“A mail flyer!” cried Chick. “Well—that’s interesting!”
“You mean—Smith?” Don inquired, eagerly.
“That’s just the trouble,” John stated. “He came while Father was off doctoring a man in the back country. He called himself that. My mother isn’t very quick with her old eyes. He had his flying togs on, too, and she couldn’t describe him closely except that he was tall, and thin.”
“And so was the mail flyer who came in tonight,” Chick cried. “The one we scared, so that he turned on us and tried to force the helicopter out of control. We’re getting close to something—I think!”
The man they discussed, apparently loitering outside the door, came in.
“Is that so?” he said sharply, defiantly. “I can tell you that you will be getting close to trouble if you start accusing me——”
“What’s all the excitement this time?” Scott, limping down the hall, dropped gratefully into a chair that Don vacated. “I see you got the Indians——”
“They got us, you mean!” explained Garry.
“Well—any way you want it. Did you recover—the film?”
“No!”