[Illustration:
DOROTHY WAS AHEAD, LEADING HER HORSE UP THE NARROW TRAIL.
“Dorothy Dale to the Rescue.” Page 200
]
DOROTHY DALE
TO THE RESCUE
BY
MARGARET PENROSE
AUTHOR OF “DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY,” “DOROTHY DALE AND HER
CHUMS,” “DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT,” “THE MOTOR GIRLS SERIES,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
BOOKS BY MARGARET PENROSE
_12mo._ _Cloth._ _Illustrated_
THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES
DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY
DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL
DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET
DOROTHY DALE AND HER CHUMS
DOROTHY DALE’S QUEER HOLIDAYS
DOROTHY DALE’S CAMPING DAYS
DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS
DOROTHY DALE IN THE CITY
DOROTHY DALE’S PROMISE
DOROTHY DALE IN THE WEST
DOROTHY DALE’S STRANGE DISCOVERY
DOROTHY DALE’S ENGAGEMENT
DOROTHY DALE TO THE RESCUE
THE MOTOR GIRLS SERIES
THE MOTOR GIRLS
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON A TOUR
THE MOTOR GIRLS AT LOOKOUT BEACH
THE MOTOR GIRLS THROUGH NEW ENGLAND
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CEDAR LAKE
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON THE COAST
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CRYSTAL BAY
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON WATERS BLUE
THE MOTOR GIRLS AT CAMP SURPRISE
THE MOTOR GIRLS IN THE MOUNTAINS
_Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York_
COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
DOROTHY DALE TO THE RESCUE
Printed in the U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BAD NEWS 1
II. JOE DISAPPEARS 8
III. CALLED HOME 16
IV. ON THE TRAIL 24
V. CAPTURED 32
VI. MORE TROUBLE 38
VII. A LETTER FROM GARRY 47
VIII. THE SEARCH 55
IX. IN THE TREE 62
X. A CLUE 71
XI. DOROTHY REACHES A DECISION 78
XII. A GUESS 84
XIII. DERAILED 90
XIV. THE WARNING 104
XV. DISAPPOINTMENT 109
XVI. DOROTHY HOPES AGAIN 116
XVII. SOME RASCALS REAPPEAR 123
XVIII. PLAYING A PART 133
XIX. AN OLD FRIEND 140
XX. REAL NEWS AT LAST 146
XXI. TWO SCOUNDRELS 154
XXII. A SURPRISE 163
XXIII. GONE AGAIN 185
XXIV. A WASTED BULLET 194
XXV. THE STORM 202
XXVI. A GENTLEMAN 209
XXVII. WHAT WAS THAT? 215
XXVIII. A VOICE IN THE MOUNTAIN 221
XXIX. THE DASTARDLY PLOT 229
XXX. CAPTURED 237
DOROTHY DALE
TO THE RESCUE
CHAPTER I
BAD NEWS
“Everything about the old _Bugle_ office seems so changed,” said Dorothy
Dale slowly. “I feel sort of——”
“Homesick?” giggled her chum, Tavia Travers.
“Exactly,” retorted Dorothy. “That gorgeous big printing press which has
taken the place of the one we used to have——”
“The old one-lunger Ralph had charge of?” Tavia again interrupted
airily. “It was funny, wasn’t it?”
“I think it was a dear,” declared Dorothy loyally. “It used to print the
old _Bugle_ in pretty good shape, anyway.”
“Good gracious, Doro, any one would think you were in mourning for the
old _Bugle_ office,” cried Tavia, exasperated. “If you want the old
one-lunger back, I am sure you can get it, provided it has not gone to
adorn an ash heap somewhere.”
Dorothy smiled, but her eyes were wistful. The two girls had returned to
Dalton and were now staying at Tavia’s home. They had just visited the
offices of the _Bugle_, the paper formerly owned by Major Dale and
which, for a number of years, had been the chief source of income of the
Dale family.
The girls were impressed by the great changes that had taken place in
the newspaper office. A fine new printing press had been installed, the
offices renovated and modernized until all trace of the rather dingy and
shabby quarters of the old _Bugle_ had been lost.
Small wonder that Dorothy Dale, for whom the paper had always held a
peculiar fascination, felt taken aback by the great change that had
taken place during her absence. It was like losing an old and dear
though shabby friend and finding a prosperous but unfamiliar stranger in
his place.
“Do you remember that first assignment of my journalistic career?” said
Tavia, with a giggle. “I thought I was cut out for a star reporter that
time, for sure.”
“That was the obituary assignment Ralph Willoby gave you, wasn’t it?”
returned Dorothy, with a reminiscent chuckle. “My gracious, how many
ages off that time seems, Tavia!”
“Yes, we are growing old and gray,” agreed the flyaway sadly. “I wonder
you haven’t taken to cap and spectacles long ere this, Doro, my dear. I
am sure I can see white hairs gleaming in the sunlight.”
“I hope not. I don’t think Garry likes white hair,” said Dorothy
demurely.
“Speaking of snowy locks, hasn’t Mr. Grant a stunning head of them?”
said the irrepressible girl. “I simply adore that pepper and salt
effect, don’t you, Doro?”
“I guess so,” said Dorothy absently. Her mind was still busy with the
_Bugle_ offices and the changes made there.
“I wish the Major had not sold the _Bugle_, Tavia,” she said wistfully.
“I can’t forget how I used to help get out the old paper and—I would
like to do it again.”
“Good gracious, hear the child!” cried Tavia, making big eyes at her
chum. “Not hungering for a career at this late date, are you, Doro? What
do you suppose Garry would say to your making a reporteress of
yourself?”
Dorothy dimpled and her eyes began to shine as they always did at
mention of Garry Knapp.
“I suppose he wouldn’t approve,” she admitted. “He is just old-fashioned
enough to think that the man ought to be the only moneymaker in the
family.”
“Well, why not, as long as he can make enough?” demanded Tavia airily.
“That is really the important thing.”
“Tavia, how you talk!” Dorothy rebuked her. “You know very well you
would marry Nat White if he lost every cent he had in the world.”
“Just the same, I hope he doesn’t,” replied Tavia, making a face at her
more serious friend. “I like him very well just the way he is. But it
will be nice when he gets white hair and whiskers like Mr. Grant,” she
added pensively.
Dorothy frowned, then laughed. There was no use taking Tavia seriously,
and, besides, she very rarely meant any of the flippant things she said.
The Mr. Grant whose hair and whiskers Tavia so openly admired was the
new owner of the _Bugle_ and a dignified old gentleman whom Major Dale
held in great esteem. To hear Tavia refer to him so flippantly rather
shocked Dorothy. But then, Tavia was Tavia, and there was no use trying
to change her.
“I wish the Major had not sold the _Bugle_,” Dorothy repeated, with a
sigh. “It seems, somehow, like turning against an old friend.”
The two girls walked on in silence through the lovely spring sunshine,
each busy with her own thoughts. They were very happy thoughts, for both
Dorothy and Tavia had every reason to be happy.
During the past winter the chums had become engaged to the “two dearest
fellows in the world.” Nat White, Dorothy’s cousin and Tavia’s “bright
particular star,” to use the latter’s own phrase, was expected in Dalton
that afternoon. At the thought that Nat might even reach her home before
Dorothy and herself, Tavia quickened her pace, eagerly urging the
thoughtful Dorothy along with her.
Garry Knapp, Dorothy’s wild and woolly Westerner—again Tavia’s
description—had returned to his beloved West to cultivate his land and
raise the “best wheat crop anywhere near Desert City.” Dorothy was fully
in sympathy with this ambition. The only part of it she did not like was
the long miles that separated her from Garry and Garry from her. It was
not so very long since she had seen him, yet it seemed to her like an
interminable space of time.
“I bet I can guess what you are thinking about,” said Tavia, reading
Dorothy’s wistful expression. “Are you on?”
“I never bet,” replied Dorothy primly, and Tavia hugged her.
“You blessed Puritan! Just for that I’ll tell you, anyway.”
“You needn’t bother,” said Dorothy hastily, for she was sometimes afraid
of her friend’s intuitions.
“Oh, but I will! You were wishing like all possessed that you could be
in my shoes for one little hour.”
Dorothy flushed and took refuge in an admonishing:
“How you do put things, Octavia Travers!”
“You were thinking that if your darling Garry were coming instead of
Nat, you would be fox-trotting madly along this road instead of pursuing
your course with every evidence of decorum,” persisted the outrageous
Tavia. “Now ’fess up. Ain’t I right?”
“Maybe—all except the fox-trot,” agreed Dorothy, with a laugh. “I prefer
the waltz myself.”
“Um—dreamy stuff, lights low, soft music,” drawled Tavia. “I imagine
that would just suit you, Doro dear. As for myself, give me jazz every
time!”
“When do you expect Nat?” asked Dorothy, jolted out of her dreamy
abstraction.
“Right now, any minute. We are liable to bump into him at any corner,”
replied Tavia vigorously. “My goodness, Doro, my heart is palpitating
frightfully. I wonder if one ever dies of such things.”
“You won’t, that one thing is sure,” said Dorothy, looking with
admiration at her chum’s flushed face and dancing eyes. “Just now you
look like nothing so much as an advertisement for health food.”
“How unromantic,” Tavia reproached her. “And just when I was pining
gracefully for poor Nat, too.”
“Here he comes now!” cried Dorothy, and Tavia whirled around to see a
tall figure coming swiftly toward them. Nat waved his hat boyishly and
broke into a run. He reached them just as they turned the corner of the
street on which Tavia lived.
“Hello there, coz!” he said, pinching Dorothy’s pretty cheek, then
turned to Tavia.
“Not here in the street, you silly boy,” Tavia said, as the young man
bent over her. “We are almost home. Can’t you wait?”
“Not long!” returned Nat ardently. Then, as they slowly approached
Tavia’s house, he turned to Dorothy, his manner serious.
“I am afraid I have bad news for you, Dot,” he said, reluctantly adding,
in response to Dorothy’s startled glance: “It’s about Joe.”