"_False_ dawn!" corrected Barrett with sudden, comprehending savagery. "The famous 'dawn-before-sunrise'--that's what it is! I've read about it. It's possible anywhere, but it happens mostly in this part of the Orient. Result of flat country ... heat ... wide expanse of Pacific ... refraction. You're heading the wrong way, pal." Ramey nodded tightly. "I know. I headed southeast to confuse them; didn't want to tip off our base. I thought we could swing back when they gave up. But now--" "Now what?" "We can't turn back or they'd nab us, sure," gritted Ramey. "Our only chance is to outrun them. Maybe we can get to Singapore or--" "On what?" queried Barrett. "Marsh-gas from passing swamps? This crate's only fueled for a thousand miles, keed. We've used half of that. And Singapore's a good nine hundred south." "We might make Bangkok--" "Or Australia," suggested Barrett drily, "or Hawaii? All right, chum--pull the cork. You ain't kidding me. This is the payoff, huh?" Ramey, glancing up from the panel, met his comrade's calm, untroubled eyes levelly for a moment. In that instant, it occurred to him that Red Barrett was a hell of a fine guy. He wanted to say so, but men can't say such things. Sometimes they don't have to. He just nodded. "I guess so, redhead." "I won four bucks from Jimmy Larkin yesterday," said Red irrelevantly, "playing rummy. I should have collected it then." Again his eyes sought the machine-gun hopefully. "As long as we're in for it, we might just as well use up our old ammunition, huh, Ramey? We--" he hinted virtuously--"don't want to let no _matériel_ fall into enemy hands--" Ramey shook his head decisively. "We won't fire on them. Not even if they fire on us first. Not even if they shoot us down. We can't risk causing the 'incident' they want. Our only chance is to outrun them, Red." "Then we're in a hell of a pickle," Barrett told him gloomily. "Because they're faster than us. They're catching us now. Hold your hat, keed! Here it comes!" * * * * * And with his warning, it came! The first chattering snarl of machine-gun fire from the foremost of their pursuers. Lead ripped and slashed at the fleeing Curtis; above the roar of the motor shrilled the _spang!_ of metal on metal; Ramey saw a crazy, zigzag line appear miraculously in the cowling above him, heard the thin, high, disappointed whine of ricochetting bullets. Again he tugged, kicked. His 'plane leaped, darted to the right. Red grunted. "Whew! That was close! One more like that--" As if his words were an omen, another burst screamed about their ears. And the lethal cacophony was doubled, now; the second of their three attackers had found the range. The little ship seemed to jerk like a live thing as fiery pellets pierced its skin. It was only a matter of minutes before one of those bullets would find a vital spot, Ramey knew. No use continuing this unequal battle. Knuckles white on the stick, he yelled to his companion: