A low whistle off to his right indicated one of the boys was asking for a location. Stan gave a bird call and listened. He got three answers and heard his pals working their way toward him. Twice more he gave the assembly signal. Then he noticed that the sky above and over toward the twin peaks was lighting up with streaks and points of light. Tracers were arcing up and over, in and out. Grimly Stan watched. Night fighters had tackled O’Malley. He watched the battle, following the action by the tracers and the bursts of cannonfire. Suddenly one of the planes broke into flame. Like a torch it twisted earthward.
“Could have been a Messerschmitt,” Arno spoke close beside Stan.
“It burned up like a plywood job,” Allison’s voice said. He spoke in his usual unruffled drawl.
“O’Malley never would run from a fight,” Stan said grimly.
“This time I think he ran,” Tony cut in.
Allison laughed. “You just don’t know O’Malley, old man.”
“No matter what happened to O’Malley we have to get going. Lead on, Arno,” Stan ordered. There was no use in going sour over what might be a tough battle. They had plenty of work to do.
Arno led the way out of the wheat field. He located a thick woods and they entered it. A few minutes of walking through tangled bushes brought them out on a pathway.
“This is the trail to the orchard,” Arno whispered to Tony.
“There is another trail branching off, the one we used to follow when we went swimming in the little lake below the hill,” Tony said.