“Okay. She’s yours. Fly her!”
With an eye on his assistant, Bill gave up the controls and busied himself with the parachute. That job completed he made sure the release cord was in working order and spoke to Osceola.
“You’re doing fine. I’ll take her back now. There’s something else I want to say. We’ll be over the Everglades in a few minutes. And those guys in the cabin will be getting nervous. When the trouble comes, it will come fast. If the ship gets out of control—don’t stay with it—jump! And don’t forget to pull the release cord on your parachute. Pass the word to Sam and tell him to stand up. And, by the way, if I should wave a hand above my head, jump anyway—don’t wait for me—get that?”
“You bet.”
Osceola pulled a pencil and small pad from the pocket of his jumper. He wrote a few lines and passed the slip of paper to Sam.
“Just one thing more and then we’re set,” added Bill into the transmitter on his chest. “Have your gun handy—and don’t be afraid to use it. Good luck, old skate.”
“Good luck, Bill.”
“Get rid of your phone set now. We won’t need it for the present. The cord might get tangled in things if there’s a rough-house.”
He stripped his own headgear and turned his full attention to guiding the amphibian.
They were past the Big Cypress now, and far below lay the Everglades. This western edge of the great lake was dotted with uncounted islands, some large, some small, and all covered with a luxuriant forest growth. High sawgrass hid the water, save in numerous little channels wandering in a network, sometimes coming to a blank end, sometimes broadening into clear spaces abloom with pond lilies. This flat, rather monotonous landscape spread on and out as far as the eye could see.