As Freddy Farmer hurled the words at the pilot, he reached down with his other hand and fumbled with the ropes tied about his ankles. In less than a minute he had them free. Still keeping his eye on the pilot, who now was practically green with terror, he went over and around in back of the man. In less time than it takes to tell about it, he had his gun. Then he jerked him from his chair and spun him around.

"Sorry, old thing," he said, tight-lipped. "But you shouldn't say things like that about America. Next to England, it's the grandest country on earth."

The pilot blinked stupidly. Then he closed his eyes for good. He did so because Freddy Farmer slugged him on the jaw, putting every ounce of his one hundred and fifty-five pounds behind the blow. The pilot turned slowly around twice, then fell flat on his face alongside his unconscious pal. And it was then Dave realized he was not dreaming, and was able to find his tongue.

"Holy jumping jellyfish!" he gasped. "I—I thought you'd blown your top, Freddy. But it was a gag, huh? Boy, oh boy! Me for you, pal, every day in the week, and twice on Sundays. Gee, Freddy! I'm a no good bum for thinking—"

"Quite!" the English youth said with a wide grin. "But I'll forgive you this once. But speaking of gags. I'll free the Colonel, and then see about you. Just cool your heels a bit, my little man."

Moving over to the Colonel, Freddy took the gag away and freed the senior officer's hands and feet. It wasn't until he was completely free that the Intelligence chief was able to speak.

"I'll never forget this, Farmer, never!" he exclaimed in a rush of words. "One of the finest things I ever saw in my life. I can hardly believe it even now. It—well, it was like magic. It must have been. How in blue blazes did you manage to free your hands? Mine were tied so tight they still feel broken in a dozen places."

As the Colonel spoke he rubbed his hands and wrists vigorously. Freddy blushed to the roots of his hair, but there was a pleased grin on his lips.

"They tied me pretty tight, too, sir," he said. "But a chap in England once showed me a trick of holding your hands so that there's still a little slack no matter how tight they're tied. It doesn't work with most people. I mean you have to have thin hands, and be able to sort of fold them up so's they're no thicker than your wrists. Then you can slide the ropes off, if you work at it long enough. I—well, I was able to do it. The moaning and the request for a drink was just to get one of them close enough. I hope you don't think I meant the things I said, sir."

"Don't worry," the Colonel said, and slapped Freddy on the shoulder. "You can say anything you want, at any time, and it will always be okay with me, after this. I mean it! You make me feel like an amateur, Farmer. It was wonderful. But let's get these two tied up while they're still listening to the birdies. What a sweet punch you've got, Farmer. And at your weight, too! You'd keep Joe Louis busy any time. But let's get at these two, and get going."

Freddy and the Colonel bent over the two prostrate forms and started roping them up hand and foot. Dave watched for a moment, then made sounds in his throat.

"Hey!" he shouted. "I'm here, you know!"

Freddy turned his head and looked at him. Bright lights danced in the English youth's eyes.

"Why, so you are," he murmured, and gave the Colonel a quick wink. "Just who are you? And when did you come in?"

"Cut the comedy!" Dawson howled. "Get these confounded ropes off me, or I'll fan your breeches plenty next time I get my hands on you, young fellow!"

Freddy shrugged, pursed his lips and cocked an eyebrow at the Colonel.

"Bit violent, isn't he?" he grunted. "Think we should let him loose, or wait a bit until he cools down?"

"I don't know," the Colonel said with a chuckle. "You're the boss. Do as you think best. Maybe, if he said 'pretty please,' or something."

"Quite," Freddy said, and turned to Dave. "Say 'pretty please,' and I'll consider it," he grinned.

Dave looked daggers, and pressed his lips tightly together. Freddy sighed, stood up and started brushing dust off his uniform.

"What do we do now, sir?" he asked, and deliberately turned his back on Dawson. "Want me to fly you to San Diego, and have somebody come back for these three? Or—"

"Okay, okay, you win, you sawed off made in England little runt!" Dave roared. "Pretty please, confound you. Now untie me, for cat's sake."

Freddy walked over to him and leveled a reprimanding finger.

"Such a tone of voice!" he admonished sternly. "Say it nicely, just as you were taught in school, now."

Dave turned forty different colors of the rainbow, but he finally managed to swallow his wrath.

"Pretty please," he said. "I will remember this moment always. And I mean always, you cluck!"

Freddy laughed, and in half a minute had Dave free. As he pulled the last rope loose, he stepped quickly backward and set himself for the expected rush. But Dave simply rubbed his hands and wrists and glared at him.

"Relax!" he growled. "I'm going to save this one up, you betcha! And when the right time comes, will you sing a song and dance a dance for me! Kidding aside, though, Freddy, that was something. I really mean it. Boy! Can you always come up with something new! But don't think that means I'm going to forget, you little bum. My turn will come."

Freddy grinned at him impishly, and then both stopped their horse play and turned serious eyes toward the Colonel.

"We can still make San Diego with time to spare, sir," Dave said with a glance at his watch. "Are we going to take those two along with us?"

"We certainly are," the Colonel said, and pointed a finger at the pilot. "That one is just ripe to be cracked wide open. He'll blab everything he knows to save his own neck. I've met his type often. Hard as nails on the surface, but completely yellow underneath."

"It's pretty hard to believe that a couple of Americans would stoop this low," Dave said, tight-lipped. "But I suppose the Axis has a fifth column working here in the States just as they had in every other country they tackled."

"True enough," the Colonel replied with a nod. "And as the saying goes, some men will sell their souls for gold. Those two are the type. Country and flag don't mean a thing to them. Something twisted inside of them. They weren't put together right in the first place. But this is a big thing for my bureau, boys! And for the F.B.I., too. I have a hunch I know who their big boss is—a man the F.B.I.'s been after for weeks. There'll be a welcoming committee waiting for him tonight. Have no fear of that. Before we get going, however, I want to have a quick look around here. Give me a hand. Maybe we'll find something of importance. We've got an hour or so, haven't we?"

"Easy," Dave replied. "Shall we hunt for something special?"

"Hunt for anything!" the Colonel said grimly. "And pray for a miracle find."

Exactly one hour and six minutes later they had finished going over the room with fine tooth comb thoroughness. The net result was a batch of papers that the Colonel clutched in his hand. A couple of them had lists of names and addresses. The others were covered with messages that were all in code, and couldn't be broken down right at the moment. The Colonel was pleased with the results, but there was just the slightest gleam of disappointment in his eyes. Dave saw the gleam and wondered.

"We didn't find the miracle, sir?" he asked. "What was it?"

The Colonel tapped the papers and shook his head.

"It could be in this stuff, but I doubt it," he said. "I mean a clue that would help us with the Carrier Indian business. However, I don't think—"

The chief of U. S. Intelligence suddenly stopped, and a cold hard glint came into his eyes. He turned around and stared down at the two trussed up men on the floor. Both had recovered consciousness and were watching him out of eyes brimming with terror. The Colonel eyed them for a moment, then stepped forward and deliberately picked up one of the two automatics Freddy had placed on the table. Turning, he sighted the gun and pulled the trigger. The gun roared sound and flame. A hole appeared in the floor a half inch from the redhead's left ear, and the man screamed like a stuck pig. Colonel Welsh leveled the gun again and drilled a hole in the floor a half inch from the redhead's other ear.

"See?" he barked. "I know a little about trick shooting, myself. Okay. How's this for a bull's-eye? Right between those two. Right on the end of your nose!"

The man screamed and writhed about on the floor.

"Don't, don't!" he gasped. "Oh, please don't, Colonel! Don't let me have it."

"Then what about your brother rat aboard the Carrier Indian?" Colonel Welsh thundered. "Who is he? What name is he using? What's his rank? Speak up, you! I've got an itchy trigger finger, too!"

The redhead gasped, and gurgled, and choked, and sobbed in a desperate effort to get the words out of his mouth in a hurry.

"I don't know, I don't know!" he cried. "We don't know anything about the Carrier Indian. Honestly, we don't, Colonel. We just got orders to stop you and these two kids from getting to San Diego. We only got orders to stop them from going aboard the Indian. We don't know nothing about her, honest to Pete. We don't even know why our boss didn't want them two kids to go aboard. That's the truth, on my word of honor."

"You have no honor!" the Colonel told him coldly. Then he slowly sighted the gun on a point between the pilot's eyes. "Well?" he demanded. "You tell me then!"

The pilot turned white as a sheet under his beard, and looked as if he were going to faint. His eyes popped way out, and spittle drooled out the corners of his mouth.

"I don't know either!" he cried hoarsely. "So help me, Colonel, I'm willing to spill everything I know. But I don't know a thing about the Indian business. Go on, shoot me right between the eyes if I'm telling you any lie. We just manned this station. And like he said, we got orders to stop those two from going aboard the Indian. So help me! That's the truth!"

Colonel Welsh hesitated, then shrugged and stuck the gun in his pocket.

"It was too much to hope for, anyway," he muttered more to himself. "Let's get going. You lads get the plane started while I lug these two outside. A mighty big day for America so far. Now, if only you two can—"

The senior officer sighed and let the rest hang in the air. Then he bent over, caught each man by the heels, and hauled them out into the brilliant sunshine like a couple of logs. They yelped and babbled with pain, but the Colonel had deaf ears. Twenty minutes later the two fifth column prisoners were stowed aboard the Stinson, and the plane's props were ticking over. Dave and Freddy had refilled the tanks from tins of gas they found in the second shack. The shiny thing that Dave had seen under the trees from the air proved to be a high speed Waco fitted with two machine guns. For a moment they debated whether or not one of them should fly it back. On second thought, though, they decided it was best for them all to stick together in the same ship, and let somebody else pick up the Waco later.

"Okay, all aboard!" Dave finally announced, and gave Freddy a friendly slap on the back. "Go on and fly her, pal. You've sure earned the honor. And, heck, my nerves can stand anything, now."

"I knew the compliment would have a nasty ending to it!" the English youth growled, and shook his head. "No, fly her yourself. I've done my share of work today. Besides, you know this neck of the world. I don't."

"Well, somebody fly it!" Colonel Welsh shouted from inside the cabin. "We've still got to get to San Diego, you know. Come on, snap it up, you two!"

"Okay!" Dave growled, and shouldered Freddy Farmer out of the way. "If I must I must. Who was your slave last year, Mister?"

"Same chap," Freddy said with a chuckle. "And his good manners haven't improved a bit. San Diego, my good man! And in a bit of a hurry, please!"

"Very good, sir!" Dave grunted and made a face. "And you can guess what I'm thinking!"