d adobes lay ahead of him now, its lights
twinkling like fallen stars. Away off to the right he could see the
blurred lights of San Diego and the phosphorescent gleam of the bay and
ocean beyond. Beautiful beyond words was the broad view he got, but
its beauty could only vaguely impress him then, though he might later
recall it wistfully.

He looked toward San Diego with longing; looked at the two planes that
hounded him, then gazed straight ahead at the ocean. Perhaps they
would not follow him beyond their station at North Island. They would
maybe circle and come back, watching for his return, or they might keep
to the shore line, flying north, and thinking to head him off when he
turned inland. At least, he reasoned, that is what he would do if he
were following an outlaw plane and saw it head out over the ocean,
straight for Honolulu.

So over Tia Juana he flew and made for the sea like a gull that has
flown too far from its nesting place. He watched and saw the two
planes spiraling upward, climbing to a higher altitude where it would
be easy to dart down at him if he swung north. They suspected that
trick, evidently, and were preparing to swoop and follow.

The beach, pale yellow in the moonlight, with a riffle of white at its
edge, slid beneath him. The ocean, heaving gently, rolled under, the
moon reflected from its depths.

Cliff sat slumped down in his seat, his head tilted upon one shoulder.
He had not moved nor made a sound, and his limp silence began to worry
Johnny. What if he had struck too hard, had killed the man? A little
tremor went over him, a prickling of the scalp. Killing Cliff had no
part in his plans, would be too horrid a mischance. He wished now that
he had left him alone, had let him bluster and threaten. Perhaps Cliff
would not have had presence of mind enough to do what Johnny had feared
he would do when he saw capture was inevitable: drop overboard what
papers he carried that would incriminate him with the United States
Federal officers. With empty pockets Cliff would be as free of
suspicion as Johnny himself--a mere passenger in a plane that had flown
too far south. He would then be fairly safe in assuming that Johnny
would never dare to cross the line with him under the eye of those who
watched from the sky. It had been the fear of that ruse that had
brought Johnny to the point of violence to Cliff's person, but he was
sorry now that he had not risked taking that chance