helped by orderlies and others who rushed up, he was seen to
stagger.

"Are you hurt?" asked Tom, hurrying up.

"A mere scratch-nothing, thank you," was the answer.

"Where's Harry Leroy?" Jack asked. "Did you have to leave him?"

"Ah, monsieur, I bring you bad news from the air," was the answer.
"We were attacked by seven Boche machines. We each got one, and
then--well, they got me--but what matters that? It is a mere
nothing."

"What of Harry?" persisted Tom.

"Ah, it is of him I would speak. He is--he fell inside the enemy
lines; and I had to come back for help. My petrol gave out, and
I--"'

And then, pressing his hands over his breast, the brave airman
staggered and fell, as a stream of blood issued from beneath his
jacket.





CHAPTER II