"We didn't find the miracle, sir?" he asked. "What was it?"
The Colonel tapped the papers and shook his head.
"It could be in this stuff, but I doubt it," he said. "I mean a clue that would help us with the Carrier Indian business. However, I don't think—"
The chief of U. S. Intelligence suddenly stopped, and a cold hard glint came into his eyes. He turned around and stared down at the two trussed up men on the floor. Both had recovered consciousness and were watching him out of eyes brimming with terror. The Colonel eyed them for a moment, then stepped forward and deliberately picked up one of the two automatics Freddy had placed on the table. Turning, he sighted the gun and pulled the trigger. The gun roared sound and flame. A hole appeared in the floor a half inch from the redhead's left ear, and the man screamed like a stuck pig. Colonel Welsh leveled the gun again and drilled a hole in the floor a half inch from the redhead's other ear.
"See?" he barked. "I know a little about trick shooting, myself. Okay. How's this for a bull's-eye? Right between those two. Right on the end of your nose!"
The man screamed and writhed about on the floor.
"Don't, don't!" he gasped. "Oh, please don't, Colonel! Don't let me have it."
"Then what about your brother rat aboard the Carrier Indian?" Colonel Welsh thundered. "Who is he? What name is he using? What's his rank? Speak up, you! I've got an itchy trigger finger, too!"
The redhead gasped, and gurgled, and choked, and sobbed in a desperate effort to get the words out of his mouth in a hurry.
"I don't know, I don't know!" he cried. "We don't know anything about the Carrier Indian. Honestly, we don't, Colonel. We just got orders to stop you and these two kids from getting to San Diego. We only got orders to stop them from going aboard the Indian. We don't know nothing about her, honest to Pete. We don't even know why our boss didn't want them two kids to go aboard. That's the truth, on my word of honor."