Dave turned front and gave his attention to his flying. And for the next twenty-five minutes the Devastator droned along on its job of flying, with neither of the two youths saying a word. At the end of that time the Section Leader fired a brace of very-light signals into the air to signify that the patrol had reached its farthest point north. Then he banked around toward the south again. The five other planes banked around, and as the turn was made Dave glued his eyes on the other planes and half held his breath in expectation. But he was doomed to disappointment. No plane refused to turn and went streaking away on its own. All of them swung about gracefully in formation and started drilling back toward the south and the Carrier Indian far down over the edge of the horizon. "Well, so that's that!" Dave muttered bitterly. "I was either all wet, or he decided not to take the chance this trip. Or maybe it was because we didn't sight any--" He didn't finish the rest. At that moment Freddy Farmer's fist came down on his shoulder, and the English youth's voice cried out in wild excitement. "Look at Number Two plane way over there, Dave! It seems to be having engine trouble. It's spouting smoke from the exhaust, and is nosing down!" "A forced landing!" Dave cried without thinking as he watched the Number Two plane start to lose altitude. "What a tough break for those two guys! They'll have to sit down and float until--Hey! What am I talking about? I must be nuts! Freddy!" "Absolutely!" the English youth cried, and nodded his head vigorously. "It's easy to give your engine a bad mixture feed and make the exhaust smoke. An easy trick when you want to break away from a formation, and make it look as though you have to. Dave! I'll bet you anything you want that that engine hasn't got anything more wrong with it than ours has!" CHAPTER SIXTEEN _Water Rats_ "No bet, no bet!" Dave cried, and clenched and unclenched his free fist in his excitement. "I think, too, that bird is pulling a trick. He's going down, and he knows that none of us will follow him down, because there's nothing we could do to help. We're land planes, not seaplanes. It would be up to the rest of us to get back to the Indian in a hurry and report that he had to sit down, and where." "But I wonder, Dave," Freddy Farmer grunted as a sudden frown creased his brows. "Look. It stands to reason that he couldn't _know_ he was to make this exact patrol at this exact time. So it couldn't very well be that he planned to land in the water and have a waiting Jap submarine pick him up. That would be silly. He might float for days before a submarine came along to pick him up. And--well, how in the world could he plan to meet one at this spot? Maybe it is the real thing, Dave. Maybe it is a forced landing that couldn't be helped. See what I mean?"