CHAPTER VII

A STRANGE BATTLE

In the meantime the little stewardess, Rosemary Sample, had made her way back to Chicago. During the time Danby Force was having his fortune told she was thinking at intervals of him. She was in her own small room and, as one will, whose mind is not actively engaged in performing a task, she was thinking of many things. Rosemary was, by nature, romantic. Contrary to general opinion, there are few romances between pilots of the air and their lady companions. Pilots, as a rule, are married men with homes they love all the more dearly because of enforced absence from them. Rosemary had been obliged to find romance, if any, from contact with her passengers. And there had been romances of a sort, though none of serious import. She smiled now as she thought of the great banker who more than once had favored her with a smile; of the movie actor, little more than a boy, who had traveled on her ship, once every week for four months. “Such a nice boy,” she whispered. “He—”

Her thoughts broke off. She listened intently. Over her head was clamped a head-set for receiving messages. Her radio was in tune with the sending sets of all her company’s great fleet of airplanes. What message did she expect to receive? Often none in particular. She loved the general chatter of the air. “Plane Number 9 taking off from Chicago to New York.” “Plane Number 34 due in Cheyenne at 9:15, twenty minutes late.” “Plane Number 11 grounded by a storm near Troy, New York.” All this was music to her ears, for was she not part of it all, the great air-transportation system, not of tomorrow, but of today?

Tonight, however, she half expected a personal message. To each of six friends, all stewardesses of the air, she had told what she knew of the dark lady. To each she had said, “If she boards your ship, give my call number and let me know. I’ll be listening till time for sleep.”

The message that for the instant held her attention proved disappointing. It was not for her. So she went on with her dreaming. And in those dreams there frequently appeared two faces—a serious one, Danby Force, and a smiling one, Willie VanGeldt.

“How different they are!” she thought to herself. “And yet, if I am not mistaken each has been, or will be, heir to a large fortune. It seems that even rich people have their own way of living.”

These thoughts did not long hold her fancy. Soon she was dreaming of trips she would make in the future. No, not trips from Chicago to New York, then New York to Chicago. Nothing like that, but long trips into strange places. She’d collect a pocketful of passes and go wandering. She’d catch a ship across the Canadian prairies to Edmonton, take the north going plane and land at last at the mouth of the Mackenzie River on the shore of the Arctic. There she’d play with brown Eskimo babies and tame seals. She would drive dog teams and reindeer, ride in skin-boats and perhaps—just perhaps—hunt polar bear.

When she tired of all this, she’d go flying south through the air, south to Cuba, Panama, Rio and the slow-moving Amazon. Ah yes, this airplane business was quite wonderful, if only you knew how to make the most of it. And she knew. Ah yes, she, Rosemary Sample, knew.

But first there were other matters to be considered. Willie VanGeldt and his badly cared for little flivver of the air; Danby Force and his dark lady. And—and—

Well, what of the rest? Rosemary had fallen asleep.

She awoke a half hour later and remained so just long enough to remove the head-set, shut off her radio, slip out of her day clothes and into her dream robes. Then again she fell fast asleep.

The charming little gypsy child who, in her bright colored dress and purple headdress looked more like an animated doll than a child, played little part in the bit of life drama played at the crest of the mountain by Petite Jeanne and her friends until, after breakfast of bacon, toast and delicious coffee, the members of the party left the hunting lodge to wend their way up the mountainside.

They were approaching the skyline landing field. A sharp, bleak wind, whispering of approaching winter, cut at their cheeks and tore away at the broken and twisted fir trees that made up the advance guard of timberline.

The little gypsy girl was in the lead. Of a sudden she paused and, pointing excitedly, exclaimed, “See! Teddy bears! And do look! They are alive! One of them stuck his tongue out at me!”

The older members of the party did not share the little girl’s happy animation. To their consternation they discovered two grizzly bear cubs half hidden among the rocks not a dozen paces away.

“Come!” said Madame, seizing the child’s hand. There was a quaver of fear in her voice.

“But why?” The child Vida’s round face suddenly took on a sober look. “They are pretty bears. And they are alive. I know they are.”

Jeanne too knew they were alive, and Danby Force knew. They also realized that bear-cub twins usually had a mother close by, and a mother bear spelled trouble.

“We—we’ve got to get out of here!” Danby’s words were low, but tense with emotion. The airplane was still a quarter of a mile away.

“Come!” Madame voiced a sharp command as the child hung back. Next moment the child found herself on Danby’s shoulder, and they were all hurrying away toward their plane.

Jeanne’s heart had gone into a tailspin. Were they going to make it? Was the mother bear close at hand, or had she gone some distance in her search for food?

One glance back gave Jeanne the answer. “Run! Run!” She uttered the words before she thought them.

Instantly they sprang into wild flight.

Bears are swift runners. This mother was no exception. Had someone been standing upon a rock overlooking the scene, he might have discovered that the bear, almost at a bound, had shortened the distance between herself and the fleeing ones by half. He would have opened his eyes in sheer terror as he saw her, mouth open, tongue lolling out, white teeth gleaming, gaining yard by yard until it seemed her breath would burn the sturdy gypsy woman’s cheek.

Jeanne led the procession. Danby Force came next. Madame, unaccustomed to running, lagged behind.

Danby heard the beast’s hoarse panting. What was to happen? He had no weapon. Yes, one, if it might be called that—a six-foot stick. This stick was very hard and stout, sharpened at one end. He had used it as an Alpine staff. As Jeanne reached the plane he threw the gypsy child into her hands; then swinging about, he sprang to Madame’s assistance. He was not a moment too soon. The irate beast was all but upon her.

At sight of this one who dared to turn and face her, the bear paused, reared herself upon her haunches and, for a space of ten seconds, stood there, glaring, snarling, frothing at the mouth.

The respite was brief. It was enough to permit Jeanne to drag her foster mother into the plane.

Danby’s thought as he turned to face the bear had been that he might set the stick at such an angle as to bring it into contact with the bear’s ribs as she charged. He had heard of hunters practicing this trick. In the end his courage failed him. Seeing his chance he dropped the stick, sprang for the plane, fell through the opening then slammed the door after him.

“Safe!” he breathed thickly. “But is the battle over? Perhaps it has but begun. She—she could wreck this plane.”

“Oh my poor Dragon Fly!” Jeanne groaned. The great beast hurled herself against the stout door with such a shock as set the whole ship to quivering.

Consternation was written on every face but one in that small cabin. And why not? If their plane were wrecked, what then? Danby Force was in a hurry to get away. Every moment counted. The happiness of an entire community was at stake. Then too the breath of winter was in the air. At any moment a wild blizzard, sweeping in from the north, might send snow whirling into every crack and cranny of the mountain. Burying trails, filling canyons with fathomless depths of snow, it might shut them away from all the outside world.

In spite of this, one face was beaming, one pair of sturdy legs were hopping about in high glee. The gypsy child’s joy knew no bounds. “Now there will be a fight!” she screamed. “The big Dragon Fly has knives on his nose. They are very sharp. They whirl round and round. You cannot see them. The big bear cannot see. The big Dragon Fly will bite the big bear. He will roll down dead!”

Listening to this wild chatter, Danby Force received a sudden inspiration.

“Jeanne, start your motor,” he said in as quiet a tone as he could command. “She may attack the propeller. If she does, goodbye bear and goodbye propeller. I don’t think she will. We’ll have to risk it.”

With lips drawn in a straight white line, Jeanne took her place at the wheel, then set the motor purring.

All prepared for a second lunge at the offending box that held her fancied enemies, the bear paused to listen.

Then, with a suddenness that was startling, the motors let out a roar.

“Good!” screamed Vida, the gypsy child. “The big Dragon Fly shouts at the bear. Now she will run away.”

The bear did not run away. Instead, she turned half about to look away to the rocky ridge where her cubs were hiding. Then it was that Danby had one more brilliant idea.

“Jeanne,” he shouted in the little French girl’s ear, “wheel your plane about, then start taxiing slowly toward those cubs.”

Jeanne’s fingers trembled as she grasped one control after another, to set her plane to do Danby’s bidding. “What will be the result?” she was asking herself. Her great fear was that the mother bear would leap at the propeller. She had no desire to kill this mother, nor did she wish to lose her propeller.

To Jeanne the result was astonishing. No sooner had the “giant insect,” all made of metal, started toward the rocks than the mother bear, fearing no doubt for the safety of her children, started to beat its time.

“A race!” Vida shouted. “Goody! A race! And the big Dragon Fly will win!”

She was a greatly disappointed child when, after following the bear for a short distance, the plane swung round, increased its speed, went circling about the narrow landing field; then at Danby’s shout, “UP!”, left the ground to go sailing away among the clouds.

“Well,” Danby sighed as he settled back beside Jeanne, “we are out of that.”

“Yes,” Jeanne sighed happily. “We are out, and the big Dragon Fly is safe!”