Dorothy Wayne - Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case

Above the speeding airplane, lowering black of approaching night and storm; below, the forest, grim and silent, swelling over ridges, dipping into valleys, crestless waves on a dark green ocean.

“We can’t make it, Betty.”

Dorothy Dixon, at the controls, spoke into the mouthpiece of her headphone set.

Betty Mayo, in the rear cockpit, glanced overside and shuddered.

“But you can’t land on those trees!” she cried shrilly. “We’ll crash – you know that!”

“Maybe we will – and maybe we won’t!” returned Dorothy, gritting her teeth. “Keep your eyes peeled for a pond or a woodlot – anywhere you think we can land.”

“What – what’s the matter?” called back her friend, steadying her wobbly nerves with an effort.

“Matter enough. We’re nearly out of gas – running on reserve fuel now. When the rain starts, it’ll be pitch dark in no time.”

“Oh, Dorothy – do try to stay up! We can’t crash and be killed – that’s what it will mean if you try to land here!”

“Betty, be-have, will you? This is my funeral.” The pilot in her anxiety, had struck upon an unhappy choice of words.

“Oh, you must do something – this is terrible – ” the frenzied girl in the rear cockpit almost shrieked.

Dorothy ripped off her headphone set. She could no longer allow her attention to be distracted by Betty’s excited whimpering.

The small amphibian, flying low, topped a crag-scarred ridge. At the foot of the cliff she saw a tiny woodland meadow.

Action in the air must be automatic. There is never time to reason. With the speed of legerdemain the young pilot sent her plane into a steep right bank and pushed down hard on the left rudder pedal. The result was a sideslip, the only maneuver by which the amphibian could possibly be piloted into the woodlot. Tilted sideways at an angle that brought a scream from terrified Betty, the heavy mass of wood and metal dropped like a plummet toward the earth.

This was too much for little Miss Mayo. Convinced that her friend had lost control of the plane, she closed her eyes and prayed.

With uncanny accuracy, considering the rainswept gloom, Dorothy recovered just at the proper instant. Hard down rudder brought the longitudinal axis of the plane into coincidence with its actual flight path again. At the same time she brought the up aileron into play, thereby preventing the bank from increasing. Then as the amphibian shot into a normal glide, she leveled the wings laterally by use of ailerons and rudder.

Their speed was still excessive, so for a split second or two, Dorothy leveled off and fishtailed the plane. That is, she kicked the rudder alternately right and left, thereby swinging the nose from side to side, and did so without banking and without dropping the nose to a steeper angle.

Taking the greatest possible care that her plane was in straight flight prior to the moment of contact with the ground, she gave it a brief burst of the engine, obviating any possibility of squashing on with excessive force. The airplane landed well back on the tail, rolled forward over the bumpy ground and came to a stop at the very edge of the little meadow, nose on to the line of trees and underbrush.

Dorothy switched off the ignition, snapped out of her safety belt and turned round.

“Hail, hail, the gang’s all here,” she said cheerfully. “Wake up, Betty! We’ve come to the end of the line.”

Betty opened her eyes and looked about in startled amazement.

“Why – why we didn’t crash, after all!”

“Certainly not,” snorted Dorothy. “D’you think I’d let Wispy mash up my best friend? Come on, dry your eyes. Good thing it’s so dark and none of the boys are with us. You’d be a fine sight,” she teased.

“I think Will-o-the-Wisp is a silly name for a plane.” Betty’s remark was purposely irrelevant. She wanted to change the subject.

“Then don’t think about it. Turn your mind upon the answer of that dear old song, ‘Where do we go from here?’”

“Where are we?” Betty could be practical enough when her nerves were not tried too severely.

“Mmm!” murmured her friend. “That’s the question. I’m not quite sure, but I think we’re on the New York State Reservation over on Pound Ridge. A good ten miles or more from home, anyway.”

“If we’re on the reservation we’re certainly out of luck,” sighed Betty. “It’s a terribly wild place – nothing but rocks and ridges and woods and things. They keep it that way on purpose.”

“Nice for picnics on sunny days, I guess,” affirmed Dorothy. “But not so good on a rainy night, eh? Here, put on this slicker before you’re wet through. Then get down. We’ve got to move out of here.”

Betty stood up, caught the coat Dorothy threw into the cockpit, and after slipping into it, she stared fearfully about.

“What are you waiting for?” Dorothy inquired from below.

“I’m going to stay where I am,” announced Miss Mayo in a quavering voice. “It’s safer.”

“How safe?” Dorothy turned on her flash light. Its moving beam brought into bold relief the jungle of scrub oak and evergreens that walled the little pasture.

“Listen, Dorothy! I remember Father saying that they preserved game on the Pound Ridge reservation. There are sure to be bears and – and other things in these woods. Turn off the light – quick – they’ll be attracted to us if we show a light – ”

“Bears – your grandmother!” said Dorothy’s mocking voice and the light flashed full on Betty. “Don’t be so silly. Come down here at once!”

“No, I won’t. I’m going to stay up here. I – I’m sure it’s safer.”

“Then you can be ‘safer’ by yourself. If you think I’m going to stick around this woodlot all night, you’ve got another guess coming. Snap out of it, won’t you, Betty?”

“But you wouldn’t leave me all alone out here!”

“Watch me.” The light began to move away from the plane.

“I’ll come – I’ll come with you, Dorothy – wait!”

The light came back and Betty scrambled to the ground in a fever of haste.

“Now, then, stop being a goop and take this flash,” directed Dorothy. “Hold it on the plane so I can see. We’ve got to make Wispy secure, before we get under way.”

“I s’pose you get that Navy lingo from Bill Bolton.” Betty felt rather peevish now. “You talk just like him ever since he taught you to fly.”

“I wish he was here now,” retorted her friend, and climbed into the cockpit. “Here – take these wheel blocks and stop grouching. And for goodness’ sake, please don’t wobble that light! I want to get these cockpit covers on before everything is flooded.”

A few minutes later she climbed down again and after adjusting the wheel blocks, took the flashlight from Betty.

“All set?” she inquired briskly. “Got your knitting and everything? ’Cause it’s time we were moving.”

Betty began to cry.

“I think you’re mean – of course I want to get out of here, but – but you n-needn’t – ”

Dorothy put her arm about the smaller girl’s shoulders.

“There, there,” she comforted, “cheer up. I won’t be cross any more. Here’s a hanky, use it and come along. Gee, I wish this rain would stop! It’s coming down in bucketfuls.”

“I’m sorry, too, for sniveling,” said Betty meekly. She made a strenuous effort to be brave as they walked away from the dark shape of the plane. “But don’t you think you’d better get out your revolver, Dorothy? Honestly, you know, we’re likely to run into anything out here in these woods.”