"Finzer!" he gasped. "My God! Is this you?"

The one eye left faintly opened and the gashed lips muttered, though Blaine shuddered as he saw by the flashlight that the man's face and head were so torn by machine gun spatter that it was only a question of minutes, if not seconds, before he would be dead.

As it was, Finzer's one eye recognized his sergeant. He tried to speak, but vainly. Finally, with an effort that must have been a last clutch at his vanishing strength, he flung his mashed and bloody hand on a paper pad, with pencil laying by. One sentient gleam; then he gave up the ghost. What did Finzer mean by that last gesture?

With reluctance Blaine picked up the pad and read the following words now almost illegible with blood.

"Boche got me. Machine back by log pile. Good shape. Landed in tree. Done for. Saw you drift this way. Get machine if yours won't —"

Sadly Lafe drew the body of his friend aside, covered it with his leather blanket coat, piled brush over it, and drew meditatively back, saying:

"Poor Milt! It's all I can do for him now."

Again he scanned the penciled lines, remembering that his own machine was in bad shape. "Maybe Milt's will do better. I'll see. Where's that log pile?"

His question was suddenly answered by his stumbling against something for he had already started on the search, having repocketed the tell-tale flashlight. No knowing when a stray ray might be seen by some enemy eye and its cause investigated.

Groping about, he discovered Finzer's machine half slanting down one side of the log pile. It had fallen through a tree top, hitting the logs. Milt, already blind, wounded unto death, had tumbled out, crawling a few feet, where he lay dying until Blaine heard and found him.

Swiftly Lafe righted and trundled the machine to a small, clear place. Risking the flashlight again, he briefly inspected it. Aside from sundry bullet perforations and certain unimportant scars in the wings, it was all right. The tank was pretty full yet, the interior mechanism in fair order, and the wheels propelling it in such good shape that Blaine soon had it back in the open space where he had been compelled to come down. As for the near-by woods, there was not much real life there. Long ago the ruthless shelling had reduced most of the timber to scraggy, scarred skeletons. Still they were dangerous to planes when trying to land — or to rise again. So he quickly transferred such of his belongings as he cared to save, placing them in Finzer's machine, and then assured himself that everything would work right when it came to rising again. All was ready. Another thought came.

"I ought to fire this plane of mine. Too good yet to fall into Fritzy's hands. He'd soon have it ready again."

Pushing Finzer's plane still further out m the open, he looked, listened, but still detecting no sign of human nearness, he opened the petrol tank of his plane, touched with a match the running liquid, and jumped nimbly to his seat in Finzer's machine. Applying the power, the plane rolled, skidded slightly then came to a full stop.

"What the mischief is the matter now?"

Out he jumped, vaguely fearful, while the other plane flared up brightly, the red flame mounting high, higher, scarcely forty yards away. In and out among the mechanism he fumbled, turned, twisted, adjusted, until from a distance came the sound of hoofs — galloping hoofs.

"Good Heavens! The Boches! They're coming? What will I do?"

As he asked this question his eyes, wildly distorted, roamed round the open space now lighted up for a hundred yards or more by the burning airplane.

Just then he happened to look upward, and all at once saw the cause of his present trouble. One of the longer limbs of an old, battle-scarred poplar, partly broken and hanging lower than usual, had caught in one of the top wings, thus halting him as he was about to rise.

"What a fool I am!" This while wrenching loose the ragged wing-end. "Let me get out of this somehow!"

Already he was again in his seat, turning on the power, swiftly yet surely manipulating the controls. The high-powered scout and battle plane rose with a rush and almost immediately began to climb, spiraling in long acute sweeps and turns.

"There they come!" breathed Lafe, venturing a last look around down below.

A field battery of horse artillery was emerging from the torn timber into the open space, which the burning plane had already showed Blaine to be a beet or turnip field of considerable extent. The constant roaring of artillery and a continuous red glow on the western horizon made known the cause of the uproar that had been growing for some time back.

"They're fighting hard," conjectured Blaine. "Guess wrecking them sausages must 'a' stirred Fritzy up a bit. Hullo! What's that?"

Already Lafe was a thousand or more feet up. The field battery was now fading from view as the flames of the burning plane died down.



CHAPTER VIII

BLAINE'S FURTHER ADVENTURES

Once more sharp reports from the Archies came from below. Whether these were by the battery he had seen Lafe could not now tell. So thick was the fog, the gun flashings did not reach up to where he was now spiraling still upward, in order to get beyond the chance effect of some stray shot.

All along the now distant battle line the dull red glow of bursting shells lined the front as the rumble of sound jarred more clearly upon his ears. Undoubtedly some kind of battle must be going on. Was it one result of the night raid? Was Fritz, now that his observation points were at least temporarily out of active service, taking his revenge by another drive? And where the Allies would least suspect? That is, right over the Appincourte Bluff?

"What ought I do?" reflected Blaine, still gently climbing higher. "It's a still night, foggy, good for most anything up here, except to see or be seen and that's what I don't want. Wonder if poor Finzer had his night signals along? Ah, here they are!"

He was overhauling with one hand a small locker that was part of the fuselage Moreover, there were still two unused sheafs of ammunition for the Lewis gun and a few grenades and bombs. Finzer had not expended all his allotment in the balloon attack.

"Guess I'd better edge in towards where that drive seems to be centering. That is the reason, probably, that this battery broke in where I was on the point of going up again. Fritz is up to some new thing, I'll bet."

Taking his bearings as best he could, Blaine headed more westward, keeping at an elevation of six or seven thousand feet.

"Wonder what they'll think back at the station when they don't find me among the ones that get back? Poor Milt! I lost my machine; he lost his life. And there were others, too. That Montana chap Bangs. Last I saw of him he was right under one of them sausages, letting Fritz have it with the Lewis. Looked like something would get him — heigho! What is that?"

Down below, slightly to his rear, there flashed through the fog a short series of vari-colored lights, which to Blaine's active mind spelled forth:

"Boches 'bout to get me. Big drive on hand. Yonder they go — watch out!"

That was all, but it was enough. Blaine knew that it must come from another of the raiding scouts who had somehow gone down in No-Man's-Land. It might come from a shell hole. Anyway, it was being sent up by some one risking almost certain death in order to let the Allies know that big things were already under way.

"Where are the Boche planes?" Blaine had more than once asked himself. The balloons were gone. The few enemy planes left to guard the gasbags had been put to flight by the daring raiders. Blaine himself had sent one down in flames. Others had followed the retreating raiders. Now that a night drive was on, other planes would be converging towards the salient thus suddenly selected for a night assault. In another instant Blaine's mind was made up.

"Here's at you, my friend," he said to himself. "I'll try to find out who and what you are. Damn the risk!"

With the thought he turned the nose of the triplane downward, so that it was almost at a perpendicular angle. Before this he had noted that around the point whence had risen that telltale signal there seemed to be a foggy void. This meant to Lafe that, for the present at least, there was nothing doing at this particular spot. Of course those signal lights might draw dangerous attention, but Blaine had resolved to risk the chances of that. Perhaps one of his comrades in distress had deliberately courted death or imprisonment m order to let their side know what was taking place. "Bully boy, whoever he is!" he thought.

Briskly yet carefully working his machine, Lafe descended until, when he flatted out, he could see through the fog the darker background of war-torn earth.

"I'll flash our private signal," he resolved. "He may see it. So may Fritz. But — here goes!"

Lafe pressed with his foot upon a certain button that was connected with an electric flashlight fastened in a special groove at a downward angle of the fuselage or body of the car. At each pressure certain flashes emitted the message of inquiry in private code.

"Where are you, pal? I'm coming. Let me know if you can."

Circling round at an even slightly lower level, he continued to signal but without avail. Just as he was about to quit and rise higher again, he detected a faint red and blue gleam that apparently ceased without rime or reason. One faint glimmer succeeded, but died out as if suddenly broken off.

Without waiting for more Blaine gave a searching look around but, seeing nothing through the mist, gently, cautiously felt his way downward, easing up in speed as best he could. The wheels jolted over rough but level ground, until the nose of the plane shoved itself against an abrupt angle of rough earth that brought him to a halt all at once. Quickly he adjusted the controls and, revolver in hand, boldly leaped out.

Dark it was, except for the lurid flashings of distant artillery, while to the west the roar of infantry battle sounded much nearer than when Lafe was high up in the air.

"Where am I?" he asked himself, reaching for his pocket flashlight. "Surely this must be No-Man's-Land!"

Thus thinking, he stumbled against another plane; not his, but the wreck of another one. Intuitively he felt that he must have landed right. Feeling round him, he detected certain signs that made him almost sure one of the raiding scout machines had fallen here.

"This must be one of those big shell holes," he thought. "Why — what if it is where those signals came from?"

Just as Blaine was about to climb up the incline of disrupted earth, his flashlight sending gleams here and there, a voice he recognized ,sounded:

"Halt, you! I heard your motor, but you won't get me without a fight."

"Damn if it ain't Buck all righty," said Blaine, still climbing.

He turned his light to where the voice sounded, and bellowed, regardless of consequences:

"Don't you know your squad leader?"

"Good gracious! You — here?" The youth from Butte, Montana, was peering down at advancing form, delighted amazement in face, but he only said: "Shut off your light Sergeant! We're surrounded by - by - them! That's better! Where'd you come from?"

"Oh, I just dropped down in answer to your signal. I thought if the Boches were about to get you, they might have another chance at me, see?"

A faint yet hilarious chuckle came forth. Then:

"Say, Lafe, when I first tumbled down here, I thought I was a goner. But I wasn't hurt much. My machine is smashed, though."

"What brought you down? Why didn't you go a little further?"

"I would have, but Archie got me just as I thought I was about safe. That ain't all. I guess our downing them sausages was a bit too for Hans. Directly after that they started the hottest barrage fire you've seen in a month of Sundays. Keepin' it up yet, only they've slacked a bit along here. I kept thinkin' how I was going to get out of this when I heard the tramp and scuffle of advancing infantry.

"All at once I knew. They're sour yet over busting up their big underground at Appincourte Bluff; and now comes this raid of ours and away goes that string of a dozen balloons. I guess it was too much."

"Infantry! What infantry? Oh, you mean Fritzy!"

"Who else? Well, Fritz came with such a rush he didn't look for me. There was a lot of him passed. I scrunched down inside this crater the best I knew how and directly I knew I must let our folks know. Then's when I sent up my signals — in code, of course."

"That's so, Buck. I saw 'em and read 'em."

Buck was grinning to himself.

"You?" Bangs looked his astonishment. "Well, if we warned our folks in time, and I guess I did by the sounds, and then caught hold of you, it was a lucky venture."

"You caught me all right. But how are we going to get away? Say your machine is busted?"

"How'd ye know?"

"Well, by the way it came down and struck. I have no tools with me, and I had to crawl in here in a hurry."

"Come on," ordered the Sergeant in his official tone. "We've got no time to lose. I've got tools or rather Milt had."

"What's the matter with Finzer?" Buck was keenly concerned for he and Milt had been quite chummy.

Blaine told him briefly all that had happened.

"And you had to leave him back there? Well - well, it's war. Sure he was dead? By thunder! I'll get even yet with Hans — Gawd willin'. The skunks!"

All this and more while Lafe, now alert and busy, was getting out Finzer's tools. Presently the two were examining Buck's plane which they found was practically all right except for a big rent in two of the wings. With the appliances at land this did not take long, for both worked frantically, knowing that hostile planes from the neighboring front would soon be hovering near and also that the infantry was due either to reform the battle line or, if not, that reinforcements might pass at any time.

In a very short while the job was done. To Blaine's surprise Buck began nimbly climbing back up the crater wall.

"Where ye going?" he gently called, but only heard in reply:

"In a minute — in a minute!"

But while Blaine was fuming, still getting things in readiness, Bangs slid back down the embankment, dragging a shabby gray army overcoat. Lafe looked disgusted. He snatched it, held it up, flashed his light over it, then cast it down, saying:

"That's a Boche infantry coat — officer's, I reckon. What do we want of that? Get into your place. I've turned your machine round."

Both climbed in, Bangs stowing in his own machine the coat he had delayed both to secure, a said the while:

"When those charging battalions went by, of their officers threw away his coat. They were on a double quick, to reinforce others that gone on before I came down.

"Lucky they happened to have no planes. Otherwise I'd never pulled through. As it was she was a close squeeze. I slipped down, bagged the coat, and here she is. You needn't laugh, Sergeant. There's maps and papers inside. Might be wuth something to our side yet."

"Bully for you, Bangs! I was wrong. Are you ready? Then follow me! We're going to stick round the Boche flanks a bit and who knows what we may run up against?"

Without a bit of trouble Blaine's triplane glided upward after a short slide over the rough level of No-Man's-Land, and he was off. Buck attempted to follow but the machine skidded sideways, struck a slope and after a mute struggle with adverse conditions came to a standstill. Cursing to himself, Buck jumped out, forced his plane to a more stable level, then mounting to his seat again he put on all power to try to overtake his companion. But in that short interval Blaine had vanished in fog.

"If this isn't bad luck, I don't know what is!" soliloquized Buck, as his Nieuport began to rise. "If I'd got off at first, I wouldn't 'a' lost Lafe. Well, I must do a trifle of scouting on my own hook. "

Buck was climbing, not too fast, for he watched, still hoping that something might happen that he would sight Blaine again. Flying thus easily, climbing still higher, he was all at once startled by a burst of machine gun fire from the ground ahead. There came a reply higher up, and he felt that this must come from Lafe.

Mounting swiftly, he presently became conscious that a machine was hovering above and behind, "getting on his tail" as the slang runs among aviators at the front. The quickest way to avert the danger was first to try the "side loop" which is a kind of "loop-the-loop" sideways, a risky trick, yet a good thing if rightly done. Buck tried it instantly. When upside down he darted ahead swiftly but in a reversed course, bringing him fairly behind the other plane as he, righted.

As he came up to a level again, now behind his opponent, he saw for an instant that the shadow looming scarce fifty yards ahead looked strangely like Blaine's machine. What to do next — before firing? Use his private signal, of course. No sooner thought than done. Two peculiar flares shot forth, each glowing brightly for an instant, then vanishing.

"But — hey?" Bangs was ejaculating to himself excitedly. "Will he answer?"

Up, up climbed Buck, his pulses throbbing for one long instant, the nose of his machine settling rapidly on the tail of the other plane. Then came an answering flash. After that another.

"Bully for you, Lafe! My, that was a close call! I mustn't lose track of him again. We'll be there with the goods yet, if we stick together." This to himself.

Presently both machines were moving side by side, hardly fifty yards apart. To come closer at this rate of speed these small scouting planes maintaining would have caused a mutual air suction that might cause a collision. This is the real cause of many of the accidents that befall inexperienced aviators, when out flying, perhaps by themselves.

The night, of course, was far spent. The fog was lightening imperceptibly. Their watches betokened that it was nearing three a.m. Blaine got out his megaphone, for talking at high altitudes is much a matter of expanded lung power. He began, as usual, with a joke.

"Like to 'a' got you back there!" he shouted. "Where you been?"

"Looking for you mainly. What you going do next?"

"See that line of fire off norwest! We that's where our front and Johnny Bull's join. Appincourte Bluff seems either to have been turned or to have turned Fritzy off. Ready for a scrimmage?"

"You ought to know, Lafe!" Bangs laughed easily into the megaphone. "Ready for most anything."

"Well, our front there is rather weak. Follow me. Don't lose me. We'll give that infantry a time trying to find out who we are that's spitting on them from overhead. Catch me?"

"Yep-fire away! Suits me!"

In another few seconds the two machines were flying through the thinning fog, gradually lowering their altitude and nearing at a rate of a mile and a half a minute the advancing lines of the enemy, revealed only to these fliers by the close barrage fire maintained by their artillery in the rear.

Of course beyond this barrage must be certain observation planes. The chance must be taken of meeting one of these. Meanwhile the first thing was to begin upon the assaulting battalions with their machine guns.

Almost in an instant they were over the front platoons, flying as close as they dared in order to escape the barrage that was passing overhead, falling now behind the front trench line of the Allies. This in order to stop, or at least hinder the arrival of such reinforcements as could be thrown forward to strengthen this suddenly assailed point.

These planes, being of a late design, had a device whereby the aim of the Lewis gun could be instantly altered from a horizontal to a perpendicular slant. Moreover both Blaine and Bangs had repeating rifles, and revolvers. Great dexterity was shown by each as their machines, slackening their speed to that most suitable for accurate firing, their motors roaring right over the assaulting columns, poured down a spray of bullets that inevitably found a human mark.

Fritzy usually charges in dense masses. He is "cannon fodder"; he knows it, but apparently doesn't care. Now, however, he dodged, dived, hunted shell holes, and otherwise evinced extreme terror. First one plane, then the other, at nearest safe distance apart, rained down showers of death. Was this another repetition that earlier trench assault that resulted in the destruction of the sausages? It looked so. might also be other swift moving machines behind, each pouring leaden showers on infantry now defenseless. Yet a moment before they were placidly plodding on towards the death in front, for which they had been driven forth by their officers that night.

Occasional shots were fired upward by soldiers here and there. But though close, so swift were the machines that they vanished almost at once from the time of their first appearance at any given point.

Only two? No more. Fritzy began to take courage. Both planes were now whirring on somewhere else. But were they truly gone?

Even while officers were taking heart and again driving forward their men, back came the two planes upon their former path, but now going south instead of north.

Again were the former scenes repeated, with even worse results.

But now arose another sound, a sound as of an advance from the Allied trenches. What could be?



CHAPTER IX

THE FINAL FIGHT

The two aviators, their planes much shot with holes but otherwise unhurt, rose suddenly, swooping in long circles to higher and yet higher altitudes. The first flushes of dawn were breaking. In the air two observation planes flying over the Allied front were signaling to the German batteries in the rear, from which came the barrage protecting their infantry from Allied advances. At once they knew what to do.

Both drove on through the hostile fire and bore down upon these observation biplanes. Observation planes are not good fighters. In less than a minute after rising those two fighting planes had chased the larger, slower machines off the ground.

But what was Blaine's surprise to see Bangs, not a hundred yards away, making bold signals strange code to the Germans back in the rear. Lafe himself could not read them. What did it mean? For an instant there flashed to him a suspicion that Bangs from Montana might not be just plain American.

"I won't think such a thing!" thought Lafe. "What is he up to?"

Then he saw that the enemy barrage was falling further back, just about where the recovering infantry was resuming its advance, after the short shock occasioned by the two raiding triplanes that had suddenly gone aloft.

"Were the Allies in their turn assaulting the Boches? What could it mean? In another brief interval Blaine found out, when sudden demoralization set in at once. Without apparent cause the Boches, now nearly upon the first Allied trenches, found that they were the center of a bombardment from the rear. What did that mean? The fire was withering.

Could the foe they were attacking be taking them in the flank? The idea was almost unbelievable. And yet the fire was also insupportable.

With one accord the front lines recoiled, although their officers beat the privates with their sword flats, cursing and reviling them as cowards. Right on top of this, the queer noises in front materialized into certainties.

The Allies were advancing. Were there not also reinforcements behind? Reinforcements hitherto kept back by what? The barrage. Where was that barrage now? Falling not only on their rear but also further back. How did this happen? Where were their own planes?

Officers and men were dropping on every hand. A charging foe in front was almost on them. After a minute or two of this, that whole section of the advance appeared to melt like froth on the water.

Meantime up above, and from a higher altitude than before, Bangs continued his mysterious signaling; not to Blaine or to the Allies, but — wonder of all wonders — to the Boches themselves.

Blaine now understood this, for he had noticed that the barrage itself had fallen back. Instead of covering and protecting the Germans, it was slaughtering them even more than the two aviators had done with their machine guns from a lower altitude.

Upon the sudden rout below, which was sensed rather than seen by the two fliers as the dawn rapidly grew, came the new rush of the Allies.

By this time Blaine felt that he and Buck must do one of two things. Those retreating observation planes would undoubtedly bring up air reinforcements. The barrage had already stopped. This was good for the charging Allies as well as the retreating Boches.

"Buck and I have either got to get back inside our lines or fight," he thought, carefully balancing his triplane against a rising breeze. "Or we might rise higher and take another chance. One thing we have done. We've helped bust up that charge, no matter how their advance has fared at Appincourte or elsewhere."

Forward went the Allied infantry, driving the now disrupted Huns before them. The fog kept clearing. Presently both Blaine and Bangs saw heavy masses of men advancing in platoon formation over the scraggy battle-scarred plain. They were probably two miles distant from the retreating Huns.

Blaine darted back and sent out his signal flares, announcing the fact. Indicating the probable distance, he waited for the barrage he was sure would come. Bangs, seeing that Lafe was signaling, doused his now useless Boche flares and confirmed what Blaine had signaled. Presently the barrage began, and now both saw that it was incumbent on them to remain up there as long as possible to assist the new Allied assault by rendering their barrage effective.

But Bangs once more perplexed Lafe by another manifestation of his way of fooling the Germans. More and more Blaine was perplexed.

"Where in sin did Buck get read up in Boche code flares like he is now? I know a thing or two, but he's got me beat to the woodpile this time!"

Bangs, spiraling upward and back towards the Hun front, was sending forth flare after flare that was meaningless to Lafe, yet which was for some purpose. Then suddenly Buck shot off on the side towards Blaine the following words in the code familiar to all Allied spad-pilots.

"Get back! Tell our folks to double their fire, keeping ahead of our advance. Savvy?"

Blaine mutely obeyed. The Allied fire was redoubled as per instructions. Buck, by this time far to the east, could now be seen making back towards the Allied front where Blaine was zigzagging to and fro waiting for what might come. Suddenly, behind Bangs, he saw the speck-like dots of Teuton planes emerging into the upper air and rapidly approaching. At the same time other planes in the west appeared, biplanes, scouts, and one or more heavy battle planes. Evidently the cards were being laid for a squadron air battle unless something else intervened. Instinctively Lafe thought of his ammunition roll. He was well supplied at starting on this trip, and had transferred his own remaining stock to Finzer's plane when abandoning his own. But the most of it had already been used. It was not likely that Buck was any better prepared in that line. At least they might wait and join their own planes, now coming out of the west.

In the east the hostile squadron came on rapidly. Deploying as they advanced, both Blaine and Bangs could see that there were battle planes, scouts, and heavy bombing machines. These last were sweeping lower, trying to get in range of the advancing Allies.

"Come on! Hurry up!" both aviators kept repeating to their own advancing air fleet. "No time to waste! Let's get at 'em. They're going to bomb our front lines."

Almost immediately a number of fast triplanes forged on ahead of the rest at a speed which a year before would have been deemed impossible. Joining the two weary airmen who had been up all night, yet were still full of the battle hunger, they swept low down and straight at the bombing planes, now beginning to drop their deadly explosives along the lines of advancing infantry. But only for an instant, as it were, did they go uninterrupted.

A hail of bullets from machine guns rained down upon them. In almost no time two of these planes went staggering earthward. Blaine, forgetting his almost empty sheaves of Lewis gun ammunition, hung upon the tail of one, while Buck, with side loops and a nose dive, flung himself almost literally on another.

"Holy Moses!" ejaculated Buck as his last full sheaf went into the cartridge roll, and he realized that with this gone he would be absolutely helpless. "I don't want to quit. But if this don't fetch another one, I'll have to. I'll have to anyhow."

In the meantime, the Boche fighting planes had mixed in with the Allied fighters, interrupting their assault upon the bombers. And such an exhibition of diving, darting, nose dipping, looping, and what not had seldom been seen along that extended front.

Realizing the damage to be done by bombs on the unprotected infantry charging below, both Blaine and his comrade kept strictly after the bombing planes. Let those fresh arrivals who had plenty of ammunition attend to the fighting Fokkers and other battling planes that had arrived so inopportunely.

By this time the anti-aircraft guns were getting in their work. With the targets so close, though darting hither and yonder with bewildering speed, two of the German fighting planes were soon zigzagging towards the ground. One fell right in the path of a disorderly advance of the infantry, which happened to be a well-known Canadian battalion. From his perch, his own ammunition exhausted, Blaine saw those troops surge around and over that unlucky plane, then pass on, leaving a flaming wreck behind.

The bombs began to explode. Blaine saw the danger to other troops behind. It so happened that these troops were Sammies and Blaine, with a swoosh, swept down to within a dozen yards right over the heads of these men and the column heard his megaphone bellowing:

"Watch out, bunkies! 'Ware that wrecked plane! She's full of Boche bombs. Watch out — spread out! Give it room! Oh, you doughboys! Rah for Uncle Sam!"

Recognizing the meaning and divining that it must be an American, the Sammies shouted back as they divided and gave the necessary room:

"Oh, you Spaddy! What you doin' down so low? Rah for you! Bully boy! Rah, rah, rah! You're all right!"

And on they went, comforted themselves, and comforting the weary, ammunitionless aviator who now recognized that his present job was about over.

His plane was literally shot to pieces. The wings hung in tatters. Only the vital mechanism that kept him moving, thereby supporting him in the air, fortunately remained untouched. Even now he staggered and with difficulty rose a trifle upward, while off to the right he saw Bangs in even a worse fix.

The latter, with his wings honeycombed by bullet holes, had received the full charge of a machine gun from some passing battle plane in an around his propellers. His supply of ammunition too was now exhausted.

Could he make the ground in a safe place? With every ounce of power, his propeller crank revolving like lightning, still he made alarmingly slow progress. Good reason why. Two of his propeller blades were shot off. The other two were revolving swifter than can be imagined. He felt that he was drifting down, down, amid the riff-raff, smoke and confusion of a battlefield over, which the thunders of conflict had twice passed.

Above, the aerial battle was still going on, though making towards the east; for the Germans, following their retiring columns, were being slowly yet persistently pushed back to their trenches. Occasional bullets spattered about him. Day was fully on, and a rising sun disclosed a prospect of clearing skies.

There was a ruined house or cabin just ahead. Could he land there? It lay deserted for the time being amid war wreck and ruin, its roof battered in, its stone walls crumbling. Still it promised temporary shelter. Blaine had vanished. Had his plane gone down? Was he smitten by a stray bullet? Had his plane, unguided, crashed to the earth? Would he, Bangs, live to?

Buck's hurried thoughts were suddenly checked by a sharp, stinging sensation that began at his side, then seemed to fill him completely. At the same time he realized that his hands no longer hold the steering wheel. He strove to seize it again, but his muscles did not obey. A stupor was on him. The sunlight faded, gave way to a bewildering maze of twinkling stars. His last conscious sensation was that his machine was crashing downward. Then came a long mental blank.

Meantime Blaine was having his own troubles.

The rest of the air fighting had gone eastward, while he was contending with the increased crippling of his planes. Overhead he saw only the now clearing sky. Ahead of him, beyond a rippling stream, lay certain trenches held, he felt sure, by his own side. But could be reach them? Far behind the noise of battle rumbled. Where was Buck? Somehow he had lost sight of his comrade within the last few minutes.

"Buck is a good, bang-up fellow. We ought to go back together."

But his power was waning. Try as he might, the plane was sagging groundward. Only Blaine's skillful efforts kept it from dropping with a crash which he knew would probably be the end of him — Lafe Blaine.

What was that just below him which some scraggy shell-torn timber had kept him from seeing before?

"Looks like a piece of a house," he muttered.

Stoutly he tried to make the small open space around this half ruined hovel. Almost he made, it. But just beyond a crumbling stone wall, that once must have been the enclosure of a tidy yard, the tail of his machine dipped all at once. It struck the wall, causing the heavier bow, weighted with the propellers, the petrol tank and the machinery, to crash downward with force.

The recoil sent Blaine, now at the last physical gasp, plunging forward over the almost perpendicular machine. He struck the earth heavily, and lay there almost insensible, while the vanquished plane fell sideways, striking wall and ground, then, with a last respiration not unlike that of its master, it lay still, a wreck for the time being.

From out the house two skirted figures ran, figures in nurse's attire, with the omnipresent red cross blazoned conspicuously on their white-capped headgear.

"Oh, Andra, Andra!" cried the first to the one following. The last cast a swift glance back inside the cabin. Then she, too, hurried to the prostrate form lying beside the wrecked machine.



CHAPTER X

A QUICK CONVALESCENCE

Two days later. The scene had changed. The Allied front, leaving the rippling stream some two miles or more in the rear, was now showing a convex bend towards the foe instead of a concave hollow, as was the case before the :fighting.

The little half-ruined cabin was in decidedly better shape than before. A number of Red tents and temporary wooden shelters had risen if by magic in the small open space around. Trenches stretched eastward, communicating the new trenches now occupied by Americans French, with a sprinkling of British forces.

That the new front was considered as something to be held permanently was further indicated the rapid construction of a new road for automobiles and motor-car traffic along this new line. Even ties, lumber and rails were being piled here and there, as foretokening that one more of the many short lines of railway was now being prepared for use in the near future.

Still further back was another aerodrome, unfenced as yet, but nearly completed. There was one reassuring sign of its ownership and occupancy. As the light winds flared out its folds, so that all who saw might read, there floated out our own national emblem, the Stars and Stripes.

Inside the restored hut lay Buck Bangs on a white cot, while on another reclined the stalwart form of Lafayette Blaine. Both of these spad pilots, though pale and looking rather the worse for wear, showed such evidence of comfort and bodily ease that one felt sure things must have happened to both. On the lapel of each coat was military decoration, evidently very recently bestowed.

Blaine at last threw down the magazine he was reading and glared at his partner, who moved with more difficulty when he changed his reclining position for one less unbearable.

"What's got into you, Buck?" said Blaine impatiently. "Why don't you go to sleep? Afraid you'll dream of that pretty girl what picked you up?"

"Little good I get dreaming of her, Lafe! But wasn't it queer? Just as soon as you got straight and I was out of danger, off they went-bang! Durn it! They was both here yesterday while the Doe and Sawbones were at work. My, how that girl could smile — and exclaim!"

"That was one thing she could do, Buck." Blaine grinned. "All her exclaiming was in good Yankee English — real United States."

"And what have we got waiting on us now? Ugh!" Buck made a painful face, but whether caused by his thought or by having to change his position again was not at first apparent.

A middle-aged, rather homely, yet kindly nurse entered and puttered round them both. At last she inquired in rather lame English:

"Will Monseurs, so lately promoted for their gallantry — will they have anything more? I shall be delight to —"

"No, no, Madame," broke in Buck, while Blaine furtively grinned. "We are doing finely-finely — ouch!"

"Ees zat anew pain?" The elderly nurse was at once by his side. "We must rest quiet, mon enfant. Quiet for joost one day more. Then you will be moved to our nearest base -"

"Say, Madame!" Buck was interrupting eagerly, "what has become of the girls that were here yesterday?"

"Ah-h! Yes, yes! They are grand Mesdemoiselles — both. Reech! La, la! I hear their father owns r-railroads in your countree. Oui! Yiss, yiss, all right. Zere! I am learning ze language. It cooms easy - adieu!" And she vanished through the door.

"What do you think of that, Lafe? Why were those two young girls, both Red Cross apprentices, why were they left here alone? Don't they know the Boches would rather bomb a hospital than eat wienerwurst for lunch? And then as soon as the place became really safe, off they go; but where?"

"Say, Buck, you make me tired! Hush up! I guess we'll meet up with them some day soon. If we don't — what's the odds?"

"And their daddy — so this blessed old mollycoddle says — owns real United States railroads. Makes me sick! But — say, Lafe! Wasn't that youngest one a beaut? If ever I get a furlough, I'm going to look her up."

"And be a fool for your pains! Look here, you do have sense enough to put up a good fight in the air. But on the ground, the real earth, you're becoming a fool."

But Buck rolled, and grumbled, and so wore himself out fretting that on the next day it was decided to send them both to the base hospital for a week, which was duly done.

Three days more and Blaine, now an ensign, besides having his French decoration) had so nearly regained his strength that he no longer lay on a cot, but sat and walked about, a convalescent.

Buck Bangs, now a sergeant, still fretted and grumbled, improving more slowly. The new stripes on his arm cheered him somewhat, yet he eagerly eyed each group of visitors who strolled through the wards, the reading rooms, and other parts of the big base hospital where the two were convalescing. But, so far, his longings were ungratified.

A few hundred yards further back, on the edge of a French village that now quartered a brigade of our Sammies, was the new aerodrome where (quite a number of Uncle Sam's new aviators were on duty, day and night. Most of those we have met before were there, all except poor Finzer and a few others that had fallen in the various raids that had taken place from time to time. There was Erwin, now a corporal; Lex Brodno, His American Pole, and others . Byers was in charge, with Anson and one or two other British aviators detailed to help the new American airmen get into thorough shape and training.

This recent transfer from the other station had taken place while Blaine and Bangs were absent raiding and subsequently in the hospital. Bauer, the fellow who had made the signal to the enemy the night that raid started, had been tried by court-martial and was to have been shot but on the night before the intended execution he managed to escape, probably by connivance of somebody. It was afterward heard that he had gotten back to Germany by some hook or crook. Would he ever pay the penalty he had so richly deserved? That remains yet to be seen.

On the day when Byers himself escorted Blaine and Bangs from the hospital to the aviation camp, there were many visitors. Amid the cordial welcomes given them by their old comrades and also many new ones, Buck anxiously scanned each group of visitors as they passed. Lafe joked him about this.

"Why, you poor stiff," said the new ensign, "where are you looking? What's wrong, anyhow? Gee! Isn't it jolly to be back among the boys — well, well!"

Blaine interrupted himself when Buck, his eyes roving, suddenly espied two young women, garbed as Red Cross nurses - novitiates — wandering amid the new hangars in which were a score or more of the American machines. Straightway Buck had bolted.

Blaine, following him with his eyes, saw Buck doff his aviator's cap as he reached the group that also included an elderly man and lady, and another matronly form which was easily recognized by many as the head nurse in charge of the new Red Cross stations within the American sector.

"Durn me if he isn't shaking hands with those girls!" soliloquized Lafe. "The cheek of him! If he wasn't such a mighty good fellow, I'd call him down!"

But Blaine was a pretty good chap himself. He and Erwin had come together and were exchanging cordial small talk concerning what had happened to each recently, when he again saw Buck with these visitors strolling leisurely by towards the nearest landing stage. Towards this place a pair of swift scouts were making, on their return from the German front somewhere east.

"Know those folks?" he idly queried of Orris, now a corporal.

"Bet your life! Say, Lafe, who doesn't know of Senator Knute Walsen of Idaho? He's a big man, over here to supervise our rail transportation in France. See those two Red Cross girls? They're his daughters. Taking courses in nursing, I hear, and right at the front too. Wouldn't that get you? Who is that showing them round?"

"That is Buck Bangs, from Butte, Montana — Our old Buck! What d'ye think of that, bo?"

"He seems quite intimate with 'em, don't he? Where'd he meet up with that crowd, Lafe?"

"Well, he and I sort o' dropped in on the girls just before we were in the relief station. Remember, don't you? It was while we were returning home from that raid where poor Finzer got his."

"Don't say! Yes, of course, we've all heard how you and Buck piloted our fellows after you two had been out all night. Had a hell of a time — didn't you?" Suddenly Erwin looked his amazement. "Look here, Lafe. Honest Injun! Were those two daughters of old Walsen in that hut when you and Bangs just managed to make your landing there? Whoopee!"

Blaine had nodded, then looked after the receding group half regretfully. Orris gripped the Ensign's arm, and began telling things.

"They must be plucky girls, all right. It so happened that the older nurse — the one you and I saw later — had gone away with a desperately wounded man in an ambulance to the next base. After you and Buck landed, you were both bad off, he worse than you. Well, sir, the Boches shelled that hut before any one got back, and before our boys had driven the Boches clear off. What do you reckon those two girls did? They didn't holler: nary a squeal! But they stuck to you two and to business, and nursed you both, so that by the time aid arrived, you were all pretty comfortable. Some girls, those two! I hear that the younger, Miss Andra Walsen, is going to remain. Maybe they both are. And as for money, there's wads of it in the family, believe me! No wonder Bucky is bucking up to 'em a bit!"

After this lengthy exordium, Orris discreetly, changed the subject by wanting to know when he and Buck would be assigned again to duty.

"I'm ready right now. Whether Buck is or not I can't say. As for me, I've got the old flying fever, big and hot. I suppose it rests with Byers."

Later on as the group whom they had been discussing approached, Blaine and his friend were introduced. Andra, it was plain to see, had ready given poor Buck a deal to think about later on. She was handsome, dark-eyed, light-haired with a peachy complexion — a combination hard indeed for a susceptible youth to resist. Avella, her sister, blue-eyed, dark-haired, a year older than her sister, was equally fascinating, yet in a different way.

Both were kindly, earnest, in love with their new work, and ready to go anywhere or do anything that would serve the good cause.

As a matter of course, when Erwin excused himself on plea of other business and the Senator, looking at his watch, found he had an appointment with Byers, the four young people were left alone. By couples they strolled through the aerodrome, inspecting this, commenting on that, while other fliers regarded the boys with more or less envy.

After a while several specks were seen in the eastern sky that approached rather more rapidly than was usual with friendly planes at such time of day. Blaine had his glasses out, while listening to the comments of the girls on the difficulties they bad in bringing both boys into that hut and dressing their wounds.

"We had to go for water," said Avella.

"You see we hadn't been there but a day or so. I went, and nearly got lost among the old shell craters before I got to the spring that was an awful distance off. It was dark, and so smoky! I was afraid something might happen while I was away."

"You sure were mighty good to us," remarked Blaine. "What luck! To come way over here and be saved by two lovely girls right from our own part of the world. Can you beat it, Buck?"

"Don't want to beat it! Say, you ladies are our own kind of folks. I'll be homesick when you two leave."

"Perhaps we won't leave — yet." Avella smiled enigmatically. "Papa is willing for us to stay. At first I was going with him; but he says Andra and I would need each other to keep from getting homesick."

"Look, look!" Andra was gazing through Buck's glasses at the approaching planes, which had a strange look as they flew at tremendous speed in V formation. "What if they should not be friendly?"

Just then Blaine closed his own glass for he saw flyers coming on the run.

"Are you two all right?" he called to the boys. "All our best men are off on the daily run over the Boche trenches. I cannot think how these fellows got by. Get down to the hangars, if you feel strong enough. I may have to go up myself . They're making straight for us."

The girls were looking on in wonder, whereat Byers turned to them.

"You better get into the bomb-proofs," he said. "Your father's yonder."

The Senator was seen hurrying from one of the buildings towards them.

Both the aviators, seeing, Erwin and Brodno on the run, joined them and hastened on down to where mechanics were trundling out a number of machines upon the smooth level that was the starting point nearest. With a word to the Senator, Byers followed, while the girls both waved their handkerchiefs. Said Andra to her sister:

"Let us go on down. I want to see them start. Do you think Mr. Bangs is strong enough? Look at him run!"

"I guess he is as strong as Mr. Blaine. But they both really ought to have a few days' leave, don't you think?"

Arrived on the driveway, half a dozen men, all in the leather uniforms with caps and goggles to match, were mounting the machines nearest. Blaine, having donned his rig on the run, as it were, was already in a triplane much like the one he had last used. Turning to the mechanic, he asked:

"It cannot be my own machine, is it?"

"Sure thing!" the man replied. "It was sent to us the day after you got in. We fixed her up, thinking you might need it. Glad you are out so soon, Ensign."

"Thanks for that! I reckon we'll need all we got by the looks of that squad that's coming. They're dropping bombs already."

"Yes, sir," said another mechanic, using his glass. "And right over where you and Sergeant Bangs came down."



CHAPTER XI

THE BATTLES IN THE AIR

In a trice Blaine was rising in the air. The feeling that he had again his old machine was reassuring. It put new life into his nearly restored vitality.

With Buck Bangs a close second and Orris Erwin right behind him, the leading planes spiraled into the air, with the advancing Boches hardly two miles away, their bombs dropping as they flew.

Byers himself was getting into his own plane, a two-seated affair equipped with two machine guns. With him was his own observer, an excellent photographer and airman. The two opposing squadrons were about equal. Dividing into two columns, with Blaine heading one and Captain Byers the other, they bore directly off toward the enemy.

Such a start had the Boches gotten, by somehow missing the Allied planes that were supposed to be picketing the front, that a direct attack was inevitable. Up or down they rose or fell, each plane singling out its opponent, and each maneuvering for position. It was here that the superior speed and nimbleness of the Allied triplanes was soon apparent.

Byers in his big biplane made straight for the leading plane opposed to him and presently the rattle of machine gun fire interplayed with the whirring sounds of the motors, while the diving, flipping, looping, with all the other air stunts of sky battling, made the scene so interesting to those below that the adjacent bomb-proofs were hardly thought of.

On a small knoll the American senator and his two daughters, glasses in hand, were watching, listening, semi-oblivious as to any possible danger to themselves. Finally a spatter of bullets and shell fragments roused the father to a sense that more than himself might be in the line of fire at any moment.

"This won't do, girls!" he announced in peremptory tones. "Get into that shelter!" pointing at a half underground dugout near. "Run, run!"

Avella, without lowering her glass, replied:

"In just a minute, papa. See Mr. Blaine! My! What's he doing to that other horrid fellow?"

Blaine was at the instant trying to got on the tail of a big Taube, not unlike the one Blaine and Erwin had captured and used while on an earlier scout, as may be recalled by the reader. What accentuated Blaine's eagerness was the glimpse he caught of that Death's Head Flag, which had also adorned the former captured machine. But the Boche within this one was an adept and so maneuvered that Blaine, to save himself from an onset from behind, was obliged to try the risky side-loop, much to the surprise of the other. For Blaine, while upside down, was already firing at his opponent, and as he rose was directly on the tail. But to the girls below it looked as if Blaine was already crashing towards the earth. Andra gave a nervous scream. Avella was shocked, of course, but had her glass the next instant upon Buck Bangs, at that moment engaged in a fierce duel with two enemy opponents.

"Look! Look!" called Andra. "He's falling — ah-h-h!" This last word was long drawn out during which, to her intense joy, Blaine had righted himself and was behind and below the other plane. Now she could see the spitting of lire as he plugged bullets and shrapnel into his astonished opponent.

Scarcely did she breathe again before the Taube, its Death's Head Flag collapsing about its staff, was tumbling down, almost over them. At the same time one of the Huns battling with Bangs was hit in the tank by a rain of bullets from Byers' machine which was striving to rise above and behind the foe the captain had singled out for himself.

Down went this one of Buck's opponents in flames. Both planes fell just without the grounds, while the battle above filtered away towards the German front, the invaders evidently having gotten enough. Two other enemy planes were retiring in a crippled condition, all pursued by the Allies, who had so far lost only one machine.

The Senator, seeing little heed paid by his daughters to his commands, was seized by the spirit of the combat and recklessly hurried off towards the nearest wrecked plane that had fallen. The girls, with others, followed.

It was a sad sight. This machine, the wings still burning, lay in a confused huddle over a crushed human body that still gave signs of life. It was the plane that Byers bad sent down in flames.

Aided by men from the aerodrome, they extinguished the fire with a ready hose, the Senator and the girls assisting. Carefully they dragged out a horribly mutilated yet youthful form. A surgeon, with the girls aiding, tried to alleviate the, pain of the dying man. His lips moved.

"What's he trying to say, Vella?" demand the Senator. "You know some German, don't you?"

"Sounds like 'Schwein, Schwein!' Doesn't that mean pigs, papa?"

"It sure does! There, he's talking again!"

The girls listened, but could not understand; while the surgeon, formerly an intern at one of the New York hospitals, smiled pityingly.

"Poor fellow!" he volunteered. "He's not complimentary."

"What's he saying now? Sounds like American — then something else."

"He says, 'Amerikaner-all swine-pigs,' and a lot more."

They drew back somewhat; but the girls whose sympathy predominated, continued to minister to his needs until the last breath announced that one more Boche had gone to his account.

It was an hour or so before the rest of the squadron again appeared. With them were the scouting planes that had been wished for when the enemy squadron so suddenly appeared. In the fights over the German trenches another of our planes had somehow vanished. No one could say further except that Erwin, the missing pilot, had been seen mounting high up amid a scurry of clouds, with two pursuing Fokkers on his heels.

Blaine and Bangs were in the midst of hearty congratulations from many, including Senator Walsen and his daughters, when the news was brought to them.

They had just alighted and were standing beside their machines. Instantly Blaine turned to Buck, saying:

"You and your machine all right, Buck?"

Andra, at this, regarded Lafe closely.

"I'm O. K. and so is my bully little Nieuport. Say, old man, we've got to go out and see what's gone wrong with that little snipe Orry, eh?"

" Sure thing! Orry is a good fellow. I'm with you."

The next instant Blaine was back in his seat. He turned to the mechanic who had just finished examining the machine.

"Fill up the tank, Bill," he said. "And hand me out a few more sheaves of ammunition. Sure you've got enough, too, Buck?"

"Do you — do you — you don't mean that you two are going up again?" queried Andra, and for an instant Blaine detected something about her that betokened a more than casual interest.

"It's my — it's our duty to go, Miss Walsen," said he, meeting her eyes sympathetically. "Erwin is one of our best men. He's a true spad pilot. Besides that, he and I are great cronies. Buck feels the same way."

"Oh, I — I think I understand." But she spoke with a certain repressed agitation. If Lafe had been less se1f-conscious he would have understood and doubtless felt flattered.

As it was, he turned to Bangs, the Montana lad, now also seated in his pilot's place, with Avella on the other side saying something. He heard Bangs reiterate:

"Oh, sure, Miss Vella! We'll be careful — very careful — you bet! I'm only too anxious to get back with Orry and see more of you two girls. I say, Senator," to the father now looking approvingly on, "this lost pilot is one of our best. He's a turnip — a real joker! We can't go back on him."

"I guess you are right, Mr. Bangs. If you and your friends do return to us, I will see that you all have leave to run back to Paris and at least take dinner with us at our hotel."

By this time the two young nurses were standing back, watching the scene with the frank mien that American girls view something which they regret, yet at the same time admire. Then up came Captain Byers hurriedly, calling out:

"Are you lads going? That's plucky! I was about to dispatch some one. We cannot afford to lose Erwin. He's too valuable, and I know he'd do the same by you!"

"You bet, Captain!" This from Buck as his machine trundled off, propelled by two mechanics until it rose. "That was bully the way you busted that chap in the tank. He might have got me, else."

Blaine was already in the air, with Bangs a close second. A moment later and they were climbing rapidly, so rapidly that soon they looked like two great birds winging their way over the Allied front and across No-Man's-Land into the dark beyond. Blaine's observer, Stanley, was also in his seat behind.

When the two girls finally reached their quarters that night at the small inn in the adjacent village they were both dispirited. The Senator was writing letters while the girls were preparing for the evening meal.

"Funny, isn't it, how we seem to be interested in those lads?" said Andra. "I think that young Blaine is just splendid."

"He is no better than Mr. Bangs." This from Avella. "Just think, Buck is from Butte! Why, that is right next door to us in Idaho."

Then they both sighed, looked queerly at each other and finally embraced and kissed. If both were somewhat smitten over the looks and conduct of these aviators, acquaintances of only a few days, certainly their stately father as yet could hardly suspect.

After the evening meal was over, they cunningly tried to persuade him to go with them down to the aerodrome to see if anything had occurred there. Probably the boys had not yet returned. The Senator doubted if they had.

"Look here, girls," said be, after being told that he was needed as an escort, "why are you so interested? They'll come back all right. And I am busy."

"Well, papa, said Avella, "we'd feel better to go down and inquire."

"Yes, daddy dear! You must go with us, please!"

The upshot of all this was as usual. The Senator went.

At the station they found Captain Byers returning from an observation post where he had been scanning the eastern heavens in a last effort to discern something of the absent planes that had long since vanished over No-Man's-Land into the unknown void beyond, which was enemy country.

"I am afraid for those lads," said he to the Senator after greeting all three. "They are both too risky at times, and they were much stirred up over Erwin's long absence. Great friends they were, too."

The Senator and the girls expressed concern. Especially so was it with the sisters, both of whom grew pale as they listened. Perhaps they were pleased that owing to the darkness this manifestation of inward concern was hidden from the others. They quietly pressed each other's hands.

Just then an orderly came up on the run, his night glasses in hand.

"Oh, Captain," said he, "there's a plane returning. I couldn't make it out clearly. It sags a bit is if it was crippled, sir."

"Wait for me, Senator," called Byers, starting out almost on the run, his night glasses again out. The orderly followed rapidly.

"Let us follow them, father," urged Andra, while Avella tugged at her sister's arm, sure that the Senator would go too. "Come on, papa."

Both girls were off, while the Senator came after, though at a slower pace.

Reaching the observation post — merely a platform erected on the highest elevation near by, they saw the captain and the orderly both scanning the eastern skies through their night glasses, instruments of the latest design. To the girls' nothing was as yet was visible but the stars now shining dimly through a thin haze that hung over h landscape.

"Let us go up. Papa will follow." This from Andra as they climbed the steps to the little platform where the two aviators were scanning the upper air.

From the disjointed remarks of the airmen the realized that something was in sight, yet hardly visible to the naked eye. At last, however, came a gasp from one of the girls who pointed eagerly to the other.

"Don't you see it?" exclaimed Andra. "Where are your eyes? My! It's sagging downward. I wonder —'

Here Avella interrupted with a slight scream as she too, caught sight of a faint, filmy something that was teetering slowly down, but not in straight lines as is usual when planes are descending in the regular methods employed by aviators when striving to reach a certain landing.

"What is the matter with it?" queried Andra to any one within hearing.

"That you, ladies?" Byers turned suddenly, then his eyes sought his glass again. "Why, it is quite evident that the machine is a Fokker and disabled. He'll make it all right, I guess."

"That is a German machine, isn't it?" asked Avella anxiously.

"Mightn't it be a hostile one?" queried Andra.

"The plane is of hostile make, Miss Walsen, but the chap inside is one of us, you may be sure. There! I fear he is going to drop."

Byers, followed by the orderly, was already running down the steps, almost colliding with the Senator who arrived at this moment. After the two aviators hurried the girls, meeting their father, and telling him what was occurring.

"And Captain Byers said that airman was about to drop - or fall out; I don't know which." This from Andra. "Let us hurry after them, father, and see what has happened."

Senator Walsen, evidently used to these sudden whims on the part of his daughters, turned and followed them, still in pursuit of the captain. If he objurgated the haste, he did it silently.

By the time the girls caught up with Byers, what had been a trim airplane came thumping to the ground not more than two hundred yards off in an unused corner of the big enclosure, its wings a mere mass of tattered rags, its body riddled by many perforations of machine gun bullets, fragments of shrapnel and so on. It was a marvel how it had stayed up for so long, but it happened that neither the engine nor petrol tank were vitally harmed.

Still lashed to his seat, his arms hanging loosely, his head resting on the rim of the small manhole, was the pilot, to all appearances lifeless or else in a swoon. It was Stanley, Blaine's observation man.



CHAPTER XII

THE ADVENTURES OF ERWIN

In the meantime, what had become of the two adventurous planes with their occupants that had so blithely started out in search of the still missing pilot and friend? Whither had their search carried them? How was it that of the three who went forth only one had come back, perhaps lifeless or barely alive, and in a German machine!

Verily in this new warfare of the air strange are the daily happenings on that fated West Front; nor can anybody foretell what stranger things may happen than have happened before, even to the best pilots of them all.

During the air fighting when the Boches were sent back in retreat, with some of their best planes missing, Erwin, after sending one already half crippled Fokker crashing to earth, took after another German. This last was a huge biplane manned by two men, one of whom lay collapsed in his seat. The remaining pilot seemed bewildered. Already the plane had received various punctures, though not sufficient to prevent further flying.

"No use to let that chap get away," reflected Orris. "He's lost his observer, and his wings are in bad shape. Our fellows can attend to the rest of these Boches. We've got 'em whipped anyway."

Up, up went the German, with Erwin following, trying to circle round into position to use his machine gun. But this was not easy. The biplane, though crippled, was of such power and speed that it easily kept well ahead of its pursuer who was yet far below. In fact, when an altitude of several thousand feet was attained, the greater buoyancy of the air at this stage was an aid to the half defeated foe. His vast spread of double wings made it difficult for Orris, with his greater motor power and reduced spread of planes, to much more than neutralize their relative positions.

Straight into the northeast fled the German. After him came Erwin, still below and striving to get onto his adversary's tail. But despite all he could do, it failed to bring him within the proper distance for direct attack.

"That is be up to now?" wondered the youth, for the Boche was half rising in his seat, as if trying to lift something behind. "Hullo! Blame me if he ain't trying to oust his dead mate!"

This was exactly what the Boche pilot was trying to do. But for some reason, not at first apparent, the man had difficulties. At last, by letting go with both hands of wheel and controls, half turning in his seat, Erwin saw him lift up the body of the observer and attempt to fling it overboard. But even that was hindered for a moment, and in a way that filled the watchful American with horror and disgust.

Already the seemingly inanimate body was sliding over the sloping side of the car, when Orris saw a hand stretch forth, seize the pilot's extended arm and hang thus, half dangling over the side, the legs kicking feebly.

"Why, his mate's alive!" almost shouted the American, more shaken by this exhibition than anything that had hitherto happened to him in his short but risky campaign along the West Front.

"Hey, there! You beast — you villain!" Almost insanely Erwin was shouting, for he was convulsed by a fury that made him for the time being oblivious to the fact that he was too far away to be heard by any one but himself.

For another instant the half alive man hung on, then was shaken loose. Down he came, passing rather close to the scouting pursuer, his arms and legs still working convulsively, and so on down to his inevitable fate. By this time, and while Erwin was recovering, the big biplane had recovered and was shooting eastward as before though with accelerated speed, being now relieved of much of its former dead weight.

Still grinding his teeth, Orris shot after the foe, determined more than ever to overtake and have it out with the inhuman beast, now alone in his flight to safety but a mile ahead.

All thought of immediate return to his own lines was lost, at least until he could wreak vengeance on the man who had just shown such inhumanity towards his own comrade and countryman.

"Curse him!" still objurgated the youth. "It would be bad enough if it was a foe — one of us that was aboard that cursed craft!" Orris expelled a deep breath, while he put on all the power his speedy plane would stand. "I'll get him even if the Boches got me!"

From the course followed by the biplane Erwin knew that he was already well to the northward of the point of his own return, provided he was able to make the trip back in safety. Also it was clear that they were now well over the rear German trenches and not very far from where Belgian territory bordered on that part of northern France — now so long held by the foe.

So swift and fast did Erwin go that the transient aid afforded by casting over the still living observer was soon more than neutralized. The boy was almost within easy range.

"Just a little further and I'll get him." So ran Erwin's thought. "But I mustn't waste ammunition. There's no knowing when or where I'll need all I've got. Curse that beast! He shall die or I'll know the reason why, even if I get into a narrow squeeze myself."

At last he felt that he might begin. He was on the tail of the biplane, though underneath. To his gratification he also saw that in nimble activity he was now the superior. And in close fighting it is the nimble, ducking, dodging, twisting machine that usually has certain advantage.

Pointing upward, he began to rain bullets and shrapnel into the fleeing German, his Lewis gun working automatically, and with such precision that the German shot off at right angles, dived, and strove to come up underneath his assailant. But he was too slow. After the dive, as the biplane came up in reverse position Erwin, prepared for this, half wheeled, and shot obliquely downward, pointed straight at his adversary. While he darted at a two-mile-a-minute pace, the deadly Lewis again began vomiting its flaming death straight at the man seated amidships, who was frantically trying to train his own gun on the advancing foe.

On came the scouting plane from five hundred yards to less than two hundred, almost while one drew an average breath. Evidently the German misunderstood. He thought that the now reckless foe, casting discretion to the wind, was bent upon something desperate. But — what? Again and again he tried to train his own gun on the American, but the latter kept edging just out of range, while at the same time he drew near, nearer.

At last, when within fifty yards, Erwin let him have it. While his Lewis was spitting forth a continuous fire, by some method not at once comprehended by the other, Erwin ranged alongside, still at a distance where he was free from air suction, and literally riddled that big plane with holes. After a spattering fire that did no harm, the German abandoned the gun and strove to nosedive, always a rather risky proceeding in such a big plane when haste is apt to neutralize efficiency.

Instead of presenting a slanting pair of wings, the big machine was tipped in such a way as to present for a minute, its whole under side to Erwin's view.

It was the critical moment. With feet on controls, and one hand on the wheel, the lad managed to pour a continuous volley of those leaden hailstones squarely into the entrails of the foe. Then up he climbed, at almost lightning speed, and as he came to dancing level off the German's tail, out from the sagging biplane pitched another human body, this time not the murdered, but the murderer.

"Good riddance!" almost gasped Erwin. "He's gone to hell, where he and his like belong! But — what's this? Glory! His tank is busted; his plane goes down with him and on fire!"

Erwin was correct. The biplane's tank — always in danger in fights like this — had been badly punctured by the same hail of Lewis bullets that had also hit the German, just as his plane got out of control. Instantly the flames burst forth as the big airship plunged downward, only a little behind the falling body of its pilot.

With great effort — for the excitement had weakened the lad — did Erwin bring his scouting plane to an easier level and gait. Then he looked down.

Already both burning biplane and falling pilot had vanished. Far below, the earth was only faintly visible through the mantling haze that now permeated the lower atmosphere. All directions looked alike. The air was comparatively still, and only the far distant rumble of artillery, seldom absent along that front, was audible. It sounded not unlike intermittent thunder. What to do next? Which way should he go? For the first time since starting he felt for his compass. It was gone.

"What'll I do now?" he asked himself.

"Where is the sun? I suppose all the boys that started when I did must have gone back long ago. The time must be at least mid-afternoon." The mists below evidently were rising and thickening. The boy hated to acknowledge to himself that he must be lost, but it looked that way. Cautiously he descended to lower levels but the landscape thus opaquely revealed showed but little that was definite. Lower still he flew. As the earth grew more and more distinct its strangeness did not diminish.

Though it was risky, he went lower still, until the tops of trees, the signs of half ruined houses began to appear. But nothing familiar was in sight. About this time, with day waning and his anxiety growing, Erwin was at last rewarded by glimpse of the sinking sun, seen hazily through a canopy of clouds. There was no mistaking that it was the sun and Orris found that he must have flown wrongly ever since he had put the Boche biplane out of commission. Already he was heading westward when from below there came a series of sharp reports from artillery evidently close by.

"Surely they cannot be shelling our trenches from way back here. I must be far behind the enemy lines — much too far to suit me. Ah, I what's that?"

That was an unmistakable whistle of bullets too close to be comfortable. At least one or two perforated his wings. Then Erwin pointed higher at the same time trying to keep his sense of direction, imparted by a momentary sight of the western sun. More gun shots: still more whistling of balls, and all too close to be comforting.

Up, up he went, veering more to the west. All at once came other gunshots, this time in an extended roar from an area covering perhaps a mile in extent.

"The Archies are getting too familiar," he grumbled. "I must put on more speed. Won't do for me to fail to return."

About that time a breeze sprang up from the east and the skies cleared through a narrow Vista, showing a war-scarred belt of country below with a small town ahead; that is, toward the west. But before he had time to consider this, he saw two airplanes rising from the main street of the little town, while the detonations of the Archies grew into a continuous roar.

"Guess they think they've cornered me," he thought, "but I'll give them a race at least. If I have to, I'll fight."

While reflecting, his machine was still rising rapidly, with the two Boche planes in pursuit.

"They won't catch me unless I'm crippled by those pesky Archies."

Even while he thought, a stray fragment of shell penetrated the fuselage of the triplane and, striking one of the propeller shafts, so bent it that the lightning-like blades began to revolve more slowly, despite all his efforts to increase his motor power.

For the first time Erwin became seriously alarmed. Try as he might, he was in no position to stop to make repairs, nor could he descend with safety. Apparently the only thing for him to do was to speed up as best he could, try to avoid this pursuit and, if it came to close quarters, put up the best fight possible under the circumstances.

This, of course, he did. But the sight of their own planes pursuing, and at the same time signaling to their friends below, caused Erwin at once to become the target for a continuous line of Archies, extending from the front line German trenches way back to the unknown distances in their rear.

When the pursuing planes drew nearer, the shelling from below grew less, while the condition of his own plane was such as to cause alarm. He knew that he was cornered. Cornered, too, in a way seldom happening to the birdmen who became temporarily lost in a raid. He eyed the two nearing scout planes with no little aversion. Not only was his machine going at less speed, despite his efforts, but the difficulty in steering was greater. Apparently if would only obey the rudder slowly, no matter how hard he tried to "get a move on her." As for wheeling, volplaning, spiraling or doing anything that occasioned quick action on his part with rudder or planes, he was nearly helpless.

Meantime the pursuing planes, both Fokker scouting machines, drew still nearer and began to use their machine guns. The balls pattered all about; but as yet neither he nor his plane was hit. He was zigzagging, mounting, spiraling, but all in a much slower fashion than he had been used to do with this same plane before.

"What's the use?" he groaned. "I can't get back at them, even if I am running away. It's got to come. What's the odds? I'll turn and give them one good try for their game, anyhow."

He was already turning in his lame evolutions when something like a big shadow darkened the air for an instant overhead. It passed. Then back came the shadow again, and a voice was megaphoning, not from below or in the rear but from right overhead. It said:

"Hey, you, Orry! You're crippled! I can see that. But why don't you come up higher? Get a move on!"

Erwin knew that voice. It was like a trumpet call to the lad. Fiercely be seized his own megaphone and shouted back, while with one hand and his feet he kept his own flier still going.

"Yes? I'm crippled but all right. I can't rise except slowly. Better go while the going's good! Too many Archies below!"

While Orris was shouting, another shadow passed overhead. It was Buck Bangs in his Nieuport. For hours they had been scouring the eastern air-zone in a vain search for Erwin, when the sudden roaring of the Archies turned them in this direction. While Orris was turning, trying also to rise, he saw as he faced to the rear that two planes instead of one were now charging the enemy. These had for a minute or more been directing their machine gun fire upon the new arrivals. Erwin had heard the noise of them, and wondered why he was not hit again. This was the reason.

"Great boys, they are," he said to himself.

"But I hope looking for me has not led them where we all don't want to go," meaning the prison camps of the Huns, from which had oozed stories of starvation and cruelty that were more than bad enough. "Considering how I'm fixed, I'll lay low down here and watch my chance to help. That other chap must be Bangs. Well, those two have got nerve anyhow!"



CHAPTER XIII

AT THE RUINED CHATEAU

Having found the man they were searching for and in so perilous a situation, neither Blaine nor Bangs wasted time. If Erwin was crippled, so much the greater reason for them to relieve him. Only by direct attack could this be accomplished, if at all. Though the Archies were now roaring more than ever, Blaine and his observer, both machine guns pointed f or instant action, started straight at the pursuing planes. Buck was with him at a convenient distance. Instantly the rattle of their guns pattered out in the air as a fusillade of bullets was showered at the foe.

The determined maneuvers of the new arrivals evidently daunted the Huns. One of them immediately turned tail. The other tried to do so but was intercepted by Blaine who, making an absolutely nervy side-loop, came up under the Fokker and began again discharging a deadly rain of bullets.

But one source of refuge was left the German. Up, up he climbed. Being cut off from retreat towards his own lines, he struck straight across towards No-Man's-Land with the big biplane full pursuit and still firing.

Meantime Bangs took after the other, bringing it down under a detached fire from the Archies who were naturally more cautious now in firing, owing to the fear of hitting one of their own planes. Still they found chances to pepper the little Nieuport in which Bangs was darting to and fro like a hawk after a chicken. But before the Fokker was sent down, Buck knew that his own wings were seriously perforated. As yet his fuselage and tank, his engine and machinery were unhurt.

Without waiting to note the fate of his opponent, Bangs turned nimbly and struck out westward, following the crippled scout wherein was the man they had set out to find and rescue.

"I'll stick by Orry," was Buck's conclusion. "I guess Blaine and Stanley can take care of that other chap. I wonder where the rest of the Huns are. We are in the rear lines and there should be more Fokkers or Taubes around."

This query was soon answered. Ranging alongside Erwin, but not too near, Buck megaphoned as follows:

"How you getting on anyhow? Had a hell of a time findin' you. Didn't find you any too soon, eh?"

Erwin's replies were unimportant except that he was so crippled that he must get back to the base, or at least alight somewhere soon or he, would not be able to fly at all.

"Bent piston rods," he also phoned. "And I'm afraid my main propeller shaft has gone wrong somehow."

"All right," returned Bangs. "I'll stick with you. Hullo! What's the matter with Blaine and his man?"

At this juncture the big biplane that had been pursuing the Fokker suddenly ducked, dove far beneath his adversary and came up on the opposing side, at the same time peppering the Hun with machine gun explosive bullets.

The Fokker almost stopped and appeared to tremble. Both Bangs and Erwin saw that some serious internal injury had occurred. The German was furiously at work within his manhole, leaving the plane much to its own devices.

So patent was this that Buck, who was nearest, shot upward and let drive at the Hun from below. But instead of giving heed to this new attack, the Hun now recovered, shot off to the right and began climbing rapidly. Bangs, in accord with his resolve to stick to Erwin, did not follow, but Blaine did, at the same time megaphoning to both Buck and Orris as follows:

"I've been up higher than you fellows. There's a number of planes off in the sou'west. Gettin' so dark could hardly tell 'em apart. Better stick together and watch out!"

Though the Archies were now quite out of range, night was so near at hand that this seemed good policy. Blaine now added:

"I'm goin' to give that Fokker another round. Be back with you in a minute." Then on he went after the German.

What ensued was rather puzzling to both Bangs and Erwin. Blaine was now evidently faster than the German, whose machine had apparently sustained some internal injury. They saw the biplane close in on the Hun amid a rapid fire of bullets from each at the other.

All at once the Hun began sidling irregularly towards the earth. By this time both the others, having risen somewhat, caught glimpses through their field glasses of a number of nearing planes winging from the west. Below, as far as could be seen, stretched No-Man's-Land. Behind was a growing blackness that denoted approaching night. To both Bangs' and Erwin's astonishment, the biplane, instead of returning, was pointing downward after the crippled Fokker.

Then from the north whirled a sea-fog that presently enveloped all, obliterating what remained of light, hiding even Blaine and the adversary he had pursued. It was strange, mysterious.

Erwin, who was lower than the others, here saw the crumbling walls and towers of what had once been an old baronial chateau. Near this the biplane had landed. No sign just then of the Fokker, though that must have descended also, for the machine or the man in it was undoubtedly injured. Erwin grabbed his megaphone, shouting up at Buck hovering near, "I'm going down. Blaine's already landed. Come on!"

But for some reason Bangs declined. Being higher up, he had detected signs of those other planes invisible to those below.

"Go on down," he shouted. "I want to do a little scouting." And off he flew, determined all at once to find out who and what might be approaching. But his purpose was defeated by the onrush of the fog, that thickened still more, while those landed below were equally invisible to Buck.

However having a general idea as to the direction best for him to take, he turned that way after recklessly feeling out in vain for further sight of the approaching squadron. Here we will leave him for the present.

When Erwin at last brought his plane down beside the half ruined chateau, he found both Stanley and Blaine stooping over a prostrate form soon identified as that of the German aviator. Near by was the Fokker, somewhat disabled, but not in such bad condition. The man himself had just expired.

"What do you think that chap asked us to do," said Blaine, regarding the dead man solemnly. "It sort of mellowed me towards him, after His father and mother live in Chicago, worked for some meat packers, and his dad is making some money there. When he found that the bullets that had hit him as well as his machine weren't goin' to let him live much longer, he asked if either of us got back to our lines, to write tell his mother. He gave me the name and I put it down in my pocket pad book. He talked in good English and altogether seemed quite like some of our home folks. He got into aviation over here and liked it. But he's out of all that now and to make him feel better both Stan and I promised to do as he wished.

"He said his machine was all right; and if anything was the matter with ours we might fix up his and make a get-away. Course there ain't nothin' much the matter with mine, though yours may be crippled — hullo! What's that?"

The loud report of an exploding bomb sounded as it fell not far away. Instantly they scattered for such shelter as was obtainable. Other bombs fell and for a few minutes the scene was indescribable. They saw from the shelter both their own machines shattered too badly for further immediate use, though the Fokker remained untouched, it being some distance off and partially under the protecting shadow of a half ruined arch of the chateau that overhung the main approach.

Also they heard the whirring swish of the passing squadron as it circled over the buildings. It afterwards appeared that the chateau owner was for some reason specially obnoxious to the Germans in Belgium. At last the bombing apparently ceased, but even this was deceptive. Both Blaine and Erwin, followed at a little distance by Stanley, ran out to look into the damage done to their machines. In the darkness this was slow work. A fire was lighted, and while still examining the wrecks another whirring overhead sounded.

Stanley discreetly dodged under another projecting abutment, when down dropped another bomb, probably thrown at a venture from some scattering member of the squad that had just passed. From his shelter Stanley was horrified to see both Blaine and Erwin, who were near the fire, thrown violently down as the bomb burst appallingly near where they were crouched. They; did not rise again.

Without waiting to see if other bombs might fall, the observer ran forward in great perturbation. Both aviators lay apparently senseless. From Blaine's head blood was flowing from a flesh wound somewhere up under his thick mop of short curly hair. His pulse, however, was beating lively.

As for Erwin, no visible wounds were apparent, yet he lay there deathly pale while some of his clothing had been torn by fragments of the exploding bomb.

Of Buck Bangs there was no sign.

Deeply depressed, for he was very young and impressionable, Stanley, regardless of his own safety, punched up the fire and from his own and his comrades' kits procured such remedies as aviators carry for just such emergencies. In the dark he hunted for water but found none. From a flask of good French brandy he managed to pour a spoonful or so down each throat, taking a swallow himself, for he felt he sorely needed it.

Poor old Blaine never stirred. Erwin at last shivered slightly.

"Isn't this a deuce of a fix?" he sighed at length. "Where are we? For all I know, Blaines may be dead. Here, feeling again of Lafe's pulse, its steady beat somewhat reassured Stanley. "How about Orris?"

If anything, Erwin's pulse was coming back. The brandy had restored such vitality to the lad that his arteries were again sending the life-giving fluid upon its unceasing task.

"What can have become of Buck?" Stanley replenished the fire with stray fuel, for he knew that it would be a signal to Bangs and perhaps to the enemy; but as to the last he hoped not, amid that chilly darkness and night fog.

Here a slight noise from his rear caused Stanley to wheel in his tracks and stare stupidly at a dim figure under the shadow of a portico in front of the basement of the main edifice, which was, in fact, about the only part of that vast group of buildings that seemed unharmed.

"Who are you? What brought you here?" came an unmistakably feminine voice.

More wonderful still, the language was English — good English, too. Was there not also an American twang about the tone and accent? Stanley could have pinched himself, had he thought of it. But so surprised was he that he seemed actually paralyzed, when an unmistakably girlish figure emerged more into the light.

Still the young observer stared, hardly noticed that another older form had made a dim appearance. It, too, wore skirts, though rather raged and soiled. The girl's habiliments also evinced that her recent abode had not been where style and cleanliness were at all dominant.

"You — you are not Germans?" This tremulously from the girl. "You understand me, don't you?"

"Yes, ma am," Stanley almost stuttered.

"Y-you s-see — I'm some surprised —"

"Some surprised!" The girl was smiling hopefully. "That sounds like good old United States talk."

"We heard so much noise overhead, then some nasty bombs exploding. So Brenda and I have lain hidden in the cellars for — for hours. Haven't we, Brenda? The dim form in the rear nodded emphatically. "But who are you?"

Here she caught sight of the ruined planes and the prostrate forms of Blaine and Erwin, with also the more distant figure of the dead German.

"Oh — oh!" She clasped her hands. "How dreadful! What can we do? May we not help? Are they all dead?"

The girl was genuinely aroused, so much so that her natural horror of the strained situation was lost in genuine concern. Stanley briefly explained the series of incidents that had preceded the present situation, at the same time pointing at the dead German aviator, and concluding with:

"The poor chap used to live in Chicago. Before he died he gave us his parents' address there. He spoke good English."

"Why, Chicago is where I hail from," said the girl. "Good old Windy City! I wish I was there now, although I have been over here many months."

Meantime Brenda, with the ready adaptability of Belgian women, had been examining the persons of the two still insensible aviators. All at once she rose up, saying to her mistress:

"Pardon, miss." This in her own Flemish tongue. "We must move these Americans to our under ground rooms. They will recover, but they need attention."

"You are sure right, Miss - Miss —" Stanley hesitated, but the girl paid no heed. "We don't want to inconvenience you, but something will have to be done right away."

With the able assistance of Brenda, while the girl went ahead carrying a small lamp that had been produced as if by magic from somewhere - possibility by Brenda — they picked up poor Erwin and followed. Down some half ruined stone steps they went, then through a long passage, then down more steps to a half open door.

Once inside, Stanley saw he was in quite a sizeable room, with two beds, one large, the other a mere cot. The girl led the way to the large bed, and there they laid the still swooning man who gave a slight groan as he was deftly covered by the girl who murmured as if to herself:

"Poor fellow, he has suffered!"

Already Stanley was leaving, saying:

"We must get Blaine down here quickly. He is in a bad way, I fear."

Seizing the lamp, the girl hurried after. On reaching the other stricken aviator, what was their surprise to find him leaning on one elbow, trying to rise, but vainly.

"Wha — what's the matter? Where am I?"

"You're with friends, old boy," soothed Stanley, seizing Blaine's arms, while Brenda took up the lower limbs. With the wounded man muttering aimlessly, again they wended their way to the lower chamber, evidently used by the girl and Brenda as a temporary sleeping place.

With deft efficiency the girl had snatched up Stanley's kit of dressings and other medical paraphernalia and hurried on ahead with the lamp. In a trice they had placed him on the cot. Immediately the two women were busy with these things and some stored aids of their own, dressing the bruises on both the boys and applying restoratives, so that in a short time both were awake, sensible, and staring with grateful wonder at these two women — angels of mercy — and the strange yet comfortable surroundings.

Mutual explanations had already begun when whirring, semi-thunderous noises again were heard. Stanley was instantly on the alert.

"All of you remain quiet while I slip up and see what is on," he said, flinging back: "If your light is apt to shine through any hole or opening, better douse it or hang up covers. Make no noises until you hear from me." He was off, but not before the girl called to him:

"Be very careful, sir! We cannot spare you - yet."

"No, we can't, ma'am," remarked Blaine from the cot where he now sat upright with a bandaged head.

"Indeed, Sir," said the girl almost wistfully, "we cannot spare any of you. Just think, we have been here a week, and with more or less bombing going on each day and sometimes at night."

"May I ask, mademoiselle —" began Blaine.

"Just plain Miss," interrupted the girl. "Miss Daskam from Chicago!"

"Well, well!" Blaine was smilingly openly now. "That surely sounds homelike! Well, we're all Americans too. We were on an air raid and had a good deal of mixed luck. Blaine's my name; that's Erwin over there," pointing at the cot where Orris was grinning and smiling. "The chap who went out just now is Stanley. He is my observer. But our machine is smashed now and how we will all get back is more than I know. Eh, Orry?"

"Looks that way. But what's the use of worrying while we are in such charming company? I'm all right."

And to prove it Erwin stepped out on the floor, a little teetery perhaps, but once more himself. He made a not ungraceful bow.

"May I ask, Miss Daskam, how you happened to get cornered down here in this poor old chateau? It must have been a grand place once — but now!" He shrugged slightly, regarding Miss Daskam sympathizingly.

"The wife of the owner of this place is my sister. I came over as a member of the Belgian Red Cross. Both my sister and her husband are, or were, at headquarters when I left the Belgian lines. I had a permit to visit his chateau; for in the days before I came over here I had left there certain papers most important to them both. I wanted to see the place and I had a friend that was chummy with the Boches in Brussels. He had forwarded me a pass. So I insisted on taking Brenda along and trying it alone. You know western girls are not much afraid of things."

"Well, you were plucky enough, anyhow, interposed Erwin and Blaine nodded.

"Up to that time, after the chateau had been bombarded by our Allies in their final advance towards Paschiendale after Vimy ridge, it had rested unharmed further."