Arty, with beginners luck, escaped injury in the crash. Unable to communicate, Jed grabbed him and led the way away from the obvious target -the battered vehicle. Keeping an eye on the tail of the Super Cub pulling a tight turn, he chose a spot somewhat protected from bullets fired on a low altitude pass, yet where his body would be in full view from higher above.

The gunner missed once again. Jed fell dramatically with a leg tucked back in an unnatural position, eyes open but head not turning. The effect of blood from a scalp wound soaking his shirt, and gore smeared all over the front of the wrecked truck, must have been a convincing sight. A few rounds were let loose, too late to do any further damage.

"Jenny! Jenny," he called as the plane turned once again, a bit higher, to take another look.

"Here, Jed," she gasped between sobs.

"You OK?" he yelled with fingers crossed.

"I think so. You?"

"Yes. Don't move until I say so."

The plane made two more circles, and a small lizard rushed out to take a look at what had happened, before Jed, detecting a change in the noise of the plane's engine, dared to set up for a quick look. The pilot was preparing to land.

They had to move. They was no other choice. Jed jumped into the truck, turned the switch. Metal grinding against metal had always made him wince, and he considered running off on foot, before a second try caught. He slipped the stick shift into low and the truck moved forward three feet. "Come on," he yelled to Arty, who was helping Jenny to her feet, "we've only got one chance."

Once they had climbed in, Jed gunned the engine, and using the footage gained grinding forward, popped the clutch to bounce them backwards out across the ditch. On the road, he pulled a bootlegger's turn. He slammed the transmission from reverse into high, then second without stopping, and spun out headed directly for the plane which was now taxiing up the road.

"He doesn't see us, Jed," Jenny yelled above the noise of the truck banging itself to pieces, "tail wheeled planes are hard to taxi."

"Good. I just want to clip him without getting hurt ourselves. Watch out for the fellow in the rear seat."

Sick and tired of all the blood that had been spilled - including the deer that had saved their lives- Jed's intentions not to kill were honorable, even if a slight bit foolish. It was the pilot that changed Jed's plans. Unable to look over the tilted nose and spinning prop, he started making a series of slow "S" turns across the road.

This gave the gunner a view of the truck hurtling down on the plane at a frightening speed. When he raised his weapon, Jed, in defense, flicked the wheel over from the intended target of crippling the Super Cub by hitting the tail, and the Power Wagon climbed right through the strut and fabric airframe. All four lugged tires grabbed hold to rip bodies, radio, gas tanks apart.

Jed's charge had such a momentum they cleared the wreckage by 500 yards before sparks ignited a horrendous explosion. Even so the truck was damaged beyond any further use. Another thousand yards down the road it literally fell apart.

The three of them sat stunned among the hiss of escaping radiator steam.

"What now?" Jenny asked, trying to keep from shaking by hanging onto Jed as tight as possible.

"I guess we walk," he started to explain, when Arty grabbed his arm to point out two Indians emerging from the brush. They must have been curious about the big bang. Both were carrying .22 rifles in one hand, a machete in the other. That was it: their complete dress, unless one included bright cotton loin cloths tied on with vines.

A flash of de´ ja vu reminded Jed of thriller films he had seen that started out just like this. But, as they walked cautiously forward, Artillio let out a blood chilling trill of a whistle, and yelled with great happiness, "Amigos!"