  “We’re a pretty pair of fools!” cried Bill. “I agree with you.” Osceola, usually stoical under trying conditions, was visibly upset. “While we’re scrapping and swapping stories, that girl of mine is being kidnapped by those ruffians!” “But they haven’t got into the house yet,” Bill reminded him. “But what can those two do against so many! After what Sanders said to you, we should have been prepared for this. For the love of Mike, Bill, hold that light steady! I can’t find the brick that manipulates the panel to the woodshed tunnel.—There—that’s better!” A section of the cellar wall opened and the light from the torch shone on a flight of stone steps leading into the earth. “Wait a jiffy, till I pick up my rifle—” The young Seminole disappeared, then returned with the gun in his hands. “Lucky I decided to tackle you with my fists rather than shoot in the dark! Got everything you need?” “Yep.” “Then turn the light on the wall to your left—third brick from the bottom—there!” He pulled it out, fumbled in the aperture for a moment and the cellar door slid shut. “Gosh, it’s dark—” Bill went down the steps and along the tunnel, sending the light beam before him. “How did you manage to navigate without a flash?” “My race, as you know, see better in the dark than you pale-faces. But it wasn’t easy, just the same. Some of the roof is down farther ahead, and I barked my shin on one of the stone blocks. Rotten air in here too. Mr. Evans said that Turner was quite a guy at smuggling in his day. He told me that the house is a regular warren of secret passages. What time is it, anyway?” “Just eleven-forty-five. Parker ought to be over the house in fifteen minutes. That is, if he comes.” “He will—” declared the Seminole. “He said he would.” “If he wakes up in time, you mean. After those two long hops, he’ll be a dead ’un.” “Oh, not so bad. I flew the plane most of the way up here,” confessed Osceola. “So Parker caught plenty of sleep on the trip.” “Good boy! Your instructor is proud of you. Look out—here are those blocks you tripped over before.” They scrambled over the debris and a few moments later came to another flight of stone steps. Osceola manipulated the sliding door at the top very much in the same manner as he had closed the one to the cellar. Bill switched off his light and they entered a small, one-roomed building. Here the Indian led him past a broken doorway and through a dense thicket of evergreen and brambles. When they reached the more open woods, Osceola paused. “I ambled over these woods the day we corralled our friend the Baron,” he remarked. “And I took a look at the outside of Turner’s then. Keep the moon on your right and you’re bound to hit the harbor. It’s between two and a half and three miles over there.” “And where do you think you’re going?” asked Bill in surprise. “Over to the cove and out to Pig Island!” “But you’ve no boat.” “I’ll swim out.” “Why, you’re crazy, Osceola! I know you’re a marvel in the water, but there isn’t a swimmer living who could breast that current. Believe me, I tried it, and I know.” “Well, I can make a try at it, too, can’t I?” “What’s the use? Hike along with me and we’ll be over there with the Loening in half the time you could swim that distance in easy water. Anyway, there’s your rifle—you’d have to leave that behind. Don’t be a sap, old fella. You can’t fight ten or a dozen of the Sanders tribe with your fists!” Osceola, who had led his class at Carlisle, and would captain the football team in the fall, was a young man whose brain worked fast. Moreover, he was never afraid to admit he might be wrong and to profit by another’s advice. “Okay,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “I guess I let myself get carried away a bit. I’ll go with you. Let’s be on our way.” “Good egg. I know you’re worried half sick about Deborah, and I don’t blame you. You lead on, old scout. We’ll make it, yet!” Osceola started off at a sharp dog trot that he could keep up for hours if need be. Bill ran lightly behind him, glad to be in the open air and away from that uncanny house at last. A ten-mile breeze blowing in from the sea rustled the treetops and shadows cast by a full moon danced over the undergrowth. Clouds were banking to the eastward, the salt tang of the ocean was in the air. Bill sensed rain or a storm and was glad that the cloud formation, creeping upward, would shortly blot out the silvery light. Should they be forced to land on Pig Island in moonlight nearly as bright as day, the odds would be all with their enemies. Osceola, with that natural bump of direction which is inherent in all races of American Indians, struck an overgrown deer track and followed it. Bill, running on his second wind, saw the young Chief slacken his pace for an instant, then dart ahead at a stiffer gait. “Here he comes!” the Indian called over his shoulder. “If we hustle, we’ll reach the shore soon after he lands.” The white lad could hear nothing but the soft thud of his own footsteps and the gentle swish of the night wind in the treetops. Then, dimly at first, came the almost imperceptible drone of an engine far away. Within a very few minutes, the hum grew to a roar and the dark shape and tail-light of an airplane passed above their heads, flying low in the same direction they were traveling. Osceola slowed down to a brisk walk. The ground sloped upward and rocky outcroppings made running impossible. Then he stopped altogether and waited for his companion. “There we are!” He pointed forward and down. Bill, who was not sorry for the breather, saw that they stood on the crest of the rise. Straight ahead the ground slanted sharply downward. Through breaks in the foliage, a wide stretch of moonlit water could be seen. Floating gently on the rippling cove near the shore lay the seaplane. “You’re a wonder, Osceola! How were you able to draw a bead on Parker like that? I was sure we were in for at least a mile’s tramp along the shore before we’d get within hailing distance.” “Nothing mysterious about it. That’s a cove off the main harbor you’re looking at. Parker told me of his rendezvous with you. I knew about this cove, and made it a bit more definite, that’s all. I’ll give him the signal and we’ll go on down.” Two sharp barks of a fox came from Osceola’s throat. Immediately the idling hum of the airplane motor increased to a roar, awakening forest echoes and the amphibian commenced to move through the water toward the shore. Without a word the two friends scrambled down the rocky incline to meet it. “Is that you, chief?” called Ezra Parker’s voice as they neared the water. “Sure is. And I’ve got Bill Bolton with me.” “Good enough,” answered the aviator, as they came onto the narrow beach. “How be yer, Bill?” “Rearin’ to go, Ezra—and I reckon that’s what we’ve got to do, pronto!” “Anything up?” “Plenty. Sanders has got Charlie, and the gang’s over at Pig Island right now, trying to capture Deborah and old Jim.” “Gosh all hemlock!” exploded Ezra. “Things are popping, that’s certain.” “And that’s not the half of it,” cut in Osceola. “If Bill doesn’t hike down to Stamford, Connecticut, and prove to members of the Sanders outfit down there that he is out of this thing for keeps—those devils threaten to put Charlie out of the way, and Deborah too, if they can get her!” “Well, that sure is the limit!” Ezra’s tone was filled with concern. “Jump aboard, boys, while I run her out in the harbor. There’s no telling who may be sneakin’ ’round in these woods. No sense takin’ any more chances than we have to.” The Chief swung himself on to the amphibian’s deck which ran from amidships forward to her nose below the two cockpits and inverted motor. Bill meanwhile quickly doffed his clothes, which together with Sanders’ automatic he flung to the Seminole. He waded into the water, pushed the plane out until she floated clear, and walked out until he could grasp a wing tip. After much heaving and hauling, for the water was up to his armpits, he managed to swing the plane around until her nose was pointed toward the mouth of the cove. “Thanks, Bill,” said Ezra, and Osceola gave his pal a hand aboard. “This place is too narrow for manoeuvering. I was wonderin’ how I could get her out of here.” “Gimme a towel!” Bill’s teeth were chattering. “There’s one in the locker in your cockpit, Ezra. Lucky you didn’t try swimming over to the island tonight, Osceola. If anything is colder than this Maine ocean when the sun’s off it, I’ve yet to find it.” With Osceola he piled into the rear cockpit. Then while, Parker taxied the plane out to mid-harbor, Bill got into his clothes. Parker snapped off the ignition and twisted around in his seat. “Now let’s have the lowdown on this, Bill.” Bill climbed down to the deck and gave him a short outline of the events of the day and evening. “Kind of between the devil and the deep sea, aren’t we?” he finished grimly. “Time’s more than money now. So hop in aft with the chief, and let me in the fore cockpit. I’m going to fly the bus. There ought to be a couple of repeating rifles and ammunition in the locker aft. Pass one of them out to me, will you, Osceola? Ezra can use the other. You two, stick on head-phones. While I’m driving, see if you can’t come to some decision about this Stamford business.” As Parker climbed out of the fore cockpit and went aft, Bill hopped into the vacated pilot’s seat. A rifle and ammunition were passed to him. He made sure that the magazine was full, then pulled forth a helmet and goggles from a small locker. These he put on, cast a hurried glance aft and satisfying himself that his companions were ready for the take-off, he switched on the ignition. |
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