It was then that the big man snatched a knife from its sheath to kill Jack. His hand was up. The end appeared certain now. But suddenly something hard crashed against that upraised arm. The knife rang as it hit the rocks. The stout hardwood club swung by the plucky girl—that for the moment had saved Jack’s life—did not stop with the knife. It came crashing down on the German’s head. Stunned, the big fellow staggered to his feet, made a lunge at Mary, and lost his balance. He fell to the rocky surface and started to roll slowly down the slope. Ten seconds later he had disappeared over the edge of the cliff. “Wha—what happened?” Jack rose groggily. “No ma—matter what happened.” The girl was a bit shaky. “Come on back and sit down.” “Wh—where is he?” Jack stammered. “He’s gone for good. Come on,” she urged. They returned to the shadows. Having regained his vantage point, Jack rubbed his battered head. “I must have practically gone out,” he murmured. “What happened to that Nazi?” “Plenty!” said Mary. “But nothing he did not deserve. Besides, this is war, and war is—” “No picnic.” Jack was himself again. “How do you feel?” she asked. He stood up, balanced himself for a moment, then went through the motions of skipping a rope. “You’ll do.” She sprang to her feet. “We haven’t a moment to lose. Come on!” Jack followed her over the steep, uncertain trail. Since she was barefoot, native style, her feet appeared to cling to the rocks. From time to time she gripped his hands to whisper, “This is a bad spot.” And then they were on the level rock, racing for the plane. “Are you sure?” Jack hesitated with his hand on the jet plane. “Yes, sure!” she whispered. “He fell too far. Couldn’t possibly bother us now. I’ll send the natives to look him up later. But now, please hurry!” She joined him in climbing to the plane’s top. While Jack dropped into the pilot’s place, she swung down into the gunner’s seat. “Why!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “This is an American twinflex gun! I’ve fired them often!” “Is it loaded?” Jack asked anxiously. “Sure is.” “That’s good. Keep a sharp lookout. Don’t shoot unless it is absolutely necessary.” “Trust me!” He did trust her, more than she knew. After pulling down his canopy he switched on a pale light. “Just like my old scout plane,” he murmured. As he studied the instruments and controls his amazement grew. At last he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, “This is an American plane, every bit of it. The instruments even have the makers’ trade marks on them. How do you account for that?” “I don’t,” said the girl. Cautiously Jack tried out the controls. He set the motor whispering, that was all. He released the brakes. They glided forward three or four yards. He clamped on the brakes again. As he tested the instruments Mary whispered: “Someone’s coming down the trail. I heard a rock rolling down.”