The Outdoor Girls at Bluff Point; Or a Wreck and a Rescue

CHAPTER XXV

JOY

What happened in the next hour the girls never afterward clearly remembered. In what seemed a nightmare, they found their clothes, and, after turning things wrong side out, getting the left shoe on the right foot, and various other mishaps calculated to wreck the most well-balanced nervous system, they finally succeeded in getting them on.

"Where shall we go?" Mollie gasped out, as, clad in oilskins, they rushed madly down the stairs.

"There's a farmhouse about a mile down the road," explained Grace, "and all the farm hands sleep on the premises. We can get them. And there's the life-saving station only a little way beyond. They may have seen the signals and be on their way already."

"All right—let's go," said Betty grimly, as she flung open the door.

A terrific gust of wind greeted her and sent her staggering back upon the other girls.

"It's even worse than I thought," she gasped, regaining her balance. "We will have to do some fighting to get there, girls."

"A mile against that wind!" groaned Grace. "Betty, I don't think we can ever make it."

"We've got to—or at least make the attempt," cried Betty, pulling her coat more tightly about her. "If nobody else will come, I'm going alone," she added, and the girls knew her well enough to be sure she meant it.

"Come on," cried Mollie, who had never yet been known to ignore a challenge. "We'll do our best, anyway, even if we die trying."

"Bravo! Spoken like an Outdoor Girl!" cried Betty, and at the challenge in her voice, Grace and Amy instinctively straightened up.

"We're all Outdoor Girls," said Grace stoutly.

"And we'll show you," Amy added, with a ring in her voice, "that we are not afraid to go any where that you can go."

"Fine!" cried the Little Captain, her eyes shining. "Come on, then. What chance has a pesky old wind against four Outdoor Girls, I'd like to know!"

She opened the door again, and this time, being prepared for the onslaught of the wind, merely gritted her teeth and ducked her head and plunged gamely into it. And without a minute's hesitation, the others, who were "also Outdoor Girls," followed her.

The fight with the wind that followed was all they had expected it would be—and more. Their clothes were whipped about their legs as if about to disengage themselves and fly away from their owners forever. And several times they were forced to stop and turn their backs to catch their breath and gather strength to go on.

But on they did go until the welcome vision of a gaunt old farmhouse rising ghostily from the early morning mist rewarded them and set their hearts to beating high with hope.

As they fought their way step by step up to the porch, they tried to call out, but found that whatever sound they were able to make was drowned in the roar of the wind.

They found an old-fashioned knocker on the big front door, and worked it with all their strength. After what seemed to them an age of waiting, the door itself opened and a head popped out at them.

"Well, what in time—" the owner of the voice was beginning, when Betty pushed impatiently past him, the girls following close behind her.

It took a surprisingly short time—seeing that the girls all insisted upon talking at once—to make the farmer understand the situation.

"We're going on to the life-saving station," Betty told him, trembling with excitement.

"All right, but my boys'll beat 'em to it," he promised, a glint in his grey eyes.

Then the girls were on their way again, pushing desperately against a wind that seemed to rise higher and higher with every minute, while in the east the greying sky grew light.

"A—clear—day!" Mollie gasped, pushing back the wind-blown hair from her face. "At last!"

"Do you hear anything?" Betty shouted back. "It seems to me I—"

They listened, and then, above the wind, it came to them unmistakably—the sound of voices, masculine voices.

"The life-savers!" gasped Grace. "We don't have to go any farther. Let's—let's—wait for them."

They had not long to wait, for almost before Grace had finished speaking half a dozen men carrying life-saving paraphernalia broke through the underbrush and came running down the path toward them.

They stopped at sight of the panting girls, but Betty waved them on impatiently.

"The wreck!" she cried. "We came for you! Hurry!" and without another word the men hurried on, leaving the girls to follow them more slowly.

However, they accomplished the return trip in about half the time it had taken them to fight their way against the wind, and as the first bright rays of the sun gilded the country side, they found themselves back at the house, where Mrs. Ford was anxiously awaiting them.

She had some breakfast prepared for them, which they ate standing, then rushed headlong down to the beach. The life-savers were already busily at work launching their sturdy boats, and as the girls followed the direction they were taking out to sea they suddenly saw the wrecked ship.

Driven by the hurricane wind, it had been caught on one of those treacherous bars so common along this part of the coast. Part of the bottom had been torn away, and if the ship had not been so tightly wedged upon the bar it must certainly have sunk hours before. As it was, the starboard deck stood high in the air while the port side almost touched the water and was constantly swept by mountainous combers.

The girls shivered as they looked.

"If the waves should wash it loose—" Betty began, then checked herself. The possibility was too horrible to contemplate.

"Look!" cried Mollie, clutching her arm, "They are filling the first boat. Oh, Betty, they'll certainly be swamped! I can't look!" She turned away but the next minute her eyes were fixed strainingly upon the wreck again.

"They're gone! They're gone!" cried Amy, jumping up and down in her excitement as the boat sunk in the hollow between two huge combers and was lost to view. "No, they're not! They're up again," as the boat, looking pathetically tiny in comparison to the vastness of the ocean, rose gallantly on the crest of a big wave and came rushing toward them, reeling from side to side. The next moment they were lost to view again.

"Oh, they'll never make it, they'll never make it," moaned Grace. "It isn't possible."

But the gallant little boat came on and out fighting its bitter fight with the elements, till, rising on one last long comber, it swept magnificently in and grounded on the shore.

The girls were already racing eagerly toward it, and a few minutes later were welcoming the poor bedraggled survivors back to safety. There were nine of them in all, four women, one young girl, three men and a little boy. The child was sobbing and clung to his mother's skirts, terrified.

Betty drew Grace aside.

"Some one will have to take them up to the house, let them dry out, and give them something to eat," she whispered. "Will you do that, Grace?"

Grace nodded, and Amy, who had overheard the request, begged to go with her. Mollie and Betty remained behind to watch the rest of the rescue work.

Luckily the ship was a merchant vessel and carried very few passengers, so that the life-savers were confident of saving all those on board. Also the wind was beginning to abate and the sea was becoming less angry—all of which helped them in their work.

The two girls were standing side by side, eagerly watching the progress of the second boat, when they were startled by a hail from behind and turned to find Grace and Amy flying down toward them.

"Mollie!" Amy gasped, trying to catch her breath while her cheeks flamed with excitement, "we just heard something we thought you ought to know. You know the woman with the little boy," she hurried on as Mollie was about to speak, "well, while she was comforting her own child, she happened to speak of two other children on board—"

"Who cry a great deal," Grace put in eagerly. "They are in charge of a man who looks like a Spaniard, and they seem to be in mortal terror of him—"

"Girls," the word burst through dry lips as Mollie took a step toward them, "what are you telling me? Oh, I can't bear to hope if—" she grasped Grace's arm and shook it, not realizing how she hurt. "Tell me," she cried, "are they boy and girl—"

"Yes," Grace answered trembling. "I don't know, Mollie, dear, of course, but from her description, those two children sounded an awful lot like the twins!"

Mollie waited to hear no more, but was off like a whirlwind down the beach toward the second boat that was just coming in to shore. And while she ran she was praying with all her fervent young heart.

"Oh, Lord, give me back those babies!" she cried sobbingly. "If you only will I'll never, never, never ask you for anything again as long as I live."

Then she saw them!

A big, vicious looking man with black hair and black bushy eyebrows was lifting Dodo—her little Dodo—out of the boat. And while she looked, her heart beating wildly, hardly able to believe the evidence of her eyes, the man stretched out his hand for the boy, who sat crouched in the back of the boat. Then followed something that made Mollie cry out in rage.

Because the boy hung back in evident terror, the man struck him across the face, and, seizing his hand, jerked him roughly out of the boat.

"Dodo! Paul!" screamed Mollie, racing down toward them, unmindful of wet feet and sodden clothing. "Babies, it's Mollie! Your own Mollie who—"

But her voice was drowned in a shriek from the twins as they tore themselves loose from the man and flung themselves upon her. She dropped to her knees in the sand and strained them to her, laughing, crying, sobbing out endearments while they clung to her frantically, burying their faces in her neck.

"Don't let wicked man get Dodo!" sobbed the little girl. "He's bad man! He hurt Dodo."

With a cry Mollie jumped to her feet, an arm about each of the twins, and looked about for the man. The passengers who had also come ashore in the boat stood looking on in bewilderment. But the Spaniard had disappeared.

"Where did that man go?" cried Mollie frantically. "There he is!" she added, as she caught sight of him just approaching the foot of the bluff, evidently bent on flight. "Don't let him get away! He's a kidnapper!"

Several of the men were already racing off in pursuit, and as the Spaniard was a heavy man and not over agile, the foremost of them soon overtook him.

He seemed to put up little resistance, evidently realizing that he was too heavily out-numbered. He surrendered to the inevitable and contented himself with merely glowering.

"Come on," cried Mollie, taking the beloved twins by the hand and starting back along the beach while the girls joyfully accompanied her, talking and ejaculating all at the same time, no one knowing what the other was saying—nor caring. The wonderful fact was enough for them.

When they scrambled up to the top of the bluff they found the men awaiting them with the sullen captive in their midst.

"What'll we do with him, Miss?" asked one of them respectfully, touching his cap to Mollie.

"Do with him?" cried Mollie, regarding the Spaniard with flashing eyes. "There isn't anything bad enough to do to him. But for the present, we'll have to be satisfied with locking him up. We have plenty of evidence," she added, waving that part of it aside with a motion of her hand. "Letters and things, you know. He kidnapped my little brother and sister," indicating the twins, who snuggled close against her and regarded their former captor with terrified eyes, "and then demanded twenty thousand dollars of my mother for their return."

"Blackmail, eh?" growled one of the men, throwing a scornful look at the Spaniard. "Well, you'll get paid up this time, old boy. Get on there, will you?"

It was many hours later and the dusk was falling softly over the land. The passengers of the wrecked ship had long ago started villageward, there to entrain for the city, leaving two of their number behind.

These two were seated at the head of a long table in the little house at Bluff Point, devouring chicken and rice before an audience of admiring and joyful Outdoor Girls. Only Mollie very often could not see them for the tears that dimmed her eyes.

Quite suddenly Betty stopped in the very middle of a sentence to stare at Mollie.

"Your mother!" she cried. "You forgot to let her know!"

"Oh, no, I didn't," Mollie answered. "I sent a telegram by one of the boys who took that dirty Spaniard to the station. And, oh, girls," she leaned forward suddenly while the tears overflowed and slowly trickled down her face, "if she does as I begged her to, she will be here to-morrow. Darling little mother!"

At the love in her voice the girls felt their own eyes grow wet.

"What a difference!" said Betty softly, looking around the table. "A few nights ago we were utterly miserable. Now we are wildly happy. We have the darling twins back again, and our boys 'over there' are safe. Girls," she cried, suddenly springing to her feet and raising her cup on high, "let's drink a toast—"

"To what?" they cried, rising with one motion.

"To the time when our boys come home!"

And so, in the midst of their happiness, with the dark clouds rolled away and the sun shining through, we will once more wave farewell to our Outdoor Girls.

THE END

This Isn't All!

Don't throw away the Wrapper

THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES

By LAURA LEE HOPE

These are the adventures of a group of bright, fun-loving, up-to-date girls who have a common bond in their fondness for outdoor life, camping, travel and adventure. There is excitement and humor in these stories and girls will find in them the kind of pleasant associations that they seek to create among their own friends and chums.

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The Blythe Girls, three in number, were left alone in New York City. Helen, who went in for art and music, kept the little flat uptown, while Margy, just out of business school, obtained a position as secretary and Rose, plain-spoken and business like, took what she called a "job" in a department store. The experiences of these girls make fascinating reading—life in the great metropolis is thrilling and full of strange adventures and surprises.

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Among her "fan" letters Lilian Garis receives some flattering testimonials of her girl readers' interest in her stories. From a class of thirty comes a vote of twenty-five naming her as their favorite author. Perhaps it is the element of live mystery that Mrs. Garis always builds her stories upon, or perhaps it is because the girls easily can translate her own sincere interest in themselves from the stories. At any rate her books prosper through the changing conditions of these times, giving pleasure, satisfaction, and, incidentally, that tactful word or inspiration, so important in literature for young girls. Mrs. Garis prefers to call her books "juvenile novels" and in them romance is never lacking.

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Not only has this author had many experiences as a flyer; a list of his activities while knocking around the country includes postal clerk, hobo, actor, writer, mutton chop salesman, preacher, roughneck in the oil fields, newspaper man, flyer, scenario writer in Hollywood and synthetic clown with the Sells Floto Circus. Having lived an active, daring life, and possessing a gift for good story telling, he is well qualified to write these adventures of a red-blooded dare-devil young American who became one of the country's greatest flyers.

GREAT SPORT STORIES

For Every Sport Season

By HAROLD M. SHERMAN

Here's an author who knows his sports from having played them. Baseball, football, basketball, ice hockey, tennis, track—they're all the same to Harold M. Sherman. He puts the most thrilling moments of these sports into his tales. Mr. Sherman is today's most popular writer of sport stories—all of which are crowded with action, suspense and clean, vigorous fun.

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