_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!"