Ramey nodded. "Flying for the Republic. That is—we were until the Japs tagged us this morning. The reclining ex-airman with the bandaged dome is Bob Barrett, 'Red' to all but his colorblind friends. I'm Ramey Winters. We're greatly indebted to you for your help."
"Forget it!" grinned Lake. But the less genial twin shook his head gloomily.
"This is a nasty mess. Indo-China is under Japanese 'protection,' you know. If any of the Japs saw that dogfight from their camp down the river, there'll be troops up here in an hour or so to investigate."
"Dogfight?" echoed Barrett. He stared at Ramey with sudden understanding. "So that's it! That's where they disappeared to? Why, you scrapping son-of-a-gun! Get all three of them?"
Ramey nodded guiltily.
"I—I sort of blew my conk. I thought you—I mean—Oh, hell! What's the difference? O'Brien's right. I got us all in a jam. The only thing for us to do, Red, is to get the hell out of here, but quick! Before we implicate a bunch of innocent bystanders. So, friends, if you'll point the way to the Thai border—"
But it was the girl, Sheila, who this time spoke up.
"Nothing of the sort! You're in no fit condition to head into the jungle, either of you! Besides, you'll have to have food, water, blankets. And Daddy will want to see you."
Lake O'Brien voiced agreement.