"Good enough," returned Commander Thomson. "Nose that Loening over here and let me have them. That was a smart landing you made just now. You're a credit to your old instructor!"

"Aye, aye, sir," replied Bill, with a wink at Osceola, and did as he was bid.

"And I notice you haven't lost your nerve, either," smiled the Commander as he took the long blue envelope that Bill handed him. "Cheek is a better word, perhaps."

"I never try to correct my superior officer," laughed Bill, and they shook hands.

Commander Thomson slit the envelope and read the message.

"The Old Man says you are to lead us over," he announced. "And I take it you know what to do when we get there."

"Yes, sir. Received instructions from Commander Bellinger. I've got the letter in my pocket. He sent his best regards to you, sir."

"Good old Pat. I bet he'd give half a stripe to be with us. We'll shove off directly. Run your boat up to thirty-five hundred and retain that alt.i.tude until you zoom the stockade. Then climb until you are above us and don't land until you see me on the water. Got that?"

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Let's go, then. Good luck!"

"Same to you, Commander."

Bill returned to the c.o.c.kpit of his plane and presently the Loening was taxiing ahead, preparatory to her take-off.

Once in the air, he climbed to the prescribed thirty-five hundred feet.

A sharp flipper turn brought the little amphibian on a compa.s.s course slightly west of north. Directly on his tail came Commander Thomson's PB-1, with the other four planes of the squadron bringing up the rear in V-formation.

Bill, of course, did not know the exact location in Big Cypress of Martinengo's gold diggings, but here Osceola's uncanny b.u.mp of direction came into play once more. Not ever did the young Seminole appear at a loss. On they sped, straight as an arrow shot from a bow.

The sun was three-quarters down the horizon when they caught sight of the lagoon in the cypress swamp, with the stockade close beside it. They had timed their arrival to a nicety. The prisoners had just been locked up for the night and their guards were going to supper.

Forward went Bill's stick and he dived for the buildings with a wide open throttle. He caught a fleeting glimpse of figures running on the open quadrangle that seemed rushing up to meet him. Then back came his stick again. The Loening bucked like a frightened bronco and zoomed upward a bare fifty feet above Mother Earth. As she rose, a weighted letter was dropped overboard.

Again Bill climbed, until his plane reached an alt.i.tude of possibly a hundred feet above the squadron, which had changed its formation and was now flying in a continuous circle, high above the stockade. Bill leveled off and sent his plane into a series of reverse control turns known as figure eights.

Less than five minutes later, the two in the Loening saw a procession of men form in front of the bosses' headquarters. From there they marched two by two out of the stockade and down the corduroy to the dock. One of the leaders carried a white flag.

Bill reached for a pair of fieldgla.s.ses and clapped them to his eyes.

"Martinengo's in front, with the flag!" he cried into the mouthpiece of his phone, nearly deafening Osceola in his excitement. "And yes-that's Dad-beside him! Gee whiz! If I was a Frenchman, I could kiss the old Admiral! His letter did the trick, Osceola. That old boy is some humdinger!"

"Wonder what he said in it. It certainly brought them out in a hurry."

Bill laughed. "Bellinger let me read it. Short and to the point-that's the Navy. It read: 'You are through, Martinengo. Walk down to the dock with your men-unarmed. Bring Mr. Bolton with you. My planes are bombers.

Charles S. Black, Rear Admiral, U. S. N.'"

"Short and sweet, and very _much_ to the point!" laughed Osceola. Two seaplanes glided down out of the circular formation below them.

"There goes the skipper," exclaimed Bill. "It's about time we went down and you were introduced to Dad."

"Okay, boy, but watch your step. We don't want to crack up now when everything's turned out so beautifully."

"Unh-unh-Not me!" grinned Bill, and nosed her over.

Those who have liked this story will be interested in the next book of this series, _Bill Bolton and the Flying Fish_.

The End.