Chapter 2

"Mr. Matthews, you may be a very good English teacher, but you are not the bravest man I have ever known."

The two young teachers were sitting in a pleasant tea room across the street from the school, splitting a pot of tea, and Phil Matthews failed to react angrily to Kathleen barton's insulting comment.

"No, I guess I'm probably not," he responded quietly, gazing intently into his tea cup as if he were looking amongst the tea leaves at the bottom for the answer to his questions. "Ever morning when I get out of bed, I have to sum up all the courage I own just to walk into that jungle of madness. It doesn't leave much courage left over for emergencies, but I have learned from painful experience what a couple of hefty footballs players can do to one skinny poet. I wasn't born with a crooked nose, you know," he added, tapping his slightly deviated septum with the tip of his finger. "This was a farewell present from one of my former students who objected to being given a failing grade in Junior English just because he never bothered to learn how to read."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, now seeing the situation in a new light. This slender timid man had spent seven years teaching at Kensington; it must have taken some courage just to have survived. "It's just that seeing what those two brutes were doing to that poor innocent defenseless girl . . . "

"Don't waste too much sympathy on her," remarked Matthews leaning back in his chair and lighting a cigarette. "The boys probably only slapped her around because she objected to doing it for free."

"You mean . . . "

"I mean she's undoubtedly done it before, Kathy. Don't be naive! At Kensington, the only virgins are on the faculty. These kids are thoroughly corrupted in every way by the time they finish eighth grade, and some of them are hardened criminals. Take Bud Swift for example."

"You mean the one who was . . . you know . . . with that girl?"

"Right, although I would expect a biologist to know the scientific name for what he was doing to her. Anyway, Swift is twenty-one and has already served two years in prison for armed robbery and assault. He was released on parole on the condition that he complete his high school education, which is why we have the pleasure of his company."

"But.. . " Kathy sputtered indignantly, "the government has no right to send us their problems. Kensington is a school, not a reformatory!"

"Well, in Bud's case, I'm glad they released him, although after today's episode, I don't know how much influence I'm going to be able to have on him. Pity, he was coming along so well. I even hoped to get him into the community college next September."

"You mean, you think it's possible to teach English literature to a mug, a monster like him?" Kathy asked in dismay.

"When Bud Swift reported in, we checked his I.Q., " Matthews reported quietly. "He tested out at 147, which is just short of the genius level. Having been born of a poor family or even being a criminal doesn't necessarily make a person stupid, Kathy. Although it can sure make you mean, which Bud certainly is. Some days though, in class, there are times when he seems consumed with interest, absolutely peppering you with one intelligent question after another. There are also days, unfortunately, when he disrupts the entire class. Well, you'll find all about Bud Swift soon enough. He's in your senior biology class."

"What!" the girl almost came out of her seat with horror at the idea. "You mean I have to face him every day in class with both of us knowing about what happened?"

"I'm afraid so," shrugged the English teacher helplessly. "Not much of anything we can do about it. Hanson's in charge of your class schedule."

"Oh Phil," she moaned in despair. "I don't know if I can go through with this whole business. I've got to stay here for a year, and I know already I can't control people like Bud Swift. Why he's practically my age, and he must know ten times more about life than I do . . Oh, Christ! What can I do?"

Phil Matthews gazed at her penetratingly for a few minutes, seriously considering her problem. He had realized from the moment he had first seen her that the students would walk all over her, particularly the older boys who would instantly see through her "school-marm" disguise and detect that underneath she was a perfectly gorgeous but very vulnerable young woman.

"Okay, here's an idea which you can take or leave," he proposed to her frankly. "These are very sex-conscious young men, and as you noticed, some of them are almost as old as you are. If you walk in there dressed like your own grandmother, they'll all sense that you're trying to make yourself into something you're not. Why not try reverse psychology? Put on a miniskirt and a scoop-necked blouse and let them see you for exactly what you are: A sensationally beautiful young woman."

"Thanks for all the compliments," responded the biology teacher acidly. "But that sounds like a recipe for getting me raped. I dressed up in my granny clothes, hoping the kids would think of me as their teacher and not a sex object."

"Forget it! If a thirty year old confirmed bachelor like me can see through your little disguise, those hot pants eighteen year old kids are going to do the same thing in half the time. Your only hope is to dazzle them sufficiently so that they fall all over themselves trying to act like gentlemen. Of course, all the boys will be madly in love with you in a week, and you'll be propositioned, but I don't think we've gotten to the point where a woman teacher can be raped in class. As long as I or some other man escorts you out of the neighborhood every night, you should be okay. And just remember there's a buzzer under your desk. Touch it and two cops come in on the double!"

"Oh God, I wish I were just a happy student again," the girl moaned miserably. "I'm scared already."

"So am I. Come on, I'll run you home in my car."

Bud Swift back-pedaled skillfully as the junior varsity team managed to break through the varsity line in several places and come scrambling towards him. None of his pass receivers were in the clear as yet, and his fast-moving mind computed that he had only a second or two to make his play before the rushing guards nailed him. Feinting to his left, he threw a huge sophomore tackle off-balance, and then dodged agilely down the middle of the field, brutally stiff-arming a junior safety man who tried in vain to intercept him. From there on, it was child's play and as he sailed across the touchdown line, Coach Hanson blew the whistle signaling the end of football practice for the day.

"You're a natural, kid," said the Phys. Ed. instructor, slapping his star-quarterback across his meaty shoulders as the two of them walked slowly towards the showers. "Play like that during the regular season, and you'll be picked up by a pro team the moment you're out of school."

"I don't know, Mr. Hanson," the youth responded as he unbuckled his helmet and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "Phil Matthews keeps saying he can get me into college next year, and I'm thinking about it."

"Listen kid, don't pay any attention to that jerk unless you want to turn into a poetry-quoting jackass like him! You're twenty-one now, and if you even enroll in college, that's four more years down the drain as far as the pro-clubs are concerned. Who wants a twenty-six year old rookie? Nobody! Listen, forget about that little fink Matthews, and listen to a man who's played in the big leagues!"

For one short year you played, Swift was thinking sarcastically, but he said nothing, understanding the reason behind Hanson's special hatred for Phil Matthews. Everybody in the school had heard by now about the scene which had occurred when Miss Barton had reported to him for her class assignments. To everyone's surprise, she had waltzed into school for her first day of teaching wearing a miniskirt which was just about as short as the dresses normally worn by the girls in class, and those long trimly shaped legs had really been worth looking at, not to mention her beautiful bouncing breasts which were partially revealed every time she bent over in her rather low-cut frilly blouse.

Naturally, his masculine ego inflated to the bursting point, Mark Hanson had promptly decided that all of this was meant for him, and he had made a vulgar pass at her, kicking the door shut and putting one hand boldly on her sumptuously inviting breast while the other arm encircled her waist. A crash and an outraged cry of pain had been heard clearly in the hall and Hanson was now sporting a pair of dark sun glasses. Informed opinion among the students held that the sun glasses were intended to hide a black eye, but no one knew for sure, since the Physical Education teacher rarely left his office except for football practice. To make matters worse, the pretty young teacher had apparently taken a liking to "that little queer" Matthews, who waited for her each day after classes were finished and evidently took her home.

"Hey, by the way," Hanson remarked suddenly, making an effort to seem nonchalant, "how is Miss Big-Tits making out? You're in her senior biology class aren't you?"

"Yeah," responded the ex-convict, an image of the gorgeous new teacher floating tormentingly across his mind as he paused at the entrance to the showers. "Yeah, she's doing okay, I guess."

"Huh? You mean nobody's fooled around with her yet?" asked Hanson in amazement.

"Shit no, Mr. Hanson! Everybody just sits there and looks at her!" exclaimed the young man frankly. "It's a great class! She makes everything real interesting, and with a dame like that talking, who can help listening? I think I'll take another course in biology, if I can get into college."

Hanson nodded, attempting to hide his irritation, watching as Swift trotted off the field. The coach spent another five minutes talking to a skinny junior varsity end who was complaining about aches and pains. Later, as Hanson walked toward the locker room, he began to feel irritated again. The situation with Kathy Barton was an entirely unexpected twist of events, and the football coach was not at all happy with the way things were going. As Mrs. Billings' replacement, he had expected some incompetent middle-aged female who would be nothing more or less than a bore and a nuisance, but the appearance of a desirable young woman like Miss Barton was upsetting the very delicate equilibrium on which Hanson depended to maintain his control over the school. The possibility of his getting any personal sex-pleasure out of her seemed to have gone out the window when her knuckles had crashed unexpectedly into his right eye a few days ago, and he knew that word of the incident had already leaked out to the students, lowering his prestige in the school. On top of that she had apparently managed to find a way of keeping her classes quiet and interested which deprived Hanson of any reasonable excuse for taking direct action against her. Worst of all, however, was the fact that she was better qualified scholastically than anyone else in the Biology Department, which could mean that she and Matthews would soon enough take it into their heads to try to replace him as the chairman of the Department. A departmental chairman had very little extra to do and was paid twelve hundred dollars a year above his regular salary for his services, and if the case went to the school board at the end of the year, he could very easily wind up working for Miss Barton instead of the other way around.

Hanson himself had never quite finished college and if someone took a close look at the record, the Board of Education would be very-likely to give the chairmanship to someone who was really qualified as a biologist and knew how to teach the subject! In essence, it all came down to this: One way or another, she had to be sabotaged, and sabotaged fast. Phil Matthews had been quietly working against him for years now, and with this new and good-looking ally, who knew what damage could be done to his position. Even Bud Swift seemed to have been conquered. Kathy Barton had to be eliminated! But how?

"Hi, Coach," came the greeting from the team as Hanson strolled into the locker room. A quick glance informed him that Bud Swift had already showered and left, no doubt off to the library to study biology or some such nonsense.

"Well, boys, what do you think of that piece of ass the School Board sent us? Anybody had a whack at her yet?"

"Ha! Fat chance one of us'd have," came the reply from one of the players. "If you ask me, Mr. Matthews is keeping her busy."

"Now you're making me-laugh," chuckled Hanson, making an effort to seem jovial and disinterest. "Matthews wouldn't know what to do with a hot little bitch like that!"

"Well, how 'bout you, Coach?" someone sniggered from the back of the room. "You know what to do with her?"

"Shit, boys, your old coach is pushing forty. From what I hear that little gal-likes 'em young. Real young!"

"Hey, no kidding?"

"Yeah, a friend of mine teaches where she went to college," explained Hanson untruthfully. "He told me that she was putting out for high school guys even then. I figure that's why she signed on at Kensington in the first place.-likes a little rough 'n tumble too, from what I hear. Nearly got thrown out of college a year ago when they found her in bed with five guys at once."

"No shit!" It was said in awe.

"Well, of course you can't believe everything you hear about people," the coach philosophized, seeing the effect his words were having on this rough gang of hoodlums. "But from the way she dresses, I'd say she was begging for it!"

The mattress was filthy, but the girl Marinda did not seem to mind. She had come to this abandoned school room before at Bud Swift's invitation and she would come again as often as he asked her. It bothered her a little to know that the other three members of the gang were sitting in the next room playing cards and gazing in every so often to see how their leader was making out, and it bothered her to know that the moment he was finished with her he would pull on a pair of jeans and walk away without a word, but she voiced no complaints. She was getting what she came for.

"Oh God, that feels nice," she groaned as Bud threw his lean hardened body down on top of her, crushing her ripe young breasts flat against her chest and quickly dropping his torso down between her inviting, widely-stretched legs. Obediently, the girl raised her tender but experienced body up to receive the hotly throbbing penis as it came stabbing into the delicate elastic sheath of her well-educated little cunt. Marinda loved this moment, and she groaned with absolute delight as she felt the virile young gang leader thrust forward, sending his long hard cock all the way up into the wetly welcoming depths of her belly.

Bud Swift closed his eyes, trying to imagine that instead of fucking the always available Marinda, he was really making love to Miss Kathleen Barton, and he started skewering rhythmically in and out of the warm wetness of her tight young cunt, bringing groan after groan to the naked teenager's lips as he pushed farther into her with every vicious stroke. But his imagination was not strong enough, and as he felt her legs crawling up on his back and her fingernails digging into the muscular broad flesh of his shoulders, he had to face the reality of the situation. This was just a broad, a little hot pants junior he had fucked dozens of times before and would surely fuck again, whenever he felt like it.

Marinda always did and said precisely the same things during the two minutes it took her to have an orgasm, and he tried to remember how many times he had done this before.

"Come on, Bud," called Ash from the next room! "You wanna get in this game or don't ya?"

"Oh fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," Marinda was groaning, and Bud obliged, putting his strong hands beneath the girl's smoothly rounded buttocks and lifting her clear into the air as he pounded into her wetly fluttering cunt like a pile driver.

"Ohhhhhhh, I'm cumming," she groaned dramatically as if this were the first orgasm in the history of mankind, locking her ankles over his shoulders the way she always did, presenting her hair-lined vaginal slit up for him to batter and abuse as he desired.

Bud tried to concentrate on Miss Barton as he felt the great swirls of heat building up inexorably in his groin, informing him that his own climax was just around the corner, but the image of the new biology teacher refused to stick in his mind. He gasped suddenly as the hot sticky sperm suddenly started its mad dash from the innermost recesses of his body, gushing in hot thick waves into the girl's tightly palpitating little cunt, but the orgasm was all physical and there was no joy in it for him. His skin was moist with sweat and cum as he rolled off of her exhausted body, his face set and hard.

"Hey, you wanna do it again, Bud?" she asked him pleadingly.

"Nan, not now Marinda. I got a lot of things on my mind right now," he answered her dully.

"Anything you want, baby," she pleaded, kneeling over him seductively, her hands reaching out to capture his slowly depleting cock, still wetly glistening from her own orgiastic juices. Smiling lecherously, the girl bent over his naked groin, her mouth slowly opening as she lowered her head to take him between her parted lips. "I know you like this."

"Yeah, but not today," he told her flatly, pulling away from her nakedly inviting body. "I got things to think about and you should be doing your homework." Not looking at her anymore, Bud Swift pulled on his dungarees and shuffled out of the room.

"Look, I can get laid a hundred times a week if I want to," objected Bud, "and with no trouble at all. Why should I take a chance on getting my parole revoked by messing around with a teacher who's liable to scream for the cops?"

The members of the gang looked at each other meaningfully, all wondering if their acknowledged leader was going soft on them. They were the three worst trouble-makers in the school, each of them with police records of one sort or another, but generally protected by Mark Hanson because they were also all members of Kensington's football team. There was Chubs, two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and fat and an I.Q. of about 87, who stayed in school only because Hanson arranged for him to pass even if just barely all his courses so that he could continue to anchor down the center of Kensington's defensive line. Sprawled in back of him, a cigarette dangling limply from his thin vicious lips was Jose, a skinny, fast-moving end who could dodge around the opponent's defensive flank or hot-wire a car, both with the same split-second timing. And then there was the young man with the knife scar on his cheek, Ash, Bud's favorite pass receiver, who made his living by selling drugs and stayed in school merely because it gave him convenient access to his customers.

"I think somebody's going soft in his old age," commented the drug peddler, looking challengingly at their leader. "Can't remember the last time you got scared of a little fun, Swifty, but I guess maybe you're gonna settle down and be a good boy now, eh. Old Matthews has got you by the balls and he's gonna make a college boy outta you. Right?"

"Listen you punks," Bud snapped back at them, a sensitive nerve touched by Ash's accusation. "The day Bud Swift backs away from trouble is a day none of you will ever see. Got it?"

"Then what's the problem?" argued Jose, a cruel, sadistic smile playing around his lips. "We ain't even taking no chances, are we? She won't get suspicious if you invite her across the street for a nice cuppa tea, and she ain't gonna think nothing of it when she sees old Chubs here behind the bar puttin' the pot on to boil."

"You sure the stuff'll work?" questioned Bud suspiciously, looking around the room at his three cohorts. The young man was in mental agony, torn between two different worlds and now desperately uncertain where his loyalties lay. These were the kids he had grown up with. They had smoked marijuana together, stolen cars together, gotten arrested together, abused girls together, and he had always been their leader because he was the toughest, the strongest and the meanest.

But now Phil Matthews was tempting him with other ideas, things he had never dreamed of before in his life; going to college, getting a serious job, perhaps as a teacher and maybe . . . just maybe making himself worthy to marry someone like Miss Kathleen Barton, not raping her on a filthy mattress in the corner of an abandoned schoolroom.

Marrying her!

"Why shouldn't it?" answered Ash quickly, interrupting Bud's thoughts. "Chubs'll put in enough to stone an elephant, and this stuff is almost tasteless. Come on, Bud baby, we'll have a ball!"

Another image invaded the young man's mind, overpowering his idle daydreams of rising to a position of respectability in society. He was imagining the proud, high-breasted Miss Barton stretched out naked before him the way Marinda had been a few minutes before, perhaps down on her knees begging him for mercy. The quarterback's cock stirred restlessly in his pants as the fantasy floated by in his mind's eye, and he felt desire welling up inside of him too strongly to be resisted. Somehow, without his help, the boys had come up with an air-tight little scheme. The drug, the camera, the abandoned building, the chat over a cup of tea-it all went together like clockwork! And they wanted him to take the lead. If he backed out now, his reputation would be shot to pieces, and he could never command them again. It was now or never! And maybe it was the only way he would ever have Kathleen Barton!

"Tomorrow afternoon, then," he said dully. "You going to swipe a car for the ride over?"

"Natch," affirmed Jose. "Mr. Matthews's."

"So! I think you should have the basic facts about Charles Darwin in your heads by now," concluded Miss Barton, glancing covertly at her wristwatch and noting gratefully that it was only a minute or two before the last class of the week would be over. "Anyone who is interested in reading more about this fascinating scientist can look at his most famous book, The Origin of Species, or the Voyage of the Beagle, which is the story of a trip Charles Darwin took as a young man through the South Pacific. There are copies of the first book in the library, and anyone who is really interested in the second one may borrow my own copy if he promises to bring it back." As she spoke, Kathy noticed with interest that Bud Swift had made a careful note of this information on the corner of his pad, jotting down the names of both books, albeit misspelling, "Beagle."

He's really interested, the young teacher thought happily as the bell informed her that her first week of teaching was finally over, and he is terribly bright! Imagine, having been in prison and growing up in this awful neighborhood, and he's still making wonderful progress! I wonder if we can possibly get him ready for college by next year?

The room was filled with the noise of books being snapped shut and students eagerly exchanging weekend plans as the class filtered out of the room. Bud Swift stayed where he was, apparently glancing over the notes he had busily taken during her lecture and underlining certain words he wished to remember. Kathy sank down in her seat, weary after a full day of classes, and immensely relieved that her first week as a teacher in this "jungle" of a school had passed without incident. She had experienced a little difficulty in keeping order in some of her other classes, but in general the boys had behaved precisely as Phil Matthews had predicted they would, all trying to outdo one another to get the attention of this attractive new teacher. The senior biology class, which contained most of the football team, had turned out to be the best of all, since Bud Swift turned around in his seat and glared menacingly at anyone who so much as whispered while Miss Barton was talking, having apparently appointed himself her protector in an effort to make up for the dreadful impression he had made upon her five days earlier.

It's true, she assured herself as she slowly gathered her books and papers together and prepared to go to her office where she normally met Phil Matthews after school for her ride home. He's really capable of making something out of his life! There's a good side and a bad side to his character, and Phil and I have got to concentrate on strengthening that good side!

"Ah . . . excuse me, Miss Barton."

Kathy looked up in alarm, realizing that the room was now empty except for the two of them, finding Bud Swift standing uneasily in front of her. Instinctively she reached beneath the desk, feeling for the button which would summon the police should they be needed.

"Gee, don't call the cops, Miss Barton," he grinned, having detected her nervous gesture. "I just wanted to ask you a question about Charles Darwin."

"Oh . . . I wasn't going to.. . " she stammered, now caught thoroughly off guard and embarrassed at having revealed her suspicions. "I was merely . . . frightened for a moment."

"I guess I can understand that, Miss Barton," the young man said respectfully. "I mean, we didn't meet under the best of circumstances. I want you to know that me and Ash apologized to that girl and took her home. It was a crazy thing to do."

"Well, I agree that it was crazy, but I'm not holding it against you, Bud," she managed to say, knowing that she was blushing and unable to do anything about it. "What was it that you wanted to know about Darwin?"

"Well, I didn't quite understand what you said about sexual selectivity," the young man admitted. "I mean, why should a thing like that change the characteristics of a whole species?"

In fact, she had not explained this aspect of Darwin's theory very well, since the moment she had used the word "sex" in class, all the girls had immediately started giggling and Kathy had hurriedly passed over that point, concentrating on the more colorful but less scientific aspects of the scientist's life. It was a fair question, but the answer was a little too complicated to give in a few minutes. She had all the time in the world, but she did not trust Bud Swift quite enough to let him tie her up in a long conversation while the rest of the school emptied out and the two patrolmen on duty returned to the station house. After all . . .

"Listen, they like to get us students out of the building after the classes are over, and I'm not supposed to be here," he volunteered suddenly as if he were reading her mind. 'There's a tea house across the street where we could talk if you could possibly spare the time? I'd also like to borrow the book about the Voyage of the Beagle if you'd let me."

Well, he really is interested she thought carefully, and the tea house is a very respectable place for a teacher to chat with a student; in fact, she and Philip Matthews had stopped in there a number of times and it was a clean, well lighted place run by two little old ladies. She would be perfectly safe there, and there was no question in her mind that this was a very interested student. If she were to turn off his questions now, he might lose that interest and an opportunity for improving his mind would be gone, possibly forever.

"All right," she agreed after a moment's hesitation. "I'll meet you there in about ten minutes, okay? I have to run by my office for a moment."

Bud nodded agreeably and disappeared while Kathy tucked her books under her arm and returned to her own office, hoping that the obnoxious Mark Hanson would not be hanging around. He had kept out of her way since she had blackened one of eyes the first day of classes, but she knew that the Phys. Ed. instructor would eventually launch his counter-attack, and she was waiting for the axe to fall.

But the office was empty, and so she scribbled a quick note to Phil Matthews who normally picked her up after school, saying that she was meeting a student for a chat and would take a cab home that night. With the note neatly pinned to the door, she took her purse and left.

The tea house was really a very nice place considering the neighborhood it was located in and the fact that the waiter who brought them their cups of tea was an enormously big swarthy young man whom Kathy vaguely remembered having seen somewhere once before. Perhaps he's a student, she decided, although he doesn't seem terribly bright. Bud Swift seemed nervous for some reason, but the inexperienced young teacher decided that he was probably afraid that one of his fellow members of the football team would spot him in here drinking tea with a lady teacher and discussing something as intellectual as the theory of evolution, since Bud obviously still valued his reputation as a tough guy.

Kathy laid a sheet of paper out on the table between them, finding that she could explain things better with a pencil in her hand, and sipped on the tea absent-mindedly as she told the eager young student about Darwin's early struggles with the Bishop who denounced his theories as atheistic, and going on to show precisely how the examination of fossils and living animals in various parts of the world had led the British scientist through trial and error to the conclusion that a process of natural selection partially based on sexual preferences had led to the development of the various species of animals which inhabit the world today, including mankind.

"You mean that the strongest and toughest members of every species tend to take the best-looking females of that species, and this produces a gradual change?" he asked, obviously following her discussion very carefully:

"Yes," she answered, pleased that he had understood a rather complicated concept so quickly. "The members of every species who are most equipped to survive in any given environment tend to be the ones, who succeed in breeding, which we call the survival of the fittest."

Bud immediately followed with another keen question, and Kathy took a deep breath and launched into another detailed explanation, thinking as she talked that this week's teaching had taken more out of her physically than she would ever have imagined possible. She hoped that Bud would not think that she was giving him the brush-off, but she would simply have to excuse herself shortly and catch a cab to her apartment in order to relax for awhile. The tea was delicious and ought to be pepping her up, but instead she found her head spinning slightly, and for a few moments she felt positively nauseous . . .

"Miss Barton! Miss Barton!" she heard him calling in alarm and she opened her eyes, realizing that she had somehow drifted off to a half-faint, half-sleep right in the middle of a sentence. There was something definitely wrong! She could scarcely see straight and the room seemed to be whirling . . .

"I feel a little dizzy," she managed to stammer, embarrassed that this should happen to her right in the middle of a serious minded discussion.

"You're real pale, Miss Barton," Bud assured her sincerely. "Shall I get a car and take you home?"-

"Please . . . " but her voice failed her. Phil Matthews had warned her against letting any of the students know where she lived, but at the moment she felt quite helpless, and when a car appeared magically in front of the tea room, she hung onto Bud's muscular arm desperately as he helped her into the back seat. Everything seemed so strange. . . she had seen this car before . . . it belonged to Phil Matthews. . . but where was Phil?. . . The man behind the wheel looked familiar too, but she could not place him . . . he had a long nasty scar on the side of his cheek and as she was thinking about it the young teacher fell asleep . . .

"How long is this stuff good for?" inquired Bud Swift placidly as he pushed the unconscious teacher's body down on the seat and covered her with a blanket.

'Bout an hour," answered Ash, grinning back at his leader.

"Cocaine's real good stuff for this kind of job. Let's get going before old Matthews discovers that his car and his girl friend are both missing."