overed that life was indeed a bed of shrapnel and that more was on
its way, for at every point of the compass Archie was belching forth
death and destruction"--he paused and rubbed his chin--"Archie A' didn't
mind," he said with a little chuckle, "but Archie's little sister,
sir-r, she was fierce! She never left me. A' stalled an' looped, A'
stood on ma head and sat on ma tail. A' banked to the left and to the
right. A' spiraled up and A' nose-dived doon, and she stayed wi' me
closer than a sister. For hoors, it seemed almost an etairnity, Tam o'
the Scoots hovered with impunity above the inferno--"

"But why, Tam?" asked Blackie. "Was it sheer swank on your part?"

"It was no swank," said Tam quietly. "Listen, Captain Blackie, sir-r;
four guns were bangin' and bangin' at me, and one of them was a good
one--too good to live. Suppose A' had spotted that one--A' could have
dropped and bombed him."

Blackie was frowning.

"I think we'll leave the Archies alone," he said; "you have never shown
a disposition to go gunning for Archies before, Tam."

Tam shook his head.

"It is a theery A' have, sir-r," he said; "yon Archie, the new feller,
is being tried oot. He is different to the rest. Mr. Austin had him the
other night. Mr. Colebeck was nearly brought doon yesterday morn. Every
one in the squadron has had a taste of him, and every one in the
squadron has been lucky."

* * * * *

"That is a fact," said Austin; "this new gun is a terror."

"But he has no' hit any one," insisted Tam; "it's luck that he has no',
but it's the sort of luck that the flyin'-man has. To-morrow the luck
may be all the other way, and he'll bring doon every one he aims at. Ma
idea is that to-morrow we've got to get him, because if he makes good,
in a month's time you won't be able to fly except at saxteen thoosand
feet."

A light broke in on Blackie.

"I see, Tam," he said; "so you were just hanging around to discourage
him?"

"A' thocht it oot," said Tam. "A' pictured ma young friend William von
Archie shootin' and shootin', surroonded by technical expairts with long
whiskers and spectacles. 'It's a rotten gun you've got, Von,' says they;
'can ye no' bring doon one wee airman?' 'Gi' me anither thoosand shots,'
gasps Willie, 'and there'll be a vacant seat in the sergeant's mess;'
and so the afternoon wears away and the landscape is littered wi' shell
cases, but high in the air, glitterin' in the dyin' rays