As Williams walked off silently toward the line of tents, the commander selected two pilots and two observers to fly back and search for the missing airmen and their plane. The others moved away in different directions, wrapped in an overshadowing gloom that grips the hearts of all fighting aviators when any of their number are absent without reason.
Elinor had been watching the return of the squadron and searching the group for a sight of Lefty. When she saw the commander call the other men into a hurried conference that ended by two planes again taking off and flying back in the direction from which they had just come, her heart beat faster as a cold, foreboding feeling of uneasiness took possession of her mind and body.
She ran toward one of the pilots and stopped him as a pathetic look of anxiety darkened her face.
“Where’s Lefty Phelps?” she asked.
“That’s what we’d all like to know,” the man replied grimly without looking at the girl, “He and Graham disappeared during the fracas. The skipper just sent a couple of ships back to search for them.”
She looked up with terror-stricken eyes and caught sight of Panama not far from where she was standing. Without further adieu, she ran off in the sergeant’s direction, reaching his side a moment later, completely out of breath.
“Where’s Lefty, Panama?” she panted, “What’s happened to him?”
The sergeant made no attempt to even look at the frightened girl but continued on his way, quickening his steps. She ran along at his side, struggling to keep up with him and trying to regain her breath at the same time.
“Panama!” she pleaded once more, “what has happened to Lefty?”
“Out in the swamps with the rest of the snakes, I hope,” he speculated grimly, still avoiding the girl’s anxious eyes.