with the Swifts.
"What about your family, Amy? I think Bud said you have relations here in New York," Tom inquired.
"Did he?" She smiled and took a bite of her sandwich. "As a matter of fact, that’s why I’d been thinking of moving to the east coast. I hardly ever have a chance to see that branch of Dad’s family."
"Where do they live?"
"Mansburg."
"Just down the highway. Say, maybe we’ve run into them. What’re their names?"
"I always called them Auntie Nonna and Uncle Bun," she replied unhelpfully. "They’re not really my aunt and uncle—I think they’re second cousins, or something. But they’re very sweet old people."
Just then the growing buzz of a plane caused them all to look up. The tiny prop-job, cream-colored with a bright trim, cast its shadow across them, then looped around for a return.
"If that were a Pigeon Special," Sandy commented, "he’d be able to land right on the beach."
The craft approached lazily, low over the water, the whirling haze of its propeller facing them head-on.
"Y’know, there’s this movie…" began Bud, eyes on the airplane. "A guy’s standing out all alone in a cornfield, and this crop-duster plane zeroes in on him…and…"
Tom suddenly gripped Bud’s wrist as he watched the craft through narrowed eyes. His scalp prickled with a sudden sense of impending danger.
"B-Bud—!" gasped Sandy.
"…It really is…a great movie…" Bud’s face had turned white.
Tom leapt to his feet, trying to pull Amy and Bash up with him. "Run! Run for the cave!"
But it was now too late to run. As it drew frighteningly near the island, the plane suddenly swooped down, roaring in so low that the picnickers instinctively dived to the sand. The plane circled sharply and, with an ear-splitting whine, buzzed the beach again.
"If I ever get my hands on that rockhead—" Bud stormed as he leapt to his feet.
"Look out! He’s coming back!" cried Bashalli in terror.
CHAPTER 11
DEATH CHESTS
THIS TIME, as the plane whipped past, it sprayed the beach with a heavy whitish vapor. In a twinkling, the stifling gas began to diffuse over the corner of the island that the girls had found for them.
"Quick! Into the cave!" Tom yelled. "Don’t bother about your clothes—stay away from that gas!" As they scrambled for the low hill where the caves were located, Tom caught Bud’s eye, and the young inventor’s expression was eloquent. Could the white vapor be the deadly neurotoxin?
Hands over their faces, the five picnickers crackled across a blanket of brown pine needles and raced up a short incline. When they reached the cave, Tom and Bud hastily barricaded the entrance with whatever torn-off pine boughs and shrub leaves fell within their reach.
"Tom! Something’s happened to Bashi!" Sandy gasped in a panic-stricken voice.
Her brother’s face went pale as he saw that the dark-haired girl had slumped unconscious on the cave floor. He bounded to her side and knelt down, trying to check her pulse and breathing.
"Oh, what’1l we do?" cried Sandy fearfully.
Tom racked his brain. Suddenly he recalled that one long, sweeping branch of a giant cedar tree brushed against the hillside next to the cave entrance. "Chafe her wrists, sis! Bud, help me!"
The boys edged aside the barrier they had thrown together and ducked outside, holding their breaths. They frantically stripped handfulls of needles from the branch and hastened back into the gloom of the cave, where they gulped-in the cool air as they crushed the needles in their strong fingers. They held the crude mash under Bashalli’s nostrils. As Tom had hoped, the pungent scent revived her.
"Take deep breaths," urged Amy Foger calmly. "But keep lying flat. Don’t be afraid—you’re all right."
"What happened?" she murmured. "Why is it so dark?"
"You’re in the cave," said Sandy with tears in her voice. "That plane!—Bashi, do you think you breathed in any of the gas?"
"I don’t know," replied the Pakistani. "Maybe a little. There’s
"What about your family, Amy? I think Bud said you have relations here in New York," Tom inquired.
"Did he?" She smiled and took a bite of her sandwich. "As a matter of fact, that’s why I’d been thinking of moving to the east coast. I hardly ever have a chance to see that branch of Dad’s family."
"Where do they live?"
"Mansburg."
"Just down the highway. Say, maybe we’ve run into them. What’re their names?"
"I always called them Auntie Nonna and Uncle Bun," she replied unhelpfully. "They’re not really my aunt and uncle—I think they’re second cousins, or something. But they’re very sweet old people."
Just then the growing buzz of a plane caused them all to look up. The tiny prop-job, cream-colored with a bright trim, cast its shadow across them, then looped around for a return.
"If that were a Pigeon Special," Sandy commented, "he’d be able to land right on the beach."
The craft approached lazily, low over the water, the whirling haze of its propeller facing them head-on.
"Y’know, there’s this movie…" began Bud, eyes on the airplane. "A guy’s standing out all alone in a cornfield, and this crop-duster plane zeroes in on him…and…"
Tom suddenly gripped Bud’s wrist as he watched the craft through narrowed eyes. His scalp prickled with a sudden sense of impending danger.
"B-Bud—!" gasped Sandy.
"…It really is…a great movie…" Bud’s face had turned white.
Tom leapt to his feet, trying to pull Amy and Bash up with him. "Run! Run for the cave!"
But it was now too late to run. As it drew frighteningly near the island, the plane suddenly swooped down, roaring in so low that the picnickers instinctively dived to the sand. The plane circled sharply and, with an ear-splitting whine, buzzed the beach again.
"If I ever get my hands on that rockhead—" Bud stormed as he leapt to his feet.
"Look out! He’s coming back!" cried Bashalli in terror.
CHAPTER 11
DEATH CHESTS
THIS TIME, as the plane whipped past, it sprayed the beach with a heavy whitish vapor. In a twinkling, the stifling gas began to diffuse over the corner of the island that the girls had found for them.
"Quick! Into the cave!" Tom yelled. "Don’t bother about your clothes—stay away from that gas!" As they scrambled for the low hill where the caves were located, Tom caught Bud’s eye, and the young inventor’s expression was eloquent. Could the white vapor be the deadly neurotoxin?
Hands over their faces, the five picnickers crackled across a blanket of brown pine needles and raced up a short incline. When they reached the cave, Tom and Bud hastily barricaded the entrance with whatever torn-off pine boughs and shrub leaves fell within their reach.
"Tom! Something’s happened to Bashi!" Sandy gasped in a panic-stricken voice.
Her brother’s face went pale as he saw that the dark-haired girl had slumped unconscious on the cave floor. He bounded to her side and knelt down, trying to check her pulse and breathing.
"Oh, what’1l we do?" cried Sandy fearfully.
Tom racked his brain. Suddenly he recalled that one long, sweeping branch of a giant cedar tree brushed against the hillside next to the cave entrance. "Chafe her wrists, sis! Bud, help me!"
The boys edged aside the barrier they had thrown together and ducked outside, holding their breaths. They frantically stripped handfulls of needles from the branch and hastened back into the gloom of the cave, where they gulped-in the cool air as they crushed the needles in their strong fingers. They held the crude mash under Bashalli’s nostrils. As Tom had hoped, the pungent scent revived her.
"Take deep breaths," urged Amy Foger calmly. "But keep lying flat. Don’t be afraid—you’re all right."
"What happened?" she murmured. "Why is it so dark?"
"You’re in the cave," said Sandy with tears in her voice. "That plane!—Bashi, do you think you breathed in any of the gas?"
"I don’t know," replied the Pakistani. "Maybe a little. There’s
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