rk was lying low, holding himself in readiness for action. He believed
he would be amply protected by the logs he had piled up, but just the
same he did duck his head involuntarily at the first crack of the
machine-gun the pilot of the Curtiss boat was handling so lovingly, as
though it might be an old and valued "baby" in his estimation.

But just the same Perk could not allow any misunderstanding to keep the
other in ignorance of how matters stood--he had sent out his impudent
challenge, and Perk was quick to accept it.

So the din was further increased by a second barrage, chiming in with
perhaps its notes ranged along a little higher key, but on the whole
playing skillfully and merrily its own part in the mad chorus that
reigned.

How the chatter of those two rapid-fire guns did carry on, with the
splinters flying every-which way as the missiles tore them loose from
the logs and the coaming of the sloop's deck.

Perk was compelled to do most of his work while keeping his head down,
lest he be potted in that rain of bullets the other fighter was pouring
in on him. Consequently he could hardly be expected to do himself full
justice. Perhaps Oscar on his part was working under a similar
disadvantage, for he really had little in the way of a barricade to
intercept the shower to which he was being subjected.

Lucky for him he had shown the good sense to stop his advance with
considerable distance separating him from the hidden sloop--had they
been closer there was not one chance in ten that some damage would not
have placed his seaplane out of commission, even though the pilot
himself escaped death.

Then suddenly a white flag shot up from the sloop's breastworks. Oscar,
with the gallantry such as had ever distinguished the air fighters on
both sides in those days that tried men's souls, ceased firing.

"Give up?" he was bawling, as the rapid-fire guns both became silent,
while their hot barrels cooled off a bit.

"Not so you could notice it," Perk shouted. "Jest wanted to exchange a
few words with you, if you're Oscar Gleeb, an' it's true that you was a
live-wire over there in France an' the Argonne--say, is that all to the
good, Mister Pilot?"

The other did not answer immediately. Plainly he must have been
considerably astonished at the queer turn the engagement had taken; and
then again possibly he did not exactly like the idea of being compelled
to acknowledge his identity, fearing it might be only a trap