"I'll take them inside while you put the job away," he said to the pilot. "Stick her way under the trees with that Waco, just in case some nosy guys come flying over. Nuts to take chances, you know. We'll--" "Can it!" the pilot snarled. "Who are you, giving orders? Take them inside. I'll be along in a minute, and help tie them up. But keep that gun ready, and use it if you have to. We can't risk anything, see?" "I see, sure I see!" the redhead snarled back. "What's eating you, anyway?" "Nothing, and shut up!" the pilot said in a brittle voice. The redhead nodded, and motioned with his gun to Dave and the other two. "Out!" he snapped. "And watch it. And keep your hands in sight, too." Dave obeyed to the letter, but his heart was thumping against his ribs. He had a sneaky feeling that Colonel Welsh's words had had a profound effect on the pilot. Sure, he had snarled, and boasted, and cursed the United States, the land of his birth. But like all rats of his ilk, deep down in his black heart he was scared stiff of the Old Man With the Whiskers. Deep down in his heart he knew that he might get by with this back stabbing for a little while--just like the Japs--but not for long. In the end he would be caught in the wheels of right and justice and be ground to a pulp. With the pilot feeling as he obviously did, snapping and snarling at his own partner in this dirty work, perhaps something could be made of it. Perhaps-- Dave didn't finish the rest. Without realizing it he had sort of stopped to mull things over as he climbed down from the plane. He had unconsciously started to push one hand into his tunic pocket. He didn't even realize he was making the movement, but the redhead saw it, took it for the wrong thing, and moved with the speed of light. The barrel of the automatic was slapped against the left side of Dave's jaw just hard enough for him to see stars and stumble. He ended up by falling the rest of the way out of the cabin doorway and landing flat on his face on hard dirt. "And stay there!" he heard the redhead growl. "I'll take that gun just as soon as your two pals are down. Okay, you two. Out, and keep your hands where I can see them. Okay! Now, flat on your bellies and hands outstretched. Either of you move, and you get it." A moment later Dave felt the muzzle of the automatic pressed against the back of his head, and felt the redhead's other hand going through his pockets. He didn't move a muscle, and presently an angry curse told him that the redhead realized he was wrong. Then the gun tapped him lightly on the head. "Stay put, with your hands out!" the redhead said. "I'll just make sure about your pals." Dave kept his throbbing face buried in the dirt until he heard the redhead's voice again. "Okay, on your feet, and inside! And no more kidding moves like that last one, Dawson. My trigger finger's getting plenty itchy. Okay, move!"