The Arrow of Fire

by Roy J. Snell

  CHAPTER XXX MANY PERILS

  The person who leaped upon the back of the car as it went speeding out ofGrand Avenue, who left it only as it arrived at the abandoned farmyard,and who now found himself in the mammoth hayloft of that barn, was noneother than the new bus boy of the Seventy Club.

  You may have guessed that this person was not a boy, but a girl, and thather name was Joyce Mills. This is true.

  The thought of going to Naperville, of lolling about in white duck skirtson summer porches or playing tennis with well-to-do and self satisfiedsuburbanites had been abhorrent to her. The love of adventure was in herblood.

  More than that; she had come to this city with the expectation of findingher father in jail. Instead, thanks to a boy, a young detective, and asergeant of the force, she had found him free and employed as he shouldbe at the task for which God had created him. She wanted above everythingelse to prove herself of service to those who had brought so much joyinto her life. She wished to assist in the capture of Jimmie McGowan andhis gang.

  This was not the first time she had masqueraded as a boy. More than once,while living in the Sicilian quarters of New York, she had dyed her facebrown, donned trousers and haunted dark places of crime, as a newsboy ora city waif.

  Having secured the secret card, she had donned her disguise and hadsucceeded in getting herself employed at the Seventy Club.

  She had been able to shadow the gang. She had witnessed the capture ofthe crook, Jimmie McGowan, had learned of the intended reprisal, hadridden to the shack on the back of the gangster's car, and had seen themspying there.

  There had been no opportunity for warning Johnny. She had ridden on thecar to this deserted spot in the hope that here she might be of someservice.

  Her best course at present appeared to be that of leaving the barn andgoing for help.

  But how was this to be effected? There appeared to be but two entrancesto the hayloft: the trapdoor which led to the room now occupied by thegangsters, and a large one very high up, through which in days of farmingthe hay had been drawn. Both of these were too dangerous. The way seemedblocked.

  As her eyes became accustomed to the light, however, she saw a ladderleading to the very peak of the barn. It ran up one end, and was only adozen paces from the spot where she stood.

  The floor was strewn with chaff. Her light footsteps, as she moved towardthe ladder, made no sound.

  With one hand on the first round of the ladder, she paused to remove hershoes and tie them about her neck.

  Nimble as a squirrel, she darted up the ladder to the very peak of thebarn. A small opening there gave her a view of the overgrown pasture thatlay dizzy depths below.

  The moon was out. She could distinguish every detail of the scene beneathher. Beyond the narrow pasture was a field of wheat in the shocks. Theseshocks cast dark shadows.

  "Like so many tombstones in a cemetery," she told herself with a shudder.

  She measured the distance to the ground, and then shook as with a chill.

  "No use," she told herself. "I'm trapped."

  Turning about, she tried to peer into the dark depths of the hayloft.

  As she did so, she became conscious of a beam that lay directly beforeher. This beam, which ran the length of the barn, was suspended by ironbars at a distance of two feet from the peak. It formed a track alongwhich, in haying time, a car carried great bundles of loose hay to allparts of the loft.

  As she looked she saw that stray moonbeams lighted this track at regularintervals.

  "Cupolas," she told herself.

  She had noted that curious little structures, perfect little barns, somefour feet square and six feet high, had been placed along the ridge ofthe barn. These were in truth cupolas. Their sides were made of slantingslats. These let in air, and kept out rain. They were for the purpose ofventilation. New made hay needs air.

  She studied this beam with dawning hope.

  "If I could climb out over that beam," she told herself, "I could swingup into the first cupola. I might then be able to reach the roof and atlast the ground."

  It was uncertain, but worth the risk.

  Gripping the beam with both her strong hands, she let go her feet and,swinging in midair, made her way hand over hand along the beam until shewas beneath the cupola.

  Now for swinging up. This seemed easy. It was difficult. Was itimpossible? Twice she swung her legs up. Twice she failed.

  Her arms were tiring. If she failed again could she make her way back tothe ladder? She doubted it. And to fall!

  One last desperate endeavor. A toe caught. She swung the other foot over.She clung there a moment. Then, after executing a revolving motion, shelay panting atop the beam, beneath the cupola.

  Ah! How sweet life was! How cool the air from the cupola that fanned hercheek! How good it all was!

  But there remained much to be done. She roused herself; dragged herselfto her knees, then stood erect in the cupola.

  At once there came a wild and noisy whirring of wings. Pigeons weresleeping there.

  She caught her breath. Would the gangsters hear? Would they find her? Shewore the bus boy's brown uniform. They would understand. She would neverreturn alive. And life was so sweet!

  The pigeons were gone. There came no other sound. If the gangsters hadheard they had thought nothing of it. Who would?

  The slats of the cupola fitted loosely into grooves. She had only to liftthem out. She took out five and laid them down without a sound. Then shecrept out into the moonlight.

  One look told her that at the end farthest from her, the barn ended in alean-to. The eaves of this lean-to reached within ten feet of the ground.Close by these eaves was an old straw pile.

  "What could be sweeter?" She straddled the ridge of the roof, thenhunched herself along until she was at the end. There, by clinging to theedge, she let herself down to the roof of the lean-to. Down the lean-toroof she glided. Then, with a spring, she landed on the straw pile.

  She slipped, did a somersault, then tumbled into a patch of weeds.

  She was just picking herself up from this patch of weeds when she caughta slight sound to her right. She looked. There was a man, a guard. He hadturned. He was looking her way. Without doubt he had heard a sound as shestruck the straw pile. But had he seen her?

  Her heart pounded against her ribs as she crept deeper into the mass ofprotecting weeds.