Being under fire, at any moment a stray shot might ignite what little
was left. Pointing the machine still more upward, he seized a bunch of
loose lint, used to sop up recurring leaks here and there, and with a
handy screw driver he managed to stop the rent in the metal with a few
sharp adroit punchings.

Again to the machine, now over and beyond the bluffs; over the
crinkling muddy stream, now almost overflowing its banks. On the bluff
behind a squad of men in gray were training one of the Archies that had
been dragged up from somewhere underneath.

"I've got to give her all the head she'll take," he thought. "That gun
will get me if they understand their business."

Over beyond the stream a low embankment rose well up at perhaps three
to f our hundred yards from its first bank. Erwin was rising in a
steep climb, zigzagging crazily for the machine was giving out, owing
to lack of fuel. But he made a last effort to thus dodge the rain of
bullets that began to pelt upon him from the rear. Another larger gun
came up. Both joined in firing.

A shell splinter struck his shoulder, tearing loose the leather
garment, while a searing, hot agony seized him, paralyzing his left arm.

He was over the second embankment when the final crisis came. Were
these foes or friends that were popping up, pointing weapons at those
behind? Friends surely! Down he had better go. The pain was so acute
that only one arm was now at his service, while the dizziness that
accompanies the pain of severe gun wounds filled his brain, dimmed his