said Peggy, kindly, "come with me to my car. It's just 'round the corner." "Oh, Peggy, I've been a bad, wicked girl, but I'm not a thief. Truly I'm not." "I believe that," said Peggy, "but what do you know about the disappearance of the diamonds?" "That I have them all here. Not one is gone," was the amazing reply, and Hester, drawing a handkerchief from her bosom, unfolded it and displayed to Peggy's amazed eyes a glittering collection of gems. In the midst of the flashing gems gleamed the big ruby which Peggy had once seen Hester so carefully conceal. "Hester, you have a duty before you," said Peggy slowly; "get in my car and come with me to my home and then tell me all about this mystery which has puzzled us so long." But the girl shrank back. "I can't. Oh, Peggy, with you it's different, but before, the others. Your brother----" "Poor fellow, he has been under unjust suspicion on account of these very jewels," Peggy reminded the agitated girl. "Oh, give me time. Not now. I----" "No, it must be now," said Peggy, with gentle insistence. "Come!" Something in her manner seemed to strike the girl. "You'll promise no harm will come to me or my father through this?" she said. "Is your father very deeply implicated in the matter?" asked Peggy seriously, looking straight into the other's eyes. "No. On my word of honor, no," was the response. "Then I'll promise," said Peggy. "Very well, then, I'll tell you all I know about the matter," said Hester, as the girls got into the car. An hour later, in the library of the Prescott's home, Peggy, Roy, Jimsy and Jess were gathered listening to Hester's story. Her eyes were red from crying and she hesitated frequently, but her manner showed that she was telling the truth. On a table lay the glistening jewels. Jess had counted them and found that they were all there. "I didn't find out about the jewels till one night Fanning, who has always said he admired me," said Hester, with downcast eyes, "gave me that big ruby there. At least he didn't give it to me but he said I could wear it. Of course I had heard about the disappearance of the jewels from the auto, but somehow I didn't associate this token of Fanning's with it. "It was not till a week ago that I learned the true state of affairs. I overheard a conversation of Fanning's with my father in which he threatened him with arrest if he, father, didn't give him some money Fanning said he had hoarded up. I knew dad didn't have any and I asked him after Fanning had gone to tell me all about it. "He isn't such a bad man at bottom and when I pleaded with him he told me the whole story. On the day of the jewel robbery, for it was a robbery, Morgan and Giles----" "Our butler and groom!" cried Jess. "Yes. Well, they were taking a stroll in the fields and happened along just as the car was wrecked. They knew from servants' gossip that you had been to town to get the gems and when they saw you lying unconscious and the wallet near at hand, the temptation was too much for them and they stole it. "They determined to hide it in some woods near my father's place; but as they entered them Fanning Harding came along on his bicycle. He saw them enter the woods and became suspicious. Leaning his bicycle against a tree he followed them and saw them bury the gems under a tree which they marked. "He noted the tree, too, and then, without their seeing him he remounted his motor-cycle and came on to see my father about that business of the hoax aeroplane. He said he wanted to bluff you into selling the Butterfly to him. "Well, father agreed, for a fair sum of money, to help him, and we started right into town. At that time I thought it was a good joke, and we were both laughing as we came in sight of the scene of the accident." "So that's what they were laughing at," thought Roy, recollecting how mystified he had been when he saw them together. "I don't know whether it was Fanning's manner or what," said Hester resuming, "but my father began to suspect that he might know something about the jewels, and one day he followed him into the woods when he went to see if the jewels were still under the tree. Father made him own up when he caught him red-handed like that, but in the meantime Morgan and Giles also had arrived. Well, the four of them were all equally guilty, so they agreed to stick together and say nothing till the excitement about the loss had blown over. But Fanning in the meantime said that he must have the ruby to let me wear. "I guess he wanted to show me that he was as rich as he was always pretending to be. "A few days later they had a terrible fright. Morgan, who carried the leather wallet in his pocket for lack of a better place to put it, dropped it on the porch of the Bancrofts' house where, as you know, it was found before he realized his loss and could recover it. "When Fanning came back from the aviation meet and began boasting of the mean tricks he had played you and how he had kidnapped Roy, I began to see what a despicable fellow he was. Then, too, he was always threatening dad, and so I decided to make a clean breast of it all and save poor dad any more trouble, for Fanning has dictated to him ever since they shared the secret. "I went to the wood and found the marked tree I had heard them talk about so often and with the jewels in my hand I started for your home, Peggy, for I didn't dare to go to the Bancrofts'. But Fanning, it seems, had got suspicious, and followed me. He overtook me at the spot where you encountered us." "Does he know you have the jewels?" asked Roy. "Not yet," rejoined Hester; "I believe if he had he would have been violent." "Well, Hester," said Peggy, as the girl concluded her strange narrative, "you have cleared up a puzzling mystery." "Did you ever hear such a yarn in all your born days?" asked Jimsy. "And every one of the jewels is there," cried Jess. "I tell you what I'll do, I'll just call up the house and tell mother about it. Won't she be pleased?" But Mrs. Bancroft was not at home, and---- "Oh, miss," gasped the servant, who answered the 'phone, "we're all upset. Morgan has run off, miss, and so has Giles. They took some of the silver with them. Mary and me tried to stop 'em but they pointed a pistol at us and scared us inter high strikes." "I'll 'phone the police at once," cried Jess, indignantly. "They might have got off if it hadn't been for that." But although a good description was furnished, Morgan and Giles were not captured and Mr. Bancroft was not ill pleased. "They will not venture into this part of the country again," he said, "and we are well rid of such rascals." Hester, in whom Mrs. Bancroft took an interest after the girl had told her with her own lips her strange story, is now at a girls' boarding school, having been sent there at Mrs. Bancroft's expense. As for Fanning Harding, his father sent him West soon after the lad's innate rascality had been revealed, and from reports Fanning is working hard to redeem the past and make himself a good and useful man. "And so the mystery of the phantom airship and the missing jewels is all cleared up," said Peggy to Jess one day a short time after the events just described had transpired. "Yes," rejoined her chum, "and the air seems clearer and fresher somehow. It is terrible to have a dark cloud of suspicion hanging over one." "It is, indeed," rejoined Peggy; "and now, as Roy leaves in a few days for the West, let's all take a good long spin. You and I will go in the Golden Butterfly while the boys can run along below us in the auto." But Jess looked a bit doubtful. "Wouldn't Roy like to go in the aeroplane?" she said. Peggy broke into merry laughter. "Oh, you sly puss," she exclaimed. "Very well, then you and Roy in the Golden Eagle and Jimsy and I in the auto." "Suits me," cried Jimsy, throwing his arm around his sister's waist, "but I thought you were the girl aviator of the family, Peggy." "So I am," laughed Peggy, "but I am willing to yield my place for once." "Well, if you'll excuse my horrid slang," laughed Jimsy, "I think I may say we've all been 'up in the air' for the last few weeks. But it's all over now and we'll settle down to humdrum life once more." "It's been jolly, though," protested Peggy. "With some parts left out," put in Jess. But although no adventures just like those we have related happened again to the Girl Aviators, they were due to encounter some more strange experiences. In fact, both Peggy and Roy and their friends were on the brink of some odd happenings, the narration of which must be postponed to another volume of this series. What these complications and adventures, both merry and perilous, proved to be will be set down in full detail in "The Girl Aviators on Golden Wings," a breezy tale of our aerial maids. THE END. 
45174	----	DOROTHY DIXON Wins Her Wings, BY _Dorothy Wayne_ Author of _Dorothy Dixon and The Mystery Plant Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case Dorothy Dixon and the Double Cousin_ THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Copyright, 1933 The Goldsmith Publishing Company MADE IN U. S. A. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TO _My young sister_ HILDA ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CONTENTS I Out of The Northeast II Taxi! III A Wild Ride IV The First Hop V Trouble VI The Hold Up VII Ground Trails VIII Next Morning IX Air Trails X The Meeting XI Follow the Leader XII The House in the Hills XIII Trapped XIV The Doctor XV Staten Island Sadie Has Her Way XVI What Happened in the Wine Cellar XVII The Loening ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings _Chapter I_ OUT OF THE NORTHEAST "Hi, there, young lady!" "Hi, yourself,--what d'you want?" At the water's edge, a girl of sixteen stopped in the act of launching a small skiff. She straightened her lithe figure and faced about, her brown hair blowing in the breeze, turning a pair of snapping grey eyes inquiringly upon the young man who walked down the beach toward her. "Miss Dixon, isn't it?" asked the stranger, his deeply tanned features breaking into an engaging smile. "I'm not sure I recognized you at first in the bathing suit--" "No matter how you were dressed I'm sure I wouldn't recognize you," returned Dorothy, shortly. "I've never laid eyes on you before--that's why." The young man laughed. "Quite right," he said, "you haven't. But I happen to be a near neighbor of yours, and I've seen you." "Up at New Canaan?" "Yes. Dad has taken the Hawthorne place,--bought it in fact." For a full minute the girl stared at this tall young man with the blonde hair and the jolly smile. Surprise left her speechless. Then--"Why--why--" she gasped. "Y-you must be the famous Bill Bolton!" "Bolton's the name, all right," he grinned. "But that famous stuff is the bunk." Dorothy was herself again, and a little ashamed of her burst of feeling. "But you _are_ the aviator!" She went on, more calmly. "My father told me the other day that you and your father were coming to live across the road from us. And I don't mind telling you we're simply thrilled! You see, I've read about you in the papers--and I know all about the wonderful things you've done!" "I'm afraid you've got an exaggerated idea--it was all in the day's work, you know," protested the blonde-headed young man, his eyebrows slanting quizzically, "I'm Bill Bolton, but I didn't barge in on you to talk about myself. You're starting out for a sail in that sloop that's moored over there, I take it?" "Why, yes, I am. Want to come along?" "Thanks a lot. I've got a business matter to attend to down here in a few minutes." He hesitated a moment, then--"I know it's none of my affair, but don't you think it's rather risky to go for a sail just now?" Dorothy shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. There's a two reef breeze blowing out beyond the Point, but that's nothing to worry about. I've sailed all over Long Island Sound since I was a kid, and I've been out in worse blows than this, lots of times." "Maybe," countered Bill. "Storm warnings were broadcast about an hour ago. We're in for a northeaster--" She broke in scoffingly--"Oh! those weathermen! They're always wrong. It's a perfectly scrumptious afternoon. The storm, if it comes, will probably show up sometime tomorrow!" "Well," he retorted, "you're your own boss, I suppose.--If you were my sister," he added suddenly, "you wouldn't go sailing today." "Then it's a good thing I'm _not_ your sister. Thanks for your interest," she mocked. There was a hint of anger in her voice at the suspicion that Bill Bolton was trying to patronize her. "Don't worry," she added, resuming her usual tone, "I can handle a boat--Good-bye!" Their eyes met; Bill's gravely accusing, hers, full of defiant determination. "Good-bye--sorry I spoke." Bill turned away and walked up the beach toward the club house. Dorothy chuckled when she saw him throw a quick glance over his shoulder. She waved her hand, but he kept on without appearing to notice the friendly gesture. "A temper goes with that blond hair," she said to herself, digging a bare heel into the loose shingle. "I guess I was pretty rude, though. But what right had he to talk like that? Bill Bolton may be a famous aviator, but he's only a year older than I am." She ran the skiff out through the shallows and sprang aboard. Standing on the stern thwart she sculled the small craft forward with short, strong strokes, and presently nosed alongside the _Scud_. As she boarded the sloop and turned with the skiff's painter in her hand she caught sight of Bill getting into an open roadster on the club driveway. "I guess he meant well," she observed to the wavelets that lapped the side of the _Scud_, "but just the same--well, that's that." Making the painter secure to a cleat in the stern, she set about lacing a couple of reefs into the mainsail. Having tied the last reef-point, she loosened the skiff's painter, pulled the boat forward and skillfully knotted the rope to the sloop's mooring. Then she cast off the mooring altogether and ran aft to her place at the tiller. The _Scud's_ head played off. Dorothy, as she had told Bill, was no novice at the art of small boat sailing. With her back bracing the tiller she ran up the jib and twisted the halyard to a cleat close at hand. Then as the sloop gained steerageway, she pulled on the peak and throat halyards until the reefed-down mainsail was setting well. The _Scud_, a fast twenty-footer, was rigged with a fore-staysail and gaff-topsail as well, but Dorothy knew better than to break them out in a wind like this. As it was she carried all the canvas her little boat would stand, and they ran out past the Point, which acted as a breakwater to the yacht club inlet, with the starboard gunwale well awash. The wind out here stiffened perceptibly and Dorothy wished she had tied in three reefs instead of two before starting. Her better judgment told her to go about and seek the quieter waters of the inlet. But here, pride took a hand. If she turned back and gave up her afternoon sail, the next time she saw Bill Bolton she must admit he had been right. No. That would never do. Although the wind out here was stiffer than she had imagined, this was no northeast gale; a good three-reef breeze, that was all. So lowering the peak slightly she continued to head her little craft offshore. The _Scud_ fought and bucked like a wild thing, deluging Dorothy with spray. She gloried in the tug of the tiller, the sting of the salt breeze, the dance of her craft over choppy seas. Glistening in the clear summer sunlight, flecked with tiny whitecaps, the landlocked water stretched out to where the low hills of Long Island banked the horizon in a blur of purple and green. Now and then as she luffed into a particularly strong gust, Dorothy had her misgivings. But pride, confidence in her ability to handle her boat and the thrill of danger kept her going. She had been sailing for about an hour, beating her way eastward with the Connecticut shore four or five miles off her port quarter, when all at once, somehow, she felt a change. The sunshine seemed less brilliant, the shadows less solid, less sharply outlined. It seemed as if a very thin gauze had been drawn across the sun dimming without obscuring it. Dorothy searched the sky in vain to discover the smallest shred of cloud. At the same time the breeze slackened and the air, which had been stimulant and quick with oxygen seemed to become thick, sluggish, suffocating. Presently, the _Scud_ was lying becalmed, while the ground swell, long and perfectly smooth, set sagging jib and mainsail flapping. Except for the rattling of the blocks and the creaking of the boom, the silence, after the whistling wind of a few minutes before, was tremendously oppressive. Then in the distance there was a low growl of thunder. In a moment came a louder, angrier growl--as if the first were a menace which had not been heeded. But the first growl was quite enough for Dorothy. She knew what was coming and let go her halyards, bringing down her sails with a run. Now fully alive to the danger, she raced to her work of making the little craft secure to meet the oncoming storm. She was gathering in the mainsail, preparatory to furling it when there was a violent gust of wind, cold, smelling of the forests from which it came, corrugating the steely surface of the Sound. Two or three big raindrops fell--and then, the deluge. Dorothy rushed to a locker, pulled out a slicker and sou'wester and donned them. Returning to her place by the tiller, she watched the rain. Rain had never rained so hard, she thought. Already both the Connecticut and Long Island shores were completely blotted out, hidden behind walls of water. The big drops pelted the Sound like bullets, sending up splashes bigger than themselves. Then suddenly the wind came tearing across the inland sea from out the northeast. Thunder crashed, roared, reverberated. Lightning slashed through the black cloud-canopy in long, blinding zigzags. The wind moaned, howled, shrieked, immense in its wild force, immense in its reckless fury. A capsized sloop wallowed in the trough of heavy seas rearing a dripping keel skyward--and to this perilous perch clung Dorothy. _Chapter II_ TAXI! The black brush of storm had long ago painted out the last vestige of daylight. Crouching on the upturned hull of her sloop, Dorothy clung to the keel with nerveless fingers, while the _Scud_ wallowed in an angry sea laced with foam and spray. She knew that in a little while the boat must sink, and that in water like this even the strongest swimmer must quickly succumb. Cold, wet and helpless, Dorothy anxiously scanned her narrow horizon, but in vain. For another half hour she hung on in the rain and darkness, battered by heavy combers that all but broke her hold. She was fast losing her nerve and with it the willingness to struggle. Phantom shapes reached toward her from the gloom. Strange lights danced before her eyes.... With a rolling lurch the _Scud_ sank, and Dorothy found herself fighting the waves unsupported. The shock of sudden immersion brought back her scattering wits, but the delusion of dancing lights still held; especially one light, larger and brighter than the others. Surely this one was real and not the fantasy of an overwrought imagination! Half smothered in flying spume, the drowning girl made one last frantic effort to keep afloat. Above the pounding of the sea, a throbbing roar shook her eardrums, a glare of light followed by a huge dark form swooped down as if to crush her--and she lost consciousness. Dorothy awoke in a darkness so complete that for a moment she thought her eyes must be bandaged. Nervous fingers soon found that this was not the case, and reaching out, they came in contact with a light switch. The sudden gleam of the electrics half blinded her. Presently she saw that she lay on a narrow bunk in a cabin. Presumably she was aboard a vessel, still out in the storm, for the ship pitched and rolled like a drunken thing, and the roar of a powerful exhaust was deafening. Someone had removed her sweater, had tucked warm blankets about her body. Her throat burned from a strong stimulant which apparently had been administered while she was unconscious. For some minutes she lay there taking in her surroundings. The charts tacked to the cabin walls, the tiny electric cookstove, hinged table and armsrack opposite. Listlessly she counted the weapons, four rifles, three shotguns, two automatics--and fastened in its own niche was a machine gun covered with a waterproof jacket. A complete arsenal.... The shotguns bespoke sportsmen, but this was neither the season for duck nor for snipe. Men did not go shooting in Long Island Sound with rifles, revolvers and a machine gun.... _Bootleggers!_ It came to her like a bolt from the blue. She was on board a rumrunner, no less, and notwithstanding the exhaustion she suffered from her battles with the waves, she found exhilaration in the exciting discovery. Dorothy threw off the blankets, sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bunk. Her bathing suit was still wet and clung uncomfortably to her skin. With a hand on the side of the bunk to support her, she stood up on the heaving floor to catch sight of her face in a mirror screwed to the opposite wall. "Gracious! I'm a fright," she cried. "I don't suppose there's a vanity case aboard this lugger--and mine went down with the poor little _Scud_!" Then she spied a neat pile of clothing at the foot of the bunk, and immediately investigated. A dark blue sweater, a pair of trousers, heavy woolen socks, and a pair of boy's sneakers were seized upon and donned forthwith. Dorothy giggled as she surveyed herself once more in the little mirror. "Just a few sizes too large, that's all. But they're warm, and _dry_, and that's something!" She rummaged about on a shelf, found a comb and with dexterous fingers smoothed her short damp hair into place, then with a sigh of satisfaction, muttered again to herself, "Much better, my girl." Her makeshift toilet completed, she decided to leave the cabin and continue her explorations outside. There were two doors, one on the side and one at the end which evidently led forward. After a moment's hesitation, Dorothy chose the latter. With some difficulty, for the ship still pitched unmercifully, she stumbled forward. Then, summoning up her courage, for she was not without trepidation at the thought of facing her desperado rescuers, she laid a hand on the knob and turning it, swung back the door. Dorothy found herself in a small, glassed-in compartment, evidently the pilot house. She had hardly time to glance about, when an oddly familiar voice spoke from out the darkness. It was barely distinguishable above the motor's hum. "Please, Miss Dixon, snap off the light or shut the door. I can't possibly guide this craft in such a glare." "Why, it's Bill Bol--Mr. Bolton, I mean," she cried in surprise, and closed the door. "Himself in the flesh," replied that young man. She could see him clearly now, seated directly before her. His back was toward her and he did not turn round. So far as she could see he seemed very busily engaged, doing something with his feet. "Then--then it must have been you who picked me up," she stammered. "Guilty on the first count, Miss Dixon." "Please don't be funny," she retorted, now mistress of herself once more. "I want to thank you--" "You are very welcome. Seriously, though, it is the boathook you have to thank. Without that we'd both have gone to Davy Jones' locker long before this." Dorothy was nearly thrown off her feet by an unusually high sea which crashed over the pilot house and rolled the vessel far over on her side. "Whew--that was a near one!" the girl exploded as the ship righted itself. "We'll weather it, don't worry," encouraged Bill, though he did not feel the confidence his words proclaimed. "It looks to me," said Dorothy soberly, "as though we'll be mighty lucky if we reach shore at all--and I guess you know it." "Never say die, Miss Dixon!" "Suppose we drop this miss and mister stuff, Bill. Sounds rather silly at a time like this, don't you think so?" "Right you are, Dorothy. I'm not much on ceremony, myself, as the Irishman said when--" "Look here, Bill!" Dorothy tossed her head impatiently, "I wish you'd omit the comedy--it really isn't necessary. I'll admit I was in a bad way when you dragged me out of the briny deep--and I appreciate your coming to my rescue. But you needn't expect me to faint or to throw hysterics. That sort of thing went out of fashion long ago. Girls today have just as much nerve as boys. They don't very often get a chance to prove it, that's all." "Please accept my humblest apology, mademoiselle." Bill's eyes twinkled though his tone was utterly serious. "I can assure you--" Dorothy's merry laugh rang out--her mood had passed as suddenly as it had come. "Don't be absurd. Tell me--why are _you_ piloting a rumrunner?" "Rumrunner? What do you mean?" "If this isn't a rumrunner, why do you carry that machine gun and the rifles and revolvers in the armsrack?" "Just part of our equipment, that's all." Dorothy's impatience flared up again. "Why do you talk such nonsense?" "Nonsense?" "Certainly. You don't mean to tell me that you took a boat of this size on long cruises!" Bill grinned in the darkness. "But you see," he chuckled, "this isn't a boat." "Well, what is it then?" "A Loening amphibian. Not exactly the stock model, for Dad and I had quite a few changes made in the cabin and this pilot's cockpit." "_What?_" shrieked Dorothy. "An airplane--one that can land either on water or on land?" "That's right. The old crate has the hull of a boat equipped with retractible wheel landing gear which operates electrically." "You're too technical for me," she said frowningly, and balanced herself with a hand on the back of the pilot's seat. "But if this is an airplane, why keep bouncing along on the water? I'd think you'd fly to land and have done with it." "My dear girl--" began Bill. "Don't use that patronizing tone--I'm not your dear girl--not by a long shot!" Bill laughed outright. "My error once more. However, Miss Spitfire, when you learn to fly, you'll find out that air currents are very like water currents. When it is blowing as hard as it is now, flying a plane is fully as dangerous as sailing a boat--more so, in fact. When the wind reaches a certain velocity, it is impossible to balance your plane. You have to land--or crash." Dorothy was beginning to understand. "Then you must have taken some awful risks coming out after me." "I was lucky," he admitted. "But you see, even if we were able to fly in this gale, now, it's quite impossible to take off in such a heavy sea. If I gave the old bus enough gas to get up a flying speed, these combers would batter the hull in--I'd never be able to get her onto her step. Some day, when it's fine, and the water's smooth, I'll show you what I meant by that. Now all we can do is to taxi." "Taxi?--This is the first seagoing taxi I've ever been in!" "In air parlance," he explained, "to taxi is to run a plane along the ground or on the water--just now, it isn't all it's cracked up to be." "I should think it would be easier than flying." "Not on water as rough as this. Your legs go to sleep with the strain you have to put on the rudder pedals." "Oh--you're steering with your feet?" "Yes." "Well, why don't you let me help you? I'll drive her for a while," offered Dorothy. Bill shook his head. "It's terribly hard work," he demurred. "What of it? I'm as strong as an ox." "Thanks a lot. You're a real sport. But the difficulty is in shifting places with me without swamping the old bus. She isn't equipped with dual controls. There's only one set of pedals, and as soon as I release them she will slue broadside to the waves, the wings will crumple, and she'll simply swamp and go under." "And you must taxi either before the wind, or into the wind as we are now, in seas like these?" "You've guessed it," he nodded. "But there must be some way we can manage it," argued Dorothy. "You can't keep on much longer. Your legs will give out and then we'll go under anyway." Bill hesitated a moment. "Well, all right, let's try it--but it's no cinch, as you'll find out." "That's O.K. with me. Come on--orders, please--and let's go!" _Chapter III_ A WILD RIDE "Hey, not so fast," laughed Bill. "First of all, will you please step into the cabin, and in the second locker on your right you'll find a helmet and a phone-set. Bring them out here. This shouting is making us both hoarse and we'll soon be as deaf as posts from the noise of the motor." "Aye, aye, skipper," breezed Dorothy, and disappeared aft. In a minute or two she returned with the things he had asked for. Bill showed her how to adjust the receivers of the phone set over the ear flaps of her helmet. Then reaching for the head set at the other end of the connecting line, he put it on and spoke into the mouthpiece which hung on his chest. "Much better, isn't it?" he asked in a normal tone. "It certainly is. I can hear you perfectly," she declared into her transmitter. "--What next?" "Come over here and sit on my lap.--I'm not trying to get fresh," he added with a grin, as she hesitated. "I've had to make a shift like this before with Dad. There is only one way to do it." Dorothy was a sensible girl. She obeyed his order and placed herself on his knees. "Now put your feet over mine on the rudder pedals. And remember--to turn right, push down on the right pedal, and vice versa. Get the idea?" "Quite, thanks." "Fine. Next--grab this stick and keep it as I have it. Now, I'm going to pull my feet from under yours--ready?" "Let her go!" Bill jerked his feet away, to leave Dorothy's resting on the pedals. "Good work!" he applauded. "The old bus hardly swerved. Keep her as she's pointed now. We can't change her course, much less take off until we hit one of those inlets along the Connecticut shore, and smoother water. Brace yourself now--I'm going to slide out of this seat." Dorothy was lifted quickly. Then she dropped back into the pilot's seat to find herself fighting the tenacious pull of heavy seas, straining her leg muscles to keep the plane from floundering. "How's it going?" Bill's voice came from the floor of the cockpit where he was busily engaged in pounding circulation back into his numbed legs and feet. "Great, thanks. But I will say that this amphibian of yours steers more like a loaded truck in a mudhole than an honest-to-goodness plane! How are your legs?" "Gradually getting better--pretty painful, but then I'm used to this sort of thing." "Poor boy!" she exclaimed sympathetically, then gritted her teeth in the effort to keep their course as a huge comber crashed slightly abeam the nose. Bill grasped the side of her seat for support. "You handled that one nicely," he approved when the wave had swept aft. "But don't bother about me--you've got your own troubles, young lady. I'll be all right in a few minutes." "What I can't understand," said Dorothy, after a moment, "is why this plane didn't sink when you landed and picked me up. How _did_ you keep from slewing broadside and going under?" "Well, it was like this. When I left you on the beach, I motored back home to New Canaan. The sky was blackening even then. I was sure we were in for the storm, so after putting up the car, I went out to the hay barn in that ten acre field where we house the old bus. She needed gas, so I filled the tanks, gave her a good looking over and went back to the house and telephoned." "You mean you phoned the beach club about me?" "Yes. The steward said you weren't anywhere around the club, and your sloop wasn't in the inlet. It was pretty dark by then and the wind was blowing a good thirty-five knots. I made up my mind you must be in trouble. Frank ran after me on my way out to the plane--he's our chauffeur you know--" "Yes, I know--" broke in Dorothy--"he drove you and your father to the movies last night. I saw him." "That's right. Frank's a good scout. He wanted to come along with me, but I wouldn't let him." "I s'pose you thought you'd save _his_ skin, at least?" "Something like that. A fellow doesn't mind taking responsibility for himself--it's a different thing with some one else. Well, before Frank and I ran this plane out of the barn, I rigged the sea anchor (nothing more than a large canvas bucket with a couple of crossed two-by-twos over the top to keep it open) with an extra long mooring line. The sea-anchor I brought up here in the cockpit with me. The other end of the line was fastened to a ring-bolt in the nose, of course. Well--to get through with this yarn--I took off alone and flew over to the Sound." "But wasn't it awful in this wind?" "It was pretty bad. As soon as I got over water, I switched on the searchlight, but it was a good half-hour before the light picked you up. Then I landed--" "Into the wind or with it?" interrupted Dorothy. "Getting interested, eh?" commented Bill with a smile. "Well, just remember this then, never make a downwind landing with a seaplane in a wind blowing over eighteen miles an hour." "Why?" "Because the wind behind your plane will increase the landing speed to the point where you will crash when you strike the water--that's a good reason, isn't it?" "Then you landed into the wind when you came down for me?" "That's right. And as soon as I struck the water, I shut off the motor, opened one of these windows and threw over the sea anchor. Then I fished you out with the boathook." "It sounds sort of easy when you tell it--but I'll bet it wasn't." She gazed at him admiringly. "You surely took some awful chances--" "Hey there!" called Bill. "Pull back the stick or you'll nose over." "That's better," he approved as she obeyed his order. "Keep it well back of neutral. Sorry I yelled at you," he grinned. Bill got to his feet. "I'm O.K. now," he went on, "and you must be pretty well done up. I'm going to take it over." Seating himself on her lap, as she had sat on his, he placed his feet upon hers. A minute later, she had drawn her feet back from the rudder pedals, slipped out from under and was seated on the floor, rubbing life back into her feet and legs, as Bill had done. "Why is it," she inquired presently, "that the plane rides so much smoother when you're guiding her?" Bill smiled. "When I give her right pedal, that is, apply right rudder, I move the stick slightly to the left and vice versa. In that way I depress the aileron on the side I want to sail. It aids the rudder. You got along splendidly, though, and stick work when taxiing needs practice." Dorothy got to her feet, rather unsteadily. "Look!" she cried. "Lights ahead. We must be nearing shore, Bill." "We are. There's a cove out yonder I'm making for. And better still, the wind is lessening. Just about blown itself out, I guess." In another ten minutes they sailed in through the mouth of an almost landlocked inlet and with the motor shut off drifted in comparatively smooth water. "Any idea where we are?" inquired Dorothy, when Bill, after throwing out the anchor, came back to her. "Somewhere between Norwalk and Bridgeport, I guess," he replied. "There are any number of coves along here. I'll take you ashore, now. We've got a collapsible boat aboard. Not much of a craft, but it'll take the two of us in all right. We'll go over to one of those houses, and get your father on the phone. He can come down and drive you back to New Canaan." "Drive us both back, you mean!" "Sorry--but it can't be done. I've got to take this old bus home as soon as the wind dies down a little more." "How long do you suppose that will be?" asked Dorothy quietly. Bill glanced up at the black, overcast sky and then turned his gaze overside and studied the water toward the inlet's mouth. "Oh, in about an hour I'll be able to take off." "Then I'll wait and fly back with you." "You certainly are a sportsman," he applauded and looked at his wrist watch. "It's only ten to six--though anyone would think it was midnight. I'll tell you what--suppose I shove off in the dinghy. I'll row ashore and telephone your Dad from the nearest house. He will be half crazy if he knows you were out sailing in that blow and haven't reported back to the club. In the meantime, you might scare up something to eat. There's cocoa, condensed milk, crackers and other stuff in the cabin locker nearest the stove. You must be starved--I know I am!" They were standing on one of the narrow decks that ran from amidships forward to the nose of the plane below the pilot house. "The very thought of food makes me ravenous," declared Dorothy, starting for the cabin door. "Give Dad my love and say I'm all right--thanks to you!" she threw back over her shoulder--"Tell him to put back dinner until seven-thirty--and to have an extra place laid. In the meantime I'll dish up a high tea to keep us going." Within the cabin, she set water on the two-burner electric stove to boil. While it was heating she let down the hinged table and set it with oilcloth doilies, that she found, together with other table necessities in a cupboard next the food locker. She discovered some bread and a number of other eatables stowed away here, as well as the things Bill had mentioned. Twenty minutes later, Bill returned to find the table set with cups of steaming cocoa and hot toasted sandwiches spread with marmalade. "I'll say you're some cook, Dorothy!" He pulled up a camp stool, and seated himself at the table. "This is a real party!" "There isn't any butter--" began Dorothy doubtfully. "Don't apologize. It's wonderful--do start in or I'll forget my manners and grab!" Dorothy helped herself to a sandwich and handed the plate across the table. "Were you able to get Dad?" "Yes. Just caught him. He'd only got home from the bank a few minutes before. One of the maids told him you'd spoken of going sailing, so he phoned the club about you. He was just leaving the house to drive down there when I rang him up." "Did he say anything else?" "Oh, naturally, he was glad you were all right. He didn't seem so pleased when I told him I was flying you back. He asked me if I was an experienced pilot." "He would." Dorothy chuckled. "What did you tell him?" Bill laughed as he helped himself to another sandwich. "I wanted to get out here to your high tea, you know, so I asked him if he smoked cigarettes." "_Cigarettes?_" "Yes. 'If you do, Mr. Dixon,' I said--you know the old slogan, 'Ask Dad--he knows--' and I'm sorry to say I rang off." "I'll bet he goes over and asks your father!" "Very probably. Dad's rather touchy when anybody questions my rating as a pilot. I'm afraid your father will get an earful." Cocoa and toast had disappeared by this time so the two in the cabin set about clearing up. "You must'nt mind Daddy's crusty manner," she said with her hands in a dishpan of soapsuds. "He's always like that when he's upset. He doesn't mean anything by it." Bill, who was stowing away cups and saucers in the locker, turned about with a grin. "Oh, that's all right. I had no business to get facetious--my temper's not so good, either. But there's no hard feeling." He held out his hands. "If you're finished with the dishpan I'll throw the water overside. The storm has broken and there's practically no wind. So if you're ready we'll shove off for New Canaan--and I'll give you your first hop." _Chapter IV_ THE FIRST HOP "How about giving me my first flying lesson now?" Dorothy suggested as Bill hauled in their anchor. "You really want to learn?" "Of course I do--I'm crazy about it!" Bill coiled the mooring line, looping it with practiced skill. "And I'd be glad to give you instruction. But you're a minor--before we can start anything like that we must get your Dad's permission." "Oh, that'll be all right, Bill," was the young lady's cool assurance. "But how about right now--" "Every student aviator is a watchful waiter the first time up. You stand behind me this trip and I'll explain what I'm doing as we go along." "That'll be great! I'm just wild to fly this plane!" Bill smiled. "But you won't get your flight instruction in this plane, Dorothy." "Why not?" "This amphibian is too big and heavy, for one thing; for another, she isn't equipped with dual controls." "But what does that mean?" "I see we'll have to start your training right now, Miss Student Pilot--Controls is a general term applied to the means proved to enable the pilot to control the speed, direction of flight, altitude and power of an aircraft.--Savez?" "You sound like a text book--but I get you." "All right. Now, unless we want the bus washed up on the beach, we'd better shove off." Fastening the door to the deck after them, they passed through the cabin and into the pilot's cockpit where head-phone sets were at once adjusted. The amphibian bobbed and swayed at the push of little waves. The sun's face, scrubbed clean and bright by wind and rain was reflected in the rippling water; whilst wet surfaces of leaves, lawns, tree trunks and housetops bordering the inlet gleamed in a wash of gold. Little gusts of fresh air blew in through the open windows filling the cockpit with a keen sweet odor of wet earth. Dorothy drew a deep breath. "My! the air smells good after that storm!" "You bet--" agreed Bill. "But I'll smell brimstone when your father comes into the picture, if we don't shove off pronto for New Canaan." "Oh, that's just like a boy--" she pouted. "Shush! student--Listen to your master's--I mean,--your instructor's voice, will you?" "Instructor's better," she smiled. "Here beginneth your first lesson." Bill slid into the pilot's seat. "Stand just behind me and hold on to the back of my seat," he ordered. Dorothy promptly did as she was told. After all, was not this the real Bill Bolton the famous ace and midshipman she had read about? "All set?" "Aye, aye, sir." "Good enough! Here we go then. I'll explain every move I make, as I make it. Look and listen! First--I crack the throttle--in other words, before starting the engine, set your throttle in its quadrant slightly forward of the fully closed position. Next, I 'contact'--that's air parlance for 'ignition switch on.' After that, I press the inertia starter to swing our propeller into motion--" the engine sputtered, then roared. "It is most important," he went on a moment later, "to see that the way ahead and above is clear at this point. Safety first is the slogan of good flying." "Yes. But really, Bill, you don't have to explain every thing you do. I'm watching closely. When I don't understand, I'll ask--if it's all the same to you?" "Good girl. Don't hesitate to ask me, though." "I won't." With that she saw him widen the throttle and with his stick held well back of neutral to prevent the nose dipping under the waves, he sent the big seaplane hurtling through the water toward the inlet's mouth. The wind had changed since the storm and now, as they raced into the teeth of the light breeze, Dorothy tingled with that excitement which comes to every novice with the take off. Six or eight seconds after opening the throttle, she saw him push the stick all the way forward. "Why do you do that? Won't that raise the tail of the plane and depress the nose?" Bill shook his head. "In the air--yes. But we're moving at some speed now on the surface--and the bow cannot be pushed down into the water. Our speed is gradually forcing it up until--now--we're skimming along on the step, you see." Dorothy nodded to herself and watched him ease the stick back to neutral and maintain it there while they gathered more and more speed. "Now I'm going to talk some more," said Bill. "Don't blame me if it sounds like a text book.--In order to fly, certain things must be learned--and remembered. Do not take off until you have attained speed adequate to give complete control when in the air. Any attempt to pull it off prematurely will result in a take off at the stalling point, where control is uncertain. Understand?" "I think so--but how does one know when to do it?" "That comes with practice--and the feel of the ship. As flying speed is gained, I give a momentary pressure on the elevators (like this)--and break the hull out of the water--so--easing the pressure immediately after the instant of take off. Now that we are in the air our speed is only slightly above minimum flying speed. Any decrease in this would result in a stall. That is why I keep the nose level for six or seven seconds in order to attain a safe margin above stalling point before beginning to climb." "There's certainly a lot more to it than I ever dreamed!" "You bet there is. I haven't told you the half of it yet. One thing I forgot to say--you must always hold a straight course while taxiing before the take off. Also, never allow a wing to drop while your plane is on the step.--We've got enough speed on now, so I'll pull back the stick and let the plane climb for a bit." "But you're heading for the Long Island Shore directly away from New Canaan--" she protested, "why don't you bring her about--not that I'm in any hurry, but--" "This is an airplane, not a sailboat, Dorothy. All turns must be made with a level nose. If I should try to turn while in a climb like this, a stall would probably result, and with the wing down the plane would most likely go into a spin and--" "We'd crash!" "Surest thing you know!" "_Oh!_" "But the altimeter on the dash says one thousand feet now. We're high enough for our purpose. So I push the stick forward, like this--until the nose is level--so! Now, as I want to make a right turn, I apply right aileron and simultaneously increase right rudder considerably." Dorothy saw one wing go up and the other go down. She was hardly able to keep her feet as the plane's nose swung round toward the Connecticut shore. "Isn't that called banking?" "Right on the first count," replied Bill. "Why do you do it?" "Because in making a turn, the momentum of the plane sets up a centrifugal force, acting horizontally outward. To counteract this, the force of lift must be inclined until it has a horizontal component equal to the centrifugal force. The machine is therefore tilted to one side, or banked, thus maintaining a state of equilibrium in which it will turn steadily. No turn can be made by the use of the rudder alone. The plane must be banked with ailerons before the rudder will have any turning effect.--Get me?" "I get the last part. Guess I'll have to do some studying." "Everybody has to do that. But I'll lend you some books, so you can bone up on the theory of flight. What I said just now amounts to this: if you don't bank enough you send your plane into a skid." "Just like an automobile skids?" "Yes. But of course the danger doesn't lie in hitting anything as in a car. A skidding plane loses her flying speed forward and drops into a spin. On the other hand, if you bank her too sharply, you go into a sideslip!" "And the result in both cases is a crash?" "Generally. But I think you've had enough instruction for today." "Oh--but I want to know how you ended that turn. We're flying straight again now--and I was so interested in what you were saying, I forgot to watch what you did!" "Well, after I had banked her sufficiently, I checked the wings with the ailerons and at the same time eased the pressure on the rudder. Then I maintained a constant bank and a constant pressure on the rudder pedal throughout the turn. To resume straight flight, I simply applied left aileron and left rudder: and when the wings were level again, I neutralized the ailerons and applied a normal amount of right rudder." "My goodness!" exclaimed Dorothy--"and that is only one of the things I have to learn. I thought that flying a plane wouldn't be much more complicated than driving a car." "Oh, it's simple enough--only you have to balance a plane, as well as drive it." "Do you think I'll ever learn?" "Of course you will. It takes time and practice--that's all." "I wonder how birds learn to fly?" Dorothy glanced down at the wide vista of rolling country over which they were traveling. The dark green of the wooded hills, the lighter green of fields, criss-crossed by winding roads and dotted with houses, all in miniature, seemed like viewing a toy world. And here and there, just below them, there was the occasional flash of feathered wings, as the birds darted in and out among the treetops. "Birds have to learn to fly, too. They get into trouble sometimes." "They do?" "Certainly--watch gulls on a windy day--you'll see them sideslip--go into spins--and have a generally hard time of it!" "Oh, really? I'd never thought of that. But of course they can fly much better than a plane." Bill shook his head. "That's where you are wrong. No bird can loop, or fly upside down. Reverse control flying and acrobatics--stunting generally is impossible for them.--But look below! Recognize the scenery?" "Why, we're almost over New Canaan. There are the white spires of the Episcopal and Congregational churches--and there's Main Street--and the railroad station!" "And over on that ridge is your house--and mine across the way," he added. "Well, here's where I nose her over. Hold tight--we're going down." _Chapter V_ TROUBLE After releasing the rectractible wheel landing gear, which turned the big amphibian from a seaplane into one which could land on terra firma, Bill brought his big bus gently down to the ten acre lot behind the Bolton residence. As the plane rolled forward on its rubber tired wheels and came to a stop, two men came walking in its direction from the trees at the edge of the field. "Here come our respective fathers--" announced Bill, stripping off his headgear. "Remember--I take all responsibility for bringing you back in the plane." "You--do nothing of the kind!" Dorothy's tone was final. She handed him her head-phone and running back through the cabin, vaulted the low bulwark to the ground. Bill hurriedly made things secure in the cockpit and followed her. "And so you see, Dad," he heard her say, as he approached where they stood, "Bill not only saved my life--he took all kinds of chances with his own, flying in a gale like that. And--oh! I forgot to tell you that he warned me _not_ to go out in the _Scud_ this afternoon!" she ended with a mischievous look toward Bill. Mr. Dixon was a tall man, whose tanned, rugged features and searching gaze suggested the sportsman. He turned from his excited daughter, with a smile and an outstretched hand. "I'm beginning to realize, young man, that I owe you an apology for my shortness over the phone. Judging from Dorothy's story, I can never hope to express my gratitude for what you've done today." Bill mumbled an embarrassed platitude as he shook hands, and was glad when Mr. Bolton broke into the conversation. "The Boltons, father and son, were probably born to be hung," he chuckled. "It's a family trait, to fall into scrapes--and so far, to get out of them just as quickly. Now, as nobody has been polite enough to introduce me to the heroine of this meeting--I'm the hero's fond parent, Miss Dorothy. We are about to celebrate this festive occasion by a housewarming, in the form of a scrap dinner at the hero's home--what say you?" "But I thought you were coming to our house--" cried Dorothy. "I--" "But me no buts, young lady. Your father has already accepted for you both and we simply can't take no for an answer." Dorothy glanced at Bill, who stood rather sheepishly in the background. Then she laughed. "Why, of course, if you put it that way--I'd love to come; that is, if the _hero_ is willing!" "Say, do you think that's fair!" Bill's face was red. He didn't think much of that kind of kidding. "I think it would be great, that is, if you mean me," he ended in confusion. Amid the general laughter that followed, Dorothy uttered a cry of disgust. "But I can't come like this--" she pointed to her clothes, which were the things that Bill had laid out for her in the big plane's cabin. "You look charming--" Mr. Bolton bowed, and Dorothy blushed. "However--" "Make it snappy, then, dear." Mr. Dixon drew out his watch. "You have just fifteen minutes. And Mr. Bolton won't keep dinner waiting for you, if he's as famished as I am!" "Oh, give me twenty!" she pleaded. "All right--hurry, now!" With a wave of her hand, Dorothy darted away. "I'll look after the plane, Bill," said his father, as she disappeared among the orchard trees. "I want to show Mr. Dixon over it, and that will give you time for a slicking-up before dinner." It was a jolly, though belated meal that was eventually served to them in the cool, green dining room of the Bolton's summer home that evening. Mr. Dixon, with the finesse of an astute business man, drew out Mr. Bolton and his son, and the two told tales of adventure by land and sea and air that fascinated the New England high school girl. It all seemed unreal to her, sitting in the soft light of the candles. Yet the Boltons made light of hairbreadth escapes in the world's unmapped areas--just as if these strange adventures were daily occurrences in their lives, she thought. "It certainly is a shame!" she burst out suddenly. Coffee had been served and they had moved to the comfort of low wicker chairs on the terrace. The air was filled with the perfume of June roses. "What's a shame?" Bill, now spick and span in white flannels, settled back in his chair. "Why, all the wonderful times you and Mr. Bolton have had--while Dad and I were sticking around in New Canaan. I'd love to be an adventurer," she finished. "I dare say you'd find it mighty uncomfortable at times," observed her father. "How about it, Bolton?" "Like everything else, it has its drawbacks and becomes more or less of a grind when one 'adventures' day in and day out--" that gentleman admitted. "I'm only too glad to be able to settle down in this beautiful ridge country for a few months--to rest and be quiet." "There you are, Dorothy." Her father smiled in the darkness. "And who would there be out in the wilds to admire that smart frock you're wearing, for instance?" "Gee, Dad! You know I don't care half as much about clothes as lots of the girls--and that hasn't anything to do with it, anyway." "I think we ought to break the news to her," suggested Bill, a white blur in the depths of his chair. Dorothy sat up eagerly. "What news?" "But perhaps we'd better wait until tomorrow. Tonight, she wants to become an explorer--and give away all her best dresses. She might not take kindly to it." This from Mr. Dixon, between puffs of aromatic cigar smoke. "You're horrid--both of you. Don't you think it's mean of them to make such a mystery of whatever they're talking about, Mr. Bolton? Won't you tell me?" "Of course, I will, my dear. What do you want to know?" Dorothy choked with vexation. "_Oh!_" "Let's tell her now--right now--" said Bill, his voice brimming with laughter. "I don't want to hear." "Yes, you do--all together: one--two--three! You--are--going--to--learn--to--fly!" Dorothy sprang to her father's chair and caught his arm. "Will you really let me, Dad?" she cried in delight. "Mr. Bolton says that Bill is an A-1 instructor--and he claims that flying is no more dangerous than sailing twenty-footers in a nor'easter, so I suppose--" "Oh--you _darling_!" Dorothy flung her arms about his neck. "Here--here--" cried Mr. Dixon. "You're ruining my collar, and my cigar--" "Have another," suggested Mr. Bolton. "I'd willingly ruin boxes of cigars if I had a daughter who'd hug me that way!" "Aren't you nice!" She turned about and bestowed a second affectionate embrace on that gentleman. "That is because you aren't quite as mean as your son--he's the limit!" "Never slang your instructor," sang out Bill. "That's one of the first rules of the air." "Seriously, Dorothy," her father interposed. "This is a big responsibility Bill is taking--and I want your word that you'll do just as he says. No more running off and smashing up a plane as you did the _Scud_ this afternoon!" "All right, Dad. I promise. But what am I to learn in? Bill says that the Amphibian is too heavy--and she's not equipped with dual controls." Mr. Dixon lit a fresh cigar. "I see that you've already started your flight training." "Bill explained the procedure to me on our way up here this afternoon. But what are we going to do for a plane?" "Bill has some scheme, I believe." "Oh, I know," she decided. "Bill shall pick me out a nice little plane and--" "I shall pay for it," said her father grimly. "Nothing doing. When you have won your wings--well--we shall see. Until then, you and Bill will have to figure without financial help from your fond parent." "That's fair enough," agreed Mr. Bolton. "O.K. with me, too," echoed Bill. "I happen to have an old _N-9_, a Navy training plane, down at the shipyard near the beach club, that will do nicely. I was down there this afternoon having her pontoon removed. I want to equip her with landing gear so I can house her up here. The Amphibian uses up too much gas to go joy-hopping in." A maid appeared on the doorstep. "Mr. Dixon wanted on the phone, please," she announced, and waited while that gentleman preceded her into the house. A moment later Mr. Dixon was back on the terrace. "The bank's been robbed!" he cried. "Sorry, gentlemen, but I've got to hustle down there just as soon as possible." "This way!" called Bill, springing down the steps to the garden. "My car's out here--come on!" "That young chap can keep his head," thought Mr. Dixon as he ran beside his daughter and Mr. Bolton. "It would take a lot to fluster him." Then they came upon him, backing slowly up the drive, both doors swinging wide so they could jump in the car without his stopping. "Which bank, Mr. Dixon?" Bill had the car in the road now and was racing toward the village. "First National--Main Street, next the Town Hall. I'm president, you know." "I didn't know. But I'm glad to hear it." "How's that?" "You should have a drag with the traffic cops. We are doing an even sixty now--and it would be a bad time to get a ticket." Mr. Dixon grasped the door-handle as Bill skidded them into a cross road with the expertness of a racing driver. "Just get us there, that's all," he gasped. "The chief himself phoned me. I didn't wait to hear details--but from what I gathered, the hold up men got clean away before the police discovered the robbery. But time is always a factor in a case of this kind, so don't worry about traffic rules." "I won't," said Bill and fed his powerful engine still more gas. Along the straight stretch of Oenoke Avenue they sped, with Bill's foot still pressing the accelerator. They flashed past the white blur of the Episcopal Church and on down the hill into Main Street and the little town. The car's brakes screamed and Bill brought them to a stop on the edge of the crowd of pedestrians and vehicles that blocked further progress. "D'you want us to wait here?" asked Mr. Bolton. "No--come along," returned his friend, jumping to the sidewalk. "We'll learn the worst together." _Chapter VI_ THE HOLD UP With Bill at her right and Mr. Bolton at her left elbow, Dorothy pushed her way through the crowd behind her father to the entrance of the Bank. The policeman at the head of the short flight of steps to the doorway stood aside at a word from Mr. Dixon. The four passed inside and the heavy door swung shut behind them. "Rather like locking up the barn after the sheep vamoosed, isn't it?" Bill nodded over his shoulder toward the police guard. "Never mind, son--this isn't our party," rebuked his father. A fat man in a dark blue uniform, rather tight as to fit and much be-braided, came bustling up. "Who are these men, Mr. Dixon?" he inquired pompously. "Can't have strangers around the bank at this time--" "From what I hear, Chief, you and your men let some strangers get away with about everything but the bank itself a little while ago." Mr. Dixon's tone showed his annoyance. "These gentlemen are friends of mine. What's actually happened? Give me some facts. Anybody hurt? Anybody caught? Just what has been taken?" Questions popped like revolver shots. "Well--it's like this, sir--" The Chief seemed pretty well taken down. "Thunderation! You and your sleuths are enough to tempt any man to law breaking. There's Perkins! Perhaps I'll learn something from him." Mr. Dixon strode toward the rear of the bank. "You mustn't mind Dad," Dorothy said consolingly. "Just now he's half crazy with worry, Chief.--These gentlemen are Mr. Bolton and his son. They've bought the Hawthorne place, you know." Chief Jones mopped his perspiring face with a red bandanna and then shook hands all around. "Terrible warm tonight--terrible warm. Well, let's go over and find out what's what. I was over to a party at my daughter Annie's--only just got in here myself. Annie--" "Yes, let's find out what has happened." Dorothy cut in on this long-winded effusion, and led the way behind the tellers' cages to where her father and several other men were standing before the open vault. "Ah, here's the watchman now!" cried Mr. Dixon as a man, his head completely covered with bandages, came toward them and sank weakly into a chair. "Now, Thompson, do you think you can tell us exactly what happened, before Doctor Brown drives you home?" "Yes, sir. Glad to." The man's voice, though feeble, betrayed excitement. "He sure knocked me out, that bird did--but I'd know him again if I saw him. I c'd pick him out of a million--" "That's fine," Mr. Dixon interrupted gently. "But start at the beginning, Thompson, and we'll all get a better idea of him." "That I will, sir, and 'right _now_!' as that French guy says over the radio.... Well, it was about eight o'clock and still light, when the night bell buzzed. I was expecting Mr. Perkins. He'd told me he'd be back after supper as he had some work to do. I'd been readin' the paper over there by the window, so I got up and opened the front door. But it wasn't Mr. Perkins. A young fellow in a chauffeur's uniform stood outside." "'I'm Mr. Dixon's new chauffeur,' he said. 'Here's a note from him. He tried to ring you up, but the phone down here seems to be out of order. He said you'd give me a check book to take back to him. Better read this.' He passed over a letter--" "Have you still got it?" asked Mr. Dixon. "I think so. Yes, here it is, in my pocket." Thompson handed the missive to the bank president, who read it aloud: "'Dear Thompson: 'Please give the bearer, my chauffeur, a blank check book and oblige 'Yours truly, 'John Dixon.'" "Looks like my handwriting," sighed Mr. Dixon when he had finished, "but of course I didn't write it!--What happened after that?" "Well, sir, he asked me if he could step inside and take a few puffs of a cigarette, seein' as how you didn't like him to smoke on the job. So I let him in. Then I goes over to one of the desks for a check book and--I don't remember nothin' about what happened next, until I found myself in the far corner yonder, with Mr. Perkins near chokin' me to death with some water he was pourin' down my throat--and a couple of cops undoin' the rope I'd been bound up with. I reckon that feller must have beaned me with the butt of his revolver just as soon as I'd turned my back. Doc here, says as how the skull ain't fractured--but that bird sure laid me out cold. If I hadn't had my cap on, he'd of croaked me sure. Of course, I shouldn't of let that guy inside, but--" Mr. Dixon's tone was abrupt as he silenced Thompson with a word. "Thank you, Thompson," he said. "You are not to blame. If you hadn't let him in, he might have shot you at the door. Doctor Brown is going to take you home now. Lay up until you feel strong. And don't worry." He patted the man on the shoulder and Thompson departed, leaning on the doctor's arm. "I guess you're next on the list, Harry." Mr. Dixon nodded to Perkins. "How did you happen in here tonight?" The cashier, a slender young man, prematurely bald, and dapper to the point of foppishness, removed his cigarette from his mouth and stepped forward. "Had that Bridgeport transit matter and some other work I wanted to finish," he said crisply. "Told Thompson I would be back about eight-thirty. Matter of fact, it was twenty to nine when I rang the night bell. I rang it several times, no answer; then tried the door and found it unlocked. I thought something must be wrong--and was sure of it when I stepped in and saw Thompson lying on the floor, his arms and legs bound. Saw that he was breathing, and went to the phone. It was dead--couldn't raise Central. I didn't waste much time then, but ran out and hailed Sampson, the traffic cop on the corner. Told him there'd been a holdup here, so he blew his whistle, which brought another policeman and we three raced back here." "You brought Thompson to and cut his bonds--then what?" "I went to the vault. The door was ajar, with books and papers scattered all over the place. Haven't had a chance to check up, but it looks as though everything in the way of cash and negotiable securities has been taken." "But the door hasn't been damaged--they couldn't have blown it open!" The cashier shook his head. "No," he admitted, "they opened it with the combination. Must have used a stethoscope or the Jimmy Valentine touch system--" "Not with that safe, Perkins. But how about the time lock?" "It is never put on, sir, until we have no more occasion to use the vault for the day. I notified the Protective System people that I would be working here tonight and would set it when I was through." "Humph!" growled the president in a tone that boded ill for someone. "So the time lock wasn't set!" "It is the usual practice, sir," explained Perkins nervously. "I--" "Never mind that now. Anyone else know anything about this robbery?" "Yes, sir. Sampson, the traffic policeman saw the car." "Well, let's hear from Sampson, then, if he's here." The officer came forward rather sheepishly. "I was directin' traffic at the corner of Main Street and East Avenue, sir, when I seen your car run down Main and stop in front of the bank here." "_My_ car!" exploded Dorothy's father. "Yes, sir--least it was a this year's Packard like you drive--and it had your license number on it--AB521--I ought to know, I see it every day." "Yes, that's the number--but--well ... did you notice it further?" "Yes, sir, I did. That was about eight o'clock. The chauffeur got out and rang the bell at the entrance to the bank. Then I seen him speak to Thompson and pass inside." "Did you investigate?" "Why, no, sir. The man came out almost directly and the door swung shut behind him. Then he jumped into the car and drove up the alley at the side of the bank. You always park your car there, sir, so I thought nothin' of it. About twenty minutes later, out he drove again and up Main Street the way he'd come. And that's the last I've seen of him." "There was only one man in the car--the chauffeur?" "I only saw one. If there was anybody else, they must've been lying down, in the bottom of the car." "Very likely." Mr. Dixon turned to the chief of police. "And what has been done toward catching the thieves--or thief?" "Nothing, as yet," the Chief confessed. "But I'll get busy on the wire with descriptions of the man and the car right away. You see, I only just--" "Never mind that--get along now and burn up the wires. That car has had over an hour's start on you. I'll look after things here for the present." The head of the local police force waddled off with much the air of a fat puppy who had just received a whipping, and Mr. Dixon walked over to Mr. Bolton. "You can do me a great favor, if you will," he said. "Name it, Dixon." "Thanks. Go to the drug store down the block and call up the Bankers Protective Association in the city. You'll find their number in the directory. Tell them what's happened--that will be enough. I want you to call their New York headquarters. That will start them on the job through their branches in short order." "Right-oh!" his friend agreed. "And when I get through with New York, I'll see what New Canaan can do to fix your phone here." "Thanks. I'll appreciate it." "Anything I can do, Mr. Dixon?" inquired Bill. "Nothing here, thanks. But if you will take my daughter home and see that she doesn't get into any more trouble today, I'll be much obliged to you." "Oh, _Dad_!" Dorothy, threw him a reproachful look, then stood on tiptoe and kissed her parent's cheek. "There, there. I know you're worried. Phone me when you want the car. I'll have sandwiches and coffee waiting when you get home." Mr. Dixon gave her an affectionate hug. "You're a good little housewife," he praised, "but run along now--both of you. There are a million-odd things to be done before I can leave." He beckoned to the cashier and disappeared with him into the vault. "Not that way, Bill--" Dorothy's voice arrested Bill as he started for the door. "Come out the back way." "What's up?" "I don't know yet. But I've found something that the rest seem to have missed. It may be important--come and see." "You're on, Miss Sherlock," he said. Catching her arm, he hurried with her toward the rear of the bank. _Chapter VII_ GROUND TRAILS Bill unlatched the back door of the bank, pushed it open and stood aside for Dorothy to pass through. "Wait a minute." She put out a restraining hand. The full glare of the arc light in the alley fell on the damp ground at their feet. "Right over there are the tire marks of the holdup car. It's lucky it rained this afternoon. The prints are perfect in this mud." "Well, that's interesting, but--" "Oh, no. Of course they won't solve the mystery. That's what you were going to say, isn't it?" Dorothy's voice was mocking as she looked up at Bill. "But here--see these footprints? From this door to the car?" Her tone was triumphant now. "They ought to help just a little, don't you think?" But Bill seemed unmoved at her discovery. "Probably hoofmarks of the cops," he said rather disparagingly. Dorothy laughed. "If those footprints were made by policemen I'll eat them. Where are your eyes, Bill? The cops in this town wear regulation broad-toed shoes. When I heard the traffic cop tell Dad that he'd seen the robbers' car go up the alley, I dashed out here to have a look around. And as soon as I saw these prints I knew they were not made by broad-toed boots. Let's examine them closer." Taking care to avoid stepping on the well defined trail that led from the door to the tire marks of the car, the two studied the line of footprints. "One fellow wore rubber soled shoes--I guess you're right, Dorothy," acknowledged Bill, squatting on his heels. "The pattern on this set of prints could have been made by nothing else. But what do you make of these tracks here? Just holes in the mud with a flat dab right ahead?" "High heeled shoes, Bill. One of this gang is a woman, that is clear enough. What bothers me is the third set--look!" Bill stared at the footprints to which she pointed. "The right-hand one was made by a long, narrow shoe, but I'll swear that boot last was never made in America. It's too pointed," he said finally. "The shoe that made that imprint was bought in southern Europe, I'll bet--Italy, probably. But those queer looking marks to the left are beyond me," he frowned. Then he cried--"No, they're not! I have it--the man who made those prints was club-footed!" Dorothy disagreed with him. "A club-foot couldn't make that mark. It is too symmetrical--straight on both sides and kind of rounded at the back and front. It wasn't made by a wooden leg, either, Bill!" "No. That would simply dig a hole in the mud." "Oh, I know! Why didn't I see it at once!" she exclaimed excitedly--"The man was lame!" Bill snorted. "And he had long pink whiskers which he tied round his waist with a green ribbon!" "Don't be silly--I know what I'm talking about." "How so?" "I _know_ that a lame man made that set of marks." "Very well. May Doctor Watson inquire on what Miss Sherlock Holmes bases her astounding deduction?" "On those queer marks, of course, stupid!" "Thanks. The clouds have vanished. You make everything so lucid." Bill stood erect once more. "But, Bill--did you ever see a lame man--whose left leg was shorter than his right?" "Maybe I did. But I can't swear at this distant date which leg was the shorter." "Well, I can tell you that in this case, the left was!" "Maybe--" "Maybe nothing! Why am I sure of it? Because the man wore a lame man's boot--the kind with a very thick sole. My grandfather wore one. He twisted his hip when he was a boy and that leg didn't grow as long as the other. What is more, he always walked on the _sole_ of his big boot--the heel never touched the ground!" "I believe you _are_ right," mused the young man, studying one of the queer footprints again. "I know I am, Bill. That kind of a shoe would make exactly that print. Not such a bad hunch to take a look out here, was it?" "You're a swell sleuth, Dorothy. Let's see. Now we know there were three in the gang this evening. The chap who played chauffeur and wore sneakers, a woman, and a lame man--probably an Italian." "Yes. But that doesn't solve the mystery, does it?" "No, but it helps a lot. How about the tire tracks?" "Not our car. Daddy uses Silvertowns and those were made by some other kind." "Goodyears, I should say. How about going in now and telling your father what we've learned?" "I'd rather not, if you don't mind?" "Why!" "Well, you see, Bill, Dad hasn't much confidence in girls' views on what he calls 'the practical side of life'--mine especially. There'll soon be a bunch of detectives on this case. If they find out for themselves, it's O.K. with me--but I shan't tell them." "You want to work up the case yourself?" "That's exactly it. If you'll help me?" "Certainly I will. But we may get into trouble--I mean it is likely to be dangerous work." "Does that bother you?" "I'd hate to have you get hurt--" "I won't do anything on my own without telling you first. We'll work together. Does that suit your highness?" "You bet! Where do we go from here?" "Back to my house. We'll go down the alley and hop in your car. I want to ride up to our garage. I've got another hunch." "The kid's clever," remarked Bill admiringly. "Want to tell me? I haven't a glimmer." They turned out of the alley into Main Street before Dorothy answered. "Suppose you guess," she suggested teasingly as she stepped into the car. "Or, better still, now that you've become my aviation instructor, I'll even things up and give you a short course in sleuthing." "That's a go, teacher," grinned Bill. The car rolled up the hill past the white Memorial Cross on the village green. "But to a mere amateur in crime it looks as though you had barged into a pretty good mystery, no kidding." "Sh--" commanded Dorothy. "Sherlock Holmes is thinking." "Don't strain anything," Bill advised as he stepped on the accelerator. Dorothy did not retort to this thrust, but remainder wrapped in her thoughts for the remainder of the ride. Bill turned the car into the Dixon's drive before she spoke again. "Keep on to the garage, please." "Right-oh! Still sleuthing, I take it?" "Yes." "What _is_ the big idea?" "Wait and see." He drew up under the arching elms with the glare of their headlights focussed upon the closed garage doors. Dorothy sprang out and ran forward. "Locked," she affirmed, giving the handle a tug. "Wait a minute, Bill. I'll be right back." She disappeared in the direction of the house. Bill shut off the engine and clambered down to the ground. Presently he saw her coming back, accompanied by a woman in maid's cap and apron. "All right, Lizzie," her young mistress said, "I want to look at something first. Then you can tell us exactly what happened. That's right, give me the key." She swung open one of the wide doors. "The Packard's there, just as I told you, Miss Dorothy," volunteered Lizzie as the three stepped inside the garage. "It's your car that's missing." "I left it at the beach club--" Dorothy cut herself short. "The license plates are gone from the Packard!" "Wasn't that to be expected after what the cop told us in the bank?" There was a hint of mockery in Bill's voice. "Of course. But the point is--were they taken this afternoon while Daddy had the car parked behind the bank--or later this evening after he drove home? He would never remember whether he drove from the bank with the plates still attached or not. He never notices details like that." Bill seemed amused. "Perhaps not--but what's the difference?" "Wait a minute. You'll soon get another slant. Now, Lizzie--start from the very beginning." Lizzie spoke up eagerly. "Yes, miss. Cook and me was havin' our supper in the kitchen, miss--" "Where was Arthur?--He's our chauffeur-gardener," explained Dorothy to Bill. "It's Arthur's night off, miss. He went to the movies--said he'd get a bite at the lunch wagon in the village, though why a man should want to eat hot dogs and such trash with honest-to-goodness vittles waiting for him at home is more than--" "Never mind that now, Lizzie.--You and cook were eating supper--?" "Yes, miss. We was just finishin' when we heard a car pass the house on its way out to the garage. I thought it might be Arthur, back in the Ford for some supper. Cook said--" "Oh, Lizzie, please! What happened then?" "Why, a man came to the back door and asked for the key to the garage. Said as how he had orders to fix the Packard." "What time was that?" "About five minutes after we heard the car drive out here, miss." "No--I mean the time of day." "I couldn't rightly say, Miss Dorothy. The kitchen clock is down to Whipple's being mended. But it was just after you'd gone over to Mr. Bolton's for dinner." "What did the man look like, Lizzie?" "Like any young man, miss." "But was he tall or short?" "Kind of medium-like--" "Dark hair or light?" "I can't seem to remember--he had a chauffeur's cap on and was in his shirt sleeves, that I do know." "Did you notice if he limped?" "No, he didn't, miss--but the other fellow did--him with the big boot." "Bull's eye!" cried Bill. "You're sure some detective, Dorothy!" "Keep still?" ordered that young lady. And then to the housemaid: "We'll take up the man with the big boot in a minute, Lizzie. Now then, you gave the other one the garage key, I s'pose?" Lizzie snorted. "That I didn't, miss. I took the key off the hook and walked out to the garage with him. Mr. Dixon wouldn't be thankin' me to let strange men fool round in the garage by theirselves!" "Then how in thunder did they cop the license plates without your seeing them?" exploded Bill. "Do shut up and let me talk!" Dorothy stamped her foot impatiently. "Now, Lizzie, what happened next?" "Well, miss, I unlocked the doors and he started tinkerin' with the engine of the Packard there. Then all of a sudden he went out to the other car and spoke to somebody inside." "What car was that?" "The one he'd drove up in. It was parked out on the drive where the young gentleman has his'n now." "Another Packard, was it?" "I couldn't say, miss. I didn't pay much attention to it, except that it was a closed car--and there was a man and a woman in back." Dorothy exchanged glances with Bill. "And then?" "Then the young feller comes back and says as how the lady in the car was feeling sick, and could I fetch her a glass of water with a teaspoonful of bicarbonate of soda in it. I knew we had some in the medicine chest upstairs, so--" "So you went back to the house and got it?" "Yes, miss." "And _that's_ when they copped the plates!" declared Bill, the irrepressible. "Bull's eye!" derided Dorothy. "How'd you guess it?" "Form of genius some of us have." Dorothy ignored this last and turned again to the maid. "What happened when you brought back the bicarb, Lizzie?" "I give it to the young lady in the car, miss." "Young, was she?" "I couldn't get a good look at her face, for she was dabbin' her eyes with a handkerchief like she'd been cryin'. But she was dressed in some of those new-fangled pajamas like you wear to the beach, they was--sort of yellow-green color--and a wisp of her hair that had got loose from the bandanna she wore was red--the brightest red hair I ever see. She turned her head away when she drunk the medicine, but she thanked me prettily enough when she handed back the glass." "Have you washed it yet?" "No, miss. You see, I--" "Then don't. I want that glass, just as it is. Was the lame man sitting beside her?" "No. When I brought her the soda he was comin' out of the garage with the other fellow. He was carryin' a package wrapped in newspaper and he says as how he was takin' some part of the engine back to the shop. He spoke kind of funny, like a foreigner, I thought. And all dolled up in a light suit and a cane. Why, he'd even got lemon colored gloves on for all his lameness and the big boot he wore!" "Did the girl and the other man wear gloves?" "The man put them on when he started to tinker with the car, I remember. But the girl had no gloves on." "You're sure?" "Oh, yes, miss, because I noticed her shiny pink finger nails, particular. I thought at the time that washin' dishes couldn't be no part of her life." "That's fine, Lizzie. You make a splendid witness." "Thanks, miss. I got a good look at the lame man, too. He had a funny little black mustache like they wear in the movies and little gold knobs in his ears--what do think of _that_!" Lizzie paused dramatically as she gave this choice bit of information. "Earrings?" "Earrings, miss--and--" "Thank you, Lizzie. You may go now." "Remember those earrings, miss. And I'll keep the glass for you, and won't let cook touch it either, never fear!" Lizzie's slight figure faded into the darkness. "So you've got pretty good descriptions of the gang _and_ the lady's fingerprints!" Bill summed up. "I've got to hand it to you, kid. Reckon you'll have to let your father know about it though. Those fingerprints will have to be examined by the police." Dorothy nodded. "Guess you're right. I'll tell him what we found out." "What _you've_ found out, you mean. As I think I told you before, when it comes to detective work, I'm a ground hog!" "Nonsense! But that reminds me, Bill. Do I get a lesson tomorrow?" "Do you think you can take time enough from your life work?" "Don't be ridiculous. You may think I've finished fooling with this robbery when I turn over the dope to Daddy--but I haven't. I want a flying lesson, just the same, in the morning. Shall we go up in the _Loening_ again?" "No. I'll drive you down to the shore and we'll take the _N-9_ out. Don't wait for your father to-night. Tell him what you want to at breakfast." "But I've got to--" "This is your flight instructor speaking, Dorothy. No lesson in the morning for you, young lady, unless you go straight to bed now and get a good night's rest. A clear head and steady nerves are the first requisites for flying." "All right then. I'll turn in directly. Good night." Bill was already seated behind the wheel of his car. "Good night, Dorothy. By the way, _I've_ got a hunch about this bank business. After you've had some flight training we'll investigate together--and the plane will be a great asset," he added mysteriously. His foot pressed the self-starter. "Don't be so vague--spill the news like a good fellow." "Sh--" mocked Bill. "'Sherlock Holmes is thinking!'" His laugh rang out and the car disappeared in the deep shadows of the drive. "He's not so dumb as he pretends," mused Miss Dixon. "What can he have up his sleeve?" Slowly she moved off toward the back door of the house. _Chapter VIII_ NEXT MORNING "You've done splendidly, my dear. I'm proud of you. This information you've dug up will be a lot of help in tracing that gang, I'm sure." Dorothy and her father were seated at the table, taking their morning meal in the breakfast porch, just off the dining room. Although the bond of affection uniting father and daughter was a strong one, especially since the mother's death some years earlier, neither was particularly demonstrative. And Dorothy was not used to receiving unstinted praise of this sort from her father. The colour in her cheeks deepened, and she said off-handedly: "I'm awfully glad, Daddy. You haven't had your second cup of coffee, have you?" Mr. Dixon smiled, and passed his cup to her. His shrewd glance took in her evident embarrassment. "No need to dissemble, daughter. Fact is, I keep forgetting you're no longer a child; and I don't mind telling you how valuable you are to me." Dorothy smiled back at him. "Thanks a lot, Dad." She returned his filled cup. "Did the gang get away with much?" "Plenty. A number of easily negotiable bonds, what currency we had on hand, etc. Of course, we're well covered by insurance--but the worst of it is, they took Mrs. Hamberfield's diamond necklace!" "What! The Hamberfields, of Canoe Hill?" "The same. They bought the old Adams place two years ago and keep it for a summer residence. More money there than--er--taste, I believe. Mrs. H. goes in for jewels on a big scale." "Wears diamonds at breakfast, I'll bet, Daddy. She came to the Country Club last Saturday night, dressed up to the hilt and beyond it. I've never seen so much jewelry! Doug Parsons suggested that she'd been robbing Tiffany's. A regular ice-wagon with her diamonds!" "Well, she's lost a lot of them, now. That gang evidently knew she had a habit of keeping some of them in her deposit box at the bank, for it was the only one they raided." "That's interesting." "In what way?" "Never mind now. Tell me some more." "Well, naturally, I phoned the lady last night--and well--she was most unpleasant--" "The nasty cat! Serves her right to have them stolen!" "Hardly that, dear. But the bank is responsible for her necklace and other gewgaws. And her husband is a power in the financial world." Having breakfasted sufficiently for one day, Dorothy was busy with an orange lipstick. "More unpleasantness for you, Daddy?" she asked through pursed lips, her eyes on the small mirror of her compact, open on the table before her. "He is in a position to do the bank considerable harm--By the way, Dorothy, are you as efficient at manicuring as you are at making up your mouth?" "P-perhaps. Why?" "Good. Then, after this I'll get you to do my nails while I have my second cup of coffee each morning!" "Aren't you horrid!" "Aren't you the cheeky kid, using that thing in front of me?" "You really don't mind, Daddy?" "Do you think it an improvement over nature?" "I know it isn't." "Why use a lipstick then?" "But--why do you wear that curly mustache?" "More cheek?" "Not at all. But it adds dignity to your face--what's more, your mustache is becoming and you know it." "Nonsense!" Mr. Dixon's tone was derisive but there was a twinkle in his keen gray eyes. Dorothy nodded decisively. "While my lipstick, properly used, is also becoming," she went on. "And it gives your daughter a sophisticated appearance otherwise lacking--" she broke off with a giggle as she saw her father's expression. Dorothy snapped her compact shut and rose from the table. Going round to his side, she gave her father a hug and kissed him lightly on his mustache. "There!" she laughed. "Now I've added sophistication to your dignity, Daddy. You'll be able to run both the bank and that ritzy Mrs. Hamberfield like a charm today. So long! Bill is coming for me and we're going down to the beach. I'm to have my first real flight instruction this morning, you know." "From all accounts you did pretty well yesterday, young lady. Don't you think you'd better come down to the bank and tell the story of your sleuthing to the Bankers' Association detectives? They'll be up here from New York this morning." From the doorway, Dorothy shook her head. "Nothing doing!" she cried. "I love you a lot--but you have the story down pat yourself--and I've got a date I can't break. That glass with the fingerprints on it, you'll find nicely wrapped up on the hall table. 'By--" She was through the door and across the lawn before Mr. Dixon could reply. He folded his napkin and laid it on the table with a sigh. "Heigho!" he murmured. "I wonder what her mother would say to that? Still, Dorothy grows more like her every day. The youngster has brains if she only uses them in the right way. She certainly has been a help on this robbery--and she is a comfort to me--but a great responsibility at that." Then, carefully lighting his after-breakfast cigar, Mr. Dixon walked into the house. Shortly after Mr. Dixon had left for the bank, Bill's horn honked in the drive. Dorothy appeared presently, wearing a boy's outing shirt open at the neck and a pair of fawn-colored jodhpurs. She noticed as she approached the car that Frank, the Bolton's chauffeur, was seated in the rumble. "I've got to run into New York and buy some flying clothes," she announced as she seated herself at Bill's side. "Don't bother about clothes, for heaven's sake. They won't help you to fly. I've got several extra helmets and some goggles and those things you're wearing now will be just the thing. All you need are overalls--and I bought you those in the village this morning." "Aren't you nice," she beamed. "But I do need a leather coat, don't I?" "What for?" "Didn't you tell me the cockpits of your N-9 were open--that they didn't have windshields?" "Yes--but what of it?" "Won't it be cold?" "Not at this time of year. We're not out for an altitude record. Of course, when you get a couple of miles or so above the earth you have to bundle up--but the old OXX motor in my N-9 would never get you there. She's not built for that kind of work. Later on, you can order a monkey suit or a leather coat from the city." "Yes, I'll get one of those sporty knee-length coats--" decided Dorothy gleefully. "Not if I know it!" "But why not? They're so goodlooking!" "And more dangerous than a broken strut!" "They are?" Dorothy's tone was horrified. "Certainly. If you buy a coat, get a waist-length model. Anything longer not only hampers a pilot, it catches the wind and is likely to get caught around your stick or other controls and crash the plane." "Oh!" said Dorothy disappointedly. Bill slanted his eyes from the road and smiled at her. "Not everyone who wears a yachting cap is a yachtsman! You'll have plenty to think of during your flight training without bothering about such things." "I guess you're right," she agreed. "How long will it take to teach me to fly, Bill?" "It all depends upon your aptitude, Dorothy. Ask me again after ten hours of dual instruction. But no matter how apt you prove to be, flying is not learned in a day. I've mapped out a forty-hour course for you. Want to look it over?" He handed her a typewritten sheet. She studied the paper interestedly. It was titled. "Course of Flight Training. I. _Dual Instruction._ First hour Taxiing Straight flying Turns Glides Second Take-offs Climbing S-turns Breaking Glide and leveling off Slow motion landings by instructor Third Flying at leveling-off height (seaplanes only) Slow motion landings Normal landings, use of elevators only Fourth Cut-gun landings, under three feet, elevators only Sixth Normal landings Cut-gun landings Spirals Use of ailerons, rudder, throttle Approaches Elementary forced landings Ninth Stalls and spins II. _Elementary Solo Flying._ First solo: Five minute flight, necessary turns, one landing First 5 hours: Take-offs, turns, landings Instruction flight: Instruction as necessary, including spins; power stall landings (seaplanes only) 5 to 10 hours: Take-offs, turns, spirals, landings Instruction flight: Instruction as necessary, including spins 10-15 hours: Same as 5 to 10 hours III. _Advanced Flying._ Instruction flight: Reverse control turns and spirals, side-slips, power spins 15-20 hours: Take-offs, turns, spirals, landings; reverse control turns and spirals Instruction flight--Acrobatics 20-25 hours: Acrobatics, with 20 minutes of each hour on elementary work Instruction flight: Precision landings, forced landings, figure-eight turns, wing-overs 25-30 hours: Precision landings, forced landings, figure-eight turns, wing-overs Final instructions flight: Review; instruction as necessary." "Looks pretty complicated to me," sighed Dorothy, handing back the paper. "Gee, but there's a lot to learn!" "More than the average novice has any idea of. But don't imagine that this course will make you or anyone else an experienced pilot. Additional time must be spent in the air before you can get an interstate commercial pilot's license. But after the instruction I've outlined here, your knowledge of flying should be sufficient to enable you to go on with your training yourself." "I hope so," said Dorothy, but there was little confidence in her tone. Bill brought the car to a stop beside an open field. "Cheer up!" he encouraged. "Flying is like anything else worth while--troublesome to learn, but easy enough when you know how. Hop out, kid. There's the N-9, with her new landing gear, over there. Frank will take the car back. We'll fly up to my place now and I'll give you your first real instruction over our own flying field!" _Chapter IX_ AIR TRAILS Dorothy donned her overalls while Bill spoke to the mechanic who was waiting by the plane. Then the man got into a car and drove away, and Bill beckoned her to him. "All set?" "All set." "Then we'll begin. First of all, you must know the names of the different parts of the plane. Some you know already, but we'll go over them just the same. That hinged movable auxiliary surface on the trailing edge of the wing is an aileron. Its primary function is to impress a rolling movement on the airplane. Got that?" "Yes." "Then repeat what I just said." Dorothy did so. "Good. Now this is a drag wire." After twenty minutes of this kind of thing he asked her to point out an aileron and explain its use. "K.O." he said at last. "We'll go over parts each day for a while and the book work you must do at home will help to refresh your memory. Now nip into the forward cockpit and I'll explain the working of the controls." He gave Dorothy a hand up and when she was seated, swung himself on to the cowl of the cockpit. "First of all--and let this become habit--" he ordered, "adjust your safety belt. Yes, that's the way. Now we'll go ahead. That's the stick there. Take hold of it. You'll notice it is pivoted at its base. Forward movement of the stick increases the angle of attack of the elevators and depresses the nose. Backward movement decreases angle and raises the nose. Lateral movement of the stick operates the ailerons, movement to the right depressing the right wing, and to the left, the left wing." When she was sure she understood the functions of one thing he explained the next. "Now tell me just what I have told you--" he commanded. Fully an hour had gone by before he was satisfied that she understood thoroughly. "Tired?" he asked at last. "Not a bit," she smiled. "I'm afraid I'm kind of dumb--but all these gadgets, as you call them, are a little confusing at first." "Oh, you're catching on in first rate order," he told her. "Nothing but practice will make you letter perfect. And that comes soon enough when you handle the plane yourself. Now I'll fly us home. All I want you to do is to fold your arms and listen. Keep your eyes in the cockpit and watch the movements of the stick and rudder bar. My cockpit aft is equipped with similar controls. When I move my stick--yours moves--and vice versa. All right?" "You bet." He reached in his pocket and drew forth a small leather-bound book which he handed her. "Here's your Flight Log Book, Dorothy. Write it up after every flight. There are columns for the date, type of plane, duration and character of flight, passengers or crew carried (if any) and remarks. A commercial pilot should have his log book certified monthly by an official of the company. For a student it is a good thing to commence during training. Stick it in your pocket," he advised as she thanked him. "And put on this helmet. It's a Gosport, with phones in both ear flaps, connected by a voice tube to this mouthpiece. I'll use that end of it to coach you through during flight." "But this helmet is hard and stiff," objected Dorothy. "I'll bet it isn't nearly as comfortable as that nice soft leather one you're wearing." "Possibly not. But until you're through with your instruction I want you to wear a 'crash' helmet. They're a lot of protection for the head in case of minor accident. No instructor worth his salt permits a student to use a soft leather helmet until you've had a lot of experience." "Oh, very well then," she said, adjusting her heavy headgear, "you're the boss!" "You bet I am when it comes to this kind of thing. If I weren't sure you were willing to give me strict obedience, I'd never propose teaching you. And please remember that this isn't a joy hop. The more attentive you are to instruction--the quicker you'll learn." "I'm your willing slave, sir," she mocked good-humoredly, and drew the helmet strap tight beneath her chin. Then as the engine roared and the plane rolled forward she felt the same thrill she had experienced the afternoon before when she and Bill had taken off in the amphibian. The same tightening of her muscles and beating throb of the pulse in her neck. They were soaring upward now and the sensation of smoothness became apparent after the jars and bumps of taxiing over the rough field. The sting of the wind on her face was exhilarating, but her eyes were streaming. Realizing that she had forgot to adjust her goggles, she pulled them down from the front of her helmet. "I've been wondering how long it would be before you did that," came Bill's voice through the headphones. "Never mind--it's a grand thrill while it lasts--you'll lose it soon enough." Dorothy, for the first time in her life, found a retort impossible to make. "Now that we've got enough air under us," Bill's voice continued, "I'm going to fly straight for home. Remember what I said about watching your stick and rudder bar. Also keep an eye on the bank-and-turn indicator as well as the fore and aft level indicator and inclinometer." Dorothy shifted her gaze to the instrument board before her. Unconsciously she ticked off the other instruments. There were the two Bill had just mentioned; a magneto switch, oil pressure gauge, earth inductor, compass indicator, altimeter, 8-day clock, primary pump and tachometer. It pleased her that she could so readily recall their names and uses. Then she heard Bill's voice in her ear again: "The reason that I keep pulling the stick back slightly so often, Dorothy, in level flight, is because the old bus is a bit nose heavy. You'll notice it when you handle her later on. It's nothing to worry about. Very few planes are perfectly balanced." Dorothy turned her eyes guiltily on the stick again. She had been caught napping that time! One really needed half a dozen pairs of eyes for a job like this. And--how different Bill's manner aboard an airplane, she thought. He was certainly all business. But she respected and admired his knowledge and his ability as an airpilot which left no opening for argument. "You can look overside now," came his voice again interrupting her thoughts. "We're going to land." Below them she saw the Bolton's house. The nose of the plane dropped suddenly as the stick went forward and they shot down to land on the field near the Bolton's hangar. Bill spoke again from the rear cockpit. "If you're ready for more flight instruction, hold up your right hand." Dorothy held up her right hand. "Good. Then we'll practice taxiing," came back the even voice. "Remember that a land plane with engine idling will remain at rest on the ground in winds of normal force. That means that all movement of the plane must be made by use of the engine. When your bus begins to move you control it primarily by using the rudder. In a wind as strong as the one blowing now, you'll notice the plane's tendency to turn into it. That's due to the effect on the tail. It tends to swing like a weathervane until the nose is headed directly toward the point of the compass from which the wind is blowing. Your experience in sailing is going to be a great help. "Now, just one thing more and we'll shove off. While taxiing, you must hold the stick well back of neutral. That will prevent any tendency of the tail to rise and cause the plane to nose over. Grasp the stick lightly with your fingers. Never freeze onto anything. If you feel me wiggle the stick sharply--let go at once. I may or may not have my hands and feet on the controls, but you cannot know that. Act just as if you were alone in the plane. Got all that?" Dorothy raised her hand again. "Then snap on the ignition and get going." For the next hour she taxied the _N-9_ around the field while Bill issued commands from the rear cockpit. So interested was she in her lesson that it seemed no time at all before he told her to shut off the engine. "Take off your helmet and get down," he said as the plane came to a stop. And he helped her overside. "Gee, Bill, it's wonderful!" she cried, jumping lightly to the ground beside him. "You did splendidly," he encouraged. "This field is pretty rough in spots--makes it bumpy going. How are you--stiff?" "Not a bit!" "You need a rest, just the same." "But I'm not in the least tired. Can't I go up now?" Bill looked at her and shook his head. "Nothing doing," he said with pretended sternness. "That is--not for the next fifteen minutes. Here comes Frank with something cold to drink on his tray--horse's neck, probably. There's nothing like iced ginger ale with a string of lemon peel in it when you're real thirsty!" "My, you're thoughtful!" "Don't thank me--it's all Frank's idea." They sipped their drinks in the shade of the old barn that had been turned into a hangar for the Bolton's planes. "While you're resting, I want you to study this paper, Dorothy. It's a routine I want you to follow in preparing for every flight you take--with me, or soloing," he explained, handing it over. "When you've got it by heart, repeat it to me and then we'll carry on. Your first job for the next hop will be to do exactly what I've written there." For perhaps ten minutes both were silent and Bill closed his eyes and turned over on his back. "Asleep?" asked Dorothy presently. "No--just relaxing. Got that dope down pat?" "Sure. I mean, yes, instructor." "Give me back the paper then, and shoot!" he said, sitting up. "Preparations for flight:" recited Dorothy. "First, inspect the plane and engine as necessary. Second, observe the wind direction. Third, observe the course direction (if a course is being flown). Fourth, set the altimeter. Fifth, see that helmet, goggles and cushions are properly adjusted. Sixth, see that cloth to wipe goggles is handy. Seventh, give the engine a ground test. Eighth, see that the gas valve is properly set. Ninth and last--Buckle the safety belt!" "One hundred per cent! Good work, Dot. Now come over to the plane and show me how you do it." He grinned, awaiting a quick retort--but Dorothy, intent on the business of learning to fly, walked at his side in a fit of concentration. "She sure is keen," he said to himself. "I never got a rise--and 'Dot,' to Dorothy, is like waving the American flag at a Mexican bull!" Dorothy continued to prove her aptitude for she went through the flight preparations with but one mistake. She entirely forgot the matter of the cloth to wipe her goggles! Presently he took her up again and started in with his coaching. "You now have thirty-five hundred feet registered on your altimeter," he announced through her phone. "Enough air below to get us out of trouble if we should happen to get into it. The higher one flies, the safer one is. Now you are going to get straight flight instruction. I am moving the stick backward--now forward--now backward--now forward. See how the nose of the plane rises and falls in response? Watch closely--I'm going to do it again. There, now--take the stick and do it yourself." Dorothy did as he bade her. It was thrilling to feel the huge plane respond to her will. Then followed instruction in moving the stick successively right and left by which means the right wing and then the left are correspondingly depressed. After that came rudder instruction. First Bill pushed the right and left sides of the rudder bar successively, forward, thereby swerving the nose first to the right and then to the left. Dorothy, of course repeated these movements after him. Then he explained that to hold a steady course, to fly straight, constant right rudder must be maintained to overcome the torque, or drag of the propeller blades tending to swing the nose to the left. While to fly level longitudinally, some point on the engine is kept in line with the horizon. That to fly level laterally, up aileron and opposite rudder are applied whenever a wing drops. He told her numerous other things, such as that when flying straight, the nose should frequently be dropped momentarily, or the course changed a few degrees in order to look ahead. Otherwise, an approaching plane may be hidden by the engine. "Good night!" thought Dorothy as she strained her ears to catch every word, while she watched the controls and saw how the plane reacted to their manipulation by her instructor. "If it takes all this detail to fly straight and level, I'll get the heebie-jeebies when it comes to acrobatics!" "Take over controls," came Bill's voice. "Fly straight for that white church tower on the horizon." Dorothy's body stiffened, but she took hold of the stick again bravely enough, and placed her feet on the rudder bar at the same time. She could feel her temples throbbing, and her heart was beating faster than the clock on her instrument board. At last she was actually flying an airplane--all by herself. But was she? Suddenly there came a check in the forward speed of the plane and Dorothy felt it start to slew off sideways as the nose dropped. Then before she knew exactly what was happening, the stick in her hand seemed to spring back, then to the right, while right rudder increased considerably without help from her foot. Up came the nose, followed by the left wing, and down went the right. The slewing stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Then she felt left aileron and left rudder being applied--and once more the N-9 was flying straight and level. "Forgot what I said about checking a skid just now, didn't you?" said Bill's voice in her ear. "Here's the news again. Any swinging of the nose to the left can be promptly recognized and checked--but,--and here's where you went wrong--the nose cannot be swung back to the right without applying a small bank. Any attempt to do so will cause your plane to skid. That naturally results in a loss of flying speed forward and the heavier end drops. If not checked at once, it means going into a spin. Carry on again now, and please try to keep your wits about you. This is not a kiddie-car. Mistakes are apt to be costly!" Dorothy bit her lips in anger. More than ever did she regret the lack of a mouth piece on her head phone. Her temper flared at his sharp tone, and what seemed to her unfair criticism so early in the game. But she took over again as he ordered and gradually her vexation disappeared in her effort to concentrate every faculty on the job of flying the plane and keeping to her course. She was gradually gaining confidence. She made the same maneuvers which had caused the skid before, and carried through perfectly. Bill told her so in no stinted terms, and the last shreds of her anger disappeared. "The man who put _me_ over the bumps," he added, "always said: 'when a student aviator makes a mistake, give him blazes--make him mad. He'll remember what he should have done all the better--and live longer!' That advice applies to either sex, Dorothy. Naturally, I hope you'll live to a ripe old age." Dorothy liked him for this apology. She wanted to thank him but of course that was out of the question. "I'll take her over now." She heard his even tones once more, above the engine's roar. "Time for lunch. This afternoon, if you like, we'll take up another end of this business. And you can get even by teaching me how to become an honest-to-goodness sleuthhound!" _Chapter X_ THE MEETING After lunch Dorothy and Bill established themselves comfortably in the shade of the terrace awning back of the Bolton's house, and Dorothy's ground training began. "First of all," said her instructor, "you must learn the signals for maneuvers, such as when the stick is shaken laterally, one hand held up, it means control of the plane is resumed by the instructor. Opening the throttle in a glide means resume level flight. There are eight of these signals to memorize. Then there are eight correction signals as well." "I'll get them down soon enough," his pupil assured him. "Is that all?" "I should say not. That's just a starter. Your ground training will consist of three parts: theoretic training, which takes up principles of flight; aircraft construction, aviation engine construction; and the elements of meteorology. Next, practical training, which embraces the maintenance and repair of aircraft together with maintenance and repair of aviation engines. Then comes aviation procedure, which takes up air commerce regulations; instruction procedure (signals come under that) and precautions and general instructions." "Whew!" whistled Dorothy in dismay. "It _is_ a business!" Bill laughed at her forlorn expression. "Cheer up--the first hundred years are the hardest. But seriously, to become an efficient air pilot, it is essential to know thoroughly this ground work and all of the maneuvers I listed under elementary flying. None of them can be safely omitted. Of those I included under advanced flying, acrobatics are not required for a pilot's license, but they're a grand help in developing ability to handle a plane with confidence. Proficiency in reverse control flying, precision landings with power, forced landings and cross country flying is required for an interstate commercial license--and vital for every pilot." "Is _that_ all?" asked Dorothy, with diminished enthusiasm. "No. To become a real flyer, you must understand aerial navigation and pass off formation flying and night flying. It sounds like a lot--but it really isn't so difficult. Of course, if you don't _want_ to go the whole way--" "Oh, but I do, Bill," she said earnestly. "It's only that I never dreamed there was so much to be learned. It kind of takes my breath away--" "You mustn't let that bother you. I'm glad you're going to do the thing up right, though. It will take a lot of your time--but you'll find it worth your while. Let's get busy now. We'll start on signals. Then later this afternoon you can go up again if you feel like it." For the next two weeks Dorothy worked daily with Bill. By the end of that time she had completed her elementary solo flying and was now engrossed in mastering the difficulties of reverse control. Bill realized after giving her two or three lessons, that his pupil showed a high degree of aptitude for flying. Their trip home in the amphibian after the wreck of the _Scud_, had proved pretty conclusively to him that this sixteen-year-old girl had an unusually cool and stable temperament. Ordinarily, flight training is inadvisable for anyone under eighteen years of age, and Bill knew that twenty years is preferable. For, ordinarily, the instinctive coordination between sensory organs and muscles, which is necessary toward the control of a plane in the air, does not develop earlier. An airplane must be kept moving or it will fall; and the processes of reason are far too slow to keep up with the exigencies of flight. Flying cannot be figured out like a problem in mathematics. Calculation won't do the trick--there isn't enough time for it. Of course there are exceptions to this rule. Bill Bolton was one himself, and Dorothy, he knew, was another. When Mr. Dixon questioned him as to Dorothy's progress, he gave him a list of the maneuvers that had already been mastered, and the approximate length of time she had taken to satisfy him in performance. "But that doesn't mean a thing to me--" objected the older man. "Look here--I was talking to a friend of mine who is an old Royal Flying Corps man. He said that Dorothy should wait several years before training. How about it? I know your reputation as a flyer, and I've proved my confidence in you by trusting you with my daughter's life. Why is it better for her to start now, rather than later?" "Do you play the violin, sir?" "No ear for music." Mr. Dixon shook his head in reminiscence. "My father played well. It was his ambition that we play duets together. But after wasting money for two years on lessons for me, he gave it up. My! the sounds I made when I practiced! It must have been torture to him. I can't tell one note from another--but I remember how awful it was. But what has _that_ got to do with Dorothy's flying?" "A good deal. You couldn't play the violin because you are not musical, and only a musical person can learn to play it well. In some respects, mastery of the violin and mastery of flying, have a common bond. With both the one fundamental requirement is natural or instinctive aptitude. Flying is an art, and without natural ability it is useless to attempt it. And if it isn't inherent, Mr. Dixon, it just can't be acquired. Moreover, the only way to find out if that aptitude exists, is by trial. If Dorothy had the natural ability for the violin that she has for flying, practice and experience would make her a second Kreisler!" A smile crept along the corners of Mr. Dixon's mouth. "Ah, but Kreisler is a _man_!" "I know, sir, but honestly, sex has nothing to do with it." "So you think she should keep on with her flight training?" "I _know_ she should, Mr. Dixon, if you want her to fly at all. She has all the qualifications that go toward making a really _good_ air pilot." "Well, I'm glad to hear you say it, and glad you're so enthusiastic." "Of course I am," declared Bill. "She's fearless and alert and she loves the work--she'll do well." And so Dorothy continued her flight training. She came down one afternoon from a solo flight and Bill, who had been watching her maneuvers from the shade of the hangar, walked over as the plane rolled to a stop. "Not so good--" she called out as she sprang to the ground. "I nearly overshot my landing." "So I noticed," returned her young instructor rather grimly. "Carelessness, you know, that's all. Keep your mind on the job. And here's something else. Remember, when you are making a flipper turn, the nose must first be dropped to level. Otherwise you'll get into serious trouble. Also don't forget that until the wings pass an angle of bank of 45 degrees your controls are not inverted and must be handled as in a normal turn." "O.K. skipper," she sighed. "I'll remember in future." "One thing more. Those two 360-degree spirals with an altitude loss of about 1000 feet were well done. But you must bring your plane out of reverse control spirals above 1500 feet altitude--Now we'll put your bus away and call it a day." Work finished, they strolled over to the terrace where Frank as usual had iced drinks awaiting them. "You've certainly taught me a lot in fourteen days," observed Dorothy after sipping her ginger ale. "But it's kind of put a crimp into our detective work. By the way, you never have told me what you had up your sleeve with regard to the robbery--something to do with an airplane coming in handy, wasn't it?" "Your memory is better on the ground than in the air!" "Pish! likewise, tush! You don't intend to wait till I finish training or anything like that, before coming across with that clue that will help us land those birds in jail?" "Why should I?" "I don't know. Thought maybe you might figure my interest in landing the gang would take my mind off flying--" Bill took a long, refreshing drink of the iced liquid at his elbow. "You're on the wrong track. I'm simply biding my time and keeping a finger on the pulse of the robbery, as it were." "Do you mean that?" "I'm in deadly earnest," he assured her, although his eyes twinkled mischievously. "Then all I can say," exclaimed Dorothy, "is that you're one up on everybody else who is working on the case." "How come?" "Why? you know as well as I do that when the Packard rolled out of the alley by the bank, in all probability carrying three people and the loot, it disappeared completely. And it's stayed that way ever since, hasn't it? That's two weeks ago tonight." "Any new clues lately?" "Nary a one. The police traced the red-headed girl's finger prints to Sarah Martinelli, better known as Staten Island Sadie. They sent Dad her record--I saw it--believe me, that lady is a ripe egg!" "How beautifully expressive." Dorothy raised her eyes from her compact's tiny mirror. "Well, she must be!--Are you trying to kid me?" Bill finished his ginger ale. "Come on, tell me the rest." Dorothy grinned. "That's all there is, there isn't any more, my child. Don't imagine those police are efficient, do you? None of the missing bonds have been found, and as for the money, those chaps have probably spent it by this time. I feel awfully sorry for Daddy, though," she continued in a changed voice, "--that Mrs. Hamberfield is still raising the roof about her diamond necklace. Serves her right for being such a mutt, I say." "Tough on both parties, I should think." "Nothing of the kind. Daddy says that her husband, Stonington Hamberfield, made his coin profiteering during the war. What do you think his name really is?" "You tell me." "Steinburg Hammerfeld--isn't that a hot one?" "A Hun, eh?" "Well, if he isn't--I'm President Hindenburg, San Francisco Harbor and the Statue of Liberty all in one!" Bill smiled appreciatively at this sally, then changed the subject. "Let's go to the movies this evening?" "Can't. It's Pen and Pencil Club night." "What on earth is that?" "Oh, about a year ago, a bunch of us at high school, girls and fellows, started a club to write short stories. We meet every other Tuesday night at some member's house. Everybody has to write a story at least one a month, or they're fined a quarter. We read aloud and discuss them at the meeting. Come with me after supper and pay my quarter." "Nothing doing. That kind of thing is my idea of a perfectly terrible evening." Dorothy slipped the compact into a pocket of her jodhpurs and got to her feet. "That's where you're all wrong, Bill. Noel Sainsbury, the writer, is our adviser. He makes it awfully interesting--we have lots of fun. He was a naval aviator during the war. You two should have lots in common. Do come along and meet him." "Why I dined at his place, Little Windows, last night!" "Oh, you do know him?" "Naturally. Where would I be if it weren't for him? Look at the books he's written about me. Noel Sainsbury brought Dad and me to New Canaan. We're awfully fond of him and his wife and little girl." "Yes, Winks is a darling and Mrs. Sainsbury is a peach--" Dorothy agreed. "She comes to our meetings, too. I'm named for her, you know." "Really? That's interesting." "You bet. Then you'll come tonight?" "I'd like to, very much." "All right. The meeting is at Betty Mayo's, in White Oak Shade. I'll be here about eight in my car and drive you down there." "I'll be ready--so long!" "So long!" ------------------------------------------- It was nearly quarter to nine before they got started, as things turned out. Mr. Dixon had gone to New York for the day on business, had been detained in town, and Dorothy waited dinner for him. "Well, we won't have missed much," she explained to Bill as her car breasted the Marvin Ridge Road. "The first half hour is always taken up with the minutes of the last meeting and all that parliamentary stuff. I love driving in the twilight, anyway. Next place on the left is where we're bound. We'll be there in a jiffy." They rounded a bend and came upon a Packard parked at the roadside. The hood was up and a man looked up from tinkering with the engine as their lights outlined his figure. "Pull up! pull up!" Bill's tense whisper sounded in her ears. "Where are your eyes, girl?" But Dorothy needed no second warning. She shot home the brake, for she too had seen the great, misshapen boot that the dapper little motorist wore on his left foot. _Chapter XI_ FOLLOW THE LEADER "Need any help?" inquired Bill, as Dorothy drew up opposite the Packard. "Thanks! This thing has got me stumped. I'm not much of a mechanician," returned the lame man ruefully. "Do you know anything about motors?" "Making them behave is my long suit," was Bill's glib retort as he alighted from the car and crossed the road. "Let's see if I can locate your trouble. Got plenty of gas?" "Lots of it. I just looked to see." "Then let me have your flashlight while I give her the once over." "Wait a minute--" called Dorothy, "I'll swing this car round and put my lights on the engine. There--is that better?" she ended, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. "Nothing could be sweeter!" sang out Bill without turning his head. "Hold her as you are." Dorothy's offer had not been quite so altruistic as it sounded, for now her lights brilliantly illuminated the two figures bending over the Packard's engine. While Bill went over the motor with the sureness of an expert, keeping up a desultory conversation with the stranger, Dorothy used her eyes to good advantage. But after a while she grew impatient. Why didn't Bill capture the man at once so they could haul him off to the police station? Why did he continue to go on with his pretended inspection of the engine? He couldn't really be in earnest, for if he found the trouble and fixed it, the lame man would simply get in his car and drive away. Could it be that Bill wasn't sure of his quarry? Of course, he was clean shaven, although Lizzie had described him as having a small mustache. Naturally, he'd shave it off. By this time he must know that his description had been broadcast. And so far as she could see the earrings were missing too. But that was to be expected. And he spoke good English with a slight Italian accent. What was the matter with Bill! He was big enough to take care of the man with one hand, when all he did was tinker and jabber. What was the use of that? "Your engine seems to be in A-1 condition," Bill was saying. "Doesn't look as if you'd been running the car lately." "I haven't," replied the lame man. "She ran like a charm when I drove down here earlier this evening. Then all of a sudden she stops--and won't go on." "Ah! here we are!" Bill exclaimed a moment later. "You've got a choked jet. I'll fix that in a jiffy." "You are very kind," beamed the Italian. "Is that a serious trouble?" "Not so bad. Buy better gas and have your carburetor well looked over. I'll fix it so the car will move, though." "Do you think she will run fifty miles?" "Sure--but there are plenty of garages nearer than that if you want to fix it." "I'll wait until I reach home. My friend--he will give the engine a thorough going over. He understands very well such things." "Good enough." Bill straightened his back and closed the hood. "You're O.K. now. She'll run." "Then thank you so much. You have been very kind." "Don't mention it." Bill waved farewell and crossed the road as the lame man climbed into his car and drove off in the direction of New Canaan village. "What ever _is_ the matter with you?" Dorothy broke out in a fever of angry disappointment. "Why didn't you nab him while you had the chance? Now he'll get away and--" "Hush, sister! Likewise calm yourself," cut in Bill. "Move over. I'm going to drive. This business isn't finished by a long shot. It has only just begun." Dorothy, flabbergasted by his high-handed manner, slid across the seat as he directed, and Bill sprang in behind the wheel. The tail light of the Packard disappeared around the bend of the road. "What's the idea?" she fumed. "Wait till we get going, Dot." Bill threw in the reverse and started to turn the car in the direction from which they had come a quarter of an hour before. "_Don't_ call me 'Dot'! You know I won't stand for it. Aren't you the limit--Going to try to trail him, I suppose, when you could have nailed him right here!" "Don't get peeved!" Bill swung the little car onto the road and switching off his lights brought his foot down on the accelerator. "I know what I'm doing." "_Well, maybe_ you do." Her voice was full of sarcasm. "But we might just as well go back to the Pen and Pencil meeting. You'll never catch up with his bus." "Shan't try to. There's his tail light now!" They rounded the turn and Bill sent the car streaking along the black road like a terrified cat up a back alley. "There's no need to get snippy," he added. "You heard what our friend said about _his_ friend--who understands all about engines? On a bet, that's the lad who wore the chauffeur's cap and beaned the night watchman. He said he'd let him look over the carburetor when he got home, didn't he? And like as not that ripe egg lady--the one with the red head--will be there too!" "Staten Island Sadie?" "Sure thing." "Perhaps," admitted Dorothy. "The lame man _was_ alone in his car. But you stand a good chance of losing him, even if he doesn't see us. We'll have to switch on the lights going through towns." "But, you see, I'm pretty sure I know where he's bound for." "You do?" Her surprise drove all petulance from her tone. "That's what I've kept up my sleeve. If he takes the Ridgefield Road, out of New Canaan, then I'm certain of it." "Better switch on the glims again," she advised. "We'll crash or get a ticket running without them in this South Main Street traffic--we're nearly in the village now. I can spot the Packard ahead there." Then, contritely, she continued: "Sorry I was peeved, Bill, old thing. I didn't understand. Forgive me--and let's hear all about it." "Of course--hello!" he cried. "He's slowed down. Confound it, anyway. That comes of talking and not keeping my mind on the job. I'll bet he has his suspicions. Wants to see if we're following--nothing dumb about that bird. I shouldn't have driven so close. He'll tumble to a certainty if we slow up too." "What are you going to do?" "Give me time--" he answered grimly. "Confound again! There goes the red light on the Library corner! Now we're in for it." "P'raps he won't notice us," said Dorothy hopefully as they drew up behind the Packard. "Not a chance. But we'll fool him yet. Let me do the talking," he whispered as the lame man thrust his head out of the car and looked back at them. "Hello, there!" cried Bill cheerfully. "I see you've got this far without another breakdown!" "Good evening, my friend," replied the Italian. "This is a surprise. I thought you were going the other way." "Oh, no. Just ran down there to leave a message." Bill's tone was affability itself. "You must have come pretty slowly. How's the car running?" "Nicely, thank you." "Don't be afraid to let her out. Well--there's the light. Excuse me if I pass you," he said airly. "We're in a hurry. So long." "Au revoir ..." Dorothy added gaily and waved her hand as Bill swung to the left, then headed up Main Street in advance of the Packard. "Aren't you smart! You'll get us into a heap of trouble yet with your 'au revoirs'!" "Hey, there"--she cried. They were rolling swiftly up the hill past the bank. "You should have turned right then left, for Ridgefield--back at the last corner!" Bill laughed. "Old Angel Face did just as I figured," he informed her, still chuckling. "I spotted him making the turn, in the glass." "Where are we going? Sure you haven't lost him?" "Listen. That chap is heading for Ridgefield. From there he will run another ten miles up to Danbury. Unless I'm completely wet, his objective is a certain house in the hills on a back road, over toward the New York borderline about twenty-five miles north. It's a rough, wild stretch of country, with Pawling, N. Y., to the west and New Milford, Connecticut, on the east, that he's heading for. Nice riding too, dirt roads, mere trails that haven't had a scraper on them since the Revolution. That house I just told you about is a good ten miles from a railroad as a plane flies--probably twice as far by road." "Interesting--but why are we heading this way?" "Simply because it is too dangerous to follow that lad just now. He smells a rat and is sure to park in some dark spot along the way to make certain he's not being followed." "Then what _are_ we going to do?" "I'm going to run west over to Bedford, New York. Then north from there through Golden Bridge and Croton Falls to Brewster. From Brewster I'll keep to the same state road north toward Pawling. But just before I get to Patterson, there's a dirt road that turns off into the hills to the northeast. That's the one I'll follow. Eventually, I'll get to the house. Angel Face's route is shorter--but I'll get there soon after he does, if he stops along the way to see if anyone's after him. First of all I'll drop you at your house and get myself a gat." "You'd better get two--for I'm coming with you." "Sorry, my girl--this is a man's job." Dorothy turned and stared at him. "Well--of all the consummate nerve--" she began. "Sorry, Dot--it just can't be. I've got no right to let you run the risk." "Don't you _dare_ to 'Dot' me again!" Miss Dixon was distinctly irritated. "And what's more, if you try to ditch me, I'll phone the police station and spill everything. They'll pick you up at Bedford and horn in, of course--and like as not, they'll gum it all." "If you talk that way, I suppose I'll have to take you." "Of course you will. Say, Bill, that was only a bluff, wasn't it?" Bill smiled. "Perhaps. But it's a risky business." "No worse than learning to fly, is it?" "Fifty-fifty, I should say." "That's settled, then. What I can't understand is why you didn't corral that gang long before this--or at least put the police on to them, if you knew where they were all the time." "But that's just it--they haven't been in the house since the robbery. I've driven up there several times and reconnoitered from the air as well." "Then what makes you think you'll corner the gang at the house now?" The car turned in the Dixon's drive and came to a stop by the side entrance. "You'll have to wait till the next chapter for that," he laughed. "Time is worth more than money now. I'll tell you all about it when we get going again. Beat it upstairs now and change that light dress for breeches and a dark sweater or coat. I'll run across the road for something more suitable and less conspicuous than white flannels." "O.K." Dorothy sprang out of the car. "Don't forget our armory." "Not a chance. Now forget the prinking and make it snappy," he sang out, backing down the driveway. _Chapter XII_ THE HOUSE IN THE HILLS "Don't tell me it takes a girl long to change her clothes!" was Dorothy's salutation, as Bill drove up to the side entrance again. "You've kept me waiting here exactly three minutes and a half." "Sorry," he said in mock contrition. "Fact is, I thought we'd better use my own bus tonight and I had to go out to the garage to get it." "What's the big idea?" Dorothy sprang in beside him, looking very trim and boyish in jodhpurs and dark flannel shirt over which she wore a thin brown sweater. "Isn't my car good enough for you?" "This boat has a full tank," he replied tersely. "Can't waste time tonight picking up gas." They had reversed the car down the drive and were now speeding along the tree-lined road in the direction of Bedford. "Got my gun?" she asked. "Surest thing you know!" Bill passed over a small revolver in a holster. "Tie yourself to that! It's a Colt .32 and it's loaded. Know how to use it?" "Certainly. What do you expect me to do--release the safety catch and pull the trigger to see if it works?" Her tone flared hotly with indignation. Bill whistled a tuneless air, but the whistle developed into a laugh and the laugh continued until Dorothy snapped: "_Don't_ cackle like a billygoat!" "Billygoats don't--" he began but broke off, changing his bantering tone. "Then why do you tie the leg-strap around your waist?" he asked seriously enough. She swallowed hard. "Because--well, because I've never used this kind of a holster before, smarty. But I can shoot--Daddy taught me--I can box, too, and I've had lessons in jiu jitsu. Oh, I can take care of myself, if that's what's worrying you!" "Glad to hear it, Dorothy. Excitement kind of stirs you up eh?" "It's not excitement that does it, Bill--it's suspense. But I'm sorry I bawled you out." "Don't mention it. My humble apologies for being so rude--" "Imbecile! You weren't. But never mind that--tell me about this house in the woods and what it has to do with the gang who robbed the bank." The car ran into Bedford and taking the turn to the right, he swung on to the northbound turnpike. "Go ahead with the story," begged Dorothy as they left the picturesque village behind. "Right-o! Here goes. On our way back from the South last month, I dropped Dad at New Orleans. The old _Loening_ needed a thorough overhauling, so Dad left me there with the plane and went north by train. After I saw him off at the L. and N. station, I went back to the St. Charles Hotel and slept for nearly twenty-four hours. I got a touch of jungle fever when I was down in the cypress swamps and was still feeling pretty rocky. "So for the next ten days I loafed while the amphibian got what was coming to her. When she'd been made shipshape again I flew her north. I was in no hurry to reach New Canaan and stopped off at Atlanta, and at Philadelphia, where I have friends. "A couple of days before I met you I started on the last leg of the hop. It was raining when I left Philly--a filthy morning, with high fog along the coast. That is why I decided not to follow the New York-Philadelphia-Hartford air route, but cut straight north over eastern Pennsylvania and northern New Jersey, hoping for better visibility inland. Instead, the old bus ran me into even worse weather. The fog grew lower and denser and flying conditions became even rottener than before. You haven't run into fog in a plane, yet, Dorothy--and, believe me, it's no fun. "I expected to cross the Hudson at about Haverstraw and fly east to New Canaan. I know now that I must have overshot that burg; that the plane was probably nearer Newburgh when we crossed the river and headed east. To make matters worse, a few minutes later, the engine commenced to skip. I began to realize then that I didn't know where I was." Dorothy had been listening intently, her eyes on the grotesque shadows cast by their headlights upon the stone fences along the road; now she turned and stared at him in astonishment. "That's a good one! You've flown pretty much all over the country--and get lost in dear little Connecticut!" "Oh, I don't know--parts of the state are as wild as the Canadian woods! And just remember that the visibility at five hundred feet was so poor I could hardly see the nose of my plane. And worse luck, I knew that with the engine cutting up the way she was, I'd soon be forced to land." "What did you do?" "Nosed over until I got almost down to the trees on the hilltops. Visibility was better there, but for the life of me I couldn't spot a landing place.--Nothing but one chain of hills after another, all covered with trees. The sides of these foothills of the Berkshires are steep as church roofs--and they run down to narrow, densely wooded valleys. Well, for some time I circled about with the engine acting worse every split second. Then, in a valley a little wider than any I'd come across so far, I saw the glint of water--a little lake. Fifty yards or so away, there was a good-sized farmhouse with a fairly level hay field behind it. I chose the lake, although it wasn't much better than a duck pond--and landed. "The house was a ramshackle affair, but some smoke rose from the chimney, so I figured someone lived there. While I was fixing my engine, a girl--or rather I should say a young woman--came out of the house and walked down to the little dock near where the plane was floating." "Of course she had red hair and wore yellow beach pajamas?" said Dorothy. "She did--I mean, she had. Anyway, when Lizzie described the girl in the car who wanted bicarbonate of soda and got it, I was sure that my er--lady of the lake and she were one and the same." "Did you talk to her?" "I did. I told her I was lost and asked her where I had come down. She told me, after a while. That is, she gave me a general idea in what direction Danbury lay and about how far away from town we were. But I thought at the time that she was awfully cagy and tight with her information." "In other words, she didn't seem especially glad to see you?" "That's it. Instead of inviting me ashore and up to the house for a meal, she wanted to know how long I was likely to be on the lake--and then she beat it back to the house. Naturally, I thought it queer she should be so inhospitable and stand-offish. People are usually interested anyway, when a plane arrives unexpectedly in their neighborhood--too darn interested, if anything. Still, I didn't think much about her, then. I had the information I wanted, and after changing a couple of sparkplugs, I took off and made New Canaan via Danbury without any more trouble." "Did you see anyone besides the girl with the red hair?" "Not a soul." "And you've been back since the robbery, I think you said?" "Several times. But the place has been deserted and the house locked up tighter than a drum." There was a long pause. "Why do you think the gang are there now?" asked Dorothy. "Simply because we saw the lame man take the Ridgefield road?" "This is the way I figured." They had passed through the little town of Brewster, heading north, some minutes before. Now Bill turned the car off the state highway and on to a winding dirt road full of deep ruts that he knew ran far into the wooded hill country to the northeast. "It is my idea," he continued, slowing down to a bare twenty-mile pace, "that after the robbery, that gang scattered and laid low for a while. They didn't go to the house, that I do know. After you went to bed that night, I drove up here to have a look-see. Nobody home, as I've told you. But they couldn't have a better place for headquarters. There isn't a house anywhere round that neck of the woods. Sooner or later, they're bound to meet there. The loot has got to be divided. Seeing our lame friend headed in that direction this evening makes me doubly certain. I've kept it to myself, because if that army of detectives who are on this case started camping out near the house on a watchful waiting spree, those crooks would be sure to spot them and never show up." "I guess you're right," she said. For some time neither spoke, while their car bumped slowly along the uneven road. "What do you suppose that lame man was doing on Marvin Ridge?" she inquired presently. "Search me. How should I know? You certainly love to fire questions at a guy." "He told us the car hadn't been used lately," she mused, ignoring his remark. "That only goes to prove we're right in thinking he has been in hiding somewhere." "But where?" "Merciful heaven! Another question! That road runs down to Noroton, doesn't it? And from there the Boston Post could bring him from all points east and west. There's no telling where he'd come from." "But I drove up from the Post Road that way yesterday. It has been freshly oiled to within a half mile of where we met him. Yet that Packard hadn't run through oil. If she had, I'd have seen it with my headlights smack on her." "Perhaps he came down a side road?" "Not between that point and the oil--there isn't any." "Maybe he'd been calling in the neighborhood--" "Don't be silly--I know everyone who lives along that road." "You think it out then--I've got enough to do trying to navigate this road. I'm going to switch out the lights, now. We're not more than a couple of miles from the house." "Do you think they'll put up much of a fight?" "Good Lord! You don't think I've any intention of trying to capture them?" Bill exclaimed. He was very busily engaged in keeping the car in the middle of the grass grown trail as it rolled, down a steep hillside at a snail's pace. "I'm not taking chances with you along. It would be foolish to attempt anything like that. You'll get into no battles tonight, miss. This is just a scouting party. If the gang have arrived, we'll beat it back to Brewster and get the cops on the job." "Oh, _dear_!" sighed Dorothy. "And I thought this was going to be the real thing!" "No grandstand plays for you tonight, young lady. What's more--I'm running this show. If you don't promise to behave, you'll warm a seat in this car, while I mosey up to the house. How about it?" Dorothy's voice betrayed her disgust and disappointment. "Oh, I'll promise. But if we are leaving all the fun to the police, why did you bring the guns?" "Because you seemed to expect them, little brighteyes. But we might as well have left them home, for all the use they'll be--I'll see to that. It's bad enough to be forced into bringing you up here. Your father will certainly raise the roof when he finds it out. I shan't tell him, that's flat." "You believe in being candid!" with cutting sarcasm. "You bet. And please remember that if you try to pull off anything you'll probably crab the show. And get us into a good old-fashioned mess besides." He stopped the car and slipping into reverse gear, backed off the trail. "There!" He switched off the ignition. "We're all ready for a quick getaway if need be." "How far are we from the house?" she asked in a tense whisper. "About a mile. I'm afraid to drive nearer--sound carries a long way up these quiet valleys. Let's get started now. I want you to walk just behind me. Be careful where you place your feet. We'll follow the trail a while farther, but it's pretty rough going. Above all else--don't talk--and make just as little noise as possible." "What if they have sentries posted?" she asked, coming to his side. "Aren't you the limit!" Bill seemed really annoyed. "There you go talking again! For your satisfaction, though--if we have the bad luck to come across anyone, I'll naturally do my best to scrag him. You, of course, will act as you think best. My advice is to beat it to the car, as fast as you can. Come along now--and quiet!" "Aren't you horrid tonight!" she breathed, swinging up the overgrown trail behind him. But Bill didn't hear her. Anyway, he didn't answer, and she followed in his footsteps while a pleasurable thrill of excitement gradually took the place of her disappointment. It was nearly pitch dark, walking along in the shadow of tall trees that lined the twisting path. Now and then the cry of a night bird came to her from the woods, but except for the dull sound of their steps on the damp earth--the occasional snapping of a twig underfoot, all was quiet in the forest. Bill was only a blur in the gloom ahead. But she was glad to know he was there just the same. This creeping through the still night to reconnoiter a gang of bank-thieves held a kick all its own. Yes, she was glad that Bill was close by. There came a movement in the underbrush behind them. Hands of steel caught her arms, pinning them to her sides. "Sentries, Bill!" she screamed, struggling frantically to free herself. "Look out! _Look out!_" She heard Bill mutter angrily. Heavy feet crashed in the brush and she heard the sharp impact of a solid fist meeting soft flesh. Several men were shouting now and someone groaned. Bending suddenly forward and sideways, Dorothy managed to fasten her teeth on the wrist of the man who held her. With a howl, he let go her right arm and at the same time a gun went off. The night was torn with a scream of anguish. But before she could use her free arm someone dropped a bag over her head, a rope was knotted about her wrists and a muffled voice spoke to her through the folds of the sack. "_Be_have, sister! _Be_have, I say, or I'll crack yer wid dis rod. I ain't no wild cat tamer. Quiet now, or I'll bash yer one!" Inasmuch as it was no part of Dorothy's plan to get "bashed" in a bag, that young lady kept quiet. "That's the girl!" he applauded. Swinging her over his shoulder as though she were a sack of flour, he walked away from the scuffle on the trail. _Chapter XIII_ TRAPPED The burlap sack was stiflingly hot. Moreover it seemed impregnated with fine particles of dust which burned her throat and nostrils and set her coughing. Dorothy was frightfully uncomfortable. Breathing became more and more difficult. "Let me go--I'm smothering!" she gasped. "And get another piece bit out of me arm?" snorted her captor. "Nothin' doin'." "But I'm choking to death in this filthy bag! It's full of dust!" "Keep yer mouth shut, then," gruffed the man. "And stop that wrigglin'. I'll tap yer one if yer don't. What do ye think this is, anyway--a joy ride?" "But--" she began again. "Shut up!" he growled. "Behave, will yer? Say, sister, if I had me way youse'd get bumped off right now. Give me more of yer lip and I'll do it, anyway!" There was a grim menace in the gangster's tone that frightened Dorothy more than his words. Thereafter she spoke no more. She even refrained from struggling, although her head swam and his grip of iron about her knees had become torture. What had happened to Bill, she wondered, and cold fear entered her heart. She was almost certain that it had been a blow from his fist she had heard directly after her warning shout. But the shot and the scream immediately afterward? Had that been the sound of his automatic--or another's? The thought of Bill lying in the woods wounded--perhaps dead--drove her frantic. Yet she was powerless, with her wrists lashed behind her back. While the man who carried her lurched forward, stumbling now and then over the uneven ground, each step causing his victim fresh agony, Dorothy's conviction of hopelessness assailed and overwhelmed the last shreds of her fighting spirit. She wept. Presently,--it seemed an age,--she sensed that the gangster was mounting a flight of steps. There came the creak of a board underfoot. Then she knew that he was fumbling with a doorknob. A glow of light appeared through the burlap. "Here we are, sister!" he grunted, with evident relief. Swinging her from his shoulder, he placed Dorothy on her feet and pulled off the sack. "Gosh!" he exclaimed, steadying her as she would have fallen, "I thought it was a Mack truck I was carryin'. But you're only a kid! Nobody'd think you weighed so much. Did I make you cry?" He placed an arm under her elbow and led her to a chair. It was of the hard, straight-backed, kitchen variety, but Dorothy was only too glad to sit down and rest. She kept her eyes closed, for the light, after the dark confines of the bag, was blinding. Her breath came in convulsive gasps. "Feelin' kind of woozy?" The man's tone was callous, but at least it evinced a slight interest in her condition and she took advantage of that at once. "Yes, I am," she admitted, keeping her eyes closed, but drawing deep breaths of air into her lungs between words. "You nearly smothered me in that filthy bag. If you want to make up for it, you can bring me a drink of water now." "You certainly have some noive! Y' don't happen ter want a couple of ice cubes and a stick in it too?" "Plain water, if you please." "Dat's all you'll get, kid. But I'm dry myself, so I'll bring you some." She heard him cross the room, jerk open a door and tramp over an uncarpeted floor beyond. Dorothy opened her eyes. A wave of faintness swept over her and the room seemed to whirl before her. As she tried to struggle to her feet she found her roped hands had been securely fastened to the back of her chair. She sank back wearily, her thoughts in wild confusion. After a moment she turned her attention to her surroundings, conscious of the futility of any further effort to free herself, and resolved to bide her time. The long, narrow room evidently ran the width of the house for shuttered windows broke the bare expanse of walls at either end. Behind her chair, she knew, was the door through which she had been carried into the room, with shuttered windows flanking it. Facing her were two other doors, one open and one closed. Through the open door came the sound of a hand pump in action, where her captor was drawing water. The room in which she sat was dimly lighted by an oil lamp, its chimney badly smoked and unshaded. It stood on an unpainted table amidst the debris of dirty dishes and an unfinished meal. Chairs pushed back at odd angles from the table gave further evidence of the diners' hurried exit. "They must have posted someone further down the road," she mused. "I wonder how he got word to the house so quickly?" Then she caught sight of a wall-phone in the shadows at the farther end of the room. "Telephone, of course! They must have planted one somewhere this side of the turnpike. The man on watch saw our car pass and immediately sent word along the wire!" It suddenly occurred to Dorothy that she herself might find that telephone useful. For a moment she contemplated dragging her chair across the room, but gave up the idea almost at once, for the sound of the pump in the room beyond had ceased and she heard the gangster's returning footsteps. He appeared in the doorway almost immediately. A broad-shouldered, narrow hipped, sinewy young man, with a shock of sandy hair falling over his ferret-like eyes. The white weal of an old knife scar marred the left side of his face from temple to chin. An ugly, though not bad humored countenance, she summed up--certainly an easy one to remember. "Here yer are, sister!" was his greeting. "Get outside o' this an' yer'll feel like a new woman!" He held a brimming glass of fresh water to her lips. Dorothy gulped eagerly. "Hey, there! Not so fast," he cautioned. "You'll choke to death and Sadie'll swear I done yer in." He pulled the glass out of her reach. "Tastes good, eh?" "It certainly does. Give me some more." "Take it easy, then. I don't want yer to get sick on this job." He grinned and allowed her to finish drinking. "I guess yer ain't used to a dump like this--" he waved his hand toward the litter on the table and included the peeling wall-paper. "Still, it's a heap better than a hole in the ground out in the woods. You certainly are the lucky girl!" He grimaced, then laughed heartily at his joke. Dorothy's tone was stern, "What have they done with Bill?" "Who's Bill? Yer boy friend?" "Is he hurt?" "I hope so. He sure gave Tony a nasty crack. A rough little guy, he is--some scrapper. It looked like a battle royal to me when I left an' brung yer up here. But don't get the wrong idea, kid. By this time, one of the bunch has slipped a knife into him--pretty slick at that sort o' thing, they are." Dorothy said nothing, but he read her feelings in her face. "Cheer up, sister," he said, heaping a plate with baked beans and sitting down at the table. "Pardon me, if I finish supper. That lad ain't so hot. You've got me now, haven't yer? I'm a better man than he was, Gunga Din!" "Yes, you are--I _don't_ think!" "How do yer get that way?" "Well--" Dorothy eyed him uncompromisingly--"why are you afraid of me, then?" "_Afraid?_ You little whippet!" He paused, his knife loaded with beans half way to his mouth. "Say--that's a good one! What are yer givin' us?" "You keep me tied up, don't you? Why? You're twice my size and you've got a gun--" "Two of 'em, little one--my rod and yourn." "Yet you're afraid to loosen my hands." "No, I'm not--but--" "Please," she begged, changing her tone. "My face itches terribly from all that dust and I--" "Well, what do yer think I am? A lady's maid?" "Don't be silly--I just hate to sit here talking to you, looking such a fright!" "So that's it," he laughed. "Don't try yer Blarney on me! I'm as ugly as mud and yer knows it. Though I'll say yer need a little make-up--and I'll let yer have it. But just get rid of that idea that you've got me buffaloed--yer haven't!" He pushed back his chair and coming round the table, untied the rope that bound her wrists. "Thanks." She began to rub her hands, which were numbed and sore. "Don't mention it," he leered. "Now yer can doll up to yer heart's content while I shovel some more chow into me. I sure am empty an' that's no lie!" "Hey, Mike!" called a man's voice from the doorway behind her. "Where do they keep the wheelbarrer in this godforsakin' dump?" "In the shed out back," returned Mike, sliding his chair up to the table again and picking up his knife. "What yer want it for? What's the trouble?" "Trouble enough!" grumbled the other. "There's a couple o' guys messed up pretty bad down the line. Need somethin' to cart 'em up here in. Sling me a hunk o' bread, will yer? I ain't had no chow." "Tough luck!" Mike replied callously, his mouth full, and tossed him half a loaf. "So long." "So long--" sang out the other, and Dorothy heard him cross the porch and thump down the steps. She was busily engaged in flexing her stiff fingers. She began to feel better, stronger, quite like her old self again. But the news that two men were badly hurt was anything but comforting. Was Bill one of them? she wondered. With an effort, she thrust the thought from her, and drawing forth a comb and a compact from a pocket, she commenced the complicated process of making herself presentable. If she was to make her escape before the rest of the gang arrived she must work fast. But not too fast, for every second brought back renewed strength to her cramped arms and fingers. "How's that?" she asked a few minutes later, replacing comb and compact in her pocket and getting to her feet. "Say! You're some looker! I'd never have thought it!" Mike pushed back his chair and came toward her, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. "Say! You've got Sadie lashed to the silo!" "Who's Sadie? Your steady?" she asked, playfully pointing a forefinger at him. Mike leaned back against the table. "Never mind Sadie," he retorted. "I've got an idea." "Spill it." "You wanta breeze--get outa here, don't yer?" "What a mind-reader!" "Cut it, kid!" Mike's tone was tense with earnestness. "That guy you been travelin' with is either dead or a cripple. Sposin' you pal up with me. Tell me yer will, kid, and we'll hop it together, now." "How about the rest of the gang?" "What about 'em. I ain't a regular--just horned in on this deal to make a coupla grand extra." "But I'm expensive--" she laughed. "I'll say you are! What of it? I make good money. I'm no lousy crook. I've got a real profession." "What is it?" "I'm a wrestler, kid, and I ain't no slouch at it, either." For a moment Dorothy paled. For some reason she seemed taken aback. "What's the matter?" he asked. Dorothy straightened her lithe figure. "Not a thing," she shrugged. Then musingly, "So you're a wrestler, eh?" "Sure--what did yer think I was--a gigolo?" Dorothy giggled. "Know this hold?" she asked casually. And then a startling thing occurred--especially startling to the unsuspecting Mike. There was a flash of brown-sweatered arms, a swirl of darker brown hair and Mike felt himself gripped by one elbow and the side of his neck. He knew the hold, had practiced it in gymnasium, but not for some years. To be seized violently thus aroused the man and it brought an instinctive muscular reaction which was assisted by a stab of pain as Dorothy's thumb sank upon the nerve which is called the "funny bone." Yes, Mike knew the hold, and how to break it and recover; so as Dorothy swirled him backward onto the table with uncanny strength, he pivoted. Then, clutching her under her arms, he clasped his hands just beneath her shoulder blades, bearing downward with his head against her chest. It was a back-breaking grip, but her slender form twisted in his arms as though he had been trying to hold a revolving shaft. An arm slipped over his shoulder, a hand fastened on his wrist and began to tug it slowly upward with the deliberate strength of a low-geared safe hoist. Then the other hand, stealing around him, encircled the middle finger of his clasped hand and began to force it back--a jiu jitsu trick. If he resisted, the finger would be broken. To release his clasp would mean a probable dislocation of the other arm. Mike realized that he had to do not only with a phenomenally strong girl, but with a skilled and practiced exponent of Oriental wrestling tricks. He was by no means ignorant of this school, and countered the attack in the proper technical way--with utter relaxation for the moment--a supple yielding, followed by a swift offensive. Though he was broader of shoulder and heavier, the two were nearly of equal height, possibly of equal strength, but of a different sort. Mike's was slower, but enduring; Dorothy's more that of the panther--swift, high of innervation, but incapable of sustained tension. Such maneuvers as immediately followed in this curious combat were startling. Mike felt that he was struggling with an opponent far more skilled than himself in jiu jitsu, one trained to the last degree in the scientific application of the levers and fulcrums by which minimum force might achieve maximum results in the straining of ligaments and paralysis of muscles. And to give him his due, for all his bluff about striking her with the gun on the way up to the house, Mike had some decent instincts beneath his roughness. Whereas he was striving to overcome without permanently injuring the girl, Dorothy had no such qualms. She was fighting with deliberate intention of putting him out of the running, for at least such time as would permit her to carry out her plans for escape. But for a time Mike's efforts were purely defensive, his object to save himself from disgraceful defeat. What would the gang say if she bested him, a professional wrestler, and make her getaway? They fell across the table, shattering the crockery, then pitched off on to the floor with Mike underneath. He writhed over on his face and offered an opening for an elbow twist which was not neglected. There was an instant when he thought the joint would go; but he broke the hold by a headspin at the cost of infinite pain. Mike had seen the state in which jiu jitsu wrestlers left their vanquished adversaries. Defeat at this girl's hands would probably leave him helpless and crippled for three or four hours. It was not a pleasant thought. He would have to hurt her--hurt her badly, if he could. He was flat on his face again when suddenly he felt his automatic jerked from its holster and she sprang to her feet. "If you move an eyelash," said Dorothy, rather breathlessly, "I'll pull the trigger!" "If you don't drop that rod at once, I'll blow the top of your head off," declared a dispassionate voice from the doorway. Dorothy dropped the gun. _Chapter XIV_ THE DOCTOR "And now, Mike," continued the voice, "I'd like to know how you happened to be caught napping." Dorothy swung round to see a young woman standing in the doorway. With a gasp of consternation she found herself staring down the barrel of a revolver. For a fraction of a second her heart turned over with a sickening thud. Then she recovered her poise. "Well, I guess _my_ trick's over," she exclaimed as cheerfully as possible. Mike scrambled to his feet, catching up his automatic as he did so. Instead of answering the girl who leaned against the door frame, he stared at Dorothy in a sort of amazed wonder. She met his gaze, a malicious little smile at the corners of her mouth. Aside from a flush on her cheeks, she showed not the slightest sign of the ordeal she had just passed through, nor the exhaustion it must have produced. His eyes fell rather stupidly to her feet. If Mike had not so recently staggered under Dorothy's material weight, he would not have believed her to possess any at all. He drew a deep breath. "Who taught you jiu jitsu?" "A woman professional in New York. She had a class--the others went in for it in a lady like way. But I took it up seriously because I thought I might need it some day." "Have you--ever?" He had dropped his east side argot, she noticed. "Once or twice--but never like this," she smiled. "I should hope not." Mike was rather pale. He frowned. "Where do you get your appalling strength?" "Heredity--and training. I come by it honestly. It's not so extraordinary as some people seem to think." Her smile widened. "My father is the strongest man I've ever known. Although you'd never guess it by looking at him. He can do all sorts of stunts. He's trained me--running, boxing, fencing, swimming--" "I'll say he has! I wouldn't have believed it possible--and you only a kid!" Dorothy nodded and looked at him with a curious light in her gray eyes. "Perhaps I'm not so strong as you think--I know a little more about Oriental wrestling than you do, that's all." "Yes, that's all!" said the woman by the doorway in a mocking tone. She stepped across the threshold and came toward them. "Go over there and sit down." She motioned Dorothy to a chair. "And not another peep out of you--understand?" Her eyes gleamed at Dorothy through narrowed lids with a light more metallic than the reflection from the barrel of her automatic. It was a strange look--combined of ruthlessness and malicious amusement. "Interesting--very interesting, indeed!" She turned to Mike, as Dorothy obeyed her and sat down. "And now that you and your little lady friend have finished your heart-to-heart, perhaps you'll tell me what it's all about--why I find you flat on the floor covered by her gun?" "Jealous, Sadie?" Mike's tone was tantalizing. "You _fool_!" She took a step forward. The expression on her face underwent a startling change. Mockery gave way to an exasperated ferocity. Her eyes opened to their full size. Then the volcano of her wrath erupted. Words poured forth with the sharp regularity of a riveting hammer. Mike was given a description of his characteristics, moral, mental and physical, that brought the angry blood to his forehead. Whereupon he retorted in like spirit and soon they were going it hammer and tongs, while the fury on Sadie's face froze into livid hate. It was a wicked face, yet beautiful, Dorothy thought as she watched from her chair in the corner; a strangely beautiful face beneath a coiled crown of glorious red hair. But its beauty was distorted, devilish. Her lips were scarlet, slightly parted, showing the double rim of her even teeth as she hurled insult after insult at the man before her. Like some evil goddess, she stood motionless, the rise and fall of her bosom the only token of the deadly emotion she felt as her even tones poured forth vituperation. Presently Dorothy's ears caught the sound of footsteps thumping on the porch. The lame man limped into the room and sized up the situation at a glance. "Stop that scrapping, you two!" he commanded. "Stop it, Sadie! Do you hear me? Stop it at once!" The red-haired girl glared at him, but she obeyed. There was a dangerous finality in his tone that debarred argument. She swept over to the table, and deliberately turning her back upon the others, poured herself a cup of coffee. "Mike!" barked the Italian. "Go out and give the others a hand. We've got a couple of invalids with us. I've already administered first aid, but they will have to be carried upstairs and put to bed. Hustle, now!" Mike disappeared through the door without a word. This little lame person seemed to brook no opposition. He was probably the brain and the leader of this gang, thought Dorothy--but he was speaking to her now. "Good evening again, Miss Dixon! I felt somehow certain we were fated to meet a third time tonight!" His glance snapped from her to Sadie and back again. "Sorry we had to 'bag' you, as it were--hope you suffered no great inconvenience?" "Oh, I'm all right," she replied coolly. "But I notice that your sweater is torn in several places. You will excuse me?--but you look rather rumpled. I got the impression that you and the young lady who is at present drinking coffee might have had--a difference of opinion, shall we say?" "No. These tears in my sweater were caused by accident. Miss Martinelli had nothing to do with it." "So you know her name! But, of course you would. That bicarbonate of soda proved a boomerang. Too bad she really needed it at the time. It's a lesson to us, to remember that servant girls are likely to be lazy." "Oh, it wasn't Lizzie's fault," smiled Dorothy. "I caught her before she had had time to wash the glass, that's all." "You are a very clever young woman." "Well, I don't know about that--" she drawled. Then she left her chair and took a step toward him. "Tell me--is Bill Bolton very badly hurt?" "Just a bit frazzled, that's all." Her aviation instructor limped into the room. His coat was gone and his soft shirt, once white, hung from his shoulders in dirty, tattered streamers. One eye, half-closed, was rapidly turning black. Blood streaked his cheeks. Just above his left knee the trouser-leg had been cut away and a blood-soaked bandage was visible. Dorothy saw that his wrists were handcuffed behind his back. At his elbow, a man whose jaw was queerly twisted to one side, stood guard with drawn revolver. The lame man grinned. "Here's your young friend now. You can take him in the kitchen if you like and wash him off a bit. I'll come in later with some bandages. You'll find matches and a lamp on a shelf just inside the door.--Stick that gun in your pocket, Tony," he added to his henchman. "Come over here. Now that we've proper light, I'll snap that jaw of yours back into place." Dorothy put an arm about Bill without speaking and led him slowly into the dark room. Then as her hand groped for matches on the shelf, there came a loud click from the other room, followed by a scream of anguish. Dorothy felt her hair rise on the back of her neck. There was a momentary silence, then low, breathless moans. "What is it, Bill?" she whispered fearfully. "What's happened?" Bill chuckled. "Tony's dislocated jaw is back in place, now, that's all. Too bad I didn't knock it clean off while I was about it. He's the bird who knifed me a while ago. No fault of his that he only got me in the leg, either. I'm glad to hear he's getting his, now." "Goodness--" Dorothy found the matches at last and struck one. "Here I stand--and you're badly hurt--don't say you aren't--I know it. Where's that lamp? He said it was on the shelf. It isn't. There it is on the table. _Dash_--there goes the match!" "Take it easy, kid!" "Oh, I'm all right. That man's scream kind of set my teeth on edge." She struck another match, then lit the lamp and carried it to a dresser by the sink. "Come over here and sit down," she said, drawing out a chair. "I want to swab out that cut in your leg. The rag is filthy--" She pulled out the drawer in the dresser. "Here's luck! Towels--clean ones! Who'd have thought it!" With deft fingers she unfastened his bandage, then cleaned the wound with fresh water from the pump, using every precaution not to hurt him. "You're certainly good at this kind of thing," was Bill's sincere tribute as she turned her attention to the bruised cut on his head. "Part of my high school course, you know. I'm better at this than at Latin," she admitted with a smile. "Tell me what happened in the woods after I got scragged and Mike carted me up here?" "Who's Mike?" "I'll tell you about him in a minute. Get along with your story first." "Not much of a story. I didn't last long enough to make it interesting." "Tell me about it, anyway." "Well--I heard you yell and half turned when Tony and another lad jumped me. You know what happened to Tony--" "Yes, but the shot right afterward? Oh, Bill, I was scared silly they'd killed you! Whose gun _was_ that?" "Mine. I'd got my gat loose by that time and drilled him through the shoulder. It turned out later that he tripped over a log when he fell, came down with his leg under him and snapped the bone. When I learned the horrid truth, I wept!" "I'll bet you did! Couldn't you break away then?" "I could not. Several others had joined the rough-house by that time. For a while--not very long--we played a lively little game of tag, blind-man's-buff, postoffice, dilly-dilly-come-and-be-killed, with me as dilly, until another chap jumped out of a Ford on to the middle of my back and rubbed my face in the cool, wet soil! At that bright moment old Limpy clinched these handcuffs on my wrists and read me a lecture on the error of my ways. "He's a physician when he isn't bank-robbing, I think. Anyway, the gang call him 'Doctor.' He seems to be running the show. Not such a bad lad if he could be made over again. Tony, you must know, has developed an almost uncontrollable penchant for sheathing his pigsticker in my carcass once more. Strangely enough, I can't see it Tony's way. And fortunately for me, neither can the Doctor! Now, young lady, if you're finished squeezing cold water into my sore eye, I'll sing the doxology!" Dorothy giggled. "Aren't you funny! I don't believe more than half of that tale is true. I'll wager things were a whole lot worse than you've painted them, sir!" "Well, you've proved to be a good little guesser quite often--what I'm interested in is what happened to you." Dorothy told him. "Nice work!" Bill complimented her as she finished talking. "I know a few jiu jitsu holds, but you must be a wonder at it. It's too bad Staten Island Sadie had to butt in and spoil your show. The more I see of that lady, the less I like her. She was in the woods when the gang jumped us--barged off in a huff later, because the Doc wouldn't let her croak me then and there. She's a nice little playmate. Every one of this gang is a cold-blooded thug--but she's a fiend! But, to tell the honest truth, it's our lame friend who worries me most." "Yes," agreed Dorothy. "That suave manner of his gives me the creeps!" "So sorry--" purred the Doctor's voice directly behind them. "But if I were in your position, my young friends, I should undoubtedly be worried, too." Bill and Dorothy swung round to see him coming toward them. In his hand he carried a small, black bag. "How is our invalid, nurse?" he inquired, feigning ignorance of their startled surprise, and placing his satchel on the table. "Those who live by the sword--but you are familiar with the quotation, I'm sure?" Opening the bag, he produced bandages, adhesive tape, a pair of surgical scissors and a large tube of salve. "Lay these out, so I can reach them easily, please," he ordered as he unwrapped the temporary bandage Dorothy had bound about Bill's leg. "Ah! I see you have cleansed the wound, but it is safer to be more thorough. Hand me one of the swabs you will find wrapped in cellophane in the bag, please. Strange how the professional spirit will dominate--even though the patient's life may not be a long one!" He glanced smilingly at Dorothy. "Don't tell me the knife was poisoned?" she cried in horror. "Hardly anything so melodramatic, my dear. You don't quite grasp my meaning." "He means," said Bill grimly, "that after he has had the fun of patching me up, I'm to be taken for a ride. But don't let him bluff you. He's only trying to scare us." "Too much knowledge is dangerous at times--entirely too dangerous," returned the lame man. "Hand me another swab, nurse. But you put it rather crudely, young man--and I am perfectly in earnest, I assure you." "Oh, you couldn't do _that_!" Dorothy blenched and her hand shook as she passed him the swab. "Well, you see, it is not entirely up to me," he replied, carefully cleaning the wound. "The matter of your friend's future, shall I say?--as well as your own, will have to be put to vote presently. Of course, if Miss Martinelli has her way--but why anticipate the unpleasant?" To Dorothy's surprise, Bill chuckled. "They hang in this state, for murder," he remarked coolly. "It's a nasty death, I've heard. What's more, Doctor, a man of your mentality does not deliberately stick his head into a noose!" "Perhaps not, my young friend. But you forget that in order to prove murder, there must be a body--or bodies, as the case may be." The Doctor looked up at Bill and smiled again. _Chapter XV_ STATEN ISLAND SADIE HAS HER WAY "I believe that I have done all that is necessary," said the Doctor after a few minutes--"and I think the patient will be more comfortable now." Then, with a sardonic gleam in his eye, he added, "Also, I have enjoyed our conversation very much!" He walked to the sink where he washed his hands and dried them carefully on a clean towel. "And so, if you young people are quite ready, we'll adjourn for that voting contest I mentioned a little while ago." He motioned them to precede him, and brought up the rear with his bag as Dorothy helped Bill limp into the front room. Politely, the Doctor placed chairs for them and bade them be seated. Never once had this black-eyed little man's manner betokened anything but courteous consideration. But his suavity troubled Dorothy far more than bluster would have done. She sensed the venom behind his smooth tones, the purring growl of the tiger before it springs. Dorothy knew she was losing her nerve. But she looked at Bill and smiled bravely as they sat down. Bill smiled back at her then shifted his glance with hers to the table, where the members of the gang were seated. The little Doctor headed the board, the others at the side facing the room. Next to the lame man sat the red-haired girl; then came Mike, Tony, who was nursing his jaw, Johnny, the man who had fetched the wheelbarrow, and another whom Dorothy had not seen before. Tony, she fancied, had played the part of chauffeur at the bank. Then Bill broke into the low-voiced conversation that was going on at the table. "How about unlocking these handcuffs, Doctor?" The Doctor shook his head. "No, no, my young friend. Even with your honorable wounds of combat, you are far too active for us to take any chances." "But what could I do? You are six to one, counting Miss Martinelli--and all armed," insisted Bill. "These things are darned uncomfortable." Tony shot him a deadly glance. "I'm glad to hear it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "You'll be a lot more uncomfortable by the time I finish with you." "Shut up, you two!" snapped Sadie. "Now, Dad," she went on in a different tone, addressing the Doctor, "let's finish this business. We can't sit here gabbing all night." "That's what I say!" This from Johnny. "Bump off the pair of 'em--they know too much. Then we can divvy up and be on our way!" "You forget that it is our custom to put such matters to vote," interposed the Doctor. "Two of our company are upstairs and unable to attend. Also, another member is expected at any time now. Without his help our little _coup_ would have been extremely difficult." "Chuck and Pete are too ill to vote," argued Miss Martinelli. "As for Perkins--that sap is scared to death! I doubt if he shows up at all." "Oh, he wants his share," declared the Doctor. "He'll come. We shall give him five minutes--and then continue our business." He tapped a cigarette on the back of his gold case, struck a match and lounged back in his chair, inhaling the aromatic smoke with evident enjoyment. Dorothy's eyes met Bill's in astonishment. He smiled but said nothing. It was interesting enough that Sadie should turn out to be the Doctor's daughter. But the news that Harry Perkins, her father's trusted lieutenant at the bank, was mixed up in this robbery was simply dumfounding to Dorothy. That was how things had been made easy for the gang--that was how they knew just when Mrs. Hamberfield's necklace would be in her deposit box. And another thing--Perkins' home was on the Marvin Ridge Road, just beyond the Mayo place where the Pen and Pencil Club were to meet! The Doctor had been coming from the Perkins' house when she and Billy had met his car. And that explained the absence of road oil on the Packard's tires! Johnny's voice interrupted her train of thought. "How are we goin' to make our getaway tonight with them two lads down and out upstairs?" he grumbled. "Our plan was to separate after we'd divvied up the loot--but them fellers can't be moved." "Supposing you stay and look after them--" derided Sadie. "When we've made the divvy, as you call it, this bunch breaks up for the time being. We all go our own sweet ways. It's a case of each for himself. If you want to stick here and nurse those boobs upstairs, nobody's going to stop you." "Not me! I don't know nothin' about--" "Then keep your mouth shut. Whatever we do, we'll decide later on. How about the time, Dad?" "Time's up," decided the Doctor with a glance at his watch. "We'll wait no longer for Mr. Perkins. Now, concerning our two young friends who were so unwise as to join us tonight--what is your pleasure?" "Bump them off, of course, as Johnny so prettily puts it," yawned Sadie languidly. "I'll attend to the job, if the rest of you are squeamish." "We will put it to vote," announced the Doctor. "Those in favor will raise their right hands and say 'aye'." Five hands, including his own, sprang into the air. "Contraries, 'no'." "_No_," said Mike in a firm voice, holding up his right hand. "The ayes have it," declared the Doctor dispassionately. "What's the matter with you, Mike?" sneered Sadie. "Got a crush on the girl?" "No," retorted Mike. "Just trying to stop you from making an even bigger fool of yourself than you are usually!" "I'm afraid you'll have to pipe down, Mike." The Doctor's eyes gleamed balefully. "Sentence has been passed on Miss Dixon and Mr. Bolton--and that is all there is to it." "That's where you're dead wrong." "What do you mean? Don't you realize that these two know too much about us to permit them to live?" "Have I said they didn't? But Sadie should not be allowed to be their executioner." "Oh--aren't you considerate!" Sadie's tone was pregnant with sarcasm. "Want the job yourself?" "Not particularly--none of us should do it." "Who then, may I ask?" "Why, Perkins, of course." "You're crazy! He hasn't the nerve." "Maybe not--make him do it anyway." It was the lame man's turn to take a hand. "And why should Mr. Harry Perkins be so entrusted?" "To keep his mouth shut." "I'm afraid I don't understand you." "And I didn't think you could be so dense. Look here, Doctor. I haven't been one of your crowd long, but I'd never have joined up at all if I'd known I was getting in with such a bunch of nitwits!" "You are forgetting yourself, I think," the Doctor's tone was cutting. "No. I ain't. Listen--Perkins only came into this because he was up against it proper. How you found out he had speculated, first with his own money and then with the bank's, is none of my affair. What I do know is that when Wall Street put him into a tight place, you put up the extra margin with his brokers upon an assurance from him that he would do--just what he's done!" "You are very well informed, Mike. And what then?" "Just this: the bank has been robbed, but it was a crude job at best. Why the bulls haven't fastened on Perkins already on account of that time-lock business, is beyond me. Then, for once in your long and successful career, you were careless, Doctor. You allowed your paternal feeling to out-weigh your natural caution. The result is that the cops got Sadie's fingerprints and a description of you, of her and of Tony. I am simply bringing all this up to show you that we are not out of the mess yet--not by a long shot." "In other words, you think we have a fifty-fifty chance with the police?" "Better than that, perhaps. I think, though, that if we do get nailed, we should stop Perkins from blabbing--and stop him effectually." "I see," said Sadie. "Let him bump off the pair over there--then take him for a ride?" "Be still, carissima!" Doctor Martinelli was interested. "I see what Mike is driving at. He fears that if things should by chance go wrongly, Harry Perkins would try to save his precious skin by turning state's evidence. And that if he were forced to--er--place these two young people where they will do the least harm, Mr. Perkins will not be in a position himself to turn state's evidence--that is, of course, should it become necessary. That is your reason for not voting with the rest of us?" "It is, Doctor. Do you wish to vote on it again?" "Not necessarily. I consider your plan adequate." "But why make the biggest mistake--of murdering us?" Bill entered the conversation. Dorothy leaned toward him. "It's no use, Bill," she whispered steadily. "They've made up their minds--and you heard what the Doctor said in the other room!" Bill did not attempt to reply, for Doctor Martinelli was speaking again. "And why, in your opinion, are we making a mistake in putting you and Miss Dixon out of the running?" he inquired affably. "Take your time, young man, answer carefully. We are in no hurry--until Mr. Harry Perkins arrives." "He won't arrive," rejoined Bill. "The authorities have got him by this time." "Bluff!" shot out Sadie and turned fiercely on her father. "What's the use of all this?" she cried. "It makes me sick. Why do you stand for it?" "Because he knows Bill _isn't_ bluffing!" Dorothy's raised voice silenced the woman. "We knew that you had been visiting Harry Perkins this evening, Doctor. And we passed word to the police on our way through New Canaan. The only reason you weren't arrested on the way up is because they want to catch the whole gang together. If you hadn't shown up here, the rest of your people might have got wise and left before the police could make arrangements to surround the place." "But, you see, my dear," said the Doctor, "I wasn't visiting Mr. Perkins this evening. I had just motored up from the Post Road, and--ah--points east, when I ran into you and your friend Bill." Dorothy laughed. "Oh, no, you hadn't, Doctor. The road beyond Perkins' place was freshly oiled. There was no sign of oil on your car." "She got you that time, Doc!" exclaimed Mike. "D'you mind saying why you were foolish enough to drop in on Perkins and put us up a tree this way?" Doctor Martinelli was irritated. "Because the safest place to park that loot was in Perkins' house," he snapped, "and as he refused to bring it up here himself, I had to fetch it." "Then all I can say is that you and Sadie have made a pretty mess of things." "Is that so?" retorted the red-haired young woman. "Was it _my_ fault that that fellow over there landed his plane on the lake? That was before the New Canaan deal. He had nothing at all to go on then!" "That's where you're wrong," broke in Bill. "Your hair and those beach pajamas make a combination not easily forgotten. You wore them once too often, Miss Martinelli." "And you seem to forget," added Dorothy, "that you've been finger-printed both in this country and in England. The police know all about you and your father and Tony. They probably have the records of the rest of your gang. If anything happens to Bill or myself, you are bound to pay the penalty." "Say, Doc!" Johnny's excited voice sounded shrilly, "I don't like this--not a little bit I don't. Tie up that pair and let's vamoose. Them cops is likely to be here any minute. I'm tired of all this fool talk. Come on--this place is gettin' too hot fer me!" Mike got to his feet. "I don't stir from this place until I get my share of the divvy," he declared firmly. "What's the matter with you, Johnny? If Doc lights out with the bag full of kale, it ain't likely the rest of us will ever get what's coming to us." "But I can't afford to get pinched--" Johnny faltered. "Not after that Jersey City job, I can't. It means the hot seat for me." The gangster shivered and moistened his lips. "It is my candid opinion that you are all exciting yourselves unnecessarily." The Doctor's voice betrayed no emotion whatsoever. "Miss Dixon and Mr. Bolton are clever young people--but not quite clever enough. They're throwing a gigantic bluff to save their lives. The police won't be here tonight. Why? Simply because if they knew anything about this house, we would have been raided long before this. Those two haven't told the police or anyone else a thing about it. They wanted to pull off their job all by themselves!" "And how, may I ask, do you figure that?" Bill endeavored to make his tone sarcastic. "For this reason: if you had reported what you had learned--and guessed--the authorities would never have permitted you to come here tonight. And this proves it!" There was a light step on the porch and Harry Perkins came in through the open door. _Chapter XVI_ WHAT HAPPENED IN THE WINE CELLAR "Sorry to be so late," greeted the bank's cashier. "My car broke down. I've had to walk five miles, at least--" He broke off, catching sight of Dorothy and Bill for the first time. "Hello!" he exclaimed, "what are you two doing here?" "They are waiting for you to bump them off," replied Sadie with a sneer. "Why, what do you mean?" Perkins gazed breathlessly around the room. "Just what I said. You are going to stop their mouths for good--and do it right now. We've been shilly-shallying over this business long enough!" Perkins' glance took in the others seated at the table. "Has she gone nuts?" he asked. "We have decided that you are to do what my daughter has just mentioned," said the Doctor smoothly. "And I," retorted Perkins angrily, "tell you here and now that I will be no party to murder!" Sadie drew her revolver. "Well--if he won't, I will!" she began when her wrist was caught in a grip of steel, then twisted up and backward. "Drop it, little one--drop it--or I'll break your arm," said Mike. Sadie shrieked with pain, but she dropt her revolver and Mike pocketed it. "I'll get you for that!" she screamed. Her father leaned forward in his chair. "Shut up, you idiot!" he said coldly and deliberately slapped her across the mouth with his open hand. "We've had enough from you for one evening. Mike was perfectly right to stop you. Perkins is going to do this job, and you know _why_ he is going to do it. I'll have no more argument from you. Keep still now, until you have my permission to speak." "But I tell you I'll have nothing to do with it," repeated Perkins, and attempted to light with trembling fingers the half-burned cigar he was chewing. Doctor Martinelli swung round in his chair. "You'll do as you're told," he said through clenched teeth. "A little persuasion of the kind I have in mind has been known to make braver men than you change their opinions, Mr. Harry Perkins!" He glared at the cashier, who dropped his eyes--and the cigar--at one and the same moment. "That's the way, Doc," applauded Mike, getting to his feet. "We've been sittin' round this table so long we're all getting stale. What we need's a little excitement." He pointed to Dorothy and Bill. "I'll take these two down stairs and stick them in the old wine cellar. They'll keep fine and dandy down there. Later, when Mr. Perkins sees reason he can run down and finish them off. While I'm gone, Johnny, you beat it out to the woodshed and fetch in a length of garden hose." He guffawed--"I guess you know that trick--the bulls have made it pretty popular?" The lame man smiled and nodded. "O.K. Doc?" "It's a good plan, Mike. Go ahead with it." Mike took a flashlight from his pocket and beckoned to the prisoners. Sadie pushed back her chair and jumped up. "Tie that girl or she'll get away!" she ordered. "Pipe down!" thundered the gangster and there was an ugly gleam in his eyes as he glared at her. "Give me any more of your lip, Sadie, and you'll take a trip downstairs yourself. Some day when you ain't got a thing to do fer a couple of weeks, try gettin' outa that place with the door locked. Run along now--murder yourself, if you have to--you red-headed bag of hot wind!" He turned his back on the furious woman and motioned Bill and Dorothy to walk before him into the kitchen. "Well, of all the nerve--" Dorothy heard Sadie cry sharply as Harry Perkins broke in with--"Look here, Doctor Martinelli, do you really mean to--" Mike shut the door, cutting the argument in the front room to a mere mumble of voices. "Down those stairs to the right and then straight ahead, you two," he directed, pointing the way with his flashlight--"No tricks, either, unless you want your buddie hurt worse than he is now, Miss Wildcat!" Dorothy, with her arm about Bill's shoulders, stopped at the head of the cellar stairs. "I think you told me you were getting two thousand dollars for your share in the New Canaan robbery," she murmured. "That's right--a coupla grand," he acknowledged. "Not much, but when I made the deal, I wasn't as strong with Doc as I am now." "If you let us go, my father will pay you ten thousand!" "Nothing doing!" "And I promise you he'll use his influence in your behalf, as well. It seems to me a mighty easy way to make a lot of money--" Mike shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe it is," he admitted. "But then you see, I've never double-crossed a pal yet, and I'm not going to start at this late day. Cut the chatter now--there's nothing doing." "You won't regret it, Mike." The door behind them opened slowly, revealing Doctor Martinelli's slight figure. "My judgment of human nature is rarely at fault," the little man went on rather pompously. "I believed I could trust you--now I know it. There's a full share coming to you on this deal, Mike. Cut along now, but hurry back. As soon as you've locked them up, I'll need your help with Perkins." The door closed once more and Mike waved toward the gaping black of the cellar stairs. "You heard what Doc said--down you go!" "Over there to the left," he directed when his two prisoners reached the bottom and Dorothy helped Billy to hobble across the damp, earthern floor, in the shifting rays of Mike's torch. Ahead in the wall of native stone that formed the foundation of the house, they could see a door of heavy wood, at least six inches thick. Mike pushed it fully open. For a moment Dorothy thought of jumping him, but now she saw he carried a revolver in his free hand. "In you go!" he said roughly, elbowing them over the threshold. But instead of locking them in, he stepped over the sill and gently pulled the door shut behind him. Bill, anticipating the end, stepped between Dorothy and their captor. "Let her go, Mike. Her father and mine will give you anything you ask. Shoot me if you must--but let her go. Use two shots, and the others will think--tell them--" "Quiet, please," whispered Mike fiercely, and Dorothy started, for he spoke now with the voice of a well bred Englishman. "Neither of you will be shot tonight, if you do as I tell you. Here--take this automatic, Miss Dixon. And listen carefully, both of you. I've only a minute. You'll find a few useful articles under the pile of sacking in that far corner," he went on, pointing into the gloom behind them. "Then, get out of the window as quickly as you can--the bars are sawn through. Your car is still parked where you left it. Go straight home. That, I think, will be all at present." Bill and Dorothy stared at him in wide-eyed amazement. "Who are you, anyway?" the girl whispered, peering up at him. "To ease your minds," he smiled, "I'm not exactly what I pretend to be. And I want to apologize to you, Miss Dixon, for the exceedingly crude game I was forced to play with you. The Doctor had his suspicions of me, until just a few moments ago, I believe, and he has had us watched ever since I brought you here. But now he has proved his judgment to be sound--" he chuckled to himself--"and has ceased his strict surveillance." He paused a moment then went on, more seriously. "My name is Michael Conway. I am a detective-inspector in the Criminal Investigation Department of New Scotland Yard. I've trailed certain members of the Martinelli gang all the way from London. My plans seem to have miscarried this evening; otherwise, you need not have been put to all this inconvenience. Remember that the house has ears, and be as quiet as possible. Good night--and good luck!" The door swung shut behind him. They heard him turn the key in the lock and he was gone. "Gee Whiz!" muttered Bill, "and I thought--" "Sh--Bill!" cautioned Dorothy. "Never mind now. Stand where you are, or you'll break your neck in this darkness." Her voice came from farther off now. He knew she was feeling her way across the room toward the corner. Presently a light appeared and she spoke again. "I've found the things," she told Bill. "Besides this flash, there's another automatic, a small ax, and a chisel." "Thank heaven for that," said Bill. "Now I've a chance of getting these handcuffs off!" "But we can't do it in here," Dorothy objected. "Remember what Mike said about making a noise. We'll have to wait till we get outside. There's the window. It's going to be a tight squeeze." Her light showed them they were standing in a narrow room, walled like the cellar in native stone. Along the sides, piled one on top of the other were wine casks, which proved to be empty. The damp air was heavy with the fumes of evaporating lees. High to one side was a small barred window. "Lean against this barrel, so it won't slip," whispered Dorothy, and clambered up to the window. "Yes, the bars are loose!" She removed the short lengths of rusty iron from the open frame and carefully laid them on the ground outside. "Now the paraphernalia--" She placed ax, chisel and revolver beside the bars on the grass and descended to Bill's side. "Guess I'll have to go first," observed Bill. "We'll never make it, otherwise. Give me a boost, will you?" They were both breathless and nearly exhausted by the time Bill had been pushed up and out of the window. Dorothy was so tired it took every ounce of her waning strength to drag herself through the narrow aperture after him. They rested for some minutes in the long, dewy grass, gathering strength and courage for the waiting ordeal. As soon as they began to move away from the house, Dorothy realized that Bill was near collapse. Even with her supporting arm, he lurched and stumbled through the tangled undergrowth. "It's that old hole in my leg," he grumbled in answer to her question. "It's opened up again--been bleeding pretty freely. You'd better leave me here." He sank wearily to the ground behind a cluster of elder bushes, about two hundred yards from the house, the weight of his body pulling Dorothy to her knees beside him. "I'll do nothing of the kind!" she whispered fiercely. "But you must--I can't go any further," his voice trailed off weakly. With a quick movement she felt for his wound in the darkness and tightened the bandage. "We'll wait here till you're strong enough to walk, that's all. If I try to run the car up here, they'll hear it from the house. There's no use to try to cut off your handcuffs, either. The least sound will bring that gang down on us." "Not the car--" he mumbled. "The amphibian--beat it for the Loening--and bring help." Dorothy bit her lip. With Bill delirious there was nothing she could do but remain with him. "That's all right," she said, trying to calm him--"We'll stay here till you feel stronger, Bill. Then I'll help you down to the car." Bill had been lying on his side, his head pillowed on her knees. Now he wriggled into a sitting position. "I'm pretty well all in," he admitted, "but I'm not off my head--not yet--if that's what you're thinking.--Didn't I tell you about the amphibian?" "You certainly did not----" Dorothy's tone was relieved, yet excited. "Well, here's the dope, then. She's parked in the next valley--over that hill behind the house. You'll find her under the trees at the edge of a wood lot. I flew up here several nights ago. Wanted a means of quick getaway, if it became necessary. Frank met me over there and drove me home. It's a rotten landing place. You'll find it worse for the take off. You'll be taking an awful chance to do it." Dorothy got to her feet. "You certainly are the one and only life-saver," she breathed joyfully. "Every time we get really up against it--you've a plane up your sleeve or something. Don't worry--I'll fly it all right!" "Hop it for Danbury, then. When you get there, land in the fair grounds. Phone the police and tell them to run down in a car and that you'll fly them back here. You can land on the lake. The bus has a searchlight--" He broke off as the sharp detonation of an automatic came from the direction of the house. This was followed by shouts and the sound of a scuffle. Presently all was quiet once more. "Something's up!" said Dorothy. Bill nodded gravely. "I wonder if they haven't found we're not in the wine cellar--if they've charged Mike Conway with our escape?" "Well, I'm going over to see." "No, you're not--I'll go." But by the time Bill had struggled to his feet, Dorothy had run to the house and was peering between the shutters of the side window. She stood there for a moment, then ran back to him. "The Doctor has been shot," she gasped. "Not badly hurt, I think--evidently took it in the shoulder. But they've got Mike. He's tied hand and foot and bound to a chair!" "That's bad," said Bill slowly. "It's awful! They'll surely shoot him before I can get the police here!" Bill hobbled back toward the shelter of the bushes with Dorothy's arm about his waist. "Some break!" he said disgustedly, as he sank to the ground. "I'm out of the running and you can't hold up that bunch single handed--" "I can try it though, Bill." "Not if I have anything to say, you won't. There are too many of 'em--it's impossible. But what we're going to do now, I haven't the slightest idea!" _Chapter XVII_ THE LOENING "One thing is clear--" said Dorothy firmly--"and that is, we can't let Michael Conway be butchered by that band of cut-throats. He saved our lives--we've got to save his." Bill, his head in his hands, did not reply. "If you were only in better shape so I could get those handcuffs off--and if there weren't so many of them in the house," she went on, speaking her thoughts aloud, "one of us might be able to hold them up from the window while the other went round through the door and took their guns away. But we can't afford to wait till you can walk alone and I can free your hands. What's to become of Mr. Conway, in the meantime? Oh, Bill, you're generally so fertile with ideas--_can't_ you think of any thing?" Bill lay motionless, and still did not answer. Dorothy stooped over him. "Bill! Bill!" she called in a tense whisper. Then, daring greatly, she flashed her light on his face, held it there for an instant, then snapped it off. "Down and out, poor chap," was her summing up after a glimpse of his closed eyes and dead white features. "Loss of blood, probably. He'll come round after while--but when?" Her heart sank. For several minutes she knelt beside his quiet form, lost in thought. Then she began to act. "Sorry, Bill, old thing, but I've got to leave you. It's the only way." Her murmured tones were muffled by the sweater she pulled over her head. Stripping free her arms, she rolled it in a ball and placed the soft pillow beneath Bill's head. She gave him a little pat, then started off toward the hill back of the house. Dorothy crossed the field beyond the farm's overgrown orchard in darkness. It was not until she reached the woods at the foot of the hill that she dared to snap on her flashlight. Even with its help the climb was no sinecure. The hillside, steep as a church roof and densely wooded, was, moreover, thick with underbrush, which hindered her progress. Rocky outcroppings and huge boulders made frequent detours necessary. By the time she struggled to the top she was winded and pretty well done up. Her vitality had suffered considerably from strain and worry and violent exercise during the course of the evening. She was quite ready to drop down and have a good cry, and to admit to herself right then that she was beaten. Only the knowledge that a life, possibly two, hung upon her efforts, kept her going. Stopping only long enough to tie a broken shoelace, she hurried over the crest of the hill and plunged down the farther side. Here, her progress became even more difficult, for she floundered into a berry patch whose thorns tore her clothing and badly scratched her face and hands. Determinedly, she pushed her way through, gritting her teeth in pain. Presently, after several bad falls over hidden rocks and tree stumps, she found herself on a narrow, grass-grown wood road at the foot of the hill. So far as she could see, the trail wound along the middle of the valley. But she hadn't the faintest idea in which direction lay the field (Bill had called it a wood lot) where the _Loening_ was hidden. Dorothy was totally at a loss. _Why_ hadn't she taken more precise directions before tramping over here? This trail _must_ lead to the wood lot or near it. Bill said Frank had driven there in the car.... "What a fool I am!" she exclaimed suddenly to the night at large and pointed her flashlight toward the ground at her feet. There were the tire marks of a car, plain enough. Brewster and Danbury lay far to the left beyond the mouth of this valley which paralleled that of the gang's headquarters. Therefore, Bill's car must have come up the trail from the left. The tracks kept on up the road to her left--the wood lot must be in that direction. As she trudged on, watching carefully for any deviation of the tire marks, she forgot her weariness for the time being. The winding road ended and she saw an open space ahead. It must be the wood lot. Hadn't Bill said it was the only possible landing place in the valley! Dorothy hurried across the field, through a tangle of knee-high grasses and wild flowers. She pointed her light higher now and tried to pierce the black of the night for a glimpse of the plane. Then she saw it parked at the forest's edge, directly ahead, and sprang forward with a delighted cry. As she came close, she saw that it faced the open lot, and silently thanked Bill for his foresight. With a plane the size of the amphibian it would have been impossible to swing round the tail unassisted. Her preparations for this flight would probably not have met with her instructor's approval. But knowing that time was more important than detail, she cut them to a minimum. A quick glance at the retractible landing gear sufficed to satisfy her that the wheels were securely blocked. Then she sprang aboard and gave the engine a short ground test. It was acting splendidly and she shut it off almost directly. A hurried trip aft to the cabin and she came back to the pilot's cockpit, dragging the plane's machine gun, which, after some trouble, she managed to set up on its tripod which she fastened to cleats in the decking. Certain now that the gun was secure, she adjusted the ammunition belt as Bill had instructed her. Then she raced aft again and overside. When she returned, she brought the wheel blocks with her. These she dropped in the cabin, saw to it that the door was properly fastened, then took her place at the controls forward. The night was overcast and starless; the ceiling unusually low, and so far as she could judge there was not the slightest breath of wind. She switched on the plane's searchlight and started the engine. The trees at the far end of the wood lot were uncomfortably near and high. Yet Bill had judged a take off from such a place to be possible, or he would never have parked there. The big Loening was moving now--rolling drunkenly over the rough ground, yet gaining speed with every foot. She widened her throttle, steadily, fully--at the same time pushing the stick well forward. Then as the amphibian gained still more speed and she felt the tail lift clear, she eased the stick steadily back to neutral. They were racing over the field now. She gave the elevators a slight upward pressure. The wheels lifted clear, but the trees at the edge of the lot were perilously near. She knew that when a plane leaves the ground its speed is not far above stalling point. And with these trees so close, to stall now would precipitate a bad crash--and failure. Dorothy, therefore, kept the nose level for an instant or two, a dangerously short instant, she feared. Back came her stick again. The plane was climbing at last but at a frightfully precipitous angle. Would they make it? Would the throbbing engine continue to function under the unaccustomed strain? Dorothy bit her lip. She eased off slightly as the motor coughed; but pulled the stick back almost immediately. They were abreast the treetops now.--They were over. But with a margin so small that Dorothy was certain the wheels had brushed the branches. She eased their angle of ascent, but still continued to climb. Then when she was sure they were well above the crest of the hill, she leveled off and banked to the left. Once more she leveled off and turned on the electrical mechanism which raised the plane's landing gear. Below her she could dimly make out the gangster's farmhouse, the lake and the stretch of ground between them. She closed her throttle, pushing the stick forward as she did so, and at the same time applied right aileron and hard right rudder. As the plane shot downward she neutralized the elevators. Then did likewise with her ailerons as the proper bank was reached. Left aileron and hard left rudder were next applied until the wings became laterally level. Having completed a beautiful half spiral, Dorothy landed the amphibian on the little lake. Her next move was an unusual one, but on it depended the success or failure of her plan. With the airplane headed toward the lake's low shore beyond which lay the farmhouse, she turned the switch which propelled the retractible landing gear downward and into the water. Then she opened the throttle for the last time. There came a bump and a jar. The tail tilted to a dangerous angle as the plane's wheels struck the shallows. Would they mire in the soft ground at the lake's edge she wondered, and cause the big bus to nose over and crash? But no--the plane, after a sickening wrench, rolled free. It glided over the sandy bank and on to the grass. Shutting off her engine, Dorothy permitted her amphibian steed to come to a stop at the porch steps, its ugly snout poked almost up to the open doorway of the house. Dorothy had been too busy guiding her bus to pay any attention to the reception accorded her arrival. A shot or two had been fired from the porch and she had caught a glimpse of dark figures silhouetted against the open doorway. But now, as the slowing wheels struck the steps, the porch was empty. The way was clear for Mike's release. Together they would find Bill and make a clean getaway in the amphibian. What did it matter if the gang made their escape? Her life and the lives of her two friends were all that counted now. To speed the departing company she turned the Browning into action and sent half a belt of bullets whipping through the door. But Dorothy aimed high. She had no desire to play the part of executioner. From her place in the cockpit she got a good view of the front room. Mike, the Scotland Yard detective, still sat bound to his chair, but the others were streaking for the back of the house. She could see them tugging at the doors, which for some reason, seemed to give them difficulty of exit. Huddled at the far end of the room, they clamored and struggled to get out of range. Dorothy stopped firing and Bill Bolton hobbled up the porch steps. "Jumping Jupiter! girl, you're a wonder!" he applauded. "Hold the Browning on 'em. They can't get away. I locked those doors from the outside. Crawled through the wine cellar window to do it," he panted. "Thought it might embarrass them some--but this stunt of yours makes it perfect." He took a step forward and raised his voice. "Stick 'em up!" he cried. "Stick 'em up--every one of you--that's better. Now line up, facing the back wall--and remember--just one bad break is all Miss Dixon wants to rip off another belt--aimed right, this time--" he added significantly. As the gangsters scrambled to obey his orders, Bill walked into the room and Dorothy saw that his wrists were still handcuffed behind his back. "Who's got the handcuff key, Mr. Conway?" he inquired. "Johnny, I believe," returned Mike quietly. "Johnny, have you the key?" This from Bill. "Y-yes, I got it." "Got a gun?" "N-no, sir, it's on the table." "I'll take your word for it. Throw the key over your shoulder, then stick up your hands again." Johnny complied with these demands, and Bill picked up the key by sitting on the floor and worming over to where it lay. "Think you can turn this with your teeth, Mr. Scotland Yard?" Mike nodded. Bill swung round and lifted his hands as high as his bonds permitted. The detective lowered his head and got his teeth on the key. A moment later there sounded a slight snap--and Bill was free. "Good job!" He worked his cramped shoulders. "That certainly is a relief!" He limped to the table, snatched a knife and a couple of seconds later Mike was on his feet. Without more ado they turned to, and roped the gangsters one by one. Dorothy got down from the plane and came into the room. "Who's going to stand guard while the plane goes for the police?" "Nobody," was Bill's answer. "We'll pile the bunch in the bus and take them to New Canaan ourselves. Gosh, there'll be some big time in the town tonight, when we arrive!" "This morning, you mean," yawned Dorothy. "It's getting light. And you two may not know it, but I could go to sleep standing up--and right now!" "Brace up, kid! You're some aviatrix, even though I did train you!" "I'll second that--" beamed Mr. Michael Conway, grasping her hand. "I had a splendid view through the doorway--and when that big bus hurled itself out of the water like a hippo--and began to charge the house, I--" But Dorothy interrupted him with a shake of her head and an involuntary glance at Bill. "All I did was to take some awful chances with Bill's property, Mr. Conway." "Ah--incidentally--saving my life, and making the capture of this gang possible?" smiled the detective. "You're a modest young lady, indeed. But I suppose we'd better be getting along--" and with a wave of his hand, he added, "it may interest you to know that the loot is in that kit bag under the table." "O.K. We'll attend to that," said Bill. Then turning to Dorothy--"I'll say you took some chances, young woman! How about getting a plane of your own to fool with from now on?" "Oh, Bill! Do you think Daddy will let me?" "I know he will." Bill was serious now. "After what you've done tonight, you've certainly won your wings!" Those who have enjoyed this story will be interested in the next book of this series, entitled _Dorothy Dixon and the Mystery Plane_. THE END 
45417	----	DOROTHY DIXON SOLVES THE CONWAY CASE BY Dorothy Wayne Author of Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings Dorothy Dixon and The Mystery Plane Dorothy Dixon and the Double Cousin THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY CHICAGO ------------------------------------------------------------------------ COPYRIGHT, 1933 THE GOLDSMITH PUBLISHING COMPANY MADE IN U. S. A. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ To RUTH KIRBY she says my books are "neat".... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CONTENTS I OUT OF LUCK II TO THE RESCUE III IN THE CONWAY HOUSE IV VISITORS V THE MOTIVE VI CORNERED VII RAVEN ROCKS VIII THE CHIMNEY IX OVER THE TOP X OL' MAN RIVER XI MR. JOHN J. JOYCE XII VOICES FROM BELOW XIII THE WAY OUT XIV THE LION'S DEN XV IN THE TOILS XVI THE BOOK XVII THE TEST ------------------------------------------------------------------------ DOROTHY DIXON SOLVES THE CONWAY CASE Chapter I OUT OF LUCK Above the speeding airplane, lowering black of approaching night and storm; below, the forest, grim and silent, swelling over ridges, dipping into valleys, crestless waves on a dark green ocean. "We can't make it, Betty." Dorothy Dixon, at the controls, spoke into the mouthpiece of her headphone set. Betty Mayo, in the rear cockpit, glanced overside and shuddered. "But you can't land on those trees!" she cried shrilly. "We'll crash--you know that!" "Maybe we will--and maybe we won't!" returned Dorothy, gritting her teeth. "Keep your eyes peeled for a pond or a woodlot--anywhere you think we can land." "What--what's the matter?" called back her friend, steadying her wobbly nerves with an effort. "Matter enough. We're nearly out of gas--running on reserve fuel now. When the rain starts, it'll be pitch dark in no time." "Oh, Dorothy--do try to stay up! We can't crash and be killed--that's what it will mean if you try to land here!" "Betty, be-have, will you? This is my funeral." The pilot in her anxiety, had struck upon an unhappy choice of words. "Oh, you must do something--this is terrible--" the frenzied girl in the rear cockpit almost shrieked. Dorothy ripped off her headphone set. She could no longer allow her attention to be distracted by Betty's excited whimpering. The small amphibian, flying low, topped a crag-scarred ridge. At the foot of the cliff she saw a tiny woodland meadow. Action in the air must be automatic. There is never time to reason. With the speed of legerdemain the young pilot sent her plane into a steep right bank and pushed down hard on the left rudder pedal. The result was a sideslip, the only maneuver by which the amphibian could possibly be piloted into the woodlot. Tilted sideways at an angle that brought a scream from terrified Betty, the heavy mass of wood and metal dropped like a plummet toward the earth. This was too much for little Miss Mayo. Convinced that her friend had lost control of the plane, she closed her eyes and prayed. With uncanny accuracy, considering the rainswept gloom, Dorothy recovered just at the proper instant. Hard down rudder brought the longitudinal axis of the plane into coincidence with its actual flight path again. At the same time she brought the up aileron into play, thereby preventing the bank from increasing. Then as the amphibian shot into a normal glide, she leveled the wings laterally by use of ailerons and rudder. Their speed was still excessive, so for a split second or two, Dorothy leveled off and fishtailed the plane. That is, she kicked the rudder alternately right and left, thereby swinging the nose from side to side, and did so without banking and without dropping the nose to a steeper angle. Taking the greatest possible care that her plane was in straight flight prior to the moment of contact with the ground, she gave it a brief burst of the engine, obviating any possibility of squashing on with excessive force. The airplane landed well back on the tail, rolled forward over the bumpy ground and came to a stop at the very edge of the little meadow, nose on to the line of trees and underbrush. Dorothy switched off the ignition, snapped out of her safety belt and turned round. "Hail, hail, the gang's all here," she said cheerfully. "Wake up, Betty! We've come to the end of the line." Betty opened her eyes and looked about in startled amazement. "Why--why we didn't crash, after all!" "Certainly not," snorted Dorothy. "D'you think I'd let _Wispy_ mash up my best friend? Come on, dry your eyes. Good thing it's so dark and none of the boys are with us. You'd be a fine sight," she teased. "I think _Will-o-the-Wisp_ is a silly name for a plane." Betty's remark was purposely irrelevant. She wanted to change the subject. "Then don't think about it. Turn your mind upon the answer of that dear old song, 'Where do we go from here?'" "Where are we?" Betty could be practical enough when her nerves were not tried too severely. "Mmm!" murmured her friend. "That's the question. I'm not quite sure, but I think we're on the New York State Reservation over on Pound Ridge. A good ten miles or more from home, anyway." "If we're on the reservation we're certainly out of luck," sighed Betty. "It's a terribly wild place--nothing but rocks and ridges and woods and things. They keep it that way on purpose." "Nice for picnics on sunny days, I guess," affirmed Dorothy. "But not so good on a rainy night, eh? Here, put on this slicker before you're wet through. Then get down. We've got to move out of here." Betty stood up, caught the coat Dorothy threw into the cockpit, and after slipping into it, she stared fearfully about. "What are you waiting for?" Dorothy inquired from below. "I'm going to stay where I am," announced Miss Mayo in a quavering voice. "It's safer." "How safe?" Dorothy turned on her flash light. Its moving beam brought into bold relief the jungle of scrub oak and evergreens that walled the little pasture. "Listen, Dorothy! I remember Father saying that they preserved game on the Pound Ridge reservation. There are sure to be bears and--and other things in these woods. Turn off the light--quick--they'll be attracted to us if we show a light--" "Bears--your grandmother!" said Dorothy's mocking voice and the light flashed full on Betty. "Don't be so silly. Come down here at once!" "No, I won't. I'm going to stay up here. I--I'm sure it's safer." "Then you can be 'safer' by yourself. If you think I'm going to stick around this woodlot all night, you've got another guess coming. Snap out of it, won't you, Betty?" "But you wouldn't leave me all alone out here!" "Watch me." The light began to move away from the plane. "I'll come--I'll come with you, Dorothy--wait!" The light came back and Betty scrambled to the ground in a fever of haste. "Now, then, stop being a goop and take this flash," directed Dorothy. "Hold it on the plane so I can see. We've got to make _Wispy_ secure, before we get under way." "I s'pose you get that Navy lingo from Bill Bolton." Betty felt rather peevish now. "You talk just like him ever since he taught you to fly." "I wish he was here now," retorted her friend, and climbed into the cockpit. "Here--take these wheel blocks and stop grouching. And for goodness' sake, please don't wobble that light! I want to get these cockpit covers on before everything is flooded." A few minutes later she climbed down again and after adjusting the wheel blocks, took the flashlight from Betty. "All set?" she inquired briskly. "Got your knitting and everything? 'Cause it's time we were moving." Betty began to cry. "I think you're mean--of course I want to get out of here, but--but you n-needn't--" Dorothy put her arm about the smaller girl's shoulders. "There, there," she comforted, "cheer up. I won't be cross any more. Here's a hanky, use it and come along. Gee, I wish this rain would stop! It's coming down in bucketfuls." "I'm sorry, too, for sniveling," said Betty meekly. She made a strenuous effort to be brave as they walked away from the dark shape of the plane. "But don't you think you'd better get out your revolver, Dorothy? Honestly, you know, we're likely to run into anything out here in these woods." Dorothy burst into a peal of laughter. "Bless you, honey," she chuckled. "I don't carry a gun when I go calling--or any other time if I can help it. We'll get out of this all right, don't worry. I should have looked at the gas before we left home, but I thought there was plenty to take us over to Peekskill and back. _Wispy_ eats the stuff--that's the answer!" They stumbled along on the outskirts of the woodlot, Dorothy keeping her light swinging from side to side before them. "But I thought you _always_ carried a gun--" insisted Betty, her mind still on the same track--"you ought to, after all you went through with those bank robbers and then the gang of diamond smugglers!" "Well, you've got to have a license to tote a revolver--I'll admit I've carried 'em now and then--but not to a tea!" replied her friend. "Do try and help me now, to find a way out of this place." "But maybe there is no way out. We can't climb those cliffs, and this meadow's hemmed in by the woods. Oh, dear, I wish I knew where we are!" "I'm not certain," mused Dorothy, more to herself than to her companion, "but I think I caught sight of the fire tower on the ridge just before we sideslipped. That would mean that this meadow is on the eastern edge of the reservation--and that there's a road on the hill across from the ridge. There must be a trail of some kind leading in here. They could never get the hay out or the cattle in, otherwise; this place must be used for something." They trudged along, keeping the trees on their left until the farther end of the meadow was reached. As they rounded the corner the light from the flash brought into view a narrow opening in the trees and undergrowth. "What did I tell you?" sang out Dorothy. "There's our trail! This certainly is a lucky break!" "Where do you suppose it goes?" Betty's question was lacking in enthusiasm. "Oh, it's the tunnel from the Grand Central to the new Waldorf-Astoria," said Dorothy, squinting in the darkness. "I'm going to take a room with a bath. You can have one, too, if you're good!" Betty stumbled into a jagged wheel rut and sat down suddenly. "Oh, my goodness!" she moaned. "My new pumps are ruined--and these nice new stockings are a mass of runs from those nasty brambles!" "Humph! Just think how lucky you are to be alive," suggested Dorothy callously. "Look--we're coming into another meadow. Yes--and there's a light--must be a house up there on the hill." "What if they won't let us in?" wailed Betty. They were heading across the meadow, now, toward the hill. Dorothy stopped and turned the flashlight on her friend. "You certainly are a gloom!" she declared angrily. "Do you think I'm enjoying this? _My_ shoes and stockings are ruined, too, and this ducky dress I'm crazy about has a rip in the skirt a yard long. It will probably be worse by the time we get through the brush on that hillside. But there's absolutely no use in whining about it--and there's not a darned thing to be scared of. Is that clear to you, Betty?" She paused, and then went on more gently. "Come on, old thing, you'll feel much better when we've found a place to get warm and dry." "I know you think I'm an awful baby." Betty tried her best to make her voice sound cheerful, but her attempt was not a brilliant success. "But I'm just not brave, that's all," she went on, "and I do feel perfectly terrible." "I know. You're not used to this kind of an outing, and I am, more or less. But I can see how it would upset you. Here's a stone fence. Give me your hand, I'll help you over. Fine! Now save your breath for the hill. We've got a stiff climb ahead of us." For the next fifteen or twenty minutes they fought their way up the steep slope through a veritable jungle of thickets and rock. In spite of frequent rests on the boulders that dotted the hillside, both girls were exhausted by the time they came to another delapidated stone wall that acted as a low barrier between the brush and an over-grown apple orchard. Through the gnarled trunks, they could dimly see the shape of the house whence came the light. Dorothy sat down on top of the wall, and pulled Betty to a place beside her. Then she switched off her flash. "Some drag, that!" Her breath came in labored gasps. Betty was too weary to make any reply. For a time they sat, silently. Then Dorothy slid painfully off the wall into the orchard. "You stay here, Betty. I'm going over to the house and reconnoiter." "Say! You don't go without me!" Betty sprang down with sudden determination. "Then walk carefully and don't make any noise." A tone of startled surprise came into Betty's voice. "What--what are you afraid of, Dorothy?" she whispered excitedly. "Not a thing, silly. But there may be watch dogs--and I want to get some idea of the people who live in that dump before I ask 'em for hospitality. I've got myself into trouble before this, going it blind. I know it pays to be careful. If you must come with me, you must, I suppose. But walk behind me--and don't say another word." She stalked off through the orchard with Betty close at her heels. As they neared the house, which seemed to be badly in need of repair, it was plain that the light came from behind a shaded window on the ground floor. Dorothy stopped to ponder the situation. A shutter hanging by one hinge banged dully in the wind and a stream of rain water was shooting down over the window from a choked leader somewhere above. She felt a grip on her arm. "Let's don't go in there," whispered Betty. "It's a perfectly horrid place, I think." "It doesn't look specially cheerful," admitted Dorothy. "But there may not be another house within a couple of miles. There's a porch around on the side. Maybe we can see into the room from there." Together they moved cautiously through the rank grass and weeds to the edge of the low veranda. There was no railing and the glow from two long French windows gave evidence that the floor boards were warped and rotting. The howl of the wind and driving rain served to cover the sound of their movements as they tiptoed across the porch to the far window. Both shades were drawn, but this one lacked a few inches of reaching the floor. Both girls lay flat on their stomachs and peered in. Quick as a flash, Dorothy clapped her hands over Betty's mouth, smothering her sudden shriek of terror. Chapter II TO THE RESCUE The cold, wet wind of late September howled around the house. Dorothy wished she had brought a revolver. "Stop it! Betty, stop!" she hissed and forced her friend to crawl backward over the rough boards to the edge of the porch. "Stay here, and don't make a sound. Do you want them out after us? For goodness' sake, take a grip on yourself! I'm going back to the window and--not another peep out of you while I'm gone!" With this warning, she slithered away before Betty could voice an objection. Lying flat before the window once more with her face almost level with the floor, she stared into the room. The scene had not changed. Nor had the three principals of the drama being enacted on the other side of the pane moved from their positions. A sudden gust tore loose the shutter at the back of the house, sending it crashing down on some other wooden object with terrific racket. "Must have hit the cellar doors," thought Dorothy. The man with the cigar, who stood before the cold fireplace stopped talking. She saw him cock his head to one side and listen. The bald-headed man in the leather armchair kept his revolver levelled on the room's third occupant, and snapped out a question. With a shrug, the man by the fireplace went on speaking. He was a dapper person, flashily dressed in a black and white shepherd's plaid suit which contrasted disagreeably with the maroon overcoat worn open for comfort. Dorothy took a dislike to him at first sight. Not withstanding his mincing gestures, the man had the height and build of a heavyweight prizefighter. Now he leaned forward, emphasizing with a pudgy forefinger the point of his oratory which was directed toward the third member of the party. Dorothy uttered an impatient exclamation. She could not hear a word. The roaring storm and the closed windows prevented her from catching even the rumble of their voices. She continued to gaze intently upon the prisoner, a well set up youth of eighteen or nineteen, curly-haired and intelligent looking. Her sympathy went out at once to this young fellow. He was bound hand and foot to the chair in which he sat. A blackened eye and his shirt, hanging in ribbons from his shoulders, told of a fight. Then she spied an overturned table, books and writing materials scattered over the rumpled rug. "Whew!" she whistled softly. "He staged a little battle for 'em, anyway, I'll bet!" She smiled as she noticed that the youth's opponents had likewise suffered. For the bald-headed man held a bloodstained handkerchief to his nose, while the other's overcoat was ripped from collar to hem and he nursed a jaw that was evidently tender. The room which lay beneath her scrutiny offered a decided contrast to the unkempt exterior of the house. The walls were completely lined with bookcases, reaching from ceiling to floor. The shelves must have held thousands of volumes. Essentially a man's library, the furnishings were handsome, though they had evidently seen better days. In reply to a question barked at him from the dapper prize fighter, the young prisoner shook his head in a determined negative. The big man spat out an invective. This time the boy smiled slightly, shook his head again. With a roar of fury that was audible to the watching girl outside, the prize fighter-bully strode over to his victim and struck him across the mouth. That brutal action decided Dorothy. She wormed her way backward off the porch. Betty was still crouched where she had left her. She sprang up and caught her friend's arm. "Isn't it terrible?" she whispered tensely. "He's such a good-looking boy, too--don't tell me they've killed him or anything?" Without speaking, Dorothy led her around to the back of the house. "No, they haven't killed him," she answered when they had reached the shelter of the apple orchard. "This is no movie thriller. But something pretty serious is going on in there. Now tell me--are you going to pull yourself together and be of some help? Because if you're not, you can climb one of these trees and stay there until it's all over. That's the only safe place I know of--and even up there you'll get into trouble if you start screaming again!" "Well, I really couldn't help it, Dorothy. He was such a darling looking boy and--" "My goodness--what have his looks got to do with it? He's in a peck of trouble--that's the principal thing. I want to help him." "Oh, so do I!" asserted Betty eagerly. "I'll be good, honest I will." "Obey orders?" "Do my best." "O.K. then. I'm going round front. Those blackguards must have come in a car--and I'm going to find it." "But you can't leave me here alone--" "There you go again, silly! I'm not going to drive away in the car. I've got another plan. Listen! There's a cellar door, somewhere back of the house I guess. It's one of the flat kind that you pull up to open. I heard that shutter slam down on it." "I suppose you want me to open it?" "Bullseye!" "You needn't be so superior," Betty's tone was aggrieved. "What'll I do if it's locked?" "Oh, people 'way out in the country never lock their cellar doors," Dorothy's tone was impatient, her mind three jumps ahead. "But suppose this one is?" "Wait there until I come back. Hurry now--there's no telling what's going on in that room. So long--I'll be with you in a few minutes. If you hear a crash, _don't scream_!" She raced away and as she reached the corner of the side porch, a quick glance over her shoulder told her that Betty was marching resolutely toward the cellar door. This time Dorothy skirted the porch and toward the front of the house she came upon a weed-grown drive which swept in a quarter circle toward the road some fifty yards away. A limousine was parked before the entrance to the house. It was empty. Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief. She hurried past the car and found that the drive ran round the farther side of the house, out to a small garage at the back. The garage doors were open, and inside she spied an ancient Ford. For some reason the sight of the Ford seemed to perturb her. She stood a while in deep thought. Then as an idea struck home, she drew forth her flash light and sent its beam traveling over the interior of the garage. She did not take the precaution of closing the doors. The library was on the other side of the house and there was little danger of her light being seen. Suddenly she uttered a cry of satisfaction. Her light had brought into view about a dozen gasoline tins stacked in a corner. She lifted them one by one--all were empty. She hunted about and presently unearthed a short piece of rubber hose from under the seat of the automobile. "First break tonight!" she said to herself. "Here's hoping the luck lasts!" A few minutes later, if anyone had been watching, they would have seen a girl in a slicker, her dark curly hair topped by an aviation helmet, leave the garage carrying two gasoline tins. These she took to the orchard and deposited them behind a couple of apple trees. Her next movements were more puzzling. She walked back to the garage and around that little building to the side away from the main house. Again her flash light was brought into play. This time she focussed it on the land to the side and rear and saw that the low wall which partly encompassed the orchard ended at the back of the garage. There was no obstruction between the drive at the side of the house and a rough field that sloped sharply down the valley whence she and Betty had come. Then she realized that the house and orchard lay on a plateau-like rise of land which jutted out into the valley from the main ridge, the ground dropping steeply on three sides. "Well, the scenery couldn't be sweeter!" remarked Dorothy. "Now, I hope to goodness they've left the keys." It was blowing half a gale now, and rain in crystal rods drove obliquely through the flash light's gleam. She switched off the light and stuffed it into a pocket of her dripping slicker and beat her way against the storm toward the house. Here she found the limousine, and hastened on toward the side porch. Lying flat at the window once more, she saw that a fire had been started in the fireplace. The dapper person crouched before it, holding an iron poker between the burning logs. Dorothy realized on the instant the fiendish torture those beasts were planning. She jumped to her feet and tiptoeing over the boards, raced for the car. Her hand, fumbling on the dash, brought a faint jangle from a bunch of keys-- "Break number three!" she cried and slipped behind the steering wheel. As she switched on the ignition she brought her right foot down on the starter and when the powerful engine purred she fed it more gas and let in the clutch. The car rolled forward and she swung it round the corner of the house toward the garage, with her thumb pressed down hard on the button of the horn. "That'll bring them out!" she chuckled and slipping into high sent the car hurtling off the drive, headed for the field beyond the garage. An instant later she dropped off the running board while the limousine raced into the field and down the steep hillside to the valley below--and destruction. At the same moment Dorothy heard shouts from the house and footsteps pounding on the gravel. She wasted no time peering after the car. Turning on her heel, she flew round the garage and over to the rear of the house. The cellar door was open, Betty was standing on the top step. "Down you go!" panted Dorothy. "Take this flash and switch on the light--quick!" A slight shove sent Betty stumbling down the stone flight and Dorothy followed more slowly, bringing down the wide door over her head. "The light, Betty, the light!" she cried. "B-but we can't go into the house--those men--" "Never mind the men--do as you're told. I can't find the lock on this door in the dark. Where are you, anyway?" "Right here," said a small voice and the flash light gleamed. Dorothy shot home the bolt and took the torch into her own hand. "Come on!" Without waiting to see if her order was obeyed, she ran to the stairs that led up to the first floor. At the top of the short flight, she found a closed door. She opened it and stepped into the kitchen, with Betty at her elbow. Locking the door behind them, she flashed her light about the room, then walked over to a table and pulled out the drawer. "Here--take this!" Betty stepped back as a large kitchen knife was thrust in her direction. "Take it!" commanded Dorothy and again the smaller girl unwillingly did as she was told. "But--but you can't mean we're going to fight them with knives," she spluttered, "why, Dorothy--I just couldn't--" "Don't talk rot!" Dorothy's tone was caustic. "Please cut the argument, now--I know what I'm doing!" Betty trotted at her heels as she crossed the kitchen toward the front of the house, passed through a swinging door into the dining room. An arched doorway to their right, brought the hall into view, and beyond it, another door stood open, leading into the lighted library, where they saw its single occupant still tied to his chair. "Go in there and cut him loose," directed Dorothy. She pushed Betty into the room and raced for the open front door. She heard the sound of voices from the drive as she neared the end of the hall. She could see the figures of two men just beyond the front steps. Just as her hand reached the door handle, they turned in her direction and the black night was seared with the sharp red flash from an automatic. Chapter III IN THE CONWAY HOUSE With the detonation of the gun in her ears, Dorothy flung herself against the door and slammed it shut. Her hand fumbled for the key, found it and sent the bolt shooting into place. About the house the rain-lashed wind howled and moaned like some wild thing in torment. Her heart was pumping and her breath came in choking gasps. Leaning against the solid oak door she pressed her ear to a panel. The noise of the storm muffled all other sound, but she thought she could detect the mumble of men's voices just outside the door. It was impossible to catch the words, of course, but the mere sound told the girl that they were standing on the small front porch. To her right was a sitting room. She hurried into it. A quick flash of her torch showed two windows facing the drive. She tried the catches. They were unlocked. She fastened them and ran out of the room, down the hall to the rear. The light from the library threw the staircase into silhouette. Dorothy started for the dining room, but stopped short as the young man whom she had sent Betty in to free, bounded into the hall. "Hello!" he cried. "Do you know where they are?" Dorothy pointed toward the front door. "Right out there!" "Good! I'll fix 'em!" He raced up the stairs and she heard him running toward the front of the house. "Betty!" she called. "Come here!" "What is it?" answered that young lady's voice from the library. "George told me to stay in this room." "_George?_" exploded Dorothy. She ran to the door and looked in. Betty was toasting her soaking pumps from a chair before the fire. She turned her head when Dorothy appeared and beckoned toward the blaze. "Yes--George Conway," she explained smilingly. "He owns this house, you see." Dorothy's fingers pressed the wall switch and the electric lights went out. "Well, you _are_ a fast worker--" was her comment. "Dash over to those windows and see that they're fastened. Then pile some of these chairs and tables in front of the French doors--anything will do, just so it's heavy. Hurry--and when you've finished, go into the hall and stay there." Betty stared through the darkness. "But George says--" "I don't care _what_ George says! The hall is the safest place right now." "Well, why can't you help me?" grumbled Betty. "Suppose those awful men come before I've--" "They won't if you snap to it. I'm off to fasten the windows in the rest of the house." This last was thrown over her shoulder as she tore across to the dining room. After making the rounds in there she went into the kitchen. Here she found a window open and the back door unlocked. It took her but a moment to remedy this, and she was passing back to the dining room when there came a terrific crash and reverberation from the floor above, followed by screams and curses from outside. She went out into the hall and another report from above shook the windows in their frames. Betty, wild-eyed with fright, rushed into the bright arc of Dorothy's flash light. "What on earth is it?" she cried in very evident alarm. "Shotgun," said Dorothy tersely. "If those yells meant anything, I guess we can take it that somebody's been hit." Then she noticed that Betty's left hand held an open compact, while in her right she clutched a small rouge puff. Her ash-gold hair which she wore long had become unknotted and hung halfway down her back. Her petite figure drooped with weariness. "Gracious, Betty! How in the wide world did you ever get rouge on the end of your nose? You're a sight!" "Well, you turned out the light--" Miss Mayo's tone was indignant, as she rubbed the end of her nose with a damp handkerchief. "I think I'll run upstairs and spruce up a bit." Dorothy looked at her and laughed. "Come on up with me," suggested Betty. "You don't look so hot yourself." "No, you run along and pander to your vanity, my child. When you've finished, why don't you go into the kitchen and make us a batch of fudge--that would be just the thing!" "Why so sarcastic?" Betty raised her delicate eyebrows. "Well--what do you think we've run into--a college houseparty or something?" "Oh, I think you're mean," Betty pouted. "But you do choose the queerest times to spiff up!" "Do you think those men will try to get in again!" Betty's blue eyes widened. "If I didn't know that your head was a fluffball--But what's the use. Run along now. It sounds as if George were coming down. Hurry up--you might meet him on the stairs!" "Cat!" said Betty and flew. Dorothy went to the door and listened. If the two men were still outside, they gave no sign of their presence. Nothing came to her ears through the panels but the howl of the storm. Then she heard footsteps running down the stairs from the second story and switched her flashlight on George. He carried a double barreled shotgun in the hollow of his arm. "Howdy!" he greeted her enthusiastically. "You know, I can never thank you girls enough for all you've done. Gosh! You're a couple of heroes, all right--I mean heroines. When I saw Betty--I mean, Miss Mayo," he amended quickly with an embarrassed grin, "come sprinting into the library and begin to cut me loose, why I just couldn't believe my eyes!" "Some wonderworker, isn't she?" Dorothy contrived to look awestruck, but there was no malice in her amused tone. "You said it--she's a whizbang! And she told me you two came in an airplane. I've never met a girl aviator before. I guess she's a second Dorothy Dixon--you must have read what the newspapers said about that girl!" He shook his head admiringly. "Betty sure has nerve!" "She has, indeed!" Dorothy kept her face straight with an effort. "But tell me--what did you do to that crew outside?" "Plugged 'em--clean. Got a bead on them through a front window." "What? You--killed them? Buckshot, at that distance?" George chuckled. "Not buckshot--rock salt. Use it for crows, you know. It stings like the dickens." "I'll bet it does!" Dorothy's laugh was full-throated and hearty. "What's become of them?" she asked when she could speak. "They beat it around the house to the garage. Do you know what happened to their car?" "Yes. It ran away--down the lots to the bottom of the valley. And between you and me and the hatrack, I don't think it will ever run any more." "Gee whiz!" chuckled George. "Who'd ever think a little thing like Betty would have the pluck to pull a stunt like that!" "Who would?" said Dorothy and joined in the laugh. "Well, as long as their car is out of the running, they'll probably try to steal my flivver." George tapped his gun significantly, "But I'll put a crimp in that. They've got to pass the dining room windows to get out of here." "You needn't bother--the Ford won't move." "Sure it will." George stopped short in the doorway and turned toward her. "That car of mine runs like a watch." "But not without gas," explained Dorothy. "I drained the tank into a couple of tins." "You did?" "Sure thing. Parked the tins in your orchard. They'll never find 'em." "Say!" exclaimed George. "You must be almost as good as Betty that is, I mean--" "Who's taking my name in vain?" Miss Mayo was tripping blithely downstairs. "You two seem to be finding a lot to talk about." George stared at her. "Say, you certainly look swell when you're dolled up." "Well, it's the best I can do now," deprecated Betty. "I borrowed a pair of your slippers though--woolly ones. That is, I s'pose they're yours?" "Glad to have you wear 'em." George's eyes were still glued to Betty's pretty face when Dorothy broke in. "Look here, we'll have to get down to business. George--listen to me. Betty won't melt, you know--" "Oh, I think you're terrible--" interrupted Betty. Her friend paid no attention, but kept on talking to George. "Do you really think they've gone?" He nodded. "I'm pretty sure they have--that is, for the present. You can't do a whole lot when your hide is full of salt. I'll bet they're kiting down the road right now. Maybe they'll stop in at the Robinson's or somewhere and get a lift to Stamford or Ridgefield or wherever they came from. They may have some pals about here, of course. I sort of gathered that they weren't working on their own--that there was somebody in back of them." "Well, at least we can count on a breather. Let's go in the library and turn on the light. I'm tired of standing about in this hall and I want to dry out by the fire." In the library, George pushed a couple of easy chairs before the comforting blaze. Dorothy cast aside her slicker and helmet and dropped into one of them. She kicked off her sodden shoes and stretching her legs toward the warmth, drew forth a comb and proceeded to make herself neat. George perched on the arm of Betty's chair, and the two stared at the flames without speaking. At last Dorothy put her comb away, turned to George and broke the silence. "It's none of my particular business, of course, but would you mind telling me the reason for all this rough house? Why did those men attack you and tie you up--what were they doing around here?" George shook his head slowly. "Hanged if I know," he said. "You don't know? But they seemed to be asking you questions--from what I could see through the window, it looked that way." "That's right. But--but--well, you two girls are real sportsmen. You've pulled me out of an awful mess. Heaven knows I appreciate what you've done, but I just can't have you running any further risk on my account, Miss--" "Dixon," supplied Betty. "I forgot you hadn't been introduced." George leaned forward. "Do you come from New Canaan?" he shot out. "Of course, we live there," said Betty. "And I want you to know that Dorothy is my best friend. We're seniors at the New Canaan High--if that interests you." "So _you're_ Dorothy Dixon, the flyer!" he exploded. "Suffering monkeys! I didn't know I was entertaining a celebrity. Why, you're the girl I was talking about--who--" "Here, here--don't make me blush," laughed Dorothy. "But don't you see? Your being Dorothy Dixon makes all the difference in the world." Dorothy's eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. "I don't get you," she said. "I really don't know what you're talking about." "Why, if what the newspapers say is true, you simply eat up this gangster stuff--a whiz at solving all kinds of mysteries." "Nice lady-like reputation, what?" she mocked. "Well, that's all right with me. Because now--I have no hesitancy in telling you all I know about this queer business. You'll probably know just what to do--and you'll be a wonderful help." "How about me?" Betty was a direct little person and seemed at no pains to disguise her feelings. "I don't think you're a bit polite, George!" "Oh, I feel differently about you--" stammered that young man, then stopped short and looked painfully embarrassed. Dorothy thought it time she took matters into her own hands. "Don't be silly, Betty, George knows how clever you are!" She flashed a mischievous glance at her friend, then went on in a serious tone. "And of course we're keen to hear all about it, George, and we'll do anything we can to help you. But your story will keep a while longer. I hope you don't mind my mentioning such a prosaic thing--but do you happen to have anything to eat in the house?" "Oh, my gosh! Of course I have--" he threw a glance at the clock and jumped to his feet. "It's nearly eight o'clock. You girls must be starved! Sit right here and I'll bring supper in a jiffy. I was just about to eat mine when those two thugs dropped in and put an end to it for the time being." "I'll help you," offered Betty, hopping out of her chair. "That's a good plan," decreed Dorothy. "While you're starting things in the kitchen, I'd like to use the phone, if I may." "There it is, on that table in the corner," said George. "Hop to it. I'll drive you home later in the flivver." "Thanks, but I've got to have gas for my plane. We'll talk it over at supper, shall we?" She took up the telephone and the others hurried from the room. Presently she joined them in the kitchen. "I called up your mother, Betty, and told her you were spending the night with me," she announced. "Dad is away, so I got hold of Bill Bolton and he'll be over here in about twenty minutes." "Oh, fine--" began Betty and stopped short as an electric bell on the wall buzzed sharply. For a moment they stared at it in startled silence. Then George spoke. "Somebody's ringing the door bell," he said slowly. Chapter IV VISITORS "You girls stay in here--I'll go," continued George, his hand on the swinging door to the dining room. "No, you shan't!" Betty sprang before him, blocking his way. "Don't make such a fuss," said Dorothy. "Somebody's got to go. Come here!" Her long arm shot out and Betty was held in a light embrace that seemed as unbending as tempered steel. "Stop wriggling," she commanded. "This is George's job. Did you leave your gun in the library, George?" "Yes. I'll pick it up on the way." "Better not do that. Maybe it's one of your neighbors." "Haven't any. None of the people around here come to see me." The bell buzzed loudly again, and continued to do so. Someone was keeping a finger pressed on the button beside the front door. "I have a plan," Dorothy announced suddenly. "Betty, you stay here, and--" "And have them break in the back door while you two are in the front hall? No thanks--I'm coming with you, that's all." Dorothy did not stop to argue. She hurried into the dining room and across the hall to the library, followed by the others. "Look here," she whispered, picking up the shotgun. "Slip on your jacket, George. That shirt will show anyone you've been in a fight. Betty and I will go into the front sitting room. It's dark in there. Turn on the hall light and open the door as though everything were all right, and you expected a friend. If it is someone you know, they won't see us in the sitting room. If it isn't--and they try to start something, jump back so you're out of line from the door to that room ... and I'll fill 'em full of salt!" "Swell idea! A regular flank attack!" enthused the young man, struggling into his coat. "All set?" He switched on the hall light. The girls ran into the sitting room. Dorothy stood in the dark with the shotgun pointed toward the hall and saw him turn the key and pull open the door. "Good evening, George," whined a high-pitched voice. "Mind if I come in for a minute or two?" "Walk in, Mr. Lewis. Bad night, isn't it?" George's face showed surprise but he swung the door wide and closed it with a bang as a tall figure, leaning heavily on a cane, shuffled into the lighted hallway. The man's bent back, rounded shoulders and the rather long white hair that hung from beneath the wide brim of his soft black hat, all bespoke advanced age. Immensely tall, even with his stoop, the old man towered over George, who was all of six feet himself. Although the night was not cold, he was buttoned to the chin in a long fur coat. Dorothy caught sight of piercing black eyes beneath tufted white eyebrows. The long, cadaverous, clean shaven face was a network of fine wrinkles. "What say?" He cupped a hand behind his ear. "I said it was a bad night to be out in," shouted George. "What can I do for you?" "Yes, that's it, my lad--there's something I--Yes, it's a bad night--bad storm. Listen, George!" "Yes, sir." "What say?" "I'm listening, Mr. Lewis." "Well, listen then." The sharp eyes peered up and down the hall. Dorothy moved further back into the dark room. "Your father had a lot of books, George--a very fine library." "Yes, he had." "What say?" "I said he had." The old man shook his head. His high voice became querulous. "I know he's dead," he snorted. "I'm talking about his books." "They are not for sale," said George. "Bless you--I don't want to buy 'em. But there's one I want to borrow." "Which one is that?" "What say?" George's reply _sotto voce_ was not polite. He was getting impatient. "I want to borrow a book called Aircraft Power Plants; it's by a man named Jones." Dorothy pricked up her ears. "All right," shouted George. "I'll try to find it." "What say? Listen, George! Speak distinctly, if you can. I'm not deaf--just a little hard of hearing. Don't mumble--you talk as though your mouth was full of hot potato. That's a bad eye you've got--been in a fight?" George ignored this last. "Listen--" he said, then stopped, controlling a desire to giggle as he realized his plagiarism. "Come into the library, Mr. Lewis. I'll try to find the book for you." He took the old man by the arm and led him down the hall. Betty crept over to Dorothy. "Do you know who he is?" she asked in a low tone. "Mr. Lewis, I gathered," said Dorothy, straining her ears to catch the muffled sounds coming from the library. "_He_ talked loud enough,--quite an old gentleman, isn't he?" "Old skinflint, you mean." "You've seen him before?" "Certainly. I've seen him at our house. Daddy knows him--says he's made a fortune, foreclosing mortgages and loaning money at high rates of interest. He's terribly rich, though you'd never know it by his looks." "That's interesting--wonder what he wants with George?" "Came to borrow a book--that's plain enough." "Almost too plain, if you want my opinion," Dorothy said thoughtfully. "There's no use guessing at this stage of the game." "What are you talking about?" "Oh, nothing much. Can you hear what they're saying in the next room?" "They seem to be having an argument--but it's not polite to listen--" "Polite, your grandmother! I'd listen if I could--but all I get is a mumble-jumble. I vote we go back to the kitchen. I want my supper. I'll feel better when I've eaten. This house gives me the jim-jams for some reason." "Me, too," Betty admitted ungrammatically. "Fancy being alarmed at the sound of a doorbell!" "My word--and likewise cheerio!" Dorothy turned the flash on her friend. "How do you get that way, Betty? Been reading the British poets or something?" Betty blinked in the glare. "Turn it off. No, I haven't. Don't you remember the movies last night? The English Duke in that picture--" She broke off suddenly and caught at Dorothy's arm. "Listen--Dot, listen!" she whispered. From the rear of the house came a muffled pounding. Dorothy shook her off. "I'll dot you a couple, if you take liberties with my name," she snapped. "And for goodness' sake, don't hold on to me that way, and stop that listen stuff! This isn't an earthquake--somebody's at the back door, and I'm going to see who it is!" "But suppose those men have come back?" "They're too well salted down," Dorothy flung back at her. "I _fancy_ you'd better stay in here--if you're _alarmed_!" She crossed the hall to the dining room again and hurried through the kitchen with Betty close on her trail. That young person apparently preferred to chance it rather than be left alone. Dorothy went at once to the back door. "Who's there?" she called, as the knocking broke out again. "It's Bill Bolton," returned a muffled voice. "Is that you, Dorothy?" She drew back the bolt and flung the door open. "Hello, Bill!" she hailed. "You're just in time for supper." A tall, broadshouldered young fellow wearing golf trousers and an old blue sweater which sported a Navy "N" came into the room. He was bareheaded and his thick, close-cropped thatch of hair was brown. When he smiled, Bill Bolton was handsome. A famous ace and traveller at seventeen, this friend of Dorothy's had not been spoiled by notoriety. His keen gray eyes twinkled goodnaturedly as he spoke to Dorothy. "Well, I should say you look pretty much at home," he grinned. "But then you have a faculty of landing on your feet. And how's Betty tonight? Thought I'd find you girls in a tight fix and here you are--getting up a banquet. Terry Walters was over at my house when you rang up, so he came with me. He's outside, playing second line defense. All sereno here, I take it?" "Quiet enough now," Dorothy admitted, "though it was a bit hectic, to say the least, a while back. Call Terry in, will you? I'm going to do some scrambled eggs and bacon now." She reached for a bowl and began to crack eggs and break them into it. Bill stuck his head out the door and whistled. A moment later, a heavy set, round faced lad of sixteen made his appearance in the doorway. Under his arm he carried a repeating rifle. "H'lo, everybody," he breezed, resting his rifle against the wall. "This is some surprise,--Bill and I were all set to play the heavy heroes and we find you making fudge!" "Not fudge," corrected Betty. "Honest-to-goodness food! Dorothy and I haven't had a single thing to eat since lunch, except a lettuce sandwich and some cake at Helen Ritchie's tea over at Peekskill this afternoon. We're getting supper now." "_We?_" Dorothy's tone was richly sarcastic. "Then, old dear, suppose you do some of the getting. I think I heard the front door shut just now, so that means that old Mr. Lewis has shoved off. You can go into the dining room and set the table.--Bill, you're a good cook--how about starting the coffee? Terry, be a sport and cut some bread--you might toast it while you're about it!" "Whew!--some efficiency expert!" Terry winked at Bill. "Where do they keep the bread box in this house, anyway?" "Barks her orders like a C.P.O. doesn't she?" laughed Bill, opening the coffee tin. Then he drew forth a wax-paper wrapped loaf from an enameled container, held it up: "Here's your bread, Terry--catch!" The door from the dining room swung open and George came in. "Well, George!" Dorothy turned to the others. "Here is our host," she explained and introduced him all round. "It's certainly white of you fellows to hustle over here," he said as he shook hands. "I appreciate it." "Oh, don't mention it," grinned Bill. "We seem to be rather late for the excitement." "Well, if it hadn't been for Betty and Dorothy--" began George. "You'd have pulled yourself out all right," interrupted the latter young lady. "Look here, supper's nearly ready, and since I've set everybody else to work, suppose I give you a job, too? Take Betty into the dining room and show her how to set the table, and you'll be a fine help." "Say, it's great, the way you've pitched in here--did you have a hard time finding things?" "No, not at all. Except--" here Dorothy looked stern, "I don't approve of your housekeeping methods--I had to scour the frying pan twice, sir, do you realize that?" George hung his head. "Gee, I guess I'm pretty careless, but--" The cook giggled: "Mercy, you look downcast. I was only kidding, George. I think you're a fine housekeeper, honestly, I do. Now you get a wiggle on with the table, please. These eggs are nearly finished. They'll be ruined if we have to wait." When the two had disappeared, Dorothy dished the scrambled eggs into a warm plate and turned to Bill and Terry. "He thinks Betty ran this job," she informed them. "They've got a crush on each other, I guess. So don't put him wise, will you?" "Mum's the word," smiled Bill, while Terry nodded. "Far be it from me to mess up love's young dream." "Don't be silly," retorted Dorothy. "But you know, Betty's a darling. I had to be terribly cross with her all the time, just to keep her bucked up. But she's my best friend and I'm crazy about her." "She is nervous and high-strung, I know," supplemented Terry. "I'll bet you had a sweet time with her." "Not so bad. Have you boys had supper?" "Oh, yes, some time ago," answered Bill. "That's good. I didn't want to use up all George's food. I'll let you have some coffee, though--that is, if you're good and don't kid those two in the other room." "Cross-my-heart-hope-to-die-if-I-do." Bill's face was solemn. "Likewise me," declaimed Terry. "I must have my coffee." "Table's set," announced Betty, popping in to the kitchen, closely followed by George. "Eggs are finished and the bacon's fried," returned Dorothy. "How about the coffee, Bill?" "Perfect--though I sez so." "_And_ the toast!" Terry was busy buttering the last slice. "You know, lovers used to write sonnets on their lady's eyebrows--now, if they'd seen this toast!" Dorothy shook her head at him. "That will be about all from you. Come along, all of you--everything smells so good, and I'm simply ravenous." It was a merry party that gathered about the old mahogany dining table. Bill began by teasing Dorothy about her lack of foresight that sent her up on a flight without enough gas. She returned his banter with interest: the others joined in and for a time everybody was wisecracking back and forth. George was the first to bring the conversation back to current events. "I don't know Mr. Lewis very well," he replied in answer to a question of Betty's. "He was a friend of my father's--at least father had business dealings with him. I thought I'd never get rid of the old boy tonight." "Did you find the book he wanted?" asked Dorothy. "Jones' Aircraft Power Plants, wasn't it?" "Some book, too!" affirmed Bill. "Have you read it, Conway?" "Didn't know I owned it. The book--in fact, the whole library, was my father's. About all he saved from the wreck. When I couldn't find the book for old Lewis, what do you think he said?" "'Listen!'" Dorothy's voice mimicked perfectly the old gentleman's querulous tones. Everyone burst into laughter. "Yes, he said that," George told her, "and a whole lot more." "I hate riddles," cried Betty. "Do tell us--" "Why, he wanted to buy the entire library--and when I turned him down, he made me an offer on the house providing entire contents went with it!" Betty laughed. "A good low price, I'll bet. Mr. Lewis is a terrible old skinflint." "I thought so, too, until he made me this offer." "Do you mind saying how much?" Dorothy never hesitated to come to the point. "Twenty-five thousand dollars!" "Seems like a lot of money to me!" was Bill's comment. "A lot of money! I should say so." George cried excitedly. "Why, this place isn't worth more than eight--possibly ten thousand dollars at the outside." "I smell a rat," said Terry, "or to put it more politely, the old boy's offer has something doggoned stinking crooked mixed up in it." "To add to our cultured brother's oratory," said Bill, "There certainly seems to be something pretty darned putrid in the kingdom of Denmark!" "A whole lot nearer home, if you ask me," broke in Dorothy.--"That old man--" "Just a moment," begged Bill. "Your deductions, Miss Dixon, are always noteworthy. In fact, at times, the press of our glorious country has frequently referred to you as Miss Sherlock Holmes, but--" "Cut the comedy, Bill!" broke in the object of this effusion. "What is it you're driving at?" "Simply, as I was saying when so rudely interrupted, that your deductions and ideas on this business may be Aland a yard wide, but except for what you shot at me over the telephone, both Terry and I are wading about in a thick pea soup fog, so to speak. Suppose you give us your account of these mysterious happenings. That should put us 'hep' to the situation, and then George can tell us his end of the story, why he got tied up by these blokes and all that." George did not appear cheerful. "But I don't know--" he protested. "Haven't the slightest idea." "So Dorothy said over the phone. But perhaps if you start far enough back--give us the story of your life, as it were--we may be able to dig out a motive." "At times you show positively human intelligence, Bill!" Dorothy yawned, without apology. "Well, here goes! Maybe if Bill will let me get a few words in edgewise, I may forget I'm so sleepy!" Chapter V THE MOTIVE "And then I opened the back door and found you standing there, Bill. Phew!" Dorothy ended with a sigh. "It's almost more of an effort in the telling than it was in the doing!" "I wouldn't believe it if I didn't know it was true," declared Terry solemnly. "You've the great gift of stating things clearly, Terry," remarked Bill Bolton. "In other words, why must you put in your foot every time you open your mouth? Dorothy, my girl, you said your piece nicely." "I'm not your girl, thank heaven! If I was at all interested, I'd certainly burst into tears. Please don't try to be humorous--it's painful, positively painful." "I guess I'd better begin my story," George decided diplomatically. "Or somebody's likely to start throwing things. Where do you want me to start?" "Like this," volunteered Terry, setting his empty coffee cup on its saucer. "'I was born an orphan at the age of four, of poor but dishonest parents....'" "'And until the age of thirteen and three-quarters, could only walk sideways with my hair parted in the middle,'" came George's quick follow up. "He's all right," decreed Bill. "Let him speak his piece, gang--this is going to be good." "Of all the conceited nerve!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Do shut up and give George a chance," broke in Betty heatedly. "I want to hear about it--and this is a serious matter, I--" "Now you're the one who's stopping him," accused her chum. "For goodness' sake, get going, George--we've got to drive to New Canaan some time tonight." "All right," said George. "If you people don't find it interesting, well, you've brought it on yourselves. Surprising as it may seem, I was born at the usual age at 'Hilltop,' that big whitehouse on the ridge, overlooking the other side of the reservation. Father, you know, was an inventor. He was always an extremely reticent man and I realized as I grew older that he was very much of a recluse. He never spoke to Mother and me about his inventions, but they must have brought him a good income. We kept up that big place and had plenty of servants, although we entertained very little. After I got through the nursery stage, I had a French governess and later a tutor. Mother and I were great pals. She must have been a busy woman, for she superintended the running of our model farm and dairy, but she was never too occupied with her duties but what she had time to romp and play with me. I know now that she must have led a very lonely life. "My father spent nine-tenths of the time in his laboratory and workshop. He did not encourage friends or acquaintances and he never went anywhere with Mother. He had but one hobby, his work, and although I know he was very fond of us, the work came first. Even later, when I grew up, he never seemed like the fathers of other fellows I knew. It was his reticence and absolute absorption in those inventions of his that kept us practically strangers. "Five years ago last spring, when I was twelve, Mother died. Her heart had never been strong--her going took the only person I really loved away from me." George was unable to go on for a moment, and Betty caught his hand under the table and held it. The tenderhearted little girl was very near to tears. George smiled manfully, then went on with his recital. "Sorry," he apologized for his show of feeling, "I never quite got over losing Mother. My governess had been replaced by a tutor a couple of years before this, but now Father decided I was to go to boarding school. So I was packed off to Lawrenceville, a homesick, lonely little kid if there ever was one. I'd never been thrown with boys of my own age before--I guess I was pretty much of a young prig--but as the poet says, 'I soon learned different.' "During the holidays I used mostly to come back to Hilltop. Father never made a kick if I brought fellows back with me. We had the run of the place, which he kept up just as it had been when Mother was alive. One thing was understood though: he must not be annoyed by my guests. There were saddle horses, for he rode regularly every morning before breakfast; cars to drive, and he also belonged to the club over at Bedford, although I don't think he had ever seen the place. He gave me plenty of money to spend and always allowed me to accept invitations from other fellows to visit at their homes. Altogether I had a pretty good time. The only trouble was that Father never took any real interest in me. I was lucky enough to get my 'L' at football, but he never came down to Lawrenceville--not even to see a game." "I've got your number, now!" cried Terry, interrupting him. "You're Stoker Conway! I thought I'd seen you before. Say, Bill, this guy is too modest. 'Lucky to make his letter,' I don't think! Conway captained the Lawrenceville team last season. My cousin, Ed Durham (they call him Bull Durham down there) played left tackle. I went down with Dad and Uncle Harry last fall to see the Princeton freshman-Lawrenceville game." "I remember your telling about it," said Dorothy. "Somebody, I think, made a sixty-yard run for a touchdown." "I'll bet George did it," piped up Betty. "He certainly did! And let me tell you, Angelface, that your boy friend was the fastest halfback Lawrenceville or any other school has seen in years. All American stuff--that's what he is. Hard luck you didn't get to college this year, old man." "Can't always have what we want," remarked George philosophically. "Who won the game?" asked Bill. "The one you saw, Terry?" "Why, Lawrenceville, of course. Smeared 'em--outplayed those freshies from start to finish and did it with a lighter team. Thirty-three to nothing--think of it!" Dorothy turned toward George. "Stoker Conway--I like that name, 'Stoker.' How did you get it?" George grinned. "I was a grubby little mutt--my first term at Lawrenceville. Somebody pasted the name on me, and it stuck." "Three celebrities at one table," sighed Terry. "I knew we had two with us to-night--but a third! It's just too much. Betty, you and I have just got to do something to make ourselves famous. There's practically no hope for me, I admit, but you will probably become a movie queen, when you're old enough--ash-gold hair and a baby doll face are all the rage on the screen!" "Oh, I don't know," hit back Betty, ignoring the laughter caused by this left handed compliment. "How about the fame you won in the diamond smuggling case? You got plenty of newspaper publicity then." This sally turned the laugh on Terry, for as the three others knew, he had played anything but an heroic part in that episode. But Terry was a jolly soul and his hearty laugh at his own expense joined with the others. "Lay off, Betty!" he cried, "that was one below the belt. What do you bet I spot the motive in this mysterious case of Stoker's?" "See here, will you pipe down?" Bill expostulated. "All you will spot is your clothes. Keep quiet and quit waving your arms--you nearly upset my coffee. How can any of us learn anything unless you give Stoker a chance to get on with his story?" Terry suppressed a retort and George hurried into the breach. "Here goes on the second installment, then," he said. "And it will probably interest you all to know I'm pretty near the end. Let's see--where was I?" "Last fall, at Lawrenceville," prompted Dorothy. "You couldn't get your father to come down there." George nodded. "Yes, that's right. He never would come--not even when I graduated last June. I wrote him specially about it, but, well, he was having his own troubles about that time. Before I came home I passed my finals for Princeton. It was on the books that I'd go there this fall. "Only I didn't," continued young Conway rather solemnly. "Father met me at the Bedford station in the flivver when I came back. On the way up here he told me that reverses in business had forced him to sell Hilltop. I knew, of course, that business conditions were pretty bad all over the country. But he looked ill and he had aged terribly since I'd seen him during the Easter holidays. I was much more worried about his physical condition, he seemed so played out, so feeble. But when we drove into the yard and I saw this down-at-the-heels old house--well, I certainly got another shock." "It must have been terribly hard," sympathized Betty. "Especially after living all your life in the big place on the hill." "A bit of a comedown," acknowledged George, "but I don't want any of you to think I was ashamed of the place. If Father had to live here, it was good enough for me. I felt so sorry for him, though. He'd never been much of a mixer, as I said, but when he did talk to a fellow he was certainly interesting, full of pep and vitality--and a sure hog for work. Now all that was changed. He had no workshop or laboratory here. All day long and half the night he would sit reading in the library across the hall. If I spoke to him, he would answer 'yes' or 'no' to a question--but never volunteered anything on his own account. He seemed more like a man stunned--a man who realizes his life is a failure and no longer cares to go on. "The woman down the road who cooks and keeps the house clean told me he had moved in here the early part of April and that during the time before I came back, he had been exactly as I found him. "I wanted to get a job in the city. Even though I couldn't get him to talk about his affairs, I knew he couldn't have very much money, living in a ramshackle place like this. But though I wanted to get out and earn some money, I realized I must stay with him for the time being--and I'm glad I did. Father passed away in his sleep the night of July fourth. The doctor said it was his heart--like Mother. "Well, I guess that's about all of it. When the will was read I found that he'd left me everything. It amounted to two thousand dollars in cash, and this house and the sixteen acres that go with it. I stuck on here for the rest of the summer, trying to get the place in better shape; gave the house a couple of coats of paint, re-shingled parts of the roof, and have done as much as I could. I'm trying to sell the place, you know, and the agent told me I could never do it unless it was put in better condition. It looks pretty bad still, but I've worked like a dog. "And I forgot to say, that Mr. Lewis bought Hilltop from father. He drops in here every once in a while for a chat. I know he's got a reputation for being a skinflint, but I sort of like the old man, anyway." Dorothy, who had been absent-mindedly rolling bread pills on the table cloth, threw him a sharp glance. "What happened tonight, before we came?" she asked. "Why, I was just about to get my supper, when the bell rang. I opened the door and those two guys jumped me." "Not very subtle, were they? What do you suppose they were after?" Bill looked inquiringly at George. "Well, this is the funny part of it all. They said they'd come for the letter Father had left for me to read after his death--" "And you didn't give it to them?" "I'd never even heard of such a letter. I told them so." "And they wouldn't believe you, eh?" "They thought I was bluffing, of course." "But how on earth--did they say anything about the contents of the letter?" This question came from Dorothy. "No. Simply that they wanted it--and they knew I must have it. What I can't understand is how they could be so sure that a letter exists--even if I'd known about it, I wouldn't have given it to them--but it's all as clear as mud to me." "Has Mr. Lewis ever spoken to you about it?" "Never." "Have you any reason to suppose that your Father might have left a letter for you--any idea that he might have had an important message to convey to you in that way?" "Not the slightest. You see, I--" "Look here," broke in Terry. "Do you think it possible that old Lewis knew that your Father wrote you that letter--and believes that it's in this house? He might have hired those thugs to get it from you, then when he found out they failed, he hopped over here himself and made that offer to buy your place, in order to get hold of it? There may be something valuable contained in it, and he wants to get it at any cost." "Too crude," declared Dorothy with a shake of her head. "Perhaps he does want to buy it--but I doubt if he has anything to do with those holdup fellows. Mr. Lewis may be close but I'm sure he's a clever man. The very fact that he came here so soon after the fracas clears his skirts of trying to hold up Stoker. As I say, he may want to get hold of the letter himself, but I'm dead sure he's not the nigger in this particular woodpile." "Then who is?" Terry wanted to know. "Tell us that, and you'll win the fame you're after," chuckled Betty. "Just a moment," Bill was speaking again. "If old Lewis is as clever as you think he is, Dorothy, then the smart thing for him to do would be exactly what he _has_ done!" "How's that?" "Well, if he did hire those lads, he might figure that by coming over here, Stoker'd begin to believe he was the man behind the gun. _But_, he might have realized that on second thought, Stoker would discount the idea, for the very reason you have done so." "Gosh!" exploded Terry. "That's a stumper, Bill. What are we going to do about it?" "That's the question--_can_ we do anything?" Dorothy flicked a bread pill across the table. Chapter VI CORNERED "There's one thing about it," Bill Bolton told the others seated at the supper table. "This letter that Mr. Conway is supposed to have written to Stoker is at the bottom of all this queer business." "But that doesn't get us anywhere, does it?" objected Terry. "We must find out what that letter's about. Get hold of the underlying motive, you know." "Say, you got that out of a detective story--'underlying motive'--I know you did." Betty shook an accusing finger at him. "Well, what of it? That's the thing we've got to do--and I guess it doesn't matter how you say it." "Enter Doctor Watson!" Bill grinned and winked at Dorothy. "Look out for your laurels, Miss Sherlock Holmes!" "Oh, come on--this isn't any jazz number," she returned with spirit. "What's your big idea, Terry?" "Why, hunt for the letter of course. When we find it, we'll have the--ahem!--underlying motive as well." "Maybe. Who's going to do the hunting?" "All of us. We'll each take a room, and--" Dorothy laughed. "You're some organizer. Suppose you start in with the library. It won't take you more than a week to go through all the books in that room!" "But listen, Dorothy--" "Don't be absurd. We'll have a hunt tomorrow, if you want. But Betty and I have got to get home now--and anyway, I know where that letter is." The four about the table stared at her in unfeigned amazement. "_Where?_" they cried in chorus. "I'll give each of you three guesses," she went on mischievously. "Oh, don't be horrid," pleaded Betty. "You know we're absolutely up a tree--" chimed in George. "Come on and tell," invited Bill. "How did you find out?" added Terry. "Simply by keeping my eyes and ears open," retorted the object of this wordy bombardment, "and by knowing that two and two make four, not sometimes, but all the time. Every one of you has heard as much about this as I have tonight, and every one, excepting Stoker, has kidded me because I found out some things about the bank robbery and that smuggling gang this summer. Now you won't even take the trouble to think for yourselves. The whereabouts of that letter is clear enough; to be able to put our hands on it, is something quite different." "Well, I apologize for us all," Bill leaned across the table, "we were only kidding you--weren't we, Betty?" "Why, of course--she knows that, she's only trying to--" "Come on, Dorothy," Terry coaxed her with a grin. "The letter is--?" George asked soberly. Dorothy pursed her lips, then smiled. "In your father's copy of Jones' Aircraft Power Plants," she replied calmly. "Find that book, which Mr. Lewis was so keen to locate that he offered to buy this house in order to get it--and you'll have the letter." "I believe you're right," conceded Bill, "you generally are--but that book is going to take some finding, or I've got another guess coming." "If there really is a letter and it's in the book," said George, "Mr. Lewis must have hired those men." "Not necessarily," returned Dorothy, "but I'll admit it's possible." George's face wore a puzzled frown. "What I can't understand is why outsiders should know about this letter, when I have never heard of it." "And if your father really wrote a letter to you, and they knew it--why did they wait nearly three months before they tried to steal it?" Bill shook his head. "It's beyond me." "And why did they start in using strong arm stuff right off the bat?" Terry propounded this question to the table at large. "Well, I think it is the most mysterious thing I ever heard of," said Betty, struggling to stifle a yawn. Dorothy stood up. "Well, we can't talk about it any longer tonight. Betty and I must be getting home." She turned to Bill. "Did you bring some extra gas for _Wispy_?" she asked. "From the sound of things outside, the storm seems to be pretty well over. I don't want to leave the plane in that woodlot all night. Some tramp might come across her and bust something." "I've brought enough gas to fly back to New Canaan and then some. I'll go with you in the plane." "How about me?" Betty looked surprised, yet oddly hopeful. "Terry'll drive you home," said Bill. George looked disappointed, but voiced no objection to the plan, and Betty merely shrugged. Dorothy spoke up quickly. "No, I think you'd better stay here tonight, Terry. Somebody ought to stay here with George ... pardon me, Stoker! But as it's Sunday to-morrow, there's no school to get up early for, and Stoker can drive Betty over to my house and come back here. Bill and I will bring her over after breakfast and we can see what we can do to locate that letter." "Good plan," agreed young Conway enthusiastically. "I'll be back in less than an hour." "But who's going to wash all these dishes?" grumbled Terry. "Not afraid to stay here, are you?" said Dorothy. "Oh, if you put it that way I'll wash them," he retorted. "You do 'em tonight, and we'll do 'em tomorrow--but we really must be going now." Ten minutes later, Betty and George chugged out of the drive in his flivver. Terry parked Bill's car in back of the house, then he helped his friend to lift out the three large tins of gasoline they had brought with them from New Canaan. "I'll take two," announced Bill, "and you'll have to tote the other one, Dorothy." "Hadn't I better carry it down the hill?" suggested Terry. "It's kind of heavy." "No, thanks, I can manage it all right." She lifted the can by its handle. "It's not so heavy. Your job is to stay in the house. As it is, I hate leaving you here alone." Terry waved them off. "I'll be all right," he scoffed. "I think we've got those guys buffaloed--for the time being, anyway." "Keep your rifle handy," advised Bill, "and don't open up to anyone except Stoker." "You bet I won't." "Good night, then--" "And good luck," added Dorothy, switching on her flash. "Good night, both of you--see you in the morning." He watched their light travel into the orchard and turned back to the empty house. Dorothy and Bill reached the rear wall of the orchard and came to a stop. Although the storm had passed and with it the driving rain, heavy cloud formations obscured the stars. "Better hop over the fence, Dorothy," said Bill, "then I'll pass these containers across to you. Gee whiz! It sure is some black night. You came up this way, didn't you?" "Yep." Dorothy's voice came from the other side where her light was flashing. "Hand over the cans. That's right." Bill joined her and picked up his load again. "The ground slopes down to the valley from here," she said. "Drops would be a better word, I guess. It goes down like the side of a roof. Watch your step! This wet grass is slippery as ice." "I've found that out," said Bill, sitting down suddenly. "Which way is that woodlot trail from here?" He got to his feet. The tins had saved him from a bad tumble. "Off to the right--down in the valley." "Then let's steer off that way. Take this hill on the oblique. It's easier walking. By the way, which side of the river have you got the bus parked?" "River? What river? I didn't know there was one." "Well, there is. Stone Hill River, it's called. If you didn't cross it going up to Stoker's house, the plane must be on this side." "You've got a master mind," she retorted and her light went out. "What's the matter?" "Followed your example, and sat down." The light flashed on again. "Aren't hurt, are you?" "Don't be personal," she laughed. "How did you know there was a river down in the valley?" "Why, I brought a map of the Reservation with me--studied it on the way over while Terry drove. We'd never have found that dirt road Stoker's house is on otherwise. Part of it is really in the Reservation, you see. The concrete road from Poundridge Village that runs to South Salem parallels it about a quarter of a mile to the east." "Route 124," said Dorothy, walking carefully for fear of slipping again. "I know that road. Ever been in the Reservation, Bill?" "No--have you?" "When I was a little girl, we used to drive over, for picnics sometimes. I don't remember much about it, though, except that it's a terribly wild place--all rocks and ridges and forest. It covers miles. The state has cut trails and keeps them open, otherwise the woods have been left in their virgin state." "There are cabins, too, the map calls them shelters," Bill informed her. "The state rents them to camping parties. Well, it's quite wild enough to suit me right here. How are you making out?" Dorothy was leading the way with her light. "Fine, thanks. I'm on the level again." "Glad to hear that you are," chuckled Bill. "Silly! I mean I'm on fairly level ground again. And look what I've found." Her light flashed to the left and came to rest on the wreck of a seven passenger closed car. "Good enough!" exclaimed Bill. "Those thugs won't do any more riding in that bus. See how the car smashed that big tree--it must have torn down the hill like greased lightning!" They deposited their gasoline tins on the grass and inspected the mass of twisted metal more closely. "Hello!" ejaculated Dorothy. "Someone's been here before us." "How do you figure that?" "The license plates have been removed. I know they were on the car when I sent it down here. I was in such a rush I forgot to take the number, worse luck!" "Too bad--now we won't be able to trace the owner." "Oh, yes, we will. Unless we've got an unusually clever mind bucking us, I'll bet we can trace it through the factory number and the number of the engine. Give me a hand, Bill. Let's get the hood up." "Master mind number two," grunted Bill when Dorothy's flash was turned on the motor. "Him and me both, eh? The number plate has been removed, and the one on the engine chiseled off. Those lads must have had a lovely time doing it, with their hides full of salt." Dorothy switched off her light with a click. "_They_ never came down here, in their condition," she said decisively. "It must have been somebody else--probably the man who is back of them--or others of that gang." "Old Lewis?" "I don't know. Of course, he himself couldn't have done this--" "Yes, he's a bit too old to come traipsing down to this valley all alone in the dark." "Too bad we've showed our light on the hill and around here just now," she said slowly. "You think they may still be in the offing?" "I hope not. Chances are they don't know about the plane." "You'd better go back to the house," he advised. "I can lash two of these tins together and sling them over my shoulder. If there's going to be a shindy, you'll be better off up the hill with Terry." "Thanks a lot," said Dorothy. "If there's going to be trouble, we'll go it together. Anyway, you'd never be able to find the trail to the woodlot in the dark. It's great of you to suggest carrying on without me, but it just can't be done." "You sure are a good sport, Dorothy." Bill picked up his tins. "Where do we go from here?" "Follow me. And the less noise we make, the better." With Bill close on her heels, she led across the clearing toward the dark line of trees on their left, winding her way around rocky out-croppings and stunted bushes that made traveling in the dark a difficult proceeding. "Think you can find the cart road?" she heard him whisper. "It's black as your hat without the flash." "Sure can," she replied cheerfully. "All we have to do is to turn right at the woods and follow them up the valley until we come to it. Quiet, now--if anybody's, watching, we may be able to get by them in the dark." They had gone another twenty yards or so, when Dorothy stopped suddenly and caught at Bill's arm. "There's somebody behind that big rock to the left!" she whispered fiercely. "I'm sure I saw something move." "You sure did, young lady," announced a gruff voice close to their right. "Tell your girl friend not to make a fuss, Mr. Conway. My men are all around you." A tall figure, hardly more than a blur in the darkness, stepped from behind a tree and came toward them. Chapter VII RAVEN ROCKS Bill Bolton dropped one of the gasoline tins he was carrying and grasping the other with both hands, hurled its heavy bulk at the stranger. The tin caught the man full in the chest. As he staggered back, Dorothy felt herself seized from behind. A quick twist and pull sent her antagonist hurtling off to the right. It was not for nothing she had put in long hours mastering the complicated throws and holds of jiu jitsu, that strenuous art of Japanese wrestling. She freed herself in time to see Bill crash his fist into the face of a third man. "Come on!" he yelled, and they raced for the line of trees. But their troubles were not over yet. Straight ahead and directly in their path, another dark figure was leaping toward them. There was no time to dodge--to swerve. Bill dove at the man, stopping him short and bringing him to the ground with a clean tackle just above his knees. The force of contact was terrific. For the fraction of a second neither the tackler nor his opponent moved. Then as Dorothy, trembling with excitement, bent over them, Bill scrambled to his feet. "Are you hurt, Bill?" The girl's voice was breathless with concern. "No--only winded--" he gasped. "Be all right--in a minute." Dorothy gripped him by the arm and they trotted forward again, gradually increasing their speed as Bill regained his breath. From behind them came the calls and angry shouts of their pursuers. All at once, the inky black blur of the woods loomed before them. "Keep along the edge of this pasture toward the wood road," Dorothy whispered quickly. "I'm going to start a false trail. Maybe we can fool them. You get your breath--join you in a minute or two." She sprang into the underbrush, crashing over low bushes, snapping dead twigs and branches under foot with all the clatter of a terrified cow in a cane brake. Then the noise stopped as suddenly as it started, and Bill was surprised to hear her light footsteps at his heels. "I want 'em to think we're hiding in there," she explained hurriedly. "Can you run now?" "You bet!" They sped along the edge of the wood, spurred by the thought that the ruse would delay their pursuers and perhaps throw them off the trail altogether. From their rear came the sound of a rough voice issuing commands. Men were beating the underbrush, cursing in the darkness. Both Dorothy and Bill had got their second wind and were running much more easily now. Then Dorothy tripped on the uneven ground and would have fallen had not Bill thrust out a steadying hand. "Thanks," she said jerkily as she ran. "Look over my shoulder. Lights back there." "Wonder they didn't use 'em before," was Bill's only comment. Dorothy slowed down to a fast walk and Bill also slackened his pace. "We must be nearly there," she panted, "though since we had to drop the gasoline, there doesn't seem much use hiking over to the plane." Bill nodded in the darkness. "Think we'd better get back to the house?" "Yes; they'll never see us, especially now that they've got their flashlights going--that glare will blind them. I vote we keep on along the valley until we pass the wood road, then swing across this pasture again and up the hill till we strike the road. That will take us back to the Conway place and--" "Look!" Bill's exclamation arrested her, but his warning was unnecessary. Far above, a sudden rift in the clouds brought a full moon into view. The woods, the open pasture and the steep hill down which they had traveled almost blindly a few minutes before were now bathed in clear, silvery light as bright as day. As they dashed forward again, a shout from behind told them they had been seen. "Stop or we'll fire!" "There's the trail, Bill--it's our only chance!" Men were calling to each other behind them and she caught the sound of heavy feet pounding along in their wake. As she and Bill turned into the wood road and sped down its winding stretches under the arch of intertwining boughs, a revolver cracked several times in quick succession. Overhead, the bullets went screaming through the branches. "Shooting high to scare us," wheezed Bill. "'Fraid we're running into a dead end." "Maybe not--this moonlight won't last--clouds too heavy." Dorothy wasted no more breath in speech. Her every effort was centered in keeping up with the long legged young fellow who seemed to cover the ground so easily and at such an amazing rate of speed. Presently they swept out of the wagon-trail and into the glaring moonlight of the woodlot. Shouts and calls from their pursuers but a short distance behind now, lent wings to their feet. At the far end of the open space, Dorothy's amphibian lay parked where she had left it. "Not that way!" warned Bill and caught her arm as she started to swing toward the airplane. "Straight ahead!" There was no time for argument. Dorothy swerved and dashed across the lot, following his lead. Straight ahead lay a narrow belt of woods which ended abruptly in precipitous cliffs towering upward almost perpendicularly for several hundred feet to the top of the ridge. What Bill's plan might be, she could not guess. Those sheer palisades certainly could not be scaled. What could his objective be? If they turned up or down the valley the enemy would be sure to hear them tracking through the thick underbrush. And there would be no chance of outflanking the pursuit, for the men were between them and the Conway house. She and Bill were trapped at last--trapped by walls of rock and the encompassing passing ring of the enemy. They reached the farther edge of the field where a hurried glance behind showed them that the men were plunging out of the wood road. Then the moon, perhaps ashamed of the trouble he had brought them, swam away behind another cloud formation, and once again the world was sunk in darkness. Bill's fingers gripped her hand. "Follow me. Walk carefully and hold your arm before your face. It's a case of feel our way till we get used to the gloom--and there's no sense in losing an eye." He led onward through the wood and although Dorothy could see nothing but an opaque blackness before her eyes, Bill never hesitated in his stride. With his hand behind his back, he pulled her forward as though guided by an uncanny knowledge of invisible obstructions in their path. "How do you do it?" she marveled. "Don't tell me you can actually see to dodge these branches and tree trunks?" She heard him chuckle. "Not _see_--feel. I learned the trick in the Florida swamps last summer. Osceola, chief of the Seminoles, taught me." "Oh, yes! He's a wonder in the woods. How is it done?" "Tell you sometime. Here we are--at the Stone Hill River. You'll have to get your feet wetter, I'm afraid, but it's only a small stream, not deep. We turn right, here." "Golly, it's cold!" Dorothy splashed into the water behind him. "Brrr--I know it. Lift your feet high or you'll fall over these boulders. And please try to make as little noise as possible." From the direction of the woodlot came a prodigious crashing and threshing. The pursuit had gained the woods. "Noise!" she said scornfully, floundering along in his wake. "Those thugs can't hear me--they're making too much racket themselves. I suppose, Bill, you're working on a plan, but what it can be is a mystery to me." "You mean--where we're bound for?" "Yes. We can't get back to the big pasture and the hill up to Stoker's house. They'll head off any play of that kind." "I know that. Stand still a minute, I want to listen." "But Bill--" "Sh--yes, that must be it!" "Must be what?" There was impatience in Dorothy's tone. "The waterfall I was trying to find." "You don't mean to tell me you're planning to crawl behind a waterfall and hide! Honestly, Bill, I--" "Oh, nothing like that," he answered coolly, "the fall isn't big enough." "Look here, will you _please_--" "All right, calm yourself. We haven't much time but I guess they've lost our trail for the time being. On the way over here in the car, Terry told me something of the lay of the land. He's crazy about hiking, you know, and mountain climbing. He's walked all over the reservation and he knows it like his own back yard." "Yes, yes, what of it?" "Well, Terry told me that there is just one possible way to get out of this Stony Hill River Valley on this side. That is, unless one goes a mile or two up or down the valley. There are entrances to the reservation at either end--dirt roads that cross from the concrete turnpike over to this ridge above us." "But there is a way out?" "Yes. A sort of trail up the cliffs. It's not marked on the map of the reservation. Terry found it last summer. Pretty tough going even in daylight, I guess." "But how on earth can we find it in the dark?" "Terry told me that a smaller stream flowed into this creek at just about this point, and that it drops into the river gully by way of a low waterfall. It was the sound of that fall I was listening for. Hear it just over there to the right?" "What's the next move?" "We turn our backs on the waterfall, and cross this stream. The trail starts in a kind of open chimney in the foot of the cliffs. The map calls these young precipices Raven Rocks, by the way. If you think it is too dangerous, we can let those chaps catch us. They'll probably let us go soon enough. They're trailing the wrong party, though they haven't realized it. What do you say?" Bill's tone was non-committal. "I know, they took you for Stoker Conway. But don't you see, Bill--" her tone was firm, "they must not find out their mistake. While they're tracking us, they will leave the Conway house alone, and that'll give Terry and Stoker a chance to hunt for the book and the letter." Bill's reply was flippant, but there was a note of relief in his voice. "Chance to get a good night's rest, you mean!" "They're not going to bed--" Dorothy pulled her companion toward the opposite bank of the stream. "Terry told me so." "Thank goodness we're out of that," she exclaimed a moment later as they climbed the steep side of the gully. "If there's anything colder than a trout stream, I've yet to find it. I'm soaked nearly to my waist--how about you?" "Ditto. We'll be warm enough presently--just as soon as we hit Raven Rocks." "Wish we had raven's wings--we could use 'em!" "Listen!" Bill stopped suddenly in his tracks. "Don't _say_ that," she whispered--"reminds me of old man Lewis!" "They're coming this way. I guess they got tired of beating the woods for us. Take my hand again. We've got to find that chimney." They went perhaps ten paces more when Bill brought up short again. "Here's the cliff--wait where you are--be back in a minute." He drew his fingers from her clasp and she heard him move off. Standing in utter darkness she could hear the men splashing toward them along the shallow river bed, and still others tramping through the woods with flashing lights that moved nearer every second. Not once did her alert mind question the advisability of trying to scale Raven Rocks on a coal-black night. Not once did she waste a thought on the danger of that perilous enterprise. Dorothy Dixon never counted the cost when it was to help a friend. Her entire attention was centered on their pursuers. Who they were, or why they sought George and his letter were points of little consequence now. All that mattered was that they be kept on their search for as many hours as possible. Presently they would come abreast and their lights would pick her out at the foot of the cliff. The sopping skirt of her frock sagged about her knees, dank and clammy beneath her slicker. She gathered it in her hands and squeezed what water she could from it, more for want of something to do than for any other reason. No longer could she hear Bill stumbling about. What could have happened to him? The lights were only a dozen yards away now. In another minute or two their glare would pick her up for a certainty. For the first time that evening, Dorothy became fidgety. Bill had told her to remain here. That was an order, and must be obeyed. But--oh! if Bill would only come! Chapter VIII THE CHIMNEY Then on her right she heard a soft rustling, immediately followed by a low call: "Dorothy, where are you?" The words brought her joyous relief. "Coming!" she replied in a cautious whisper, and with her left hand feeling the almost sheer wall, she hurried toward Bill's voice. From the darkness he grasped her hand and spoke close to her ear. "I've located the chimney, Dorothy." "Good! I was getting worried. Is it far away?" "No. Only a few steps." "What kept you so long, Bill?" "Had to find the rope." "What rope?" They were moving now in the direction from which he had come. "The one Terry hid in a niche of the rocks. Talk of hunting needles in a--" "But do we need it?" "Couldn't risk the climb without it. You've never done any mountain scaling--I have." "Well, what's the dope?" They had stopped and Bill took her arm. "Here--let me knot this end around your waist. First, ditch the slicker, though. You won't be able to climb in that. I'll take care of it for the present." He took her coat and she felt him make the rope secure. "I'm tied to the other end," he told her. "But what'll you do about my slicker, Bill? If we ever get to the top of the ridge, I'll need it." Bill was busy and didn't answer for a moment. Then--"Your coat and mine are rolled up and lashed to my back," he explained. "I'm going first. I know more about this kind of thing than you, and my reach is longer. May have to pull you up the hard places. Don't be afraid to put weight on the rope when I give the word. But if you slip--yell." He did not say that a slip on her part would in all probability pull him with her to crash on the rocky ground below. Bill Bolton did not believe in being an alarmist, but she understood just the same. "Thanks, I'll do my best, Bill." "Start climbing." His voice came from above her head and she felt a jerk on the rope. "This chimney is a fissure in the cliff, and it slants slightly upward, thank goodness. Reach above and get handholds on the rock projections first. Then pull yourself up, until you find a foothold. When you put your weight on your feet, press your legs against the side walls. That will keep you from slipping. Take it easy and rest as much as you like. This kind of thing can only be done slowly." "I'm coming," Dorothy said quietly and she pressed her body into the niche she could not see. "That's the stuff! I'll rest while you climb. And while you're doing it, I'll keep the rope taut and out of your way." Dorothy was silent. Groping in the darkness above her head, her fingers came in contact with a rough projection. It was little more than a small knob in the rocky side of the chimney, but she managed to get a firm grip on it with her right hand. Her left found another projection slightly lower on the other side. She exerted all her strength and slithered upward. Drawing her knees up she sought rests for her feet on the sides, but the rock seemed absolutely smooth. For an instant she was at a loss. Then remembering Bill's advice, she pressed her legs against the chimney walls and pushed. That her body moved upward so easily came as a surprise. It was hard to realize that sheer walls would give such a purchase. Almost at once her shoulders were above the hand holds and she could raise herself by pressing downward until her left knee was planted on the same projection that she had gripped with that hand. Braced firmly against the rock, she looked for higher hand holds, found them and soon was able to get her left foot on to the place where her knee had been. With her weight on that foot, it became a simple matter to plant her right in the opposite niche. Straightening her body, she lay forward against the slanting cliff and rested. "Go ahead, Bill," she called in a low voice as soon as she could speak. "O.K., kid," came the prompt reply from overhead. "On my way." Pressed against the wet rockface she could hear the scrape of his boots and the heavy breathing of muscular strain. Her own thin soled shoes were sodden from the wet of the woods and pasture. Worse still, the leather was bursting at the sides. And this climb would probably complete their ruin. By the time she reached the top, they would be beyond walking in at all. Never again would she board her plane shod in pumps. "Come along!" Bill interrupted her soliloquy, and using the same tactics as before she continued to climb. The first drops of rain she had felt at the bottom of the cliff now increased to a steady downpour. Dorothy became soaked to the skin. Water from her leather helmet ran down her forehead, forcing her to keep her eyes closed most of the time. The cliff, wet and slippery from the preceding storm, was soon slick as a greased slide. Twice she lost her foothold and would have fallen had not her sharp cry warned Bill in time. How he managed to stick to his precarious perch and bear her weight on the rope until she found a grip on the rock again was more than she could fathom. Each time she slipped her heart almost stopped beating. And the horrible emptiness at the pit of her stomach made her feel deathly ill. But she never wholly lost her nerve. Climbing, then resting, she kept steadily on. But her strenuous exertions and the almost continuous strain on muscles ordinarily little used was wearing down her vitality. Would this terrible climbing in the dark never end, she thought. Her whole body ached, her arms and legs felt heavy as lead. Wearily she raised her right hand seeking another hold. When she felt Bill's fingers grasp her own, she started. The shock very nearly caused her to lose balance. "Now your other paw," said his well-known voice somewhere above in the gloom. "That's the way--up you come." Then before she really understood what was happening, Dorothy was dragged higher until she was seated beside Bill on a narrow ledge. His right arm held her tightly. He was puffing like a grampus. She wriggled and wiped the water and perspiration from her eyes with a wet, clammy hand. "Sit tight--old girl," Bill's words came in little jerks. "I know you're used to altitudes in a plane, but this is different. I guess you'll get a shock when you look below, so--steady." Dorothy opened her eyes and was glad of his supporting arm. Far below, at the foot of the cliff, pinpoints of light moved hither and yon, puncturing the darkness. "They know we're somewhere up here," he said softly. "Heard you when you slipped, I dare say. Well, we'll take some finding--and that's no lie," he chuckled. "Why--I--I--had no idea we'd come so far," she stammered. "Those lights look miles away." "Three or four hundred feet, that's all." "Funny--it makes me almost dizzy to look down there. You're right--it is different from flying altitude. Bill, do you think they'll find the chimney?" "Maybe. But they're not likely to try to use it--not tonight, anyway." "Why not? We did it." "We were sure of a way up--they aren't. And I don't imagine they bargained for any blind climb up cliffs like these in the rain and darkness. They wouldn't mind slugging one of us with a sand bag, but when it comes to real danger, they'd count themselves out." "Gee," Dorothy giggled nervously. "I wish I'd been able to!" "Count yourself out? Well, I don't blame you, kid. Nerve-wracking isn't the name for it. But you certainly stood up well. Do you feel able to go on now?" "Yes, I suppose so." Her reply was rather weak. "Then we'd better get under way. Terry said the chimney was the worst of it and we are through with that now. It ends at this ledge." He helped her to her feet. "Brrr--that wind is cold on wet clothes. If we don't get moving, we'll cop a dose of pneumonia, sure as shooting!" "You're a nice, thoughtful fella, Bill," Dorothy smiled grimly in his direction. "Trouble is your thoughtfulness is oddly strenuous at times. Is there much farther to go?" "We're more than half way," he assured her, "and from now on you'll get more walking than climbing." Dorothy wanted to laugh but was too tired to do so. "Lead on, MacDuffer," she cried gamely. "I'm lame, halt and blind, but I'll do my best to follow my chief!" "Atta girl," he commended. "Give us your paw again, we can travel better that way." "We'll travel, all right--that is, unless our friend Terry is a dyed-in-the-wool fabricator." "Hopefully not, as they say in the Fatherland," he chuckled. He caught her hand in his and they started on a climb up the steep hill that ran back from the ledge. As Bill had predicted, the going here was not nearly so difficult as it had been in the chimney. So far as Dorothy could tell, the cliffs, which were covered with a grass-grown rubble, sloped in at this point, and at a much easier angle of ascent. Whereas the chimney was almost perpendicular, here, by bending forward and aiding progress with occasional handholds on bushes and rocky outcroppings, it was possible to do more than merely creep forward. A slip, of course, would be dangerous. It would be hard to stop rolling, once started down the incline; and unless a bush or a boulder were conveniently in the way, a bound over the ledge would be inevitable--and then oblivion. She did not like to think about it. Bill guided her up the incline and did so with uncanny accuracy, considering the darkness, and the fact that he had not travelled this trail before. She came to the conclusion that the worst was over, when he stopped abruptly. "Sit down and take it easy," he advised. "This is where I've got to see what we're doing." "Surely you're not going to show a light?" she asked in alarm, and sank down on the rocky ground. "Have to," was his quick reply. "Those guys below us know we're up here, so what does it matter?" "But I thought we were almost at the top." "Almost, but not quite. Look at that!" A beam of light shot upward from his torch, and turning her head, she saw a sight that sent her heart down to the very tips of her ragged, soaking pumps. They had indeed come to the top; but merely to the top of this steep hillside of bushes and rubble. Where this ended, a few feet away, the naked rock towered almost perpendicular. Forty feet or more from its base this wall jutted sharply outward, half that distance again. She sprang to her feet, an exclamation of dismay on her lips. This rock canopy above their heads, this absolutely unscalable barrier to their hopes extended in both directions so far as the eye could see. Bill, who had moved several feet downhill, was flashing his light back and forth along the rugged edge of this roof of rock beneath which she stood. "How far does it go?" she asked in a small voice. "According to Terry," he replied, "right to where the cliffs end--both ways--and without a break or a tunnel. But you can't walk along underneath very far, because this slant we are on is only forty or fifty yards wide. Beyond it in either direction there's a sheer drop." "Then--we're out of luck." Her tone was entirely hopeless. Bill laughed shortly. "Where Terry got down, we can get up--but it's not going to be easy--and that's sure fire!" Chapter IX OVER THE TOP "Well! If you know the way out, why don't you say so?" Dorothy flared in exasperation. "What?" returned Bill vaguely. He was walking across the side of the hill, keeping beneath the end of the rocky overhang forty feet above his head. The light from his electric torch swept along the edge of this seemingly unsurmountable obstruction. Then it darted out and upward as if to pierce the dripping night above. "Did you speak?" he amended, looking back at her. "Thought I heard you say something, but couldn't quite catch it." His voice was as sincere as the words he had just uttered, but Dorothy's reply was caustic. "I said why keep the secret to yourself? All this stuff about how Terry got down and we are supposed to get up is keeping me on pins and needles. If Terry left a rope ladder or something hanging over the edge last summer, it must be gone by now." "No, he didn't use a rope ladder--" "Well, it looks to me as if we'd have to fly up if we ever want to get to the top of this ridge! I don't know whether you're _trying_ to tantalize me--but you're succeeding, all right. For goodness' sake, Bill, if you know the answer, tell me." "I'm sorry, Dorothy," he called repentantly. He ran up the incline toward her. "I didn't mean to leave you in the soup--I ought to have realized--Look, I'm awfully sorry," he repeated in sincere contrition. "Oh, that's all right, Bill." She was embarrassed now. "I had no business to get so shirty." Under the light of the torch, their eyes met in a smile of friendly understanding. "But please tell me what it is you're trying to find?" "Why, the tree--I honestly thought I'd told you about it before." "What tree?" she asked patiently. "The one that Terry used to get down here. It's our only hope." "But I don't see any tree. If there is one, how is it going to help us?" Bill took her hand and gave it a little pat. "Come over here with me," he said, and led the way toward the spot where he had been standing. "But Bill--there's no tree up there--" "Wait until I get the light on it. There you are!" And there was a tree, after all. But instead of pointing toward the heavens like any other tree she had ever seen, this Colorado spruce grew sideways out from the top of the cliff. With the exception of a few tufts on the top, its branches grew only on the upper side of the horizontal trunk, giving it more the appearance of a ragged hedge than an honest-to-goodness tree. "I get you," she said slowly. "The tree--and the rope." "Aha! young lady, you're not so dumb as you'd sometimes like people to think!" "But is the rope long enough?" "Hope so. Terry claimed he used it double." "Yes?" she said doubtfully. "But will the tree hold us both? You've been a sailor, but I don't think I'm up to climbing a swinging rope, hand over hand after coming up that chimney." She thought for a moment, then went on. "There's only one way I can get up there. You'll have to tie one end of the rope to a stone and sling it over the trunk. When that end drops, we can take out the stone, I'll stick my foot in the loop and--" "Bill Bolton pulls you up," he ended for her. "That listens well, Dorothy, and if the rope was running through a pulley up there, everything would be hunky-dory. As it is, she'll be chafing against a hard, uneven surface. I'd probably pull the tree down, even if I was able to get you off the ground." "But my arms feel dead--right up to my shoulders." "I know, kid. But you can do it, after I fix the rope and you have lashed your end to this big bush here. It's going to be a case of shin for you, not hand over hand climb. Although that's not so hard when you know how. Like most things, there's a knack to it." "All right. I'll do my best." "You'll make it," he assured her. "If you'll untie that end of the rope from around your waist, I'll hunt up a rock and we'll get busy." Presently a heavy stone was fastened to the rope end. "Stand clear," sang out Bill. Then as she stepped back, he swung the stone round and round in a vertical circle, much as a seaman heaves the lead for a sounding. Up went the stone and the rope, and Dorothy watched with bated breath while she pointed the torch for guidance. She saw it swing over the tree trunk and drop to earth on the farther side. "Snappy work, Bill," she applauded. "Who goes first? You or me?" "This is a case where gentlemen take precedence. I'll go first--and show you a little trick they teach midshipmen at Annapolis." He untied the knot which held the stone and bringing the ends together pulled the rope until the lengths on both sides of the trunk were even. "So long," he breezed, "see you anon!" With a hand on either rope he swung himself upward, seemingly without effort. It was as though he were lifting a penny-weight rather than one hundred and seventy-five pounds of solid American bone and muscle. Then with a quick movement he twisted the slack ends about his thighs, and the girl was amazed to see him let go both hands and wave. "It's a way we have in the Navy," he laughed. "Quite a comfortable seat--if you know how. Skirts are rather in the way, so I don't advise you to try it. Although I must say in parting that you have already parted with the greater part of your skirt." Dorothy giggled. "What of it? There's a perfectly good pair of bloomers underneath." She was amused by his fooling, though she suspected he was trying to put heart into her. Bill coughed. "Finicky persons of British extraction might claim that your last statement was a decided bloomer itself--but I digress--" he went on, in the manner of a barker at a side show. "Laydees and gen-tel-men--I wish to state that William Bolton, late tiddledywinks champion of the Nutmeg State, is about to give his famous impersonation of a monkey on a stick!" His hands grasped the ropes above his head. Up came his body, the turns about his thighs providing an apparently comfortable seat or purchase, while his hands shot upward again. The speed with which he went through these movements was remarkable, the swiftness of his passage up the ropes only comparable to an East Indian running up a cocoanut palm. Before Dorothy could believe her eyes, he was sitting astride the tree trunk, hauling up the rope. "That was marvelous!" she called up to him. "Some day you'll have to show me how you do it." "O.K.!" She saw now that one end of the rope was coming slowly down again. As it sank nearer, her torch brought to view the fact that it was knotted every few feet. Soon she was able to catch the swinging end. "Make it fast to that bush," he commanded. She did as she was told and turned to him for further orders. Bill pulled the rope taut, then lashed his end about the trunk close to the point where the tree jutted out from the rock. That done he slashed the loose half free with his knife just above the knot. "That gives us a hauling line," she heard him say. "I'll hang on to this end--you knot the other about your waist." She caught the end that he threw down and after fastening it securely about her, peered up at him again. "All right for me to shin up?" she asked, with a hand on the knotted rope that was to act as her ladder to the dizzy height above. "Wait till I get back on terra firma--this tree won't stand our combined weights." Perhaps a minute elapsed. Then she heard his voice again, though she could no longer see him. "Come ahead!" he directed. "Sing out when you start and let me know if I pull too hard." Dorothy switched off the light and slipped the torch down the back of her frock where it was caught in the blouse made by the line about her waist. "Ready!" she called and grasping the taut rope, she started to shin up. Almost immediately she was helped on her way by a steady pull on the line Bill was holding. The going was difficult but the knots held her and kept her from slipping. Notwithstanding aching arm and leg muscles, it was surprising how easily she was able to hoist herself upward with the added pull from above. The actual distance to be climbed was not so great, but it seemed unbelievably soon when her hands touched the tree trunk. Bill called a warning. "Get a good purchase around the rope with your legs, then lift your arms--take hold of the branches on top of the trunk and heave!" She felt a stronger pull on the rope; her hands grasped two upright branches and she was dragged upward and on to the tree. Bill caught her under her arms and swung her on to the rock. Then he picked her up bodily and carried her back a few yards from the edge of the chasm. "Hurray! We're up!" he gasped and let her down on solid ground. Dorothy did not reply. For a moment speech was beyond her. She sank down on a boulder. After a little while she untied the rope that belted her and producing the electric torch, handed it to Bill. "Snap on the light, will you?--while I take stock of the damage. I know I'm a wreck, but it's just as well to learn the worst at once." "Rather rumpled," he pronounced as he complied with her request. "Good night! You've only got one shoe!" "Lost the other coming up the rope. This one is no good either. What's left of it is just a mass of soaking pulp." Then she laughed softly as she brushed some spruce needles from her knees and picked a malicious little bit of flint from the palm of one hand. Her wet skirt was in ribbons. She saw that her stockings were a mass of ladders now, and she had a suspicion that her knickers were torn. But what did such trifles matter when one was bent upon a great achievement? "Pretty bad," she admitted and stood up on one foot. "Hand me my slicker, please. This rig is beyond repair--that will keep some of the wind out. Gee, it's chilly!" "And wet," he added grimly, as he helped her into the coat. "Sorry to have to remind you, Dorothy, but we've got to be on our way, again." "I don't think I can go any further, Bill." He knew this to be a candid statement of fact, not a complaint. "But we must, Dorothy. They are coming after us, you know." "Not up this cliff! Unless, you mean--" her voice was troubled, "the rope! Could you slide down ours and untie that from the bushes, then shin up again?" "I could, but it isn't necessary. They aren't coming that way." "Is there another way?" "Yes, for them. By the road across the valley and around by either of the entrances to the reservation." "Why are you so sure?" "Because while I was out on the tree trunk, I saw lights going up the hill. Then a car which evidently had been parked down the road from Stoker's house, started off toward the Boutonville entrance. Which means, of course, that they'll motor in on the Boutonville road. That crosses the reservation. Then all they've got to do is to leave the car at the mouth of the Fire Tower trail and hike down here along the top of the cliffs. They've cut off any retreat down the cliffs on our part, too. Those birds intend to catch us--or rather, they want to get hold of Stoker pretty badly. They've left men down in the valley, I saw their lights." "Well, it will take them some time to walk over here from the Boutonville road," Dorothy said wearily. "I'm going to sleep. I've got to." "You can't--not in this rain. And you're soaked through into the bargain." Bill's tone was firm. "Wait a minute--I've got an idea." Dorothy, who was half dozing with her back to the boulder, opened her eyes with an effort. She saw him draw forth a paper from his pocket, unfold it and study it with the aid of the lighted torch. "This is a map of Poundridge Reservation," he explained. "Here's a trail that leads back from Raven Rocks to the Spy Rock Trail. This end of it must be about a hundred yards along the cliffs to our left, if I've got my bearings right. Listen, Dorothy! These two trails meet about a mile and a half from here--and close by is a cabin. It's marked Shelter No. 6 on the map. Once in there we'll be under cover. These shelters are rented to campers during the summer, you know. There's sure to be a fireplace. I'll find the dry wood and we can dry out and get warm." Dorothy yawned and shut her eyes again. "No use, Bill. I hate to be a short sport--but I'm just all in. Chances are we'd find the cabin locked when we got there." Bill put the map back in his pocket. "I don't blame you," was what he said. "I'm used to roughing it and I don't feel any too scrumptious myself. But we've got to do something. The gang will be here in less than an hour. But I must admit that I don't see how you're going to walk a mile and a half with only one shoe." He looked down at Dorothy. She was fast asleep. Chapter X OL' MAN RIVER "Poor kid! She certainly is all in," Bill muttered in a tone that was close to despair. What on earth was he going to do now? The wind had stiffened and heavy rain slanted out of the east in an unremitting deluge. Both of them were soaked to the skin under their slickers. Despite his vigorous cliff-climbing, Bill was chilled to that Dorothy, huddled against the boulder, was shivering in her sleep. He himself was weary and heavy-eyed. His vitality was at low ebb. But with a sudden exertion of latent will power he got painfully to his feet. He bent over the sleeping girl and taking her by the shoulders shook her back and forth. "Wake up, Dorothy!" he called. "Wake up!" Deep in oblivion, she made no answer. Bill shook her harder. "Leave me 'lone," she murmured drowsily. "Want sleep--go 'way!" Putting forth his full strength, Bill lifted her until she stood leaning against him still sound asleep. Bringing her arms up and over his shoulders, he pivoted in a half circle. Now that his back was toward her, he bent forward, and catching her legs, drew them over his thighs. Dorothy, still oblivious to all that went on, was hoisted up into the position called by small children, "riding piggy-back." Though slender, she was well-built and muscular, and he was surprised at her dead weight. With his forearms beneath her knees, clutching the lighted torch with one hand, he moved slowly off with her in the direction of the Raven Rock Trail. After some little trouble he found it, a narrow swath cutting back through the forest at right angles to the top of the cliffs. Without hesitation he began to follow the path. Overhead the twisted branches met in a natural arch. It seemed even darker below their dripping foliage than in the open on the cliffs, and the feeble ray from his flash light penetrated but a few feet into the yawning black ahead. It was heavy going with Dorothy's solid weight on his back. The uneven ground, sodden with rain, was slippery where his feet did not sink in the muddy loam. And at times he was near to falling with his burden. The trail followed a snakelike course. For a time it wound over comparatively level ground, then dipped steeply into a hollow. The girl was becoming heavier by the minute. Bill stuck it out until they topped the opposite rise, then let her down. Dorothy awoke with a start. "What are you doing?" she cried. "Where am I?" "So far as I can make out, we're about half a mile down the Raven Rock trail," he said slowly. "And--and you carried me all this way?" "Piggyback," he replied laconically. "Why, Bill! You must be nearly dead--" "Well, there have been times when I've felt more peppy--" "How could you, Bill? Why didn't you wake me up?" "Tried to--but it just wasn't any use. You couldn't have walked it, anyway--with only one shoe." "Oh, yes, I could. But you were sweet to do it, only--" "Better climb aboard again," he suggested, ignoring her praise, "we've got all of a mile to go before we get to the cabin." Dorothy made a gesture of dissent. "Thanks, old dear. I'm going to walk." "Well, if you feel up to it--you take my shoes--I'll get along fine without them in this mud." "I'll do nothing of the kind. I've got a better plan. Stupid of me not to think of it before. Hand over your knife, please." Dorothy cut two long strips, six or seven inches wide, from the bottom of her slicker. "I'm going to use these to bind up my feet," she explained and handed back the knife. "Wait a minute!" Bill seized his own raincoat and cut two wider strips, which he folded into pads. "Sit down on that stump, and hold up your hoof," he ordered. "I'll show you how it's done." Dorothy hopped to the stump and after seating herself, kicked off her remaining shoe. "There goes the end of a perfect pump," she chuckled. "Think I'll keep it for luck," declared Bill. She raised her eyebrows and laughed. "Some girls might think you were becoming sentimental--you, of all people!" "Well?" "Well, I know it's only because you were born practical. You want that shoe so as to prevent anyone else from finding it, the men who are chasing us, for instance?" "I never argue with members of the opposite sex--that's why I still enjoy good health." He grinned and pocketed the shoe. "Hold up your foot, young lady. It's a lovely night and all that, but we're going to get out of it as soon as possible." He placed one of the folded pads beneath the sole of her foot and wound a strip of slicker about it and the foot bringing the ends together in a knot about her ankle. "Now the other," he prompted, and dealt with it in the same way. Dorothy stood up and took a trial step or two. "Wonderful!" she said. "I could walk to New York in these. They're a lot more comfortable than the shoes I ordinarily wear." "We'll have to patent the idea." "That reminds me, Bill," Dorothy spoke slowly. They were moving along the trail again. "Do you think the letter Mr. Conway is supposed to have written Stoker could possibly have had anything to do with patents?" "What patents?" "Oh, I don't know exactly--patents belonging to Mr. Conway." "You mean--which he left to Stoker?" "Why, yes. Mr. Conway was an inventor. He must have patented things." "Very probably. But Stoker told us that his father's entire estate amounted to the place he's living in and a few thousand dollars. If Mr. Conway still owned patent rights on his inventions, why weren't they mentioned in the will?" "You think, then, that he sold them before his death?" "Looks that way," summed up Bill. "Anyway, if there were patents, they'd be registered in Washington. It wouldn't do anyone any good to steal them." Dorothy tramped along beside him. Except for the sound of their footsteps squishing in the muddy path and the drip of the rain from wet leaves and branches, the woods were very still. "What can those people be after if it isn't the patents on Mr. Conway's inventions?" she said in a puzzled tone, after a pause. "Search me--what ever it is, the thing must be very valuable. They'd never take all this trouble otherwise." "Give us all this trouble, you mean. And here's another riddle, Bill. Why was Hilltop sold?" Bill threw her a glance and shrugged. "Ask me something real hard," he suggested, "You're the Sherlock Holmes of this case. I'm only a mighty dumb Doctor Watson. And I'm no good at problems in deduction, even when my thinkbox is moting properly--which it isn't at present." "But there must have been some good reason for the sale of that property," she persisted. "When Stoker went back to Lawrenceville after the Easter holidays last spring, everything at home was going on just as usual--a big place, servants, cars, horses, plenty of money--everything. Then he came back from school in June, and all that everything just wasn't!" "And father had moved into that dump on the Stone Hill River road with a part-time maid-of-all-work, and that 1492 flivver.... Deucedly clear and all that! By the way, do they teach English or just plain Connecticut Yankee at the New Canaan High? Your use of words at times is more forceful than grammatic." "Grammatical for choice. You're not so hot on the oratory yourself, Bill. People who live in glass houses, you know--?" "Wish we were in one," was his reply. "Anything with a fire and a roof that sheds water would suit me just now!" "What are you trying to do, Bill, evade my question?" Dorothy's nap had done her good. Though still weary and stiff, she felt tantalizingly argumentative for all that she was wringing wet and horribly chilly. Talking helped to keep up her spirits. Just ahead their torch revealed a branching of the path. "The map says we keep to the right," announced Bill. "It's only a step over to the Spy Rock trail now." "Glad to hear it--but it seems to me you _are_ trying to evade my questions!" "Questions?" He chuckled. "They come too fast and furious. And to be honest, how can you expect me to guess the right answers when you don't know them yourself? You certainly are the one and only human interrogation point tonight." "And you're so helpful," she retorted. "This is the most mysterious affair I've ever been mixed up in." "Here we are at the other trail, praise be to Allah." "Turn to the right?" she asked. "That's it. In about a hundred yards we ought to run on to a path leading off to the left. That leads to shelter No. 6. The cabin's quite near now, if this map in my pocket's any good." They trudged along the trail and a couple of minutes later in the dim glow from the flash they saw an opening in the trees. "Come on," he said, quickening his pace. "We'll be under cover in a jiffy." "We'll probably have to break in." Dorothy caught up with him as the path swung round in a quarter circle to the left. "No, we won't," he replied, catching her arm and coming to a halt. At the same time he shut off the electric torch. Straight ahead in the darkness they could make out the blur of a small building. Through a chink in what they took to be a closed shutter came a thin ray of light. "Somebody's got there ahead of us," Bill observed more to himself than to Dorothy. "What are we going to do?" "Do? What can we do but knock them up and ask for shelter?" "I guess you're right," she admitted. "Neither of us can go on until we've had rest and a drying out." "That's how I look at it." "We've got to go easy, though. Remember what I trotted into with Betty at Stoker's house?" "Where do you get this 'we' stuff?" he said rather gruffly. "Here, take this gun and get behind a tree. I'm going over there. If they get nasty when they open up, I'll sidestep--and you can use your own judgment." "I'll use it right now, Bill. I'm going to the house with you. Don't argue--" She started on along the path. Bill caught up with her. "Take the automatic, anyway," he shoved the gun into her hand. "Shoot through your pocket if you have to. Better keep it out of sight. Stand to one side just out of the line of light when they open. All set?" "Go ahead." Dorothy's right hand gripped the revolver in her pocket. She slipped off the safety catch, pointed her forefinger along the snubnosed barrel and let her middle finger rest lightly on the trigger. Rat-tat-tat--rat-tat-tat. Bill's fist pounded the cabin door. There came a pause. She felt the quickened beats of her heart. Rain pounding on the gutterless roof dripped in a steady trickle on her bare head and down her neck. From somewhere nearby came the mournful cry of a hoot owl. Bill knocked again. Within the little house they heard the sound of footsteps. Dorothy stiffened. The bolts of the door were withdrawn, the door opened and Dorothy stepped up beside Bill. Framed in the lighted rectangle was an ancient, white haired negro. He peered out at them from beneath the cotton-tufts of his eyebrows, blinded for the moment by the night. "Good evening, Uncle. Can we come in out of the wet for a little while?" Bill's tone held the gentle camaraderie of those brought up by darky servants in the South. "Lordy, Lordy--white folks, an' drippin' wet!" exclaimed the old fellow, straightening his bent back and smiling pleasantly. "Walk right in, Capt'in--and you, too, Missy. Ol' Man River ain't got quarters like you is prob'ly useter--But it's dry and it's warm, an' yo-all's sho' is welcome!" Chapter XI MR. JOHN J. JOYCE "Thank you, Uncle," said Bill and motioning Dorothy to go first, he stepped across the threshold. The old darky slammed the door shut behind them blotting out the storm, and sent the bolt home. "Yo'all go over ter the fire an' drip," he beamed, pointing to the blazing logs in the fireplace of native stone. "Lordy, Lordy, you chillen is sho' 'nuf half drown'. But we's gwine ter fix dat sho' nuf in a jiffy." While the two warmed their hands at the hearth, he bustled off towards the rear of the cabin and disappeared through a doorway that led into another room. Dorothy looked at Bill and smiled delightedly. The cabin was primitive though there was a cozy and homelike air about it. The chinks between the bark of the logs which formed the walls were stuffed with dry moss and clay. There was no ceiling to the room. One looked up through the cross beams clear to the gable of the slanting roof. From these sturdy four-by-fours hung half a ham, several bunches of onions, a pair of rubber boots and other oddments. Wide boards had been laid across them in a couple of places, evidently to provide holdalls for other paraphernalia. The small room's principal article of furniture was a rustic, handmade table. Three stools without backs and an armchair of like manufacture completed the furnishings if one did not count several shining pots and pans that hung on nails driven into the logs and a huge pile of kindling that took up an entire corner. A steaming kettle hung from a crane over the fire and the floor of the room flaunted a large mat woven of brightly colored grasses. "He keeps everything as neat as a new pin," Dorothy whispered. "Isn't he perfectly sweet?" "Wonder how he happens to be here," said Bill. "This shelter is state property." "Shush--he's coming." The old darky ambled into the room again, grinning from ear to ear. Ol' Man River, as he called himself, quite evidently enjoyed bestowing hospitality. Over one arm he carried a bundle of clothes. "Ise mighty thankful dat yo'all come 'long dis evenin'," he exclaimed. "It sho' do get mighty lonesome up in dese hyar woods--speshally on a black night when de rain come an' de wind howl roun' dis cabin. I brought you all some clo's. 'Twant much I could find, jes' overalls and shirts, like what Ise got on. But dey is dry and dey is as clean an' sweet as soap and rainwater can make 'em." Dorothy took the faded blue flannel shirt and overalls he held out to her. "Thank you, Uncle. You certainly are kind and thoughtful, but it's a shame to use your clean clothes this way." The old man's grin grew wider, his even white teeth gleamed in the wrinkled black of his kindly face. "Don' you menshun it, Missy. Dese clo's ain't nuffin. Dey ain't no tellin' what's gwine ter happen ef you don' hop inter de back room an' take off yo' wet things. While yo' gone, de young genneman can change. An' Ol' Man River, he's gwine ter dish up supper. Now, Missy, run away or yo'll sho' catch yo' death in dose wet things." Dorothy hurried into the back room and closed the door. On a little table she saw an old fashioned oil lamp with a glass base and an unshaded chimney, which cast a cheerful glow of light over a home-made bed which filled one side of the cubicle. As she sat down, she found that instead of a mattress, the bed boasted fir and hemlock boughs, scented and springy to the touch. Several khaki-colored army blankets were neatly rolled at the foot of the bed. A row of hooks behind the door and rudely fashioned shelves which extended the breadth of the partition between the two rooms, completed the appointments of Ol' Man River's bedroom. Dorothy saw that the partition did not rise clear to the peak of the roof, but ended at the crossbeams. The sound of Bill's voice and the old darky's came over the top, and a most appetizing odor of coffee and frying ham. It was just then that Dorothy realized how famished she was. A glance at her wristwatch showed that it was a quarter past midnight. She continued to strip off her wet clothes and the wrappings from her feet. Picking up a couple of flour sacks from the stool by the shuttered window, she gave herself a thorough rub down. The home-made towels had been washed until they were soft as linen, and they sent a pleasant glow of returning circulation throughout her tired body. Warm and dry once more, she donned the overalls and shirt and drew on a heavy pair of gray wool socks. Though the overalls needed turning up and the shirt was too long in the sleeves and more than a trifle wide across her shoulders, it was on the whole a warm and comfortable outfit. She rubbed her short, curly hair dry, then combed it into place before the cracked mirror which stood on the wall shelf. A deft application of powder and rouge from her ever-present compact completed her simple toilet. There came a knock on the door and Bill's voice told her that supper was ready. "Coming!" she called. Picking up the sodden heap of clothes from the floor, she blew out the light, opened the door and marched into the other room. "Transformation!" Bill saluted her gaily. "How about it, Uncle Abe? You'd never take her for the same person, would you?" The old man, who was bending over the hearth, turned his head toward her and smiled. "Roses," he said, "roses in June!" Dorothy laughed outright. "Thanks for the compliment, Uncle Abe, but I'm afraid these roses came out of a compact." She hung her wet clothes over a chair, near to Bill's. "Den I should'a said, fresh as a rose," the old darky chuckled. "And not half as dewey as when you let us in," added Bill. "By the way, Dorothy, let me introduce our host, Uncle Abe Lincoln River--known to the world at large as Ol' Man River, but to his friends he's Uncle Abe. And the young lady who is parading around in your clothes, Uncle, is Miss Dorothy Dixon of New Canaan, known to many people as I-will-not-be-called-Dot! She looks kind and gentle, but if you value your life, never take her on in a wrestling bout. She's Sandow, the Terrible Greek and the Emperor of Japan all in one." Dorothy waved him aside. "Get out of my way, slanderer!" she cried. "I want to shake hands with Uncle Abe. Dry clothes seem to have gone to his head, Uncle." The aged negro stood up and took her outstretched hand between his horny palms. "Why, I'se read about yo'all when I worked fo' Misteh Joyce, Missy. Dey uster let me hab de papers after de folks up dar ter de big house done finished wid 'em. Airplanes, robbers, ebbryt'ing!" Ol' Man River shook his head. "Sho' wuz tuk back some ter see what ladies kin do dese days, ma'am!" "Well, then you must have read about Mr. Bolton, here, too? Bill Bolton, the flyer--?" "Dat's so, ma'am. I done heard tell o' dis genneman, too!" He turned his rolling eyes in unfeigned admiration upon Bill. Bill glared at Dorothy. "Oho! so you put the spotlight on me, do you?" He cried in pretended anger. But Ol' Man River motioned toward the table which was set with tin cups and plates and a very much battered metal coffee pot. "Supper's ready, Missy. I'se sorry I ain't got a cloth. 'P'raps yo'all won't mind dis time. Now if yo' an' Marse' Bill will tak' yo' chairs, I'll serve it up quicker dan whistlin'." "But you've only set two places," protested Dorothy. Uncle Abe wagged his woolly pate. "It ain't right fo' an' ol' niggeh ter sit down wid de quality, Missy." "Stuff and nonsense! Put another cup and plate on the table, Bill, and another knife, fork and spoon. Uncle Abe's going to eat with us, or I won't touch a thing--and believe me, this food looks tempting!" "Well, if yo' puts it thataway, ma'am, I will take a bite." Uncle Abe gave a mellow chuckle. "I sho' duz love ham. De smell of it in de pan fair do make my mouf water!" Dorothy took up the hot skillet from the hearth. "I'll put the ham on the plates, Uncle Abe, if you'll bring over that pan of hot bread you've got warming in the ashes." "Not hot bread, Dorothy," corrected Bill, "--corn pone--real honest-to-goodness corn pone!" "Mmmm--" she exclaimed with eyes dancing, "hurry up, Uncle Abe, I just can't wait!" "Dey ain't no butter," explained Uncle Abe, "but if yo'all puts some o' dis ham gravy over it, I reckon yo'll fin' yo' kin eat it." "Ho, that's the best way to eat it!" cried Bill. "Used to have it that way when I lived at Annapolis. If there's anything that tastes better, I've yet to find it. And look, Dorothy, we've got molasses to sweeten our coffee! Uncle Abe sure does set a real southern table." The old man chuckled happily as they sat down to the meal. "Marse Johnson done give me dat 'lasses," he said as he filled the coffee cups from the battered pot. "He de big boss o' de reservation. I don't mind tellin' yo'all, ma'am, if Marse Johnson didn't wink at Ol' Man River a-livin' in dis hyar cabin, dis niggeh sho' would be in a bad way. But dese reservation folks is no white trash. Dey knowed 'bout Marse Joyce turnin' me loose after I'd worked fo' him all dese years. I did odd jobs for 'em dis summer, an' a while back, Marse Johnson, he 'lowed I could have de cabin, now it's gettin' kinda chilly fo' de ol' man to sleep in de barn." "That was pretty decent of him," remarked Bill, with his mouth full of fried ham and hot corn pone. "But who is this Mr. Joyce you speak of, Uncle?" Ol' Man River wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Dat man's name ez John J. Joyce, Marse Billy. He's got dat big place on de ridge over yonder nexter Hilltop, Marse Conway's ol' home. I worked fo' Marse Joyce fo' 'bout ten years--eveh sence I come up no'th from Virginny where dis ol' niggeh was raised." "And he let you go after you'd worked for him all that time?" cried Dorothy, setting down her coffee cup. "I call that rotten mean!" "Yaas, ma'am--John J. Joyce is sho' a hard man. I wuz one o' de gard'ners on de' 'state. One noon he calls us all up ter de big house. 'Men,' he say, standin' on de gall'ry steps, 'times is hard an' they's gwine ter be harder. I'se got ter do my bit fer dis 'ere depresshun like eve'y one else. Dat is why I'se a-cuttin' you down from six ter three. De three what am de oldest can clear out. Dey ain't wu'th as much ter me.'" "The dirty dog!" Bill's face was hot with anger. "I should say so!" Dorothy's tone matched Bill's in vehemence. Uncle Abe shook his head. "De Good Book say, 'Him what has, gits, and him what ain't got nuffin' gits dat nuffin' tuk'n away'," he remarked a bit sadly. "But dis hyar niggeh ain't got no complaint, ma'am. Ol' Man River has sho' got a warm cabin. He ken trap Brer Rabbit in de woods, and 'times he gits Brer Possum. Marse Johnson pays fer a spell o' work once in a while and dat pays foh things he haster buy over to de store. I kinder git de idee, Missy, dat dis hyar ol' man is livin' on de top o' de worl'." "Well, maybe," answered Dorothy, "but I call it doggone mean, just the same. Tell me, Uncle, outside of being mean and heartless, what sort of man is this John J. Joyce?" "Waal, you see'd how he done me, Missy. Jes' git up an' go--didn't say he wuz sorry or nuffin'. He's rich and he's sharp. Maybe he's honest, I don't know, but I'se allus thought as how Marse Conway 'ud done better if he'd er hoed his own 'taters. But I reckon dis niggeh hadn't oughter be crit'sizin' de quality." "Quality, nothing!" exploded Bill. "Mr. Conway was all right--at least, George is--but the other fellow is the worst kind of a polecat!" "Den yo'all knows Marse George?" "Yes, Uncle, he's a friend of ours," said Dorothy. "And he is right up to his neck in trouble just now. Anything you can tell us about his father will be a big help." Uncle Abe pushed his plate away and leaned his elbows on the table. "Dey ain't much I kin tell," he announced, "but I'se knowed Marse George since he wuz a l'il boy. He wuz allus nice an' friendly with Uncle Abe." "You say that his father and Mr. Joyce were friends--that they had dealings of some sort together?" Dorothy inquired. "Yaas, ma'am. Dey wuz pardners in bizness, I reckon. Leastways, like you said, dey had dealings togedder." "But if Joyce was in business with Mr. Conway, why didn't Stoker mention that?" asked Bill of Dorothy. "Perhaps he didn't know about it, Bill. He was away at school, remember, most of the time. And he told us that his father never spoke of his affairs or encouraged him to ask questions." "But it doesn't sound reasonable, Dorothy. A fellow must know the name of his father's firm." "That's true, in a way. But maybe there was no firm--of Joyce and Conway? Isn't it possible that Mr. Joyce may have acted as Mr. Conway's agent--sold the inventions for him, perhaps? Mr. Conway was not a business man. He was always too occupied in his laboratory or in his workshop." "Dat am de way it wuz, Missy," broke in the old darky eagerly. "'Times, de gennemen 'ud walk in de garden an' talk while dis hyar niggeh done his weedin' or plantin' or wotnot--neveh done pay 'tenshun ter Ol' Man River. He don't count fer nuffin' atall. Marse Conway done make his 'ventions--Marse Joyce done what he call 'put 'em on de market.' Is dat what yo'all wanter know, ma'am?" "Yes, thank you, Uncle. I believe I'm beginning to see light at last." "Blest if I do," commented Bill. "Joyce couldn't try to steal patents registered in Mr. Conway's name, could he?" Dorothy smiled. "That can wait. It's time we helped Uncle Abe wash up. Then maybe he'll let us have a couple of blankets to spread before the fire. We're dead for sleep and we're keeping him up too." The old fellow started to answer, then cocked his head and lifted a warning hand. "Is folks a-follerin' yo' chill'un?" he asked suddenly. "Yes," said Dorothy, "and they mustn't catch us!" "Dey's someone a-comin'," he whispered. "Don' yo' say nuffin'. Jes do like Uncle Abe tell yo'all and he fix it so nobody can't find nuffin' hyar!" Chapter XII VOICES FROM BELOW "Take dose clo'es by de fire yonder," directed the sharp-eared old man, "an' go in de back room an' shin up de wall shelves to dese fo'-by fo's oveh our heads. Tote de clo'es 'long wid yo' an' lay flat on dem boards. 'Times I trap somefin' out er season--dis niggeh's got ter eat--dat dere's mah hidin' place. Nobody can't see yo'all, nobody can't fin' yo' dere!" While he talked and the others snatched their half dried things from before the fire, the old darky was clearing the table of dishes. He flung the remains of the meal onto the blazing logs and scooping up the cups and plates, stacked them, dirty as they were, on a shelf. Dorothy and Bill ran into the back room and scrambled up to the crossbeams. As they crawled along the boards which were laid close together in threes, they saw Uncle Abe light an ancient corncob, then pick up a tattered newspaper and sit down by the fire. No more had they laid themselves flat on their airy perch with their bundles of damp clothing, than there came a pounding on the cabin door. "Who dat?" called out Ol' Man River without moving from his chair. "Open up, do you hear, River? I want to speak to you," barked a voice from out the night. "Yaas, suh--comin'!" Peering through the cracks between the boards, his guests saw him rise slowly and shuffle to the door. Stretched out over the little bed chamber, with their heads close to the partition, they had an unobstructed view of the lighted room beyond. As the boards were laid over the middle of both rooms and ran nearly the length of the cabin, they realized with satisfaction that unless someone stood close to the side wall, it would be impossible to spy them out. Uncle Abe's oil lamp sent its gleams but a few feet, and the rest of the room and the crossbeams lay in deep shadow which was an added protection to the hidden two. Ol' Man River drew the bolt and swung open the door. "Walk right in, Marse Joyce," they heard him say. And without waiting for a reply, he hobbled painfully back to his chair before the hearth. Three men stamped into the cabin and banged the door shut on the storm. "You're keeping late hours, River," the leader of the party snapped out without preamble. From the tones of his voice, Dorothy and Bill knew him to be the same man who had spoken to them in the valley meadow, and who Bill had downed with the gasoline tin. He was a short, stocky person with a bulldog face and a scrubby toothbrush moustache. He and his companions looked tired and angry. They were also very wet. The speaker walked over to the fire, leaving a track of little pools across the floor. Putting his hands over the blaze, he scowled down at Uncle Abe. "Well," he contended disagreeably, "I said you were up late. Answer me, can't you?" "So yo' say, Marse Joyce. So yo' say." Uncle Abe continued to gaze unconcernedly into the fire as though he had no idea the heavy set man was becoming angrier by the minute. "You black whelp!" he thundered, "What do you mean by bandying words with me?" Uncle Abe remained silent. "Are you deaf?" cried Joyce. "Tell me what you're sitting up for!" "I'se takin' a warm, suh." "Taking a--_warm_?" "Yaas, suh. I'se a mis'ry in der feet--rhumytizzem. Can't sleep nohow. So I sets an' reads de paper by de fire--an' takes a warm." "Oh, you do, do you?" "Yaas, suh, I sho' do." "Don't answer me back that way, do you hear?" The old darky continued to puff calmly on his corncob. Mr. Joyce thrust his hands in his pockets and glowered at him. His companions stood silently by, watching Uncle Abe. "Where are your visitors?" he asked suddenly. Bill released the safety-catch on his automatic. Uncle Abe puffed steadily on his pipe, but said nothing. "Answer me! Where are they?" snarled John J. Joyce. "Yaas, suh!" The old darky removed the corncob from his mouth and looked up at his late employer. "Well, why don't you speak?" "Kase yo' done tell me not ter answer a while back." "I tell you to answer me now." Mr. Joyce glared threateningly into his face. "Are you just stubborn, or in your dotage? _Where are your visitors?_" The old man spat with great precision on to a glowing cinder. "Dey right hyar, Marse Joyce," he said. "Right here? Where?" "Hyar in dis room, suh. All three o' yo'." "Say, are you crazy, or am I?" Joyce flung at him. "No, suh, I ain' crazy," returned the old man, and Joyce's companions broke into a roar of laughter at this none too subtle gibe. John J. Joyce turned on them furiously. "Shut up, you two! Go into that back room and pull them out!" Still guffawing, the men disappeared through the doorway in the partition. "Nobody in here!" a voice sang out after a moment. Joyce looked bewildered. Then he picked up the lamp, walked to the open door and looked into the room. "Yank that bed apart!" he ordered. The two lying on the boards above his head heard the men dragging the evergreen boughs off the couch. Joyce said not a word when their search was ended, but turned on his heel and returned to the front room, followed by his henchmen. "Didn't think yo'd fin' nobody," remarked Uncle Abe mildly, "If yo' had, I'd sho' bin supprised!" "So you'd been surprised, eh?" John J. Joyce had an unpleasant way of repeating words. Now he stood over the old man belligerently. "Yaas, suh," replied Uncle Abe with an unconcern he probably did not feel. "I could o' tol' yo' dat dey's nobody in dere. Who yo'all a-lookin' fo'?" "What business is that of yours?" The old man remained silent. "If you must know," snarled Joyce, "we're looking for a young fellow and a girl." "What dey doin' uphyar in de woods at dis time o' night?" "Tryin' to get away from us, I guess," said one of the men. "You keep your trap shut, Featherstone," barked Joyce. "I'm not paying you to talk. This is my show, not yours." "Well, if you talk that way, you can run it by yourself. I'm not your slave. Keep a civil tongue in your head, Joyce--or I'll go back to the car--and go right now." "That goes with me, too," broke in the second man gruffly. "What d'you take us for--a pair of fools? I wasn't hired to do a marathon the length and breadth of the forest on a soakin' wet night. Those kids ain't here--let's go!" "Oh, is that so? Well now you've had your say, and you'll go--when I get good and ready," sneered Joyce in his disagreeable, domineering voice. "But what's the use of hangin' round?" argued the first man. "I'm tired and I'm hungry and I'm soaked to the skin--" "And if I say the word to certain parties, the two of you will be taking a longer journey," snapped their employer, "--a little trip up the river that ends in a chair--a red hot one. Shut up, both of you." He turned to Uncle Abe again. "Come, River--out with it," he commanded. "Where have that boy and girl gone to?" "How should I know?" Uncle Abe knocked his pipe out on the hearth. "What fo' yo'all chasin' dese hyar chillun in de woods?" "That's my business. There are fresh tracks leading along the trail right up to your door." "Dat may be, suh. Day may be. I ain't sayin' dey isn't, Marse Joyce." He wagged his head solemnly. "I wuz out myse'f e'rlier in de evenin'." "Huh! You wouldn't leave two sets of tracks!" "Yaas, suh, Marse Joyce--goin' an' comin'." Dorothy, from her perch above, smiled at the old darky's astuteness. Their tracks were on the trail, of course, for those who followed to read; but the rain had long ago blurred the outlines. Their pursuers could not know in which direction the footprints led. "So you think it was your tracks we followed?" John J. Joyce continued to speak in the harsh, bullying tone that made Dorothy want to kick him. She realized, nevertheless, that the old darky's last statement was proving a serious facer to his inquisitor. "I ain't a-gwine ter say jes' dat," returned Uncle Abe. "All I knows is dat I made tracks on de trail. If dey's more'n two pair, dey ain't mine." "What trails were you on?" came the sudden question, and Dorothy tingled with excitement as Uncle Abe hesitated. "Lemme see, suh--why, I wuz down de Spy Rock Trail, an' de Cross Trail. And den I wuz 'long de Overlook and de Raven Rock Trails--" "A nice long walk you had on a wet night," sneered the white man. Uncle Abe was imperturbable. "Yaas, suh." "I don't believe a word of it." "Dat yo' priv-lige, Marse Joyce." "Well, it doesn't sound likely to me, especially when you say you've rheumatism in your feet." "I'se gotter eat, suh." "What's that got to do with it? There are no stores on these trails. What do you pretend you were doing, anyway?" Ol' Man River chuckled gently. "Baitin' traps." "Catch anything?" Joyce sneered. "I don't suppose you did." "Den you's a mighty bad 'sposer, suh. Kaze I done cotch dat der rabbit yonder!" Following the direction of his pointed finger, Dorothy saw for the first time that a large jackrabbit hung from a crossbeam in a corner. "It's no go, Joyce," broke in one of the henchmen. "This nigger doesn't know where those kids are. Let's beat it." Joyce, who had unbuttoned his coat, fastened it up again. "For once you're right," he admitted truculently. "It's time we got back to the car. That pair have holed in for the night somewhere else. We'll watch the reservation entrances in the morning." "Good night, suh, and a pleasant walk!" Dorothy had hard work to repress her laughter. She loved this spunky old negro. Joyce turned angrily upon him. "You keep a civil tongue in your face, River!" he menaced. "In the first place, this is a state preserve, and poaching is severely punished; and secondly, you have no right to be squatting in this shelter, I--" "Pick on someone your size, Joyce," advised the man who had spoken before. "This old nigger ain't doin' you nor anyone else any harm. Leave him alone." "It's two to one, Joyce. Come on!" said the other. For a moment Dorothy thought there would be a row. Joyce looked as though he would burst with rage. But evidently thinking better of it, he turned his back to the fire and strode over to the door. Without another word, he opened it and disappeared into the black night. He was followed immediately by the two men. The one who had spoken for Abe swung round in the doorway. "I know you're a good hearted old liar, Uncle," he whispered. "And if you think a minute you'll know why I know it! Don't blame you. Joyce has a nasty temper and no matter where those kids are, we'll round 'em up in the morning, anyway. Good night!" "'Night," returned Ol' Man River. "Pleasant walk, suh!" "Yep. The joke's on us," grinned the other and shut the door behind him. Bill and Dorothy were about to move from their cramped positions when they saw the old man raise a finger to his lips in warning as apparently he studied the glowing embers of the fire. The door suddenly opened and the same man stuck his head in. "You're a sly old fox," he said. "I know you've got those kids hidden somewhere. Maybe they're listening for all I know, and I can tell you, Uncle, they are getting a rotten deal. Joyce calls me Featherstone. Here's my card. Give it to them. G'd-night." A bit of white pasteboard fluttered to the floor as the door slammed. Uncle Abe got stiffly off his chair, shuffled over to the door and sent the bolt home. Then he picked up the card. Bill pushed the pile of damp clothing off the boards, then swung himself down to the floor. Dorothy was beside him as he turned to catch her. "Uncle Abe," she said, taking the old man's hand, "you are kind and you're good, and you are very, very brave. Bill and I can never properly thank you for all you've done for us tonight." "Say no mo' 'bout it," protested Uncle Abe, when Bill put his hand on his shoulder. "Look here, Uncle Abe," he broke in, "you're one of the grandest guys I know. Some day perhaps we can even up things a bit. You ran a big risk for us, you know." The old man smiled and blinked at them for a moment. "Then, yo'all must be sleepy--I sho' is. You kin take the back room if you will, Missy. Marse Bill an' me's gwine ter hit de hay in here." "Who was that man, Uncle Abe?" asked Dorothy, stifling a yawn with the palm of her hand. "What did his card say, I mean?" "Spec' he's a deteckative, Missy. De card say 'Michael Michaels, Private Inquiry Agent'." "Evidently he's got his eye on Joyce," summed up Bill. "Wonder who he's working for?" "What interests me more just now," said Dorothy, "is how Mister Michael Michaels knew we were hidden here." The old man chuckled. "He's sho' 'nuf a smart man, Missy. It wuz de tracks on de trail. He know'd I done never make dem tracks. He know'd dey wan't nobody else's but yourn." "How come, uncle?" asked Bill. "Dat jackrabbit a-hangin' yonder done it, suh." "But what's that rabbit got to do with our tracks?" "Marse Michaels, he must o' touched dat bunny. Den he know'd it wan't never trapped today. Dat bunny's stiff ez er hick'ry log!" Dorothy and Bill burst into laughter. "Bet you were scared silly for fear Joyce might examine it and realize that you hadn't been out tonight!" said Bill. "Dat's right, sho' nuf, Marse Bill." "You know, Mr. Michaels may be a big help to us," remarked Dorothy, yawning unashamedly in their faces this time. "Well, I just can't hold my head up any longer. Good night, both of you." "Good night," returned Bill and Uncle Abe in unison. Dorothy took herself off to the back room and bed. Chapter XIII THE WAY OUT The gray light of early morning crept into Shelter No. 6 through the open shutters. It brought to view two forms rolled in blankets, sleeping soundly before the dying embers of last night's woodfire. In the back room, Dorothy was curled up on the fragrant bed of evergreens, deep in a dreamless slumber. The storm of the evening was gone, leaving in its place a fine, steady drizzle. The air was chill and damp. It bade fair to be another unpleasant day. The hands of a battered alarm clock that stood on the chimney shelf marked quarter to eight, but the sleepers were motionless. Then suddenly Uncle Abe sat up and knuckled the sleep from his eyes. "Lordy, Lordy!" he grumbled, catching sight of the clock. "Dose chillun wuz ter git 'way early an' dis hye'r nigger sleepin' lak de daid. I speck de young Missy an' Marse Bill need der sleep--an' we'll fool Marse Joyce jus' de same." He got stiffly to his feet, stretched his ancient arms above his head and set about building up the fire. Presently Bill opened his eyes and yawned. Then he threw off his blanket, sat up and sniffed. "Bacon--eggs--coffee," he murmured. "Good morning, Uncle, you sure are an A1. up to the minute chef!" Hovering over a sizzling frying pan, the old man turned his head and smiled at Bill. "Mornin', Marse Bill. Yaas, suh, I 'low dat eatin' brekfus' an' gettin' it, too, is de bes' fashion what is." "You said it," grinned Bill. "Say, I guess we all overslept! Well, no use crossing our bridges 'til we come to 'em. Any place in this hotel where I can wash and slick up a bit, Uncle?" "Sho' is, suh. De soap an' de towel an' de bucket an' de basin is over yonder by de do'. When yo'alls done wid dem, p'raps yo'll wake de young missy, an' carry de bucket in yonder?" "Sure will," returned Bill, "but I'll wake her up first." He went to the door in the partition and banged his fist on the panels. "First call for breakfast in the dining car ahead--" "Ummm--" responded a sleepy voice from the back room. "Time to get up, Dorothy. Hop to it, kid!" "I'm awake!" called back that young lady. "O.K. When you're ready, there'll be a pail of water outside your door." "Thanks. Be with you in a jiffy." Bill crossed the room, sloshed water into the tin basin and carried the pail back. While he was immersed in his morning ablutions Dorothy's door opened and her hand withdrew the pail. Bill had no more than taken a seat at the table, when she put in her appearance. Dressed in the overalls, flannel shirt and heavy wool socks of the night before, she looked particularly bright and cheerful. "Morning, everybody!" she smiled. "That bed of yours, Uncle Abe, is the most comfortable one I ever slept on. Too bad I had to turn you out of it." "Reckon neither Marse Bill ner me knowed what we wuz a-sleepin' on, Missy. I sho' wuz daid ter ebbryt'ing all night long. De flo' ain't discomfertubble, when yo' knows how ter lay on it." "I'm kind of stiff," admitted Bill. "But I feel fifty million per cent better. Bet I never moved from the time I turned in until the smell of breakfast woke me up." "My!" exclaimed Dorothy, peeking into the frying pan. "Where did all these swell eggs come from, Uncle?" The old darky chuckled. "Dat's one o' de two things a white pusson mus'nt never ask no color'd pusson, Missy." "And what's the other?" Dorothy inquired with twinkling eyes. "Where a nigger gits his chickens." All three of them laughed this time and sat down to breakfast. During the meal there was little conversation. Both Dorothy and Bill were frankly hungry and each was silently puzzling a way out of their predicament. Uncle Abe, always affable, nevertheless, rarely if ever volunteered advice unless called upon. In his mind, to do otherwise would have been a breach of good manners. Bill drained his second cup of coffee and met Dorothy's look. "Got any ideas?" he asked her. She shook her head and pushed her chair back from the table. "No, I haven't," she confessed gravely. "But if I'm any judge of bad character, Mr. John J. Joyce will keep his promise. Too bad we slept so long." "Maybe," said Bill. "But without that good rest, we'd have been dead ones today. The tough part of it is that Joyce's men will be posted at all the reservation entrances now--" "And on the trails around this shelter." "Very likely. If we could ditch those guys and hike over to a road, we might get a lift out in somebody's car. Lots of people drive in here on Sundays." "Not in weather like this, Bill. No, even if we did persuade someone to give us a lift, we'd be soon seen and stopped." Bill suddenly brought his fist down upon the table. "We're a pair of idiots," he declared. "Joyce's men won't stop us. They'll be looking for Stoker Conway and a girl. Keep those clothes on you're wearing, and with my old hat, all they'll see is a couple of fellows on a tramp. Nobody'd take me for George Conway. Why, we've got nothing to worry about!" "That's where I differ with you. We most certainly have plenty to worry us." "But how come, Dorothy?" "How do we know that friend Joyce hasn't got hold of Stoker and possibly Terry, too?" "Then--if he has, he won't want us." "Oh, yes, he will. You can bet your boots, Mr. Joyce isn't letting anyone go whom he may think was mixed up in last night's affair." Bill looked surprised. "But Joyce can't go on kidnapping people," he argued. "Or rather he can't keep on trying to kidnap the whole bunch who were in Stoker's house last night, and then hold them indefinitely. Even if he caught us all, he couldn't hold us long." "Long enough to get what he thinks Stoker has got--and make his getaway, if necessary. At least that's how I figure it. If he catches any of us we're not likely to come in personal contact with him. He's too smart to give himself away like that." "Possibly you're right. But if he did catch any of us, he'd soon find out that Stoker and the rest of the bunch know less about this mysterious something he's after than he does himself!" Dorothy smiled. "Rather involved, but I think I fathom your meaning. You seem to forget, Bill, that when Betty and I butted into this thing up at the Conway house, a couple of strong-arm men were starting to heat a poker. I don't think Mr. Joyce's hospitality will prove a pleasant experience if we are caught by him or his men." "Well, we've got to get off this reservation--how are we going to do it?" "Blest if I know," she admitted candidly. "But we've just got to find a way. And look here, Bill--I know you think I'm all steamed up over a trifle--but I honestly believe that whatever Joyce is trying to steal from Stoker is so enormously valuable that he's determined to risk pretty nearly everything short of murder to gain possession of it!" "I wouldn't put murder past him, either," said Bill. "His actions prove he's in deadly earnest," Dorothy went on, and then turned to Ol' Man River, who was peacefully puffing his pipe. "You've heard what we were saying, Uncle Abe. Have you any suggestions to give us?" That ancient colored gentleman removed the corncob from between his teeth and pursed his lips. "Waal, yaas, m'am. I reckon Marse Johnson is de answer to yo' question," he said thoughtfully. "Oh, he's the reservation superintendent--you're right, Uncle Abe--he can do it if anyone can. Why didn't we think of him before?" "Dat am so, Missy. Der ain't a-gwine nobody ter stop yo'all long wid Marse Johnson." "That's a great idea, Uncle," applauded Bill. "The super's house is right across the reservation from here, if I recall rightly?" "Yaas, suh, it am. Right down yonder where de Boutonville road come out far side ob de reservation t'ard Cross River." "Think you could pilot us down there and give those guys in the woods the miss?" "I speck dese men ain't gwine ter git familious wid us if yo' foller Ol' Man River. I'se boun' we-all sho' give 'em de bestes' game er hide an' seek dey ez ever had. It ain't a-gwine be easy, Marse Bill. But I'll git yo'all down yonder and den you kin carry de young Missy home in a kyar. Marse Johnson, he's got three automerbiles." "I hope it'll be as easy as you say," grinned Bill, amused by the old man's earnestness. "I'll make a bundle of Miss Dorothy's clothes and then the best thing we can do is to get started." "I'se got a pair er sneakers dat you kin wear, Missy," Uncle Abe announced. "Dey ain't no count nohow, but dey's got sol's an' dat sho' am better dan walkin' in dose socks." "Thanks a lot, Uncle, you're such a grand help to us--" She smiled at the old man and he fairly beamed. "I'll love wearing them. But first of all, we'll heat some water and wash dishes. Don't look so annoyed, Bill. We've got plenty of time, now, and there's nothing more slovenly than letting the dishes go after a meal. We did it because we had to last night, but I intend to leave Uncle Abe's cabin just as spick and span as we found it. You fetch some water and heat it while Uncle Abe scrapes the plates. In the meantime I'll straighten up the back room and sweep out the house." Dorothy was as good as her word. By the time the dish water was hot, her bed had been made, the cabin swept and generally put to rights. Then she brought out the dishpan and washed both the supper and breakfast dishes while Bill and Uncle Abe dried them. "Some swell housekeeper," said Bill to Uncle Abe with a grimace, "and she knows how to make the men folks work, too!" "An' dat am ez it should be," declared the old darky solemnly. "De Good Book say, 'what am food fo' de goose am good eatin' fo' de gander'...." "I don't know whether that's a compliment, or not, Uncle," laughed Dorothy. "But you see, it didn't take long, and I feel better knowing everything's clean." "Is your ladyship ready to go now?" asked Bill. "Quite ready--thank you so much." "Then let's shove off. What you said about Stoker and Terry a while ago has got me worried, I must admit. I want to get to a telephone just as soon as possible." Uncle Abe left the cabin first. After scouting about in the cold drizzle for a few minutes, he came back and declared that the way was clear. "I gen'rally goes 'long Overlook Trail an' down de Cross River Road ter git er Marse Johnson's house," explained the old man, once they were outside the cabin. "But dis mornin' we ain't gwine dat-away--t'aint safe. Yo' all stick close behin' Ol' Man River, an' sing out ef he's a-travelin' too fast. Dis ain't no easy trail we'se takin'." He struck directly into the woods and for the next hour Dorothy never even sighted a path. She soon found out that when Uncle Abe described this as 'no easy trail,' he was telling the unvarnished truth. Dorothy was no Alice-sit-by-the-fire. She had been on some stiff hikes before this, but the ancient negro led them up hill and down dale, through the tangled undergrowth or virgin forest dripping wet with rain. And he led them through this wilderness of trees and rocks at a perfectly amazing rate of speed. Until Dorothy caught her second wind, she was hard put to keep up. If Joyce had men out, they never saw them. In fact, except for an occasional bird or small forest animal scuttling away in their advance, they neither saw nor heard any living thing. Eventually they climbed the steep side of a wooded ridge and stopped. Below them, through the trees Dorothy made out woodland meadows, stretching down to a road which ran along their side of the valley. Lower down and paralleling the highway, a winding river ran down the vale. Lying in broad fields near the river to their left was a large farm house and barns. "Cross River Road, Cross River, and Marse Johnson's house," announced Uncle Abe, using a hand and forearm for a pointer. "Dat highway yonder what runs inter de Cross River Road near de house ez de Honey Holler Road. Right dar am de Cross River entrance, an' right dar ez 'zackly de place whar ol' man Joyce's gang am hangin' out." "It's going to be a job to get down there without being seen," remarked Bill. "Der ain't nobody gwine ter see us," protested the old darky, "kaze soon ex we git ter der open, you an' me an' Missy am gwine ter ben' down low an' hug de far side er de stone fences. But we'alls stayed hyar confabbin' long 'nuf. Got ter git goin' ag'in." He moved off down the slope, the others following. By dint of doing exactly as he advised, fifteen minutes later found them ringing Mr. Johnson's doorbell. "Dese young people am fren's er mine, Miz Johnson," Uncle Abe told the motherly person who opened the door. "Step right in," she invited with a smile. "Lands sakes, you're drippin' wet. Come in by the kitchen range and get dried out. You must be perishin'--" "Thanks. May I use your telephone?" inquired Bill as he spied a wall instrument in the hall. "Of course you can," beamed Mrs. Johnson. "There's a book on the table there." "Thank you, I know the number." "Going to call up Stoker?" asked Dorothy in a low tone. "Yes. You and Uncle Abe go into the kitchen and get warm. I'll be with you in a minute or two." But it was not until a good five minutes later that Bill put in his appearance. "Everything all right?" demanded Dorothy from her seat on a kitchen chair close to the coal range. "I'm afraid not," Bill looked worried. "They don't answer the phone." Chapter XIV THE LION'S DEN "No answer at all?" Dorothy inquired anxiously. "That's what I said." Bill's tone was a bit gruff. He walked over to the range and warmed his hands at the glowing coals. "What I mean is, could you hear the bell ring in Stoker's house?" "Oh, yes, the bell rang. But nobody came to the phone." "That's what I wanted to know." "Why? I can't see that the ringing of the phone bell makes any difference--" "All the difference," declared Dorothy. "Never mind why, now. I've just told Mrs. Johnson that I had to park _Wispy_ on the other side of the reservation last night, and that some men over there were very disagreeable and we were forced to accept Uncle Abe's hospitality for the night." "We think a heap of Uncle Abe on the reservation," affirmed the superintendent's wife. "And don't you worry about your airplane, Miss Dixon. We'll see that it don't come to no harm. My husband had to drive over to Katonah this morning, but I'll get Sam Watson on the job. He's in the office right now. Sam!" she called, "come in here." A stalwart, broad-shouldered young man walked into the kitchen. His natty uniform marked him a member of the Reservation force. "Did you want something, Mrs. Johnson?" "This is Miss Dorothy Dixon of New Canaan, and Mr.--" she hesitated. "Bolton--Bill Bolton," supplied that young man. "The flyers!" Guard Watson's honest face wore a broad grin. "Heard about you both--who hasn't? Pleased to meet you, I'm sure." He shook hands with them and nodded to Uncle Abe. "It's like this, Sam," explained Mrs. Johnson. "Miss Dixon run out of gas last night and her airplane is down to the woodlot just below Raven Rocks in the Stone Hill River valley. Get Eddie, that's his beat anyway, and keep an eye on the airplane until these young folks pick it up this afternoon. They had trouble with some tramps over there last evenin' and put up to Uncle Abe's for the night. Pass the word on to the rest of the boys about them dead beats that's botherin' people on the Reservation, will you?" "I sure will, Mrs. Johnson. If they're still around, we'll run 'em off quicker'n greased lightning." "You're very good," smiled Dorothy. "We saw a couple of suspicious characters hanging round the Cross River entrance when we came over here to headquarters just now." "I'll rout 'em out," Sam Watson promised. "If they kick up a fuss they'll put in thirty days behind the bars. Well, I must be hoppin' it. Glad to have met you folks, I'm sure. So long, everybody!" With a stiff salute and a broad smile he was gone. They heard him tramp down the hall and then the front door slammed. "Checkmate to J. J. J.," murmured Bill. Dorothy played chess with her father--"Not checkmate--check," she corrected. "By the way, Mrs. Johnson, I wonder if we can trespass on your good humor still further?" "Land's sakes alive! I haven't done nothing for you yet!" The superintendent's wife was busy with hot water and a teapot. "Do you happen to have an extra car that we could borrow for a few hours?" "Why, sure I have, my dear. But there's no hurry about your leavin', is there? A cup of tea, now, to warm you up and some of these nice crisp crullers I made yesterday? Then I'll get you and Mr. Bolton some dry things to put on and after dinner you can take the car and ride home. How'll that be?" Dorothy laughed and shook her head. "You're awfully kind, really, Mrs. Johnson, but we can't stay. We've got an appointment that just can't be broken." "But your wet clothes, Miss Dixon?" "Thanks for your offer, but we aren't so wet now. I will have a cup of tea if I may, although we only finished breakfast a little while ago." "And don't forget those crisp crullers," protested Bill with a grin. "I certainly do love homemade crullers, ma'am." "An' dey ain't nuffin' better 'an de ones Miz Johnson makes," chuckled Uncle Abe. "I'se tasted 'em befo' an' dis hyar nigger knows!" Mrs. Johnson beamed delightedly. "Even if I do say so who shouldn't," she remarked modestly, "this batch came out pretty good. But are you sure I can't tempt you to stay for Sunday dinner? We're having fish chowder, chicken friccassee, with dumplin's, and a pumpkin pie!" "You sure do make my mouth water," groaned Bill. "I only wish we could stop, and meet your husband, Mrs. Johnson. If you'll keep the invitation open, we'd love to take advantage of it some other time." The good lady passed them their tea and a plate heaped with golden brown crullers. "We'll make it next Sunday noon then. Our children are all married, with homes of their own. Mr. Johnson and I miss not having young folks round the house. It'll make it seem like the good old times again, if you come. Don't forget now, next Sunday." "We'll be here with bells on, Mrs. Johnson," promised Bill. "And we'll try not to look like a couple of tramps then," added Dorothy. "You'll always be welcome, no matter what you wear," declared their hostess. "I'll make another pumpkin pie for you." They chatted for ten minutes or so and then bade Mrs. Johnson goodbye. "Uncle Abe will take you out to the garage," she said in parting. "Take the Buick. You'll need a closed car on a day like this." When the kitchen door had shut out the smiling, motherly figure, and they were following the old darky along the drive, Dorothy turned to Bill. "And they say that New Englanders are not hospitable! Why, they're the most hospitable people in America if you really know them!" "Country people, no matter what part of the United States they live in, are generally friendly. Living in cities, where your next door neighbor is a stranger, makes a person suspicious. But I've found that most honest-to-goodness Americans will do a lot for a person in trouble." "Dere's de kyar, Missy," Uncle Abe interrupted apologetically. "Reckon dis hyar ol' nigger'll wish yo'all goodbye an' mo' comferble beds ternight." Dorothy caught the old fellow's hand and held it between her own. "Uncle Abe," she said, looking straight into his shining eyes, "do you really like living up there in the woods, all by yourself?" "Waal, dis nigger ain't used ter much, Missy," he said slowly, "an' de cabin am a heap better 'an a barn er no roof atall. But, it sho' do get mighty lonesome, 'times." "I bet it does. How would you like to live in quarters over our garage and work for my father? He was saying only a day or so ago that what with driving the cars and all Arthur has too much to do around the place. We need a gardener and general handy man. The job is yours if you'll take it--and I don't mind saying I'll feel badly if you don't." Ol' Man River winked back the tears with a brave effort, although the little wrinkles at the corners of his mouth puckered in a smile. "Yo' sho' is good ter dis hyar nigger, Missy!" "And you want to come? I won't take no for an answer--" "It do me good fer ter hear you sesso, Missy. Kaze yo' sho' is de qual'ty and dis hyar ol' nigger never done had no real fambly 'time he come No'th." Bill winked at Uncle Abe. "And if that nocount Dixon family don't treat you right, you come right across the road to my house." "Spect I'll git 'long tollerbul well on Miss Dor'thy's side," he chuckled. "Well, what's the good word now, Dorothy?" Bill motioned toward the Buick. "It's about time we beat it over to Stoker's, don't you think?" "I do think," returned Dorothy. "And that's why we aren't going over there." "But surely--" "But nothing. The boys aren't there or they'd have answered the phone. If you hadn't heard the bell ring we could be fairly sure the wire was cut and that they were holding the house in a state of siege, so to speak. Now we know they aren't there." Bill did not seem impressed. "If that line of reasoning is logical, I'm as cold on the right answer as a water tank in winter. How do you know Joyce's men haven't got them tied up in the house?" "Because at this stage of the game, Joyce would hardly do that and leave them there for their friends to find. And if his men were still in the house, they'd be sure to answer the telephone. You and Uncle Abe get right into that Buick now. We are going to take a run up to Mr. John J. Joyce's place." Bill did not attempt to hide his astonishment. "Gee, whiz, Dorothy?--you've got a whale of a lot of nerve!" Dorothy shrugged and looked steadily at Bill. "Well, are you game?" For answer he followed her into the car. "Pretty much like jumping feet first into the lion's den," he commented, "but considering your middle name is Daniel, or ought to be, I dare say we'll have a roaring good time of it!" "Stop talking jazz, Bill. How about you, Uncle Abe?" The old man already lounged back on the rear seat. "Reverse dis hyar injine inter de drive, Miss Dor'thy--an' when yo'all turned round I'se gwine ter show yo' where we'se a-gwine." Dorothy, smiling over the steering wheel, backed out of the garage and got the Buick headed toward the road. "Well, Uncle?" she prompted. "D'reckly in front of us, way over yonder on de far hill ez er big house." "The white one in the trees?" asked Bill. "Yaas, suh, de only one any pusson kin see from hyar. Dat am Hilltop, Marse Conway's ol' place." "Where Mr. Lewis lives now!" "Eggzackly so, ma'am. Marse Joyce's place ez jus' back er yonder." "Bet he calls it, 'The Den,'" said Bill. Uncle Abe cackled, "No, suh, Marse Bill--hee-hee--dat house done called 'Nearma'." "Near ma?" repeated Dorothy in a puzzled tone. "There are some queer Indian names in this part of the country, but that's a new one on me." "'Tain't Injun, Missy. Dat dere hones' ter goodness 'Merican. Marse Joyce's ol' Ma uster lib cross de ridgeroad. Dat how he come ter name de house 'Near Ma'." "That old scurmudgeon! I don't believe it!" cried Bill in an explosion of laughter. "Dat am de spittin' trufe, Marse Bill. De ol' lady am daid, but he still call de place Nearma jus' de same." "How do we get to it, Uncle?" Dorothy asked after a moment. "Run out de entrance till we come ter de turnpike, Missy. Den right, long dat road to Cross River. From de village yonder we follers de road ter Lake Waccabuc, but we don't hafter travel dat far." "Good enough." The car swung round the side of the house and into the road. "I guess Sam got rid of the Watchers by the Gate--there's nobody at the entrance." They swept into the highroad and on through the pre-revolutionary hamlet of Cross River. Half a mile further, as they were speeding along the top of a wooded ridge, Uncle Abe spoke again. "Dat stone fence long de road ter de right b'long ter Hilltop," he pointed out. "De house am set way back from de road behin' de trees. Round de bend ahead yo'all gwine ter see 'nother higher wall, dat starts by three white birches. Yonder am where Marse Joyce's land begins." "And what's on the farther side of the Joyce property?" "Dere ain't nuffin, Missy, 'cept jes' mo' dese hyar woods." "Fine! And I suppose, after being up here for nearly ten years, you can find your way about in those woods?" "Sho' can, Missy. Ef dere's er rabbit hole dis nigger a' missed in dem woods, I wanter know." "Better and better. You're a marvellous help, Uncle Abe." "What do you plan to do? Park the car near the road, hike back through the woods and cut over toward the house from that side?" Bill was not enthusiastic. "Just about that." "And when you sight the historic mansion?" "I'm going into the house." "Oh, yes, you are..." "Oh, yes, I am!" "And how do you expect to do that without being nabbed right off the bat?" "Last night you told me I asked too many questions, Bill. And Uncle Abe says 'what's food for the goose is swell eating for the gander...'!" Chapter XV IN THE TOILS "Ef yo'll pahdon my sayin' so, Miss Do'thy," volunteered Uncle Abe as the car was run into the underbrush beyond the Nearma wall and parked behind a clump of scrub oak and evergreens, "I 'lows as how it sho' would er bin better ter 'proach de house from de odder side. We could er travelled down Marse Lewis' place and come in dat-a-way. Dere's mo' lan'scapin' on dat side." "Thanks for the suggestion, Uncle," Dorothy locked the ignition. "But I think we'll keep just as far away from Mr. Lewis' property as we can, for the present." "Do you think he really is mixed up with J. J. J. in this business?" Bill asked her. "Can't say--it certainly looks like it--and we'll take no unnecessary chances." "How about the chances we'll take in breaking into Nearma?" "I said unnecessary! Anyway, I'm the one that's going in there." "But look here, Dorothy! Do you think I'm going to let you walk into that place alone?" "Not alone, old dear. Uncle Abe is coming with me." "Oh, is he? And what am I to do while you're in the house mixing it up with those thugs? Do you expect me to stick out here with the car and see that somebody doesn't steal the tires?" Dorothy looked amused. Bill was annoyed with her and she did not blame him. "You'll have plenty to do, Bill." She gave his shoulder a good-natured pat and sprang out of the car. "Come on, both of you. I'll explain my plan as we go. Lead the way, Uncle Abe. I want to get to the kitchen door without being seen from the house if possible." Uncle Abe got out of the car. Bill was already beside her. "Yo'all foller Ol' Man River!" said the ancient darky and led into the woods away from the road. "Well, what's the dope?" Bill's tone was less exasperated now, and side by side they swung in behind the old man. Dorothy took his arm. "I guess you think I'm a brainless idiot," she began, "with all my wild schemes--" "Well, I don't quite see your idea in going in there alone--but it's your show, so go ahead and explain." "Attaboy! Now this is the point. I want to do some scouting inside and I'll need you to cover me as it were. Uncle Abe knows Joyce's servants. And Mr. Joyce is looking for you and me. Well, don't you see, if Uncle Abe brings a stray _boy_ into the kitchen for a bite to eat, it won't seem anything out of the way. In these clothes, I'll never be taken for a girl." "But you won't stay in the kitchen--I know you!" Bill was not quite convinced. "Perhaps not--what I do inside will depend on circumstances as I find 'em." "Humph! And what is my important work to consist of?" "I want you to watch this side of the house. If I need you, I'll open a window and wave. If it happens to be a window on the ground floor, you can get in that way. If I open a second story window, come in through the kitchen. You've got a gun--that ought to be a help." "But--suppose you aren't able to get to a window?" "Oh, then wait half an hour; when the time's up run down to Cross River in the car and phone the state police and get them up here just as soon as possible." "Why not get them up here now?" "Because we really haven't got anything to go on. Chances are they wouldn't come and I want to be able to pin something good and definite on Mr. John J. Joyce before we get the police on the job." Bill seemed impressed by her reasoning. "I guess you're right. If Stoker and Terry are in Nearma and we can prove it, J. J. J. will have a nice little charge of kidnapping to face." "And I want to get him for grand larceny and conspiracy as well," she returned. "That may sound ambitious, but I want to land that gentleman and his friends on a bunch of counts that will send them to Sing Sing for a very, very long time." "You and me both. I don't know what Joyce's plans are, but after listening to his bark last night, I'll bet they're something pretty rotten. Hello!--There's Uncle Abe beckoning." They caught up with the old darky who was peering through the woods to their right. "Yonder's de stone fence, Missy," he announced, "an' beyon' am Marse Joyce's prop'ty. De house am 'bout fifty yards from de fence." "Good. Bill, you go ahead and lay low behind some of the bushes near the house. Uncle Abe and I will be along in a minute." "Aye, aye, skipper. Take care of yourself." With a wave of his hand he climbed the low stone wall and disappeared into the shrubbery on the Joyce grounds. Dorothy turned to Ol' Man River. "I suppose you know the cook over there, Uncle?" "Oh, yaas, ma'am. Liza an' me's bin frien's fer ten years." "That's fine. Now listen to what I say, because you've got your part to play in this affair and there mustn't be any slipup." For several minutes she talked earnestly to the old negro. "Is that all clear?" she ended presently. "Yaas, missy. I'll do what yo'all tells me to--but I ain't 'zackly hankerin' fer you to do all dis." Dorothy laughed. "Neither am I, Uncle. But it's just got to be done, you know." They climbed the fence as Bill had done and set off in the direction of the house, which soon came into view through the shrubbery and trees. As they drew nearer, Dorothy saw that Nearma was a large white frame house with green shutters in the conventional New England style. A wide veranda ran along the front of the house and on the far side a massive fieldstone chimney broke the expanse of clapboard between the rows of windows. The drive swung round the front of the building and turned sharply to the rear cutting the wide lawn on the near side. The grounds were beautifully landscaped. On a bright summer's day it must indeed be a lovely spot. Just then it looked bleak and drear in the steady autumn downpour. They reached the drive without sighting Bill, and followed it to the back of the house. Presently Uncle Abe was knocking on the kitchen door. His second knock was followed by the sound of footsteps and the door opened to disclose an enormously fat negress whose head was bound with a bright red bandanna. The angry glare on her round black face changed to a delighted grin as she recognized her visitor. "Lord, lordy," she exclaimed. "If it ain't Uncle Abe River hisself. Come in outer de wet. You sure is a sight fer sore eyes. Ain't seen you nohow fer a month er Sundays!" Liza bustled her callers through an outer pantry into a spacious kitchen. "I wuz over ter Cross River," said Uncle Abe, seating himself in a proffered chair. "An' you is allus so good an 'commydatin', Liza, I 'lowed I'd drop in an--" "Find out whedder Liza would ask you t' dinner," chuckled that good natured person. "Reckon you ain't livin' so high now'days in dat der cabin." "Yo' sho' is a good guesser," grinned Uncle Abe. "But I likes ter see ol' frien's an' I wanted speshul ter ax if Marse Joyce could gimme a spell o' work rakin' leaves er sump'n." Liza pursed her lips an shook her head vigorously. "'Tain't likely dat man'd give you nothin'," she said darkly. "De goin's on hyar lately is sure terrubul. Wat wid all dese strange men in de house an' de young gemmun dey brought in han'cuffed las' night--an' right froo dis hyar kitchen too--I'se jes' 'bout ready ter give notice. But I mustn't say nothin'! Who is dis hyar boy wid you, Uncle?" Dorothy made a quick decision. "Not a boy, Auntie--a girl," she said quietly. "--And a friend of the young man who was brought here last night." "Sakes alive!" exploded the stout cook. "Wat's all dis I'm a-hearin'?" "Yo'all hearin' de spittin' trufe, Liza," chimed in Uncle Abe earnestly. "Miss Do'thy am de qual'ty. Jes' yo' listen ter wat she say." Dorothy waited for no more comment. With a few deft word strokes she painted a vivid picture of last evening's happenings at the Conway house. Then having aroused a wide-eyed interest in her story, she went on to tell of the adventure in Uncle Abe's cabin and the morning's experiences. "I am not trying to make trouble between you and Mr. Joyce," she ended, "but if you will help me to free that young gentleman--he must be either George or Terry--you'll be doing a very fine thing and my father will see you come to no harm." "I'se 'spected fo' some time Marse Joyce wuz er bad man," said Liza, "but I ain't askeert of him. Wat you want I should do, Miss Do'thy?" "I just want you to tell me some things, Liza. Then you go on getting dinner and I'll see what I can do for my friend." "Hadn't I better call in Marse Bill?" "No, not yet. If anything goes wrong in the house I want to have someone on the outside to phone for the police." She turned to Liza. "Do you know where Mr. Joyce and his men are now?" "Yes, ma'am. Marse Joyce an' most of 'em done gone somewheres in de big car--left de house 'bout 'n hour ago." "How many are still here?" "Two o' dose no-count white men is somewhere in de front part of de house. An' let me tell yo'all if dat white trash comes a-bustin' inter my kitchen agin, dey a-gwine ter git a rollin' pin bounced offen dere skulls!" "If you can't do it, Liza--I will--" added Uncle Abe. "Ho--how come I can't do it, Abe? You jes' watch dis pickaninny. I'll bust 'em an' bust 'em good!" Dorothy giggled. Liza's description of herself as a pickaninny had upset her gravity for the moment. "I can see you're both going to be useful. But tell me, Auntie--do you know where they're keeping this young man?" "He's in de blue room, Missy. I done tote up his breakfas' to de do'. Marse Joyce give de odder two girls de day off, so I'se cook an' waitress an' chambermaid today. You run along, Miss Do'thy an' if dose cheap ivory rollers try ter git fresh--jes' holler fo' Aunt Liza--she'll bust 'em!" Dorothy had started for the pantry when Uncle Abe sprang out of his chair and caught her arm. "'Scuse me, Missy," he apologized then went on eagerly--"I'se got er idee." "Yes? What is it, Uncle?" "Dey's logs an' dey's kindlin' in der entry, missy. I done seen 'em when we come in. Well, Miss Do'thy, you tote some kindlin'--an' I'll carry a couple er logs an'--" "Fine! We'll do it!" Dorothy's alert mind had grasped the plan before Uncle Abe's tongue could give utterance to it. "An' de bes' part of it is, honey," grinned Liza, "dat all de rooms on dis flo' has fireplaces an' mos' of dem upstairs too. Marse Joyce, he's a crank on open fires." Dorothy chuckled. "Lucky break for us." She took a small armful of kindling that Uncle Abe held out to her. "Yo'all better foller me," said the old darky, "I knows de way 'bout dis house, Miss Do'thy." He pushed open a swinging door and they slipped into a dining room, panelled in white pine. It was an attractive room and Dorothy decided that despite his criminal traits, John J. Joyce was a man of taste. Uncle Abe tiptoed across the room and paused in the doorway to the hall. "We better see who's downstairs befo' we goes up," he whispered, and trotted off along the corridor. He stopped at a closed door near the foot of the staircase and lifted his hand to knock. But before his knuckles had touched the panel, the heavy oak swung inward and they were confronted by the prizefighter whom Dorothy had last seen heating a poker in the Conway house. "'Scuse us, suh. We'se bringin' wood fo' de fire." The big man glared at them for a moment. Then apparently satisfied, he stepped aside. "O.K. Thought I heard someone snoopin' around. Dump those logs in the box and then get out." He paid no more attention to them. Slouching stiffly in a big chair before the fire, he became immediately engrossed in the Sunday paper. Uncle Abe dropped the logs into the woodbox, and Dorothy knelt on the hearth and piled her kindling beside it. In rising to her feet her head brushed Uncle Abe's arm, knocking off the soft felt hat Bill had loaned her. Quick as a flash she retrieved it and thrust it back on her head. "A boy with a girl's bob!" Dorothy turned sharply and found herself staring into the muzzle of an automatic. "Stand right where you are," barked the big man, as he got up out of his chair. "And you too, dinge--" The revolver swerved for a second in Abe's direction. "Ol' Man River and the girl, of course--we expected you to show up. The laugh's on you, all right. Where's your boy friend?" "Right here!" Bill Bolton stepped from behind the heavy window draperies, his revolver trained on the gangster's stomach. "Drop that gun--drop it, or I'll drill you!" Then as the automatic crashed to the floor, a smile spread over his tanned face. "And this time the laugh is on you, my friend," he added softly. "Oh, _yeah_?" came a rasping voice from the hall doorway. "You drop _your_ rod, bo'--and stick 'em up! Don't move--you're covered. Now laugh that one off--ha-ha!" Bill's gun fell to the floor and his hands rose slowly upwards. In the doorway stood the bald man--the other member that Dorothy had spied on in the library of the Conway house. Chapter XVI THE BOOK The newcomer limped a couple of paces into the room. His left arm and one leg were swathed in bandages. "What price rock salt?" remarked Bill pleasantly, still reaching toward the ceiling. Despite her qualms, Dorothy could not help smiling. The bald man's face became scarlet with fury. "Another crack like that and I'll give you a taste of something harder than rock salt," her roared. "And when I get through with him that guy who was so free with his shotgun last night will wish he'd never been born!" Bill ignored this outburst. "That gat was my only weapon," he announced without rancor. "This house is in New York State, so if you want to burn in Sing Sing, shoot--I'm tired of holding up my arms." He lowered his hands and thrust them into his trousers pockets. The bald man looked daggers but he did not pull the trigger. Instead he turned on his partner. "Why don't you do something, Chick?" he growled. "You know I'm laid up--oughta be in bed right now, for that matter." "Say, Eddie," complained the burly fellow, "I'm stiff as a board myself--I got peppered all down my back and you know it." "Aw, quit yer grousin'. You can still move around. Tie 'em up and we'll dump 'em somewhere till the boss gets back." "Yeah? An' what do we use fer rope?" Eddie scratched his head with the butt of his revolver and hobbled over to an armchair. "Stick that gat in yer pocket, Chick," he ordered as he lowered himself carefully into the deep cushions. "I've got 'em covered. Beat it into the kitchen--that fat dinge in there's got plenty of clothesline. Help yerself and tell her I'll come in an' bump her off, if she gets nasty!" Chick pocketed his revolver and started to walk stiffly across the room when Liza's ample figure appeared in the doorway. In her hands she bore a wooden mixing bowl, brimming with cake batter. The whites of her eyes gleamed dangerously, as she glared at Chick; then she waddled into the room and halted just behind Eddie's chair. "I done heard what yo'all said jes' now, bald man--" She shook her head slowly from side to side and stared down at the gangster's hairless pate. "Seems ter me you was talkin' 'bout bumpin' somebuddy!" With his gun covering the three prisoners, Eddie was unable to look up at her. Chick undoubtedly hailed Liza's appearance as relief from the painful necessity of a walk to the kitchen. He sat down on the edge of a chair opposite Eddie and scowled at her sourly. Eddie took up the conversation with the angry woman behind him. "That's right, nigger," he chuckled hoarsely. "We want some clothesline, to tie up these here nuisances--an' if you don't cough some up right now--I'll bump you off, see?" "Reckon you got your names mixed--" Without warning Liza brought the solid mixing bowl down upon his unprotected skull. Eddie collapsed beneath the forceful blow and as he crumpled to the floor, Liza flung the bowl and its contents in Chick's face. Then with an agility surprising in one so cumbersomely made, she catapulted herself at the astonished ruffian. Over went his chair and they crashed in a tangled heap of broken furniture, waving legs and cake batter. Bill broke into a roar of laughter, but Dorothy wasted no time in being amused at this spectacle. She dove for Bill's gun which Eddie had not bothered to retrieve. She ran over the struggling pair on the floor and held the muzzle to Chick's head. "Stop fighting!" she commanded. "Stop it at once--" Chick sat up and tried to scrape the batter out of his eyes. "I ain't fightin'," he growled, "I'm half blind and I'm fair smothered. An' if me back ain't broke it oughter be! Take that Mack truck offen my legs--I can't move, much less put up a scrap!" "Get up, Liza!" Dorothy had to smile at the fellow's plight. With Bill's help she got the stout negress planted on her feet again. Uncle Abe stood guard with a poker over Eddie. That glum gentleman was heralding his return to consciousness with the most remarkable series of coughing grunts. "This sure is the craziest rough house I ever got mixed up in," laughed Bill. "Old Baldy over there sounds like a French pig rooting for truffles--" Dorothy grinned absent-mindedly, her thoughts on the next move to be made. "We'll let dese two pigs burrer an' grunt down cellar," declared Liza, straightening her turban and smoothing down her apron. "Dere's a empty storeroom down dere--it's got a strong door an' a good bolt, too. Gimme a gun, please Miss Dor'thy. Me an' Uncle Abe can 'tend ter dis white trash." The negress walked over to Eddie, who stared about the room, a dazed expression on his face. "Git up an' come along." Then as Eddie continued to look at her vacantly, she picked him up as if he were a baby and draped him over her broad shoulders. "Yo'all go first, Liza," said Uncle Abe. He prodded Chick with the gun he had taken from her. "Him an' me'll be right behin'." Dorothy and Bill watched the odd procession pass from the room. "Whew!" she exclaimed. "That was a hectic five minutes. But how did you happen to be in here?" "Got tired of sticking round outside, so slipped in by that window. Eddie was asleep at the time, but he woke up right afterward. Then you and Uncle Abe walked in--and you know the rest. Say, it must be Terry these guys nabbed. Wonder what's become of Stoker and Betty?" "Heaven only knows," said Dorothy wearily. "I'll go up and let Terry out and I think the best thing you can do is to phone the state police. With Terry here, we've got enough on Mr. John J. Joyce to hold him, now." "We sure have. Wonder what the J in John J. Joyce stands for?" "Well, it will stand for Jay, Jonah and Jinx all in one, _if_ you get the police here before he comes back and sets his men free. By the way, I may be going coo-coo with all this, but it seems to me that I keep hearing shots every now and then. There's another--hear it?" "Somebody's probably potting bunnies in the woods." Bill seemed unconcerned. "I noticed it just after I got in here. Beat it upstairs now, and I'll hunt up a telephone." Dorothy found the room where Terry was held prisoner by the simple expedient of opening each door as she came to it. The fourth door was locked, but the key was on the outside. It was no surprise to her, upon opening it, to see her friend lying on the bed. A quick glance showed Dorothy that both windows were barred. Terry sprang up with a glad cry. "It's sure good to see _you_!" He gave her a good-natured hug. "How in the world did you manage this?" Dorothy told him as briefly as possible. "What I want to know," she said in conclusion, "is how they happened to catch you napping--and what's become of George Conway and Betty?" "They didn't catch me napping," Terry retorted. "You and Bill had been gone about an hour and I expected Stoker back from taking Betty home any minute. A Ford drove into the garage, there was a bang on the door and a voice sang out--'Let me in. It's George.' Well, I opened up and--" "It wasn't George--" supplied Dorothy, as usual going straight to the point. "Joyce and his men nabbed you, of course. That's plain enough. But where are Betty and George?" "Search me." Bill burst into the room and stood breathless before them. "Did you get the police?" asked Dorothy. "Got headquarters all right. But what do you think's happened?" "Spill it, Bill. This is no guessing bee," said Terry. "The sergeant told me they'd had a phone call from Lewis. The old man was frantic. Joyce and his gang were trying to break into his house. The whole caboodle from headquarters are up there now, rounding up John J. Joyce and Company." "That accounts for the shots we heard," cried Dorothy. "Get on your rubbers, Terry. We're going to hike over to Mr. Lewis's place right now. I want to be in at the finish." "And I," added Bill, "want to find out what this mess is about!" They raced downstairs and stopping only long enough to tell Liza and Uncle Abe of this new development, set off for the Lewis property adjoining. Following hasty directions given them by the darkies, they hurried along a path which led them to a gate in a high wall. The gate was not locked and they continued along the path which crossed the Lewis estate. Presently the dim shape of a large white house appeared through the mist. "Halt!" A gruff voice arrested them as they were about to ascend the steps at the side entrance. A state trooper barred their way. "Who are you--and what do you want?" "We are friends of Mr. Lewis," said Dorothy. She explained the circumstances of their arrival. "Well, we've just sent Joyce and his men to the lockup. The whole crew of 'em. We corralled 'em proper. They'd busted into the house, you know, and it sure would have been a mixup if this fly cop that horned in on the Joyce bunch hadn't clapped his gat to Joyce's head and held up their game until we got here." "Oh, that must have been Michael Michaels--the private inquiry agent who came to Uncle Abe's last night," said Bill. "We'd like to go in the house, officer." "O.K. with me. There's some kind of a pow-wow goin' on in the living room. I'll take you in there." He opened the door and led them across the square hall into the living room. Here they found a surprise awaiting them. "Betty! George!" cried Dorothy. She flew across the room to her friend. "I'm so glad you're safe. How did you get here?" "Oh, darling! It's too exciting for words!" gurgled Betty as they hugged each other. "And George was so brave--he--" "Mr. Lewis and his chauffeur stopped our Lizzie last night," broke in Stoker. "Told us Joyce and his men were likely to hold us up down the road. So we left the Ford and came over here with Mr. Lewis. And we've been here ever since." "Listen, George!" said that old gentleman, and both girls giggled. "Hadn't you better introduce your friends? This young lady in overalls is Miss Dixon, I take it?" "She certainly is," smiled Stoker and performed the necessary introductions. The other men in the room proved to be Michael Michaels and an inspector of the state police. For a few minutes everybody seemed to be talking at once. Bill told George and Mr. Lewis of his adventures with Dorothy, while Terry explained his capture by the Joyce gang to the inspector and Michaels. "Listen!" said Dorothy and threw a reproving glance at the others' unsuppressed smiles--"Will somebody please tell me what Mr. Joyce has been trying to steal from Stoker?" "Why, that's so," interjected Mr. Lewis, "you have no idea, of course--" "No, except that it's probably mixed up with that book, _Aircraft Power Plants_, I think it's called--" The old gentleman looked at her in unfeigned astonishment. "Listen, Michaels!" he cried. "She says this business is connected with that book. Pretty good guess, eh?" "Certainly is," returned the detective. "But the book is a mystery in itself, and one we haven't yet solved." "But what _was_ Joyce after?" interrupted Bill with a show of impatience. "The plans, of course," said Stoker Conway. "But what plans?" "The plans of my father's new aircraft engine. I knew nothing about it until Mr. Lewis told me last night." "Where are the plans, and what has the book to do with them?" broke in Dorothy. "Listen, young lady," began Mr. Lewis, when Michaels the detective stopped him with a gesture. "Better let me tell them, sir," he suggested. "These young people have a right to know." The old gentleman nodded approval and the detective, after biting off the end of a cigar, continued to talk while the others grouped about him. "About two weeks ago," he said, "Mr. Lewis called at my New York office. There he told me the following story. Six weeks before his death, Mr. Conway came over here and told Mr. Lewis that he had perfected plans for an aircraft motor which would develop very high power on a very small consumption of gasoline." "That's just what all the inventors are after now," interposed Bill. "Why, I should say so!" cried Dorothy. "If _Wispy's_ motor didn't lap up the gas like a thirsty camel, I'd never have been forced to land in that woodlot yesterday afternoon!" "All very interesting, I'm sure--" Terry's voice was sarcastic. "But do let's hear what Mr. Michaels is trying to tell us!" "That's all right," smiled the detective. "Let's see--where was I? Oh, yes, the motor: well, the inventor told Mr. Lewis that his partner and sales agent had ruined him financially, and that now he was convinced that he'd been swindled, and that Joyce was a crook. Mr. Lewis suggested Mr. Conway take the matter to the courts, and offered to advance money for legal expenses. Mr. Conway said he hadn't sufficient evidence for a case; that Joyce had covered his tracks too well. Then he spoke about the plans for this new motor he'd just completed. He said that Joyce knew about it and was trying to get control of the thing; but that outside of stealing the plans outright, Joyce could do nothing, as the partnership had been dissolved. And at the same time he told Mr. Lewis that he knew he was suffering from an incurable disease and could live but a few months longer at most." "Listen, Michaels--let me tell it," interrupted old Lewis. "You are wandering all over the place.... Your father, George, said that should he have the new motor built, Joyce would undoubtedly make trouble, and he, Conway, wanted to die in peace. He told me he was going to entrust me with the plans and would send them to me after he had made some slight changes in them. And he said that he would send me his check to cover the expense of building and exploiting the engine. 'After I'm gone, you attend to it for George,' he said. 'That boy has no mechanical ability, and he's too young to market a thing like this motor. Joyce or other wolves like him would rob him of it in twenty four hours.' And that, was the last time I saw John Conway alive." The old gentleman pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose violently. "He wouldn't see me when I called, nor would he mention the plans over the phone. He died while I was in Boston on business. When I got back the next day, I found a package from him waiting for me. Of course, I thought it would contain the plans and his check. When I opened it up I found nothing but a book--_Aircraft Power Plants_, by a man named Jones. I was naturally surprised, and searched its pages from cover to cover, but found no papers of any kind. I've even read every word of it since then. And its pages have been tested for invisible ink. But I've had my trouble and pains for nothing." "I wonder why Father didn't tell me of those plans?" George remarked rather wistfully. "That I can't explain, my boy. As you know now, I thought you had them. Either that you had removed them from the book before it left your house, or that your father had changed his mind and given them to you. Anyway, I decided to await developments. Nothing happened until Joyce, who had been in Europe since Conway's death, returned home a couple of weeks ago. He came to see me and asked me outright if I knew anything about Conway's airplane motor plans. I never liked nor trusted Joyce, but I saw no harm in telling him the truth. For of course I figured that George must have set the wheels in motion for the sale of the motor long before. Joyce could do nothing about it at this late date." "But to my astonishment, the man told me the motor had not been marketed--that he would have heard if any company had bought it. 'Either that boy's got the plans,' he said, 'or Conway had two copies of the book and sent you the wrong one--' I didn't understand how the book came into it and told him so. 'Conway always sent important papers through the mail by placing them between the pages of a book,' he assured me. 'Thought they would travel safer that way.' "Well, he changed the subject then, and left. I got nervous about what I'd told him, and hired Michaels to watch the fellow. Michaels dug up a lot of things about Joyce, and managed to get himself placed on his staff of roughnecks. If he could have been in two places at once, all this trouble over at the Conway house last night would never have come off." Dorothy spoke from her place on the couch beside Betty. "How did you happen to go there last night?" "I wanted to find out if George really had another copy of the book. Later I learned from Michaels that Joyce's men had tried to torture the boy into telling them where the plans were--and that then he intended to kidnap him. I was on my way over there to warn him when we met on the road. He wanted to put young Walters wise, but I was sure the Joyce gang wouldn't hurt his friend. I had promised Michaels not to go ahead on my own hook until I saw him. Perhaps I was wrong, but I did what I thought was best for George's interests. I've heard since that they just about tore the house apart, looking for the other copy of that book!" "Do you happen to have the copy that was sent you, here in the house?" asked Dorothy. "Yes--right here, on the table." Michaels handed it to her. Dorothy pored over the book for a few minutes, then laid it down. "Mr. Lewis, do you mind if I take it home with me?" "Why, of course not--keep it as long as you wish." "Thanks," she smiled. "Now, you gentlemen want to plan about what to do with Joyce and Co., and Bill and I have some gas to buy and a plane to fly home. So I'll say _au revoir_ for the present!" Chapter XVII THE TEST On a morning some three months later, the private flying field on the Bolton place was the mecca of a considerable portion of New Canaan's population. The ridge road and the surrounding meadows were jammed with cars that flaunted license plates of a dozen different states. Although the December sun shone brightly in a cobalt sky, the crowd shivered and stamped on the frozen ground for the winter air was icy. All eyes were turned upward toward an airplane, high above their heads, which swept the sky in immense, horizontal circles. A small group of people bundled in heavy fur coats stood and chatted by the open doors of the hangar. "I almost wish they'd come down," said George Conway. "They must be half-dead for want of sleep, and they've already beaten the world's record by hours. It must be a terrific strain, especially for Dorothy." "Oh," cried Betty Mayo. "Isn't she marvelous?--and Bill, too!" "They're a pair of young idiots!" growled old Mr. Lewis, whose false teeth were chattering. "But I must admit they're first class sportsmen to stay up all this time for a friend!" "You said it." declared Terry Walters, and glanced at his wrist watch. "In exactly one minute, they'll have been up one hundred and one hours, without refueling. Gosh, it's wonderful! That motor of your father's is some humdinger, Stoker!" "Why, it's simply adorable!" Betty was brimming over with excitement. "And I just can't help being glad that that horrid Mr. Joyce and his men are being sent to Sing Sing for years and years and years! It's too--" "Here they come!" The crowd yelled and roared and swarmed toward the roped-off enclosure. Sure enough--At last the big plane was spiralling downward. It landed lightly on the frozen ground and bowled across the field. The crowd surged in, but there was no sign of life, no movement about the plane. Mechanics jerked open the door, and there, side by side, grimy, worn, unkempt, were Dorothy Dixon and Bill Bolton, sleeping like children! Somehow they were taken into the Bolton's house and put to bed, where they continued to sleep for twelve hours, while certain anxious gentlemen waited about, impatiently demanding interviews. The pair eventually looked up from quantities of ham and eggs in the dining room, to greet their visitors. "Now, I want to talk business," said the portly man who led the van. "Mr. Conway will not discuss the matter. He refers me to you--" "Oh, you can talk to her," said Bill. He motioned to Dorothy. "She's run this show from start to finish." "And what," asked the portly gentleman, coming at once to the point, "will you take for that motor, Miss Dixon?" "Hmmm--A hundred hours, without refueling," remarked Dorothy, thoughtfully buttering a slice of toast. "I hope you've given that some thought." "I have given it several thoughts. Name a price." "A million," said Dorothy. "Dollars?" Bill kicked her under the table. "Pounds, certainly," said Dorothy. "I went to England last year, and after I learned how to figure their complicated money, I've never been able to unlearn it!" She smiled benignly upon the company. Bill nodded. "Dorothy's some little bargainer, ain't she?" he said delightedly, with his mouth full. "Give you a million dollars," said the portly gentleman. "Give up your place," said Dorothy, "and let some of these other gentlemen into the game." "A million and a half," said the portly gentleman, edging closer to the table. "Make it two million and you win." "Done!" "Thank you," smiled Dorothy. "Now please make the check payable to George Conway." The gentlemen filed out of the room. "Gee, you're a whizbang, Dorothy!" Bill exploded as soon as they were alone. "Some Christmas present for Stoker!" "You're not so bad yourself," laughed the girl. "That kick of yours was worth just a million dollars!" Five minutes later, the kitchen door of the Bolton's house was flung open and a black face crowned with an aureole of woolly hair peered in. "Has yo'all heard de news, Liza?" panted Uncle Abe in great excitement. "G'wan home, niggah, I'ze busy makin' waffle fo' de chilluns," retorted the Bolton's cook. "Golly, but dey sure is hungry!" "Miss Dorothy done sol' dat motah fo' two million dollars. I wuz stickin' roun' outside an' done hear de gen'men talkin' 'bout it." "Lan's sakes, but dat a pile er money," said Liza pouring batter on to the hot waffle iron. "How come Marse Bill was able ter build dat engin'? I thought dat de plans was lost?" "You sho' has a one-track mind, Liza," Uncle Abe observed contemptuously. "And dat track spells nuthin' but kitchen. My young Missy _found_ dem plans! She beat all dose big detecatives to it!" "Do tell! Whar was dey?" "In er book, Liza." "Shucks, I done heard 'bout de book. Dey warn't no plans inside it." "Huh! Dey sho wuz, too!" "Whar dey at?" "Miss Dor'thy done took er knife an' ripped dat book erpart! Dat little lady is de quality, an' she sure am smart. De plans was on thin paper, pasted in de back whar de leaves o' de book am sewed togedder." "Do tell!" Liza shook her head. "But what I nevah did un'erstan' wuz why Marse Joyce tried ter kidnap de other boys and girls." "Liza, you sho' is dumb. It all come out in de trial. Firs' Marse Joyce think Marse George know 'bout de plans, so his men try ter make him tell. Den when Miss Dor'thy busted up dat party, he know dat de other chilluns would sho' crab his game if dey wuz let loose ter tell 'bout it." "Abe, you is crazy! How dat man goin' ter keep all dose young folks locked in his house while he try to sell dem plans? De police sure find dem befo' he's able ter do dat!" "No. Liza, you's wrong agin. Marse Joyce knew a lot about dem plans. Marse Conway had done tol' him consider'ble about dem, and Marse Joyce done tell de Rooshians what Marse Conway tell him. De Rooshians say dey give him a heap of money jes' as soon as he build dat engine." "An' Marse Joyce figured he'd beat it to Rooshia jes' as soon as he could put his han's on de plans?" said Liza. "Dat's right--" nodded the old darky. "You ain't quite ez dumb ez yo' looks, niggah. An' de way Marse George is a-hangin' roun' Miss Betty--" "Yo'all talks too much," Liza cut him short. "Lan' sakes! Gossipin' at yo' age! Tote dis hyar plate of hot waffles inter der dinin' room. De young folks am hungry!" THE END * * * * * Dorothy's further adventures will be found in the fourth book of this series, Dorothy Dixon and the Double Cousin.