“Hello, who are you?” shot out the man, and he paused not five feet from the young airman and looked him over from head to foot.
“I heard of your machine and came to take a look at it,” replied Dave, on his guard and watching his challenger closely, for he had a bad face.
“Oh, you did?” said the fellow, moving a step nearer. “That’s a strange jacket you wear. Why, you’re an airman yourself and—you’re Dashaway!”
The man was too quick for Dave. As he spoke he made a deft spring. It showed that he was a natural acrobat. His grip on Dave’s arm was like iron.
“Let me go. Suppose I am?” demanded our hero, struggling.
“Well, then I have a little business with you,” coolly answered his captor. “Oh, you’re Dashaway. I saw you twice in Winnipeg. Come on. Tom! Tom!” he called out loudly, to his companion, as he found himself unable to budge his prisoner, although he weighed nearly double what Dave did.
The man near the campfire neither responded nor stirred. He was past helping his comrade. There was a reason why the young airman was able to make so sturdy a resistance. His free hand clutched a sapling right at hand. His foot he had twisted in among the network of strong roots.
The combatants stood directly at the edge of one of the pits that honeycombed the plateau. Its edge crumbled as the man gave Dave a jerk.
“Look out!” cried our hero, “if you don’t want both of us to get a tumble.”
“You come on,” ordered his captor, savagely. “I’ll stand no fooling. Come—on!”