While he was making up his mind what to do next, the whir of speeding
motors rose rapidly. Looking back, he saw the Death's Head flag waving
from the nearest one and soon distinguished Blaine, apparently all
right, but chugging away at top speed in Erwin's direction.

Just now the Fokker with its dead occupant gave another side drop and,
uninfluenced by the usual controls, came nearly to a standstill. It
toppled again, then down it went earthward at increasing speed,
carrying its occupant along.

"Hey-you!" This from Blaine as he swept up and by, while rounding to.
"Look behind! I dropped that chap -- the first one! But he's brought
a lot of others. Let's make for home, boy!"

Apparently it was too late without a further scrimmage, for no less
than half a dozen Boche planes were swooping around their rear, some
already within range. In maneuvering into position Blaine again picked
up his megaphone, saying:

"I saw you drop those chaps. Oh, you Orry! Here we go -- right for
some more of them! Whoopee!"

It seemed little short of blasphemy -- this uproarious spirit, in the
face of the odds gathering in behind. But Blaine was built that way.
Danger, the closer and more menacing, instead of rousing fear, nerved
him to his best or, as it might turn out, worst.

"Where's your prisoner?" shouted Erwin. "I feared he'd get you."

"Nit, old man! I got hold of a monkey-wrench and knocked him cold.