Janet Hardy in Hollywood

He mopped his forehead with a large bandana and scanned the heavens. The sun was blazing down and shortly the temperature in the little bowl they were in would be stifling.

“We’d better get out of here,” he said.

“But Janet? Where can she be? We’ve followed the trail but it’s simply vanished.” The questions tumbled from Helen’s lips.

“I wish I could answer them all,” said Curt. “Maybe I can later.”

They rode back to the ghost town at a brisk trot and Curt cornered Henry Thorne and told him of their discovery. Then he led a searching party of half a dozen into the hills back of the town while the other members of the company assembled for the day’s work under the boiling sun.

Helen attempted to join the searching party, but was told it was no place for a girl so she went with the company out into the desert where the airport had been laid out and a dummy hangar erected.

Shooting went ahead on schedule until just before noon when someone shouted an alarm and they turned toward the ghost town. The remaining houses were rapidly being consumed by flames and before they could reach them there was no hope of saving anything, including a number of valuable cameras, sound equipment and hundreds of dollars worth of costumes.

Henry Thorne fairly blazed for he knew now that a deliberate effort was being made to stop the production of “Kings of the Air.”

But before they had recovered from that disaster, another befell with startling swiftness. There was a dull boom from the valley and they turned to see a fast, black plane swinging over the set on the desert. A cloud of dust was rising near the hangar and as they watched, another explosion echoed in their ears.

“That guy’s bombing the set!” yelled a cameraman, leaping into a car.

The third bomb was a direct hit and the hangar collapsed. Over to the right were half a dozen planes which were being used in the picture and the unknown flyer turned his attention toward these.

“If he blows them up, we can figure a hundred thousand dollar loss right there,” groaned Helen’s father.

But the unknown flyer had reckoned without the resourcefulness of Curt Newsom. The lanky cowboy, riding hard by in the hills, had heard the first explosion and the roar of an airplane motor. They saw him flash out into the desert at a mad gallop.

“He’s crazy; someone stop him!” cried Henry Thorne, but there was no one near enough to reach Curt.

Helen saw him drag a rifle from the scabbard on his saddle. The flyer was apparently disdainful of the lone rider for he dropped another bomb. It missed the planes by only the narrowest of margins and the pilot of the black ship swung around for another try. He swooped toward Curt and waved jeeringly as Curt leaped from the saddle.

They were too far away to hear the report of the rifle but they could see the little puffs of smoke from the muzzle. Suddenly the black plane heeled sharply, its motor sputtering. The pilot shot over the side, his chute billowing out and Curt, jumping back into the saddle, rode like mad toward the hills.

The plane gyrated uncertainly, then dove toward the ground. It struck with a tremendous explosion as the bombs still aboard let go.

Helen saw Curt whirl back into the valley and sweep down on the flyer, who had landed in a tangle of cord and silk from the parachute. All thought of resistance was gone from the flyer’s mind and the cowboy captured him easily. By the time the others arrived, Curt had the situation well in hand.

“I think a confession out of this guy will solve our troubles,” said the cowboy star as Henry Thorne stared at the flyer.

“What have you got to say for yourself. Who employed you?” demanded the director.

The flyer was sullen. “I’m not talking. I want an attorney.”

Curt rocked back and forth on his heels.

“So you won’t talk?” He grinned, but it was a mirthless grin that struck terror to those who watched. Curt was living in real life the rôle he had played so many times on the screen. With a quick jerk his lariat was free from the saddle and before the flyer knew it, he was in the coils of the rope and his feet had been jerked out from under him.

Curt swung into the saddle, twisted the rope around the saddle horn and looked down on the helpless man.

“Going to talk?”

The captive shook his head.

Curt spoke to his horse and the magnificent sorrel moved ahead slowly, dragging the captive after him.

After bouncing over the desert floor for a rod, the flyer cried for mercy.

“I’ll talk; I’ll talk. Get this rope off quick.”

“And you’ll tell us what you did with that girl last night and where we can find her?”

The captive nodded emphatically and Curt shook the rope loose.

Chapter XXVII

THE SHOWDOWN

When Janet regained consciousness she was aware of a roaring that filled her ears. It was as though a great storm was sweeping down upon her. Then, from the motion, she realized that she was in an airplane. Her head ached terrifically and she made no attempt to move for several minutes.

As her eyes became accustomed to a dim glow of light ahead she could distinguish the figure of a man at the controls in the small cabin they were in.

Janet shifted her weight and the man turned instantly, focusing a flashlight on her.

“Keep still or I’ll crack you again,” he warned and from the fierceness of his voice Janet knew that he would not hesitate to carry out his threat.

The pulse of the motor lessened and she felt the craft sinking, to settle smoothly into a little circle of light. It was then that she learned they were in an autogiro.

Her captor opened the door and ordered her out.

Still with her head throbbing wildly, Janet managed to get out. There was a bad scratch on her left leg that had bled rather freely.

To her anxious questions, the flyer gave only the same answer, “You’ll find out later, maybe.”

Janet was forced to allow her hands to be tied behind her and then was led to a small shelter tent. There was a blanket on the ground and the flyer tossed another over her.

“Don’t make any attempt to escape,” he warned.

The portable electric light which had guided the autogiro down into the basin was snapped off and Janet passed the remainder of the night in desperate anxiety, wondering what was happening back at camp and the meaning of her abduction.

With the coming of dawn she hoped to learn more about the camp, but she was doomed to disappointment for her captor appeared and dropped the canvas fly which covered the front of the tiny tent.

It was well after daylight when she heard another plane approaching. It landed nearby and a few minutes later she heard men’s voices, one of whom she recognized as that of the flyer who had brought her there. Then the plane which had just landed roared away and it was shortly after that when Janet heard a series of booming explosions.

Suddenly her tent flap was jerked roughly aside and her captor, a stocky, heavy-set man with a mass of black hair, ordered her to her feet. Janet struggled to get up, but she was numb from being in one position so long. The man half cuffed her upright and then hurried her toward the autogiro.

The motor of the queer looking plane responded instantly and they rose almost straight out of the valley, which Janet judged must be some distance from Sagebrush. As they gained altitude she looked across the desert. Although it was several miles away, it seemed almost a stone’s throw to Sagebrush, hardly recognizable now with the flames still consuming the few structures left in the village. Janet saw that the set for the desert airport had been destroyed. But what was more important was the swarm of planes which were climbing off the desert floor.

Like angry hornets they were buzzing around. Suddenly one of them shot toward the autogiro and the rest followed. Janet heard her own pilot shouting in anger, but the autogiro was slow and the movie planes were around it almost instantly.

In the foremost was Curt Newsom and Janet felt her blood chill as she saw the rifle in Curt’s hard hands.