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