BATTLING A SPY
For a time Sparky and Mary sat in the dark silently watching the
torch-lit procession of great canoes. To Mary it was a fascinating and
fearsome spectacle.
Suddenly Sparky let out a low exclamation. “Thunderation!”
At that he jumped from the log on which he had been sitting to kick at
their half-burned-out campfire until the coals glowed red again. Then,
gathering up an armful of dry-as-tinder leaves, he threw them on the
coals.
For a space of seconds a column of dense smoke rose straight toward the
stars. Then, as the whole mass burst into flames, all about them, the
native huts, the airplanes, and the jungle at their backs stood out in
bold relief.
“Sparky!” Mary exclaimed, shrinking back. “Why did you do that?”
“I’ll meet any man half way,” was the reply. “That is, anyone but
Hitler’s mob and those dirty, little Japs.”
“But those men are savages!”
“Who knows? What’s a savage anyway,” Sparky’s voice sounded strange.
“Every man is a human being. Those are men. Brazil is our ally at war
and this is Brazil. When men come to you singing and waving torches,
you just must meet them half way.”
By this time the dugout canoes were pulling up to the shore. The chant
had ceased. In its place was only the murmur of voices. The torches
still flamed.
Soon a procession came moving like a great, twisting, glowing serpent
toward the campfire.
“Sparky!” Mary crowded close. “It’s too much. I can’t stand it!”
“Steady, girl!” Sparky’s voice was calm. His hands still gripped the
tommy-gun.
As the procession came closer, they saw that most of the natives were
all but naked, that some carried rifles and others spears and that they
were led by a little man wearing striped trousers, a bright jacket and
a sword. They did not pause until, as if in a high-school drill, they
had ranged themselves in three semicircular rows before the fire. The
little man stood at the center and three steps before them.
Mary tried to think what one swing of Sparky’s spitting tommy-gun would
do to those rows and shuddered.
At last the little man spoke. His words came in slow, precise English.
“You are from the United States?”
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[Illustration: _Sparky and Mary Watched the Natives Come Closer_]
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“That’s right, pardner,” Sparky agreed.
“The United States and Brazil are united against a common enemy.”
“Right again.”
“As our ally I salute you.” The little man’s hand shot up in a salute.
Thrilled to her fingertips, Mary managed to join Sparky in a salute.
The little man spoke a single word in a strange tongue and instantly
the circle of natives dropped to their knees in a position of ease.
“Just like that,” Mary whispered. She wanted terribly to cry.
With a courteous gesture the little man invited Mary and Sparky to
resume their positions on the log. Then he sat down at Sparky’s side.
“I,” he said, “am Doctor Salazar. I have studied in your country. Being
not unskilled in the medical profession and also possessed of an
interest in native life, I was sent to this place that I might make
friends of the natives. This, you will see, I’ve done.”
“You are wonderful,” Mary exclaimed. “And you are a doctor.”
“Yes, that is my profession.”
“One member of our party has been injured, how seriously we can’t
tell,” Sparky explained.
“I am at your service. Shall we have a look at this man?”
They rose and walked over to Don’s side. He had been sleeping but now
stared at them with questioning eyes.
“We have brought you a doctor,” said Mary.
“And not a medicine man either,” Sparky laughed.
With practised fingers the little man went over Don from head to toe.
“No bones broken,” was his diagnosis. “Probably three ribs cracked.
When his chest is taped up, he can be moved.”
“Good! We’ll take him to Para in the morning.”
“In that large plane, I suppose,” said the doctor.
“Yes.”
“And the other plane?” asked the doctor.
“If your men will help us, we can load the motors in our good plane,”
said Sparky.
“It shall be done. You are Americans. I am an American. We all are
Americans.”
“You’re right. We all are!” Mary exclaimed.
“The motors shall go,” said the doctor. “But that which remains?”
Sparky shrugged. “In a war there will always be losses.”
“My men and I can take it in pieces. We shall float it to the Rio
Negro. There it can be put on a steamer. It should be in Para perhaps
in two weeks. So there you are.” The doctor made another bow.
“Indeed, you are wonderful!” Mary exclaimed.
“It is all for the great cause. Speed the victory.” The doctor clicked
his heels and saluted.
The salute was returned in good measure.
And so it was arranged. Scarcely had the red of dawn disappeared from
the sky when the Lone Star rose to greet the sun, then began winging
its way toward the far-away city of Para.
Four hours later, far above the clouds, they flew across the broad
waters of the Para river at its mouth, then began circling down to the
city of Para.
First to catch Mary’s eye was the city’s ancient fortifications. As
they circled lower she caught the gleam of the cathedral’s roof. The
governor’s palace and other public buildings stood out from among the
royal palms. Last but not least were the hundreds of homes, each with
its lovely little garden surrounded by palms.
The broad public garden caught her eye, then the airport. So they came
circling down to ask for and receive permission to land.
As soon as they were down an ambulance was called and Don, with Janet
in attendance, was whisked away to the hospital.
“I’m staying with the ship,” Sparky said to Mary.
“Sure,” Mary agreed. “Can’t take any chances this time.”
“That’s right. Besides there’s a lot to be done. The motors from my
ship must be unloaded and arrangements made for the repairing and
assembling of the other plane when it arrives—if it does,” Sparky
added gloomily.
“Oh! It will!” Mary exclaimed. “I’d trust that little doctor with my
life.”
“Okay. We’ll hope for it,” Sparky agreed. “You just hop out somewhere
and get yourself a good, square meal.”
“One good Brazilian feed,” she laughed.
“That’s it. One dinner in every land. That’s our motto.”
“I’ll bring you a dinner on a tray, buy tray, dishes, and all. When we
get going you can eat the food and throw the dishes into the sea.”
“We’ll be taking off in just a couple of hours, if I can get our papers
all cleared up, so don’t admire the scenery too long.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be right back.”
Even at this strange corner of the world the war was much in evidence.
Soldiers were all over the field. Army planes from many lands came and
went. At the gate stood two guards. A smile and her uniform were all
the passes she needed.
Not so the youth in tattered clothes who stood outside the gate, gazing
in at Mary’s big plane.
“That’s some plane you’ve got.” He tipped his seedy hat.
“You’re an American, too.” She smiled.
“Yes—I—guess so. At least I used to be.” He did not smile. “Now,
well, I guess you’d say I’m sort of a tropical tramp. Been down here
for five years.”
“But,” his voice rose, “Boy! That plane of yours. Must be the best
there is!”
“Ever do any flying?” she asked. She should be going on but this boy
interested her.
“Sure—I’ve flown quite a bit, here and in U.S.A., too.”
“Why don’t you join up?”
“Your outfit?” He grinned broadly. “You’re a girl.”
“Oh, but there are a lot more men than women flying for the Ferry
Command.”
“But then,” her voice dropped, “they probably wouldn’t take you.”
“Why?” His shoulders squared.
“That’s just it,” was the quick reply. “You’re too fit. They’d want you
for combat duty. You can’t make our outfit unless you’re too old for
combat or there’s something a little wrong with you. Sparky, my
fellow-pilot, has a hole in his eardrum. Combat wouldn’t take him, but
Ferry did.”
“But say!” She gave him a good, square look. “Why don’t you ship back
to U.S.A. and get into a uniform? Afraid to go back?”
“No, just ashamed. I ran away. My mother’s a peach. She really is.”
“Go back and sign up. Get into uniform, then breeze back home. You’ll
make a hit.”
“Well, I—”
He broke short off to leap sideways, take three flying steps, then
swing his arm to knock something from a stranger’s hand. Without
knowing why, Mary followed on the run. It was lucky that she did, for
the angry man flashed a knife. He slashed at the boy once and drew
blood. His second blow, better aimed, might have been fatal had not
Mary done a flying leap to knock his arm high in the air and send the
knife flying away.
Instantly they were surrounded by soldiers. The youth and the man were
seized. Two soldiers stepped toward Mary.
“What eez zis all about?” one asked.
“I—I really don’t know,” was her faltering answer.
The soldier looked at her in astonishment. “You might have been keeled.
Now you say, ‘I know nothing.’”
“It’s a fact for all that.” She smiled in spite of herself. “I—I do
things like that sometimes.”
“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” the boy broke in, holding up a bloody
arm. “That man,” he pointed to the stranger, “is a spy. He was taking
pictures of that big plane. That’s an American plane and I’m an
American. He can’t get by with that!”
“Good for you!” The words were on Mary’s lips. She did not say them.
Instead she bent down and picked up something black that gave off a
bright gleam. “He’s telling the truth,” she said in as quiet a tone as
she could command. “Here’s the proof, his camera. That boy knocked it
from his hand.”
“It’s a lie!” the man snarled. “I never saw the thing before!”
“It’s one of those costly miniature cameras,” Mary went on. “It takes a
hundred pictures as easy as firing a machine gun. And sometimes it’s
twice as deadly.” She handed it to the soldier. “Have the film
developed. The pictures will speak for themselves.”
“It’s a lie,” the man growled, trying to break away.
“He calls himself Joe Stevens now,” said the boy, swabbing his bleeding
arm with a soiled handkerchief. “I knew him in Manos. That was before
we entered the war. He was a rubber trader then. They called him
Schnieder.”
“We’ll look into this,” said the officer.
To Mary he said, “This boy needs attention. There’s a Red Cross
first-aid station up that way a block.”
“I’ll have him fixed up,” said Mary.
“And will you vouch for his return to the station at the airport gate?”
“Absolutely.”
“Come on then,” the soldier spoke to Stevens who had once been
Schnieder, then they marched away.
“It’s nothing,” the boy said, hiding his hand. “I’ll fix it.”
“No,” said Mary. “We’re going to the first-aid station. Then you’re
going to take me to some place where I can get a swell dinner.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is?” His face lit up. “Come on, then, let’s go.”
An hour later, with his arm neatly bandaged, the boy sat opposite her,
smiling. The grand dinner he had promised was coming to an end. It had
been all she had dreamed of and more. They were having their black
coffee and ice cream.
Taking a pencil from her purse she wrote on a card then handed it to
him. “That,” she said, “is my permanent address. I’m going on a rather
long journey. I may not come back. We never know. But if I do, I’d like
to have something nice waiting for me. Send me your picture when you
get in uniform, won’t you?”
“Well, I—” He swallowed hard. “Yes, I will, if I make it.” That was
all he said.
At the airport gate he put out a hand for a good stout handclasp.
“Ships that pass in the night.” His voice was husky.
“Yes,” she replied quickly. “Fighting ships that are going to put
things to rights in this old world of ours.” At that she turned to
march away.
“By the way,” he called after her. “Just in case you might like to
know, my name’s Jerry Sikes—”
“Thanks, Jerry.” She smiled. Then without thinking she added, “I’ll be
seeing you.”
One more hour passed. Just as they were ready to take off, Mary brought
Sparky his dinner on a tray.
“It’s paid for, tray and all,” she said.
“Good! Then, let’s go.” He led the way into the cabin. “They say it
brings good luck if you throw your dishes into the sea,” he laughed.
Mary did not laugh. One word Sparky had spoken stuck in her mind.
“Luck,” she whispered to herself. “We may need it, all kinds of luck.”
She could not quite forget that they had already lost one plane. Just
now she had visions of herself on a rubber raft in mid-Atlantic,
casting a line in the vain hope of catching a fish.
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