“Quick! Henry—help me!” he shouted, running toward the Dragonfly.
Don appeared at the door.
“That’s right!” He saw Don pushing at the tail of the aircraft.
“What’s it all about?” demanded the mechanician, to whom all this in-and-out pushing of the “busses” was mystifying.
“Scott called down to us. He was dozing when the light woke him. He got a glimpse of the man running away,” Don informed him.
“It was the Indian—John Ti!” contributed Chick, putting his weight behind the wing of the ship as he helped get it through the doors.
“Well—then he went into the swamps!” the man said. “That’s the only place he could get to from back of that house.”
“I know it!” puffed Garry.
“What do you want this crate for, then? You don’t expect to see a single, Indian kid, hiding in a pitch-dark swamp!”
“No!” gasped Don, “we don’t. But—Henry—we left the Dart tied there!”