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?

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.

Chapter II

TO THE RESCUE

The cold, wet wind of late September howled around the house. Dorothy wished she had brought a revolver.

“Stop it! Betty, stop!” she hissed and forced her friend to crawl backward over the rough boards to the edge of the porch. “Stay here, and don’t make a sound. Do you want them out after us? For goodness’ sake, take a grip on yourself! I’m going back to the window and – not another peep out of you while I’m gone!” With this warning, she slithered away before Betty could voice an objection.

Lying flat before the window once more with her face almost level with the floor, she stared into the room. The scene had not changed. Nor had the three principals of the drama being enacted on the other side of the pane moved from their positions. A sudden gust tore loose the shutter at the back of the house, sending it crashing down on some other wooden object with terrific racket.

“Must have hit the cellar doors,” thought Dorothy.

The man with the cigar, who stood before the cold fireplace stopped talking. She saw him cock his head to one side and listen. The bald-headed man in the leather armchair kept his revolver levelled on the room’s third occupant, and snapped out a question. With a shrug, the man by the fireplace went on speaking. He was a dapper person, flashily dressed in a black and white shepherd’s plaid suit which contrasted disagreeably with the maroon overcoat worn open for comfort. Dorothy took a dislike to him at first sight. Not withstanding his mincing gestures, the man had the height and build of a heavyweight prizefighter. Now he leaned forward, emphasizing with a pudgy forefinger the point of his oratory which was directed toward the third member of the party.

Dorothy uttered an impatient exclamation. She could not hear a word. The roaring storm and the closed windows prevented her from catching even the rumble of their voices. She continued to gaze intently upon the prisoner, a well set up youth of eighteen or nineteen, curly-haired and intelligent looking. Her sympathy went out at once to this young fellow. He was bound hand and foot to the chair in which he sat. A blackened eye and his shirt, hanging in ribbons from his shoulders, told of a fight. Then she spied an overturned table, books and writing materials scattered over the rumpled rug.

“Whew!” she whistled softly. “He staged a little battle for ’em, anyway, I’ll bet!”

She smiled as she noticed that the youth’s opponents had likewise suffered. For the bald-headed man held a bloodstained handkerchief to his nose, while the other’s overcoat was ripped from collar to hem and he nursed a jaw that was evidently tender.

The room which lay beneath her scrutiny offered a decided contrast to the unkempt exterior of the house. The walls were completely lined with bookcases, reaching from ceiling to floor. The shelves must have held thousands of volumes. Essentially a man’s library, the furnishings were handsome, though they had evidently seen better days.

In reply to a question barked at him from the dapper prize fighter, the young prisoner shook his head in a determined negative. The big man spat out an invective. This time the boy smiled slightly, shook his head again. With a roar of fury that was audible to the watching girl outside, the prize fighter-bully strode over to his victim and struck him across the mouth.

That brutal action decided Dorothy. She wormed her way backward off the porch. Betty was still crouched where she had left her. She sprang up and caught her friend’s arm.

“Isn’t it terrible?” she whispered tensely. “He’s such a good-looking boy, too – don’t tell me they’ve killed him or anything?”

Without speaking, Dorothy led her around to the back of the house.

“No, they haven’t killed him,” she answered when they had reached the shelter of the apple orchard. “This is no movie thriller. But something pretty serious is going on in there. Now tell me – are you going to pull yourself together and be of some help? Because if you’re not, you can climb one of these trees and stay there until it’s all over. That’s the only safe place I know of – and even up there you’ll get into trouble if you start screaming again!”

“Well, I really couldn’t help it, Dorothy. He was such a darling looking boy and – ”

“My goodness – what have his looks got to do with it? He’s in a peck of trouble – that’s the principal thing. I want to help him.”

“Oh, so do I!” asserted Betty eagerly. “I’ll be good, honest I will.”

“Obey orders?”

“Do my best.”

“O.K. then. I’m going round front. Those blackguards must have come in a car – and I’m going to find it.”

“But you can’t leave me here alone – ”

“There you go again, silly! I’m not going to drive away in the car. I’ve got another plan. Listen! There’s a cellar door, somewhere back of the house I guess. It’s one of the flat kind that you pull up to open. I heard that shutter slam down on it.”

“I suppose you want me to open it?”

“Bullseye!”

“You needn’t be so superior,” Betty’s tone was aggrieved. “What’ll I do if it’s locked?”

“Oh, people ’way out in the country never lock their cellar doors,” Dorothy’s tone was impatient, her mind three jumps ahead.

“But suppose this one is?”

“Wait there until I come back. Hurry now – there’s no telling what’s going on in that room. So long – I’ll be with you in a few minutes. If you hear a crash,

don’t scream

!”

She raced away and as she reached the corner of the side porch, a quick glance over her shoulder told her that Betty was marching resolutely toward the cellar door.

This time Dorothy skirted the porch and toward the front of the house she came upon a weed-grown drive which swept in a quarter circle toward the road some fifty yards away. A limousine was parked before the entrance to the house. It was empty.

Dorothy breathed a sigh of relief. She hurried past the car and found that the drive ran round the farther side of the house, out to a small garage at the back. The garage doors were open, and inside she spied an ancient Ford. For some reason the sight of the Ford seemed to perturb her. She stood a while in deep thought.

Then as an idea struck home, she drew forth her flash light and sent its beam traveling over the interior of the garage. She did not take the precaution of closing the doors. The library was on the other side of the house and there was little danger of her light being seen. Suddenly she uttered a cry of satisfaction. Her light had brought into view about a dozen gasoline tins stacked in a corner. She lifted them one by one – all were empty. She hunted about and presently unearthed a short piece of rubber hose from under the seat of the automobile.

“First break tonight!” she said to herself. “Here’s hoping the luck lasts!”

A few minutes later, if anyone had been watching, they would have seen a girl in a slicker, her dark curly hair topped by an aviation helmet, leave the garage carrying two gasoline tins. These she took to the orchard and deposited them behind a couple of apple trees.

Her next movements were more puzzling. She walked back to the garage and around that little building to the side away from the main house. Again her flash light was brought into play. This time she focussed it on the land to the side and rear and saw that the low wall which partly encompassed the orchard ended at the back of the garage. There was no obstruction between the drive at the side of the house and a rough field that sloped sharply down the valley whence she and Betty had come. Then she realized that the house and orchard lay on a plateau-like rise of land which jutted out into the valley from the main ridge, the ground dropping steeply on three sides.

“Well, the scenery couldn’t be sweeter!” remarked Dorothy. “Now, I hope to goodness they’ve left the keys.”

It was blowing half a gale now, and rain in crystal rods drove obliquely through the flash light’s gleam. She switched off the light and stuffed it into a pocket of her dripping slicker and beat her way against the storm toward the house. Here she found the limousine, and hastened on toward the side porch.

Lying flat at the window once more, she saw that a fire had been started in the fireplace. The dapper person crouched before it, holding an iron poker between the burning logs.

Dorothy realized on the instant the fiendish torture those beasts were planning. She jumped to her feet and tiptoeing over the boards, raced for the car.

Her hand, fumbling on the dash, brought a faint jangle from a bunch of keys —

“Break number three!” she cried and slipped behind the steering wheel. As she switched on the ignition she brought her right fo