Dorothy Dixon Wins Her Wings

by John Henry Goldfrap

  _Chapter XIII_

  TRAPPED

  The burlap sack was stiflingly hot. Moreover it seemed impregnated withfine particles of dust which burned her throat and nostrils and set hercoughing. Dorothy was frightfully uncomfortable. Breathing became moreand more difficult.

  "Let me go--I'm smothering!" she gasped.

  "And get another piece bit out of me arm?" snorted her captor. "Nothin'doin'."

  "But I'm choking to death in this filthy bag! It's full of dust!"

  "Keep yer mouth shut, then," gruffed the man. "And stop that wrigglin'.I'll tap yer one if yer don't. What do ye think this is, anyway--a joyride?"

  "But--" she began again.

  "Shut up!" he growled. "Behave, will yer? Say, sister, if I had me wayyouse'd get bumped off right now. Give me more of yer lip and I'll doit, anyway!"

  There was a grim menace in the gangster's tone that frightened Dorothymore than his words. Thereafter she spoke no more. She even refrainedfrom struggling, although her head swam and his grip of iron about herknees had become torture.

  What had happened to Bill, she wondered, and cold fear entered herheart. She was almost certain that it had been a blow from his fist shehad heard directly after her warning shout. But the shot and the screamimmediately afterward? Had that been the sound of his automatic--oranother's? The thought of Bill lying in the woods wounded--perhapsdead--drove her frantic. Yet she was powerless, with her wrists lashedbehind her back. While the man who carried her lurched forward,stumbling now and then over the uneven ground, each step causing hisvictim fresh agony, Dorothy's conviction of hopelessness assailed andoverwhelmed the last shreds of her fighting spirit. She wept.

  Presently,--it seemed an age,--she sensed that the gangster was mountinga flight of steps. There came the creak of a board underfoot. Then sheknew that he was fumbling with a doorknob. A glow of light appearedthrough the burlap.

  "Here we are, sister!" he grunted, with evident relief. Swinging herfrom his shoulder, he placed Dorothy on her feet and pulled off thesack.

  "Gosh!" he exclaimed, steadying her as she would have fallen, "I thoughtit was a Mack truck I was carryin'. But you're only a kid! Nobody'dthink you weighed so much. Did I make you cry?"

  He placed an arm under her elbow and led her to a chair. It was of thehard, straight-backed, kitchen variety, but Dorothy was only too glad tosit down and rest. She kept her eyes closed, for the light, after thedark confines of the bag, was blinding. Her breath came in convulsivegasps.

  "Feelin' kind of woozy?" The man's tone was callous, but at least itevinced a slight interest in her condition and she took advantage ofthat at once.

  "Yes, I am," she admitted, keeping her eyes closed, but drawing deepbreaths of air into her lungs between words. "You nearly smothered me inthat filthy bag. If you want to make up for it, you can bring me a drinkof water now."

  "You certainly have some noive! Y' don't happen ter want a couple of icecubes and a stick in it too?"

  "Plain water, if you please."

  "Dat's all you'll get, kid. But I'm dry myself, so I'll bring you some."

  She heard him cross the room, jerk open a door and tramp over anuncarpeted floor beyond.

  Dorothy opened her eyes.

  A wave of faintness swept over her and the room seemed to whirl beforeher. As she tried to struggle to her feet she found her roped hands hadbeen securely fastened to the back of her chair. She sank back wearily,her thoughts in wild confusion.

  After a moment she turned her attention to her surroundings, consciousof the futility of any further effort to free herself, and resolved tobide her time.

  The long, narrow room evidently ran the width of the house for shutteredwindows broke the bare expanse of walls at either end. Behind her chair,she knew, was the door through which she had been carried into the room,with shuttered windows flanking it. Facing her were two other doors, oneopen and one closed. Through the open door came the sound of a hand pumpin action, where her captor was drawing water.

  The room in which she sat was dimly lighted by an oil lamp, its chimneybadly smoked and unshaded. It stood on an unpainted table amidst thedebris of dirty dishes and an unfinished meal. Chairs pushed back at oddangles from the table gave further evidence of the diners' hurried exit.

  "They must have posted someone further down the road," she mused. "Iwonder how he got word to the house so quickly?"

  Then she caught sight of a wall-phone in the shadows at the farther endof the room. "Telephone, of course! They must have planted one somewherethis side of the turnpike. The man on watch saw our car pass andimmediately sent word along the wire!"

  It suddenly occurred to Dorothy that she herself might find thattelephone useful. For a moment she contemplated dragging her chairacross the room, but gave up the idea almost at once, for the sound ofthe pump in the room beyond had ceased and she heard the gangster'sreturning footsteps.

  He appeared in the doorway almost immediately. A broad-shouldered,narrow hipped, sinewy young man, with a shock of sandy hair falling overhis ferret-like eyes. The white weal of an old knife scar marred theleft side of his face from temple to chin. An ugly, though not badhumored countenance, she summed up--certainly an easy one to remember.

  "Here yer are, sister!" was his greeting. "Get outside o' this an'yer'll feel like a new woman!"

  He held a brimming glass of fresh water to her lips.

  Dorothy gulped eagerly.

  "Hey, there! Not so fast," he cautioned. "You'll choke to death andSadie'll swear I done yer in." He pulled the glass out of her reach."Tastes good, eh?"

  "It certainly does. Give me some more."

  "Take it easy, then. I don't want yer to get sick on this job." Hegrinned and allowed her to finish drinking. "I guess yer ain't used to adump like this--" he waved his hand toward the litter on the table andincluded the peeling wall-paper.

  "Still, it's a heap better than a hole in the ground out in the woods.You certainly are the lucky girl!" He grimaced, then laughed heartily athis joke.

  Dorothy's tone was stern, "What have they done with Bill?"

  "Who's Bill? Yer boy friend?"

  "Is he hurt?"

  "I hope so. He sure gave Tony a nasty crack. A rough little guy, heis--some scrapper. It looked like a battle royal to me when I left an'brung yer up here. But don't get the wrong idea, kid. By this time, oneof the bunch has slipped a knife into him--pretty slick at that sort o'thing, they are."

  Dorothy said nothing, but he read her feelings in her face.

  "Cheer up, sister," he said, heaping a plate with baked beans andsitting down at the table. "Pardon me, if I finish supper. That ladain't so hot. You've got me now, haven't yer? I'm a better man than hewas, Gunga Din!"

  "Yes, you are--I _don't_ think!"

  "How do yer get that way?"

  "Well--" Dorothy eyed him uncompromisingly--"why are you afraid of me,then?"

  "_Afraid?_ You little whippet!" He paused, his knife loaded with beanshalf way to his mouth. "Say--that's a good one! What are yer givin' us?"

  "You keep me tied up, don't you? Why? You're twice my size and you'vegot a gun--"

  "Two of 'em, little one--my rod and yourn."

  "Yet you're afraid to loosen my hands."

  "No, I'm not--but--"

  "Please," she begged, changing her tone. "My face itches terribly fromall that dust and I--"

  "Well, what do yer think I am? A lady's maid?"

  "Don't be silly--I just hate to sit here talking to you, looking such afright!"

  "So that's it," he laughed. "Don't try yer Blarney on me! I'm as ugly asmud and yer knows it. Though I'll say yer need a little make-up--andI'll let yer have it. But just get rid of that idea that you've got mebuffaloed--yer haven't!"

  He pushed back his chair and coming round the table, untied the ropethat bound her wrists.

  "Thanks." She began to rub her hands, which were numbed and sore.

  "Don't mention it,"
he leered. "Now yer can doll up to yer heart'scontent while I shovel some more chow into me. I sure am empty an'that's no lie!"

  "Hey, Mike!" called a man's voice from the doorway behind her. "Where dothey keep the wheelbarrer in this godforsakin' dump?"

  "In the shed out back," returned Mike, sliding his chair up to the tableagain and picking up his knife. "What yer want it for? What's thetrouble?"

  "Trouble enough!" grumbled the other. "There's a couple o' guys messedup pretty bad down the line. Need somethin' to cart 'em up here in.Sling me a hunk o' bread, will yer? I ain't had no chow."

  "Tough luck!" Mike replied callously, his mouth full, and tossed himhalf a loaf. "So long."

  "So long--" sang out the other, and Dorothy heard him cross the porchand thump down the steps.

  She was busily engaged in flexing her stiff fingers. She began to feelbetter, stronger, quite like her old self again. But the news that twomen were badly hurt was anything but comforting. Was Bill one of them?she wondered.

  With an effort, she thrust the thought from her, and drawing forth acomb and a compact from a pocket, she commenced the complicated processof making herself presentable. If she was to make her escape before therest of the gang arrived she must work fast. But not too fast, for everysecond brought back renewed strength to her cramped arms and fingers.

  "How's that?" she asked a few minutes later, replacing comb and compactin her pocket and getting to her feet.

  "Say! You're some looker! I'd never have thought it!"

  Mike pushed back his chair and came toward her, wiping his mouth withthe back of a hand. "Say! You've got Sadie lashed to the silo!"

  "Who's Sadie? Your steady?" she asked, playfully pointing a forefingerat him.

  Mike leaned back against the table. "Never mind Sadie," he retorted."I've got an idea."

  "Spill it."

  "You wanta breeze--get outa here, don't yer?"

  "What a mind-reader!"

  "Cut it, kid!" Mike's tone was tense with earnestness. "That guy youbeen travelin' with is either dead or a cripple. Sposin' you pal up withme. Tell me yer will, kid, and we'll hop it together, now."

  "How about the rest of the gang?"

  "What about 'em. I ain't a regular--just horned in on this deal to makea coupla grand extra."

  "But I'm expensive--" she laughed.

  "I'll say you are! What of it? I make good money. I'm no lousy crook.I've got a real profession."

  "What is it?"

  "I'm a wrestler, kid, and I ain't no slouch at it, either."

  For a moment Dorothy paled. For some reason she seemed taken aback.

  "What's the matter?" he asked.

  Dorothy straightened her lithe figure.

  "Not a thing," she shrugged. Then musingly, "So you're a wrestler, eh?"

  "Sure--what did yer think I was--a gigolo?"

  Dorothy giggled. "Know this hold?" she asked casually.

  And then a startling thing occurred--especially startling to theunsuspecting Mike. There was a flash of brown-sweatered arms, a swirl ofdarker brown hair and Mike felt himself gripped by one elbow and theside of his neck. He knew the hold, had practiced it in gymnasium, butnot for some years. To be seized violently thus aroused the man and itbrought an instinctive muscular reaction which was assisted by a stab ofpain as Dorothy's thumb sank upon the nerve which is called the "funnybone."

  Yes, Mike knew the hold, and how to break it and recover; so as Dorothyswirled him backward onto the table with uncanny strength, he pivoted.Then, clutching her under her arms, he clasped his hands just beneathher shoulder blades, bearing downward with his head against her chest.It was a back-breaking grip, but her slender form twisted in his arms asthough he had been trying to hold a revolving shaft. An arm slipped overhis shoulder, a hand fastened on his wrist and began to tug it slowlyupward with the deliberate strength of a low-geared safe hoist. Then theother hand, stealing around him, encircled the middle finger of hisclasped hand and began to force it back--a jiu jitsu trick. If heresisted, the finger would be broken. To release his clasp would mean aprobable dislocation of the other arm.

  Mike realized that he had to do not only with a phenomenally stronggirl, but with a skilled and practiced exponent of Oriental wrestlingtricks. He was by no means ignorant of this school, and countered theattack in the proper technical way--with utter relaxation for themoment--a supple yielding, followed by a swift offensive. Though he wasbroader of shoulder and heavier, the two were nearly of equal height,possibly of equal strength, but of a different sort. Mike's was slower,but enduring; Dorothy's more that of the panther--swift, high ofinnervation, but incapable of sustained tension.

  Such maneuvers as immediately followed in this curious combat werestartling. Mike felt that he was struggling with an opponent far moreskilled than himself in jiu jitsu, one trained to the last degree in thescientific application of the levers and fulcrums by which minimum forcemight achieve maximum results in the straining of ligaments andparalysis of muscles.

  And to give him his due, for all his bluff about striking her with thegun on the way up to the house, Mike had some decent instincts beneathhis roughness. Whereas he was striving to overcome without permanentlyinjuring the girl, Dorothy had no such qualms. She was fighting withdeliberate intention of putting him out of the running, for at leastsuch time as would permit her to carry out her plans for escape.

  But for a time Mike's efforts were purely defensive, his object to savehimself from disgraceful defeat. What would the gang say if she bestedhim, a professional wrestler, and make her getaway?

  They fell across the table, shattering the crockery, then pitched off onto the floor with Mike underneath.

  He writhed over on his face and offered an opening for an elbow twistwhich was not neglected. There was an instant when he thought the jointwould go; but he broke the hold by a headspin at the cost of infinitepain.

  Mike had seen the state in which jiu jitsu wrestlers left theirvanquished adversaries. Defeat at this girl's hands would probably leavehim helpless and crippled for three or four hours. It was not a pleasantthought. He would have to hurt her--hurt her badly, if he could.

  He was flat on his face again when suddenly he felt his automatic jerkedfrom its holster and she sprang to her feet.

  "If you move an eyelash," said Dorothy, rather breathlessly, "I'll pullthe trigger!"

  "If you don't drop that rod at once, I'll blow the top of your headoff," declared a dispassionate voice from the doorway.

  Dorothy dropped the gun.