CHAPTER VII

Flying Fists At that cry from the girl Ted Scott dropped his wrench. He glanced hastily around, and, seeing a place not far away where the hedge seemed less thick, he forced his way through. About a hundred yards down the road, usually a deserted one at that season, the girl he had noted from the plane was struggling with two men, who were trying to pull her toward the automobile. Ted sped down the road like a flash. Their backs were toward him, and they did not see him coming. “Aw, come on and be a sport,” one of …