With a groan Johnny abandoned the chase and retraced his steps. Thus a
perverse Fate ever snipped the thread of an embryo adventure.

A light flickered dully among the trees to the east. Johnny cupped his
hands and yodeled. The light moved. A little later as he crashed
hurriedly through the underbrush, Diane called to him. She was holding
a lantern high above something on the ground, her face quite colorless.

"I'm glad you're here!" she said. "It's the aviator, Johnny. He's
hurt--"

The aviator stirred.

"He's comin' 'round," said Johnny peering down into the white face in
the aureole of lantern-light. "The rain in his face likely. . . .
Well, young fellow, what do you think of yourself, eh?"

"Not much," said Philip blankly and stared about him.

"Can you follow us to the camp fire yonder?" asked Diane
compassionately.

Philip, though evidently very dizzy, thought likely he could, and he
did. That his shoulder was wet and very painful, he was well aware,
though somehow he had forgotten why. Moreover, his head throbbed
queerly.

There came a tent and a bed and a blur of incidents.