"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_!" CHAPTER THIRTEEN _Death Strikes Often_ A huge ball of gold and red hung balanced on the western lip of the world. Shafts of shimmering fire radiated out from it in all directions. They filled the sky with a mixture of shades that ranged from a delicate pink to blood red. They bathed the earth with the same hues, and seemed actually to creep into every nook and corner. The line of planes on the San Diego field looked like the work of an imaginative artist on nature's canvas rather than the real thing. It was a sight to hold the eye and catch the breath--but Dave Dawson stared at it and wasn't even conscious of what he was looking at. He and Freddy Farmer were in the field Commandant's office, waiting for Colonel Welsh to show up. But that was just the trouble. They had been waiting for three solid hours for the Intelligence chief to return from wherever he had gone. Three hours before Dave had put the Stinson down on the field. At Colonel Welsh's order he had taxied it straight into an empty hangar and cut the engines. The Colonel had jumped out and disappeared for five minutes. He had returned with the field's C.O. and a half dozen mechanics, and a closed car. The two fifth columnists had been dumped in the car, and driven away. After hasty introductions to the field Commandant, the Colonel had led them over to the field office and told them to wait for him to return. That had been three hours ago, and they were still waiting. "Stop worrying, and come finish this food they sent over," Freddy Farmer presently broke the silence. "Good grief, Dave, it doesn't do any good to wear out the floor like that. Come on and have some more to eat. Eggs, mind you! I haven't had an egg since I don't know when." "You and your stomach!" Dave grated, and half turned from the window. "You should choke on them. Look out there. The Indian! If they're not getting ready to weigh anchor, then I'm nuts! Where is that guy, anyway? He should have told us that--Jeepers!" Freddy stopped some egg halfway to his mouth and looked up.