nd mon, Deadwood Dick, foiled
the machinations of Black Peter, the Scoorge of Hell Canyon. A've no
soort o' use for the new kind o' stoory--the love-stoories aboot mooney.
Ye ken the soort: Harild is feelin' fine an' anxious aboot Lady
Gwendoline's bairthmark: is she the rechtfu' heir? Oh, Heaven help me to
solve the meestry! (To be continued in oor next.) A'm all for bluid an'
fine laddies wi' a six-shooter in every hand an' a bowie-knife in their
teeth--it's no' so intellectual, but, mon, it's mair human!"

* * * * *

Tam was out one fine spring afternoon in a one-seater Morane. He was on
guard watching over the welfare of two "spotters" who were correcting
the fire of a "grandmother" battery. There was a fair breeze blowing
from the east, and it was bitterly cold, but Tam in his leather jacket,
muffled to the eyes, and with his hands in fur-lined gloves and with the
warmth from his engine, was comfortable without being cozy.

* * * * *

Far away on the eastern horizon he saw a great cloud. It was a detached
and imperial cumulus, a great frothy pyramid that sailed in majestic
splendor. Tam judged it to be a mile across at its base and calculated
its height, from its broad base to its feathery spirelike apex, at
another mile.

"There's an awfu' lot of room in ye," he thought.

It was moving slowly toward him and would pass him at such a level that
did he explore it, he would enter half-way between its air foundation
and its peak.

He signaled with his wireless, "Am going to explore cloud," and sent his
Morane climbing.

He reached the misty outskirts of the mass and began its encirclement,
drawing a little nearer to its center with every circuit. Now he was in
a white fog which afforded him only an occasional glimpse of the earth.
The fog grew thicker and darker and he returned again to the outer edge
because there would be no danger in the center. Gently he declined his
elevator and sank to a lower level. Then suddenly, beneath him, a short
shape loomed through the mist and vanished in a flash. Tam had a tray of
bombs under the fuselage--something in destructive quality between a
Mills grenade and a three-inch shell.

He waited....

Presently--swish! They were circling in the opposite direction to Tam,
which meant that the object passed him at the rate of one hundred and
forty miles an hour. But he had seen the German coming.... Something
dropp