  When Janet regained consciousness she was aware of a roaring that filled her ears. It was as though a great storm was sweeping down upon her. Then, from the motion, she realized that she was in an airplane. Her head ached terrifically and she made no attempt to move for several minutes. As her eyes became accustomed to a dim glow of light ahead she could distinguish the figure of a man at the controls in the small cabin they were in. Janet shifted her weight and the man turned instantly, focusing a flashlight on her. “Keep still or I’ll crack you again,” he warned and from the fierceness of his voice Janet knew that he would not hesitate to carry out his threat. The pulse of the motor lessened and she felt the craft sinking, to settle smoothly into a little circle of light. It was then that she learned they were in an autogiro. Her captor opened the door and ordered her out. Still with her head throbbing wildly, Janet managed to get out. There was a bad scratch on her left leg that had bled rather freely. To her anxious questions, the flyer gave only the same answer, “You’ll find out later, maybe.” Janet was forced to allow her hands to be tied behind her and then was led to a small shelter tent. There was a blanket on the ground and the flyer tossed another over her. “Don’t make any attempt to escape,” he warned. The portable electric light which had guided the autogiro down into the basin was snapped off and Janet passed the remainder of the night in desperate anxiety, wondering what was happening back at camp and the meaning of her abduction. With the coming of dawn she hoped to learn more about the camp, but she was doomed to disappointment for her captor appeared and dropped the canvas fly which covered the front of the tiny tent. It was well after daylight when she heard another plane approaching. It landed nearby and a few minutes later she heard men’s voices, one of whom she recognized as that of the flyer who had brought her there. Then the plane which had just landed roared away and it was shortly after that when Janet heard a series of booming explosions. Suddenly her tent flap was jerked roughly aside and her captor, a stocky, heavy-set man with a mass of black hair, ordered her to her feet. Janet struggled to get up, but she was numb from being in one position so long. The man half cuffed her upright and then hurried her toward the autogiro. The motor of the queer looking plane responded instantly and they rose almost straight out of the valley, which Janet judged must be some distance from Sagebrush. As they gained altitude she looked across the desert. Although it was several miles away, it seemed almost a stone’s throw to Sagebrush, hardly recognizable now with the flames still consuming the few structures left in the village. Janet saw that the set for the desert airport had been destroyed. But what was more important was the swarm of planes which were climbing off the desert floor. Like angry hornets they were buzzing around. Suddenly one of them shot toward the autogiro and the rest followed. Janet heard her own pilot shouting in anger, but the autogiro was slow and the movie planes were around it almost instantly. In the foremost was Curt Newsom and Janet felt her blood chill as she saw the rifle in Curt’s hard hands. Under the warning muzzle of the gun, the autogiro settled toward the floor of the valley and in less than three minutes the other planes were down around it while cars raced toward them, clouds of desert dust rising in their wake. Bertie Jackson was in the first car and when she saw Janet her face blanched. Helen and her father were in the same machine. “Are you all right?” asked Helen anxiously, for Janet was white-faced and deep hollows of fatigue were under her eyes. “A little tired,” confessed Janet. “What happened? Was this something in the plot I wasn’t supposed to know about?” “Tell us where you’ve been and why?” said Henry Thorne, and Janet briefly related the events. She didn’t like to do it, but there was nothing else she could do under the circumstances and her story implicated Bertie Jackson. “She’s jealous, that’s all,” snapped Bertie. “The whole story is trumped up.” Then Curt Newsom took a hand. “Let’s look at this thing squarely. How much were you and these two flyers paid to slow up production on ‘Kings of the Air’?” He shot the question at Bertie. “You’re impertinent,” she blazed. “Sure, but you’re likely to go to prison. Setting fire to buildings is arson, you know.” There was no humor in his words and Bertie looked from one to another in the group around her. Each stared at her with scornful eyes. Defiant to the end, she flung her head back, “Well, what of it?” she demanded. “Only this. You’ll never work in another picture for anybody.” It was Henry Thorne speaking, quietly and firmly, and Bertie turned away. The two flyers, the one who had abducted Janet and the one who had bombed the set, talked. Janet didn’t hear the whole story, but she and Helen learned enough to know that another rival company was implicated. It was Bertie who had set fire to the dry old houses in Sagebrush and who had supplied the flyers with information on the plans of the company. When they finally returned to what little was left of the village, Henry Thorne spoke quietly to the girls. “Don’t worry now,” he assured Helen. “There’ll be no more delays. We can erect another set on the desert without too much loss of time and we’ll have to live in tents, but that is endurable.” Turning to Janet, he surprised her. “Janet, I’m going to put you in Bertie’s rÔle. We’ll shoot the scene in the field restaurant over again when we get back to Hollywood, but I need someone right now to step into Bertie’s place and you can handle the part. What do you say?” “I’ll do my best,” promised Janet. “I know you will.” Then Henry Thorne hurried away to attend to one of the hundred details that are the worry of a successful director and Janet and Helen faced each other. “It looks like ‘Kings of the Air’ is going on to a successful conclusion now,” said Janet. “I’m so happy.” “And I’m happy that you are getting Bertie’s part. Do you suppose we’re going to be able to keep on in the movies?” “That,” smiled Janet, “is something I couldn’t even guess. If we don’t we’ll go home this fall with the memories of the most thrilling summer any two girls could have had.” They turned to rejoin the rest of the company, unaware of the further adventures in Hollywood and in New York which were to befall them before winter came. |
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