as neatly as
could be. There was no doubt, now, as to whether the occupants of the
strange-looking seaplane were friend or foe. They were Jap rats, and
true to their rotten race they had struck their blow under false colors.

And a blow they had struck, too! No doubt about that, either. Their well
placed bullets had finished the Wright Cyclone, and the Dauntless was
nosing down toward the waters of the Southwest Pacific below. And the
danger wasn't passed, either. With a dead engine the plane was just a
gliding target for those two Japs in the seaplane. They had only to
sneak up under and out of reach of Freddy Farmer's rear pit guns, and
drill the scout-bomber like a setting hen on a fence.

And as thoughts crashed through his brain Dawson twisted around quickly
to be ready to do what little he could when the seaplane came winging
back. Freddy Farmer had swung his guns around, and was waiting to catch
the seaplane in his sights if he got the chance. Not a word had he
spoken since his cry of alarm to Dave, but the look of raging anger on
his flushed face indicated that he was _thinking_ plenty.

Dave caught that look in one flashing glance and then whipped his gaze
out across the air space to where the strange-looking seaplane was
circling about slowly just out of range of Freddy's guns.

"What the heck?" Dave gasped impulsively, and scowled. "What's wrong
with those rats? Afraid to come in for the kill? Holy smokes! They've
got us cold, darn their rotten hides."

"That's what I'm wondering, too," Freddy Farmer said in a tight voice as
he spoke for the first time since the sudden attack. "They're either
afraid, or else they _aren't_ Japs!"

"Huh?" Dawson gulped. "What do you mean by that, Freddy?"

"Just crippling a chap's engine wouldn't suit Japs," the English youth
replied. "They have to slaughter, too. That's half the enjoyment for
them, blast their black hearts. So they must be afraid that I'll pick
them off, if they come in closer. Or maybe they're hoping we'll bail
out. _Then_ it would be more fun for them!"

"Yeah!" Dawson grunted, and took a quick look down at the surface of the
water now less than two thousand feet below the wings of the helpless
Dauntless. "Yeah! Or maybe they want to play target practice after we
land in the water. Maybe that would be even more fun for the dirty
killers. Gosh, I'm sorry, Freddy. I'm a sap, a dope, and I should be--"

"Don't be silly!" young Farmer snapped at him. "