do we do now? Do you know this area very well, sir? Have we got far to
go to the next village?"
Both Dave and the Colonel laughed in spite of the seriousness of the
situation. And Freddy made angry sounds in his throat.
"What's so blasted funny about that?" he demanded. "Do you plan to stay
here all night?"
"Sorry, Freddy," Dave said, and patted his pal's knee. "But this isn't
England, where you can throw a rock from one town and have it land in
the next one. This is our wild and woolly west. I don't know exactly
where we are, but I'd make a rough guess that we're a good two hundred
miles from the nearest town. And that's as the crow flies. Going over
and down these mountains and hills, you could add another two hundred
miles. What do you think, Colonel?"
"Well, not quite that far, Dawson," the senior officer said with a
laugh that was just a little too tight. "You're stretching it a little,
I'd say. Call it a hundred by air and two-fifty by foot, I guess.
We're just over the Arizona line and south of Holbrook. I'm afraid,
though, Farmer, that we will have to sit here for the rest of the
night, worse luck. To try and get out of here in the dark is just about
like deciding to step off some cliff and smash yourself to bits on the
bottom of a ravine. No. We've got to sit here until they find us."
"Hey!" Dave cried. "Aren't you forgetting something, Colonel? I mean,
who knows we're on our way? We--Oh, I see! You planned to send word
back to your office, eh? When they don't hear, they'll send planes
hunting for us, huh?"
The Colonel groaned heavily and clapped a hand to his forehead.
"You spoiled it that time, Dawson!" he muttered. "But you hit the
nail on the head. I did forget. I mean, I didn't say anything about
letting Lamb or Stacey know when I arrived at San Diego. They simply
expect to hear from me, when they hear. And my man at San Diego doesn't
actually know when I expect to arrive. This _is_ a sweet mess. I should
be demoted and kicked back into the ranks for not thinking of this
possibility. We're stuck, and no two ways about it."
"But we took this plane from the Alexandria Field," Dave said. "What
about their flight board there? Don't they list every take-off, the
pilot, and where he's heading?"
"Usually, but not in a case like this," the Colonel replied unhappily.
"When I borrow a plane, I don't tell them where I'm going. And
naturally, they don't ask me. But do we have to sit here in this
darkness, Dawson? The lights don't run off the engine, do they? How
about some light, eh?"
"Sure, sir," Dave said, and flipped up a couple of switches.
The interior of the compartment glowed with light, and the three looked
at each other. They grinned in a friendly sort of way, but neither of
them was particularly happy looking. Freddy Farmer twisted around in
his seat and looked at the Colonel.
"Then we might be here for some time, sir?" he asked.
"For several hours, at least, Farmer," the senior officer replied
gravely. "Nothing to worry about, though. As soon as it's light, we'll
build a fire and get a smoke signal in the air. A passing transport
plane may see it and come down to investigate. We're a bit south of
their regular run, though. Still, one of them may see it and get some
rescue parties sent out. Nothing to worry about."
"Not even your constant worry, pal," Dave laughed, and stuck a hand in
his tunic pocket. "Your constant worry about starving, I mean. Here's a
flock of chocolate bars I picked up at Alexandria Field before we left.
One thing I didn't tell you about Farmer, Colonel. If he can't eat
forty times a day he gets as weak as a kitten. And where he puts it,
I'll never know. Doesn't weigh more than a hundred and fifty soaking
wet. He's--"
"Some other time, my funny little man!" Freddy cut in harshly. "I
wasn't thinking about eating, if you must know the truth. Something
more serious. Or at least it will be serious if we're stuck here for a
considerable length of time."
Dave's smile faded immediately. He stared at the English youth. Colonel
Welsh also regarded him keenly.
"Okay, what?" Dave finally asked.
"The Carrier Indian," Freddy replied. Then, looking at the Colonel,
he asked, "Didn't you say that she weighs anchor sometime tomorrow
afternoon--this afternoon, really? If we're stuck here, will she sail
without us? Or has her skipper orders to wait for word from you?"
The chief of U. S. Intelligence swallowed hard and made a wry face.
"That close-shave landing!" he muttered savagely. "It still has my
brains all scrambled up. You're quite right, Farmer. What you say makes
it more of a mess than ever. The Indian is to sail whether her skipper
hears from me or not. Those two men of mine serving as machinists'
mates are already aboard. At least they were to go aboard last evening.
But she won't wait for you two. The skipper has his sailing orders, and
he'll sail whether he's shy two pilot lieutenants or not. Blast and
double blast it all! What you say, Farmer, gives me a very disquieting
thought. Perhaps I _wasn't_ the one that unknown killer was interested
in. It's quite possible that it _was_ you two. The attempt was made
to stop you from reaching the Indian before she sailed. Confound it!
If I've fumbled this thing all up, I'll go out somewhere and cut my
throat. But--but I still can't see how anybody else could possibly have
found out about this flight, let alone the real reason!"
Dave didn't say anything, but he was thinking of a case he had heard
about in England not so long ago. A bad leak had been found in the Air
Ministry Intelligence, and when it was eventually tracked to its source
it was discovered that a high official's own secretary--a supposedly
loyal Englishman who had held his post since long before the outbreak
of war--was actually in the pay of the Nazis.
"I'm wondering something, myself," he said presently. "Not to toss more
cold water on things, Colonel, but--well, you don't know for sure if
your two men went aboard the Indian last evening, do you?"
"No, not for sure," the senior officer replied with a shake of his
head. "But it's--Oh, I see what you mean. Maybe they were--er--delayed,
too, eh? You think of the nicest things, Dawson! But keep on thinking.
Don't stop. Maybe you'll think of a way to get us out of this jam in a
hurry."
"I sure wish I could!" Dave said fervently. Then, reaching out and
taking a flashlight from the instrument panel clamps, he said,
"Meantime I'm going to have a look at the engines. I could be wrong
about an oil line being nicked. It wouldn't be the first time. Maybe
it's something that we can patch up with some gum and a piece of our
shirts, and we can get ourselves out of here come daylight. That's a
hope, anyway."
Half an hour later, though, it wasn't a hope. The oil feed lines of the
right outboard engine were split and parted in three different spots.
Besides that, she was seized up tighter than a drum, and couldn't be
made to move short of using dynamite. The left outboard engine wasn't
in a much better condition. Bullets from the unknown attacker's guns
had started a bad leak in the gas line that couldn't be repaired
without the proper tools. And so at the end of the half hour Dave wiped
oil and grease from his hands and climbed down off the wing onto the
ground where Freddy Farmer and the chief of Intelligence waited.
"No soap," he said bitterly. "If that bird's job was to delay us, he
did it up brown. The only way you'll get this plane out of here is to
fly in a couple of new engines. Nothing to do but wait for daylight."
"Why wait?" Freddy Farmer protested. "Let's get a fire going now. No
telling but what it might be seen by somebody. It--I say, though! What
about your Indians? They'd give us a bit of trouble, wouldn't they?
I've heard--"
"Hold everything, pal!" Dave chuckled, while Colonel Welsh struggled
to keep a straight face. "Nowadays you only find that kind of Indians
in books, or in the movies. Let's get the fire started. It's a good
idea. And if Indians do show up I'll welcome them as the flowers in
May."
Freddy Farmer hesitated and looked hard at Dawson. After a moment or so
he shrugged.
"Very well, then," he murmured. "But I swear I don't know when to
believe you, and when not to. If I get scalped--"
"You won't!" Dave stopped him, and backed away. "Head's too hard!"
Freddy took a quick half step forward, but gave it up. Then the three
of them started collecting deadwood, and stuff from the plane that
could be used to make a good fire.
CHAPTER NINE
_Rescue Wings_
Dawn came roaring up over the mountains to the east to touch off
their peaks with fire, and send rainbows of color arcing off in all
directions. It was a sight to make a man catch his breath and stand in
awe of the glorious majesty of nature. But for Dave Dawson and Freddy
Farmer and Colonel Welsh, the coming of the new day was more than just
something beautiful to watch and admire. It was like being released
from a prison of darkness.
As soon as there was enough light to allow vision at any great
distance, they eagerly and hopefully scrutinized their immediate
surroundings. But what they saw dashed their hopes even lower.
Heart-chilling wilderness met their gaze on all sides. It was as though
they had landed at the very end of the world; landed in a little pocket
of level ground completely lost in the depths of jagged rock sided
hills and towering snow-capped mountains.
For several minutes they looked about them in silence. Then, as though
at an unspoken signal, they turned and looked at each other, each man
reading the message of utter helplessness reflected in the next man's
eyes. It was Dave who finally broke the silence, and spoke the thought
that was in the minds of the other two.
"Our smoke signal won't be seen by any plane unless it passes directly
over this spot," he said. "These hills and mountains are such that
it's as if we were at the bottom of a well. And it's going to be even
tougher getting out of here on foot."
Neither Freddy Farmer or Colonel Welsh said anything. There wasn't
anything they could say. Dave had spoken the truth. And that was that.
Eventually Colonel Welsh knocked the ashes from his dead pipe and stuck
it back in his pocket.
"We'd better not try going out on foot for a while," he said, "at least
not until tomorrow. Better to stick here today and see if anything
happens. I'm mighty sorry this happened, you fellows. It's all my
fault, and I could kick myself right up the side of that mountain."
"I wouldn't say that, sir," Freddy Farmer said with a smile. "You had
no idea that chap was going to attack us last night."
"No," the chief of U. S. Intelligence growled. "Just the same,
ignorance is no excuse. I should have made sure, just in case the
unexpected did happen. I certainly should have taken a plane fitted
with a radio, instead of this one that hasn't got any. At least we
could have let the world know that we were going down for a forced
landing. But as it turned out--"
The Colonel sighed heavily and let the rest slide. Dave and Freddy
looked at each other and shrugged. It was no use crying over spilled
milk, but as a matter of cold hard fact both of them had been just
a little surprised when they had boarded the plane and seen that it
carried no radio. Neither, though, had said anything about it.
"Why wasn't it fitted with a radio, sir?" Dave finally blurted out the
question. "I mean--well, a radio is standard equipment on any ship. Is
there no radio on this for some particular reason?"
"Yes," the senior officer replied with a wry smile, and tapped his
chest. "I'm the reason. On a couple of occasions when the plane I
was in did have a radio, I was contacted about this and that every
half hour or so. Once I even turned back because of a message I had
received, only to find I'd wasted my time. Ever since then I've flown
without a radio. Been able to get more done, too. But I certainly
struck out this time. I'm sorry."
"Well, those things happen," Dave said politely, and let the subject
drop. "How about a short scouting trip about here? Or better yet, what
say I to make the top of that mountain, there? I guess I could do it in
a couple of hours. Maybe we're not buried as deep as we think we are.
Maybe I'll see a town, or a Ranger camp from there. Also, I may find
some berries and stuff, and a spring. The chocolate we have aboard, and
the drinking water, isn't going to last us for very long. What do you
think, Colonel? Think you can keep Freddy cheered up while I'm gone?
See that the Indians don't get him?"
The Colonel grinned and opened his mouth to speak, but what he was
about to say never left his lips. At that moment all three of them
heard the faint drone of a plane somewhere up in the sky, but out of
sight behind the towering mountains north of them. As one man they spun
around and stared hard at the dawn light bouncing off the snow-capped
peaks. Nobody said a word. Nobody could. They were all too busy
holding their breath, and praying as they had never prayed before.
After a few seconds Dave snapped out of his trance, ran over to the
pile of deadwood they had collected, grabbed up an armful, ran back to
the fire and dumped his load. Then he picked up a can of oil drained
from the engine and poured it on the licking flames. A second more and
a column of oily black smoke went towering up into the dawn sky.
"He can't miss that, unless he's blind!" Dave muttered through clenched
teeth as the black smoke mounted higher and higher. "Come on, whoever
you are, take a look, take a look!"
"Steady, Dawson," Colonel Welsh cautioned gently as Dave's voice rose
to a wild shout. "We've got to steel ourselves in case he doesn't see
it. Then it won't be so tough. This thing might happen several times,
you know. No telling. Save your strength, son. Take it easy."
Dave hardly heard the words of wisdom. His eyes were glued to the
north, his ears strained to catch every beat of the plane's engine
which was still out of sight, and his two fists clenched tight as
though he were actually pulling the unseen plane closer and closer.
Then, suddenly, the drone of the engine grew louder. It rose to a
mighty roar. And then the plane came sailing into view above the
mountain peaks. It was a five-place Stinson cabin plane, a commercial
plane probably owned by some rancher. There were no markings on the
craft other than the usual Bureau of Aeronautics license letter and
number. A wild cry of joyous relief struggled up Dave's throat but was
unable to pass his lips. A riot of emotions boiled up within him, and
his lips and his tongue were suddenly too dry to form sounds. So he
simply stood stock still and grinned from ear to ear as the cabin plane
cleared the peak and then came nosing down toward them; circling down
like some giant bird seeking a spot to light on.
When it was less than five hundred feet over their heads, the three men
shook themselves loose from their paralytic spell and started jumping
around and waving their arms wildly as though the pilot of the plane
hadn't seen them yet. The pilot waggled his wings as a signal that he
had, and then leveled off and went coasting toward the eastern end
of the landing strip. There he circled back, suddenly fed hop to his
engine and started to climb. For one horrible moment Dave was afraid
the pilot had decided that he couldn't put his plane down on the small
strip. But he was wrong. The pilot had simply goosed his engine to add
enough to his speed to clear the tops of some tall trees. He slipped
over them, went up on left wing a bit, and slid down to level off in a
perfect landing.
Even as the plane was braking to a stop, Dave, Freddy, and the Colonel
rushed back to it. They pulled up to a halt, waited for the plane to
roll the last few feet, then ducked under the left wing and around to
the cabin door. They had already seen that there were two men aboard
the plane, the pilot and a passenger. As Dave watched them come back
from the pilot's nook to the cabin door, he was faintly surprised by
their looks. Why, he didn't know, but somehow he had expected to see
a couple of youngsters climb down from the plane. But they weren't
young. They were both well along in years. They had hard, rugged faces,
covered by at least a two week's growth of whiskers. They wore rough
clothing, and each man carried a gun slung at his hip. The guns were
not pistols, though. They were automatics, and Dave suddenly had the
hunch that their rescuers were a couple of fire rangers, or at least
some kind of government men. The way they leaped cat-like out the cabin
door and down onto the ground seemed somehow to suggest the military
to Dave. But what they were didn't matter in the slightest. They had
arrived to rescue them, and that was all that counted.
"Stuck, huh?" the older one of the pair grunted, and grinned. "Lucky we
happened to see your smoke signal. You might have camped here for quite
a spell. Army and Navy, huh?"
"And in a hurry," Colonel Welsh said. Then, after introducing himself:
"We had a forced landing. Er--engine trouble. Can you fly us to the
nearest Air Corps Base where we can pick up another plane? I'll see
that you're paid for it, of course."
"Guess so," the man grunted after a look at his partner. "But where're
you headed? Maybe we could hop you all the way, and save time, if
you're in such a hurry."
"San Diego," Colonel Welsh said. "I have to get there as soon as
possible. But maybe you haven't the gas."
"San Diego, huh?" the older one, who was the pilot, murmured, and
arched his brows. "Yeah. I guess we can make it there from here. Had
engine trouble, huh? Not much fun in this neck of the woods. Okay. Get
aboard."
A hidden thought was tugging at Dave's brain, but he couldn't seem to
get it out in the open. Something was just a wee bit wrong with the
picture, but after a moment of deep thought he decided it was worry
about a take-off from the narrow space of level ground.
"Think you've got a long enough run?" he asked, and jerked a thumb at
the crippled Lockheed. "Maybe the five of us should haul that out of
the way. But even then you wouldn't have much extra. There's a sharp
drop-off just ahead of it."
"Don't get in a sweat, kid," the man mouthed, and gave him a hard
stare. "I wouldn't have come down if I'd thought I couldn't get off
again. Just get aboard and keep your seat. We'll get you places, and
with no trouble at all. Okay, Colonel, let's get going."
With a curt nod the pilot and his passenger turned and climbed back
into the plane. Colonel Welsh followed at their heels, but for an
instant Dave and Freddy hung back. They looked at each other and
frowned slightly.
"Queer couple of blokes, aren't they?" the English youth murmured.
"Can't say I like their looks much."
"I've seen better," Dave replied with a nod. "But so long as they
get us out of here, I don't care what they look like. But--is there
something on your mind?"
"Not a thing," Freddy replied. Then, with a puzzled scowl: "Just sort
of feel funny, though. One of your confounded hunches, I guess. Oh
well! No doubt it's your American climate. I'm sure I should have
stayed in England."
"Hop in, or do you two kids want to stay and play boy scout?"
The Stinson's passenger stood framed in the cabin doorway. His blue
green eyes stabbed down at Dave and Freddy, and the mop of coarse red
hair on his head actually did look like fire in the glow of the dawn
sun. Dave stared at him, felt that elusive thought tug at his brain for
the last time, and then climbed into the plane with Freddy right behind.
The pilot at the controls glanced back just long enough to see that
everybody was aboard, and then he goosed the engine and taxied around
on one wheel, and went trundling back toward the far end of the landing
strip. His friend, the redhead, sat in the co-pilot's seat, but he was
twisted around so that he faced Dave, Freddy, and the Colonel, who
were sitting in the three passenger seats. A grin parted his lips, but
he seemed to be grinning over their heads rather than at them.
For a brief instant a clammy chill rippled through Dave. He shook it
off, angrily told himself that he was letting his imagination run wild,
and concentrated on watching the pilot take the plane off. It was a
beautiful bit of flying, and Dave nodded his head in silent approval
and admiration as the pilot held the Stinson on the ground until he had
plenty of forward speed, then gently eased it off and up as nice as
could be.
Holding the nose up, the pilot circled the Stinson upwards until the
mountain peaks were almost on a level with the wings. Flattening off
the climb, he banked around for the last time and went roaring between
two mountain peaks to the north. For a couple of minutes Dave was too
thrilled by the wild, heart stopping beauty of the mountain scenery
below to pay much attention to the course of the plane. Eventually,
though, when the sun continued to stay on the right wing side, he
stopped gaping at the terrain below, and glanced sharply ahead. The
redhead was still grinning, very comfortably relaxed in his seat. And
the pilot was still holding the nose pointed north as though he planned
to keep going in that direction for quite some time to come.
Dave held his peace for a moment or so longer. Then curiosity and an
eerie tingling sensation at the back of his neck forced the words off
his lips.
"We're heading north!" he called out. "San Diego isn't north of us!"
Both Colonel Welsh and Freddy Farmer jumped as though they had been
shot. They turned and stared at him, wide-eyed. The redhead stared at
him, too. But his eyes were slightly narrowed, and his perpetual grin
stiffened slightly. He didn't say anything.
"Well, what is the idea, anyway?" Colonel Welsh finally boomed angrily.
"San Diego is west and south of here!"
The redhead shrugged and nodded, but the pilot didn't even turn his
head.
"That's right, isn't it?" he called out. "Well, what do you know about
that? I guess we ain't heading for San Diego, Colonel. Kind of looks
that way, don't it, huh?"
Colonel Welsh blinked and looked blank for a moment. Then his face
reddened and he started up out of his seat.
"See here!" he thundered. "What in--?"
The redhead made a quick motion, and the chief of U. S. Intelligence
choked off the rest. But it was the automatic that suddenly seemed to
jump right into the redhead's hand that really stopped him. He froze
motionless half up out of his seat. The redhead waved the gun a little.
"Relax, and sit, Colonel!" he said in a voice that sounded like small
stones on a tin roof. "I couldn't let you have it down there, but up
here it's easy. Relax and get smart. And that goes for you two kids,
too!"
CHAPTER TEN
_Vulture's Nest_
For a long minute there was no sound inside the cabin save the faint
drone of the plane's engine. Like three men suddenly struck dumb, Dave,
Freddy, and the Colonel stared at the redhead. Rather, they stared at
the automatic he held in his right hand; held so that at the bat of
an eyelash he could send a bullet into either of them, or into all
three of them, for that matter. Then, finally, Colonel Welsh broke the
silence.
"What in thunder _is_ this?" he demanded. "Who are you two? What's the
idea?"
The redhead hunched his shoulders and half nodded his head toward the
pilot.
"That's Ike, and I'm Mike," he said with a chuckle. "But it isn't any
act. We're just keeping you on ice for a while, Colonel. Be nice and
you'll get back into circulation again in time. Be dumb, and you'll be
dead."
As the Colonel struggled for words, Dave leaned forward a little, arms
resting on his knees.
"This isn't the plane you flew last night," he said.
The redhead grinned all the more and shook his head.
"Nope," he said. "And that makes you a bright little boy--Flight
Lieutenant Dawson. And that was nice flying last night. I thought that
second time I had you cold. I guess you're as good at the controls as
I've heard tell you were. Or was this English kid, Farmer, doing the
flying?"
Dave didn't reply. He suddenly felt as though his seat had been
jerked out from under him, and as if his brain were tumbling down
through space. This redhead knew his name, and Freddy's, too? An eerie
chill swept through him, and he impulsively looked at Colonel Welsh.
The chief of U. S. Intelligence's face was bright with dumfounded
amazement. He in turn was staring speechlessly at the redhead. The man
with the gun dragged down a corner of his mouth in a scornful gesture.
"Why so surprised, Colonel?" he asked. "Did you think you were the only
smart one in this war?"