Freddy Farmer didn't bother acknowledging the request by word of mouth. He simply nodded, and reached out his hand and jerked the little handle that released landing flares fitted into the wing tips. There were a few seconds more of silence; then a great silver-white light came into being below, and spread swiftly outward toward the four points of the compass.

Fighting the tendency of the Lockheed to yaw toward the dead engine side, and struggling to keep the left outboard engine turning over, Dave leaned over close to the shattered window and peered down into the sea of silver-white light below. For a couple of seconds he couldn't see anything but eye-dazzling light. Then as the flares dropped astern, he was able to get a good look at the type of terrain below.

What he saw didn't exactly cause his chilled heart to warm up and loop over with joy. True, they had safely crossed over the highest peaks of that part of the mountain range. Below, though, were the tree-covered foothills, cut by deep jagged stone sided ravines, and narrow plateau formations of ground that would be hard for even a crow to alight on.

"It's no go, Dawson!" Colonel Welsh's voice suddenly broke the tingling silence that had settled over the trio. "I know what's in your mind, but our safest bet is for all three of us to jump. We've still got three or four thousand feet of clearance. I think we should jump."

"I don't, not yet," Dave said bluntly, and raked the terrain below with his eyes. "I think we should hang on a bit longer, and try to pick out some spot big enough to slip into. This is wild country here, Colonel. If we bail out we'll lose contact with each other, and all three of us get lost. Let's look hard, first. I can keep her up a big longer. That left outboard hasn't quit cold yet. And we're not losing altitude too fast."

"All right," Colonel Welsh said grimly, and leaned forward the better to study the flare-lighted ground below. "Confound that rat! I'd give a lot to have his neck between my two hands right now!"

"I can think of things to do to him, myself," Dave grunted. Then, out of the corner of his mouth: "Work those eagle eyes hard, Freddy. This is where you should star. You always do see things first. Hurry up and find Papa a place big enough to set us down in."

"Shut up and tend to your flying!" the English youth growled. "You dropped our nose two feet while you were talking. Want to power dive us in, or something? You—hold it, Dave! Bear right a bit. What's that down there? It looks like—oh, blast it! They would, wouldn't they!"

The last was caused by the two flares finally touching ground and being snuffed out. Quick as a flash Freddy Farmer shot out his hand and released two more flares. The instant his eyes were again accustomed to the bright light, Dave looked in the direction of the English youth's pointed finger. His heart did loop with joy this time, and he gulped with relief. What at first looked like the rock studded side of a foothill was actually a strip of barren and seemingly level ground between two foothills. It wasn't very big, but it seemed big enough—unless Lady Luck deliberately turned her face the other way.

"Yeah, check, Freddy!" Dave murmured, and eased the laboring Lockheed around and down. "That's us, that spot. Just hang on, everybody. It won't be long now!"

"I don't like the way you say that!" Colonel Welsh said with a mirthless laugh. "But I guess you don't mean it. Go ahead, though. I was wrong again. We'll keep the parachutes in their packs. What a fine night this has turned out to be!"

"Me, I'm thinking of tomorrow and next week," Dave muttered grimly as he eased the Lockheed lower and lower, and around toward the near end of the narrow landing space. "This is wild country here. It's plenty wild. Right in the middle of nowhere. And this baby isn't going to do any more flying until she has a couple of new engines stuck in her. Oh well—"

Dave let the rest go with a shrug and hunched forward slightly over the controls. The time for talking had passed. Now was the time for action, and prayer. The Lockheed was down low now, too low to correct any mistakes. The first swipe at that narrow landing space had to be good. It had to be perfect. The jagged rocks and trees on all four sides would make a second try impossible.

Dave's whole body felt dry as a chip, yet at the same time sweat poured off his forehead, and the palms of his hands were clammy and cold. He could almost feel Freddy Farmer and Colonel Welsh hold their breath. As far as that went, he could almost feel the whole world stand still and hold its breath. The dropped flares were throwing off less and less light, but he refrained from telling Freddy to drop a couple of new ones. Their first moment of brilliance might blind him just enough to misjudge things by a hair. And misjudging by a hair would be more than enough to pile them up in a heap among the trees and jagged rocks.

"Now!" he whispered softly. "Now, baby! Easy does it, now. Down you go. Down you go. Ah-h-h...! That's the stuff!"

The Lockheed's wheels touched, touched hard, and the plane tried to push itself off and up into the air again. But Dave had killed the forward speed as much as he could. And after a short run forward, and gentle but firm application of the wheel brakes by Dawson, the twin-engined craft finally bumped to a halt not ten feet from the lip of a sharp drop-off in the ground.

"Now I've seen everything!" Colonel Welsh fairly exploded the words. "I've seen two miracles come to pass in the same night. It couldn't be done, but you did it, Dawson. Congratulations from the bottom of my heart. Good work! We really are on the ground, aren't we?"

Dave didn't bother to answer. As a matter of fact he couldn't have said a single word at that moment even though it would have gained him a million dollars. His heart was stuck halfway between his chest and his throat, and refused to go up or down. It was the same with Freddy Farmer, too. The English youth sat stiff and straight in his seat, working his lips but making no sound. Eventually, though, he did manage to get control of his tongue and of his frozen muscles. He reached across and pressed Dave's arm.

"Top-hole, Dave!" he got out in a husky voice. "A bit of the very, very best, and I mean it, really. As a pilot bloke myself, I know how good you have to be to get away with that sort of thing. It was absolutely perfect."

"What else?" Dave cracked back with a shaky laugh. "Look who did it! But skip it. Is my hair grey, Freddy? Do I look very much older? I know doggone well I gained forty years in those last couple of seconds. Jeepers! Take a look at that drop-off ahead. Another ten feet and you wouldn't be thinking I was so hot. And I'm not, really. If Lady Luck ever landed a plane, she did it that time, and I'm not kidding."

"Well, we're down, anyway," said Freddy. Then, getting practical: "What 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.