The Challengers (20 page)

"Thank you, no," said Melissa haughtily, withdrawing her gaze from the girl and sitting back in the seat. Then she turned to Hollister and spoke with as much dignity as she could summon:

"Mr. Hollister, I'll be grateful if you will just let me out in the next village you come to. I feel that I'm intruding and it would be better for me to go home by train."

As she spoke, she remembered that this must be the emergency of which Brady had been fearful. She felt that she must get away from these dreadful people at once.

Hollister's answer was to step on the gas and send the car flying on the faster.

There was a stubborn look on his face, albeit veiled by the half grin as he spoke: "You cut it out, too! This is a party, not a sparring match. Just hold on a little while longer and the fun will begin. Here's where we stop for a friend of mine! You'll get rid of your grouch when you have a little attention of your own." And suddenly he dashed into a deeply wooded road that was barely a trail, presently arriving at a little cabin in the wilderness.

A young man in city attire, looking strangely out of place, stood on the crude porch awaiting them. Beside him on the wooden platform lay a case of bottles.

As the car drew up before the house, the young man stooped and lifted this case, swinging it into the trunk, springing in, and throwing his overcoat over the case. The car started almost instantly again with such a lurch that it threw the stranger over into Melissa's lap. In horror she tried to move over, reaching out to unfasten the door. Obviously this would be her place to get out if she could manage it, but it was too late. The car was tearing along at a fearful rate of speed now. Straight through the woods they were going, crashing into little saplings and laying them low, grazing a rock on one side with a fearful grinding and scraping of metal, rocking over a log across the path. There absolutely was no possibility of getting out now.

Melissa sat back white and frightened, holding to the side of the car. The young stranger whom they called "Hen," presumably Henry, sprawled all over the backseat and took no pains to keep to his own side of the car.

"Better shy outta this road," he muttered to Hollister, as he lurched back into place again after a fearful jouncing. "They warned me there were state cops around here. Better cross the creek ahead there and get outta the state."

His utterance was thick, and Melissa began to be terribly frightened. Before she had felt only distaste; now it was something that unnerved her.

"That's all right," said Hollister carelessly. "We're just going to sit by in the trees here a few minutes and have a little drink. All hands'll feel better after that. So, Sylvia?"

He drew up the car sharply and was about to stop his engine, when in the sudden lull there came the sound of a motorcycle in the distance, followed by a shot, sharp and terrifying.

Melissa cringed and thought of screaming for help, but the car lurched forward again so suddenly that it threw her to her knees, and she had all she could do to get herself back in the seat before her companion on the backseat fell on top of her.

"Whad I tell ya?" said Henry thickly.

Then all at once Melissa knew that he had turned his attention to her. He was looking her straight in the face with a pair of bleared eyes that could scarcely focus, and the realization came to her that he was drunk. Melissa was not used to seeing people in that state. She never remembered to have been so near to a drunken person in her life before. The idea almost paralyzed her.

"Hello, Beautiful!" he said, bringing his unpleasant face with its loathsome breath nearer to her own. "Hello, Beautiful! Where'd they dig you up from? Kiss me, Beautiful!" And he brought his fulsome red lips close to hers with that sickening breath of alcohol pouring into her nostrils.

As his lips touched hers, Melissa screamed; not just an ordinary scream, it was a shriek that echoed piercingly through the woods, and almost at once they heard another shot and the rumble of the motorcycle nearer by.

Hollister turned in his seat with a scowl that transformed him into something like a demon.

"You shut up, you little devil, do you hear?" he growled at Melissa. "If you make another sound, I'll gag and bind you, understand? Now, that'll be about all we'll hear from anybody just now. They're onto us. I don't reckon you wantta get dragged into court, do you? Yes, you, Melissa Challenger. That's where we'll all land if you give us any more of your mouth right now. This is a mess! Shut up till we get out of it."

A road suddenly appeared to the left, and Hollister almost upset the car turning into it. They tore along at such a rate of speed that Melissa felt that every moment would be the last, and all she could do was to close her eyes, grip her hands together, and try to keep from bumping all over the car.

Henry, meantime, was growing sleepy, and when at last they turned into a reasonably smooth road and went skimming through space in a quieter manner, he suddenly toppled over sideways with his head on Melissa's shoulder and declared he was going to sleep.

Melissa tried to slip out from under his weight but found to her horror that he only slid down more firmly whenever she stirred. All she could do was to turn her face as far away from his as possible and hide her hands down in the cushion next to the side of the car. But the heavy, unpleasant head continued to rest inertly upon her unwilling shoulder.

The sky was darkening now. There seemed to be a storm coming up. The horror of the way grew worse every minute. The girl Sylvia--was this the same Sylvia who had attended her brother on his fateful ride two nights ago?--reached back under the overcoat and took a bottle from the case. She drank from it and passed it to Hollister, who took a long pull before he gave it back. Were the terrors of the way to be made still more alarming by the drunken driver? What would her mother think now if she could see her riding along at this pace with a drunken man's head upon her shoulder! And another drunken man driving? What did God mean by letting this awful thing happen to her?

Suddenly it came to her that He hadn't let it happen. She had walked straight into it with her eyes open. She knew in her heart that her mother would not have approved of her going, knew it when she started and just wanted to go for the experience of going by herself in a great car like that with rich people.

Poor little trembling Melissa, hating herself and her surroundings, weary and hungry and frightened to the last degree.
Oh God
, she began to say over and over again in her heart.
Oh God! Help me. Help me! Help! Help! Help!

The night began to come down, and the clouds grew thicker. The man who slept on her shoulder grew heavier, as he sank deeper in sleep. She tried to shake him off again, but all to no purpose. She thought of appealing to Hollister to help her, but the two on the front seat were drinking heavily now, and she dared not draw their attention to herself. She began to think of herself as a coward, too. She dared not speak nor stir lest she make her plight even worse. She had read awful stories of things like this happening, but it had never seemed possible that they could happen to her.

The storm was gathering force now. Lightning trickled through a cloud and cut it in a bright half straight ahead of them above a mountain. Thunder rolled in majesty all around them. Melissa never had been fond of thunderstorms. She liked to be under shelter when they were going on. But now she thought how happy and safe she would feel if she could just get out there alone in the fast-coming darkness. Wind and rain and lightning, but nothing as terrifying as the hostile drunken company inside this luxurious car. She never would want to ride in a fine car again. She was cured forever.

Darkness had really come at last and hidden some of the perils of the way except when a sudden flash lit up the world for miles around. The two on the front seat began to talk about eating.

"We'll find a good roadhouse and have dinner and a little dance!" said Hollister genially and tipsily, turning around to rouse Henry. "Say, Hen! Oh, I say, Henry Brille, wake up! We're going to stop at the Holly Whistle roadhouse and whoop it up. Sit up! We're almost there!"

Melissa crouched fearfully in her corner and wondered what she should do, wondered what new horror would appear when this man woke up.

He stretched and turned. Oh, if she could only get away from under his head so that he would not know he had been sleeping on her shoulder. It seemed as if she never could bear herself again if he knew that she had had to sit there and bear it ignominiously.

She writhed away from him and slid to the floor of the car as he lurched down the full width of the seat, and there she crouched until he finally roused to Hollister's call and straightened up, rubbing his eyes.

To her great relief he did not seem to realize what had been going on at all. He sat back, relaxed in his corner, and Melissa slid silently back into her place as far from him as the seat would allow. He had for the moment forgotten her.

They were turning into a long lane now, with great stone pillars at either side bearing balls of electric light. The spirits of her companions roused to song, and they drove up the hill, around the lit curving way, with a boisterous round of what they seemed to think was music. They also handed another bottle around, and Henry tried to put it to her lips in turn. Melissa took it in the dark and put it on the floor, holding it with her foot. She was afraid to protest lest they might hold her and pour some down her throat.

And now they were stopping in front of a long low house that looked like a farmhouse built over. Its porches were rimmed with garish red and yellow electric lightbulbs, and its windows and doors were well darkened. She could hear Hollister telling Sylvia about a raid that had been made here once when he was present and how he escaped without being caught. She shrank back into her corner and wondered what she could do. Would there be any chance to get away? They had come through a village a few miles back. Oh, if she could but get back there. She would rather walk every step of the way home than ride another mile in this awful car with these terrible people.

Trembling so that she could scarcely walk, she obeyed their command to get out.

"Come on, Beautiful!" said Henry, drawing her reluctant hand within his arm and guiding her uncertainly toward the steps. "We'll show you a good time!"

It was dark close by the steps. One had to go slowly and look down to make sure where to walk. There were people coming out as they came up. It became necessary to go single file to pass one another. Suddenly Melissa jerked her arm out of the clasp that held it and slipped behind her escort, just as two men and a woman came noisily down the steps, brushing past her.

Instantly she darted into the hemlocks that grew close to the steps, slid behind them in the dark, and held her breath. Oh, if she could only manage to evade them.

Henry had gone up two steps without her. Now she could hear him pawing around in the dark trying to find her, grabbing the arm of a stranger who was coming out. There were angry words, and Henry turned and went down two steps again calling, "Beautiful! Beautiful! Where are you?"

Fear lent courage to Melissa and strength to her numb feet. She made a quick plunge into the blackness behind where she stood, not knowing it if were brush or briar or a heap of stones. But it proved to be only shrubs that gave way before her touch, and like a rabbit in the grass she passed along the end of the house, touching it lightly with her fingertips as she went, to keep her direction, for it was very dark. She could not see at all, until she came to the corner at the back near the kitchen. There was a light here from an open window, and she could hear the clatter of dishes, the clink of bottles among the ice.

On she plunged recklessly, holding herself tense, stepping as lightly as she could in this unknown darkness. She rounded the corner and came to the latticed porch. There were people inside, waiters dishing ice cream, carrying trays of bottles. She must not draw their attention. She must not get into the line of the light.

She was glad she had had the presence of mind to grasp her little overnight bag when she knew she would have to get out of the car. She did not care so much for the bag or the things in it as to have gotten it away from the car. The thought of that terrible Sylvia handling her few simple things with a sneer seemed like a pinprick to her thoughts as she went more slowly, step by step, cautiously, lest some of those waiters should hear her. There was a big dog, too, chained by the back door. He had risen now, and his hair seemed to be bristling on his supple neck. His eyes glared toward her like baleful lamps. Ah! She must skirt that garden patch. It would not do to get that dog to barking.

And now she could hear Henry calling louder.

"Beautiful! I say! Where are you?"

There was a stirring as of pursuing feet toward the front of the house, and Melissa made another wild plunge off behind a shadowing building, an old chicken house perhaps. She slid around behind it till she found a fence, through which she crept into a field, and then hearing voices behind her, she started to run and fell headlong down a little hill in the deep grass!

She dared not rise but lay there in the darkness, with the wet cool grass against her face, the tears slipping hot and big down her cheeks.

She heard them come out somewhere over there by the building and call her, and she lay perfectly still with closed eyes, scarcely breathing for a long, long time, till they seemed to give up and go back again. She could hear their voices dying away in the distance, and then a far door closed and there was only dim chatter of jazz by an orchestra, the clink of glasses, and the voices of servants.

A long time afterward, for she was afraid someone was still lurking out there watching for a movement, she cautiously stirred and little by little crept painfully down that hill across the field and by a wide skirting reached the road.

She could not be sure, but she thought that it was the same road by which they had just come to the house. Now, if she could follow it and hide in the foliage whenever a car came down that way, she might sometime in the course of the night find that village again through which they had passed and perhaps find a train. Certainly she was justified now in using Mr. Brady's money, for no more alarming emergency could possibly be conjured than that she was now in.