“Aw, that’s it, eh? Flew yourself. The boss said you’d probably try that fool trick.”
“What was the matter with the girl doing it—she’d have—”
“Shut your fool mouth. Get her out and be quick about it, you think she’s so wonderful—” Mrs. Pollzoff swore roundly.
“She’d have done it quicker. It’s only fool’s luck that you didn’t have a smash-up.”
“Get her out—” Mrs. Pollzoff stamped her feet furiously.
“Did you kill her?” One of the men came close to the woman, and his tone was threatening. “You’ll get yours from the boss if she’s hurt; he needs her in this business and you had your orders.”
“I tell you she’s all right, only asleep. Get her out. We’re both nearly dead.”
But Roberta didn’t wait to hear anything more. She threw her weight against the door, jumped out under the shelter of Nike’s wing, and leaped into the dense fog. Instantly three men who had been coming around the plane, sprang toward her. There followed a wild scramble of feet as the girl ran desperately from the scene, but the chute interfered, although she tried hard to get out of it as she fled.
“Bring up some of those torches,” one of the men bellowed. “She can’t get far.”
Immediately a dozen firebrands were being brandished through the fog, in a moment her footprints were discovered and panting men rushed in pursuit. The rough ground, the unwieldy chute, and her own weariness were almost too much for the fleeing girl, but she pushed on as fast as she could, hoping to find some place into which she could dodge, and trying to plant her feet on rocks which would leave no tell-tale trail. It was amazing that she managed to keep going so long, but suddenly the leader of the men caught sight of her.