He was too late, however. The other airplane came on at sickening speed, heading directly at the explorers. The wings of the two crafts touched, and the monoplane sent the other machine, which was much lighter, spinning around dangerously.
Its lower wing scraped the ground, and a support was broken. A moment later it came to a stop, leaning on its side.
Meanwhile, Karl’s monoplane had continued farther, gradually losing speed until it came to a standstill several hundred feet away from the other airplane.
“A narrow escape!” breathed Joe, as he opened the door of the cabin and stepped out. “A little more and we would have been goners.”
“That crazy guy ought to have his face smashed!” snarled Karl, directing his glance at the distant airplane. “He broke one of the prime rules of flying: Never land when there is another ’plane on the field.”
“Here he comes now,” observed Bob. “Wonder what’s on his mind?”
They soon found out. The other aviator was a native Peruvian and could not speak English, but he addressed them angrily in the native language.
Karl stepped boldly up to the man. His fist shot out and caught the native squarely between the eyes.
The man reeled and then lost his balance, falling heavily to the ground.