“That’s right,” Jack admitted. “But she does carry a radio. I’d announce my arrival.” “Well, you haven’t got her yet. You—” Stew stopped suddenly to listen. Jack cocked his head on one side. Back of the high-pitched scream of the departing jet plane they could hear the low roar of an approaching plane of quite another character. “That’s Ted!” Jack exclaimed. “Great Scott! I hope he doesn’t meet that jet plane!” “Be a swell fight. Ted is really good. I’d like to see that fight.” Stew’s eyes shone. “Yes, Ted is good, all right,” Jack admitted. “But something tells me that jet plane is a natural for fighting. It’s got amazing speed. Besides, I’ll bet it’s as easy to handle as a bicycle.” Three minutes later they went racing for the rocky beach. The silence of their island had been torn to bits by the rasping _rat—tat—tat_ of machine-gun fire. Since it came from the sea they guessed that Ted had met the jet plane. “That wasn’t Ted’s gun,” Stew said. “No, it wasn’t.” Jack agreed solemnly. The wind was toward the island. A large cloud hid the battle, but every sound of it came to them. Jack could picture it all in his mind. Ted’s effort to gain the advantage, the terrible speed of his enemy, the flash of fire, the dip of wings, the sudden downward plunges and the upward sweeps in an effort to get on top—all this came to his mind. With lips parted and hearts pounding, Jack and Stew stood there in silence, listening. They knew from the thunder and scream of the planes just what was going on. “It’s as if a pilot in a man-made plane were fighting with one of those prehistoric flying reptiles,” Jack murmured huskily. “Reptiles all right,” was Stew’s comment, “but not prehistoric.” Jack held his breath as he heard Ted make his dash for that smaller cloud. He understood perfectly that Ted was heading for the surface of the sea when he took his final plunge and sensed, with a deep pang of regret, that the end of the fight had come. When once again they heard the short, sharp, rattle of the jet plane’s gun, both Jack and Stew knew that there must still be something left on the water to shoot at—realized, too, what sort of fighter this jet plane fellow was, and at once vowed vengeance. The two boys had stood in silence as the jet plane sailed away. Not a word was said until the screamer’s motor was silenced for a landing on the island. Then Stew muttered, “The dirty coward!” Nothing more was said as they walked slowly back to their camp. So downcast were they that they failed to notice the smell of wood smoke rising from their fireplace. Nor did they see the figure standing by the fire until a voice said, “Good morning.” Startled, they looked up to see the slim girl from the native village. “Your breakfast is served,” she said cheerfully, pointing to a wooden bowl filled with hot fried chicken, a board on which steaming cakes rested, and a big pot of coffee.