IN THE DITCH
It was because Bab Winters’ eyes were closed that she missed seeing
what Gordon did. But Gerry saw it all. Gerry Thompson made it a point
never to miss anything!
As the big car bore down upon them, Charlie seemed stricken with a
paralysis of fright. He appeared unable to move.
Face set, Gordon reached over and pulled the wheel sharply to the right.
At the same time the driver of the other car--a dark-faced, swarthy
fellow--swung on two wheels to his side of the road, skidded along a
shallow ditch, teetered madly for a second, then rushed on.
As the car whizzed by, Gerry had a confused vision of a white,
terrified face, the face of a girl seated beside the swarthy driver of
the other car. The girl had flung out both arms to them as though in a
desperate cry for help.
It was over in a moment. The machine flashed by while their own car
neared the dangerous curve.
Gordon, white-faced and thin-lipped, gripped the wheel in both his
strong, brown hands, guiding the runaway car as best he could from his
cramped position, his foot seeking the brake pedal.
Rounding the curve on two wheels, the car skidded wildly across the
road. In another moment, unhampered, Gordon would have had it under
control.
But Charlie recovered, now that the worst of the danger was past. He
sat up violently and grasped the wheel.
Gordon’s position put him at a disadvantage. He felt his hands slipping
from the wheel. The machine careened crazily from side to side, skidded
once too often, and slid off with a jarring bump into the ditch at the
side of the road.
As the car settled and leaned against the steep bank as though wearied
after its mad adventure, the girls climbed out of the side of the car
nearest the road.
Gordon and Charles got out, too. The cousins glared at each other
angrily.
“Pretty piece of work you pulled,” Charlie began, scowling fiercely as
he regarded his car. “Next time maybe you’ll keep your hands off and
let me manage my own boat. If it hadn’t been for you----”
“If it hadn’t been for me,” broke in Gordon, “your fool car, to say
nothing of us, would probably have been smashed into very small bits.”
“Stop quarreling, boys,” interrupted Bab peaceably. “We’re safe and the
car isn’t damaged--for which we should be very thankful.”
“The question is, how are we going to get back to Scarsdale,” said
Charlie, still scowling.
“A team of good, stout horses----,” suggested Gerry, giggling.
“And here it comes,” said Bab, pointing up the road. “A good stout team
of horses with a pleasant-looking farmer on the wagon seat behind them.
We’ll ask him to haul us out.”
“He looks as if he had a kind heart,” agreed Gerry, with a chuckle.
The farmer, on hearing of their difficulty, promptly agreed to help
them. The powerful horses were put to work. A straining of strong
shoulders, a snort and a heave, and the car moved slowly from the
ditch. A moment later the racer was hauled to the road, uninjured.
“Takes a good team of horses every time,” chuckled the good-natured
farmer.
He refused Gordon’s offer of payment, and climbed to the high seat of
his wagon.
“They don’t go so fast, mebbe,” he added; “but you can always be
tol’able sure with horses that you’ll git where you’re goin’, anyway.
Good day to you!”
He clucked to his horses. The wagon creaked and started up the road.
Then, suddenly, the driver drew rein and glanced back at them where
they still stood in the road beside the rescued car. There was a
speculative look in his eye.
“You say you met an automobile goin’ like blazes just before you
skidded into that ditch,” he remarked. “Did you happen to notice
anything unusual about that automobile?” he added insinuatingly.
“I did!” returned Gerry quickly. “There was a dark-skinned man driving.
I remember thinking, even in that awful moment, what a villainous
looking face he had. And there was a girl in the car----”
The farmer nodded. He seemed excited.
“And what idee did you git concernin’ that girl?” he asked Gerry.
“Why--I’m not sure, it all happened so suddenly,” Gerry frowned in an
effort to concentrate while the boys and Bab watched her with growing
astonishment. “Only, it seemed to me, she looked awfully scared about
something and I thought I heard her call ‘Help’!”
“Gerry!” cried Bab. “Why didn’t you----”
But Gerry rushed on excitedly.
“I thought--I couldn’t be sure--but I thought the man at the wheel put
a hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the car. It was all
over in a flash,” she added apologetically.
While Bab and the boys stared at her in sheer amazement, the farmer
nodded shrewdly.
“Just what I thought. I met that car myself a ways down the road and I
said to myself, ‘There’s somethin’ all-fired queer about this thing.
That girl beside the dark-skinned critter at the wheel looks like she
was bein’ took!’”
“Do you mean kidnaped?” asked Bab incredulously.
“Yes’m, that’s what I mean! If I’d a gas wagon like that one o’ yours,
I’d ’a’ followed that automobile, certain.” With the last word, he
clucked to his horses and the wagon creaked off down the road.
The young folks returned to Scarsdale at a very decorous pace,
considering that Charlie still drove the car.
Naturally, the chief subject of conversation was the farmer’s
sensational theory concerning the girl in the automobile. In fact, they
had not stopped talking about it when the car finally drew up before
the Winters’ house.
“You come in to lunch, Gerry,” Bab invited. “Grandmother will have it
ready.”
“All right,” said Gerry. “And thanks so much for the ride, Charlie. Who
says nothing thrilling ever happens in Scarsdale!”
When Charlie Seymour and his atrocious car had roared off down the
street Gordon turned to Bab. He held out toward her a crumpled letter.
“Sorry, Bab,” he apologized. “Got this at the post-office, but in the
excitement of our feverish ride forgot to give it to you until now.”
“Thanks,” said Bab absently. She regarded the large envelope with
curiosity and a vague excitement. The postmark was New York.
“Open your letter, Babs,” urged Gerry, curious, bright eyes upon her
chum.
Bab roused herself and thrust the letter rather hurriedly into her
pocket.
“We’ll read it after lunch,” she said. “We’d better go up and help
grandmother now and tell her where we’ve been.” She waved to Gordon
as he leaped the hedge that separated the Seymour grounds from the
Winters’ garden.
“Who can be writing to me from New York?” she wondered. And because it
occurred to her that there might be something very unusual, maybe even
exciting, about the contents of this letter, she wanted to savor to the
full a delicious uncertainty before making sure of what it contained.
Gerry’s merry chatter made a pleasant meal of what would ordinarily
have been a very quiet one. Afterwards the two girls washed the
luncheon dishes with a great noise and clatter, then joined Mrs.
Winters on the porch.
As quietly as possible Bab took the letter from her pocket. But Gerry’s
bright, quick eyes followed the gesture instantly, with a pounce like
that of a mischievous kitten.
“Look, Granny!” she called to Mrs. Winters. “Our Bab’s got a letter.”
“A big letter, Granny,” said Bab, meeting the inquiring gaze of the
pink-cheeked old lady. “It’s from New York, too.”
Grandmother laid down her knitting to watch as Bab slit open the
envelope. In the porch swing Gerry slid closer to her chum, so that she
might look over her shoulder.
As Barbara Winters slowly opened the crackling pages and glanced at the
printed heading, she felt her heart begin to pound to a slow rhythm of
excitement.
“Grandmother!” she cried. “It--why, it’s from a lawyer! What can a
lawyer have to say to me?”