NUMBER FIFTY-SEVEN
Bill levelled off with an abruptness that jarred the very vitals of the
plane. Then he allowed the tail to drop slightly, the wheels made
contact and the monoplane rolled forward over uneven ground, propelled
by her own momentum. Before she actually came to a stop, both lads flung
themselves from the cockpits and raced for the trees thirty or forty
yards away.
It soon became evident that they would be too late to come to close
quarters with the girls’ assailants. Brave enough when they had members
of the opposite sex to deal with, the ruffians had no desire to mix it
up with a couple of husky young aviators. Flinging the struggling girls
aside, they turned tail and legged it toward their car with a burst of
speed worthy of Olympic runners, and no split seconds to spare.
Bill and Osceola immediately sheered off toward the road, but by the
time they reached the edge of the field, the motor was only a cloud of
dust hurtling down the valley.
“If I’d had a gun,” said the Seminole, without the slightest catch of
breath, “there’d have been a different ending to this affair!” He
scowled at the disappearing car and turned to Bill. “I thought you
always packed a gat aboard your crates—when we went into that nose dive,
I nearly broke my neck trying to find one.”
“Sorry,” gasped Bill, whose sprint had left him winded, “I never thought
of them as necessary adjuncts to picnics before! Next time I’ll come
provided. It’s just as well those thugs got away, though. Two scalped
bandits would mean all kinds of unpleasantness up here in New England.
Here come the girls, now. They seem to be none the worse for their
adventure.”
“You,” declared the chief, “make me infernally tired.” He strode off
toward Deborah.
“You aren’t damaged, I hope?” asked Bill as he came up to the trio.
“Only rather mussed,” smiled Dorothy, a pretty girl with brown hair and
the figure of an athlete. “In fact, I’ve kind of an inkling that those
foreign gentlemen got more than they bargained for. The guy that started
to rough-house me, ran away with a broken wrist. Some of the old frumps
around New Canaan stick up their noses at my jiu jitsu, but I’ve found
it a valuable asset several times in my hectic career!”
“And what did you do to your sparring partner, Deborah?” he asked the
slender Indian girl who had slipped her arm through Osceola’s.
“Not much, I’m afraid, Bill. The brute made me break three perfectly
good fingernails.”
“I’ll say he did,” chimed in Dorothy. “And his face looked like raw
beefsteak when he broke away from her. He nearly knocked me over, he was
in such a hurry, and I got a good look at him. If you boys want a first
class imitation of a wildcat gone wild, pick on our gentle Deborah. Take
my advice, Osceola, and handle her with kid gloves after you’re
married.”
“One of these days, I’ll catch that hound,” promised the young chief.
“And when I finish the job he’ll look worse than his passport picture.
How did this all start, anyway?”
“Well, you see—” began Dorothy.
Deborah interrupted her with a smile. “Let’s feed this bloodthirsty
pair,” she suggested. “I’m longing for iced tea myself, and men are so
much more reasonable when they’ve eaten! This big brave of mine will be
starting on the warpath again unless we give him his lunch.”
“I,” said Bill, “second the Seminole chieftainess’ motion! Also, I bar
scalp locks in my food. Let’s get to the chow before Osceola gets
going.”
“Some day,” retorted Osceola, “you’ll say something funny, and the rest
of us will die of shock from the surprise.”
“Here, here,” interposed Deborah, seizing his arm, “come on, we’ll have
to do some forcible feeding, I guess!”
“Aren’t they the cute pair!” whispered Dorothy as she and Bill followed
toward the grove of maples where the lads had first sighted them from
the plane. “Deb’s asked me to be maid of honor at their wedding. I
suppose you’ll be Osceola’s best man?”
“I suppose so,” said Bill gloomily.
“Why, you don’t sound very much interested! The Indian braves will all
be in their war paint, and the squaws—”
“—it is hoped will wear something warmer and more appropriate for this
climate!”
“Don’t be silly. You know what I mean. And anyway, no self-respecting
redskin puts on war paint for his chief’s wedding. I guess it’s too
suggestive of what he’s to expect after the ceremony is over.”
“Oh, is that so! Well, you women can certainly get up a good fight, if
that’s what you’re driving at. I’ll bet you’re just tickled foolish to
be in on the wedding party, and the pageant the tribe will make of it.”
“Why—”
“And your father’s plan to bring the whole tribe to New Canaan is just
grand!”
“Oh, that’s part of it. Look here!” Dorothy turned on him. “Just what
don’t you like about it, Mister Stuck-up?”
“Well—er—you see,” Bill explained, “the ancient Seminole custom forces
the best man to kiss the maid-of-honor right after the ceremony—and I—”
He ducked just in time to avoid her open palm on the side of his jaw,
and ran off toward his plane. Over his shoulder, he called: “Naturally
you’re keen on the wedding,” he teased, “but there’s no excuse to get
affectionate beforehand. I’ve got to make the Ryan secure. Run along
now, and put on your war paint. There’s a smudge on your nose.”
“There is not!” snapped Miss Dixon, then she stalked off as Bill doubled
up with laughter. “Some day,” she muttered to herself, “I’ll make that
smart-aleck the one and only also-ran in a first class massacre.”
However, the first thing Dorothy did, upon reaching the picnic spot, was
to hunt for her handkerchief and bring forth a compact.
Bill strolled back, whistling, hands in pockets. The others were already
seated about a white cloth laid on the ground, which was spread with a
lunch that made his mouth water. He threw a glance at Dorothy, caught
her eye and they both laughed.
He dropped down beside her. “Let’s call it quits,” he grinned.
“Not on your sweet life, young man. One of these days—but never mind,
now you’re my guest at luncheon. We’ll call it an armistice. Dig in.
Everybody helps himself at this party.”
Osceola, who had been piling Deborah’s plate with everything in sight,
in spite of her protests, started in to gnaw a chicken leg, and began
talking with his mouth full. “Cut the comedy, Bill. Waylaying girls, and
especially, waylaying my girl, is serious business. I don’t intend to
let it go at that either—not by a darn sight. And the more I know about
what really happened, the sooner I’ll be able to get a line on those
bozos.”
“I’m just as keen as you are,” Bill retorted, helping Dorothy, then
helping himself to cold chicken and potato salad. “Men like that need a
good thrashing. You can’t count me out on any move you make. In fact
I’ve got some ideas of my own—I got their license number as a starter.”
“That,” said Dorothy, and she reached across Bill for the biscuits, “may
give us a start and then again it may not. It didn’t help much in the
bank robbery, if you’ll remember. From the looks of those two tramps, I
should not be surprised if the car had been stolen.”
“And where do you get the ‘us’ stuff?” inquired Bill.
“If you two boys think you’re going to run this show without Deb and me,
you’ve got another think coming. Isn’t that so, Deb?”
“It certainly is. We both saw the men and talked to them. Where would
you get a description of them if not from us?”
“Now look here,” Osceola waved a chicken bone at her, “let’s call it a
foursome, and can all the argument. What’s more, Dorothy’s idea about
the car being stolen, is, ten-to-one the right dope. That was a big bus
and this year’s model. Those things cost a heap of money.”
“That’s the way I figured it,” answered Dorothy. “And let me tell you
that no two men who made such a fuss about losing a dollar would cough
up four thousand of them for a car like that!”
Bill stared at Osceola meaningly. “What did you say—that one of them
lost a dollar?”
“Yes—and a silver dollar at that—one of those cartwheels they use out
West instead of bills.”
“GOOD NIGHT!” exploded Bill. Osceola stared at him in dumb amazement.
“Yes,” she went on, “but why the great excitement? The dollar that man
lost—he was a Russian or something, by the way he talked—well, that
dollar started the mixup. But you two look as though you’d seen a flock
of ghosts—what?”
“Just one,” said Osceola, and his tone was deadly serious. “But never
mind that now. Get on with your own story, then we’ll tell ours.”
She looked first at one and then at the other of the lads. “Well, just
as you say. Of course, I know there’s something I don’t understand
behind this, but I’ll be a sport and do my talking first. Deb and I flew
over here and parked my bus where you see her now. We made things
shipshape aboard, then toted the lunch over here and went to the spring
to get water. It’s over by the road, you know, and we were just about to
fill the pail, when that car came bumping along the dirt road, doing
fifty, if I’m any judge of speed. I’d just said to Deb that the fellow
who was driving couldn’t think much of his springs, when something
bright flew out of the window. It lit in the high grass near us, and I
went over to see what it might be. The grass was so high and the ground
so rutty that I couldn’t find a thing. Then I thought I saw something
shining in the rubble, but when I picked it up, it was nothing but a
piece of quartz, so I dropped it again. By that time the car had stopped
and was backing up the road. Two men sprang out and came running toward
me. They were both dark, and both spoke rather broken English. The
bigger of the men yelled at me to give him back his silver dollar. I
told him I’d seen it fly out of the car, that I’d been looking for it,
but couldn’t find it. My answer seemed to stump him for a minute, then
without another word, he and his pal got on their knees and began to
comb that part of the field for it. I wasn’t at all taken by their
looks, neither was Deb, so we filled our pail and came back here....
Somebody give me a drink,” she broke off, “all this talking makes me
thirsty—”
Bill filled her glass with water, and after taking a few sips, she went
on with her story.
“Where was I? Oh, yes, well, we hadn’t been here long when the men gave
up their search and followed us. It seems that they’d seen me stoop to
pick up that quartz and they thought I must have their old dollar! Of
course, I denied it, but they were only more insistent. To finish the
tale, the big one said that if I wouldn’t hand it over, he’d take it
from me! Well, as you saw, he tried to do just that. Deb horned in, like
the peach she is, and number two tried to stop her. Things were getting
more hectic than pleasant, when they suddenly broke away, and I saw you
boys hot-footing it for us. And I want to end this long speech by saying
that never in my life have I been gladder to see two human beings. I
haven’t had a chance to thank you both before, but I certainly do it
now! It was simply stunning to see the way you came at them!”
“And that goes for me, Bill,” cut in Deborah, “I’ve already told
Osceola, but I want to tell you, too, how much we appreciated the
wonderful way you dashed to our rescue.”
“I think,” said Bill, “that the rescue, as you call it, was all in favor
of the assaulters. Those bohunks, or whatever they are, bit off a lot
more than they could chew when they tackled you Amazons. The chief and I
did no more than save them from taking the count on their backs, worse
luck!”
“Dorothy, did you say that the dollar landed in the field just below the
spring?” asked Osceola.
“Yes, just there—or thereabouts.”
“Excuse me,” he said and stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute or two.”
Bill watched the young Seminole stride away toward the road. “That guy,”
he declared, with a wink at Dorothy, “has a one-track mind. Wild horses
won’t drag him off the track, either, once he gets started.”
“And some people—have no minds at all!” Deborah ran swiftly after her
fiance.
“Ha-ha! Put that into your pipe and smoke it,” Dorothy laughed at the
surprised look on Bill’s face. “She’s quick on the come-back, isn’t
she?”
“Too blooming touchy, if you want to know—”
“Oh, my goodness! A girl isn’t worth a thing who won’t stick up for the
man she’s engaged to!”
“Perhaps not—but I’m no girl—and all this love business makes me sick.
Osceola has acted like a hen with one chick ever since Deborah came into
the picture.”
“Oh, cheer up, old gloomy, she didn’t mean anything by that—any more
than you did by your wisecrack! And by the way, you and Osceola are
invited to dinner at my house tonight. You’ll have to dash away early
though. Daddy’s gone to Hartford on business and won’t be back till
tomorrow. I don’t want to lose my rep, you know.”
“Thanks for the invite,—but I didn’t know you had any.”
“Oh, you didn’t! Well, let me tell you, young man—”
Osceola’s voice cut her short. “Here it is!” He flung a silver dollar
onto the white cloth.
Dorothy picked up the coin and examined it.
“Number two of the series, on a bet?” said Bill, looking up at the
chief.
“Almost,” replied his friend, “but not quite. This is number
fifty-seven.”
That night at dinner the main topic of conversation among the four young
people was the winged cartwheels, as Dorothy had named them. They had
arrived home too late to do anything about tracing the car license, and
after the meal was finished, Bill and Osceola noticed that the girls
looked tired and decided to leave even earlier than they had planned.
They walked across the ridge road to the Bolton place opposite, and were
in bed and asleep by eleven o’clock.
The telephone in Bill’s room awoke him with a start. He glanced at the
luminous dial of his wristwatch, and caught up the receiver. It was then
exactly ten minutes past two.
“Bill! Oh, Bill—is that you?”
“Speaking, Dorothy. Anything wrong?”
“Oh, Bill—please come quickly—those men have got Deb and—”
The wire went dead. Bill guessed it had been cut. Dropping the receiver,
he snatched an automatic from under his pillow, leaped from his bed, and
raced for the hall.