CHAPTER XIII HOT ON THE TRAIL

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Chase, his hand on his revolver, climbed out of the autogiro and slipped cautiously around the side. He kept his eyes riveted on the Sky Rocket, but there was no movement whatsoever.

“They’re probably hiding,” he whispered, as the noise of the rotors died out. “You girls stay right here, and creep up on them.”

Dot and Linda did as they were told. In tense silence they watched the young man advance nearer and nearer to the Sky Rocket, expecting every moment to hear a shot ring out from the underbrush that grew along the beach.

It was a deserted spot; there were no cottages or boathouses about. The only sound was the breaking of the waves, with monotonous regularity, upon the shore.

Chase got nearer and nearer; he actually came up to the yellow plane, and peered all around it. Still there was no sign of human life anywhere. He looked into the cockpit; then he sauntered towards the scattered bushes on the beach, examining them with his glasses. And still nothing happened.

Unable to bear the suspense any longer, the girls came out from behind the Ladybug and started to advance towards the Sky Rocket. At the same time Chase, satisfied that the enemy was nowhere about, proceeded slowly back to meet them.

“We’re too late again,” he observed, gloomily. “They’ve abandoned it, there’s no doubt of that. Evidently got scared and decided to leave it.”

Running up to the plane, Linda began to examine it eagerly.

“It seems to be in good condition,” she said. “And that certainly is a lucky break. If I couldn’t get both, I’d rather have the plane than the girl!”

Chase regarded her in amazement.

“But she has your money!” was his comment.

“I know. But I care more about Mr. Eckert’s plane—it’s worth a whole lot more than five thousand dollars. And he was such a good sport to lend it to me. I can just imagine how dreadfully he’d feel, if he thought he’d never see it again. I know how I felt when I lost the Ladybug.”

“But where do you suppose they have gone?” asked Dot. “The Spragues, I mean.”

Linda dropped down to a sitting position on the sand and fished in her pocket for a map.

“They must have taken a boat from somewhere near here,” she said. “So if we can find out where we are, and the nearest seaport town, we might be able to catch them before they sail.”

“We’re pretty far south on this peninsula,” put in Chase, looking over Linda’s shoulder at the map.

“Yes, I think so.... You know what I believe would be best, Bert? If the Sky Rocket is in good condition—we’ll look her over in a minute and find out—one of us could fly her south along the coast, and another take the Ladybug north. In that way we ought to pick up news of our honeymooners pretty quickly.”

“Good idea!” returned Chase, immediately. “Which plane do you want, Linda?”

“I think I’d rather have the Sky Rocket,” returned the girl. “If you can manage the Ladybug. Because if I should find out that the Spragues have sailed somewhere in a boat, I might like to pursue them. And the Sky Rocket can go so much faster, and carry enough gas for a trip across the United States.”

“It’s all one to me,” agreed Chase. “If you’ll trust me with the Ladybug.”

“Certainly,” Linda assured him. “Now I think I’ll go look the Sky Rocket over, and tighten some of those wires that I see out of ‘stream-line’. That makes a lot of difference, you know.”

Linda finished her job in less than an hour, and after they had eaten the remainder of their food supply, she gave Chase a few instructions about flying the autogiro. Satisfied that he knew how to manage it, the girls insisted that he take off first, flying back north along the sea-coast.

“And when you’re through, you can park the Ladybug at the Los Angeles airport,” concluded Linda. “I’ll pick her up there, after the girl has been caught—by us, or somebody else.”

She and Dot stood watching the young man take off and soar into the air, until he was finally lost to sight. Once again they were alone, but with more hope of success than they had had before. Now both planes had been regained, and they had the Sky Rocket to rely on. They felt, with it, that they had the world—or better still, the air—at their command.

“There must be a seaport pretty near here,” said Linda, as she and Dot climbed into the powerful yellow plane. “If the Spragues haven’t left from there, they at least ought to be able to find out by wire what vessels have left the coast.”

She flew straight down to Cape San Lucas, a seaport town, which boasted of a sizable airport. It was terribly hot here, when she brought the plane to the ground; the heat seemed to rise in waves to hit them in the face as the girls climbed out of the cockpits. For the airport was located behind the town, and that morning no ocean breezes brought cooling refreshment to landward.

It was a large airport, and it kept attendants who could speak all the principal languages. The man who came forward, a dark Mexican, surprised the girls by speaking perfect English.

Briefly Linda told him the facts of her story—about the stolen planes, which had since been regained, and the forged check for five thousand dollars. But she said nothing about the part in the talking-picture, or of the girl’s having taken her name. There was no reason, she felt, for emphasizing that point or drawing publicity to herself.

“So we think this couple have sailed,” she concluded. “Though under what name, we don’t know. Probably neither Sprague nor Bower, but something else, to fool us, and throw the police off the track. Our first desire is to find out what big vessels have left this vicinity today or yesterday.”

“I’ll get in touch with the docks immediately,” the man assured her. “Though I think can tell you myself. A vessel named the ‘Mona’ left here yesterday for Hawaii. There isn’t another until day after tomorrow, which sails for South America.”

Linda’s eyes shone with excitement.

“Hawaii!” she exclaimed. “I always did want to fly the Pacific!”

“You wouldn’t try it!” he cried, in horror.

“Why not?” she demanded. “It’s only a matter of about two thousand miles—less than a non-stop flight across the United States. And I have a marvellous plane.”

“You mean—this?” he asked, pointing to the Sky Rocket.

“Yes. She’s a marvel, even if she has only one motor. She can make a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and is equipped with all the newest inventions and improvements.”

“I can see that.... But the danger—in any kind of plane,” he remonstrated. “No woman has ever attempted it, and plenty of airmen have found a watery grave in the Pacific.”

“Well, some woman has to be first,” returned Linda. “I’ll think about it, anyway. In the meanwhile, I think I’ll go down to have a talk with the men at the docks.... By the way, have you an expert mechanic?”

“The very best!”

“Then please have him give the Sky Rocket a thorough inspection. Doubly thorough, for tell him what I am contemplating. And have him take a look at the wireless that is already installed. And fill her up with gas and oil.”

“O. K.,” agreed the man, shaking his head as if he thought Linda were crazy.

“Oh, yes—and could you get me a rubber life-boat?” she inquired.

“At considerable cost.”

“Well, get me one if you can, and have it put in,” said Linda, as if she were ordering an ice-cream soda.

“Then you really are serious about going?” asked the man, unable to believe she meant what she was saying.

“If I find good reason to think that couple sailed for Hawaii,” she replied. “But not if I don’t. It isn’t a stunt, you see.”

The girls left immediately in a taxicab for the dock. Here they saw numerous small boats and yachts, and it occurred to Linda to wonder whether the missing couple might not have gone off in a pleasure boat. But after all, they couldn’t get far in the Pacific in a yacht, unless it were one specially built for the purpose, and the idea seemed improbable.

They made their inquiries about the couple of a sailor.

“Yes, there were several young couples among the passengers that left for Hawaii yesterday,” he informed them. “About thirty passengers, all told.”

“But did one of the young couples look like honeymooners?” demanded Dot.

“Can’t say as I noticed. But you can look at the list of passengers in the office. That ought to tell you.”

He led the girls through an open door, where they found the book on the desk with the name of the boat, the “Mona,” and the list. But, as they had expected, neither the name of Bower nor of Sprague occurred.

“If that girl were using her own maiden name, we shouldn’t even know what it was,” remarked Dot, gloomily.

“True,” admitted Linda, thinking how strange it was that once again they were involved in complications with a nameless girl. But, unlike poor little Helen Tower, who had been nameless because of a cruel accident wherein she lost her memory, this girl was deliberately, criminally, nameless.

“Were there any couples in flying costumes?” asked Dot, thinking perhaps that if the Spragues had hiked from the plane, and speed were their object, they wouldn’t have had time to change.

But such a course would have been too obvious, and would have given them away immediately. As she expected, the sailor shook his head to the question.

“Any with hand-luggage?” suggested Linda.

“Yeah. A couple of couples.”

“Now we’re getting there! Can you describe them?”

“Can’t say as I could. Didn’t look at ’em, to tell you the truth. Only I do recollect our baggage man sayin’ he was gipped out of two tips, so these two guys must of carried their bags theirselves.”

“Let’s go see him,” suggested Dot.

“He’s a Mexican. Don’t speak English. But maybe I can explain to him what you want.”

They walked about the dock until they found a greasy-looking man who was sprawled on a truck-van, smoking a pipe. The sailor explained what the girls wanted, and the man sat up and stared at them.

Linda could hardly restrain a shudder. She thought that she wouldn’t care about meeting this man alone in the dark, or in the desert. But he seemed pleasant enough. And, to their delight, he gave them the information they wanted. Pointing abruptly at Linda, he told the sailor in Mexican that one woman looked like that girl!

Before the latter had even interpreted his meaning, Linda and Dot had jumped to the correct conclusion and were wild with excitement. Nothing could keep them back now, short of a cyclone. If the weather held like this on the morrow, they would be on their way to Hawaii!

“That settles it!” announced Linda. Then, turning to the sailor, she inquired the exact destination of the “Mona.”

“Honolulu,” was the reply.

“Then I’ll send a wireless there now,” she said, and proceeded to write out a message.

“Hold all passengers of the ‘Mona’ for identification at Honolulu dock. Two criminals aboard.... Signed, Linda Carlton.”

“The Captain ought to pick up that message, too,” she remarked, turning to Dot as soon as the words had been sent. “And the thing for us to do now, is to make sure that we beat that boat to Honolulu!”

Realizing their need for rest and food, the girls went back to their taxi and directed the driver to take them to the best hotel the seaport afforded. Here they engaged a room for the night and proceeded to make themselves comfortable. After they had their baths, they stretched out on the bed in their room, shaded and darkened by awnings from the hot sun, and began to discuss the proposition seriously. They realized now how suddenly they had plunged headlong into what really might be the experience of a lifetime—an undertaking that took most fliers months and months to prepare for.

“Do you think we ought to go, Dot?” asked Linda, over-awed for the first time at the dangers of the project, when she considered them for somebody besides herself.

“I’m dying to go!” cried the other girl, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “There’s only one thing that might hold me back.”

“What’s that? You mean consideration for your parents?”

“No. They’d be willing to let me do anything you considered safe. It’s just that if I didn’t go with you, you could take a more experienced flier in my place—or a mechanic or a navigator. And that would be better and safer for you.”

“Nonsense!” laughed Linda. “I can do those things, and if anything goes wrong, you can take the controls. You certainly fly well—I’d trust you a lot farther than a good many boys I know—like Ralph Clavering, for instance. You’re air-minded—you have air sense, to put it another way—and you never get rattled. You can take charge if I want to rest—though it isn’t nearly so far as Paris, and I flew that alone.”

“That’s true,” agreed Dot. “It isn’t even as far as if we were taking off from Los Angeles.” She was pleased, more than she could say, at her chum’s praise, for Linda Carlton never said anything she didn’t mean.

“Yes, we’re a lot farther south than Los Angeles—almost in a direct line westward.”

“Are you going to tell your Aunt Emily?” inquired Dot, after a moment of silence.

“No, I think not. I don’t believe I’ll tell anybody except the people at this airport. Then, if anything goes wrong, we shan’t have a lot of unpleasant publicity. Besides, it’s all the better for our cause to keep it a secret. It’s not an aviation feat this time, like flying the Atlantic. The main object is to catch those two criminals.”

“Then we won’t call Spring City on the telephone?”

“No. Let’s send wires, assuring our families of our safety, and telling them not to expect us home for several days. That will put their minds at rest, and won’t disclose anything.”

“What about food?”

“Enough for a day. I figure that if we start before dawn tomorrow, we ought to land early in the morning of the following day. So, while I am mapping out our course, you can go visit the chef and see about packing sandwiches and fruit and coffee. That ought to be enough. And we’ll eat an early breakfast before we start.”

“What are the predictions for weather?”

“Favorable and warm.”

“It doesn’t seem possible that we’re going so soon,” observed Dot.

“It’s the way I like to do things,” returned Linda. “With a snap—and we’re off! Let’s have an early supper, about six o’clock, and get in bed by nine. And leave a call for three o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Three o’clock! The time lots of young people are getting home from dances!”

“Well, this is going to be more thrilling than any dance you ever attended, Dot Crowley!”

“It’s going to be the thrill of a lifetime!”

“I hope it is. I really believe it will end happily, or I shouldn’t be taking you along, for I am the one who’s responsible. The Sky Rocket can carry a good load, and we’re both so light that I can easily put in a big extra tank of gas for emergency, in case we get off our course.”

“And if that runs out, or anything else happens, we’ll go to sea in a rubber life-boat!”

“I hope we shan’t have to,” said Linda.... “But now we really must get to work. I’m going to get out my maps. It’ll be a pretty hard job to locate those little islands in that vast expanse of ocean.”

“If we only don’t run into a fog!” commented Dot.

“But if we do, there’s the good old earth-inductor compass to guide us. And besides, our course lies pretty straight westward.”

For the next few hours the girls scarcely exchanged a word, so busily were they employed upon their duties. Dot sent the wires and interviewed the chef of the hotel, and Linda pored over maps and diagrams, running her fingers through her hair, marking her course with her pencil. At six o’clock she telephoned to the airport with final instructions. Then, dressed as they were, for all their dresses were still at the Los Angeles hotel, they went down to dinner.

The dining-room was warm in spite of the fans, and it seemed exactly like midsummer to the girls, although it really was October by the calendar. But San Lucas was much farther south than Spring City, Ohio.

There were not many people in the dining-room, for it was an early hour to dine. How thankful the girls were that they were not at the Ambassador, crowded as it always was with motion-picture people and visitors! They ate their meal slowly, then retired to their room to work quietly until bed-time.

And so, at nine o’clock they prepared to go to sleep, conscious that their next night would probably be spent on the ocean—an adventure which would either end in disaster, or would make a story that would go down in history, of the first young women to fly the Pacific Ocean.

Only time could answer that question!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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