The natives reached mistaken conclusions about their guests, as well, beyond their belief that the visitors were spirits. Decades later, several old men who were boys and teenagers in June 1945 swore that they'd witnessed a strange miracle. As they described it, after the paratroopers ate pig meat, the animals emerged whole and alive when the men defecated. Narekesok Logo said: "You could see where the cuts were on the pig" after its rebirth.

DURING HIS WEEKS at the base camp, Alfred Baylon-"Weylon" to the natives-made regular medical calls in the nearby hamlets. The sergeant earned the natives' trust by treating minor wounds, pig bites, and a variety of skin ailments, including a form of athlete's foot. He treated their dandruff, too. "In the Army, they say to make the most of what you have," Baylon told a reporter. "So I smeared their heads with mosquito repellant. It seemed to work surprisingly well." When a woman with an infection on her breast began to heal within days of treatment, Baylon became the tribespeople's favorite outsider. The feeling was mutual. "They are a wonderfully carefree people," he said. "Living in a land of perpetual summer, they never worry about their next meal." at the base camp, Alfred Baylon-"Weylon" to the natives-made regular medical calls in the nearby hamlets. The sergeant earned the natives' trust by treating minor wounds, pig bites, and a variety of skin ailments, including a form of athlete's foot. He treated their dandruff, too. "In the Army, they say to make the most of what you have," Baylon told a reporter. "So I smeared their heads with mosquito repellant. It seemed to work surprisingly well." When a woman with an infection on her breast began to heal within days of treatment, Baylon became the tribespeople's favorite outsider. The feeling was mutual. "They are a wonderfully carefree people," he said. "Living in a land of perpetual summer, they never worry about their next meal."

Walter encouraged the sergeant, to a degree. When a local woman went into labor, the natives came running for Baylon. "But the captain forbade it," Margaret wrote in her diary, "fearing that if anything happened to the woman or the baby, the natives might turn on all of us."

Before the others reached the valley, Baylon usually visited the village alone or with Sergeant Velasco, who became relatively adept at the native language. Now, Alex Cann, Walter, and the three survivors joined the sergeants on their rounds. But as they headed toward the nearest village, an old man blocked their way.

"He was a man of dignity and authority," Margaret wrote. "He knew and liked Sergeants Velasco and Baylon, and there was no ill will and nothing threatening in the chief's att.i.tude. But he made it abundantly clear that he didn't want his village invaded all the time."

When a pantomime negotiation went nowhere, Margaret tried a charm offensive: "I pouted as prettily as I knew how and I batted what few stubby little eyelashes had begun to grow back after the originals were singed off in the plane crash."

"Aw, Chief, don't be mean," she told the native leader.

Margaret laughed about it in her diary: "Walter, McCollom, Decker and the sergeants stared at me as if I had lost my mind. But it worked. Right before our eyes, the old chief melted."

Still, the native leader had limits. He allowed the two sergeants, Margaret, and Alex Cann into the village, but he turned away Walter, McCollom, and Decker. Rather than risk an incident, Walter and the two male survivors returned to camp.

That day, Margaret met a woman in the village whom she described as "regal in manner." Based on her belief that the woman was a village leader's wife, or at least one of his wives, Margaret called her "the queen."

THE MEETING AND its aftermath revealed a profound change in Margaret since the crash. She'd flown aboard the its aftermath revealed a profound change in Margaret since the crash. She'd flown aboard the Gremlin Special Gremlin Special hoping to see strange creatures she believed were "primitive." During her time in the jungle clearing, she came to see them as people. Since reaching the base camp, her views had evolved further. No longer did she describe natives in her diary as savages or childlike, for instance. Upon getting to know "the queen," Margaret's outlook took an evolutionary leap. Any remaining hint of superiority vanished. In its place came respect. hoping to see strange creatures she believed were "primitive." During her time in the jungle clearing, she came to see them as people. Since reaching the base camp, her views had evolved further. No longer did she describe natives in her diary as savages or childlike, for instance. Upon getting to know "the queen," Margaret's outlook took an evolutionary leap. Any remaining hint of superiority vanished. In its place came respect.

"The queen and I liked each other immediately," she wrote. They spent long stretches together: "All we lacked, from the American point of view, was a front porch and a couple of rocking chairs." Margaret described their ability to communicate as "a case of understanding the heart, for neither of us was ever able to understand a word of the other's language."

The native woman invited Margaret into the long hut the village women used as a communal cookhouse. She fed Margaret hot sweet potatoes, declining the b.u.t.ter that Margaret brought with her from the base camp. Margaret, too, hesitated to abandon her traditional ways. The native woman tried to persuade her to strip down to what Margaret called a "G-string of woven twigs worn by herself and her ladies in waiting." Margaret demurred: "I just clutched my khaki tighter around me." The queen didn't seem to mind.

The native woman Margaret called "The Queen" greets her outside a hut. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.) After a few days, the native woman was so eager for Margaret's visit that she met her halfway between the camp and the village. "Occasionally the trail was rough or we would have to cross small streams with precarious log bridges," Margaret wrote. When Margaret feared she'd fall, she'd appeal to the nimble-footed woman for help: "She always knew what I meant. The queen would take my hand in hers and give me an a.s.sist along the way."

When the sergeants teased Margaret for slowing their pace en route to the village, the queen sensed that the men were making sport of her friend. "She turned on them, and there was no mistaking the fact that they were getting a royal dressing down, for such unseemly behavior toward a royal guest." The same tongue-lashing befell a group of native girls and young women working in the sweet potato gardens who giggled when the two women walked past.

Walter noticed Margaret's growing connection. With a combination of envy and admiration, he told the men in the supply plane: "The natives will take stuff from her, but they won't take anything from the rest of us."

The more Margaret came to appreciate the locals, the more she admired them for refusing the paratroopers' goods. "The natives of Shangri-La are a wise people," she wrote. "They are happy. They know when they're well off. They are too smart to permit a few chance visitors from Mars to change the rhythm of centuries."

Walter, meanwhile, tried repeatedly to trade machetes, knives, and other modern conveniences for an ornate necklace of small sh.e.l.ls arranged in vertical rows on a strip of rawhide that hung from the wearer's throat to his breastbone. Each time he failed.

The necklace belonged to a man named Keaugi Walela. In later years, Keaugi became a chief with ten wives. When Keaugi died, his son Dagadigik inherited the necklace. One day in battle it fell from his neck. An enemy warrior retrieved it, and the necklace became a spoil of war, in Dani terms a "dead bird."

Keaugi Walela wearing the necklace that Earl Walter tried unsuccessfully to obtain. (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) SOON WALTER HAD bigger worries than souvenirs. Reports on the glider s.n.a.t.c.h tests, delivered via walkie-talkie, sounded grim. bigger worries than souvenirs. Reports on the glider s.n.a.t.c.h tests, delivered via walkie-talkie, sounded grim.

After the pickup equipment was installed in the Leaking Louise Leaking Louise, s.n.a.t.c.h pilot Major William Samuels, copilot Captain William McKenzie, glider pilot Lieutenant Henry Palmer, and a second glider pilot, Captain G. Reynolds Allen, agreed on what sounded like a straightforward plan. First, they'd make a few practice runs on Wakde Island to test the gear, get in sync with each other, and hone the glider and pickup crews. Then the Leaking Louise Leaking Louise would tow the would tow the Fanless f.a.ggot Fanless f.a.ggot halfway across New Guinea to Mount Hagen, a large, accessible valley at the same mile-high alt.i.tude as Shangri-La. If they tested it there, they thought, the first high-alt.i.tude Waco glider pickup s.n.a.t.c.h wouldn't involve crash survivors as guinea pigs and reporters as witnesses. halfway across New Guinea to Mount Hagen, a large, accessible valley at the same mile-high alt.i.tude as Shangri-La. If they tested it there, they thought, the first high-alt.i.tude Waco glider pickup s.n.a.t.c.h wouldn't involve crash survivors as guinea pigs and reporters as witnesses.

The plan unraveled almost immediately. On the first trial run on Wakde Island, Samuels came in too low with the Leaking Louise Leaking Louise. No one was hurt, but the s.n.a.t.c.h failed. Worse, the C-47's propellers severed the nylon tow rope, and the radio compa.s.s mast was knocked off the underside of the plane. After repairs, Samuels tried again. On the second effort, the steel tow cable broke, destroying the winch. No one was hurt, but replacing it caused more delays. Then calamity struck.

The Tribune Tribune's Walter Simmons had flown to Wakde Island to witness the tests. Despite the danger, Simmons volunteered to be one of eight pa.s.sengers aboard the Fanless f.a.ggot Fanless f.a.ggot for the third trial run. Just after the s.n.a.t.c.h, the steel cable inside the for the third trial run. Just after the s.n.a.t.c.h, the steel cable inside the Leaking Louise Leaking Louise again snapped as the crew tried to reel in the glider. "The winch just blew up," said McKenzie, the copilot. again snapped as the crew tried to reel in the glider. "The winch just blew up," said McKenzie, the copilot.

The broken cable whipped around the C-47's cabin like an angry snake, tearing through the wall of the navigator's compartment. The slashing cable struck the winch operator, Master Sergeant Winston Howell, in the head. Only days earlier, Howell had told the AP's Ralph Morton he was certain they'd have no trouble. The cable slashed the radio operator, Sergeant Harry Baron, across the back.

"A shower of aluminum, wood, gla.s.s and smoke inundated the c.o.c.kpit," Samuels wrote in a self-published memoir. "I looked back to ask if the boom was retracted so we could land. All I could see was everyone lying down and much blood." The injuries to Howell and Baron weren't life-threatening, but both were hospitalized.

Before the other half of the broken steel cable could slice through the Fanless f.a.ggot, Fanless f.a.ggot, glider pilots Palmer and Allen detached the Waco and made an emergency landing. Walter Simmons and the other glider pa.s.sengers and crew emerged shaken but unhurt. Later, Allen blamed the accident on the hastily scavenged s.n.a.t.c.h equipment, saying it "was unused for several years and was badly rusted." glider pilots Palmer and Allen detached the Waco and made an emergency landing. Walter Simmons and the other glider pa.s.sengers and crew emerged shaken but unhurt. Later, Allen blamed the accident on the hastily scavenged s.n.a.t.c.h equipment, saying it "was unused for several years and was badly rusted."

Alarmed, Colonel Elsmore put out a call for another replacement winch and flew to Wakde Island to supervise. He told Walter Simmons that if they encountered more problems, he might cancel the glider s.n.a.t.c.h altogether. In the meantime, Elsmore quietly revived the idea of inviting the Seabees to build a runway in Shangri-La; it would take longer than a glider s.n.a.t.c.h and pose its own problems, but he wouldn't have to worry about exploding winches, snapping cables, and the other perils inherent with "flying coffins."

Even before the snapped cable, Walter and his men had been unsettled by the idea of a glider ride. They were blase about jumping out of airplanes. But gliders were something else entirely, and the Waco's reputation preceded it. In his daily radio conversations with the supply plane, he told the planners not to rush: "We wouldn't want any haphazard attempt made to get us out of here... . We are perfectly willing to wait until everything is set... . We don't want to take any chances by pushing the thing to get out of here before the pickup and glider pilots are ready." After learning of the accident and injuries, Walter repeated those messages with more urgency.

Adding to his anxiety was the need for multiple pickups to get all fifteen people out of the valley. "Each trip increased the possibility of a bad accident, trouble, whatever," Walter said. He spoke privately with his top sergeant, Sandy Abrenica, about trying to hike out, or "whether we had to come up with other ways to get out of there, if the glider pickup didn't work." Without telling Elsmore, Walter and Abrenica made rough calculations of how many more men they'd need to mount a trek during which they might face headhunters, hiding j.a.panese troops, or both.

Margaret turned to prayer. The night she learned about the broken glider cable, she huddled in her private corner of the big tent: "I said my Rosary over and over, asking G.o.d that no one be hurt in trying to save us." Major Samuels, the s.n.a.t.c.h pilot, had the same idea. He later told Margaret that he'd gone to Sunday services and asked a chaplain to pray for their mission.

THE FIRST THREAT to Margaret's friendship with the native woman came one day in the village when she pulled out a comb and absentmindedly ran it through her hair. The queen was mesmerized: "She had never seen a comb before or anyone doing such queer things to their hair. The other natives were equally delighted with this toy. Half the village gathered 'round and I combed my hair until my arm was tired." to Margaret's friendship with the native woman came one day in the village when she pulled out a comb and absentmindedly ran it through her hair. The queen was mesmerized: "She had never seen a comb before or anyone doing such queer things to their hair. The other natives were equally delighted with this toy. Half the village gathered 'round and I combed my hair until my arm was tired."

Margaret handed the comb to her friend. Rather than use it on herself, the woman "carefully combed my hair down over my face." Margaret smiled as the woman completed the styling. Then Margaret combed her hair back off her forehead to its usual swept-back arrangement. The queen took the comb and again plastered Margaret's hair over her face. Alex Cann captured the comic back-and-forth scene on film. But the woman's husband became involved, and it stopped being funny.

"Sergeant Velasco was about to put a stop to this beauty business when the chief decided to join the game," Margaret wrote. "He started to run his hands through my hair. This was a goodwill gesture from which I shrank inwardly. But I didn't want to offend him and his followers. So I sat still a moment and said, 'Unh, unh, unh' at what I deemed were appropriate intervals in the conversation."

Velasco kept an eye on Margaret's friend. The native woman began speaking in what sounded like an agitated tone, and he sensed that she was growing jealous.

"Scram," Velasco told Margaret, and they ran together from the village.

Margaret brushes back her hair after a native salon treatment. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.) On their way back to base camp, he said: "I guess you might have been queen. But I also suspect you might have been dead."

Margaret worried the friendship was ruined. But on her next visit to the village, the woman was her usual gracious self. From the woman's improvised sign language, it appeared that she wanted Margaret to move from the base camp into the women's hut. "Velasco and Baylon told me they were certain she wanted to adopt me. But I didn't think my father back in Owego would like that very much," Margaret wrote. She politely declined.

On another visit, with Decker and McCollom in tow, several women approached Margaret and motioned for her to hold out her right hand. "As I did so, one of the women raised a stone ax," Margaret wrote. "I was so amazed by this first sign of violence in the natives that I could scarcely move."

Realizing what was happening, McCollom shoved Margaret out of the way.

Afterward, McCollom tried to explain what he believed was afoot: "When a girl is of marriageable age, they chop off the tips of all the fingers on her right hand. I guess this is a hint to you to nab off one of us handsome guys."

McCollom had added one and one but got three. Having noticed that nearly all the women in the village who'd reached s.e.xual maturity had lost several fingers, he a.s.sumed there was a relationship between the two.

IN FACT, THE Dani people of Koloima were trying to help Margaret mourn. Dani people of Koloima were trying to help Margaret mourn.

Unlike the natives near the jungle campsite, the villagers in the valley didn't know about the plane crash; news of an event so many miles away would have had to pa.s.s through the territory of enemies with whom communication usually occurred at spear-point. Instead, the natives in the valley a.s.sumed that Margaret and the other visitors had escaped from some terrible event in their world. The people of Koloima were so sure of this, their name for Margaret was Nuarauke, which meant "fleeing."

By their logic and experience, whatever tragedy had caused Margaret to seek refuge in the valley must have involved death. To honor and appease the dead, they a.s.sumed that Margaret would want to sacrifice her fingers. When she declined, the natives weren't insulted; any reprisal against Margaret would come not from them, but from the spirit world.

Margaret also apparently misunderstood when she thought that the native leader wanted to take her as his bride. To the contrary, the natives thought that the male survivors and paratroopers wanted to give Margaret in marriage to a native leader named Sikman Piri. "The white men said to him, 'Sleep with this woman,' " said Hugiampot, who was a teenager at the time. "She said, 'Sleep with me.' But Sikman Piri said, 'No, I am afraid.' So he didn't take her as a wife."

Margaret/Nuarauke wasn't the only outsider given a native name. Sergeant Caoili was called Kelabi-a rough p.r.o.nunciation of his surname that had no meaning in the Dani language. Other names included Bpik, Pisek, Araum, Mamage, and Suarem, though the pa.s.sage of time blurred which name belonged to whom. Some natives knew Alex Cann as Onggaliok, but others remembered him as Elabut Muluk, a Dani phrase that means "big belly."

WHEN WALTER FIRST arrived at the base camp with the survivors, he was happy to see the people of Koloima. The captain wrote in his journal: "All of the natives appreciate our help, as we do theirs." But three days later, Walter sensed tension bordering on hostility. The change was subtle; fewer smiles, fewer visitors hanging around the base camp. arrived at the base camp with the survivors, he was happy to see the people of Koloima. The captain wrote in his journal: "All of the natives appreciate our help, as we do theirs." But three days later, Walter sensed tension bordering on hostility. The change was subtle; fewer smiles, fewer visitors hanging around the base camp.

That night, he heard angry shouts coming from the village. He put the base camp on alert and for the first time in weeks posted guards throughout the night. "It is good to be prepared," he wrote in his journal. "The natives have been less friendly the last few days. However, with our weapons we can stand here easily. And so we prepare for our first uneasy night since we got here."

Morning arrived without incident, but Walter ordered his men to remain vigilant. He kept closer tabs on the survivors' movements, ordering them to stay close to base camp.

Walter tended to be cautious, but in this case he wasn't imagining things. As much as the natives appreciated the medical care and liked Margaret, the outsiders' presence had disturbed their routines, their wars in particular.

The base camp was in the middle of the no-man's-land the natives regularly used as a battlefield. As long as the outsiders were there, the Dani people of Koloima couldn't satisfy their desire to confront their enemies in open combat. In addition, some local leaders didn't like how Walter and his men handed out fistfuls of sh.e.l.ls, fired their frightening guns, and wandered wherever they pleased. For many years, the native leader named Yali Logo had been the regional big man. Now the outsiders behaved as big men, and Yali didn't like it.

Regional "big man" Yali Logo (center). (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) Unaware that the outsiders were preparing to leave the valley, Yali began plotting their departure on his own terms. He visited the base camp by day, where Walter photographed him standing calmly, though unsmiling, with his tribesmen. But according to his tribesmen, at night Yali sent a messenger to his sworn enemy and frequent battlefield opponent, a legendary big man named Kurelu from the neighboring territory.

"At night the enemies talked," said Ai Baga, a teenager at the time. "Yali wanted to drive them out, and he wanted Kurelu to help. But Kurelu said no."

It's possible, said several Dani men who witnessed the events, that Kurelu was pleased to see Yali's authority undermined by the outsiders; as a result, Kurelu had no incentive to join a conspiracy.

As days pa.s.sed with no sign of gliders, Yali kept plotting and Walter kept posting guards.

Chapter 25

s.n.a.t.c.h

UPON ARRIVING AT Wakde Island, Colonel Elsmore canceled the original plan to practice a mile-high glider s.n.a.t.c.h at Mount Hagen. Instead, they'd focus on fixing the problems and getting it right at sea level on Wakde. To compensate for the higher alt.i.tude in Shangri-La, they'd overload the glider during the trial runs, filling it with nine pa.s.sengers and three hundred pounds of sandbags. Wakde Island, Colonel Elsmore canceled the original plan to practice a mile-high glider s.n.a.t.c.h at Mount Hagen. Instead, they'd focus on fixing the problems and getting it right at sea level on Wakde. To compensate for the higher alt.i.tude in Shangri-La, they'd overload the glider during the trial runs, filling it with nine pa.s.sengers and three hundred pounds of sandbags.

Elsmore believed the maxim that a leader shouldn't ask his troops to do anything he wouldn't do himself. He sat in the glider's copilot seat for the last three s.n.a.t.c.h tests. It's not clear whether Elsmore's hands-on approach reflected confidence that nothing would go wrong or lingering doubts that something might. Either way, those runs went off without a hitch. Satisfied, Elsmore declared that the s.n.a.t.c.h was on.

The plan called for three glider drops into Shangri-La, and three subsequent s.n.a.t.c.hes, to get all fifteen people out of the valley. Bad weather added several more days of delays, so the glider and tow crews cooled their heels in Hollandia. In the valley, the temporary inhabitants waited in nervous antic.i.p.ation, only to be told to stand down until the cloud cover cleared.

THE BIG DAY came on June 28, 1945. All fifteen members of Camp Shangri-La awoke at 6:00 a.m. to mostly clear skies with wisps of clouds that the came on June 28, 1945. All fifteen members of Camp Shangri-La awoke at 6:00 a.m. to mostly clear skies with wisps of clouds that the Tribune Tribune's Walter Simmons compared to "puffs of cigar smoke."

The first plane into the valley was the supply plane.

"Does the queen think she wants to pull out of there today?" Major Gardner asked via walkie-talkie.

"She's been wanting to get out of here for a week," Walter replied.

"I suppose that goes for everybody," Gardner said.

The major told Walter that Colonel Elsmore would supervise the mission from the c.o.c.kpit of his own plane, a B-25 bomber he'd named for his seventeen-year-old son, Ray Jr. Instead of bombs, Elsmore loaded the plane with enough reporters for a media circus, with him as ringmaster. After telling Walter about the colonel and the correspondents, Gardner relayed a message to Walter that almost certainly came directly from the press-conscious Elsmore: "We should like it very much if on the first trip out, you, Mac, Maggie, and Decker could be on that glider."

Walter knew that he'd get enormous attention as a hero if he stepped out of the first glider as the rescue leader alongside the three survivors. Only weeks earlier, he'd repeatedly noted in his journal how much he valued such exposure: "If this deal is getting all the publicity it appears to be, I am sure that my prayers on the future will be answered." Worldwide page-one coverage of him with Margaret, McCollom, and Decker-perhaps with Colonel Elsmore pinning a medal on his chest-might have made it impossible for the bra.s.s to ignore Walter's combat requests. Just as important, after the war he could show the stories and photos to his hero father. Walter also knew that he might have only one chance to bask in the acclaim; days might pa.s.s before the second and third glider pickups, and by then the media train might have rolled on.

None of that mattered as much as it once did. Walter wasn't the same man who parachuted into the valley six weeks earlier, hungry for a mission and focused on his own career. He was no less gung-ho, but he was more mature; for the first time since he was drafted, he felt he had proved his mettle. Not only to the U.S. Army bra.s.s; not only to his men; not only to the imagined eyes of his father; but to himself. Walter understood what it meant to be a leader, and rushing to the front of the line wouldn't do.

"I will not be on the first glider," Walter answered, according to a transcript of the ground-to-air exchange. "I will send the three survivors and one or two of my men on the first glider. I will be the last man to leave here with my master sergeant and a couple of tech sergeants."

Major Gardner could have ordered him aboard the first glider, but he let it drop. Gardner turned the conversation to wind speed on the valley floor. Walter a.s.sured him that it was minimal. That was the last discussion about when Walter would leave the valley.

A FEW MINUTES later, the radio in the supply plane crackled with word that the later, the radio in the supply plane crackled with word that the Fanless f.a.ggot Fanless f.a.ggot was en route to Shangri-La, gliding at the end of a tow cable pulled by a C-46. Elsmore joined the conversation, reporting from his B-25 c.o.c.kpit that the glider was making good time. He corrected the tow plane's course, and within minutes the C-46 cleared the last ridge and entered the valley with the glider trailing a few hundred feet behind on its nylon leash. was en route to Shangri-La, gliding at the end of a tow cable pulled by a C-46. Elsmore joined the conversation, reporting from his B-25 c.o.c.kpit that the glider was making good time. He corrected the tow plane's course, and within minutes the C-46 cleared the last ridge and entered the valley with the glider trailing a few hundred feet behind on its nylon leash.

When he saw Shangri-La spread out below him, Lieutenant Henry Palmer grabbed an overhead lever in the glider c.o.c.kpit. He pulled down, releasing the Fearless f.a.ggot from the tow cable.

Within seconds, the glider slowed from more than one hundred miles per hour to less than eighty. As the C-46 flew off, engine noise faded away. Glider pilots Palmer and G. Reynolds Allen could hear the wind rushing past as they gently banked the engineless aircraft to further reduce speed. They lined up the glider's nose between the red parachutes that outlined the makeshift landing strip and touched down. As they slowed to a stop, the glider's tail rose like a whale's fluke, then eased back down for a perfect landing. Alex Cann captured the moment for posterity.

Glider pilot Lieutenant Henry E. Palmer inspects a native ax after landing the Fanless f.a.ggot Fanless f.a.ggot in the valley. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.) in the valley. (Photo courtesy of B. B. McCollom.) "We were all out on the field, jumping up and down with happiness," Margaret wrote in her diary. Dozens of natives gathered around, whooping and hollering at the sight. "This was their first chance to see, close up, one of those monsters of the air that had been so terrifying to them at first. Now they gazed at it with no more fear than we did."

Henry Palmer knew that Major Samuels had only enough fuel in the Leaking Louise Leaking Louise to circle a few times before attempting the s.n.a.t.c.h. Samuels also worried about a new cloud bank settling over the mountains surrounding the valley. Over the radio, he warned: "We haven't too much gas or time." Samuels was serious about his concern. Before leaving Hollandia, he and his men had tossed out their heavy boots, their .45-caliber sidearms, the plane's Thompson submachine guns, and every other nonessential item to lighten the load. to circle a few times before attempting the s.n.a.t.c.h. Samuels also worried about a new cloud bank settling over the mountains surrounding the valley. Over the radio, he warned: "We haven't too much gas or time." Samuels was serious about his concern. Before leaving Hollandia, he and his men had tossed out their heavy boots, their .45-caliber sidearms, the plane's Thompson submachine guns, and every other nonessential item to lighten the load.

As the clouds thickened, Samuels expressed doubts that a s.n.a.t.c.h attempt would be possible that day. The glider crew might have to sleep in the base camp overnight, and they'd try again the following morning, weather permitting.

Colonel Elsmore wouldn't hear of it: "It looks like a d.a.m.n good day to me," he said.

Samuels relented, and the Leaking Louise Leaking Louise began to prepare for a pickup. He announced over the radio that he wanted to try a couple of "dry runs"-swooping low over the field without grabbing the glider. Again Elsmore objected. began to prepare for a pickup. He announced over the radio that he wanted to try a couple of "dry runs"-swooping low over the field without grabbing the glider. Again Elsmore objected.

"You better not try a dry run," the colonel commanded. "If you're short on gas, don't take the time. You can make it OK without a dry run."

While Samuels and Elsmore sparred overhead, Lieutenant Palmer jumped down from the glider and called to the survivors: "You ready to go? This express takes off here on schedule in thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes?" Margaret said. "Why, I'm not even packed." Neither were McCollom, Decker, and the two paratroopers Walter had chosen for the flight: Sergeants Fernando Dongallo and Ben Bulatao. By putting "Doc" on the first glider, Walter wanted to focus attention on the medics who'd risked their lives by jumping into the jungle.

As the survivors and the sergeants hurriedly gathered their belongings and souvenirs, the glider pilots went to work setting up the s.n.a.t.c.h poles. With the camp bustling, Alex Cann aimed his camera at a remarkable scene: twenty or more tribesmen pitched in to help Walter and the paratroopers roll the Fanless f.a.ggot Fanless f.a.ggot into position for the s.n.a.t.c.h. Leaning forward, their hands pressed against the glider's canvas skin, the modern soldiers and the Stone Age warriors worked together, shoulder to shoulder, to muscle the Waco into place on the no-man's-land-c.u.m-battlefield-c.u.m-improvised-glider-landing-strip. into position for the s.n.a.t.c.h. Leaning forward, their hands pressed against the glider's canvas skin, the modern soldiers and the Stone Age warriors worked together, shoulder to shoulder, to muscle the Waco into place on the no-man's-land-c.u.m-battlefield-c.u.m-improvised-glider-landing-strip.

Native tribesmen help push the Fanless f.a.ggot Fanless f.a.ggot into position for a s.n.a.t.c.h attempt. (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) into position for a s.n.a.t.c.h attempt. (Photo courtesy of C. Earl Walter Jr.) With the clock ticking and the s.n.a.t.c.h plane's fuel tanks emptying, Palmer hustled the five pa.s.sengers onto the glider. Margaret realized she hadn't said good-bye to the natives. "But they understood that we were going," she wrote. Margaret was especially sorry to leave without a final visit with "the queen."

The native leader Yali Logo wasn't sorry to see them leave, but Margaret felt certain that some of the tribesmen were distraught: "Tears streamed down their black faces. They felt they were losing friends, and I knew I was losing some of the best and kindest friends I would ever have. I blew my nose rather noisily, and discovered that McCollom and Decker were doing the same thing."

IT'S POSSIBLE THAT the weeping natives were sad to see Margaret climb aboard the glider. It's also possible that their tears reflected complex emotions among the people of Koloima. the weeping natives were sad to see Margaret climb aboard the glider. It's also possible that their tears reflected complex emotions among the people of Koloima.

The glider fascinated them, but according to several witnesses, they wouldn't understand until later that their new acquaintances intended to fly away forever. They thought the glider's arrival was the last sign of the Uluayek legend. Frightened, they appealed to their ancestors.

"We had a crying ceremony," said Binalok, a son of Yali Logo. "It was to say, 'Oh, we feel this deeply.' As we cried, we named our dead ancestors. We thought we would be going back to the ways of our ancestors."

Almost nothing had changed for generations in the valley, where the people lived and farmed and fought as their forefathers had. One exception involved styles of p.e.n.i.s gourds and women's wrapped skirts. After the crying ceremony, the men of Koloima stopped storing tobacco in the tips of their p.e.n.i.s gourds, reverting to the practice of their elders. Native women changed how they wrapped their gra.s.s skirts, adopting a more traditional style. The changes might have seemed inconsequential to an outsider, but not to a Dani. Unable to envision what a new age would look like or how dramatically it would affect their lives, the people of Koloima made the most drastic change they could imagine-a return to older styles of gourds and skirts.

In the end, the natives were right about Uluayek but wrong about its effects. In a relatively short time, the world would come to Shangri-La, and the valley would change in ways they could never imagine.