Steve’s eyes seemed to see something in the sky above and with every bit of remaining strength left in his body, pulled at the other man’s arm and shouted: “Lefty, look! There’s the planes—they’ve found us!” Not without a sharp thrill of excitement, the other man raised his eyes heavenward only to see a swarm of black buzzards flying over their heads. He turned away with keen disappointment, though attempting to hide his feelings from Steve, whose eyes were still glued upon the birds of ill omen. “Look, Lefty, can’t you see? They’re circling us—they’re going to land!” He noticed that the other man didn’t respond and, looking closer, realized that what he believed to be planes were merely the hallucinations of a fever-torn mind. “I—I thought they were ships,” he whispered as he fell back on the disabled wing, closing his eyes with a death-like relaxation that startled the other boy. “Steve, Steve!” Lefty cried, working to bring his buddy out of the passive submission of physical defeat that had enveloped him, “don’t give up; they’ll find us, sure!” The sick man’s eyes fluttered open as they each gazed at one another for a brief moment. The realization that the end was hovering near left the two men with a morbid resignation of complacency registered upon their faces. “Remember what you promised,” Steve said a little above a whisper. “Don’t let ’em get me! You know—the ship—I’d do the same for you!” Lefty nodded grimly as his face took on an appearance of cold, indifferent immobility. When he looked down again, Steve smiled up at him, gasped and fell back, motionless. He lifted the man’s eyelids, felt his pulse and listened for a sign of life as his ear rested against the other’s heart. All was over—it was Taps for the pilot and Phelps braced himself for his next ordeal as he covered the dead boy’s face with the windjammer. What he was about to do, took a great deal of courage, but it was the boy’s last wish and he braced himself for the ordeal with that belief in mind. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and brought forth a match, striking it and touching the flame to the canvas of the wing, just below the boy’s head. In a moment, the last rites for the dead man had been performed and the remains of the plane, with its silent pilot, disappeared in a burst of flames. [Illustration: The last rites performed, the remains of the plane, with its silent pilot, disappeared in a burst of flames.] As Panama flew over the deserted corral and across the mountain, he saw a thin spiral of smoke rising through the tree tops just ahead. The expression on his face changed to one of mingled fear and hope as he flew nearer the spot from which the increasing volume of smoke came.