_Chapter II_
TAXI!
The black brush of storm had long ago painted out the last vestige ofdaylight.
Crouching on the upturned hull of her sloop, Dorothy clung to the keelwith nerveless fingers, while the _Scud_ wallowed in an angry sea lacedwith foam and spray. She knew that in a little while the boat must sink,and that in water like this even the strongest swimmer must quicklysuccumb. Cold, wet and helpless, Dorothy anxiously scanned her narrowhorizon, but in vain.
For another half hour she hung on in the rain and darkness, battered byheavy combers that all but broke her hold. She was fast losing her nerveand with it the willingness to struggle. Phantom shapes reached towardher from the gloom. Strange lights danced before her eyes....
With a rolling lurch the _Scud_ sank, and Dorothy found herself fightingthe waves unsupported. The shock of sudden immersion brought back herscattering wits, but the delusion of dancing lights still held;especially one light, larger and brighter than the others. Surely thisone was real and not the fantasy of an overwrought imagination!
Half smothered in flying spume, the drowning girl made one last franticeffort to keep afloat. Above the pounding of the sea, a throbbing roarshook her eardrums, a glare of light followed by a huge dark formswooped down as if to crush her--and she lost consciousness.
Dorothy awoke in a darkness so complete that for a moment she thoughther eyes must be bandaged. Nervous fingers soon found that this was notthe case, and reaching out, they came in contact with a light switch.
The sudden gleam of the electrics half blinded her. Presently she sawthat she lay on a narrow bunk in a cabin. Presumably she was aboard avessel, still out in the storm, for the ship pitched and rolled like adrunken thing, and the roar of a powerful exhaust was deafening.
Someone had removed her sweater, had tucked warm blankets about herbody. Her throat burned from a strong stimulant which apparently hadbeen administered while she was unconscious.
For some minutes she lay there taking in her surroundings. The chartstacked to the cabin walls, the tiny electric cookstove, hinged table andarmsrack opposite. Listlessly she counted the weapons, four rifles,three shotguns, two automatics--and fastened in its own niche was amachine gun covered with a waterproof jacket. A complete arsenal.... Theshotguns bespoke sportsmen, but this was neither the season for duck norfor snipe. Men did not go shooting in Long Island Sound with rifles,revolvers and a machine gun.... _Bootleggers!_
It came to her like a bolt from the blue. She was on board a rumrunner,no less, and notwithstanding the exhaustion she suffered from herbattles with the waves, she found exhilaration in the excitingdiscovery.
Dorothy threw off the blankets, sat up and swung her legs over the edgeof the bunk. Her bathing suit was still wet and clung uncomfortably toher skin. With a hand on the side of the bunk to support her, she stoodup on the heaving floor to catch sight of her face in a mirror screwedto the opposite wall.
"Gracious! I'm a fright," she cried. "I don't suppose there's a vanitycase aboard this lugger--and mine went down with the poor little_Scud_!"
Then she spied a neat pile of clothing at the foot of the bunk, andimmediately investigated. A dark blue sweater, a pair of trousers, heavywoolen socks, and a pair of boy's sneakers were seized upon and donnedforthwith.
Dorothy giggled as she surveyed herself once more in the little mirror."Just a few sizes too large, that's all. But they're warm, and _dry_,and that's something!"
She rummaged about on a shelf, found a comb and with dexterous fingerssmoothed her short damp hair into place, then with a sigh ofsatisfaction, muttered again to herself, "Much better, my girl."
Her makeshift toilet completed, she decided to leave the cabin andcontinue her explorations outside.
There were two doors, one on the side and one at the end which evidentlyled forward. After a moment's hesitation, Dorothy chose the latter. Withsome difficulty, for the ship still pitched unmercifully, she stumbledforward. Then, summoning up her courage, for she was not withouttrepidation at the thought of facing her desperado rescuers, she laid ahand on the knob and turning it, swung back the door.
Dorothy found herself in a small, glassed-in compartment, evidently thepilot house. She had hardly time to glance about, when an oddly familiarvoice spoke from out the darkness. It was barely distinguishable abovethe motor's hum.
"Please, Miss Dixon, snap off the light or shut the door. I can'tpossibly guide this craft in such a glare."
"Why, it's Bill Bol--Mr. Bolton, I mean," she cried in surprise, andclosed the door.
"Himself in the flesh," replied that young man.
She could see him clearly now, seated directly before her. His back wastoward her and he did not turn round. So far as she could see he seemedvery busily engaged, doing something with his feet.
"Then--then it must have been you who picked me up," she stammered.
"Guilty on the first count, Miss Dixon."
"Please don't be funny," she retorted, now mistress of herself oncemore. "I want to thank you--"
"You are very welcome. Seriously, though, it is the boathook you have tothank. Without that we'd both have gone to Davy Jones' locker longbefore this."
Dorothy was nearly thrown off her feet by an unusually high sea whichcrashed over the pilot house and rolled the vessel far over on her side.
"Whew--that was a near one!" the girl exploded as the ship righteditself.
"We'll weather it, don't worry," encouraged Bill, though he did not feelthe confidence his words proclaimed.
"It looks to me," said Dorothy soberly, "as though we'll be mighty luckyif we reach shore at all--and I guess you know it."
"Never say die, Miss Dixon!"
"Suppose we drop this miss and mister stuff, Bill. Sounds rather sillyat a time like this, don't you think so?"
"Right you are, Dorothy. I'm not much on ceremony, myself, as theIrishman said when--"
"Look here, Bill!" Dorothy tossed her head impatiently, "I wish you'domit the comedy--it really isn't necessary. I'll admit I was in a badway when you dragged me out of the briny deep--and I appreciate yourcoming to my rescue. But you needn't expect me to faint or to throwhysterics. That sort of thing went out of fashion long ago. Girls todayhave just as much nerve as boys. They don't very often get a chance toprove it, that's all."
"Please accept my humblest apology, mademoiselle." Bill's eyes twinkledthough his tone was utterly serious. "I can assure you--"
Dorothy's merry laugh rang out--her mood had passed as suddenly as ithad come. "Don't be absurd. Tell me--why are _you_ piloting arumrunner?"
"Rumrunner? What do you mean?"
"If this isn't a rumrunner, why do you carry that machine gun and therifles and revolvers in the armsrack?"
"Just part of our equipment, that's all."
Dorothy's impatience flared up again. "Why do you talk such nonsense?"
"Nonsense?"
"Certainly. You don't mean to tell me that you took a boat of this sizeon long cruises!"
Bill grinned in the darkness. "But you see," he chuckled, "this isn't aboat."
"Well, what is it then?"
"A Loening amphibian. Not exactly the stock model, for Dad and I hadquite a few changes made in the cabin and this pilot's cockpit."
"_What?_" shrieked Dorothy. "An airplane--one that can land either onwater or on land?"
"That's right. The old crate has the hull of a boat equipped withretractible wheel landing gear which operates electrically."
"You're too technical for me," she said frowningly, and balanced herselfwith a hand on the back of the pilot's seat. "But if this is anairplane, why keep bouncing along on the water? I'd think you'd fly toland and have done with it."
"My dear girl--" began Bill.
"Don't use that patronizing tone--I'm not your dear girl--not by a longshot!"
Bill laughed outright. "My error once more. However, Miss Spitfire, whenyou learn to fly, yo
u'll find out that air currents are very like watercurrents. When it is blowing as hard as it is now, flying a plane isfully as dangerous as sailing a boat--more so, in fact. When the windreaches a certain velocity, it is impossible to balance your plane. Youhave to land--or crash."
Dorothy was beginning to understand. "Then you must have taken someawful risks coming out after me."
"I was lucky," he admitted. "But you see, even if we were able to fly inthis gale, now, it's quite impossible to take off in such a heavy sea.If I gave the old bus enough gas to get up a flying speed, these comberswould batter the hull in--I'd never be able to get her onto her step.Some day, when it's fine, and the water's smooth, I'll show you what Imeant by that. Now all we can do is to taxi."
"Taxi?--This is the first seagoing taxi I've ever been in!"
"In air parlance," he explained, "to taxi is to run a plane along theground or on the water--just now, it isn't all it's cracked up to be."
"I should think it would be easier than flying."
"Not on water as rough as this. Your legs go to sleep with the strainyou have to put on the rudder pedals."
"Oh--you're steering with your feet?"
"Yes."
"Well, why don't you let me help you? I'll drive her for a while,"offered Dorothy.
Bill shook his head. "It's terribly hard work," he demurred.
"What of it? I'm as strong as an ox."
"Thanks a lot. You're a real sport. But the difficulty is in shiftingplaces with me without swamping the old bus. She isn't equipped withdual controls. There's only one set of pedals, and as soon as I releasethem she will slue broadside to the waves, the wings will crumple, andshe'll simply swamp and go under."
"And you must taxi either before the wind, or into the wind as we arenow, in seas like these?"
"You've guessed it," he nodded.
"But there must be some way we can manage it," argued Dorothy. "Youcan't keep on much longer. Your legs will give out and then we'll gounder anyway."
Bill hesitated a moment. "Well, all right, let's try it--but it's nocinch, as you'll find out."
"That's O.K. with me. Come on--orders, please--and let's go!"
Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings Page 2