come! If only there would come a thin pale line of
light in the east to give him hope, if nothing else! If--

"I say, old chap!" Freddy Farmer's voice cut into his thoughts, and
prayers. "Would you mind raising the shade and letting in a bit of
light, what? I'm getting blasted fed up with this darkness. I swear
we've had a solid week of it. I really do."

"Me, too, pal," Dawson replied, and struggled to keep his suffering out
of his voice. "It almost seems as if somebody blew out the doggoned sun.
Boy, if--Hold it! Am I right, or am I right, Freddy? Could that be the
first grey streak there to the east, huh?"

"It not only could be, but it is!" the English-born air ace shouted
happily. "Praise be to Allah! In a few moments now we should be able to
get a look at where we are. I bet you anything you like that the New
Guinea coast is just ahead of us, and that we'll see it soon."

"No bet!" Dave called back. "That's one bet I wouldn't want to win. And
how, I wouldn't want to win it!"

As Dawson spoke the last a sudden thought came to him, and he caught his
breath. The thought was: What if they didn't sight land within an hour
or less after dawn? Supposing their drift during the night hours had
been double or even triple what they had allowed for, and they were
actually lost somewhere above the broad expanse of the Southwest
Pacific? What if they were lost, and remained lost until the engine in
the nose sucked up the last drop of high test, and then quit cold? There
was a rubber raft in the MK-11, but Dawson knew in his heart that he
would never survive a single day drifting helplessly on the sun-flooded
waters. Yesterday, sure, or the day before--but not now. Not during this
day that was now dawning. And so, please, God! Please!

The silent prayer remained on Dawson's lips as he watched the pale line
of light low down in the east grow broader and brighter, until, as
though invisible doors in the heavens had been flung open, the light of
the new day came rushing westward, driving the shadows of night on ahead
of it. In a matter of less than fifteen minutes the two youths had
perfect visibility in all four directions. First, though, they peered
southward. And to Dawson it was like receiving a mule's kick in the
stomach. Nothing but dawn-tinted water as far as the eye could see. Not
a sign of land. Not a sign of anything but water; endless rolling swells
of it. A great sadness, a great bitterness welled up in him until h