SAFETY?
Hal shut down the motor after that, let the plane circle once more under
its own momentum, then pointed her nose straight down toward the
clearing.
Within a flash he had slid from behind the wheel, reached over in the
corner and dragged Rodriguez by the collar, pulling him into the cabin
with a swift jerk. That accomplished, he flung himself down to the
floor, head down, and called to the cowardly pilot to do the same.
Hal tried to keep his mind a blank during the ensuing seconds.
Rodriguez’ shrieks of fear, the tearing, ripping sounds of the fabric,
and the shattering of glass did not make him move a muscle. And when he
did stir it was by force, for the plane thrust her nose into the swampy
ground with such an impact that he was thrown the length of the cabin
floor.
There was another terrific vibration, another shattering of glass and,
before the plane settled her nose in the mud, Hal and the pilot were
whisked summarily against the cockpit door. Then all was still.
Hal straightened up as best he could. His head felt bruised and when he
looked at his hands they were covered with blood. Aghast, he saw that it
came from Rodriguez, who was lying quite still beside him in a pool of
blood. An ugly gash had severed the fellow’s dark throat—his lips were
gray.
Hal tumbled about in getting out his handkerchief from his back pocket,
for the tail of the ship was in mid-air, and he was all confused. But he
managed to bandage the pilot’s throat temporarily and set about rubbing
his wrists. At that juncture an ominous smell floated by with the jungle
breeze.
“Ship’s caught afire, all right,” he muttered, as a small spiral of blue
smoke floated past the shattered window at his elbow.
Hal was out of it in a moment, jumping down into the soggy ground and
pulling the unconscious Rodriguez after him. A rumble sounded through
the plane and the next second it was enveloped in high, shooting flames.
Hal stumbled and tripped, sinking into mire over his ankles. But he
managed to drag Rodriguez’ heavy, inert body along, dodging and
trampling down bushes, creepers, and clinging vines that grew in the
little spaces between the tree trunks.
[Illustration: HAL MANAGED TO DRAG RODRIGUEZ’ HEAVY, INERT BODY ALONG.]
After what seemed an endless journey to him, he came at last to a sort
of eminence, a tiny area of higher ground that showed evidences of
having been a former human habitation. The jungle, however, was
beginning to reclaim it, for the whole space was covered with a
substantial growth.
Hal looked about thoughtfully, but seeing that it was the only suitable
spot in sight, he lay Rodriguez down carefully. After that he hunted
around them for a few sticks of wood and started a fire to keep away the
mosquitoes.
That done, he set about trying to revive the pilot and after a trying
five minutes saw his eyelids flicker, then open.
“It’s I, Rodriguez! _Keen!_ We’re here—_safe_! How you feeling?”
The fellow seemed to understand perfectly, for he nodded and a look of
hope came into the black eyes that were so filled with fear not fifteen
minutes before. Hal noted that his lips, however, were an ashen gray.
“You saved the plane—yes?” Rodriguez muttered weakly.
“Nope,” Hal answered, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s up in
smoke—fire. We should worry though, huh? We’re saved, anyhow.”
Rodriguez smiled feebly and lifted his head, looking around, interested.
Suddenly he put his hand to his bandaged throat and a terrified
expression filled his eyes.
“Is it danger—no?” he asked Hal.
“No,” Hal lied. “You’ve just got a bad cut, Rodriguez. You’ve lost a lot
of blood. Just lie still and take it easy. I’ll get some more wood to
keep these pesky mosquitoes away.”
“The glass she cut me—no?” He seemed to be obsessed by his wound.
“I’ll say she did. That’s why I wanted you to lie face down as I did. I
knew we were in for something.”
“I feel weak like baby.”
“I’m sorry, old fellow,” said Hal sincerely. “I’m sorry we couldn’t let
you take the chute and escape all this, but it wouldn’t have been
sporting. _Understand?_”
The pilot nodded weakly. He even smiled.
“I was not frightened for death so much, Señor Hal. More I was
frightened for myself—my sins.”
Hal frowned until his freckled brow wrinkled into one deep channel
between his bright blue eyes. Then a light of understanding spread over
his fair face and he smiled.
“Oh, you mean your religion, huh, Rodriguez?” he asked. “You mean you
were afraid of your sins in case you did die, huh?”
Rodriguez made the sign of the cross and his dark-skinned hands fell
limply to his sides.
“Yes, yes, Señor. My sins were many—too many to die a peaceful death,
Señor. I would have to tell you....” He closed his eyes and seemed to
doze off.
Hal shrugged his shoulders and got up. He could hear the burning plane
snapping and cracking against its steel frame. Its acrid fumes carried
on the breeze even to where he stood and hung heavily on the air in a
blue haze.
A monkey scolded sharply from a near-by tree and instinctively Hal
picked up a piece of dead limb and swung it at him.
“Can’t you see there’s a sick boy here who needs sleep!” he stage
whispered to the animal above them.
The monkey stared down with an almost sad expression on its little old
face. Then after he scolded some more he swung along to the opposite
branch and was soon swallowed up in the dense foliage.
Hal continued to gather more wood after that, looking at his patient at
five-minute intervals. But Rodriguez slept on, despite the fact that a
fresh bandage had been adjusted—the pilot’s own handkerchief.
It was almost dark in the dense forest before Hal stopped. His pile of
wood had become quite high—enough to do them for the long night, he
thought, as he sat down on it to have a smoke.
A parrot screeched somewhere in the distance, the jungle teemed with
life and sound, and yet it seemed to Hal he had never sat in such
oppressive silence before. Suddenly, to his great delight, Rodriguez
awakened and, noting the glow of their campfire, smiled.
“Ah, it is comfort, the fire,” he sighed. “You know the jungle—no?”
“Yes,” Hal answered with a cheerful smile. “I’ve been in Panama—yes. I
know the jungle.”
“Ah,” the pilot sighed weakly and closed his eyes again.
Hal glanced at him quickly and a fear asserted itself. Rodriguez’ throat
was still bleeding profusely—the fellow’s face had a ghastly look in the
firelight.
Did it mean death?