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Show SBy ARTHUR STRINGER w.n.u.se. Jif THE STORY SO FAR: Because he and his partner, Cruger, need the money to keep Norland Airways In business, Alan Slade agrees to fly a "scientist" named Frayne and his partner, Karnell, to the Anawotto river til search of the trumpeter swan. With the proceeds Cruger Cru-ger buys a plane, a Lockheed, which Is stolen. When he returns from the Anawotto Ana-wotto Slade starts out to look for the plane. He has three clues, one of which appears to have lead up a blind alley. Slade thought the missing plane had some connection with Frayne, but when he returned to where he left the swan-hunter there was no trace of the plane, and Frayne appeared to be hunting swans. The second clue is the story of Umanak, the esklmo, about a "ghost" plane that Is supposed to come from Echo Harbor. The third clue Is Slade's hunch that If he finds a flyer named Slim Tumstead he will find the plane. Tumstead, who knows about the Lockheed and about Frayne, has disappeared. Now Slade, Umanak, and Slade's old prospector friends, Zeke and Minty, are all out looking for the plane. Slade has Just learned that his hunch was sound. Tumstead Tum-stead is with Frayne, and they have a plane somewhere. Now continue .with the story. CHAPTER XIII "On the contrary," retorted the older man, "you will sail away quite comfortably on the Kovalevka when she takes out her cargo. You will be carried sale and sound to Vladivostok, Vladi-vostok, with money enough, remember, remem-ber, to give you three years ol travel trav-el in Europe and all the vodka your heart may desire." Tumstead seemed to be considering consider-ing this. "But why doesn't your Kovalevka show up?" he questioned. "She will come," was the precise-noted precise-noted answer, "when we are ready lor her. Ice conditions have not been of the best. And we, too, have been a little slow in getting our shipment in shape." "So damned slow," Tumstead retorted, re-torted, "your stuff won't be any use to you. While you're combing the icicles out of your hair the war'll be over." "Silpnpp " commanded the steeli- He failed to see the bare-shouldered and burly figure that emerged trom the tree shadows. i 1 as he glanced about at the ice-scored and barren-ridged island surrounded by its lonely reaches of open water. That island, he saw, had little to offer him. Any scrub timber that grew between its ridges, he realized, real-ized, would be too small for the making of a raft And even with a raft to deliver him from that watery prison, he further realized as he stared about at the distant blue-hazed blue-hazed horizon, he would face a wilderness wil-derness quite empty of life. was in a plane, and that plane was in flight. He thought, at first, that his bodily bod-ily helplessness was due to being so tightly wedged in between soiled ore bags and the pilot's seat But it was due, he found after an effort or two to move, to the fact that both his hands and feet were tied. Memory came back to him as he lay back trying to figure out the reason for all this. The final mists eddied away as he looked up and saw that the man at the controls was Tumstead. Slade made no effort ef-fort to speak. Instead, he quietly tugged and twisted, in the hope of freeing himself. But his struggles were without result. The plane's pilot, however, must have become conscious of them, for his smile was sardonic as he glanced back over a shrugging shoulder. "Coming round?" he nonchalantly nonchalant-ly called out. "What does this mean?" demand- "I won't get away," he said, "and you know it." Tumstead's laugh was defensively gruff. "Let's hope for the best," he said as he turned back to his cabin. He emerged, a moment later, with a sheath-knife in an old and battered holster. But as the other man unsheathed un-sheathed the knife Slade saw that the blade was keen-edged and long. His eye remained on Tumstead as he stepped closer, the knife in his hand. The quick look of apprehen- sion that came from his captive caused Tumstead's dark face to crease with a smile. "I'm not that yellow," the latter announced as he stooped and cut the cords that bound Slade's wrists together. He was about to do the same with the cords that bound the ankles. But on second thought he drew back and replaced the knife in its sheath. This, after a moment's hesitation, he tossed a few paces farther up the shore slope, discreetly discreet-ly out of reach. Then as Slade sat trying to work life back into his benumbed hands the older man coolly cool-ly explored the other's pockets. From them he extracted a lighter and a package of cigarettes. A cynic smile played about his er voice. "The men of my race are taught to do what they are commanded com-manded to do." "And some of it," retorted the other, "I'd call uncommonly dirty work." "It is not for you to question the nature of my work." Tumstead's laugh was harsh. "No, I'm merely a flyer," he acceded. ac-ceded. "But I'm not the kind who can keep a ship going without gas." It was the older man's turn to stand thoughtful. "That is a problem," he finally said, "which we must in some way solve." Tumstead's repeated laugh was edged with bitterness. "I've gathered in everything that's lying round loose between here and the Pole," he protested. "And the next pinch may put us all in the dog-house." "I think not," said the other. "And we have a problem more imminent." immi-nent." "What problem?" "Those snoopers which you spoke of. A means must be found to discourage dis-courage them." The speaker's glance circled about in the uncertain uncer-tain light that surrounded him. "They may be closer than we imagine." imag-ine." As Frayne disappeared within the tent Tumstead groped about for his fallen cup and reached once more for the coffeepot Slade, watching him, backed quietly away through the underbrush. But his retreat was a brief one. He worked his way down the hollow between the hills and slowly ascended the opposing slope. Then, seeking what cover he could find,' he circled back toward to-ward the lake front. He stopped, from time to time, to listen and look. But nothing, as he went, came between him and the object of his ed Slade. Tumstead flew on for a moment or two of silence. "It means you're lucky to be alive," he finally announced. "That bullhead who knocked you out went back for his Luger. He was all set to give you the works." Slade seemed to be giving thought to that statement. "What are you going to do with me?" be asked. "That," retorted Tumstead, "is what I'm trying to figure out The easiest way, of course, would be to drop you overboard. And that's where you'd go, all right, if we both weren't flyers." "Then as one flyer to another," Slade asked, "why did you steal this plane?" Tumstead's reply to that was a snort of laughter. "That's my own affair," he said. "And you should have known better than nose in on it." "You're flying for Frayne," said his prisoner. "Can you suggest anything better?" bet-ter?" Slade considered that question. "Yes," he answered, "I know something better." "What?" "To head back to Waterways with this Lockheed, while there's still a chance of saving your scalp." Tumstead's laugh was hard and reckless. "Not on your life," he proclaimed. "It's your scalp you need to worry about. And it's going to be some time before you get back to Waterways." Water-ways." "Why do you say that?" Tumstead's glance went over the terrain beneath his floats. "Because, a little farther on, I'm going to drop you where you'll stay lips as he touched the little flame to a cigarette end and tossed the lighter back to its owner. "You may need that," be observed. ob-served. "But seeing I've been out of fags for over a week I'll keep the smokes." "So that's all the chance you give me," said Slade, watching him as he luxuriously inhaled. "It's about all I can afford," Tumstead Tum-stead said as he swung about and glanced down at his fellow-flyer. No look of commiseration softened the older man's face. But for a moment a frown of meditation wrinkled his forehead, a frown followed by a small shoulder movement of dismissal. dis-missal. "Happy landing," was his curtly ironic exclamation as be turned away and climbed aboard his ship. The man on the beach waited for the roar of the motor. But that familiar crescendo of sound failed to greet him. What he heard, Instead, In-stead, was Tumstead's cynically indifferent in-different voice calling down to him. At the same time a package was advance. That objective was the shadowy tangle of spruce trees at the water's edge. He noticed, as he drew nearer, near-er, how a rough ramp of spruce logs had been built out from the hillside. It was so plainly a landing stage, to make easier the passing of heavy freight into a plane cabin, that no shock of surprise touched Slade when he peered under the matted treetops. For, standing there in the shadows, he saw the stolen Lockheed. He climbed to the rough-timbered ramp and advanced to where two filled ore bags stood together at its outer edge. He stooped over one of the bags, intent on determining its contents. He failed to see the bare-shouldered and burly figure that emerged trom the tree shadows achind him and quictiy reached for a spruce bole as long as the long bare arm (hat wielded it. He failed to hear any movement as the newcomer crept forward, as silent si-lent as a shadow, and brought the spruce bole down on the stooping flyer's head. Slade wont down like a clouted rabbit. Slade. as consciousness slowly returned re-turned to him. found it no easy matter mat-ter to orient himself. His head throbbed and his body seemed cramped into quivering helplessness. Then the singing in his ears and the quivering of his frame merged into the throb and drone of a motor. vanned to th fact that he anchored for a considerable stretch of time," he said. Slade's response to that was to struggle against the cords constricting constrict-ing his wrists and ankles. But those struggles, he still found, were useless. use-less. "Are we over the Anawotto?" questioned Slade, embittered by the thought of his helplessness. "We are," answered Tumstead. "And it's sure empty country." Slade's trained ear told him, a minute later, that they were dropping drop-ping lower. But from where he lay he could see nothing of the outside world. He concluded, from the length of time that Tumstead taxied along the surface, that the waterway on which they had landed was by no means a small one. He could hear the grating of the pontoons on a gravel bar. "All out." cried Tumstead. He half-swung and half-tossed his prisoner ashore, where with a still deeper sense of helplessness Slade tumbled full length along the pebbled peb-bled slope. There, after taking a shuddering breath or two. he writhed and twisted about until he was able to light his way back to a sitting sit-ting posture. "So you're going to leave me here?" he said. "I am," said Tumstead. "And 1 can't waste time on talk." "But why are you doing this?" persisted Slade. "Because you got too ambitious." Slade watched the plane being warped around in the shallows. A suree of desiMatwn weDt over him tossed ashore. "That's a pound of German army chocolate," Tumstead announced as he tossed still another object toward the motionless figure on the shore slope. "And here's a can of bully-beef." bully-beef." He shrugged when no word of gratitude came from that still motionless mo-tionless figure. "And here's something for your cigarettes," was Tumstead's last curt call as he threw overboard an empty tobacco-tin which struck Slade on the shoulder and came to a rest between his throbbing knees. Slade sat watching the plane as it taxied across the gray-blue water and rose in the air. He continued to watch as it headed northward over the blue-misted ridges and faded fad-ed away along the empty skyline. He sat without moving until the ache in his tightly bound ankles reminded re-minded him of other things. Then he looked about for the sheath-knife He gave a gulp of gratitude when he saw it lying there, within ten paces of him. It took him some time to worm his way to the knife. But a tittle of the listlessness went out of his face as his fingers closed about the heavy haft. He lost no time in sawing through the cords and freeing his feet. When he attempted to stand up. however, he discovered that his benumbed legs were unable to support him. He had to sit there, for several minutes, min-utes, waiting for feeling to ccme back to them. iTn srrnvnvr.'rni |