At that moment, the huge flames had just consumed the last of the plane and its silent occupant, dying down now to a small blaze. Lefty, resting upon his knees in silent, terrified meditation, raised his eyes to the skies above just as the purr of an airplane motor reached his ears. Panama spied the lone man and the burning plane at the same moment that Lefty raised his eyes heavenward. He studied the ground below, searching for a safe place to land, then nosed toward earth and circled overhead before making a final decision. Just over the mountain, two companies of the rebel army had returned to the scene of their abject defeat at the hands of the Marines a week before. Their purpose was to reclaim their dead now that they were certain the Marines had left that particular sector. As they prepared to descend the steep mountain to the corral below, one of them looked to the west and saw the spiral of smoke and the lone plane with its nose turned earthward. “Americano weeth bad motor, mebe?” one of the group said in broken English. The others smiled and, without further ado, turned in their tracks and started up the mountain, prepared to open a surprise attack upon the helpless airman going toward the swamps below. Panama finally effected a landing in a spot not far from where Lefty was standing, watching the pilot’s descent. As the ship touched earth, the boy ran forward, his heart filled with mute gratitude, though still unaware as to the identity of his rescuer. The sergeant jumped out of the cockpit and inspected his landing gear, pushing back his goggles for a better view just as the boy came up alongside of the fuselage. Before either of them could speak, a sharp crack was heard and Panama fell to the ground, a victim from a bandit’s bullet. The rebels were now lined up on the ridge of the mountain, prepared to descend and after killing the other Marine, capture the plane. Lefty swung about just as one of the Sandino followers raised his gun and fired again, hitting the landing gear of the plane and knocking off the hub of the right wheel. The boy fell to the ground on all fours, unhurt as the rebels again opened fire and the bullets flew wild, missing their mark. Phelps smiled grimly and crawled over to where the motionless form of Panama lay outstretched, over the cowling. Master of a tense situation for the first time in his life, Lefty pulled his rescuer down into the cockpit just as the bandits advanced and opened fire again. Without wasting a single moment, the boy whipped the machine gun of the plane into place, made certain that the magazine was filled and then trained it upon the line of approaching rebels, opening up wide and spitting forth deadly fire in all directions, causing a host of fatalities in the ranks of the bandits as, one by one, they toppled over and fell down the side of the mountain to the swamps below.