Linda Carlton's Perilous Summer

“Aunt Emily, may we have a picnic lunch?”

Pretty Linda Carlton, the first girl in America to fly from New York to Paris alone, stood in the living room of her aunt’s summer bungalow at Green Falls, and asked the question. Her blue eyes were pleading, although it was not for the mere favor of a lunch. The older woman glanced at her costume—a flying suit—and looked grave.

“Where do you want to go, dear?” she countered.

“Dot and I want to go off by ourselves—in the ‘Ladybug.’”

“The ‘Ladybug!’” repeated Miss Carlton, with despair in her tone. That was the name of Linda’s autogiro, which she had purchased in June and flown south to Georgia. There she had met with all sorts of disasters, had been kidnaped by a gang of thieves and stranded on a lonely island with this same girl—Dot, or Dorothy Crowley—as her only companion.

“I should think you and Dot would have had enough flying to last you the rest of your lives.”

“Now, Aunt Emily, you know I could never have enough flying. I—I—belong in the air.” Linda’s eyes lighted up with joy, as they always did when she spoke of her favorite pastime. She came across the room and seated herself upon the arm of her aunt’s chair. “I’ve stayed on the ground for two weeks, Auntie dear—just for your sake. But I’ve got to go up now—I just have to! You do understand, don’t you?”

Miss Carlton, who had taken care of Linda ever since she was a baby, was so afraid of airplanes that she had never even taken a ride with her niece. She sighed.

“I suppose so, dear. But don’t go far, and promise me you’ll be back for supper.”

“Oh, we will! I’m sure of that!” Linda replied, as she bent over and kissed her aunt.

The words she spoke were sincere; the “Ladybug” was in perfect shape, and Linda truly meant to plan her flight so that she would be back in Green Falls before sunset, but, of course, she could not know that circumstances would step in and prevent her.

Fifteen minutes later, she and her chum, Dot Crowley—diminutive in size, but bubbling over with spirits and capable to the tips of her fingers, stepped into the autogiro, adjusted the self-starter and left the earth behind. It was a beautiful summer day, without a cloud in the sky, and the girls were as happy as birds.

Linda directed her “Ladybug” straight across Lake Michigan, over the heads of the swimmers and above the boats, for the shores of Wisconsin. An invigorating breeze was blowing, so that the girls were glad of their sweaters and helmets, and they laughed and sang as they flew.

It was over a hundred miles across the lake, but the autogiro took the distance with the ease of a motor car. On and on they went, pressing into Wisconsin, leaving the lake behind. When they finally landed in a field for their lunch, Linda confessed that she didn’t know just where they were.

“Why, it’s two o’clock, Linda!” exclaimed Dot, as she dived into the lunch box for a sandwich.

“No wonder I’m hungry.”

“So am I!” agreed her companion. “But I guess we better not go any further, Dot. We must get home to supper.”

“I wish we didn’t have to. You know what I love, Linda—flying over the lake. I always have adored all kinds of water sports, but honestly, flying over water beats everything.”

“Want to fly to Paris with me?” suggested Linda, playfully.

“Sometime. But in a bigger boat than the ‘Ladybug.’ Now if you still had the Bellanca——”

“If I had, I wouldn’t go,” interrupted Linda calmly, reaching for another sandwich. “I wouldn’t do a thing that would get me into the newspapers!”

“I don’t blame you,” agreed her companion.

Little did they think as they spoke thus idly, that that very evening they themselves would be requesting the papers to print a story which concerned them.

It all happened two hours later, with incredible swiftness. They were flying back across Wisconsin, low enough to watch the landscape, when Dot suddenly let out a shriek of horror.

“Look at that—oh—Linda!”

Her companion grasped the joy stick, and looked about expectantly, as if some plane must be coming at her which she did not see.

“No—down on the road!” cried Dot. “That car!”

Casting her glance downward, Linda saw what she meant. A huge car, driven by a man with a great mass of gray hair and a gray beard, at a speed nearing eighty miles an hour, zigzagged wildly in the road, rushing headlong at the forlorn figure of a girl walking beside the gutter.

“The man must be crazy!” muttered Linda, discreetly pointing her autogiro upward. “Or drunk!”

An instant later the car knocked the girl down, threw her up against the bank, and by some miracle, regained its position again and sped away.

“He’s killed her!” screamed Dot. “A hit-and-runner!”

Linda brought her plane downward, but it was too far away to see the man so that she might identify him later, except by that beard.

“There isn’t a soul in sight!” observed Dot. “You’re going to land?”

Linda nodded; luckily her autogiro didn’t need a special field. She descended and brought it to a stop, not far from the injured girl. She and Dot climbed out, dashed over the field to the road, and picked up the victim in their arms. She was a young girl, possibly about fourteen years of age, whether dead or merely unconscious, they could not tell. Blood was running from her head.

“We’ll carry her over beside the autogiro, and apply first aid,” said Linda. “Luckily I have all sorts of supplies with me—and water.”

She was a pretty girl, except that there was something decidedly pathetic about her whole appearance. Her clothing was not ragged, but dreadfully out of style; her straight hair hung about her temples without any attempt to make it becoming. It was neither long nor short, and had no ribbon, no pin of any kind to keep it out of her eyes. Her sweater looked like a man’s, and her skirt was evidently handed down from an older woman. Her whole body was so thin that she looked almost emaciated. Her face was a blank white, with no make-up to relieve the pallor.

Linda bound up the wound, and after some minutes the girl finally opened her eyes. Deep, black eyes they were, that appeared huge in such a small, colorless face, eyes that gazed at the girls without any understanding.

“How do you feel now?” asked Linda, still kneeling beside her, and offering her water from a thermos bottle.

The girl raised her eyebrows, and muttered a feeble, “All right.”

Meanwhile, Dot ran over to the road to see whether there wasn’t a car somewhere in sight. But there was neither a car nor a house. It was a barren stretch of country—she didn’t know where.