last sounds of some thing or some one falling had come from. To the
left came the far rumble of trains crawling forward on one of the many
side lines used by the Huns for war transportation.

From the right came the distant roar of heavy artillery, such as
enlivens the front night and day. Yet it was so distant as to insure
no connection with the finished air raid that now threatened disaster
to himself.

Under the trees the darkness deepened, if such was possible. Where was
he going? Could he find his way back to his own crippled plane?

A heavy, yet trembling sigh, terminating in a muffled groan, showed him
his next course. Stumbling forward, he almost fell over a body prone
across his path. Another groan, then:

"Oh-h-h, Gawd -- Gawd!" Blaine thought he recognized something half
familiar in the words or voice.

Stooping down, he felt a horrible slime and a mashed something that was
not like anything he had ever felt before. He dropped to his knees,
drew out his small flashlight, hitherto held in reserve for desperate
emergencies, and cautiously turned it on.

It glimmered across a face -- a face at once familiar and horrible. A
well-known face, yet so ghastly in its bloody disfigurement that Blaine
shivered, drew back, then bent downward and forward.

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