LITMIR.BIZ

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That lonely, forsaken land, some parts of which had never been penetrated by a white man! Treacherous, dangerous ground, which would mean certain death if she attempted to land! Miles and miles of desolation, that only an Indian could safely explore!

      There was nothing to do but head the plane towards the west, in hope of passing over the swamp. The sun had set, and darkness was coming on, but Linda could still see the ground beneath her. The water grew scarcer, and trees – pine and cypress – here and there dotted the land. But still the earth looked marshy, too treacherous for a landing.

      A terrifying thought seized her when she remembered that she had not filled her gasoline tank that morning. Glancing at the indicator, she saw that she had only three gallons left. Would that be enough to take her out of this "trembling land," which was the meaning of the Indian word, "Okefenokee"?

      It was like a horrible night-mare, watching the decreasing gasoline supply, the fading light, and the trees and the swamp beneath her. Her breath came in gasps; the idea of death in a swamp was more horrible than that of drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, for the former would be a lingering torture.

      But at last to her delight she saw the trees widen, and a level stretch of dry sand below. This must be an island, she concluded, for she had read that there were half a dozen or so of these in the swamp, and that they were several miles in length. If this were true, she could land, and be safe for the night at least.

      She brought her autogiro lower, and with her flash-light and her glasses examined the ground. Yes, there was space enough for a landing, with a plane like hers. She uttered a gasp of relief.

      But she had rejoiced too soon, for when she lifted her eyes from the ground to the level of her plane she was startled breathless by the sight of another plane, which had come out of nowhere, apparently, and was rushing madly at her. As if it were actually aiming to crash into her! As if this were warfare, and the oncoming plane an enemy, intent upon her destruction!

      In that instant she realized that this was an old plane – possibly one of those abandoned by the Army – one that would not now pass inspection. No wonder it was tipping so strangely; it must be out of the pilot's control.

      Linda did the only thing possible, for she was too low to turn. She dropped gracefully to the ground, avoiding a tree by a few inches. Thank goodness, it was solid beneath her!

      The other plane was landing too, she observed, landing with a speed that was ten times that of the autogiro, in a space that was far too small. The inevitable occurred; Linda closed her eyes as she saw it about to crash. A terrifying thud followed; then a scream of fright – and Linda opened her eyes to see the plane on its side, nosed into a bank of bushes. Had it not been for that undergrowth, the wreck would have been far worse than it was.

      Linda had turned off her engine, and she jumped out of the autogiro immediately and rushed to the scene of the disaster. What a smash it was! No one would ever fly that plane again!

      Two people were lying tangled up in the wreckage, whether dead or alive Linda could not immediately tell.

      At her approach the man in the rear cock-pit opened his eyes and began to move his hands and legs.

      "Got a good knife, Linda?" he yelled, to the girl's profound astonishment.

      "I'll get one," she replied, wondering how he could possibly know her name. Or was he delirious, and thought he was talking to some other Linda?

      Hurrying back to her own plane she took out her thermos flasks and her tool-kit, and returned to the spot of the wreck. It was too dark now to see the men distinctly, until she turned on her flash-light. As she came closer, she saw that the man who had spoken was wriggling himself free. His face was scratched, blood was running down his hands, but he apparently was not seriously hurt.

      "Lucky this is an open plane," he muttered. "Now give me a hand, me girl!"

      Linda did not like his tone, but she could not refuse to help a human being in distress. Gradually he crawled out.

      "Now for Susie!" he announced, as he raised himself unsteadily on his legs.

      Linda gasped. Was the other occupant a woman? A thrill of relief passed over her, for she had been terrified at the idea of being alone with such a hard-looking man in this desolate spot.

      "A girl?" she stammered, pressing close to the plane.

      "Yeah. Me wife. Her name's Susie."

      Linda flashed the light under the wreckage of the plane, and distinguished a young woman in a flyer's suit. She was unconscious.

      Without another word they both set silently to work to disentangle her. At last they dragged her out – still unconscious. But she evidently was still alive, though the man remarked that her arm must be broken – and maybe an ankle or two. He seemed very matter-of-fact about it all.

      "What's in that flask?" he demanded abruptly, of Linda.

      "Water," she replied.

      "Water!" he snarled angrily. "Water!"

      He looked as if he meant to hit her, and Linda recoiled in terror.

      "Go hunt my flask in that wreck!" he commanded.

      "Do it yourself!" returned Linda, with sudden spirit. "How do I know that that plane won't burst into flames any minute?"

      She was surprised at her sudden display of independence; she had always depended upon Louise to stick up for their rights. But she had risen to the occasion, now that she was alone.

      The man started to swear, when suddenly the girl on the ground opened her eyes.

      "Take care, Slats!" she begged, to Linda's astonishment. "We'll need this girl and her plane – for I can't fly now!"

      The man called "Slats" subsided, and went over to the wreckage. Linda bent over the injured "Susie," and put the flask of water to her lips.

      Like the man's, the girl's face was scratched and bleeding, and she began to moan of the pain in her wrist. Her helmet had been pushed off, and her blond hair hung about her face. Her lips were painted a brighter red than even blood could have colored them.

      "Where are you hurt?" asked Linda, wiping the girl's face with her handkerchief, and pushing the hair out of her eyes.

      "My wrist, worst. And this ankle. And my back."

      "If I have enough gasoline, we'll take you to a hospital in my plane."

      "No! No!" cried the girl, in terror.

      "Why not?" questioned Linda.

      "You'll find out," replied the other, mysteriously, closing her eyes in pain.

      Linda had no way of guessing what she meant, so she sat waiting in silence until the man returned. Five minutes later he appeared with a tank of gasoline, and a flask of brandy, which he gave to his wife to drink.

      "We're ready to go now, Linda," he announced. "You can help me carry Susie over to your Bug."

      Again Linda started violently at the mention of her own name.

      "Do you really know me?" she asked.

      "Sure we do! You're Linda Carlton. Think you're about the smartest thing there is in the air today. Bought one of them new-fangled bugs. Ain't that right?"

      "Partly," admitted Linda, wincing at the slur in his remark. "But how could you possibly know?"

      "Because we are out to get you. Wasn't your story in all the newspapers, tellin' all about this trip of your'n? And ain't your Bug the easiest thing to spot in the air?"

      "Out to get me!" repeated Linda. "Do you mean that you wanted to kill me?"

      "No, lady. You're more use to us alive than dead – for a while, anyway. No. Our gang decided we could pick up a hundred grand easier by kidnapping you than by swiping jewelry. It was my idea!" He swelled with pride, believing himself exceedingly clever. "And that's what you get for wanting to have your picture and glories in the papers all the time!"

      Linda listened wild-eyed to this information, and edged closer to Susie, as if her only protection would be found in the girl.

      "So

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