Fortunately Jimmy had braced himself at the first sound of splashing water. He was thrown forward, and though his face was somewhat cut and he suffered several hard bumps, he was not really injured. Instantly he cut his switch and shut off the gas. Then he leaped from the plane to see what had happened. He found he was in the centre of a great stretch of bog. His plane was hopelessly mired and out of commission for days. At a distance he saw men with lanterns. He splashed through the swampy ground toward them. They came hurrying in his direction. Foremost was the village postmaster. “What in thunder did you make a flare in a swamp for?” demanded Jimmy, mad as hops. “My plane is completely out of commission.” “We did just what you asked us to do,” replied the postmaster, somewhat taken aback by Jimmy’s fiery greeting. “What I asked _you_ to do!” said Jimmy. “Why, I asked you to light a flare in the best landing place available. Is that your idea of a good landing place for a plane?” “But in your second telegram you said to put the flare in a swampy place as you would fly still farther north from here and your ship still wore skis.” “My second telegram! My ship still wore skis! I never sent you any second telegram. I never told you I had skis on my ship.” “Well, somebody did. Here’s the telegram. It’s signed New York _Morning Press_.” And the postmaster fished out of his pocket two yellow telegram blanks and thrust them into Jimmy’s hand. “Somebody has played another trick on me,” said Jimmy. “But it won’t do any good. My ship may be disabled, but I am not. There’s still the telegraph to fall back upon. I can get a message back to New York that way.” “But you’ll need your plane to fly out to the wreck.” “Thunderation!” said Jimmy. “Isn’t there a boat to be had?” “Yes, but it’s terribly rough. Nobody around here would go out on the lake in a sea like the one that’s running now.” “Well, can I get the story of the wreck here?” “No. Nobody knows a thing about it except that the ship has piled up on the nearest island. We can see her with our glasses. But that’s all we know. That’s all we had to send to the newspapers.” “Isn’t there any boat that can make it out to the island? I’ll pay anybody well who’ll take me out.” “The only fellow who would dare it is that bootlegger who held you up on your former trip here. He stops at nothing. He’s got a boat specially made for rough weather.” “Where is he?” asked Jimmy. “Can I get in touch with him?” “Yes, you can. He’s been in town for several days. The lake has been too rough even for him. I’ll show you where he hangs out.” And the postmaster tramped off, with Jimmy at his side and a group of villagers following behind them.