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!"