A STRANGE BATTLE
In the meantime the little stewardess, Rosemary Sample, had made her way
back to Chicago. During the time Danby Force was having his fortune told
she was thinking at intervals of him. She was in her own small room and,
as one will, whose mind is not actively engaged in performing a task,
she was thinking of many things. Rosemary was, by nature, romantic.
Contrary to general opinion, there are few romances between pilots of
the air and their lady companions. Pilots, as a rule, are married men
with homes they love all the more dearly because of enforced absence
from them. Rosemary had been obliged to find romance, if any, from
contact with her passengers. And there had been romances of a sort,
though none of serious import. She smiled now as she thought of the
great banker who more than once had favored her with a smile; of the
movie actor, little more than a boy, who had traveled on her ship, once
every week for four months. “Such a nice boy,” she whispered. “He—”
Her thoughts broke off. She listened intently. Over her head was clamped
a head-set for receiving messages. Her radio was in tune with the
sending sets of all her company’s great fleet of airplanes. What message
did she expect to receive? Often none in particular. She loved the
general chatter of the air. “Plane Number 9 taking off from Chicago to
New York.” “Plane Number 34 due in Cheyenne at 9:15, twenty minutes
late.” “Plane Number 11 grounded by a storm near Troy, New York.” All
this was music to her ears, for was she not part of it all, the great
air-transportation system, not of tomorrow, but of today?
Tonight, however, she half expected a personal message. To each of six
friends, all stewardesses of the air, she had told what she knew of the
dark lady. To each she had said, “If she boards your ship, give my call
number and let me know. I’ll be listening till time for sleep.”
The message that for the instant held her attention proved
disappointing. It was not for her. So she went on with her dreaming. And
in those dreams there frequently appeared two faces—a serious one, Danby
Force, and a smiling one, Willie VanGeldt.
“How different they are!” she thought to herself. “And yet, if I am not
mistaken each has been, or will be, heir to a large fortune. It seems
that even rich people have their own way of living.”
These thoughts did not long hold her fancy. Soon she was dreaming of
trips she would make in the future. No, not trips from Chicago to New
York, then New York to Chicago. Nothing like that, but long trips into
strange places. She’d collect a pocketful of passes and go wandering.
She’d catch a ship across the Canadian prairies to Edmonton, take the
north going plane and land at last at the mouth of the Mackenzie River
on the shore of the Arctic. There she’d play with brown Eskimo babies
and tame seals. She would drive dog teams and reindeer, ride in
skin-boats and perhaps—just perhaps—hunt polar bear.
When she tired of all this, she’d go flying south through the air, south
to Cuba, Panama, Rio and the slow-moving Amazon. Ah yes, this airplane
business was quite wonderful, if only you knew how to make the most of
it. And she knew. Ah yes, she, Rosemary Sample, knew.
But first there were other matters to be considered. Willie VanGeldt and
his badly cared for little flivver of the air; Danby Force and his dark
lady. And—and—
Well, what of the rest? Rosemary had fallen asleep.
She awoke a half hour later and remained so just long enough to remove
the head-set, shut off her radio, slip out of her day clothes and into
her dream robes. Then again she fell fast asleep.
The charming little gypsy child who, in her bright colored dress and
purple headdress looked more like an animated doll than a child, played
little part in the bit of life drama played at the crest of the mountain
by Petite Jeanne and her friends until, after breakfast of bacon, toast
and delicious coffee, the members of the party left the hunting lodge to
wend their way up the mountainside.
They were approaching the skyline landing field. A sharp, bleak wind,
whispering of approaching winter, cut at their cheeks and tore away at
the broken and twisted fir trees that made up the advance guard of
timberline.
The little gypsy girl was in the lead. Of a sudden she paused and,
pointing excitedly, exclaimed, “See! Teddy bears! And do look! They are
alive! One of them stuck his tongue out at me!”
The older members of the party did not share the little girl’s happy
animation. To their consternation they discovered two grizzly bear cubs
half hidden among the rocks not a dozen paces away.
“Come!” said Madame, seizing the child’s hand. There was a quaver of
fear in her voice.
“But why?” The child Vida’s round face suddenly took on a sober look.
“They are pretty bears. And they are alive. I know they are.”
Jeanne too knew they were alive, and Danby Force knew. They also
realized that bear-cub twins usually had a mother close by, and a mother
bear spelled trouble.
“We—we’ve got to get out of here!” Danby’s words were low, but tense
with emotion. The airplane was still a quarter of a mile away.
“Come!” Madame voiced a sharp command as the child hung back. Next
moment the child found herself on Danby’s shoulder, and they were all
hurrying away toward their plane.
Jeanne’s heart had gone into a tailspin. Were they going to make it? Was
the mother bear close at hand, or had she gone some distance in her
search for food?
One glance back gave Jeanne the answer. “Run! Run!” She uttered the
words before she thought them.
Instantly they sprang into wild flight.
Bears are swift runners. This mother was no exception. Had someone been
standing upon a rock overlooking the scene, he might have discovered
that the bear, almost at a bound, had shortened the distance between
herself and the fleeing ones by half. He would have opened his eyes in
sheer terror as he saw her, mouth open, tongue lolling out, white teeth
gleaming, gaining yard by yard until it seemed her breath would burn the
sturdy gypsy woman’s cheek.
Jeanne led the procession. Danby Force came next. Madame, unaccustomed
to running, lagged behind.
Danby heard the beast’s hoarse panting. What was to happen? He had no
weapon. Yes, one, if it might be called that—a six-foot stick. This
stick was very hard and stout, sharpened at one end. He had used it as
an Alpine staff. As Jeanne reached the plane he threw the gypsy child
into her hands; then swinging about, he sprang to Madame’s assistance.
He was not a moment too soon. The irate beast was all but upon her.
At sight of this one who dared to turn and face her, the bear paused,
reared herself upon her haunches and, for a space of ten seconds, stood
there, glaring, snarling, frothing at the mouth.
The respite was brief. It was enough to permit Jeanne to drag her foster
mother into the plane.
Danby’s thought as he turned to face the bear had been that he might set
the stick at such an angle as to bring it into contact with the bear’s
ribs as she charged. He had heard of hunters practicing this trick. In
the end his courage failed him. Seeing his chance he dropped the stick,
sprang for the plane, fell through the opening then slammed the door
after him.
“Safe!” he breathed thickly. “But is the battle over? Perhaps it has but
begun. She—she could wreck this plane.”
“Oh my poor Dragon Fly!” Jeanne groaned. The great beast hurled herself
against the stout door with such a shock as set the whole ship to
quivering.
Consternation was written on every face but one in that small cabin. And
why not? If their plane were wrecked, what then? Danby Force was in a
hurry to get away. Every moment counted. The happiness of an entire
community was at stake. Then too the breath of winter was in the air. At
any moment a wild blizzard, sweeping in from the north, might send snow
whirling into every crack and cranny of the mountain. Burying trails,
filling canyons with fathomless depths of snow, it might shut them away
from all the outside world.
In spite of this, one face was beaming, one pair of sturdy legs were
hopping about in high glee. The gypsy child’s joy knew no bounds. “Now
there will be a fight!” she screamed. “The big Dragon Fly has knives on
his nose. They are very sharp. They whirl round and round. You cannot
see them. The big bear cannot see. The big Dragon Fly will bite the big
bear. He will roll down dead!”
Listening to this wild chatter, Danby Force received a sudden
inspiration.
“Jeanne, start your motor,” he said in as quiet a tone as he could
command. “She may attack the propeller. If she does, goodbye bear and
goodbye propeller. I don’t think she will. We’ll have to risk it.”
With lips drawn in a straight white line, Jeanne took her place at the
wheel, then set the motor purring.
All prepared for a second lunge at the offending box that held her
fancied enemies, the bear paused to listen.
Then, with a suddenness that was startling, the motors let out a roar.
“Good!” screamed Vida, the gypsy child. “The big Dragon Fly shouts at
the bear. Now she will run away.”
The bear did not run away. Instead, she turned half about to look away
to the rocky ridge where her cubs were hiding. Then it was that Danby
had one more brilliant idea.
“Jeanne,” he shouted in the little French girl’s ear, “wheel your plane
about, then start taxiing slowly toward those cubs.”
Jeanne’s fingers trembled as she grasped one control after another, to
set her plane to do Danby’s bidding. “What will be the result?” she was
asking herself. Her great fear was that the mother bear would leap at
the propeller. She had no desire to kill this mother, nor did she wish
to lose her propeller.
To Jeanne the result was astonishing. No sooner had the “giant insect,”
all made of metal, started toward the rocks than the mother bear,
fearing no doubt for the safety of her children, started to beat its
time.
“A race!” Vida shouted. “Goody! A race! And the big Dragon Fly will
win!”
She was a greatly disappointed child when, after following the bear for
a short distance, the plane swung round, increased its speed, went
circling about the narrow landing field; then at Danby’s shout, “UP!”,
left the ground to go sailing away among the clouds.
“Well,” Danby sighed as he settled back beside Jeanne, “we are out of
that.”
“Yes,” Jeanne sighed happily. “We are out, and the big Dragon Fly is
safe!”