Then began a most pleasant afternoon for the two young air aces. They saw everything there was to see at the Brownsville Base, and it was all so terribly interesting that they almost forgot the ever present mystery menace that hung over them like a dark cloud. But not quite. Every so often, in a flash of memory, stark reality would return to one or the other of them, and they would have to try hard not to let it show in their faces.
Just before evening mess the six ferry bombers took off on the last lap of their journey to the bomber base in the Canal Zone. Freddy watched them with a faint sadness in his eyes, and a sort of empty, hollow feeling inside of him. He constantly shot sneak side glances at Dave, but there was nothing but a grin and a contented look on Dawson’s face. Each time Freddy would switch his gaze away, frown, and bite at his lower lip. Could it be that Dave—? Not once would he let himself finish the thought. It most certainly wasn’t a question of courage with Dave—that he was getting the wind up after so many escapes from death, and in such rapid succession. It was something else, and Freddy wished to high Heaven that Dave would please break down and let him in on his secret—if there was a secret.
When the last of the ferry bombers had lost itself in the growing dusk far to the south, Freddy half turned toward Dave, but didn’t look at him.
“Don’t you wish we were aboard one of those?” he murmured so nobody else could hear, “heading down toward the Canal Zone to learn what we can from Second Lieutenant Marble?”
Dave looked at him, and shrugged.
“Aboard one of those?” he echoed. “Nix! Once is enough for me. Too darn dangerous. Well, let’s go eat.”
Freddy Farmer’s jaw dropped, and a hurt look flooded into his eyes.
“Dave!” he began, and couldn’t go on.
Dawson just grinned at him, and then suddenly winked.
“Remember your stomach, little boy,” he chuckled a moment later. “It’s a long ride back to Albuquerque. Let’s go fill it up.”