Bill Bolton-Flying Midshipman

while the others fingered their rifles. Slowly a twinkle ca

aid eyes on yer and I'm sorry for yer now. If I wasn't," he shot out venomously, "I'd certainly put a bullet in yer carcass. The joke has

was about to handcuff me and put me into a pair of leg

u bump

n where I socked him-othe

ket, thrust it into his mouth and

d, "but not quite smart enough for this outf

ver the keys

et that fool Diego loose and bring them things he

ot old man Bolton, remember. Martinengo ain't sendin' him along with this batch. Tak

or, closing the door behind them. Tom eject

," he said to Bill. "You're in a bad

artinengo have it in for him

pt Diego is the worse for it. That mug is sure to have a sweet time explaining but yous

rkings you're all

h," he returned evasively. "Here comes Zeppi. Order

able, since he could not take a step over a foot in length. He shuffled out of the jail, accompanied by Tom and Zeppi, to find a group of twelv

rew, negroes, Indians (Seminoles, from the Everglades, he thought) and poor whites. All were dresse

front to his guards but the utter hopelessness of his position, the uncertain future and the separation from his father made him feel despe

iderably. It was cooler out of the valley, and he somewhat regained his spirits. He spotted his own plane, moored out in the bay near

fic. Now, with her retractible wheel landing gear drawn up to the metal covered hull, the big flying boat rocked gently at her mooring. A mechanic tinkered with her central engine. Two young fellows in smart white uniforms and gold-banded caps, who were smoking cigarett

ddle of the cabin. Opening off this were tiny wooden cubicles with just enough space behind their barred doors for a man to sit on the narrow bench which served as the sole article of furniture in each tiny cell. The place reminded Bill of the eighteenth centu

corridor. A few minutes later, Bill heard the engine idling and they floated away from the dock. The hu

heavy bus on to her step. There came an increased spurt of speed, as the plane skimmed t

n she reached a height which Bill, staring out of the porthole, judged to be about a thousand feet, her pilot banked sharply to

and the sea near at hand became visible. It looked smooth and calm. Here and there low islands, the dark gr

in the cell opposite, who was weeping, he closed his eyes. But this did no good, for he

dim outline. But what interested Bill far more was the nature of the country below. Innumerable water-courses intersected a dense cloak of dark green foliage which seemed to be banded with

ines. "We're over the mangrove swamps of Florida, south of the Everglade

ot would do if a forced landing became necessary, and than

Southern Florida. "Chuck full of mangrove islands, too. If I'm right, we'll cross a strip of mainland soon, and if

now that the plane was paralleling the south-western border of the Everglades-that huge, swampy basin on the southern Peninsula which covers an area much the same as Connecticu

ose had been swung to starboard. By the time they left the Ten Thousand Isles, Bill realized that they were traveling a

deeply buried in the shadows of a mighty cypress forest. Twilight was deepening over the earth now, as the red ball of the sun sank below the horizo

ghtly to the left of the speeding plane. It was soon evident that the pilot recognized this signal, far below in the wilderness. The light disappeared

the amphibian. Could this be their destination? Had they reached "the wo

three motors ceased to function and Bil