“Wait! Here it comes again,” whispered Amy.
“Come and find me! Help! I am a prisoner! The red barn and the silo with the two fallen trees.”
How many times this was repeated the girls did not know. Suddenly something cluttered up the airways—some sort of interference—and the mystery of the ether died away. No matter what Jessie did to the tuning coil she could not bring that strangely broadcasted message back to their ears.
“What do you know about that?” demanded Amy, breathlessly.
“Why—why,” murmured her chum, “we don’t know much of anything about it. Only, I am sure that was a girl calling. It was a youthful voice.”
“And I feel that it is Bertha Blair!” exclaimed Amy. “Oh, Jessie, we must do something for her.”
“How can we? How can we find her?”
“A red barn with a silo and two fallen trees. Think of it! Did you ever see a place like that when you have been riding about the country?”
“I—nev-er—did!” and Jessie shook her head despondently.
“But there must be such a place. It surely is not a hoax,” said Amy, although at first she had thought it was a joke. “And there is another thing to mark, Jess.”