The air came out between young Farmer's lips in a whistling gasp, and he grabbed hold of Dawson's arm.
"Dave!" he choked out. "Dave! You mean you didn't let them know?"
Dawson was unable to answer for a moment. His whole body seemed to turn into a solid chunk of ice so that he could hardly breathe. It required a tremendous effort to get the words off his lips.
"No, Freddy," he said. "Just as I started to tune in Casablanca, that Messerschmitt bunch gave me the works and shot my set into splinters. Then—then your radio was out? I tried to raise you several times, but couldn't."
"The blasted thing went haywire after I'd been in the air only fifteen minutes," the English youth replied. "I had half a mind to turn back to Casablanca, but I didn't dare for fear the Junkers might be down my way. They were. I sighted them coming in over Magador. They were hugging the clouds. I gave them a few miles and then tagged along. I tried to raise you, but I didn't get any answer, so I just carried on. About an hour later I spotted you trailing a Messerschmitt. I tried to rise you again, but still no answer. Then when we got close to here I saw those three Messerschmitts drop down on you. I was above the lot of you, so I saw everything. Man! I thought I'd die when you did nothing, and just let them come down!"
"Dumb ape that I am," Dawson said bitterly, "I was so interested in watching the Junkers that I didn't think to keep an eye on my tail. I heard your call once, Freddy, though I couldn't spot you. You did get one of them, huh?"
"I got both, with a bit of luck," young Farmer said quietly. "But not before one of the blighters had put a bullet through my port engine's oil line. All I could do was force land. I saw your parachute open, and saw your silk foul in a tree near here. I tried to land as close as I could, but messed things up something terribly. A blasted awful landing. I was lucky not to have broken my confounded neck. I think I was knocked out for a spell. Fact is, I'm sure of it, because it was late afternoon when I collected my senses. I could see this bit of a hill where we are now, so I started out for here. Good grief, what country! The Alps are easier to cross than this bit of ground. When it got dark, it was just three times as bad. But—Well, thank the Lord I finally reached you!"
Dawson said nothing. He simply groped for Freddy Farmer's hand, found it, and pressed it hard.
"That was rotten luck for you, and just plain dumbness on my part," he finally got out in a groan. "Those are the two reasons for our failure. Gosh! If I had a knife, I think I'd be tempted to cut my throat. When I think how close we came to preventing those bombers from raiding Casablanca, I—"
"But they haven't taken off yet, Dave!" Freddy cried excitedly. "It's still not too late, if that's what you're thinking!"