A moment later Dave felt the muzzle of the automatic pressed against the back of his head, and felt the redhead's other hand going through his pockets. He didn't move a muscle, and presently an angry curse told him that the redhead realized he was wrong. Then the gun tapped him lightly on the head.
"Stay put, with your hands out!" the redhead said. "I'll just make sure about your pals."
Dave kept his throbbing face buried in the dirt until he heard the redhead's voice again.
"Okay, on your feet, and inside! And no more kidding moves like that last one, Dawson. My trigger finger's getting plenty itchy. Okay, move!"
Dave got slowly to his feet, blinked from his eyes water caused by smacking the ground with his face, and walked stiff-legged in through the door of the nearest shack. He expected to step into a room heavy with age, and dust, and dirt, and all the countless smells of the years. But he didn't. He stepped into a large sized room that was comfortably furnished and fitted out like a hunting lodge. No, not exactly a hunting lodge. Rather, it looked more like an arsenal. There were guns all over the place, of all types: pistols, automatics, rifles, and machine guns. Along the entire right wall were heavy wood boxes that obviously contained thousands and thousands of rounds of ammunition.
But what caught Dave's eyes and held them was the powerful gas engine operated short-wave radio receiving set and transmitter that took up most of the space at the rear of the room. One glance told him that every part of it was of the finest equipment, and that its operator could contact points thousands and thousands of miles away. One look at the set and he guessed instantly that one of its chief uses was to send weather data to listening Axis ears. This was probably one of several such stations hidden in the vastness of the United States. In time they would be smoked out and destroyed. Meantime, though, they were serving the Axis powers well, and, unquestionably, in a dozen different ways.
"Not bad, huh?" he heard the redhead's voice with its taunting note. "We have lots of fun here, Mike and Ike. See what I mean, Colonel? We got it all doped out. You Army and Navy guys are suckers. You don't stand a chance, what I mean. When the time's right, we'll move in. And that's all there'll be to it, see? Steady, Colonel! Steady, pal. Rushing me will just get you a bullet in that belly of yours. Take it easy, and relax. Back up, and sit down on that case. You two kids, too."
As the redhead grinned and made motions with the gun, Dave, Freddy, and the Colonel slowly backed up until they were sitting on a couple of gun cases. Once they were settled, with their hands carefully kept in sight, the redhead hooked one leg over a nearby table and absently stroked the palm of his other hand with the barrel of his automatic. Dave heard Colonel Welsh's tight, rasping breathing beside him, but he didn't look at the man. Nor did he glance at Freddy Farmer, who hadn't spoken a word since they had entered the Stinson. Instead, Dave kept his eyes fixed on the redhead—and waited, and hoped, and prayed.
"Yeah, we have us some fun here," the redhead went on, and looked straight at Colonel Welsh. "But soon we're going to have some real fun. See all these guns, Colonel? Lots of people are going to hear them pop off, soon. People east in Washington, too. The boys running this show have it all doped out. It'll be a cinch."
"Do you know what you are?" the Colonel suddenly asked with an effort.