"What's that?" gasped the pilot. Turning, he saw the quart bottle. Already the remaining engine was dying of thirst. "Quick, Ned!" he ordered, snatching the container. "Take the controls and hold the ship level." Five seconds later the inventor was creeping out along one wing toward the intake valve of the port gas tank. Their hearts almost in their mouths, his companions watched his hazardous progress. In spite of the clutching hand of the wind and the quavering of the ship under Ned's inexpert guidance, Tom managed to reach his goal. [Illustration: He Crept Along One Wing] Removing the cap with no little difficulty, he dumped the precious drops of gasoline into the tank. In a few moments he got back to the cabin. As he closed the door the laboring engine once more resumed its full-throated roar. "Lad, you've got what it takes!" rumbled Captain Britten, shaking Tom's hand approvingly. "You're a mighty brave young fellow!" "You mean YOU had what it takes," laughed the inventor, taking over the controls preparatory to landing on Carlopa. "Without that extra bit of gas we'd be piled up in a tree by now!" [Illustration: He Emptied the Precious Drops] The quart of fuel was just sufficient to carry the ship safely down to the lake's surface at a point about three miles from the town. Fortunately one of Tom's friends was sailing near-by in his cat-boat and gladly offered to take the three over to the Swift dock, which jutted out from the grounds behind Tom's home. It was mid-afternoon before the "Winged Arrow" was towed across to the dock and her tanks refilled with high-test gasoline. While this was being done, Tom and Ned went to the home of Mr. Damon to ask if he would like to accompany them to the West Indies. [Illustration: Tom Saw a Friend] The man was found to be sitting in an easy chair on his front porch, where he spent much time, now that he was home from the hospital. [Illustration: They Went to See Mr. Damon] "Bless my parachute, I'd like nothing better than to make the trip!" he said a trifle wistfully. "To tell you the truth, though," his voice sank to a whisper, "between the doctors and Mrs. Damon I'll be lucky if I'm allowed to walk around the block alone for some time to come!" "Well, that's too bad, Mr. Damon. We were counting on you." [Illustration: "We Were Counting on You."] "Bless my fishing tackle, Tom, I'm sorry too. But tell me! How did Captain Britten happen to be carrying a quart of gasoline in his satchel?" asked the eccentric gentleman after he had been told of the airplane's narrow escape. "I thought it strange myself," said Tom, "but he claimed he always carries some with him to remove grease spots from his clothes." "Ha! He must be quite a character. I suppose aboard a salvage boat folks get their clothes pretty dirty, at that."