SKIP TUMBLED and rolled half a turn on the ground. He picked himself up and ran again, as best as he could, dragging one leg, his left, behind him. He put a hand on his side, low on the right, and felt the wetness of fresh blood. He looked over his shoulder for Zane and Nusiri, and the precious cargo she was now carrying.

Where was she?

There! Over there by the trees. She was wisely taking the slightly longer but more protected route down. Skip stuck to the line he was on, hoping to act as a diversion, keeping the rest of his family as safe as possible. At the moment, they were more important.

If they could just get to the boat, and cast off before Puma and his band of merry warriors got there, they stood a good chance. They had their own ride here now, with an outboard motor. No frantic paddling in a canoe to stay just a spear-throw ahead. Once they were aboard and had the motor fired up, they were outta here.

If Skip could even make it that far. Neither the spear nor the arrow had hit directly enough to stick. But both had grazed him enough to do significant damage. His leg had been hit low, just above the tendon that had been the infamous undoing of that legendary warrior, Achilles. Skip limped along as fast as he could, gritting his teeth with each tortured step, but he knew it was not nearly enough. But at the moment, he was more concerned with the amount of blood oozing from his side, soaking the lower half of his shirt, and beginning to wick down onto his pants. Between the pain and the slow but steady loss of blood, he was feeling light-headed.

He glanced to the side again, and was glad to see Nusiri and Zane ahead of him, almost to the river. But so was Puma, running along on the other side, to head them off. Both assailants were readying their weapons for another shot, but it wasn't easy to fire an arrow or a spear at a moving target, while running over uneven ground. Killa, meanwhile, was running toward her brother, Puma, unleashing a storm of angry words at him in their own language.

To give himself a better chance, Skip altered his line, zigzagging back and forth, which in his current state, came almost naturally. It would have required more concentration to run a straight line.

Zane had almost made it to the boat, with Nusiri right behind, able to keep her speed up, even with a baby in her arms. A testimony to the protectiveness of mothers, Skip thought. He changed his angle now, running toward them, and more directly, toward the boat. That also increased his distance from Puma. He hobbled along, quickening his pace. Only fifty yards to go. He might just make it.

Forty yards. Nusiri clambered aboard, followed an instant later by Zane.

Thirty. Zane wisely positioned himself at the motor, and gave the starter rope a hard yank.

Twenty. The Honda engine fired to life.

Ten. Puma had changed course, reaching his own canoe to give chase.

Five yards. Skip lunged the last few strides, stretching out his body for all it was worth.

Three feet. Puma was already paddling hard toward them, as Skip managed one last step, reaching out and grabbing for the boat, then flopping himself over the side.

With Zane manning the helm, the little inflatable dinghy swung away from the shore and out into the river.

And now, another problem presented itself. The raft, while motorized and much quicker than Puma's canoe, would make a clean getaway. But only if they could avoid the last desperate throw of Puma's spear, deadly accurate with that atlatl device behind it. They didn't know if Puma understood the physics of an inflatable craft, but if he was lucky enough to score a good hit, and puncture an air tube, it would be all over. Zane swung the tiller back and forth, shifting their course at random. It was the only thing he could do to spoil that last shot.

When that shot came, they were still within range. Barely, but enough so that when the spear did indeed make contact, it skimmed the inflatable tube with just enough force to make a small hole. Not enough to pop a tube and send them all scrambling for shore, but enough to worry them the rest of the way down the river.

Zane had good control of the boat. Skip thought of asking Nusiri for help, but it was more important for her to watch over Hope. So, with the last bit of strength he had, Skip found the patch kit and made the best temporary repair he could under the circumstances. It wouldn't hold for long, but it might slow the air leak just enough to get them to the plane.

Then, he curled up in the bottom of the raft, closed his eyes, for just a second, he had intended, and promptly passed out.

When next he awoke, an hour later, they were approaching the jungle landing strip where they'd left the plane. As Skip tried to sit up, one thing was abundantly clear to him. He was not going to be flying them out of here. If anybody was going to get them safely out of the jungle, it was going to have to be Zane, whether he was ready to or not. Skip was glad for the lessons and pointers he'd been giving him. This would be his first big test. Passing the torch, indeed.

Zane seemed to realize the added responsibility that had been placed upon him. "Don't worry Dad. I've got this covered," he said as they climbed aboard. Zane slid into the pilot's seat, with more bravado and confidence than he probably felt.

Skip moved for the co-pilot's chair, but was stopped momentarily by Nusiri. "Let's get you patched up first."

After strapping Hope into the baby seat that they had already secured, she rummaged through the medical supplies they had salvaged. "We probably have everything here to get that bad one on your side stitched up, except for the expertise. It would be best to get you to a hospital."

"Cuiaba has more facilities, but Sinop would be closer."

"Sinop it is then," said Zane, as he completed his preflight checks and Nusiri cleaned and bandaged Skip's wounds as best as she could.

"Hey, look at that, " said Skip, directing their attention out the window. There, at the edge of the runway, sat a familiar jaguar, there to see them off. Skip gave the magnificent cat a wave before moving into the cockpit.

He strapped himself in beside Zane as the three Wright J-6-9 nine-cylinder radial engines roared to life. He looked forward and eyed the rough dirt strip that had been carved out of the jungle by a band of garimpeiros, illegal gold miners. After their experience in the Temple of the Sun, Skip now saw the precious metal in a whole new light. As for what passed as a runway, Skip had every confidence in Zane's ability to execute a good takeoff. In general. But that was on a good, well-maintained tarmac. These were far from ideal circumstances.

Zane throttled up and they began to move forward on their takeoff roll.

As the Ford Trimotor accelerated, Skip could feel every bump and dip and rock on the uneven dirt runway. Those big wings provided plenty of lift, but the terrain was holding their speed back. He shifted his eyes from the  ground speed indicator to the line of trees ahead at the end of the runway. It was a whole other feeling, being on this side of the cockpit, and not the one in control. He began humming the Indiana Jones theme to channel his nerves.

Beside him, Zane was doing the same thing. Together, the tune increased in volume, pitch and tempo, as the plane hurtled down the strip and Skip tried to gauge when Zane should pull up.

The speed wasn't quite there yet, and those trees were getting closer...

"Not yet...almost...Okay, now!"

As the song reached a crescendo, Zane pulled back on the yoke for all he was worth. The nose came up, and their backs pressed into the seats with the increased angle of pitch. Beneath them, the big bush tires skimmed the treeetops, scattering a handful of leaves to the wind.

"Okay, okay, we're up!" Zane let out the breath he hoped no one knew he was holding. He also hoped his eyes didn't look as big as they felt. "Okay, we're as good as home free. Next stop, Sinop." He glanced over at Skip. "We'll get you patched up and by day after tomorrow, we'll be back home, safe and sound."

Skip heaved a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes for a moment. Home. That word had never sounded so good. His felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. God, he was tired. He should take a nap, trust Zane to take over. At least until they got closer. Once a plane was in the air, flying was easy. Usually. He opened his eyes again, as a final check, before checking out himself.

That was when he noticed the ominous line of thunderclouds on the horizon.

With the exception of a bit of turbulence an hour and a half later, on approach, the rest of the trip actually went smoothly, and they had almost made it to Sinop, when a blinding flash of light filled the cabin. The hair on Skip's arms stood at attention and the back of his neck prickled as he realized something wasn't right, with either sound or motion.

"Lightning strike! Right engine is out!"

This time, it was not a drill.

But Zane remembered the previous lesson well. Feather the prop. Left rudder to compensate for the yaw to right.

Not enough.

He stomped hard on that pedal, with both feet, his short legs straining for reach.

Short legs, but powerful. Lucille responded, slipping back into position.

Just in time, for the single runway of the Aeropuerto de Sinop was coming up fast. He was glad there was nothing else around it but farms and fields. Meanwhile, Skip was on the radio, calling in a Mayday, hoping it wasn't already too late.

Zane throttled back, keeping the nose  slightly up, letting gravity do the work, with just enough speed to keep gravity under control.

Ease it down.

His feet were getting tired on the rudder pedal and he could feel the plane try to sideslip to the right of where he needed to be. He pushed just a bit harder, and worked the control wheel to keep the wings level.

Flaps.

His speed and altitude dropped a little bit more. Just a few feet more to go, both distance and vertically.

Almost there...

Touchdown!

Brakes!

As Zane fought to keep the plane under control, fought to slow the remaining two engines to idle, and fought to stop both forward motion with the brakes, and the insistent sideslip with the rudder, Nusiri, from the seat behind, had already spotted the fire trucks and ambulance headed their way.

As Lucille came to a halt, midway down the runway, all aboard heaved a collective sigh of relief. All but Hope, that is. She had slept through the whole ordeal.

Nusiri insisted that Skip be taken by ambulance. He started to object, but as he stepped out of the plane, his legs gave out. He uttered no further word of complaint.

Just his suggestion for their next big adventure.

"Next time," he said, "next time, we stick to the Jungle Cruise."