  Linda directed her plane upward and consulted her map. If Amy was right, and this was the Wisconsin River, there was still a chance of getting that prize. If the girl was wrong, it would be too late anyhow, for one of those three pilots would certainly have found the treasure by this time. In which case it would be better for Linda to fly directly to Lake Winnebago. Assuming that Amy was right, and this was the Wisconsin and not the Fox River, she turned her plane to the northeast. Unfortunately, however, this act headed her right back into the storm. Fresh clouds seemed to be gathering everywhere; it was impossible to climb above them, or to pass through them. The wind was blowing fiercely, sending the rotor blades about at a terrific speed. The autogiro seemed to sway; she felt herself suddenly in the grip of a whirlwind. Amy, frightened at last, held on to the sides of the cockpit with a deadly grip. Neither girl wore a safety belt; it seemed any moment as if they would both be dashed over the sides of the plane. “Be ready to jump, Amy, if I give a signal!” Linda shouted through the speaking tube to her companion. Her face was white and her lips tense with fear; the autogiro was out of her control entirely. She could only wait, and trust grimly to the rotors. Had it been any other plane than an autogiro, Linda realized that it would long ago have been hurled mercilessly through space, probably upside down. But the little “Ladybug” was gallantly battling the winds, and Linda prayed fervently that she might get it under control. Again it rocked violently, and with a shiver of agony, she turned to the tube to tell Amy to step off. Perhaps, she thought, she could stay with it herself a little longer. Just as she was about to speak, the autogiro righted itself again and the rain began to fall in torrents, wetting them thoroughly, but dispelling the worst of the cloud. A moment later the joy stick responded to Linda’s touch; the plane made headway out of the grip of the wind. The young aviatrix breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. They continued to fly onward amid the driving rain for some distance until the storm was spent at last, and Linda came low to take a look at the landscape. It was Amy who first spotted the river. “There it is, Linda!” she cried joyously, as one who sees a familiar sight after a long sojourn in a foreign country. “The Fox River! I know it! I’m positive of it! Keep right on—past Lake—Lake—I forget the name.” “Lake Waupin?” shouted Linda, consulting her map. “Yes! Yes! How did you know?” “By my map. How did you?” “It’s where I lived. I’m sure.” “Of course!” cried Linda. “This is somewhere near the spot where you met with your accident. I remember Dot and I flew over Lake Waupin, though we didn’t know its name then. But where is there any house around here? It looks so desolate.” “Keep on going—follow the river. I’ll watch for a tower.” Linda’s excitement was intense; even if she didn’t succeed in finding the treasure, she must be on the way to clearing up the mystery of Amy’s past life. She pressed forward eagerly, watching the river, and looking for signs of a house. A few miles farther on Amy spotted it, and almost rose in her seat. “There it is, Linda!” she called. “And it’s sort of familiar to me. Oh, can it be my home?” “It seems reasonable,” replied Linda, although it certainly did not fit in with Mrs. Fishberry’s theory that Amy lived in Montana. Just as Mr. Clavering had said, there was a field beyond, large enough for any kind of plane to land. Linda, however, did not bother with this; she selected a small spot behind the barn and brought the “Ladybug” to earth. Wild with excitement the two girls jumped out and ran hand in hand to the barn. The big doors stood partially open; the place was empty and deserted. Amy peered inside. Almost immediately Linda spotted the treasure. A soap box conspicuously painted red was reposing in the corner of the barn, where it could easily be seen at a glance. With a scream of delight she darted forward and made a motion to drag it out to the light to examine its contents. But it was no effort at all; the box was evidently empty. “Don’t you s’pose there’s anything in it?” she gasped, as she set it down at the door, and began to pull out the newspaper packing. “Or is the box itself supposed to be the prize?” Amy laughed. “I don’t know what you could use it for, except as an ash box,” she replied. “It wouldn’t make a very good parlor ornament.” Linda continued to pull out the papers, thrusting them aside in haste, until at last her hands touched a candy box. But as she lifted that out, she realized that it, too, was empty! She held it over to Amy, and the girl’s eyes grew angry, as she took hold of the box. “If it’s a trick—after all we went through—” she began. “Well, we’ll have to be good sports,” replied Linda, taking the box back and untying the red ribbon. “But before I open it, Amy, I want to say that if there is anything valuable in it, it’s to be half yours. I’d never have found it if it hadn’t been for you.” “That’s sweet of you, Linda dear,” replied the younger girl. “And I’ll agree—provided it’s something that can be divided. But if it should be a watch or a bracelet, or something like that, you have to consent to keep it.” “O.K.,” answered Linda, and the girls clasped hands solemnly on the agreement; then laughed at themselves for taking so seriously what might prove to be only a joke. Linda opened it at last, and found an envelope inside addressed to “The Winner of the Treasure Hunt.” She guessed now what the prize must be: money, of course! That would be something which either a man or a girl could use, no matter which one won it. But she was not prepared for the amount which greeted her, as she slit the envelope, and drew out the long green paper inside. A check of one thousand dollars, payable to the winner of the hunt, with a space left for the proper name to be filled in, and with the signature of R. W. Clavering at the bottom! “What is it?” inquired Amy gazing at the odd piece of paper, without any understanding. “Does it mean you will get a thousand dollars?” “It is a thousand dollars!” replied Linda. “Surely, Amy, you have seen checks before?” The girl solemnly shook her head. “Never,” she asserted. “Well, it’s all right! And you have to take five hundred!” cried Linda, in delight. “That will pay your way at a business college, Amy—so that you never have to go back to that horrid Mrs. Fishberry! Oh, isn’t it just too good to be true!” She gave the girl a joyous hug. “Now let’s start back, Amy.” Her companion hesitated. “I’d love to see that house,” she said. “It—it is somehow familiar to me.” Linda consulted her watch. “We might as well,” she agreed. “It’s early. And we can easily make Lake Winnebago in an hour. All right, come on.” “But suppose somebody lives there——” “Then we’ll just make up an excuse and go away. Or—Amy—suppose it were your real family!” “Oh, Linda, suppose!” The tears came to Amy’s eyes, and she added, wistfully, “Isn’t it strange that I can’t remember a thing about Mrs. Fishberry, or anybody else?” “You will soon,” Linda insisted optimistically. “Things are coming back gradually. Come on, let’s knock at the back door.” Hand in hand, the girls ran across the field of tall grass and weeds which separated the house from the barn and came to the kitchen, which was built out from the house as a separate wing, two stories in height. But the door was closed and barred, and all the windows apparently were locked up. There seemed to be little doubt that the place was deserted. “Do you remember it, Amy?” asked Linda, anxiously. “Yes—but only like something that happened in a dream,” she replied. “It seems to me that I ran barefoot through the fields—and—and—I can sort of remember drowning in the Fox River, and nobody helping me— Yes, it must have been here.” “Let’s go around front,” suggested Linda, watching Amy’s face all the while. “Yes, let’s. It’s an ugly house, isn’t it, Linda? So big and gloomy—and—ugh!” A shiver ran through the girl’s body, and she clung to Linda wretchedly. Another memory flashed into her brain. “Linda,” she sobbed, “there’s a ghost in that tower.” Linda stepped back and looked up at the roof of the house. As Mr. Clavering had said, there was a tower by which the pilots could identify the house. It rose straight from the flat mansard roof, about two stories in height. It was square, with a small window on each side, but from the ground where the girls stood, it was impossible to see within. “How do you know?” asked Linda. “I know it because I could see it at night from my bed-room window. I slept over the kitchen, in that wing, and I could see the tower. Oh, Linda, I’m afraid! We’re here all alone!” “Don’t, don’t, dear!” pleaded Linda. “But we’ll go back to the autogiro unless you want to go around front. There can’t be anybody at home now——” She stopped suddenly, for she heard a queer noise inside, as if someone were moving about. “Do you hear that?” whispered Amy, as if she were afraid to speak aloud. “Yes. Let’s go see if we can get in!” Amy held back, but Linda went over to the nearest window and peered in. She saw only a dreary room, with dark, ugly furniture—a room which looked as if no one had recently lived in it. “That wasn’t anybody real, Linda,” protested Amy. “It was the ghost. It often made queer noises at night. Oh, please let’s get away before anything happens!” “All right. But I would love to investigate. I’m going to make Dot come over with me on Monday, if we have to climb in a window. I don’t believe in ghosts, Amy!” “Oh, you mustn’t do that, Linda! The house is evil—I know now that I’m lucky never to have to go back to it. I don’t ever want to see it again!” Anxious to get the girl away from her morbid thoughts, Linda challenged her to a race back to the autogiro, and they reached it together in a couple of minutes. They climbed into the cockpits and Linda went through the usual motions of starting the engine. But, though the self-starter responded to her efforts, the motor refused to take hold. There would be a little spurt, then silence again. Patiently Linda tried over and over; each time the engine failed to respond. With a greater sense of fear than Amy had experienced even in that terrific whirlwind, she clung desperately to the sides of the cockpit. “Linda, what’s the matter?” she gasped, hoarsely. “Only a faulty spark plug, I think,” responded the other, cheerfully. “I can easily fix it.” “No, no,” said the other girl, with assurance. “I know what it is—it’s that evil spirit—that ghost in the tower!” “Now Amy, be sensible,” returned Linda, lightly. But when she glanced at the girl’s white, drawn face, she realized how intensely she was suffering, and a real fear took possession of her, too—a deadly fear that the child would lose her reason as well as her memory. “Linda, you don’t know! You can’t know!” Amy leaned over and gripped her companion’s hand. “If we stay here after dark, something dreadful will happen to us!” “Well, we’re not going to stay here that long,” Linda assured her, with a great effort to keep her voice calm and natural. “Now jump out and help me.” As fast as she could, Linda went to work to locate and replace the missing spark plug, and all the while she tried to keep Amy occupied with little jobs to help her. But it was pitiful to watch the young girl’s trembling hands, her white face, her shaking body. She was more of a hindrance than a help, yet Linda worked on as fast as she could, desperately hoping that nothing else would prove to be wrong. The tests and the work took longer than any job Linda had done since she had taken her course at the ground school, and it was after six o’clock when the engine finally responded. Linda heaved a deep sigh of relief, as she turned to announce the good news to Amy. But the girl was not listening; her eyes were fixed upon the figure of a woman hurrying towards them. “Who is it?” demanded Linda, excitedly, hopefully. Oh, if this should only prove to be the girl’s mother! “Do you recognize her?” “Yes,” replied Amy, stepping back and clutching Linda’s arm. “It’s the Fish!” At the same moment Linda too identified the woman who had come to her house that week to claim the young girl as her niece. Mrs. Fishberry advanced triumphantly. “I’m glad to find you here, Helen,” she said. “Though why you trust yourself with a person who almost killed you, is beyond me.” “What do you mean?” demanded the girl, angrily. “You know what I mean. And I have a witness, Miss Carlton, to prove that you—and not a car—knocked Helen down— But never mind that now. I have a picture of you, Helen, and here is your baptism certificate, and your mother’s Bible. Now will you come with me?” “No! No!” cried the girl. “I don’t ever want to see you again.” Mrs. Fishberry held out the Bible and the family album for Linda to examine. At the same time she grasped Amy firmly by the arm. “Do I have to go?” implored the girl. “I’ll die if I ever have to live in that house again.” Mrs. Fishberry’s eyes narrowed. “So you remember it, do you?” she demanded. “Only faintly—it—seems to me that I did live there. Was there a ghost?” “Of course not,” replied Mrs. Fishberry. “You lived here with your old grandfather and when he died, maybe you imagined you saw his ghost— But come along. I’m taking you to Chicago with me. I promise you won’t have to live there again.” Amy looked reassured. “All right,” she agreed. “I’ll go. But please give Miss Carlton our address, so that she can write to me, and can send me my pretty clothes.” “Miss Carlton will hear from me soon,” replied the woman with a knowing smile. “Just now I can’t give any address, for we’ll go to a hotel in Chicago. Now come. I have a taxi down the road.” Tearfully Amy kissed Linda good-by, as if she were her only real friend in the world, and the aviatrix returned to her autogiro. But she was despondent; all the joy of finding the treasure was lost in the grief of the parting with Amy. She climbed into the cockpit and started her engine. As the “Ladybug” rose into the air, and reached the height of the tower, Linda remembered the ghost and could not restrain her impulse to circle back around the house, to take a glimpse for herself through the windows. Luckily there were no large trees close to the walls; she believed that she could pass the place on the side, and with the use of her field glasses, peer into the very window which had been visible to Amy if she had really slept in that wing over the kitchen, as she believed. Turning the autogiro about, Linda dipped it to the proper height, and directed it back towards the tower. She decreased her speed to the lowest that she dared, and passed slowly by the tower, her glasses at her eyes. The sight which Linda saw through the dusty window almost brought a scream of horror to her lips. It was unreal! Uncanny! Unbelievable! There, as clear as the tower itself, was a horrible dark figure, crouching against the pane of glass, with a face so thin that it seemed nothing but bones. Yet it was not a dead skeleton, for two evil, gleaming eyes stared vacantly at Linda. And, as the plane passed by, a deadly white hand was raised from the figure’s dark cloak, and seemed to point with menace at the young pilot. Dumb with horror, Linda continued to stare at the apparition, forgetful of the autogiro she was piloting. Then abruptly she realized that she was dropping to the ground, and with a jerk she pulled back the joy stick. Wiping the cold beads of sweat from her forehead, she put on all possible speed, and made a record flight to Lake Winnebago. Yet the ghastly vision haunted her all the way to her destination; never in her life was she more thankful for a safe landing than when she finally brought the “Ladybug” to earth on the field near the Inn, where Mr. Clavering’s party had already gathered. |
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