<h2 id="c2"><span class="sc">Chapter II</span> <br/><span class="small">THE GETAWAY</span></h2>
<p>“Pretty as a picture!” said Bill and
laughed.</p>
<p>“A picture no artist could paint,” declared
Charlie rather ruefully, studying his reflection
in the mirror.</p>
<p>Arrayed in a jumper and sweater of Bill’s
and a pair of linen trousers, converted into
shorts by hacking off the legs above the knees,
he made a comical picture indeed.</p>
<p>“I reckon,” said Bill, surveying him, “that
you’ll have to go barefoot.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” returned Charlie. “Let’s eat.”</p>
<p>They went downstairs together and after
raiding pantry and icebox, sat down at the
kitchen table to a plentiful meal of bread and
butter, cold ham, milk and cookies.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_30">30</div>
<p>“There’s no sense waking the maids,” Bill
was talking with his mouth full, “the chauffeur
took Dad and Osceola to the city, and
those girls are better off asleep. If there’s a
row outside with that bunch when we go for
the plane, they’d probably raise the roof and
start phoning for the cops. And if Mr. Evans
had wanted the police to horn in on this business,
he’d have got hold of them long ago.”</p>
<p>Charlie finished his milk and attacked the
ham again.</p>
<p>“That’s the way I figure it.”</p>
<p>“I wonder he took the chance of sending
you, though,” Bill went on. “Why couldn’t
he have telegraphed me or phoned me? It
would have been quicker.”</p>
<p>“Dunno. There’s too much hush and rush
about this whole biznai to suit me,” grunted
young Evans.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_31">31</div>
<p>“Well, shake a leg,” advised the older lad.
“I’m going into the study to write a note to
Osceola, and leave one for Dad and the maids
as well. When I come back, we’ve got to
vamoose. It’ll be light soon.”</p>
<p>“Why not wait for sunup? Those lads
can’t very well stick around after daybreak.”</p>
<p>“No, but if they’ve got a plane handy, they
can trail us and make it darned disagreeable
at the other end.”</p>
<p>“P’raps they will, anyway.”</p>
<p>“Well, we haven’t taken off yet—much less
arrived. Come on, eat. You get no more
food until we reach Clayton, you know.”</p>
<p>Bill faded away toward the front of the
house and Charlie started on the cookies.</p>
<p>Ten minutes later, Bill was back again.
On his head was a soft leather helmet, while
strapped to his waist, the butt of an automatic
protruded from its leather holster. He laid
another flying helmet, goggles and a small
Winchester repeating rifle on the kitchen
table.</p>
<p>“For you! How’s the tummy, full
enough?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_32">32</div>
<p>“Just about,” grunted Charlie, stuffing the
remainder of the cookies into his trousers
pockets. “Lead on, MacDuffer!”</p>
<p>He slapped the helmet and goggles onto
his thatch of red hair and picked up the gun.</p>
<p>“I left lights burning upstairs and in the
study,” said Bill. “We’ll fool those guys yet.
It’s the cellar for ours, come along.”</p>
<p>He waited at the foot of the stairs and
beckoned to Charlie. “Give me your paw.
We daren’t show a glim down here.”</p>
<p>Young Evans caught his hand in the inky
darkness, and presently Bill stopped again, released
his hand and could be heard fumbling
with something above their heads.</p>
<p>“There—she’s open at last.”</p>
<p>Charlie thought he could make out a lightish
blur on a level with Bill’s shoulders.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_33">33</div>
<p>“Hand over the Winchester,” his friend
commanded, “and when you get through the
window, lie flat on the ground behind the
rhododendrons, and I’ll pass it up. Don’t go
scouting round by yourself, either. Wait for
me.”</p>
<p>Charlie scrambled through the narrow
aperture, caught the rifle as it was handed up
to him, and crawling a foot or two along the
side of the house, lay still. Although it had
stopped raining, the ground was soaking wet.
Above him, the thick foliage of the rhododendrons
dripped moisture with every breath
of wind.</p>
<p>“I might just as well have kept my own
clothes,” he thought, trying to accustom his
eyes to the darkness, but without success.
“Hang it all—a little more crawling, and I’ll
be sopping again!”</p>
<p>A whisper in his ear startled him. Bill
had reached him without a sound. “Follow
me. Keep on your hands and knees—and
don’t breathe so hard. I could hear you down
in the cellar, and I don’t propose to have the
show given away just because you ate too
much! Come on, and stay right behind me.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_34">34</div>
<p>Charlie gulped down a retort and followed
Bill’s lead along the house behind the wet
shrubbery. They had gone perhaps a hundred
yards in this manner, when Bill turned to the
left and crawled away through the bushes, on
an oblique from the house. Without stopping,
they crossed the drive, where the hard
gravel left its painful imprints on hands and
knees, and kept on through another belt of
shrubbery beyond.</p>
<p>“You can stand up now,” Bill whispered
and got to his feet. “We’re in the back of the
house. Those guys are posted in front and
along the sides—No, they aren’t!—not all of
them—Down, Charlie! Keep where you are
whatever happens!”</p>
<p>Footsteps crunched along the gravel on the
drive. Both lads crouched low. They saw
a dark figure move out of the shadows and
come directly toward them. The man walked
slowly, humming a tune. In the hollow of
his arm he carried a rifle.</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_35">35</div>
<p>When he was within a couple of paces of
them he turned on his heel and started back
the way he had come. Bill was up on the
instant. He took three crouching steps and
even Charlie, who watched with all his eyes
and ears, never heard a sound. Then he sprang
on his prey. Up went his right arm and down.
The man dropped like a poleaxed ox. Bill
dragged his body back to the bushes.</p>
<p>“Did you kill him?” Charlie’s voice came
in a tense whisper.</p>
<p>Bill snorted. “Nothing like that, kid. I
tapped him on the bean with my automatic.
He’s out for half an hour or so—but that’s
long enough for us. You stop here and go
through his pockets. Take any letters or
papers he may have about him. I’ll be back
in a jiffy.”</p>
<p>“But Bill—I don’t like being left with a
dead man! Can’t—”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_36">36</div>
<p>“Cut it, Charlie! If you don’t obey orders,
you can hike back to the house. What’s
the matter with you? This is no time for
fussing. I told you the man’s only stunned.”</p>
<p>“Oh, all right,” grumbled the boy. “I
wasn’t afraid of him—honest I wasn’t, Bill.”</p>
<p>“Good. Carry on, then,” said his friend,
as he melted into the bushes.</p>
<p>Charlie bent over the man on the grass and
consistently went through his pockets. “I’ll
bet Osceola taught Bill how to move that
way,” he thought, “and if the chief ever gets
up to Maine, I’m going to have him show me
how to do it.”</p>
<p>“What are you mumbling about?”</p>
<p>Charlie jumped. “Oh, it’s you, Bill. Gosh,
you gave me a scare! What have you been
doing?”</p>
<p>“Setting a trap. Got his papers?”</p>
<p>“Two letters, that’s all.”</p>
<p>“Come along, then. We’ll have to hurry.
He’ll be missed soon. Here, I’ll tote his
gun.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_37">37</div>
<p>Their course now led them back from the
house through a copse of hemlock. As they
came out of the little wood, Charlie saw a
blur of wooden buildings to the left. On
their right was a field of tall corn, and between
the two, a broad stretch of greensward.</p>
<p>“Those are the barns and garage,” Bill
explained in answer to the boy’s whispered
question. “There’s nobody out here—yet. I
reconnoitered while you were frisking that
fellow. But we’d better go through the corn,
just the same.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, there’s nobody here
<i>yet</i>?”</p>
<p>“The bus is parked in the hangar. Wait
till that nice inverted engine gets talking!”</p>
<p>“Think there’ll be a fight?” Charlie was
running now. It was hard going in the cornfield
between the tall stalks. He stumbled
frequently. His long-legged friend seemed
to know by instinct just where to plant his
feet.</p>
<p>“Well, I don’t know—it all depends on
how fast they can run, and which way they
come.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_38">38</div>
<p>Bill stopped on the edge of the field and
waited for Charlie. Before them now lay a
broad meadow. Over to the left the dark
shape of a building was visible.</p>
<p>“Is that the hangar?” puffed the youngster.</p>
<p>“Yep. It used to be a hay barn, but when
I got my pilot’s license, Dad had it fixed up
with a concrete floor and a tin roof. The
<i>Loening</i> and the <i>Ryan</i> are both in there.
Well, I don’t see anybody around. Let’s make
a dash for it.”</p>
<p>“Gosh, that’s all I’ve been doing lately!”</p>
<p>“That and eating,” chuckled Bill. “On
your toes, fat boy!”</p>
<p>He sprinted across the open space and had
the hangar doors open when Charlie arrived,
puffing and half-winded by his efforts to make
fast time.</p>
<p>“Slow but sure,” teased Bill. “You’re
better at tucking away chow than you are at
track-work, Charles.”</p>
<p>“Aw, cut it out! How do you expect me
to keep pace with the Navy’s star end?”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_39">39</div>
<p>“Never mind, you did fine. Lend me a
hand and we’ll wheel out the <i>Loening</i>.”</p>
<p>Charlie pointed to the monoplane. “Isn’t
that a <i>Ryan</i> M-1?”</p>
<p>“Sure is. Come and get busy.”</p>
<p>“But that type is faster that the <i>Loening</i>.
Why not take her?”</p>
<p>“Because, my boy, she can’t land on water
more than once, that’s why. It may come in
mighty handy to have an amphibian up there
on the Maine shore. And don’t think for a
minute this biplane can’t travel. Wait till
you ride in her and see.”</p>
<p>When they had wheeled the plane out on
the concrete apron, Bill went back and swung
the doors shut and locked them. Charlie was
already seated aft when Bill climbed into the
fore cockpit and adjusted his helmet, goggles
and safety belt.</p>
<p>“Okay?” he asked the youngster.</p>
<p>“Okay!”</p>
<p>“Safety belt fastened?”</p>
<p>“You bet.”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_40">40</div>
<p>“Fine. Keep that rifle handy. If those
lads get too close—let ’er go.”</p>
<p>“I will, Bill, you can trust me.”</p>
<p>Bill snapped on the ignition. The propeller
swung into motion as the inertia starter
did the trick. The engine sputtered, then
roared. He slipped into a heavy flying jacket
as the engine warmed up. Charlie, he knew,
had already donned his in the rear cockpit.</p>
<p>The engine was roaring smoothly as Bill
fitted the phones over his helmet and adjusted
the receivers over his earflaps. A mouthpiece
hung on his chest and a wire ran back to the
headset that Charlie wore. This would allow
them to talk in the air, even with the coughing
bark of the engine through the exhausts.</p>
<p>Bill stared up at the white fleecy cloud rolling
in over the field. Then he twisted his
head in the direction of the house, and cut
down the throttle speed.</p>
<p>“Here they come, Charlie!” he said evenly.
“Better get that rifle ready!”</p>
<div class="pb" id="Page_41">41</div>
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