  “I think,” announced Linda at the breakfast table in the Mexican hotel the following morning, “that we’ll have to cross the mountains today.” Dot groaned. “What a pleasant little ray of sunshine you are, Linda!” she said. “I don’t see why you object so to the mountains—in broad daylight, I mean. If there are bears and snakes in the mountains, they can’t attack us in the air, can they?” “So long as we just stay up in the air, it’s all right. What I don’t care about is camping out in these wild spots.” “I don’t expect we’ll have to,” Linda assured her. “But I am taking an extra tank of gasoline, in case we can’t find a place to refuel. Meanwhile, what I want you to see about is the food, if you will.” “I’m to make a visit to the kitchen, I suppose?” inquired Dot. She made a wry face at the cereal she was eating. “Do you know, Linda, I could bear most anything if only we never had to eat another mouthful of this hotel’s cooking.” Linda laughed. “I know it’s not exactly like the Ambassador. Still, it’s a lot better than nothing, and we might be very glad to have it.” Dot did as she was asked and raided the hotel kitchen, ignoring the indignant protests of the servants. Inside of half an hour the girls were back at the airport where they had left the autogiro, and Linda was giving the Ladybug a thorough inspection, for she did not have much confidence in the mechanic’s knowledge. “Any news of the Sky Rocket?” she asked, as she completed her work to her satisfaction. “No, not a thing,” replied the man. Somewhat discouraged, the girls climbed into the cockpits and Linda taxied a short distance along the runway, but left the ground so quickly that the mechanic stood there staring at the autogiro with his mouth wide open. Linda directed her course south, aiming to reach a larger airport before noon. Here she made a landing, refueled, and again inquired for news. A yellow biplane, it seemed, had been sighted that morning, flying low, going west towards the coast of the Gulf of California. Whether it was the Sky Rocket or not, no one could say. But at least it was a clue to follow. “I told you we’d have to cross those mountains,” remarked Linda. “But please don’t start to worry about them yet.” Linda changed her direction and headed the ship west, and they flew a monotonous course for a couple of hours. The sun glared down upon them, and the earth below looked parched and barren. So different from their own Ohio country in the month of October. They reached the mountains at last, and after assuring herself that there was plenty of gas in her reserve tanks, Linda flew dauntlessly towards them. As she approached, she noted a heavy cloud bank hovering directly above the mountains, and extending so far on either side that she gave up all thought of going around it. Instead she put the ship into a sharp climb and headed resolutely into it. She held the climb until she was several thousand feet higher to make sure of clearing the mountain safely, but as they had failed at this height to rise above the cloud, she leveled off. Grayness was all about them, enveloping them like a blanket, and cutting off their view of either the mountains or the sun. In her powerlessness to see in this unknown region, Linda suddenly experienced a queer choking sensation, brought on by her helplessness. Scolding herself for this momentary weakness, she pulled back the joy-stick and nosed the Ladybug still higher up. But climb as she might, she could not get away from that cloud. Dot, however, did not appear to be frightened at all. Wasn’t Linda always able to get the best of almost any bad situation, even if it were an unknown mountain range in a mist? She was singing cheerfully to herself, when all of a sudden, the words died on her lips. Another plane was approaching—was almost on top of them! They had not been able to see it, because of the cloud, or to hear it, because of the noise of their own motor. But there it was, rushing headlong at them with the relentless speed of an infuriated animal. Dot held her breath and shut her eyes. Linda saw it too, and flashed on her lights as a signal. But it was too late for signals; only a miracle could save them. With a sudden sharp turn she banked to the left, and went into a side-slip, dropping the plane fifty feet. The other plane passed over their heads, barely missing the rotor blades. The perspiration had collected on her face in beads, and her hands were hot and moist. It had been a narrow escape! But it evidently wasn’t over. Or could it be another plane? For the thing was almost upon her again, as if it, too, had dropped on purpose. She couldn’t believe her ears. Was it that girl—and had she recognized the rotor blades of the autogiro, and was trying to force Linda to land? Her heart in her mouth, she banked again, dropping for the second time, determined to land now at any cost. The strain had been awful the first time, but now it actually unnerved her. Inside of that cloud—on the dangerous mountain side! No; she could not take another chance, not only with her own life, but with Dot’s. Wherever she came down, it couldn’t be as dangerous as this. Gradually throttling her engine down to a slower speed, she began her descent by a series of glides. All the while watching for a glimpse of the solid earth beneath her. Down, down they came, but still there was no ground visible. They must have passed over the mountains, she decided, and were descending into a valley. Or level ground, perhaps. That thought was encouraging. “There it is!” shouted Dot, almost hysterically. “The earth, I mean!” Linda breathed a deep sigh of relief. Never before had she been so thankful to see it, unless perhaps the first time she had made a parachute jump. “It must be the plateau!” she cried, joyfully. “We must have passed over the mountains!” Gently the autogiro settled down to a landing on the level ground beneath them. It was a fertile spot in comparison with the other places in Mexico where they had landed. The earth was not nearly so parched or barren, and here and there, between the underbrush and the bare spots, a kind of coarse grass was growing. Perhaps, Linda thought, the land was used by someone for grazing. “Quite a pleasant spot,” remarked Dot gaily, as if they had been on a picnic instead of face to face with death. “See the mountains over there?” asked Linda, for they were out of the range of the cloud through which they had just passed. “Yes. But they’re far enough away that I really don’t mind. If a bear wanders over to visit us, we’ll feed him some Mexican food.” They climbed out of the cockpits, carrying their box of provisions in their arms, when they saw a sight that made them stand breathless in horror. About five hundred yards away they beheld a great mass of flame, shooting up to the sky. “It’s a plane!” exclaimed Linda. “It must be the one we almost crashed against.” With one thought in mind, the girls both dropped their box and started to run. Oh, if a human being were caged in that burning cockpit! It was too dreadful to think of—a death like that. But before they had covered fifty yards of the intervening distance, they saw a parachute floating down to the earth. They stopped instantly, waiting in breathless suspense. Suppose it were Sprague, with his supply of chloroform? Tensely alert, Linda pulled her revolver from her belt. But it was not Sprague. The man who floated down let out a cry of horror when he recognized Linda and Dot. Though why he should be so horrified, the girls did not know. The man was Bertram Chase! He disentangled himself from his ropes, glanced at his burning plane, and let out a groan. “You!” he cried. “And to think, I almost killed you!” “You couldn’t help that,” said Linda gently. “It seems we almost did for you, too. If you hadn’t jumped.” “That wasn’t your fault. My plane caught on fire somehow—a leak, I think, in the gas feed. That’s why I jumped.... But that had nothing to do with you.... But I actually tried to force you down—the second time, I mean. The first was accident.” “But why?” asked Dot, incredulously. “I saw your rotors, the first time I passed over you. And knew it was the autogiro. And thought that girl was piloting it, of course. How did you girls ever get hold of it again?” “Then you didn’t get the report from the Los Angeles headquarters?” inquired Linda. “What report?” “That we exchanged planes. My double stole our Sky Rocket, and left us the Ladybug instead.” “And got away with it?” demanded Chase. “Yes. We’re still after them. But where have you been in the meanwhile?” “Flying around these mountains, without any touch of civilization. I even made a search on foot, but it proved to be a false clue that I was following. But tell me the story, while we take a walk over and examine my poor ship.” Briefly Dot related the facts of the night-adventure with Sprague and his wife, as the three young fliers approached the burning mass. The flames had somewhat subsided, and only a smoking, blackened frame remained. “Was it yours, Mr. Chase?” asked Linda sympathetically, thinking how dreadful she would feel if it were the Ladybug. “No,” he replied. “It belonged to the secret service. It was an old boat, but I was fond of it. And I’ve lost a lot of my things.... I think,” he added, gloomily, “that I’d better hunt about for some water, to put the fire entirely out. I don’t want to start a prairie fire, or whatever you call it.” “Do you suppose there is a stream anywhere about?” asked Linda. “I hope so. If we’ve got to stay here for the night.” “Then come back to the Ladybug and get a can to fill, in case you do find water. Bring some back to us, if possible, and then we’ll give you some supper. Real Mexican food—if you like it.” It was Dot who made this offer, and she winked slyly at Linda as she concluded. The young man wandered off, and the girls turned to their preparations for supper. The food had already been cooked, so they decided to eat it cold. It was some time before Chase returned with the can of water and the announcement that he had found a stream, and had succeeded in putting out the fire. He sat down gloomily beside the girls, but he made no motion to eat. “Don’t look so sad, Mr. Chase,” said Dot. “They’ll give you another plane.” “It isn’t that,” he replied, morosely. “It’s my foolhardiness. When I think of what I did to you, I’d like to shoot myself.” He looked so pathetic, so utterly downcast, that Linda didn’t know what to say. But Dot, in her characteristic manner, tried teasing him. Very solemnly she handed him Linda’s pistol. “If you really want to shoot yourself, go off away from us, where you won’t clutter up the landscape!” The young man laughed in spite of himself. “Snap out of it, Bert!” she commanded, using his first name on purpose. “And have some of this delicious Mexican food. I don’t know its name, but it tastes like week-old hash to me.” Smiling again, Chase accepted the paper plate she held out to him. “Just imagine, Bert,” Dot continued, afraid to stop talking lest he become sad again, “that we’re here on a picnic, with the autogiro, and this delicious supper. And you’re lucky enough to be the young man chosen—out of hundreds of admirers of Miss Linda Carlton! Why, you have no idea how many young men in this country would give their best hats to have your chance!” Linda flushed at this remark. “Now, Dot,” she protested. “You’re being silly!” “I am not. I’ll enumerate them, if you like. There’s Ralph Clavering, and Harriman Smith, and—” “Hush, Dot!” cried her chum, putting her hand over her mouth. “That’s about enough out of you!” Chase, who by this time was grinning broadly, bowed in acknowledgment. “All joking aside,” he said, “I realize what an honor it is. And that’s just why I feel so rotten about doing those two mean things to you, Linda.” He was so in earnest that he did not realize that he had used her first name. “Accusing you of forgery the first time I saw you, and then almost killing you. You, who have never done anything wrong in your whole life!” “Come now, that’s putting it on a little bit too thick!” remonstrated Dot. “Linda’s not such a saint as that. I remember many a time that she climbed cherry trees that didn’t belong to her, and skinned out of school—” “That’s enough about me,” interrupted Linda. “It’s getting so dark, I think we ought to make our plans for the night.” “I suppose we have to stay here,” remarked Dot, with a sigh. “Why the sigh?” asked Chase. “Oh, I don’t care for camping out—in Mexico.” “I don’t blame you—after being chloroformed,” sympathized Chase. “But you don’t have to, tonight. For I found a straw-covered shack over near the stream where I got our water. You girls can have that. I’ll stay up here, beside the autogiro.” “You have redeemed yourself, Bert!” exclaimed Dot, jumping to her feet, and shaking his hand. “For one night at least, we’ll be safe!” |
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