“You mean they’re all wiped out?”
“Well, hardly. Some are, of course, a good number, too. But the live ones are under lock and key in the jail.”
“But Osceola—did you find Dad?” Bill’s voice was trembling with eagerness.
“Sorry, old man—he’s not on the island.”
“What! Don’t tell me he’s dead?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. I captured the barracks boss, who seems to be a pretty sound egg. He says that Martinengo left for the workings in Big Cypress—it seems he is a trained pilot. He took your own plane, and forced your father to go with him.”
[CHAPTER XVIII—BIG CYPRESS AGAIN]
Three o’clock on the afternoon of the next day found the two young men standing on the concrete pier, watching the narrow entrance to the bay. Beside them stood the old negro, Sam, an incongruous figure in his war paint, and armed to the teeth.
“Here they come!” cried Bill, as two wicked-looking destroyers, belching smoke from their squat funnels, glided into the harbor. “The old U. S. Navy is pretty prompt, once it gets started, eh? That isn’t bad time at all from Key West!”
“Lucky we were able to reach them by phone. That second ship is letting go her anchor. The one in the lead seems to be making for this pier.”