“And didn’t anyone get him?” Mary asked eagerly.
“Not that day, they didn’t, nor ever I guess. We’d know his plane if we got him and I’d know him in the air.”
“How could you?”
“The impudent monkey had the nose of his plane painted to represent our Uncle Sam with a long beard and a very red nose.”
“Giving you something to shoot at, I suppose.”
“Let me see the target just one more time,” Scottie exclaimed, “and I’ll make a bull’s eye.”
For a long time after that Mary sat staring dreamily down at the tropical beauty that glided beneath them and thinking of the people who, like bits of the jungle, had come and gone in her life during the days that had just passed. She saw again Jerry, the beachcomber, The Woman in Black, Captain Ramsey, and her father. A dozen other familiar figures passed before her mind’s eye. And then of a sudden, Scottie exclaimed:
“Look! There’s four of those black-hearted, little goggle-eyes slipping out of a cloud right now! I don’t suppose—” he hesitated. “Of course we can run, or we can climb. They’d never come near us. Perhaps that’s the best way. There’s Sparky waiting for you, and your cargo.” There was a wistful note in his voice. It was, Mary thought, like the singing note of a faithful dog’s whine when he was begging to be loosened for a fight.
“Sparky can wait, if need be—forever.” Her voice was firm. “The cargo will go through even if I’m not there.”
“Then we—”