nning up
and down my backbone. None of the other songs did that to me. Do you get
me, Buzz?"

"Sure. I felt it, too." He put both his hands on Red's shoulders,
holding him off at arm's length. "You want back under the old Stars and
Stripes, don't you? ... you little shrimp!"

"Yes," slowly, "and--yet--"

"I know how you feel. I'm with you, fellow, when you get ready to make
the change."

McGee's eyes lighted with surprise and joy. "Really, Buzz?"

"Surest thing you know!"

"And you don't think we'd feel like--like--"

"We'd feel like two Americans, _going home_. Shake, little feller!
There, I feel better already. Come on, let's go in; that's the curtain
bell."

CHAPTER III

Night Raiders

1

On the following Tuesday morning a group of two Spads and several
Nieuports were delivered to Major Cowan's pursuit squadron at Is Sur
Tille. A Lieutenant Smoot, one of the ferry pilots who had flown up one
of the Nieuports, sought to ease the pain caused by his own lowly
calling by taunting Tex Yancey--an extremely dangerous pastime, for Tex
had a ready tongue.

"When you buckoes have washed out these planes," he said, "the Old Man
will see the error of his way and send us up to do the real flying.
What's left of this gang will then be put to ferrying. Did any of you
ever see a Spad or Nieuport before?"

Yancey, standing well over six feet, looked down on him pityingly. "Did
you say your name was Smoot, or Snoot? Smoot, eh. Well, transportation
_to the rear_ is waitin' for you at headquarters. Don't let me keep
you waitin'. I'm surprised you're not pushin' a wheelbarrow in a labor
battalion, the way you set that Nieuport down a few minutes ago. Clear
out, soldier! This squadron is gettin' ready to do some plain and fancy
flyin'. I don't want you to have heart trouble."

"Humph! You'll have heart trouble the first time you try to land one of
those Spads. You'll think you have been trained on a peanut roaster.
Who's the Britisher over there snooping around with Cowan?"

"Name's McGee. But he's not a Limey; he's an American. I'm told he won a
coupla medals in the R.F.C., and has sixteen Huns to his credit. He
must be good--though he doesn't wear the medals to prove it. Not a bit
of swank."

"What's he doing here?"

"He's an instructor," Yancey replied without hesitation.

"Oh Ho! So you still need instruction? I heard that Cowan knows it all."

"Naw, he only knows half, and you know the other half. T