“Why?” Freddy wanted to know.
“Because we’re going to have to deliver some tough luck news to Colonel Welsh,” Dawson said quietly. “And, maybe—and maybe this will wash out his reasons for wanting to see us. I hope not. I hope that—”
Dave shrugged and let the rest hang in thin air. He got to his feet, and nodded at Freddy.
“Time we got going,” he said. “We’ll mark this spot on our maps so Frisco Base can send an ambulance plane back for him. If we got in and out, so can an ambulance plane pilot. Happy landings, old man. You can count on all the rest of us carrying on for you until those Axis rats are finished for keeps.”
“Amen!” Freddy breathed softly, and dropped into step.
Not another word was spoken between them until Dave had skillfully lifted the Vultee clear of the small narrow strip of ground and was nosing up into the California sky. Then Freddy reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Tip-top bit of flying, as usual, Dave!” he called out. “But tell me something. You started to say you hoped something, but you didn’t finish. What was it?”
Dave flew on a bit before he finally twisted around in the seat and looked back at Freddy.
“Just a wild hope, and probably a crazy one,” he said. “But I sort of hope that Colonel Welsh will give us the job of picking up where that poor fellow left off. Somehow I’d like to try and finish whatever it is he’s started.”
“And that makes two of us who are hoping!” Freddy Farmer echoed back instantly.