Lefty swung about just as one of the Sandino followers raised his gun and fired again, hitting the landing gear of the plane and knocking off the hub of the right wheel.
The boy fell to the ground on all fours, unhurt as the rebels again opened fire and the bullets flew wild, missing their mark.
Phelps smiled grimly and crawled over to where the motionless form of Panama lay outstretched, over the cowling.
Master of a tense situation for the first time in his life, Lefty pulled his rescuer down into the cockpit just as the bandits advanced and opened fire again.
Without wasting a single moment, the boy whipped the machine gun of the plane into place, made certain that the magazine was filled and then trained it upon the line of approaching rebels, opening up wide and spitting forth deadly fire in all directions, causing a host of fatalities in the ranks of the bandits as, one by one, they toppled over and fell down the side of the mountain to the swamps below.
Certain that he was free of at least the first line of the advancing bandits, the boy jumped into the forward cockpit, swung the plane about, and facing the few remaining rebels, gave the ship the gun, taxiing forward, and smiting down the terror-stricken men before they had time to run to a protective covering.
Taxiing his ship to a take-off, a look of grim determination appeared upon the boy’s face that finally broke out in a broad smile of triumph as the ship gained altitude.
He turned about and saw that Panama was just coming to, cognizant for the first time that Lefty was piloting the plane.
“I did it!” the proud mechanic boasted over his successful feat in making a perfect take-off, “I got her off the ground this time!”
Panama, despite the excruciating pain caused by the wound the rebels had inflicted, smiled broadly and shouted: “Atta boy!”