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.”