Jet Plane Mystery

“Stew!” he called softly. “Stew! Where are you?”

“Can’t have those fellows hearing me,” he murmured. “What’s happened to Stew?”

All of a sudden there came the clatter of boots on the rocks. Instantly he snapped out his light.

“That you, Stew?” he asked.

“Sure is,” came in a familiar voice. “I thought they got you for sure.”

“Who? Those jet plane fellows?”

“No. The cannibals.”

“Forget that cannibal stuff,” Jack laughed. “Those people are our friends. But we’ve got trouble, all the same.”

“Why? What’s up?” Stew dropped to a place beside Jack on the rock.

“Plenty. There are five men over at the jet plane now, two Germans—”

“Ger—”

“Two Germans and three Japs, and they’ve got machine guns.”

Stew whistled, then he exclaimed: “It’s a good thing Ted’s going to look us up.”

“Ted? Look us up? Where’d you get that idea?” Jack demanded in sudden surprise.

“I got that Jap radio to work. There’s been some sort of fight. Ted was down in the water. Kentucky and his crew located him. They were talking back and forth, Kentucky and Red were, so I butted in. I fixed up a sort of code and told them where to find us.”

“But I still don’t see where Ted comes in.”

“Kentucky located Ted and took him in his plane. He left his mike open, so when Ted was in the plane I heard him say, ‘Now that I’m rescued I’m going to find Jack and Stew.’

“Kentucky said, ‘That may require a lot of looking,’ but Ted will find us, never fear.” Stew drew in a long deep breath of relief.

“Boy!” he sighed. “It will be great to get off this island and onto the deck of the old Black Bee!”

“Good old Ted! He’s a real pal,” Jack murmured. “But whether he finds us or not, I’ve picked my manner of leaving this island.”

“How’s that?” Stew sat up.

“I’m going in that jet plane,” Jack declared stoutly.

“Sure. As a prisoner of the Germans and Japs.” Stew laughed.

“On my own,” Jack insisted.

“Sure! On your own.” Stew did not laugh this time. “Two Nazis and three Japs with machine guns! On your own! In the jet plane! No sir! Me? I’m going to wear out my eyes looking for Ted.”

CHAPTER XX
A SHIP FROM SOME OTHER WORLD

Realizing that matters must soon come to a head, Jack and Stew slept lightly that night, hidden away among the palms. Anything might happen on the morrow and they were prepared for the worst.

In the meantime, on board the Black Bee Lieutenant Commander William A. Brady, leader of the Navy Air Force, was briefing his men.

Before him on the wall were maps and blown-up air photographs.

“I need not tell you,” he said to the bomber pilots, fighters, torpedo men, gunners, radio men, and all the rest assembled before him, “what our next great objective is to be.”

There came a mingled murmur of words, “Mindanao—Mindanao, the Philippines. We’ll give it to ’em good this time.”

“Well now, here we have it,” said the air commander, pointing at the map. “Here is a map of the Philippine Islands. And right over here at the extreme east is Mindanao.

“We go in here.” He pointed again. “Behind this wide, deep harbor, where every fighting ship in our Navy might ride at anchor, is a large city. There the Japs have established a base of great importance.

“It is necessary that you study this chart with great care. Everything is plainly marked. Here,” he pointed once more, “is the air field, large enough for our heavy bombers. Here is the dry dock, there the docks for shipping, there the army barracks, and here their supply depots.

“You will each be given targets, and with your bomb sights you should not—must not—miss, for the people of this city are native Filipinos. You’ve heard of a brown boy named Joe?”

“Yes, sir! Sure! You know it, sir!” came in a chorus.

“He’s in that city, a thousand brown boy Joes and their families waiting deliverance from the Jap. When our troops swarm ashore they’ll be there waiting to give the soldiers a hand.

“Here,” he pointed to a spot away from the city, “is the prison camp. There, housed in huts, poorly fed and in rags, are hundreds of the boys who fought so bravely at Bataan and at Corregidor. Each dawn they face the sun and pray for deliverance. Shall their prayer be answered?”

An uproarious affirmative came from the men.

“Are there big Jap battle wagons, aircraft carriers, and supply ships in that harbor?” the Commander asked. “This we cannot know. It’s up to the scouts to tell us about that. And if they’re there—” he paused.

“We’ll take ’em!” came in a big, hard voice. “They got my pal at Pearl Harbor. Nothing’s too bad for them!” There came a roar of approval.

“We’ll have more of this as we approach the target,” the Commander promised. “You will be given smaller copies of this chart. I suggest that you memorize it in detail. Much depends on this undertaking. It may even be spoken of in the future as the turning point of the war, for after Mindanao comes Manila. From Manila we go to the China coast.”

“And then Tokyo!” the big voice roared.

“Yea! Yea! Yea! Tokyo! Tokyo!” came like a college football yell.

“That’s the spirit, and that, for the present, is all I have to say,” the Commander concluded.

“Oh, one more word.” The Commander turned about once more to face them. “We shall not be alone. We are to be part of what may be the greatest fighting force ever assembled in these southern seas. You should consider yourselves highly honored by being made a part of this great fighting force.”

He moved away. There was no cheering now, for this was war—and one of the solemn moments of their lives.

As the Commander left the cabin his eyes fell on Ted standing in a corner.

“Congratulations on your escape.” He held out a hand.

“Thank you, sir. I’m glad to be back.” Ted smiled.

“What about Jack and Stew?” the Commander asked.

“We’ve heard from them, sir. They’ve got some sort of radio. They’re on a small island not far from the spot where we sank that Jap flat-top.”

“Good! We’ll be passing within a hundred miles of the spot early tomorrow morning. Perhaps you would like to have a try at rescuing them.” The Commander gave Ted a friendly smile.

“Nothing would please me more, sir!” was the quick reply. “Jack’s from my home town, you know.”

“I didn’t know, but then you certainly shall have the assignment.”

“I shall take off at dawn, sir.”

“Good! And here’s luck to you. Do your best. We shall need those men in our next effort.”

“I’ll bring them back, sir.” Ted saluted. The Commander returned the salute, and they parted.

“Wonder if that was a rash promise?” Ted thought. “Not if I can help it!” He clenched both hands hard, then opened them and flexed his fingers. “Have to relax,” he told himself. “That’s part of the game.”

He was up before dawn. He gulped coffee and doughnuts, and was ready for his plane, already warming up.

Blackie and Red were there to see him off. “Wish we were going along,” said Blackie.

“Don’t we, though!” Red agreed. “No such luck. We’ve got to lead some of those rookie fliers in practice maneuvers. They’re pretty good, but for what we’re going into next they’ve got to be better.”

“Mindanao, that’s right.” Ted had one foot on his plane. “Mindanao seems to be what we were born for. We’ve dreamed of it for weeks now. Well, so long, boys! Wish me luck!” He climbed into his plane.

“So long! Best of luck!” Red called.

“Yes, and have a fine trip!” Blackie added.

In his light, powerful fighter Ted climbed for the clouds. There weren’t many, but those he saw were immense. “Once you’re inside one of those babies you’re as good as lost,” he told himself.

Climbing through one of these he soared away, glorying in the wonderful beauties of the sunrise.

“The heavens declare the glory of God,” he repeated slowly. “And the firmament showeth His handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto night showeth knowledge.”

If we could read half the things written in the skies we’d be mighty wise, he thought. After that for quite some time he sailed on, not thinking much about anything, just storing up energy for what lay ahead. And he was to need all the energy and wisdom he possessed.

He had covered the greater part of the distance to his destination, had picked out the island on which he believed his friends to be marooned, and was heading straight for it when he began to hear a strange, low, screaming noise.

“Rats!” he exclaimed. “Something’s wrong with my motor!”

Shutting off the gas, he glided silently downward, but still that strange sound reached his ears.

“Not my motor,” he thought, sending his ship shooting forward once more. “That’s the queerest thing I ever heard.”

Puzzled and disturbed by this strange phenomenon, he gave his ship a fresh burst of speed and headed straight for his island goal.

With every second the peculiar howling sound, which at first was little more than a whistle, increased until it was like a fire alarm.

Thirty seconds had not passed before an airplane such as he had never seen came shooting out of a large cloud to go darting across his path.

“Lost its propeller,” was his first thought. “It will crash into the sea.”

When suddenly the plane banked sharply, began to climb, and then came darting at him like a hornet, his astonishment knew no bounds.

He was a good pilot. There were few better, and he had a cool head. Giving his ship all the gas it would take, he shot down in a vertical dive.

With plenty of altitude between his plane and the water, he was safe for a second but what would happen after? A glimpse of the plane as it shot across the sky above him told that it carried no markings. “Nobody’s plane,” he thought. “A flying Dutchman of the sky.”

Hardly had he thought this than he realized that, circling like a darting humming bird, the ship was preparing to come at him again.

This time he resolved that in a way he should hold his ground. Dropping a few hundred yards he banked hard in an attempt to come up beneath the plane for a try at a burst of fire. But when he reached the spot the ship was some distance away.

“Such speed!” he muttered. “Wonder if she’s armed?”

Vain question. A burst of slugs swept across the sky. Holes appeared in his right wing.

“Declaration of war!” he shouted. “Well, then, I accept the challenge.” He began an all but vertical climb to get above them in the hope of dropping on their tail.

“If that creation has a tail,” he thought with a touch of desperation. “A regular headless horse of the air! No propeller, a sound like a siren. What can you expect?”

One thing he could expect was speed. They were after him and climbing like the wind. They were nearly upon his tail before he knew it.

Banking sharply to the left, he went into a terrific dive. As he flashed past them they fired from some swinging gun, and missed.

“I’ll make the island before they get me or crash,” he swore to himself. Then he saw a cloud. It was just ahead of him, not large, but at least a haven. He darted into it, and for the moment was safe.

But the enemy was persistent. The freak began crisscrossing the cloud. Circle as he might, Ted could not quite escape contact. There came the rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire.

“Shooting at my shadow,” Ted guessed. “That’s a game two can play.” Ten seconds later, catching a dark streak passing through the misty cloud, he released a burst of fire. The shriek of the enemy plane changed instantly. Had he registered a hit? He dared hope so.

But the fight was not over. The wild terror still circled, its shriek becoming sharper and more piercing each instant.

“There never was such a plane as that,” Ted mused desperately. “It’s supernatural, an inhuman thing, the work of no man, but of the devil himself. I’ll dive and keep right on going, level off at last, and land on the sea. It’s my only chance.”

Going into a steep dive, he found himself almost at once in bright, tropical sunlight. The change was startling. Like going to a party with no clothes on, he thought.

He went straight on down, and the shrieker followed him.

For ten desperate seconds he skimmed over the sea. Then he hit it—bump—bump—bump. He taxied along at last. Having shut off his motor before his plane was at a standstill, he pushed back his hood and plunged into the sea.

He was not an instant too soon, for again came the rattle of the machine-gun fire. The enemy was shooting up his plane on the sea, trying to kill him while he was down. Ted, for the moment, was safe enough. He had gone beneath the surface.

When he came up blowing, he saw the screamer circle for another try. Then an amazing thing happened. Some heavy object came hurtling down from the enemy plane.

“What is it?” he asked himself. Then, “Good grief! It’s a man!”

The body hit the water with killing force, if indeed the man was not already dead. It sank from sight.

“The dirty dogs!” Ted exclaimed, when his head had ceased whirling. “They tried to kill me after I’d made a crash landing! Looks like one of them got paid off, though.”

CHAPTER XXI
MARY BROWN FROM THE U. S. A.

Jack and Stew had heard Ted’s battle with the jet plane without seeing it. They had become tremendously excited but were unable to do anything about it.

Before Ted’s adventure began, Jack was just sitting up, rubbing his eyes sleepily after only three hours of rest. He said:

“Life on this island has become impossible. There are five of those beasts against us. They have machine guns and plenty of ammunition. We have automatics with just the slugs that were in their chambers when we arrived.”

“There are the natives,” Stew suggested.

“Those Germans and Japs would mow them down like grass,” was the quick reply. “It will be better for the natives if they’re never discovered.”

“They’ll be discovered all right,” Stew declared. “You can’t hide for long on this island. It’s too small. I’m surprised that those fellows haven’t hunted us down long before this,” he added.

“Well, they won’t do that just yet.” Jack drew in a deep breath of relief. “There they go, or at least the Germans must be leaving. If they go we should be able to handle the Japs.” He had caught the low whistle rising into a scream that told of the jet plane’s departure.

“If only I could get my hands on that baby!” Jack exclaimed, thinking of the jet plane. “I’d fly her right to the deck of the old Black Bee.”

“And get yourself good and shot up by your own pals,” Stew laughed. “There’s no mark of identification on that jet plane.”

“That’s right,” Jack admitted. “But she does carry a radio. I’d announce my arrival.”

“Well, you haven’t got her yet. You—”

Stew stopped suddenly to listen. Jack cocked his head on one side. Back of the high-pitched scream of the departing jet plane they could hear the low roar of an approaching plane of quite another character.

“That’s Ted!” Jack exclaimed. “Great Scott! I hope he doesn’t meet that jet plane!”

“Be a swell fight. Ted is really good. I’d like to see that fight.” Stew’s eyes shone.

“Yes, Ted is good, all right,” Jack admitted. “But something tells me that jet plane is a natural for fighting. It’s got amazing speed. Besides, I’ll bet it’s as easy to handle as a bicycle.”

Three minutes later they went racing for the rocky beach. The silence of their island had been torn to bits by the rasping rat—tat—tat of machine-gun fire. Since it came from the sea they guessed that Ted had met the jet plane.

“That wasn’t Ted’s gun,” Stew said.

“No, it wasn’t.” Jack agreed solemnly.

The wind was toward the island. A large cloud hid the battle, but every sound of it came to them. Jack could picture it all in his mind. Ted’s effort to gain the advantage, the terrible speed of his enemy, the flash of fire, the dip of wings, the sudden downward plunges and the upward sweeps in an effort to get on top—all this came to his mind.

With lips parted and hearts pounding, Jack and Stew stood there in silence, listening. They knew from the thunder and scream of the planes just what was going on. “It’s as if a pilot in a man-made plane were fighting with one of those prehistoric flying reptiles,” Jack murmured huskily.

“Reptiles all right,” was Stew’s comment, “but not prehistoric.”

Jack held his breath as he heard Ted make his dash for that smaller cloud. He understood perfectly that Ted was heading for the surface of the sea when he took his final plunge and sensed, with a deep pang of regret, that the end of the fight had come.

When once again they heard the short, sharp, rattle of the jet plane’s gun, both Jack and Stew knew that there must still be something left on the water to shoot at—realized, too, what sort of fighter this jet plane fellow was, and at once vowed vengeance.

The two boys had stood in silence as the jet plane sailed away. Not a word was said until the screamer’s motor was silenced for a landing on the island. Then Stew muttered, “The dirty coward!”

Nothing more was said as they walked slowly back to their camp. So downcast were they that they failed to notice the smell of wood smoke rising from their fireplace. Nor did they see the figure standing by the fire until a voice said, “Good morning.”

Startled, they looked up to see the slim girl from the native village.

“Your breakfast is served,” she said cheerfully, pointing to a wooden bowl filled with hot fried chicken, a board on which steaming cakes rested, and a big pot of coffee.

“Well!” said Jack, smiling in spite of his disappointment and grief. “This really is a fine surprise!”

“Japs,” said the girl, picking up the bowl of chicken, “have an unpleasant habit of ambushing people and shooting them in the back. How about a little seclusion?”

“Suits me.” Jack picked up the tray of cakes. “It’s been a long time since I had fried chicken for breakfast. Let’s not be interrupted.”

Stew followed them with the coffee as they hiked away.

In a shady, well-hidden spot among the palms, the girl spread broad palm leaves for a table.

“Now,” she laughed. “Make a long arm and help yourselves.”

“Where’d you get that expression?” Jack demanded.

“I think,” her brown eyes twinkled, “that it was in Kentucky.”

“Kentucky?” Jack exclaimed. “Then you—”

“Sure!” she laughed. “You’re getting warm now.” She pulled wads of palm fiber from her nostrils and from under her lips. They had been put there to make her nostrils seem wider and thicker. Then she drew a small bottle from a pocket in her native belt to rub the brown from the backs of her hands.

“So you’re an American!” Stew exclaimed.

“Just plain Mary Brown from the U. S. A.,” she said proudly.

“Great Scott!” Stew exclaimed. “How’d you get here, anyway, and what’s the meaning of the disguise?”

“It’s a long story.” She hesitated. “I’d tell it to you now, but first, you tell me if you can, what that shooting was about out there on the water?”

“That,” Jack’s face grew tense, “that was a friend of ours named Ted who tried to rescue us.”

“And he was shot down by the Germans in the jet plane?” Mary Brown asked.

“That’s what we think,” Jack replied soberly.

“Why don’t you try to rescue him?” she asked.

“Probably he’s past rescuing. Those fiends shot him up while he was on the water.” Jack’s words came slowly. “Besides, we have no boat, no plane, nothing.”

“You forget the native canoes,” she said.

“Say! That’s right!” Jack exclaimed. “Would the natives help us?”

“They’ll do anything I say. Besides, it will be a good thing to put them to work just now.”

“Why?” Jack asked in surprise.

“I’m trying to keep them from knowing there are Japs on the island,” said Mary. “They hate the Japs worse than snakes. Not long ago a Jap torpedo boat came across a big canoe loaded with these natives and killed every one of them, for no reason at all.”

“Come on! Hurry!” Stew exclaimed, swallowing half a cup of black coffee. “Let’s get out there and have a look for Ted. He’s the best pal we ever had, and if those fiends got him—” He did not finish, but the others understood.

By the time they had rounded up three stout canoes manned by husky natives and made their way around the end of the island, the large morning clouds had dropped to water level and become rain squalls.

“This is terrible!” Jack groaned. “We’ll never find him now.”

“You don’t know these natives.” Mary Brown settled back in the stern. “They can find any living thing on the sea.”

“It will be keen if they find Ted and his plane in this rain,” said Stew. “That way, if his plane is still afloat, we can tow it ashore and hide it in some cove without being seen by the Japs or the Germans. And then! Boy! If that plane can be made to fly we’ll leave your little old island, Mary Brown, and we’ll take you along!”

“That sounds wonderful to me,” she laughed. “I’ll become the mascot of your carrier, or maybe its jinx.”

“I’m leaving the island in that jet plane.” Jack did not laugh.

“How will you manage it?” Mary asked soberly.

“Don’t know yet,” Jack admitted. “But you wait! We’ll manage it some way. It just has to be done!”

In a surprisingly short time Mary had her natives in their canoes around the end of the island and ready to undertake the search.

CHAPTER XXII
STAR OF THE MIST

For an hour, with the brown natives bending their stout backs to send the canoes shooting forward, they glided along through the mist. It was not raining hard—only a fine spray coming down. They were soaked to the skin, but no one minded that for the air was warm.

Jack really enjoyed it. For a time at least they were free from danger. The war seemed unreal and far away. It was as if they had left it behind forever, and he almost wished he had!

He thought of the folks at home, of his father working harder than ever because there was a war, of his mother doing her own work, helping the Red Cross and selling bonds in a booth on Saturdays. It was all very strange how a war started by a few very stupid men could change the lives of more than half the people in the world—strange and terrible.

“Look!” Mary exclaimed suddenly. “A star!”

“Where?” Jack looked up.

“Not up. Over there!” she pointed.

“You wouldn’t see a star through the mist in the daytime. You must be dreaming,” Jack protested.

“But look! Look closely! It’s rather faint, but quite real. A white star!” She was leaning forward, straining her eyes as if looking for a vision.

“Yes,” he agreed at last. “I see it.”

“Star of hope,” she murmured. “If you’d lived on that island for two years as I have, you’d know what that means.”

“Two years! You haven’t been there that long! It’s impossible!” He stared at her in unbelief.

“Is it?” She laughed. “In this war anything is possible. Listen!” Her face tensed with memories. “I was on Corregidor when we surrendered to those terrible Japs.”

“Corregidor?” Jack gasped. “Corregidor in the Philippines? Say!” His voice dropped. “That’s where the Black Bee, our carrier, is headed for next.”

“Corregidor!” It was her turn to stare.

“Well, not Corregidor just yet, but the Philippines—Mindanao, to be exact.”

“Oh! Take me with you!” she exclaimed softly.

“We’re not on board ship yet,” he smiled. “We’re just hoping. But say!” he exclaimed. “How’d you ever get way over here? Tell me about it, will you?”

“Yes, sure I will.” She leaned forward. “I was a nurse, and just before the surrender I was told by a native that one of my best friends lay in a boathouse somewhere along the shore. He was a flier and had been badly wounded.

“I slipped away to find him.” She drew in a deep breath. “I found him and did what I could. He lived six hours.” She paused to gaze away at the sea.

“And in the meantime the fortress was surrendered?” Jack suggested.

“Yes.” She went on. “That same native came all the way to tell me. They were wonderful, those Filipinos!” She paused again, to stare away at the white star that every moment grew closer.

“And then?” Jack prompted.

“The native told me that my friend’s seaplane, all gassed and ready, lay hidden in a tiny bay among the mango trees. I went there. I could fly, not too well, but enough to keep going. I climbed in, started the motor, then flew away from all that terror.” She shuddered.

“I headed for America. Of course,” she laughed, a sort of choking laugh, “I knew I couldn’t make it, not all the way, but I did want to be nearer home if I had to die. You know—”

“Yes,” Jack whispered. He knew. Every homesick American boy in all this vast Pacific knew.

“I kept going,” she continued. “I don’t know how many hours I flew. Then my gas ran low. The sun was bright. I dropped down low to discover a dark speck on a broad sea. It was a large native canoe. I landed close to them. It was my only chance.”

“They took me in and brought me here. There had been missionaries on the island, but they were gone. They liked me, those natives, because I could roast a pig just right and make fine cakes,” she laughed.

“Because the Japs might come at any time, the natives painted me up, dyed my hair, and made me the daughter of the chief. And now,” she drew in a long breath, “here I am.”

“Yes, and look!” Jack pointed. “There’s your lucky star. It’s on the side of Ted’s plane. It’s going to bring luck to you after all.”

He had spoken the truth. The star that had shone through the fog was the white star on a blue circle that identifies American planes.

Their boatmen gave a few more lusty strokes, and they were alongside.

And there, sitting on the fuselage grinning at them, was Ted.

“I start out to rescue you.” He laughed. “And now look! You come to rescue me and my plane!”

“Is your plane badly damaged?” Jack asked anxiously.

“Not so far as I can see.” Ted slid down into the canoe. “She’s got a few slugs in her. Her tail needs a bit of trimming. Three or four hours’ work should put her in shape.”

“Then why didn’t you taxi in?” Jack asked.

“Taxi? Move? Make a noise? Say!” Ted laughed hoarsely. “If you’d been attacked by a flying freak as I was, you wouldn’t even dare to breathe!”

“The jet plane got you,” Stew put in. “That’s what I thought.”

“The what plane?” Ted stared.

“The jet plane,” Jack grinned. “It’s pushed about by a jet of hot kerosene blown up into gas and mixed with air. We know all about it.”

“Have you been flying it?” Ted questioned. “Perhaps that was you flying it today! Well, if it was, I think I got your pal.”

“You’re not serious?” said Jack.

“Sure, I am. At least about that fellow falling out of the thing,” Ted grinned. “I got in a burst of fire back there in a cloud. Then when they came down to shoot me on the water, this Jerry tumbled out. I sort of figured he’d been hit and had gone crazy, or something.”

“That’s good news!” Stew exclaimed. “There were two Germans and three Japs. Now there’s only one German. We should be able to handle them. They—”

“Jap—Jappie!” a grizzled giant among the boatmen broke in excitedly. “You think Jappie on our island?”

“Sure, there are!” Stew insisted. “Three Japs.”

“What you think, Mary Brown?” The old man turned to the girl. “Jappie on our island? Maybe this boy he lie. What you think?”

“He isn’t lying,” Mary said in a steady voice. “Three Japs came on that plane last time.”

“Why you not tell me? I go kill them!” There was an angry and puzzled look on the aged native’s face.

“That’s just it.” Mary smiled soothingly at the old man. “You would have tried to kill them. They would have killed you. They have machine guns. You must not die, for you are my father.”

“By-um-by I kill ’em.” The old man settled back in his place. “They not kill me. You see.”

By this time Ted was looking from one speaker to another and then back at Jack.

“What’s all this?” he asked in a low tone.

“Well, first of all,” Jack put a hand on Mary’s shoulder, “let me introduce Nurse Mary Brown. She’s a native of the South Sea Islands from Ohio.”

“Kentucky,” the girl corrected.

That called for a lot of explaining. Jack was only half through when Mary exclaimed:

“Those beasts must have winged you!” She pointed to a splotch of blood on Ted’s sleeve.

“Only a flesh wound, really nothing.” He tried to toss it off. “I didn’t even feel it at the time. I’ve sort of got it fixed up.”

“That may be,” said Mary, moving toward him. “But where I come from wounds don’t stay ‘sort of fixed up.’ That’s too dangerous.”

Producing a small first-aid kit from beneath her native dress, she went to work.

“I’m going to get this war paint off as soon as I can,” she confided to Ted as she worked. From the tone of her voice Jack guessed that Ted had made a hit.

“You look swell just as you are,” Ted joked. “I doubt if I could stand seeing you all whitened up and dressed in a nurse’s uniform.”

“You’ll see me that way all right,” was her reply. “I’ve got my uniform safely hidden away beneath a palm.”

“Huh!” Jack thought. “One more perfectly good mystery all shot to pieces!”

For all this, he realized that life at the battle front had not lost its interest. Mystery and adventure still lay before him.

Many questions remained to be answered. How had it happened that two men who seemed to be British left the island in the jet plane, and five—two Germans and three Japs—came back? Were those first two men Germans posing as Britishers? Could they be renegade Britishers, traitors to their country? Or were they loyal to their country, and had the jet plane been stolen from them?

One more thing Jack wanted to know. Who had manufactured that plane? In the scrapbook there had been articles in four languages, so it could easily have come from any of these lands. Of one thing he was certain. Give him a chance at it and he would fly that plane, first thing. And did he want to try it? Oh man! Did he!

“Suppose it’s a German plane of a design unknown to the Allies, what a scoop it would be if I could drop it down on the deck of the old Black Bee,” he thought. “Even if it were an American-built plane, I would be performing a great service if I snatched it from the enemy before they had used it as a model.” Yes, he must have that plane!

But first, he thought with a start, we’ve got to get Ted and his plane ashore before this mist clears and that jet plane fellow is out after us.

“How about getting this plane over to the island?” he demanded.

“All right. We got canoes. We pull ’em. No fly ’em,” said the Chief. “You fly ’em pretty soon.”

“He got the idea,” Ted agreed. “Let’s go.”

Lines were attached to the plane; then with a low chant the natives were paddling in perfect rhythm and drawing the plane silently toward the island.

CHAPTER XXIII
HOT CANNIBAL RIVETS

Ted’s plane was heavy, a dead weight in the water. Progress toward the island was slow, but the protecting screen of mist held on. Noon came, and Mary produced cold meat sandwiches and bananas for their lunch.

As Jack watched her give a banana to the monkey perched on her shoulder, he caught the gleam of the chain and the tag the monkey wore about his neck.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “That’s your dog tag the monk is wearing!”

“Sure,” she flashed him a smile. “What did you think?”

“Almost anything before I knew you were a white girl,” he admitted.

“I’ll bet you thought the natives had eaten me,” she laughed, “and that all that was left of me was the dog tag.”

“That, and your white uniform,” he supplemented.

“Oh! So you saw me dig it out from its hiding place!” she accused him. “Aren’t you ashamed, spying on a lady while she tries on a new dress?”

“It wasn’t too shocking. Besides, you were just one more dusky maiden, and still are.” He touched her dark cheek.

“All that will change,” she replied soberly. Then recited:

“Robins and appleblossoms and home,” Jack murmured huskily. “Glorious thought! But I say! You’d better get that dog tag back on your neck, for we are once more on our way to war, and unless I miss my guess our next stop will be the Philippines.”

“Oh! The Philippines! Lead me to them!” she exclaimed, unsnapping the dog-tag chain from the monkey’s neck.

It was midafternoon by the time the natives had dragged Ted’s plane between towering rocks to a small, well-hidden cove where they might make needed repairs unmolested.

“We’ve got to get out of here just as soon as we can.” Ted’s brow wrinkled. “Look! I’ve got a chart that shows the course our task force is taking.”

“Wouldn’t the Japs like to get their hands on that!” Mary whispered when he had the chart spread out on a rock.

“Well, they won’t. I’ll eat it first.” Ted was deeply in earnest. “Look. This is the way they are going.”

“Straight away from here,” said Jack.

“And straight for Mindanao.” Mary danced a jig. “Please! Oh, please take me along!”

“We’ll all go—or none,” Jack said seriously. “But we’d better get busy or we’ll never catch up with our task force.”

All three boys pitched into the task of examining and overhauling Ted’s plane. At length Jack came up with a very long face.

“You must have hit the water mighty hard, Ted,” he said soberly.

“Well, yes, I suppose I did,” Ted replied. “I don’t remember that part of the adventure very well. When you’ve been chased all over the sky by a plane that’s a freak and faster than anything you’ve ever seen on land or in the air, you’re not likely to notice a tough landing. Why? What’s the matter?”

“Matter enough!” said Jack. “Your right wing is half torn away. Some of the rivets are actually gone. Many more are loose. You’ll never get me up in this kite, not until a lot of work has been done on it.”

“Great guns!” Stew exploded. “We’ll never catch up with the Black Bee now! And that means we miss the big show!”

“There’s that jet plane,” Jack suggested.

“Yes, sure!” Stew scoffed. “And who’s got it? Two Germans, three Japs, and two machine guns!”

“One German, I think,” said Ted. “I’m positive that one of them fell or jumped from the plane. I saw him hit the water. Still,” he added slowly, “there are four of them, and with machine guns—that’s a lot.”

“What do you need for fixing the plane?” Mary asked.

“Rivets,” said Jack. “Hot rivets. Got any in your outfit?”

“We might have.” The girl did not smile. “I’ll ask my dusky godfather.” She hurried down to the canoes, where the natives were having a sun bath.

The boys could see her talking to the men. They found it interesting and amusing. She would ask a question of the Chief. At once they would all explode into wild talk. This would die down abruptly. Then the Chief would say a few words to Mary.