"I told you there'd be laundry!" I whispered, pointing. Sure enough, a line held flapping garments, indistinguishable in the dark. Both of us advanced on the line, grabbing indiscriminately.
"They're all midgets," Dottie whispered. "I couldn't get this blouse on, not in a million years."
"I found a skirt that fits-nearly," I said. "Listen, don't you complain. You had boots on. My feet are KILLING me."
"Oh, here's one," Dottie said, and began to get into the clothes she'd found, while I checked out for socks. I put on four pairs, one after another; they'd have to do instead of boots.
It was pretty hard to see, but it was just as well we couldn't see each other too well, or we could have died laughing. The Girl Rangers' uniforms were a kind of mud-green color, with skirts right down to the knees and a weird sort of military effect.
"I wouldn't want to get caught dead in these," Dottie whispered.
"If those motorcycle crazies ever catch us, you will be found dead," I told her. "I'll bet they really love their boots. And you had to rip off a pair, didn't you?"
"I think you've got some kind of hex on you, Honey," Dottie said, and I saw her eyes getting all round and glittering with fear in the dim light.
"Why?" I asked.
"Every time you say something awful is going to happen, it does!" she said. "Can't you hear that noise?"
Varoom, varoom. Oh, darn.
"They're looking for their boots," I said. The sound of their motors echoed distantly, but getting closer.
We hadn't any choice. There were the dormitories, and there were the oncoming motorcycle crazies. We opened a screen door, and dived for cover under a bunk where we stayed, listening to whistling snores and other sounds of what seemed like a regiment of under aged females.
The motor noises got closer and suddenly we saw a headlight reflection in a window. There were loud, cursing voices nearby, and now several of the Girl-Ranger types woke up, asking questions. A light went on.
Then a deep, loud voice came thunderously from outside.
"All right, you," the voice said. It was a woman's voice, too; and suddenly Dottie clutched at me like a drowning girl.
"It's HER!" she squeaked.
"Who?" I whispered. "And keep your voice down!"
"Miss STRONG," she hissed, with a shudder.
The bull dyke. Oh, my, oh MY. We had ALL the luck.
"Now, you men, turn around slow, hands in the air," the voice came again, and it sent shudders down my spine now.
She was evidently armed too-as if her voice wasn't enough to send even the motorcyclists into a panic.
"Now, you chicken bastards, start walking," Miss Strong's voice boomed. "And you, the ugly one… yes, you. Zip up your fly, 'Third-face. This camp is full of sweet innocent young girls, and you're leaving. Coming in here with your heads full of dirty male ideas, I'll wager. Not as long as I'm Ranger Commander, you don't get the chance to play your obscene tricks, you hairy monsters. All right, quick-march; I'm right behind you with the shotgun, and it shouldn't take us all long to get down to the sheriff's office."
"Jeez, lady, our bikes!" somebody wailed. It sounded like Snake. "Hey, I can't walk, I ain't got no BOOTS."
"If you don't start walking, I'll blow off your balls, Mac, and then you won't need boots," Miss Strong advised him. Then, apparently directed at the windows of the dormitory… "CORPORAL DIANE! GET THOSE CHILDREN BACK INTO BED, YOU HEAR?"
There was a wild squealing from the mop-pets who had been peering out the windows. They sounded like thirteen or fourteen-year olds, mostly, though the one addressed as Corporal looked a bit older, as I caught a brief glimpse from under the bed.
I heard the complaining as the motorcycle types walked away, herded by the indomitable Miss Strong. Until she was apparently out of sight, there was dead silence among the Girl Rangers; and then, a renewed squealing broke out.
"He had it hanging right out!"
"Whee!"
"Oh, go on, my boy friend's got a better one."
This from a blase young voice.
"I never saw one before," somebody else said, in an awed tone. "How can anybody get such a big thing inside? Wow!"
There was a chorus of giggles and females squealing.
Bare feet went by, and there were heavy thumps on the bed above us. Corporal Diane was having a hard time keeping order with the General gone, and some of the games were a little wild from the sound of it, as well as the conversation. The younger generation was getting out of hand, I guess.
There was loud whispering going on just above our heads, where at least three of the girls had apparently managed to crowd into the bed, from the deep sag of the springs; voices and giggles came clearly to our ears.
"Don't DO that," a voice whispered, and another answered, "How about this, then?" And there was a squeak and a twang of springs. Somebody breathed heavily, and gasped.
"Oh, gee, Linda, that's… oh, boy, don't. Ooh."
"It's a lot better with real boys," somebody else whispered.
"How would you know? Have you been over the lake to the boy's camp?"
"Not yet, but… EEEEEK!"
It was Dottie's foot, sticking out; the girl above had seen it and was shrieking like a fire siren. Dottie tried to pull it back, but it was no use. We were caught.