“Careful that doesn’t smash,” the chap warned.
“All right. Get loose from your parachute. I’ll make a hitch here, so you’ll come just under me—”
“Sure that will hold us both?”
“It’s a good green branch.”
“You make your hitch, then get back to the trunk,” the pilot proposed. “It will be safer.” Jim obeyed. Hanging on with one hand, he leaned forward to watch. The pilot released himself from the straps, then eased himself by hanging on with one hand. Finally he let go, and swung beneath by the lariat. Vigorously he sent his body forward, grasped the branch, hauled himself upright, then made his way to his rescuer.
“All O. K.”
“I’ll tell the world. Come along and we’ll help the kid.” Scrambling to the ground was much simpler than making the ascent, and presently they joined young Bob, who was courageously hauling out bags of mail.
“Gosh,” he whistled.
“Here, take hold.” The pilot directed the work and in a few minutes the mail bags were all out of the compartment, and none too soon, for the flames had gained great headway, and were swiftly devouring the plane. They dragged the bags to a safe distance.
“I say, we have some Pyrene,” Bob announced; “I was a boob not to think of it before.” He ran for the tank, they helped him with the tiny hose, and in a few minutes the blaze was extinguished. The darkness seemed to settle about them more thickly than ever, but the light from Her Highness showed clearly so they could see their way to the plane. Quickly the mail pilot glanced over it and he smiled with admiration.