XX

When Barry Lincoln left Sam in the side street with the roadster and

darted across the trolley track and around the back of the stranger’s

car, the big man with the heavy moustache was visible in the brightly

lighted drug store talking with the clerk at the back of the store. He

was handing out some money and lighting a big black cigar at the taper

on the desk.

Barry drew himself up for one glimpse and saw that the girl was now

seated in the front, left hand, away from the curb.

He swept the street either way with a quick glance, saw no one coming in

his immediate vicinity, gave another glance to the man in the drug store

and made a dash for the door of the driver’s seat.

Barry had grown up as it were in the garage, that is he had spent every

available minute there since he was a small child, hovering over every

car that came within its doorway, watching the men at work, as he grew

older, helping with the repairs himself, and finally becoming so expert

that they were always ready to give him a job on Saturdays and half

holidays, and often even sent for him to help them discover what made

the trouble in some refractory engine or carburetor. There was no car

rolling that Barry didn’t know by name and sight, and wasn’t able to

describe its characteristics and comparative worth. He was a judge of

cars as some men are a judge of their fellowmen. Also, he had a way with

cars. When he put his hand to a wheel it obeyed him. He was a perfect,

natural driver, knowing how to get the best out of every piece of

machinery.

And now as he slid into the driver’s seat with the owner only a few feet

away, a strange unwarned girl beside him, a strange unfriendly town

around him, a dark unknown way ahead, it was not a strange unknown

mechanism to which he put his hand. He had known that car as a man

recognizes his friend even when he was up in the tree some hours before

and saw it coming down the road.

The girl was evidently startled, but Barry, his face turned half away

from her, threw in the clutch and was off in a whirl.

“Why Bobs! You scared me!” cried Athalie, “I didn’t see you come out, I

thought I was watching you light a cigar. It must have been another man

who looked just like you. Did you get the chocolates? Hand them over

quick! I’m simply dying of starvation.”

Barry began to fumble in his pocket silently with one hand. He brought

out a mobile package, half a cake of milk chocolate and dropped it into

her lap. His eye was ahead. He had no time to waste. The owner of the

car would be out in a second and raise a rumpus. He whirled the first

corner he came to and fled down a dark side street, passed two blocks, a

third that went perceptibly down hill, and darted into an old covered

wooden bridge.

It was pitch-dark in there save for their own lights. The noise of the

engine echoed and reverberated like an infernal machine.

The girl was leaning forward looking at the package. An instant more and

they roared out of the bridge into the quiet starlight.

“Why, Bobs! I think you’re horrid! Was that all you bought for me? And

it’s not even a whole cake!” She flung it disgustedly on the floor of

the car and looked up angrily. “Did you call that a _joke_?” she asked

with a curling lip, and then suddenly she saw his face, and was

transfixed with horror. For an instant she held her breath, her eyes

growing wider and wider with fright, then she let out one of the most

blood curdling screams Barry had ever heard.

Just at that second there lumbered into view the lights of a big

gasoline truck that was hurrying to the end of its long day’s journey.

One instant they saw it, the next they were in its very embrace. Barry

curled out of the road just in time and back into it again, while

Athalie screamed some more.

They shot into a black road overarched with tall forest trees. The smell

of the new earth leaped up to Barry’s taut senses with a soothing touch.

The road as far as his lights reached ahead was empty. His woodman’s

sense told him there was no one near. But how far in the night had that

scream reached? What straggler might have heard it and sent a warning?

There! She was beginning it again! He must stop it somehow. A sudden

thought came to him. He groped in the pocket of the door by his side.

There ought to be one there, in a car like this! A man of that sort

would carry one. Yes, there it was! His fingers grasped the cool metal,

found their way with confidence and drew it forth.

“Bobs! Bobs!” screamed Athalie. The echoes rang through the woods on

either hand as they raced along. She was leaving the trail behind them

for any straggler to report their whereabouts. This must not go on.

Suddenly the dull gleam of the revolver flashed in front of her face.

“Cut that out!” said the boy sternly.

Athalie opened her mouth to scream again and instead dropped her jaw

just as the scream was about to be uttered. She turned wide, horrified

eyes to her captor and sat white and still in her seat, cringing away

from the weapon.

“Now,” said Barry, still holding the revolver in one hand, “you might as

well understand that you aren’t in any danger whatever if you keep your

mouth shut, but if you yodel again like that I’ll knock you cold. Do you

get me?”

Athalie’s eyes acknowledged that she understood. She cringed still

farther away from the revolver and he lowered it, keeping it still in

his hand however. The woods flew by in one long sweet avenue of spring

night. Barry settled to his wheel, eyes to the front, with a mind to the

back, and a sort of sixth sense keeping tab on the girl by his side. He

could see that the revolver had frightened her terribly. Her face was

too much powdered to admit of its turning pale, but there was a sagging

droop about her lips and eyelids that betokened her whole spirit

stricken with fear. She gathered her cloak closer about her and

shivered. Her big, dark eyes never left his face except now and then to

glance fearfully out as if wondering what were the possibilities of

jumping overboard. Barry began to feel sorry for her.

“Nothing but a little kid,” he said to himself, “A foolish little kid!”

Two miles farther on they turned into the high road and Barry slowed

down a bit. There were two cars ahead, he could see their tail lights,

but nothing coming behind. He turned to the right in the general

direction of Silver Sands, and then looked at the girl.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he said half contemptuously, half gently, “I’m

not going to hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid,” said Athalie, some of the old spirit returning.

“Oh!” said the boy. “All right! I thought you were!” They speeded on

again in silence. Presently Athalie spoke. Her voice showed returning

temper.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“Going to take you home to your father!” said Barry.

The young woman sat up suddenly. This then was no highwayman. This was

some meddler in her business. He knew her father. He had somehow trailed

her and recognized her. She was furious.

“But I don’t choose to go home,” she said indignantly.

“That doesn’t cut any ice,” said Barry crisply. “You’re getting there

pretty fast all right.”

Athalie turned on him angrily.

“Look here,” she said fiercely, “I’m not going to stand this another

minute. Do you know what a terrible thing you’re doing? You’ll probably

be put in prison for life for it. But if you’ll turn right around now

and take me back to my friend I’ll tell him you just made a mistake. You

didn’t try to steal the car at all.”

“Thank you,” said Barry a grim shadow of a smile flickering across his

face in the darkness, “I’m not worrying about that just now.”

“But you’ve _got_ to take me back,” said Athalie, almost on the verge of

tears, “I’m on my way to be _married_!”

“Not tonight!” said Barry grimly.

“Well, I guess I’m not going to be stopped by a kid like you!” burst

forth Athalie. She suddenly rose with all her might and flung herself

upon the wheel, and Athalie had some weight and grip when she chose to

use them.

Barry, utterly unprepared for this onslaught, ground on the brakes and

put forth all his strength, trying to keep the wavering car from

climbing a tree while he was bringing it to a standstill, but he managed

to keep his head.

It was a sharp, brief struggle, for Athalie’s muscles were untrained,

and in a moment more Barry was holding her firmly with both hands and

she had ceased to struggle. He had not again brought the revolver into

play. He hated dramatic effects when physical force would do as well.

But he could not stay there all night and hold her down. He cast about

for some way of making her fast. There was a handkerchief in his pocket.

He managed to get hold of it and crossing her hands bind them together.

Her cloak had fallen off disclosing the flimsy dress and the long

fringed ends of a satin sash tied about her waist. He pulled at it and

found that it came loose. With this he bound her about across the

shoulders and down to the waist.

“You’re cold!” he remarked as he saw her shiver, “and that flimsy coat

is no good. Here, put this sweater on.”

He pulled off his own sweater and pulled it down over her head. She

started to scream again, but he put his hand over her mouth, and when

she was quiet remarked very gently:

“I hate awfully to treat a girl this way, but I’ll have to gag you if

you try that line again,” and she knew by his tone that he meant it. “I

don’t think you’d like gagging.”

Athalie began to cry.

“I’m sorry,” said Barry remorsefully, “but you can’t be trusted.”

He was down on his knees now fastening her ankles together with a bit of

old rope he had found in his pocket.

“But I’m on my way to be _married_,” sobbed out the indignant child,

“you’re spoiling my _life_—” she was weeping uncontrollably now.

“Excuse me,” he said quietly, “I guess I’ll have to use my neck tie for

a gag,” and he began unconcernedly to take off his necktie. “I can’t

have all this noise.”

Athalie stopped short.

“I won’t cry,” she said shortly, “but won’t you just listen to reason?

Would you like it if you were going to get married, to be interfered

with this way?”

“Say kid,” he said gently, “you talk sense and I’ll help you. You know

you aren’t old enough to get married yet. And I say, did you know what

kind of a rotter you were going off with?”

Athalie’s eyes fairly blazed.

“He’s nothing of the sort!” she retorted, “I’ve known him for years.

He’s perfectly darling! He’s my mother’s friend.”

“Is that all?” said Barry witheringly. “I thought you were going to say

your grandmother’s.”

“I think you’re perfectly horrid!” said Athalie shrugging what was left

of her shoulders, and drawing as far away from him as she could. “You

think you’re smart!”

“Look here, kid! There’s no use your quarrelling with the only friend

you’ve got just now. I’m telling you facts. Can’t you listen to reason?

That man’s a rotter. I know his kind. If he’s your mother’s friend so

much the worse. He knew he wasn’t doing the square thing taking a kid

like you off that way at night. What kind of a rep would you have had,

will you tell me, when you got back I’d like to know?”

“I wasn’t coming back,” sobbed Athalie softly, “I told you—I—was

ggg-g-oing to be m-m-married!”

“Yes, in a pig’s eye you were! If that man ever married you, kid I’d eat

my hat. He hadn’t any more idea of marrying you than I have, and that’s

flat! This isn’t a very nice way to talk to a girl I know, but when you

won’t listen to sense why you’ve gotta be shown.”

“He was going to buy me—a—s-s-string of real pearls!” wept Athalie

suddenly remembering, “and we were going to have a turkey dinner!

I’m—ju-s-t—st-ar-r-r-ved!”

Barry shrugged down behind his wheel disgustedly.

“You look as if you had meat enough on you to stand it awhile!” he said

contemptuously, “I thought you were a girl, not a baby!”

Athalie held in the sob on a high note and surveyed him angrily.

“You are the most—_disagreeable_ boy!” she vociferated.

“I didn’t state my opinion of you yet. But you certainly aren’t my idea

of agreeable.”

“I didn’t ask you your opinion.”

“Say, look here,” said Barry, “let’s cut this out. This isn’t getting us

anywhere. What I want is for you to see some sense before I get you

home. Your father’s a kind of a friend of mine and I’d hate like the

deuce to have all this get out about you in the town. You see, whatever

you think of this rotter you were going off with, the little old town

would know fast enough what he was, if any of ’em knew you were off in

the night with him. You can’t kid the town!”

“I haven’t the slightest desire to bother with your little old town,”

said Athalie loftily. “It may go to the devil for all I care!”

Barry was silent with disgust for a moment.

“Well, if it does,” he said slowly, “it will carry you on a pointed

stick ahead of it, and like as not they’ll try out the point of the

stick on your father first. You can’t kid the devil!”

There was a long pause. The night was very still. They had not passed a

car for some time. The lights in the sleeping villages in the valley

below them were nearly all gone out; moist, dank air rushed up in

wreaths and struck them lightly in the face as they passed. The sudden

breath of an apricot tree in bloom drenched the darkness. Over in the

east toward which they were hastening a silver light was lifting beyond

the horizon and in reflection a little thread of a river leaped out from

the darkness where it had been sleeping in winding curves among the dark

of plumy willows.

“I _hate_ you!” said Athalie suddenly. “You called me names! You’re a

vulgar boy!”

“What names did I call you kid?” Barry’s voice was gentle.

“You called me fat in a very coarse way!”

“Well, you’re not exactly emaciated, are you?” He gave her a friendly

grin in the darkness.

“I hate you!” reiterated Athalie again, “and I want to get out and

walk!”

“Anything to please you!” said Barry quickly bringing the car to a full

stop and reaching over to throw open the door by her side.

Athalie was surprised to be taken so literally, but she made an instant

move to get out, and then realizing that her ankles were tied she

subsided again.

“Oh, excuse me,” said Barry and stooping unfastened the cord on her

ankles, and sat back again.

“Are you going to untie my hands?” she asked imperiously.

“Oh, no, I guess not,” said Barry easily, “you don’t walk on your hands

do you?”

She cast him a furious look and bounced out of the car, walking off very

rapidly down the road with her shoulders stiff and indignant.

Barry sat back and watched her. She went on swiftly till she came to the

bend of the road, and then she looked back half fearfully. The car was

still and dark as if Barry had settled for a nap. The road ahead wound

into a dark wood, and the trees were casting weird shadows across the

roadway. But no one should call her bluff. She would go on and show him.

She stumbled forward on her little high heeled slippers almost falling

as she ran fearfully toward the darkness of the wooded road. Then

suddenly on her horrified senses came the distant sound of a motor in

the opposite direction and a long thin forecasting of light shot out

with a blind glare ahead. Another car was coming! And it was away in the

nighttime! And she alone on the road with her arms tied! Horrible fear

seized upon her and rooted her to the ground. Then with a mighty effort

she gathered her ebbing strength and turning fled.