Copyright, 1933
The Goldsmith Publishing Company
MADE IN U. S. A.

To Ashton Sanborn, who is even a finer fellow than I have depicted, and who has done even more exciting and more interesting things than are narrated in this story.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I The First Find 15

II Number Fifty-seven 32

III Stolen! 49

IV What Happened at the Dixons’ 61

V Bill’s Hunch 72

VI Heartfield’s 82

VII Beyond the Falls 95

VIII A Near Thing 107

IX At a Dead End 118

X Enter Washington 133

XI The Man with the Wheeze 145

XII Argument 159

XIII Plans 168

XIV A Friend in Need 182

XV The Shooting Flame 200

XVI The Professor Talks 211

XVII Mizzentop 224

XVIII The Elephant Gun 237

Bill Bolton and the Winged Cartwheels

BY LIEUT. NOEL SAINSBURY, JR.

Chapter I
THE FIRST FIND

“You and I, Bill,” said Osceola, “are on top of the world and throwing rocks at rainbows!” The young Seminole chief, stooping quickly, picked something out of the short grass at the side of the Bolton driveway. “A couple of months ago I was a slave in a cypress swamp without a dollar to my name. Now I stumble over them!”

“That’s queer,” said Bill, staring at the silver disk in his friend’s hand. “It’s one of those cartwheels they hurl at you out west instead of dollar bills.”

“Nobody,” declared Osceola, “ever hurled dollar bills at me!”

“I mean,” said Bill, “it’s queer finding one here. Wake up—don’t let this new-found wealth cramp your usual technic. You’re in New Canaan, Connecticut, now—not far away on the western pl—”

“There’s something queerer than that about this cartwheel—look!”

Bill took the extended silver piece and examined it. The coin seemed genuine enough. Minted in 1897, the head of Liberty was portrayed on one side and backed by the well-known National Bird, who flaunted a streamer of E Pluribus Unum in his beak. But this particular silver dollar was no longer good as “coin of the realm.” Across Liberty’s face a pair of spread wings was cut deep into the metal, while the American eagle was defaced by two numerals, 1 and 3.

“Somebody’s pocket-piece, don’t you think?” suggested Osceola.

Bill nodded. “That design and the numerals are diecut. Those wings over poor old Liberty’s pan look like an aviator’s device.”

“Some cloud-dodger’s mascot, I expect. Thirteen’s probably his lucky number.”

Bill handed back the coin. “Stick it in your pocket. If we see it advertised, you can easily return it. In the meantime, the mascot may help you to keep the luck you were crowing about just now.”

“And why shouldn’t I crow? Instead of having to work my way through my last year at Carlisle, your father puts me in charge of the foundation he has inaugurated to help the Seminole Nation. Now, Deborah and I can get married in the fall. Why shouldn’t I take the count on my worries? And you’ve got no kick coming. You’re sitting pretty yourself.”

“I sure am,” admitted Bill. “Our Navy’s a swell outfit but I never expected to stay in after my two years’ sea duty when I’d finished up at the Academy. Now that the President himself has let me resign and put me on Secret Service work—well, there’s only one thing I don’t like about it.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, people—my friends, I mean, think I’m loafing. They don’t understand why I should suddenly leave the Navy. And of course I can’t tell them. This other job must be kept a secret. The President said so.”

“I don’t believe anybody thinks you’re a quitter or a loafer,” argued the chief, “—not after the three big stunts you’ve pulled off this summer, and all the newspaper publicity you’ve had out of them. You’re talking through your sombrero, old son. Bill Bolton is front page news from Maine to California. If you keep hitting any more bullseyes, they’ll slap your phiz on a postage stamp!”

“Oh, yeah? Speak for yourself, John—or words to that effect. Looks like a dead heat to me. How about it?”

Osceola abruptly changed the subject. “If this silver dollar was lost by an aviator,” he observed, fingering the coin, “he never dropped it out of an airplane, I know.”

“And so what?” Bill was mildly interested.

“Well, the fool thing was lying on a leaf—and the leaf was only slightly bruised—”

“Maybe it bounced or rolled onto the leaf after it fell onto the driveway?”

“Not this cartwheel. There’s not a scratch on it, except for the wings and the number thirteen. Six bits to a counterfeit two-cent piece with a hole in it, the yap who owns this has a hole in his trousers pocket!” Osceola dropped to his knees and studied the short grass at the edge of the drive. “Yep, just as I thought—” He stood up and flecked a dab of mold from his immaculate flannels, “here’s the fella’s spoor. He wore rubber-soled shoes.”

“I thought,” said Bill, “that Dorothy Dixon was the one and only Sherlock Holmes in this village. You certainly run her a close second, though. What did the aviator who didn’t aviate do next? Keep on out to the garage and scratch his initials on that new de luxe roadster you bought last week?”

“Not on this hop, he didn’t. He—wait a sec till I get a squint at this. Yes! by Jove! it wasn’t me he was interested in, but your own sweet self.”

“How do you get that way so soon after breakfast?”

“Listen, you blind paleface, even from here I can see that his tracks go straight over to the house. He climbed up to the farther window of your room by way of that leader, and the ivy. Several pieces of the vine are lying on the grass where he broke them off getting up or down! Even you ought to be able to see that the wire on that window-screen has been tampered with. If you don’t believe me, shin up there and take a look!”

“Oh, I’ll take your word for it.” Several times before, in his career, Bill had encountered evidence of the young Seminole’s truly marvelous eyesight. “Do those scintillating orbs of yours tell you when all this occurred?”

“They most certainly do, you mole.”

“When, then?”

“Between nine and nine-thirty last night!”

“Sure it wasn’t quarter to ten?”

“Quite sure,” smiled Osceola.

“I know,” said Bill, “that you can spot anything in daylight, or in the dark, for that matter, but when you claim to turn yourself into a human time clock, I ha’e me doots—”

“Oh, yeah? Well, listen, kid, and I’ll prove to you that Red Men aren’t as bad as they’re painted. Last night I left you with the girls over at the Dixon’s, and walked in the front door just as your hall clock was striking nine-thirty.”

“That’s right. You came over here to work on some figures for your new Seminole schools.”

“O and likewise K. I went straight up to my room and took my work out on the sleeping porch, where it was cooler. You found me there when you got back at eleven, didn’t you?”

“That’s all right, too. But what’s that got to do with the climbing aviator?”

“Why, just this. From nine-thirty until eleven-thirty I was out on that porch with the light going. Then I went to bed there and slept till this morning. And let me tell you, Bill, old son, that the man has yet to be born who can shin up a rainpipe thirty feet away from me and I not know it, awake or asleep!”

“Maybe he came before nine.” Bill was already convinced that his friend knew what he was talking about, but he wasn’t hauling down his flag without a last struggle.

“It wasn’t dark last night until nine o’clock, daylight saving time,” Osceola explained patiently. “Also, last night there was a heavy dew, even you can see it on the grass still, and—”

“And the silver dollar was wet while the leaf remained bone dry, showing that said cartwheel was dropped early in the evening!”

“You certainly are the boy to ring the quoits,” mocked the chief. “But now that we know all about it, we really aren’t much forwarder. I don’t suppose you’ve missed anything in your room? You haven’t said anything about it.”

“No,” Bill said thoughtfully, “I haven’t noticed anything, but we’d better go in and have a look. I wonder who that bird was and what he wanted. Funny! Nothing was disturbed so far as I can remember.”

The two tall lads turned back toward the house.

“And there’s where our second-story aviator swung off the grass on to the drive when he was going home,” exclaimed Osceola, pointing to a thin spot on the gravel which bore a well-defined footprint, pointing toward the road. “If it was worth while, which it isn’t, we could probably find the tire-marks of the car he drove off in beyond the stone fence down yonder.”

Bill grunted. “When you say ‘second story,’ you probably hit the nail on the head. In future we’ll substitute worker for aviator, if you don’t mind. There are a lot of bum flyers with licenses, and a lot of bums who fly, but I wouldn’t insult the worst of them by classing him with a cheap sneak thief.”

“Maybe,” remarked Osceola, “he wasn’t so cheap at that. But we’ll soon find out.”

They went up the front veranda steps, into the house and upstairs to Bill’s room.

“I don’t run to jewelry,” observed Bill, his eyes travelling around the bedroom, “but he hasn’t touched my silver-backed brushes, or that string of cups on the mantelpiece. And the maids didn’t report any silver missing downstairs, either. I wonder what in thunder he was after.”

“Got anything of value in that drawer?” his friend inquired, pointing to a flat-top table desk between the windows. “Somebody’s been fooling with the lock. I can see the scratches on the wood—”

“Nothing but some papers, worth nothing to anybody but me. Old newspaper clippings, Navy orders, my honorable discharge and the like. By gosh!” he cried, “the lock’s busted! And somebody’s messed up the entire drawer. Look here—these things were in piles with rubber bands around them. Now they’re scattered all over the place—”

“Anything gone?”

“Wait, I’ll see.” Hurriedly he sorted out his possessions, then shook his head. “Not a thing. What under the sky-blue canopy do you suppose that dollar-dropping buzzard was after?”

“You haven’t said anything to anyone about the new job, have you?”

“You and Dad are the only ones outside of the people in Washington who know about it.”

“But this doesn’t look like it, Bill.”

“You don’t mean that the goop who got in here last night was in the know! Why, I haven’t been assigned any work yet. What could he expect to find among my papers?”

“Perhaps,” mused Osceola, “he, or whoever sent him, has an idea that you’ve been put to work already, and they want to know how much you’ve found out or what your instructions are.”

“Some gang the government is after, you mean?”

“It’s quite possible.”

“But how could they learn that I—”

“A sieve,” said Osceola sententiously, “isn’t the only thing that leaks. Someone in Washington has spilled the goldarned beans, inadvertently or not.”

“If you’re right, Osceola, this is serious business.”

“Of course it is. What are you going to do about it?”

“Wait, watch and listen. I’m due in Washington next week to receive my orders. Until then, I shall do nothing.”

“And I guess you’re right, at that. My surmises may be all wet, though I doubt it. Just the same, we’ve nothing concrete to go on except that a lad climbs in the window and goes through your desk.”

Bill closed the drawer. “Let’s forget it, then,” he suggested. “At least for today. You and I, old Rain-in-the-face, have a heavy date. Had you forgotten it?”

“Not likely. When you’re engaged, a fella can’t think of anything else but the next date!”

“You’ve sure got it bad,” grinned Bill. “Thank goodness, I’m still heart whole and fancy free!”

“What about Dorothy Dixon?”

“Aw, shucks! We’re just good pals, and you know it.”

“Says you!”

“Says both of us. I’m seventeen, and she’s a year younger. Neither of us is thinking about getting married, or anything like that.”

“Gee, I forget you’re really only a kid,” laughed Osceola. “Well, let’s shove off. The girls are going up there in Dorothy’s plane. They said they’d bring lunch. Where is this place we’re going to picnic, anyway?”

“Up in the hills beyond Danbury. It’s quite near the far end of Candlewood Lake.”

“Was it up that way you and Dorothy corralled the New Canaan bank robbers?”

“Yes, quite near there. That’s how we learned of the wood lot. It’s secluded, there’s a good spring, and it’s really a peach of a place for a picnic.”

“Well, let’s get goin’ then.”

“Coming, Romeo—coming!” Bill followed his impatient friend out of the room. “What’s eatin’ you? It’s early yet.”

“Maybe it is, but—well, laugh if you want to, I’m uneasy as blazes about those girls!”

Bill caught up with him as they ran down the steps of the side porch and headed out to the hangar.

“It must be awful to be in love. The girls are all right. Dorothy is an A-1 pilot. I ought to know. I taught her myself.”

Osceola said nothing more until they had passed the garage and stables and were crossing the flat meadow where the Bolton hangar was located. “Thank goodness, Frank has run out that Ryan of yours,” he exclaimed as they came into view of a two-seater monoplane parked before the open doors of the converted haybarn.

“Getting lazy in your old age, are you?” jeered Bill.

“No, but I’ll admit the sooner we’re off and up in the hills, the better pleased I’ll be.”

“Well, you can hop right in, old fuss budget. While you were working on your school plan, early this morning, I came out here and went over the bus from nose to tailplane. Pull out those wheel blocks and carry them into the rear cockpit with you. Meanwhile I’ll show you how the new inertia starter I’ve rigged her with can swing a prop. Make it snappy, big chief—this is an emergency patrol—the women must be saved at all costs!”

Bill adopted a mock-heroic attitude and roared with laughter at Osceola’s disgust. Twenty minutes later, Bill, at the controls of the Ryan, sighted a rectangular patch of light green framed in the darker green of the Connecticut hills twenty-five hundred feet below the speeding plane. He clapped a pair of glasses to his eyes and the woodlot sprang up at him. It seemed he could almost reach out and pluck the flowers that dotted the high grass. Then he turned his gaze to the upper corner of the field.

There lay Dorothy Dixon’s small amphibian, parked near the road which wound up the wooded valley. Close by, a motor car was drawn up at the edge of the field. For a moment he failed to sight either Dorothy, or her pretty Seminole friend, Deborah Lightfoot.

“Under the trees beyond the plane!”

Osceola’s shout almost broke Bill’s eardrums, coming as it did through the close-pressed receivers of his headphone set. Automatically, he dropped the glasses, caught at his safety-belt to see if it was fastened and shoved forward.

The Ryan bucked into a nosedive and dropped earthward with the speed of a shooting star.

Osceola’s premonition of danger had been a wise one. Beneath the trees, Dorothy and Deborah were struggling with two men.

Chapter II
NUMBER FIFTY-SEVEN

Bill levelled off with an abruptness that jarred the very vitals of the plane. Then he allowed the tail to drop slightly, the wheels made contact and the monoplane rolled forward over uneven ground, propelled by her own momentum. Before she actually came to a stop, both lads flung themselves from the cockpits and raced for the trees thirty or forty yards away.

It soon became evident that they would be too late to come to close quarters with the girls’ assailants. Brave enough when they had members of the opposite sex to deal with, the ruffians had no desire to mix it up with a couple of husky young aviators. Flinging the struggling girls aside, they turned tail and legged it toward their car with a burst of speed worthy of Olympic runners, and no split seconds to spare.

Bill and Osceola immediately sheered off toward the road, but by the time they reached the edge of the field, the motor was only a cloud of dust hurtling down the valley.

“If I’d had a gun,” said the Seminole, without the slightest catch of breath, “there’d have been a different ending to this affair!” He scowled at the disappearing car and turned to Bill. “I thought you always packed a gat aboard your crates—when we went into that nose dive, I nearly broke my neck trying to find one.”

“Sorry,” gasped Bill, whose sprint had left him winded, “I never thought of them as necessary adjuncts to picnics before! Next time I’ll come provided. It’s just as well those thugs got away, though. Two scalped bandits would mean all kinds of unpleasantness up here in New England. Here come the girls, now. They seem to be none the worse for their adventure.”

“You,” declared the chief, “make me infernally tired.” He strode off toward Deborah.

“You aren’t damaged, I hope?” asked Bill as he came up to the trio.

“Only rather mussed,” smiled Dorothy, a pretty girl with brown hair and the figure of an athlete. “In fact, I’ve kind of an inkling that those foreign gentlemen got more than they bargained for. The guy that started to rough-house me, ran away with a broken wrist. Some of the old frumps around New Canaan stick up their noses at my jiu jitsu, but I’ve found it a valuable asset several times in my hectic career!”

“And what did you do to your sparring partner, Deborah?” he asked the slender Indian girl who had slipped her arm through Osceola’s.

“Not much, I’m afraid, Bill. The brute made me break three perfectly good fingernails.”

“I’ll say he did,” chimed in Dorothy. “And his face looked like raw beefsteak when he broke away from her. He nearly knocked me over, he was in such a hurry, and I got a good look at him. If you boys want a first class imitation of a wildcat gone wild, pick on our gentle Deborah. Take my advice, Osceola, and handle her with kid gloves after you’re married.”

“One of these days, I’ll catch that hound,” promised the young chief. “And when I finish the job he’ll look worse than his passport picture. How did this all start, anyway?”

“Well, you see—” began Dorothy.

Deborah interrupted her with a smile. “Let’s feed this bloodthirsty pair,” she suggested. “I’m longing for iced tea myself, and men are so much more reasonable when they’ve eaten! This big brave of mine will be starting on the warpath again unless we give him his lunch.”

“I,” said Bill, “second the Seminole chieftainess’ motion! Also, I bar scalp locks in my food. Let’s get to the chow before Osceola gets going.”

“Some day,” retorted Osceola, “you’ll say something funny, and the rest of us will die of shock from the surprise.”

“Here, here,” interposed Deborah, seizing his arm, “come on, we’ll have to do some forcible feeding, I guess!”

“Aren’t they the cute pair!” whispered Dorothy as she and Bill followed toward the grove of maples where the lads had first sighted them from the plane. “Deb’s asked me to be maid of honor at their wedding. I suppose you’ll be Osceola’s best man?”

“I suppose so,” said Bill gloomily.

“Why, you don’t sound very much interested! The Indian braves will all be in their war paint, and the squaws—”

“—it is hoped will wear something warmer and more appropriate for this climate!”

“Don’t be silly. You know what I mean. And anyway, no self-respecting redskin puts on war paint for his chief’s wedding. I guess it’s too suggestive of what he’s to expect after the ceremony is over.”

“Oh, is that so! Well, you women can certainly get up a good fight, if that’s what you’re driving at. I’ll bet you’re just tickled foolish to be in on the wedding party, and the pageant the tribe will make of it.”

“Why—”

“And your father’s plan to bring the whole tribe to New Canaan is just grand!”

“Oh, that’s part of it. Look here!” Dorothy turned on him. “Just what don’t you like about it, Mister Stuck-up?”

“Well—er—you see,” Bill explained, “the ancient Seminole custom forces the best man to kiss the maid-of-honor right after the ceremony—and I—”

He ducked just in time to avoid her open palm on the side of his jaw, and ran off toward his plane. Over his shoulder, he called: “Naturally you’re keen on the wedding,” he teased, “but there’s no excuse to get affectionate beforehand. I’ve got to make the Ryan secure. Run along now, and put on your war paint. There’s a smudge on your nose.”

“There is not!” snapped Miss Dixon, then she stalked off as Bill doubled up with laughter. “Some day,” she muttered to herself, “I’ll make that smart-aleck the one and only also-ran in a first class massacre.”

However, the first thing Dorothy did, upon reaching the picnic spot, was to hunt for her handkerchief and bring forth a compact.

Bill strolled back, whistling, hands in pockets. The others were already seated about a white cloth laid on the ground, which was spread with a lunch that made his mouth water. He threw a glance at Dorothy, caught her eye and they both laughed.

He dropped down beside her. “Let’s call it quits,” he grinned.

“Not on your sweet life, young man. One of these days—but never mind, now you’re my guest at luncheon. We’ll call it an armistice. Dig in. Everybody helps himself at this party.”

Osceola, who had been piling Deborah’s plate with everything in sight, in spite of her protests, started in to gnaw a chicken leg, and began talking with his mouth full. “Cut the comedy, Bill. Waylaying girls, and especially, waylaying my girl, is serious business. I don’t intend to let it go at that either—not by a darn sight. And the more I know about what really happened, the sooner I’ll be able to get a line on those bozos.”

“I’m just as keen as you are,” Bill retorted, helping Dorothy, then helping himself to cold chicken and potato salad. “Men like that need a good thrashing. You can’t count me out on any move you make. In fact I’ve got some ideas of my own—I got their license number as a starter.”

“That,” said Dorothy, and she reached across Bill for the biscuits, “may give us a start and then again it may not. It didn’t help much in the bank robbery, if you’ll remember. From the looks of those two tramps, I should not be surprised if the car had been stolen.”

“And where do you get the ‘us’ stuff?” inquired Bill.

“If you two boys think you’re going to run this show without Deb and me, you’ve got another think coming. Isn’t that so, Deb?”

“It certainly is. We both saw the men and talked to them. Where would you get a description of them if not from us?”

“Now look here,” Osceola waved a chicken bone at her, “let’s call it a foursome, and can all the argument. What’s more, Dorothy’s idea about the car being stolen, is, ten-to-one the right dope. That was a big bus and this year’s model. Those things cost a heap of money.”

“That’s the way I figured it,” answered Dorothy. “And let me tell you that no two men who made such a fuss about losing a dollar would cough up four thousand of them for a car like that!”

Bill stared at Osceola meaningly. “What did you say—that one of them lost a dollar?”

“Yes—and a silver dollar at that—one of those cartwheels they use out West instead of bills.”

“GOOD NIGHT!” exploded Bill. Osceola stared at him in dumb amazement.

“Yes,” she went on, “but why the great excitement? The dollar that man lost—he was a Russian or something, by the way he talked—well, that dollar started the mixup. But you two look as though you’d seen a flock of ghosts—what?”

“Just one,” said Osceola, and his tone was deadly serious. “But never mind that now. Get on with your own story, then we’ll tell ours.”

She looked first at one and then at the other of the lads. “Well, just as you say. Of course, I know there’s something I don’t understand behind this, but I’ll be a sport and do my talking first. Deb and I flew over here and parked my bus where you see her now. We made things shipshape aboard, then toted the lunch over here and went to the spring to get water. It’s over by the road, you know, and we were just about to fill the pail, when that car came bumping along the dirt road, doing fifty, if I’m any judge of speed. I’d just said to Deb that the fellow who was driving couldn’t think much of his springs, when something bright flew out of the window. It lit in the high grass near us, and I went over to see what it might be. The grass was so high and the ground so rutty that I couldn’t find a thing. Then I thought I saw something shining in the rubble, but when I picked it up, it was nothing but a piece of quartz, so I dropped it again. By that time the car had stopped and was backing up the road. Two men sprang out and came running toward me. They were both dark, and both spoke rather broken English. The bigger of the men yelled at me to give him back his silver dollar. I told him I’d seen it fly out of the car, that I’d been looking for it, but couldn’t find it. My answer seemed to stump him for a minute, then without another word, he and his pal got on their knees and began to comb that part of the field for it. I wasn’t at all taken by their looks, neither was Deb, so we filled our pail and came back here.... Somebody give me a drink,” she broke off, “all this talking makes me thirsty—”

Bill filled her glass with water, and after taking a few sips, she went on with her story.

“Where was I? Oh, yes, well, we hadn’t been here long when the men gave up their search and followed us. It seems that they’d seen me stoop to pick up that quartz and they thought I must have their old dollar! Of course, I denied it, but they were only more insistent. To finish the tale, the big one said that if I wouldn’t hand it over, he’d take it from me! Well, as you saw, he tried to do just that. Deb horned in, like the peach she is, and number two tried to stop her. Things were getting more hectic than pleasant, when they suddenly broke away, and I saw you boys hot-footing it for us. And I want to end this long speech by saying that never in my life have I been gladder to see two human beings. I haven’t had a chance to thank you both before, but I certainly do it now! It was simply stunning to see the way you came at them!”

“And that goes for me, Bill,” cut in Deborah, “I’ve already told Osceola, but I want to tell you, too, how much we appreciated the wonderful way you dashed to our rescue.”

“I think,” said Bill, “that the rescue, as you call it, was all in favor of the assaulters. Those bohunks, or whatever they are, bit off a lot more than they could chew when they tackled you Amazons. The chief and I did no more than save them from taking the count on their backs, worse luck!”

“Dorothy, did you say that the dollar landed in the field just below the spring?” asked Osceola.

“Yes, just there—or thereabouts.”

“Excuse me,” he said and stood up. “I’ll be back in a minute or two.”

Bill watched the young Seminole stride away toward the road. “That guy,” he declared, with a wink at Dorothy, “has a one-track mind. Wild horses won’t drag him off the track, either, once he gets started.”

“And some people—have no minds at all!” Deborah ran swiftly after her fiance.

“Ha-ha! Put that into your pipe and smoke it,” Dorothy laughed at the surprised look on Bill’s face. “She’s quick on the come-back, isn’t she?”

“Too blooming touchy, if you want to know—”

“Oh, my goodness! A girl isn’t worth a thing who won’t stick up for the man she’s engaged to!”

“Perhaps not—but I’m no girl—and all this love business makes me sick. Osceola has acted like a hen with one chick ever since Deborah came into the picture.”

“Oh, cheer up, old gloomy, she didn’t mean anything by that—any more than you did by your wisecrack! And by the way, you and Osceola are invited to dinner at my house tonight. You’ll have to dash away early though. Daddy’s gone to Hartford on business and won’t be back till tomorrow. I don’t want to lose my rep, you know.”

“Thanks for the invite,—but I didn’t know you had any.”

“Oh, you didn’t! Well, let me tell you, young man—”

Osceola’s voice cut her short. “Here it is!” He flung a silver dollar onto the white cloth.

Dorothy picked up the coin and examined it.

“Number two of the series, on a bet?” said Bill, looking up at the chief.

“Almost,” replied his friend, “but not quite. This is number fifty-seven.”

That night at dinner the main topic of conversation among the four young people was the winged cartwheels, as Dorothy had named them. They had arrived home too late to do anything about tracing the car license, and after the meal was finished, Bill and Osceola noticed that the girls looked tired and decided to leave even earlier than they had planned. They walked across the ridge road to the Bolton place opposite, and were in bed and asleep by eleven o’clock.

The telephone in Bill’s room awoke him with a start. He glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch, and caught up the receiver. It was then exactly ten minutes past two.

“Bill! Oh, Bill—is that you?”

“Speaking, Dorothy. Anything wrong?”

“Oh, Bill—please come quickly—those men have got Deb and—”

The wire went dead. Bill guessed it had been cut. Dropping the receiver, he snatched an automatic from under his pillow, leaped from his bed, and raced for the hall.

Chapter III
STOLEN!

Bill burst into the hall and almost collided with Osceola, who had just stepped out.

“What’s the matter?” hissed the Seminole. “The phone woke me.”

“Got a gun?”

“Yep—what is it?”

“Come on. Deborah’s kidnapped—they’re evidently after Dorothy. They’re in the house now!”

The last sentence was hurled at Osceola as the two lads, both barefoot and in pajamas, raced downstairs and across the broad entrance hall to the front door.

“Wire was cut while Dorothy phoned,” panted Bill, pushing back the bolt and twisting the key in the lock.

Osceola uttered not a word, but he was first through the open door and took the porch steps at a single leap, Bill at his heels. They sprinted down the turf along the driveway, and were nearing the stone wall that bounded the Bolton property, when a car without lights swung into the road from the Dixon place and sped toward Stamford.

Without slackening in speed, the young chief spoke quietly. “Don’t fire. The wall hides the wheels—Debby might get hurt.”

“Could you—see her?”

“No. But I heard that little gat of Dorothy’s go just now. She’s still in the house.”

By this time they were crossing the road in two bounds and side by side they hurdled the Dixons’ white picket fence like hounds let loose from a leash.

Leaping flowerbeds and vaulting shrubs they flew over the garden, darted through an opening in the high box hedge and came on to the smooth turf where ancient elms cast mottled shadows in the moonlight. Then from the white shingled house directly ahead came the terrified screams of women, punctuated by the bark of revolver shots.

As they dashed up to the house, a wire screen flew out of a second story window and a slender, boyish figure dove head first out after it. Two or three feet below the window sill the porch roof sloped downward at a slight angle. The diver seemed to land on her hands, crumple up, turn a complete somersault and come swiftly upon her feet again with the ease and precision of an acrobat.

“Look out, Dorothy!” yelled Bill, as a revolver was thrust out of the window.

With the agility of a springbok, she leaped aside, firing from her hip. The bark of the four shots was almost simultaneous. There came a shriek of pain from the window, the automatic rattled to the roof, and the hand that had held it disappeared.

Bill lowered his gun. “Wait here till she’s parked,” he ordered. “Then smash a porch window and go in. I’ll tackle them from above.”

With the butt of his smoking revolver between his teeth, he took a running leap and went up a pillar with an ease and swiftness that demonstrated his seaman’s training. His hands caught the gutter, his body swung up and sideways and springing to his feet he ran along the slanting roof to Dorothy.

“Did he hit you?”

“Missed by a mile!”

“Good—” Bill picked her up. “Come on—”

“But, Bill—I’m in pajamas—”

“So am I—down you go!”

He dropped her into Osceola’s waiting arms. As she landed safely and the young Seminole stood her on her feet, he called: “They must have another car, Dorothy. Put it on the fritz!”