Completely resigned to the hopeless Fate that had enveloped them, Phelps lifted the helmet to his lips, deciding to quench his own parched thirst, irrespective of whatever the consequences might be.
Steve caught this action on the other man’s part just in time to knock the helmet from Lefty’s hand, spilling the remains on the ground before them.
“No, you don’t!” he warned. “That stuff can’t hurt me any more, but you——”
He fell off into a coma without finishing his sentence. Lefty gazed down upon him and picked up his helmet, slowly fanning the boy as he once more went into a deep sleep.
At approximately the same time, Panama’s plane came to a landing at the flying base.
He lifted his goggles and brushed the oil and dirt from his face with a soiled handkerchief, then turning to the ground man standing beside the fuselage, ordered: “Fill her up full this time!”
Major Harding, followed by Elinor and two members of his staff, approached the ship, looking up at Williams and noting the tired, drawn and wan expression plainly visible upon the man’s face.
“Better turn in,” the Major advised. “You need some sleep.”
“I’m afraid this search is becoming hopeless,” the adjutant added, much to the consternation of the determined pilot still seated in the cockpit.
“I’ve got to find them, sir!” Panama pleaded as he addressed the major, “for more reasons than one!”