“So it’s tomorrow at dawn, eh?” Freddy Farmer murmured, and stared squint-eyed off into space. “Nasty beggar, what?”
“A low-down bum of the first water,” Dave grunted. “But I’ve got the feeling that he’s not as happy as he’d like to be. That bird is worried, Freddy. He tried to cover up with his tough words, but he’s worried. We got under his skin, and he doesn’t feel so good.”
“No doubt,” Freddy said with a sigh and a wry smile. “But I could name two others who don’t feel so good about things, either.”
“Don’t bother!” Dawson groaned. “I can get it on the first guess!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eagle Lightning
The tropical sun was still a way above the western lip of the world, but because of the canopy of dense trees and other growth that covered the island the light on the ground was pale and silverish, and long slender shadows crisscrossed each other. Slumped down on the rough wood floor beside Freddy Farmer, Dave closed his eyes tight for the umpty-umpth time, and searched his tortured brain for a possible way out of this tightest of all traps that had ever caught him between its jaws.
But once again his aching brain was unable to conjure up anything that wouldn’t result in practically instant death. It was just no use, it seemed, even to try to think, for the stone wall was ever there in his brain. On the other hand, though, it was impossible not to think, and so the countless soul-stabbing thoughts went around and around in a vicious circle.
Hardly realizing that he was doing so, he went back in memory and retraced every step of this mad, fruitless journey that had begun in Colonel Welsh’s office in San Francisco. What had happened to the agent who was supposed to follow Freddy and him to Albuquerque? Had he perhaps had engine trouble, and been unable to get off in time? And had it been accidental trouble? But why wonder about that small item? What good would it do him now to know? None at all. But he hoped Colonel Welsh’s agent came out of it all right.