"From that altitude?" Dave grunted, and watched the dot swing down lower and curve around in their direction. "Not a chance. But he's heading back here, sure enough. There! He's flattened out of his glide. And there's his engine hitting on all six again."
It was true. Even as the two boys watched, the still very indistinct plane seemed to level off, and the sound of its engine increased. Impulsively they both backed up a couple of steps and stood there silently watching the plane come closer and closer. Presently it was close enough to take on definite shape and outline. It was an Italian Fiat C.R. 42 fighter plane powered by a Fiat radial engine; a biplane type that had been used extensively by Mussolini's air force since the very start of the African campaign. They had proved no match, however, for even the slowest planes General Wavell used, and little by little it had become harder and harder to find one in the air. Their pilots had no stomach to stray close to R.A.F. controlled air.
The two boys had been acquainted with the facts about the Fiat C.R. 42, and so their interest and wonder increased as soon as they noted its type.
"Now what would that lad be doing way out here?" Freddy murmured aloud. "Of course he isn't near where our flying chaps might possibly be, but the fact the blighter's actually alone certainly looks queer."
"Yeah, if what they told us about those jobs is true," Dave grunted, and scowled at the oncoming plane. "Hey, I wonder! Could that bird be on reconnaissance patrol, or even contact patrol? Look at the way he's zigzagging. He's even losing some altitude. Freddy, that guy's looking for something as sure as you're a foot high!"
"Maybe the crashes of the four planes we shot down," Freddy suggested. "Perhaps that ship was sent out to confirm the results of the scrap, to drop food and water to any of those Nazi or Italian lads who may have survived the crashes."
"Could be," Dave nodded, and continued to scowl at the plane. "But they sure gave him the wrong location bearings. He's 'way too far north. No, I think that idea is out, Freddy. That bird's on the look-see for something else. He's—Hey! See there? He's found what he was hunting for. Look! He's veered to the north a bit and he's going down in a long power dive."
Dave gave a final look at the plane, then looked across the desert canyon toward the other side. The opposite wall was too high for him to see over it and the stretch of desert beyond. From the glide angle and direction of the Italian plane, he knew that it was going to pass low over some point well beyond the northern slope of the desert plateau. He half turned and touched Freddy on the arm.
"He's got business some place over there where we can't see," he said. "Get on your shoes, and collect your stuff. We're going to the other side of this plateau crack and see what the heck is what."
"You took the words right out of my mouth," Freddy said, and started putting on his shoes.