Dorothy Dixon Solves the Conway Case

“And good luck,” added Dorothy, switching on her flash.

“Good night, both of you – see you in the morning.”

He watched their light travel into the orchard and turned back to the empty house.

Dorothy and Bill reached the rear wall of the orchard and came to a stop. Although the storm had passed and with it the driving rain, heavy cloud formations obscured the stars.

“Better hop over the fence, Dorothy,” said Bill, “then I’ll pass these containers across to you. Gee whiz! It sure is some black night. You came up this way, didn’t you?”

“Yep.” Dorothy’s voice came from the other side where her light was flashing. “Hand over the cans. That’s right.”

Bill joined her and picked up his load again.

“The ground slopes down to the valley from here,” she said. “Drops would be a better word, I guess. It goes down like the side of a roof. Watch your step! This wet grass is slippery as ice.”

“I’ve found that out,” said Bill, sitting down suddenly. “Which way is that woodlot trail from here?” He got to his feet. The tins had saved him from a bad tumble.

“Off to the right – down in the valley.”

“Then let’s steer off that way. Take this hill on the oblique. It’s easier walking. By the way, which side of the river have you got the bus parked?”

“River? What river? I didn’t know there was one.”

“Well, there is. Stone Hill River, it’s called. If you didn’t cross it going up to Stoker’s house, the plane must be on this side.”

“You’ve got a master mind,” she retorted and her light went out.

“What’s the matter?”

“Followed your example, and sat down.”

The light flashed on again.

“Aren’t hurt, are you?”

“Don’t be personal,” she laughed. “How did you know there was a river down in the valley?”

“Why, I brought a map of the Reservation with me – studied it on the way over while Terry drove. We’d never have found that dirt road Stoker’s house is on otherwise. Part of it is really in the Reservation, you see. The concrete road from Poundridge Village that runs to South Salem parallels it about a quarter of a mile to the east.”

“Route 124,” said Dorothy, walking carefully for fear of slipping again. “I know that road. Ever been in the Reservation, Bill?”

“No – have you?”

“When I was a little girl, we used to drive over, for picnics sometimes. I don’t remember much about it, though, except that it’s a terribly wild place – all rocks and ridges and forest. It covers miles. The state has cut trails and keeps them open, otherwise the woods have been left in their virgin state.”

“There are cabins, too, the map calls them shelters,” Bill informed her. “The state rents them to camping parties. Well, it’s quite wild enough to suit me right here. How are you making out?”

Dorothy was leading the way with her light.

“Fine, thanks. I’m on the level again.”

“Glad to hear that you are,” chuckled Bill.

“Silly! I mean I’m on fairly level ground again. And look what I’ve found.”

Her light flashed to the left and came to rest on the wreck of a seven passenger closed car.

“Good enough!” exclaimed Bill. “Those thugs won’t do any more riding in that bus. See how the car smashed that big tree – it must have torn down the hill like greased lightning!”

They deposited their gasoline tins on the grass and inspected the mass of twisted metal more closely.

“Hello!” ejaculated Dorothy. “Someone’s been here before us.”

“How do you figure that?”

“The license plates have been removed. I know they were on the car when I sent it down here. I was in such a rush I forgot to take the number, worse luck!”

“Too bad – now we won’t be able to trace the owner.”

“Oh, yes, we will. Unless we’ve got an unusually clever mind bucking us, I’ll bet we can trace it through the factory number and the number of the engine. Give me a hand, Bill. Let’s get the hood up.”

“Master mind number two,” grunted Bill when Dorothy’s flash was turned on the motor. “Him and me both, eh? The number plate has been removed, and the one on the engine chiseled off. Those lads must have had a lovely time doing it, with their hides full of salt.”

Dorothy switched off her light with a click.

“They never came down here, in their condition,” she said decisively. “It must have been somebody else – probably the man who is back of them – or others of that gang.”

“Old Lewis?”

“I don’t know. Of course, he himself couldn’t have done this – ”

“Yes, he’s a bit too old to come traipsing down to this valley all alone in the dark.”

“Too bad we’ve showed our light on the hill and around here just now,” she said slowly.

“You think they may still be in the offing?”

“I hope not. Chances are they don’t know about the plane.”

“You’d better go back to the house,” he advised. “I can lash two of these tins together and sling them over my shoulder. If there’s going to be a shindy, you’ll be better off up the hill with Terry.”

“Thanks a lot,” said Dorothy. “If there’s going to be trouble, we’ll go it together. Anyway, you’d never be able to find the trail to the woodlot in the dark. It’s great of you to suggest carrying on without me, but it just can’t be done.”

“You sure are a good sport, Dorothy.” Bill picked up his tins. “Where do we go from here?”

“Follow me. And the less noise we make, the better.”

With Bill close on her heels, she led across the clearing toward the dark line of trees on their left, winding her way around rocky out-croppings and stunted bushes that made traveling in the dark a difficult proceeding.

“Think you can find the cart road?” she heard him whisper. “It’s black as your hat without the flash.”

“Sure can,” she replied cheerfully. “All we have to do is to turn right at the woods and follow them up the valley until we come to it. Quiet, now – if anybody’s, watching, we may be able to get by them in the dark.”

They had gone another twenty yards or so, when Dorothy stopped suddenly and caught at Bill’s arm.

“There’s somebody behind that big rock to the left!” she whispered fiercely. “I’m sure I saw something move.”

“You sure did, young lady,” announced a gruff voice close to their right. “Tell your girl friend not to make a fuss, Mr. Conway. My men are all around you.”

A tall figure, hardly more than a blur in the darkness, stepped from behind a tree and came toward them.

Chapter VII

RAVEN ROCKS

Bill Bolton dropped one of the gasoline tins he was carrying and grasping the other with both hands, hurled its heavy bulk at the stranger. The tin caught the man full in the chest.

As he staggered back, Dorothy felt herself seized from behind. A quick twist and pull sent her antagonist hurtling off to the right. It was not for nothing she had put in long hours mastering the complicated throws and holds of jiu jitsu, that strenuous art of Japanese wrestling.

She freed herself in time to see Bill crash his fist into the face of a third man.

“Come on!” he yelled, and they raced for the line of trees.

But their troubles were not over yet. Straight ahead and directly in their path, another dark figure was leaping toward them. There was no time to dodge – to swerve. Bill dove at the man, stopping him short and bringing him to the ground with a clean tackle just above his knees. The force of contact was terrific. For the fraction of a second neither the tackler nor his opponent moved. Then as Dorothy, trembling with excitement, bent over them, Bill scrambled to his feet.

“Are you hurt, Bill?” The girl’s voice was breathless with concern.

“No – only winded – ” he gasped. “Be all right – in a minute.”

Dorothy gripped him by the arm and they trotted forward again, gradually increasing their speed as Bill regained his breath. From behind them came the calls and angry shouts of their pursuers.

All at once, the inky black blur of the woods loomed before them.

“Keep along the edge of this pasture toward the wood road,” Dorothy whispered quickly. “I’m going to start a false trail. Maybe we can fool them. You get your breath – join you in a minute or two.”

She sprang into the underbrush, crashing over low bushes, snapping dead twigs and branches under foot with all the clatter of a terrified cow in a cane brake. Then the noise stopped as suddenly as it started, and Bill was surprised to hear her light footsteps at his heels.

“I want ’em to think we’re hiding in there,” she explained hurriedly. “Can you run now?”

“You bet!”

They sped along the edge of the wood, spurred by the thought that the ruse would delay their pursuers and perhaps throw them off the trail altogether. From their rear came the sound of a rough voice issuing commands. Men were beating the underbrush, cursing in the darkness.

Both Dorothy and Bill had got their second wind and were running much more easily now. Then Dorothy tripped on the uneven ground and would have fallen had not Bill thrust out a steadying hand.

“Thanks,” she said jerkily as she ran. “Look over my shoulder. Lights back there.”

“Wonder they didn’t use ’em before,” was Bill’s only comment.

Dorothy slowed down to a fast walk and Bill also slackened his pace.

“We must be nearly there,” she panted, “though since we had to drop the gasoline, there doesn’t seem much use hiking over to the plane.”

Bill nodded in the darkness. “Think we’d better get back to the house?”

“Yes; they’ll never see us, especially now that they’ve got their flashlights going – that glare will blind them. I vote we keep on along the valley until we pass the wood road, then swing across this pasture again and up the hill till we strike the road. That will take us back to the Conway place and – ”

“Look!” Bill’s exclamation arrested her, but his warning was unnecessary. Far above, a sudden rift in the clouds brought a full moon into view. The woods, the open pasture and the steep hill down which they had traveled almost blindly a few minutes before were now bathed in clear, silvery light as bright as day. As they dashed forward again, a shout from behind told them they had been seen.

“Stop or we’ll fire!”

“There’s the trail, Bill – it’s our only chance!”

Men were calling to each other behind them and she caught the sound of heavy feet pounding along in their wake. As she and Bill turned into the wood road and sped down its winding stretches under the arch of intertwining boughs, a revolver cracked several times in quick succession. Overhead, the bullets went screaming through the branches.

“Shooting high to scare us,” wheezed Bill. “’Fraid we’re running into a dead end.”

“Maybe not – this moonlight won’t last – clouds too heavy.”

Dorothy wasted no more breath in speech. Her every effort was centered in keeping up with the long legged young fellow who seemed to cover the ground so easily and at such an amazing rate of speed.

Presently they swept out of the wagon-trail and into the glaring moonlight of the woodlot. Shouts and calls from their pursuers but a short distance behind now, lent wings to their feet. At the far end of the open space, Dorothy’s amphibian lay parked where she had left it.

“Not that way!” warned Bill and caught her arm as she started to swing toward the airplane. “Straight ahead!”

There was no time for argument. Dorothy swerved and dashed across the lot, following his lead. Straight ahead lay a narrow belt of woods which ended abruptly in precipitous cliffs towering upward almost perpendicularly for several hundred feet to the top of the ridge. What Bill’s plan might be, she could not guess. Those sheer palisades certainly could not be scaled. What could his objective be? If they turned up or down the valley the enemy would be sure to hear them tracking through the thick underbrush. And there would be no chance of outflanking the pursuit, for the men were between them and the Conway house.

She and Bill were trapped at last – trapped by walls of rock and the encompassing passing ring of the enemy.

They reached the farther edge of the field where a hurried glance behind showed them that the men were plunging out of the wood road. Then the moon, perhaps ashamed of the trouble he had brought them, swam away behind another cloud formation, and once again the world was sunk in darkness.

Bill’s fingers gripped her hand.

“Follow me. Walk carefully and hold your arm before your face. It’s a case of feel our way till we get used to the gloom – and there’s no sense in losing an eye.”

He led onward through the wood and although Dorothy could see nothing but an opaque blackness before her eyes, Bill never hesitated in his stride. With his hand behind his back, he pulled her forward as though guided by an uncanny knowledge of invisible obstructions in their path.

“How do you do it?” she marveled. “Don’t tell me you can actually see to dodge these branches and tree trunks?”

She heard him chuckle.

“Not see– feel. I learned the trick in the Florida swamps last summer. Osceola, chief of the Seminoles, taught me.”

“Oh, yes! He’s a wonder in the woods. How is it done?”

“Tell you sometime. Here we are – at the Stone Hill River. You’ll have to get your feet wetter, I’m afraid, but it’s only a small stream, not deep. We turn right, here.”

“Golly, it’s cold!” Dorothy splashed into the water behind him.

“Brrr – I know it. Lift your feet high or you’ll fall over these boulders. And please try to make as little noise as possible.”

From the direction of the woodlot came a prodigious crashing and threshing. The pursuit had gained the woods.

“Noise!” she said scornfully, floundering along in his wake. “Those thugs can’t hear me – they’re making too much racket themselves. I suppose, Bill, you’re working on a plan, but what it can be is a mystery to me.”

“You mean – where we’re bound for?”

“Yes. We can’t get back to the big pasture and the hill up to Stoker’s house. They’ll head off any play of that kind.”

“I know that. Stand still a minute, I want to listen.”

“But Bill – ”

“Sh – yes, that must be it!”

“Must be what?” There was impatience in Dorothy’s tone.

“The waterfall I was trying to find.”

“You don’t mean to tell me you’re planning to crawl behind a waterfall and hide! Honestly, Bill, I – ”

“Oh, nothing like that,” he answered coolly, “the fall isn’t big enough.”

“Look here, will you please– ”

“All right, calm yourself. We haven’t much time but I guess they’ve lost our trail for the time being. On the way over here in the car, Terry told me something of the lay of the land. He’s crazy about hiking, you know, and mountain climbing. He’s walked all over the reservation and he knows it like his own back yard.”

“Yes, yes, what of it?”

“Well, Terry told me that there is just one possible way to get out of this Stony Hill River Valley on this side. That is, unless one goes a mile or two up or down the valley. There are entrances to the reservation at either end – dirt roads that cross from the concrete turnpike over to this ridge above us.”

“But there is a way out?”

“Yes. A sort of trail up the cliffs. It’s not marked on the map of the reservation. Terry found it last summer. Pretty tough going even in daylight, I guess.”

“But how on earth can we find it in the dark?”

“Terry told me that a smaller stream flowed into this creek at just about this point, and that it drops into the river gully by way of a low waterfall. It was the sound of that fall I was listening for. Hear it just over there to the right?”

“What’s the next move?”

“We turn our backs on the waterfall, and cross this stream. The trail starts in a kind of open chimney in the foot of the cliffs. The map calls these young precipices Raven Rocks, by the way. If you think it is too dangerous, we can let those chaps catch us. They’ll probably let us go soon enough. They’re trailing the wrong party, though they haven’t realized it. What do you say?” Bill’s tone was non-committal.

“I know, they took you for Stoker Conway. But don’t you see, Bill – ” her tone was firm, “they must not find out their mistake. While they’re tracking us, they will leave the Conway house alone, and that’ll give Terry and Stoker a chance to hunt for the book and the letter.”

Bill’s reply was flippant, but there was a note of relief in his voice. “Chance to get a good night’s rest, you mean!”

“They’re not going to bed – ” Dorothy pulled her companion toward the opposite bank of the stream. “Terry told me so.”

“Thank goodness we’re out of that,” she exclaimed a moment later as they climbed the steep side of the gully. “If there’s anything colder than a trout stream, I’ve yet to find it. I’m soaked nearly to my waist – how about you?”

“Ditto. We’ll be warm enough presently – just as soon as we hit Raven Rocks.”

“Wish we had raven’s wings – we could use ’em!”

“Listen!” Bill stopped suddenly in his tracks.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered – “reminds me of old man Lewis!”

“They’re coming this way. I guess they got tired of beating the woods for us. Take my hand again. We’ve got to find that chimney.”

They went perhaps ten paces more when Bill brought up short again.

“Here’s the cliff – wait where you are – be back in a minute.”

He drew his fingers from her clasp and she heard him move off. Standing in utter darkness she could hear the men splashing toward them along the shallow river bed, and still others tramping through the woods with flashing lights that moved nearer every second.

Not once did her alert mind question the advisability of trying to scale Raven Rocks on a coal-black night. Not once did she waste a thought on the danger of that perilous enterprise. Dorothy Dixon never counted the cost when it was to help a friend. Her entire attention was centered on their pursuers. Who they were, or why they sought George and his letter were points of little consequence now. All that mattered was that they be kept on their search for as many hours as possible.

Presently they would come abreast and their lights would pick her out at the foot of the cliff. The sopping skirt of her frock sagged about her knees, dank and clammy beneath her slicker. She gathered it in her hands and squeezed what water she could from it, more for want of something to do than for any other reason.

No longer could she hear Bill stumbling about. What could have happened to him? The lights were only a dozen yards away now. In another minute or two their glare would pick her up for a certainty.

For the first time that evening, Dorothy became fidgety. Bill had told her to remain here. That was an order, and must be obeyed. But – oh! if Bill would only come!

Chapter VIII

THE CHIMNEY

Then on her right she heard a soft rustling, immediately followed by a low call:

“Dorothy, where are you?”

The words brought her joyous relief. “Coming!” she replied in a cautious whisper, and with her left hand feeling the almost sheer wall, she hurried toward Bill’s voice.

From the darkness he grasped her hand and spoke close to her ear. “I’ve located the chimney, Dorothy.”

“Good! I was getting worried. Is it far away?”

“No. Only a few steps.”

“What kept you so long, Bill?”

“Had to find the rope.”

“What rope?”

They were moving now in the direction from which he had come.

“The one Terry hid in a niche of the rocks. Talk of hunting needles in a – ”

“But do we need it?”

“Couldn’t risk the climb without it. You’ve never done any mountain scaling – I have.”

“Well, what’s the dope?”

They had stopped and Bill took her arm. “Here – let me knot this end around your waist. First, ditch the slicker, though. You won’t be able to climb in that. I’ll take care of it for the present.”

He took her coat and she felt him make the rope secure.

“I’m tied to the other end,” he told her.

“But what’ll you do about my slicker, Bill? If we ever get to the top of the ridge, I’ll need it.”

Bill was busy and didn’t answer for a moment. Then – “Your coat and mine are rolled up and lashed to my back,” he explained. “I’m going first. I know more about this kind of thing than you, and my reach is longer. May have to pull you up the hard places. Don’t be afraid to put weight on the rope when I give the word. But if you slip – yell.”

He did not say that a slip on her part would in all probability pull him with her to crash on the rocky ground below. Bill Bolton did not believe in being an alarmist, but she understood just the same.

“Thanks, I’ll do my best, Bill.”

“Start climbing.” His voice came from above her head and she felt a jerk on the rope. “This chimney is a fissure in the cliff, and it slants slightly upward, thank goodness. Reach above and get handholds on the rock projections first. Then pull yourself up, until you find a foothold. When you put your weight on your feet, press your legs against the side walls. That will keep you from slipping. Take it easy and rest as much as you like. This kind of thing can only be done slowly.”

“I’m coming,” Dorothy said quietly and she pressed her body into the niche she could not see.

“That’s the stuff! I’ll rest while you climb. And while you’re doing it, I’ll keep the rope taut and out of your way.”

Dorothy was silent. Groping in the darkness above her head, her fingers came in contact with a rough projection. It was little more than a small knob in the rocky side of the chimney, but she managed to get a firm grip on it with her right hand. Her left found another projection slightly lower on the other side. She exerted all her strength and slithered upward.

Drawing her knees up she sought rests for her feet on the sides, but the rock seemed absolutely smooth. For an instant she was at a loss. Then remembering Bill’s advice, she pressed her legs against the chimney walls and pushed.

That her body moved upward so easily came as a surprise. It was hard to realize that sheer walls would give such a purchase. Almost at once her shoulders were above the hand holds and she could raise herself by pressing downward until her left knee was planted on the same projection that she had gripped with that hand.

Braced firmly against the rock, she looked for higher hand holds, found them and soon was able to get her left foot on to the place where her knee had been. With her weight on that foot, it became a simple matter to plant her right in the opposite niche. Straightening her body, she lay forward against the slanting cliff and rested.

“Go ahead, Bill,” she called in a low voice as soon as she could speak.

“O.K., kid,” came the prompt reply from overhead. “On my way.”

Pressed against the wet rockface she could hear the scrape of his boots and the heavy breathing of muscular strain. Her own thin soled shoes were sodden from the wet of the woods and pasture. Worse still, the leather was bursting at the sides. And this climb would probably complete their ruin. By the time she reached the top, they would be beyond walking in at all. Never again would she board her plane shod in pumps.

“Come along!”

Bill interrupted her soliloquy, and using the same tactics as before she continued to climb.

The first drops of rain she had felt at the bottom of the cliff now increased to a steady downpour. Dorothy became soaked to the skin. Water from her leather helmet ran down her forehead, forcing her to keep her eyes closed most of the time.

The cliff, wet and slippery from the preceding storm, was soon slick as a greased slide. Twice she lost her foothold and would have fallen had not her sharp cry warned Bill in time. How he managed to stick to his precarious perch and bear her weight on the rope until she found a grip on the rock again was more than she could fathom. Each time she slipped her heart almost stopped beating. And the horrible emptiness at the pit of her stomach made her feel deathly ill. But she never wholly lost her nerve. Climbing, then resting, she kept steadily on.

But her strenuous exertions and the almost continuous strain on muscles ordinarily little used was wearing down her vitality. Would this terrible climbing in the dark never end, she thought. Her whole body ached, her arms and legs felt heavy as lead. Wearily she raised her right hand seeking another hold. When she felt Bill’s fingers grasp her own, she started. The shock very nearly caused her to lose balance.