Once more the rear wheels began to spin furiously, throwing up mud and water and drenching the Marine standing by the front mud guard. He reached under, putting all of his weight forward in an effort to extricate the truck but the front wheels were too securely imbedded to even as much as budge an inch. The nurses and the one remaining doctor craned their necks over the side of the truck, watching the futile progress of the puffing leatherneck in the water. “Are we going to make it?” Elinor asked anxiously of the perspiring and mud-soaked devil dog. “I don’t think so, lady, but that guy the sergeant threw out, he’ll probably send help when he arrives at Managua.” “How long will it take to get another truck down here,” the other doctor asked. “That road to the right, on the opposite bank, leads straight in to the capital,” the Marine in the water announced. “If your friend steps on it and doesn’t stop to pick daisies, they should have a truck back here in about five hours.” The Marine’s prediction was correct, for just as the sun set over the mountain top to the west of the little river where the truck was imbedded, Lefty was but a half a mile away, driving a Ford repair car, loaded with four husky Marines besides himself. Three weeks in the tropics had completely changed the once uncertain, overanxious boy into a calloused, self-assured man of the world, whose entire demeanor betrayed a devil-may-care attitude of total indifference. Turning and addressing the men seated in the rear of the truck, he said with the usual anticipation of the inactive fighting man, “I hope there are some chic-looking nurses stranded out there!” “Me too,” one of the others agreed with enthusiasm. “It’ll be a relief to see a white woman again, homely or otherwise!” At that moment, the truck passed a couple of native girls who had stopped to look back after the American men in uniform. Lefty gazed over his shoulder and waved to them, smiling invitingly as he slowed down his speed. The men in the rear jumped to their feet with concern, attempting to prevent the boy from giving the native women a lift. “Hey, don’t you ever read orders?” one of them shouted. “You know men in the service aren’t allowed to mix with the natives!” “What do I care about orders?” the boy asked with an air of defiance in his voice, though he reluctantly stepped on the gas, increasing the car’s speed, “I joined the Marines to become a flyer, not a truck driver!” At that moment, the little car loaded with the squad of rescuers pulled up alongside of the river hank. “Here they are now!” the driver of the imbedded truck shouted to the nurses who were drowsily napping on one another’s shoulders. His announcement brought a stir from the passengers, who rose to their feet, waving to the approaching Marines wading out in the water toward them.