Above the speeding airplane, lowering black of approaching night and storm; below, the forest, grim and silent, swelling over ridges, dipping into valleys, crestless waves on a dark green ocean.

“We can’t make it, Betty.”

Dorothy Dixon, at the controls, spoke into the mouthpiece of her headphone set.

Betty Mayo, in the rear cockpit, glanced overside and shuddered.

“But you can’t land on those trees!” she cried shrilly. “We’ll crash—you know that!”

“Maybe we will—and maybe we won’t!” returned Dorothy, gritting her teeth. “Keep your eyes peeled for a pond or a woodlot—anywhere you think we can land.”

“What—what’s the matter?” called back her friend, steadying her wobbly nerves with an effort.

“Matter enough. We’re nearly out of gas—running on reserve fuel now. When the rain starts, it’ll be pitch dark in no time.”

“Oh, Dorothy—do try to stay up! We can’t crash and be killed—that’s what it will mean if you try to land here!”

“Betty, be-have, will you? This is my funeral.” The pilot in her anxiety, had struck upon an unhappy choice of words.

“Oh, you must do something—this is terrible—” the frenzied girl in the rear cockpit almost shrieked.

Dorothy ripped off her headphone set. She could no longer allow her attention to be distracted by Betty’s excited whimpering.

The small amphibian, flying low, topped a crag-scarred ridge. At the foot of the cliff she saw a tiny woodland meadow.

Action in the air must be automatic. There is never time to reason. With the speed of legerdemain the young pilot sent her plane into a steep right bank and pushed down hard on the left rudder pedal. The result was a sideslip, the only maneuver by which the amphibian could possibly be piloted into the woodlot. Tilted sideways at an angle that brought a scream from terrified Betty, the heavy mass of wood and metal dropped like a plummet toward the earth.

This was too much for little Miss Mayo. Convinced that her friend had lost control of the plane, she closed her eyes and prayed.

With uncanny accuracy, considering the rainswept gloom, Dorothy recovered just at the proper instant. Hard down rudder brought the longitudinal axis of the plane into coincidence with its actual flight path again. At the same time she brought the up aileron into play, thereby preventing the bank from increasing. Then as the amphibian shot into a normal glide, she leveled the wings laterally by use of ailerons and rudder.

Their speed was still excessive, so for a split second or two, Dorothy leveled off and fishtailed the plane. That is, she kicked the rudder alternately right and left, thereby swinging the nose from side to side, and did so without banking and without dropping the nose to a steeper angle.

Taking the greatest possible care that her plane was in straight flight prior to the moment of contact with the ground, she gave it a brief burst of the engine, obviating any possibility of squashing on with excessive force. The airplane landed well back on the tail, rolled forward over the bumpy ground and came to a stop at the very edge of the little meadow, nose on to the line of trees and underbrush.

Dorothy switched off the ignition, snapped out of her safety belt and turned round.

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” she said cheerfully. “Wake up, Betty! We’ve come to the end of the line.”

Betty opened her eyes and looked about in startled amazement.

“Why—why we didn’t crash, after all!”

“Certainly not,” snorted Dorothy. “D’you think I’d let Wispy mash up my best friend? Come on, dry your eyes. Good thing it’s so dark and none of the boys are with us. You’d be a fine sight,” she teased.

“I think Will-o-the-Wisp is a silly name for a plane.” Betty’s remark was purposely irrelevant. She wanted to change the subject.

“Then don’t think about it. Turn your mind upon the answer of that dear old song, ‘Where do we go from here?’”

“Where are we?” Betty could be practical enough when her nerves were not tried too severely.

“Mmm!” murmured her friend. “That’s the question. I’m not quite sure, but I think we’re on the New York State Reservation over on Pound Ridge. A good ten miles or more from home, anyway.”

“If we’re on the reservation we’re certainly out of luck,” sighed Betty. “It’s a terribly wild place—nothing but rocks and ridges and woods and things. They keep it that way on purpose.”

“Nice for picnics on sunny days, I guess,” affirmed Dorothy. “But not so good on a rainy night, eh? Here, put on this slicker before you’re wet through. Then get down. We’ve got to move out of here.”

Betty stood up, caught the coat Dorothy threw into the cockpit, and after slipping into it, she stared fearfully about.

“What are you waiting for?” Dorothy inquired from below.

“I’m going to stay where I am,” announced Miss Mayo in a quavering voice. “It’s safer.”

“How safe?” Dorothy turned on her flash light. Its moving beam brought into bold relief the jungle of scrub oak and evergreens that walled the little pasture.

“Listen, Dorothy! I remember Father saying that they preserved game on the Pound Ridge reservation. There are sure to be bears and—and other things in these woods. Turn off the light—quick—they’ll be attracted to us if we show a light—”

“Bears—your grandmother!” said Dorothy’s mocking voice and the light flashed full on Betty. “Don’t be so silly. Come down here at once!”

“No, I won’t. I’m going to stay up here. I—I’m sure it’s safer.”

“Then you can be ‘safer’ by yourself. If you think I’m going to stick around this woodlot all night, you’ve got another guess coming. Snap out of it, won’t you, Betty?”

“But you wouldn’t leave me all alone out here!”

“Watch me.” The light began to move away from the plane.

“I’ll come—I’ll come with you, Dorothy—wait!”

The light came back and Betty scrambled to the ground in a fever of haste.

“Now, then, stop being a goop and take this flash,” directed Dorothy. “Hold it on the plane so I can see. We’ve got to make Wispy secure, before we get under way.”

“I s’pose you get that Navy lingo from Bill Bolton.” Betty felt rather peevish now. “You talk just like him ever since he taught you to fly.”

“I wish he was here now,” retorted her friend, and climbed into the cockpit. “Here—take these wheel blocks and stop grouching. And for goodness’ sake, please don’t wobble that light! I want to get these cockpit covers on before everything is flooded.”

A few minutes later she climbed down again and after adjusting the wheel blocks, took the flashlight from Betty.

“All set?” she inquired briskly. “Got your knitting and everything? ’Cause it’s time we were moving.”

Betty began to cry.

“I think you’re mean—of course I want to get out of here, but—but you n-needn’t—”

Dorothy put her arm about the smaller girl’s shoulders.

“There, there,” she comforted, “cheer up. I won’t be cross any more. Here’s a hanky, use it and come along. Gee, I wish this rain would stop! It’s coming down in bucketfuls.”

“I’m sorry, too, for sniveling,” said Betty meekly. She made a strenuous effort to be brave as they walked away from the dark shape of the plane. “But don’t you think you’d better get out your revolver, Dorothy? Honestly, you know, we’re likely to run into anything out here in these woods.”

Dorothy burst into a peal of laughter. “Bless you, honey,” she chuckled. “I don’t carry a gun when I go calling—or any other time if I can help it. We’ll get out of this all right, don’t worry. I should have looked at the gas before we left home, but I thought there was plenty to take us over to Peekskill and back. Wispy eats the stuff—that’s the answer!”

They stumbled along on the outskirts of the woodlot, Dorothy keeping her light swinging from side to side before them.

“But I thought you always carried a gun—” insisted Betty, her mind still on the same track—“you ought to, after all you went through with those bank robbers and then the gang of diamond smugglers!”

“Well, you’ve got to have a license to tote a revolver—I’ll admit I’ve carried ’em now and then—but not to a tea!” replied her friend. “Do try and help me now, to find a way out of this place.”

“But maybe there is no way out. We can’t climb those cliffs, and this meadow’s hemmed in by the woods. Oh, dear, I wish I knew where we are!”

“I’m not certain,” mused Dorothy, more to herself than to her companion, “but I think I caught sight of the fire tower on the ridge just before we sideslipped. That would mean that this meadow is on the eastern edge of the reservation—and that there’s a road on the hill across from the ridge. There must be a trail of some kind leading in here. They could never get the hay out or the cattle in, otherwise; this place must be used for something.”

They trudged along, keeping the trees on their left until the farther end of the meadow was reached. As they rounded the corner the light from the flash brought into view a narrow opening in the trees and undergrowth.

“What did I tell you?” sang out Dorothy. “There’s our trail! This certainly is a lucky break!”

“Where do you suppose it goes?” Betty’s question was lacking in enthusiasm.

“Oh, it’s the tunnel from the Grand Central to the new Waldorf-Astoria,” said Dorothy, squinting in the darkness. “I’m going to take a room with a bath. You can have one, too, if you’re good!”

Betty stumbled into a jagged wheel rut and sat down suddenly. “Oh, my goodness!” she moaned. “My new pumps are ruined—and these nice new stockings are a mass of runs from those nasty brambles!”

“Humph! Just think how lucky you are to be alive,” suggested Dorothy callously. “Look—we’re coming into another meadow. Yes—and there’s a light—must be a house up there on the hill.”

“What if they won’t let us in?” wailed Betty.

They were heading across the meadow, now, toward the hill. Dorothy stopped and turned the flashlight on her friend.

“You certainly are a gloom!” she declared angrily. “Do you think I’m enjoying this? My shoes and stockings are ruined, too, and this ducky dress I’m crazy about has a rip in the skirt a yard long. It will probably be worse by the time we get through the brush on that hillside. But there’s absolutely no use in whining about it—and there’s not a darned thing to be scared of. Is that clear to you, Betty?” She paused, and then went on more gently. “Come on, old thing, you’ll feel much better when we’ve found a place to get warm and dry.”

“I know you think I’m an awful baby.” Betty tried her best to make her voice sound cheerful, but her attempt was not a brilliant success. “But I’m just not brave, that’s all,” she went on, “and I do feel perfectly terrible.”

“I know. You’re not used to this kind of an outing, and I am, more or less. But I can see how it would upset you. Here’s a stone fence. Give me your hand, I’ll help you over. Fine! Now save your breath for the hill. We’ve got a stiff climb ahead of us.”

For the next fifteen or twenty minutes they fought their way up the steep slope through a veritable jungle of thickets and rock. In spite of frequent rests on the boulders that dotted the hillside, both girls were exhausted by the time they came to another delapidated stone wall that acted as a low barrier between the brush and an over-grown apple orchard. Through the gnarled trunks, they could dimly see the shape of the house whence came the light.

Dorothy sat down on top of the wall, and pulled Betty to a place beside her. Then she switched off her flash.

“Some drag, that!” Her breath came in labored gasps.

Betty was too weary to make any reply. For a time they sat, silently. Then Dorothy slid painfully off the wall into the orchard.

“You stay here, Betty. I’m going over to the house and reconnoiter.”

“Say! You don’t go without me!” Betty sprang down with sudden determination.

“Then walk carefully and don’t make any noise.”

A tone of startled surprise came into Betty’s voice.

“What—what are you afraid of, Dorothy?” she whispered excitedly.

“Not a thing, silly. But there may be watch dogs—and I want to get some idea of the people who live in that dump before I ask ’em for hospitality. I’ve got myself into trouble before this, going it blind. I know it pays to be careful. If you must come with me, you must, I suppose. But walk behind me—and don’t say another word.”

She stalked off through the orchard with Betty close at her heels.

As they neared the house, which seemed to be badly in need of repair, it was plain that the light came from behind a shaded window on the ground floor. Dorothy stopped to ponder the situation. A shutter hanging by one hinge banged dully in the wind and a stream of rain water was shooting down over the window from a choked leader somewhere above. She felt a grip on her arm.

“Let’s don’t go in there,” whispered Betty. “It’s a perfectly horrid place, I think.”

“It doesn’t look specially cheerful,” admitted Dorothy. “But there may not be another house within a couple of miles. There’s a porch around on the side. Maybe we can see into the room from there.”

Together they moved cautiously through the rank grass and weeds to the edge of the low veranda. There was no railing and the glow from two long French windows gave evidence that the floor boards were warped and rotting. The howl of the wind and driving rain served to cover the sound of their movements as they tiptoed across the porch to the far window. Both shades were drawn, but this one lacked a few inches of reaching the floor.

Both girls lay flat on their stomachs and peered in. Quick as a flash, Dorothy clapped her hands over Betty’s mouth, smothering her sudden shriek of terror.