“Here we go!”

As her ship glided down, even in this moment when her own fate seemed to hang in the balance, on the walls of Mary’s mind was painted a picture that would not soon be erased. It was as if her first glimpse of a tropical jungle, the waving palms, the slow, rolling black river, the native huts, the sloping hillside all bathed in a beautiful sunset, had been painted there by some great artist.

And then her ship’s landing wheels touched the broad, hard-trodden path of the natives. Coming in closer to the natives’ shacks she had avoided the treacherous hillside and suddenly, there she was. Graceful as a plover with wings outspread the Lone Star came to rest.

“We made it!” Mary gave vent to a heavy sigh of relief. “But now!” She was up and away in the same breath, for the solving of one difficult problem had only served to bring her closer to another. There had been two men in the bomber when it crashed, Sparky Ames and Don Nelson. One had been injured. Which one? And how badly? She had to know.

“I’m going over there!” she exclaimed as she leaped from the plane, at the same time pointing up the hill.

“Okay. I’ll watch this plane,” Janet said.

“Yes, I think that’s wise. You never can tell.”

The Lone Star Came to Rest at the Foot of the Hill

Mary cast an apprehensive glance at the long row of native houses. “Homes of a hundred people,” she thought. “Perfectly wild natives.” But now nothing stirred there.

With long, quick strides she made her way where one man bent over the prostrate form of another.

When she was half way there she saw the kneeling man turn his head. Then she knew.

“Oh! Sparky!” she exclaimed. “You’re safe!”

“Sure! What’d you think?” The tall, strongly built young man with black, kinky hair grinned.

“I—I didn’t know.” She was closer now. “It would have been terrible if you had been seriously injured, you know.” Her voice dropped. “Secret cargo!”

“Yes, I know.”

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