  “I think Mr. Clavering is too optimistic,” remarked Miss Carlton at the breakfast table Saturday morning. “It doesn’t seem possible to me that all seven planes will come through that treasure hunt without any mishaps. And if someone is injured, nobody would feel like having a week-end party at that Inn.” “Nothing’s going to happen, Aunt Emily,” Linda replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement. She and Amy were both dressed for the flight, and anxious to get off. Miss Carlton rose from the table and kissed her niece good-by. She and half a dozen of the older folks were going by boat across Lake Michigan, and then on by automobile to Lake Winnebago, where the party was to be held. “I hope you win, dear,” she said. “And don’t forget to take the lunch Anna has packed for you.” “We’ll see you to-night, Auntie,” returned Linda. “At the Inn.” “I sincerely hope so,” answered the other, a little doubtfully. In fairness to the contestants, Mr. Clavering had arranged that the planes start from different places, so that they would not have to wait long in turn for their take-offs. Linda and Ralph were to go early to the Green Falls airport to fly their autogiros up the shore, to wait until ten o’clock, the appointed time. Tom Hulbert and Frank Lawlor were to motor to a town a short distance from Green Falls, where their planes were in readiness, while Joe Elliston, Dot Crowley, and Bert Keen were all to leave from the Green Falls airport. These last three pilots, with their passengers, were waiting at the airport when Linda, Ralph, and Amy drove over about half-past nine. “Hurry up and get those windmills out of the way!” ordered Joe Elliston. “They clutter up the place.” “And be sure you don’t cheat!” remarked Sarah Wheeler. “Wait till ten o’clock before you start.” “As if five or ten minutes would make any difference,” replied Ralph. “The victor will probably win by hours, not minutes.” “I hope there won’t be a thunderstorm,” observed Madge Keen, who was flying with her husband. “It certainly is hot.” “I’m dropping out if anything like that happens,” said Sarah flatly. “I’m not taking chances.” Joe looked a little doubtfully at the sky, although the sun was shining brightly. But, being an amateur, he was nervous, although he had been lucky enough to secure a Fleet, which was the kind of plane he had used for his lessons. Linda put Amy into the autogiro, and started her motor. How smoothly it was running! Yesterday’s work was worthwhile. “Good-by, everybody! See you all in Milwaukee!” she called. They had been given instructions to fly to the airport in that city, and there to ask for directions. Ralph took off a few minutes later, not quite so gracefully as Linda, but nevertheless without any mishaps. Fifteen minutes later they waved to each other as they came down along the shore of the lake, a short distance from each other, to wait for ten o’clock to arrive. “Are you going straight across the lake?” Ralph asked Linda. “No,” she replied. “If I fly southwest, I can reach Milwaukee a lot faster. If we went directly across the lake from here, we’d have over thirty miles to fly down the western shore of Lake Michigan.” The young man looked dubious. “I guess I’m a fool, but I believe I’ll take the longer route. I’m kind of afraid of that lake. I’d hate to have to swim it.” Linda smiled, but not in contempt. She admired him all the more for his cautiousness in handling his new autogiro. They waited together until two minutes of ten, then, with a handclasp and a mutual expression of hope for good luck, they walked back to their machines and gave them the gun. Like Linda, Amy was in high spirits, and she thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful flight over the water. It was lovely and cool in the sky, so different from the hot atmosphere below. Linda watched her compass carefully and reached Milwaukee without any deviation. Looking about cautiously, to make sure that none of the other planes was making a landing at the same time, she brought her “Ladybug” down on the runway and climbed out. A smiling mechanic came towards her, congratulating her upon her success thus far, and handing her a typewritten message. “Fly to Columbus airport,” she read. “And there receive further directions.” “How far is Columbus?” she asked the mechanic. “Fifty miles?” “A little over, perhaps. Want an inspection, or some gas?” Linda glanced at the indicator. “I don’t believe so,” she answered. Then, turning to her companion, she asked, “Are you hungry, Amy?” “No! No!” cried the girl. “Let’s not take the time to eat. Let’s have a drink of water, and get on our way. We just have to win!” Linda smiled and nodded in agreement, and the mechanic brought them some water. “Have you any news of the other flyers in our race?” she asked him. “How many have been here so far?” “Two—Lt. Hulbert and a Mr. Lawlor, I believe. About fifteen minutes ago—the lieutenant was the first. And I heard that one fellow couldn’t get his plane into the air at all, and that he had to drop out before he even started.” “That must have been Joe Elliston!” exclaimed Linda, immediately. “He was scared, anyway.” “Yes, I believe that was the name, though the message wasn’t very clear. His plane is a Fleet?” “Yes. Poor kid!” remarked Linda, sympathetically. “I wish we could help him.” “Come on, Linda, we must go!” urged Amy, impatiently. “Now you’re going to taste some speed, Amy,” Linda said, as they climbed into the cockpits. “I’m going to let her out to the limit. I want to reach Columbus in half an hour—I’m very hungry!” Scarcely had they made their ascent when they spotted another plane approaching the airport. Though they could not see the pilot, Linda identified it as an Avian, the plane which Dot Crowley had selected for the hunt. “Step on it! Step on it!” cried Amy, clapping her hands. “Go on, Linda!” Thrilled with the excitement of the race, Linda urged her “Ladybug” to her greatest speed. What fun it was to know that you were safe, and yet to fly along at more than a hundred miles an hour! And how glad she was that she had brought Amy! The child was having the time of her life. Clouds, deep piles of heavy white clouds were gathering above them when Linda brought her autogiro down at the Columbus airport. Again a mechanic came out with a typewritten message, but this time a warning was also issued. “We are advising all pilots in the hunt to wait until the storm is over,” he said. “The sky looks bad, and the weather report is unfavorable.” Linda frowned and opened the lunch box which Anna had packed. “You really think it is dangerous?” she asked, looking up at the clouds. “We certainly do. Those clouds mean a thunderstorm.” “Oh, what do we care?” demanded Amy, as she hastily ate a sandwich. “It didn’t stop the others, did it?” “No. But they were here a little earlier, before the skies were so black.” “How many?” inquired Linda. “Three. Two Moths and an Avian.” “Tom Hulbert and Frank Lawlor—and—and Dot!” cried Linda. So Dot Crowley had caught up to them and had beaten them! Funny, they hadn’t seen her plane go past. But perhaps she was flying higher. “Then we’ll have to go, too,” Linda decided, rather recklessly for her. “We’ll eat while you put in some gas.” She opened the paper and read the directions. This time they were more difficult. This was to be the finish! “Fly northwest, past Beaver Dam to Fox River. Follow the river, west, then north, to Lake Waupin. Continue about ten miles, looking for a large old house of gray plaster, with a flat roof and a tower. Land in a field behind this, and search the barn. Treasure is hidden in the barn. It is in bright red wrapping.” Reading the words over her shoulder, Amy gasped in excitement. “Those words are familiar, Linda. I—I know the Fox River! I’m sure I do.” Linda, who had completely forgotten the mystery about the girl in the excitement of the morning, gazed at her in surprise. “But you are supposed to come from Montana,” she said. “You couldn’t have come this far.” “I don’t know,” replied the perplexed girl. “But I do know these names are familiar.” All the while the skies grew darker than before, the thunder sounded nearer and nearer, and Linda became more fearful. Was she acting foolishly, in defiance of her aunt’s dearest wishes? But how she hated to give up, now that she had come this far! Suddenly another plane swooped down from the skies with an awful speed that sent a shiver through Linda’s body. It was going to crash, she felt sure; the pilot could not control it. She pulled Amy back into the hangar, and watched her autogiro nervously. Would it be hit by that speeding plane, hit and dashed to pieces, too? But miraculously the descending plane passed over the “Ladybug” and hit the ground with a thump, bouncing high into the air—seeming to hover a breathless second—then turning a pancake. It was all Linda could do to restrain a scream, and Amy cried out in fright. But a second later a woman crept smilingly from the upturned plane, and dragged a man after her. It was Madge Keen and her husband. “Thank Heaven!” cried Linda, dashing breathlessly to their side. “You’re not hurt?” “No, only bruised a lot,” replied Madge. “It was a wonderful escape. I guess Bert was in too much of a hurry—we were frightened of the storm. Doesn’t it look black?” “It certainly does,” Linda admitted. “But I guess I’ll try it.” Madge seized the other girl’s hand and pleaded with her to wait. “It’s certain death!” she said. “You’ll never make it, Linda!” “I thought maybe I could get above the clouds,” replied the other. “And my autogiro’s so safe, compared to ordinary planes.” “Nothing’s safe in a storm like this,” remarked Madge. “We’re going to wait here for Ralph, and take a taxi to a hotel. We saw him in Milwaukee, and we agreed to do that if the storm came on—that all three of us would drop out of the race. We’d have to now, anyhow,” she added, pointing to the wrecked plane. “Well, so long, then,” answered Linda, hurrying Amy into the autogiro. They had scarcely left the ground when the rain came in torrents and the thunder and lightning grew sharper and sharper, until the terrific claps seemed to be breaking right about them, almost into their ears. With stoic courage Linda made for the heights. But she could not get out of the storm by climbing, so wisely she directed her plane as best she could away from its direction, going almost exactly west. Though well protected with their slickers and helmets, the rain poured into the girls’ faces, making it impossible for Linda to see anything. With the clouds and the rain all about her, the earth was entirely invisible, and she had to depend solely upon her instruments. “We’re getting away from it!” cried Amy, who had been pretty well frightened for a while. Indeed, they did seem to be making progress, for the thunder seemed a little more distant. The pilot could not take time to bother with the speaking tube, so she made no reply. She was afraid that she would come upon another plane in this semi-darkness, and that there would ensue one of those crashes which her Aunt Emily so dreaded. But it was over soon—they had evidently passed through it, and the skies were lighter, with blue patches appearing here and there. With a deep sigh of thankfulness, Linda dipped her autogiro lower, that they might study the landscape, for she felt sure that they were now off their course. It was ten minutes later, and the sun was shining, when they came to a river, a broad, beautiful stream that seemed almost too wide to be the Fox River, as Linda had pictured it. “I don’t think this is it!” she shouted to Amy. “But look for a gray stone house with a tower.” “There are too many houses,” replied Amy. “The one we want is supposed to be all alone.” Linda flew still lower, along the bank of the river. Suddenly Amy spied a tower. “That must be it!” cried Linda, in excited joy. “And there’s a good big field—” Abruptly all her delight died. For there were already three planes standing in that field! She must have lost the treasure hunt! “We’re too late!” she wailed. “Don’t land!” shouted Amy, with intense excitement. “There isn’t any barn around here. Besides, I know—I’m sure—this isn’t the Fox River! It’s the Wisconsin.” “Then those pilots are wrong?” “They must be.” “Amy, are you sure?” “Yes, positive. Go on, Linda! We’ll beat ’em yet. Fly north! This is somehow familiar ground to me!” |
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