being vaporized in the carburetor.

With despair in his heart, Tom looked back. If the Hun plane chose to
rush him now all would be over with him and Jack. He had only enough
fuel for another thousand meters or so, and then he must volplane.

He saw a burst of flame and smoke from the enemy plane, and realized
that he was being shot at again. But the distance was still too far for
effective aim.

And then, to his joy, Tom saw the pursuer turn and start back toward the
German territory. The firing had been a last, desperate attempt to end
his career, and it had failed. Either the Huns were almost out of petrol
themselves, or they did not relish getting too close to the French
lines.

"And now, if I can volplane down the rest of the way, I'll be in a fair
position to save myself," mused Tom, as he made a calculation of the
distance he had yet to go. It was far, but he was at a good height and
believed he could do it.

Suddenly his engine stopped, as though with a sigh of regret that it
could no longer serve him, and Tom knew that volplaning alone would save
him now. He was still over the enemy country, and had his plight been
guessed at by the Germans, undoubtedly they would have sent a machine up
to attack him. But they were in ignorance.

There was nothing to do but drift along. Gravity alone urged the craft
on. As he swept over the German trenches Tom was greeted with a burst of
shrapnel, and he was now low enough to be vulnerable to this. But luck
was with him, and though the plane was hit several times he thought he
was unharmed. But in this he was wrong. He received a glancing wound
in one leg, but in the excitement he did not notice it, and it was not
until he had landed that he saw the blood, and knew what had happened.

On and on, and down and down he volplaned until he was so near his own
lines, and so low down, that he could hear the burst of cheers from his
former comrades.

Then he aimed his craft for a level, grassy place to make a landing,
and as he came to a gradual stop, and was surrounded by a score of eager
aviators, he cried out, as soon as he could speak, "I'm all right! But
look after Jack! He's hurt!"

A surgeon bent hastily over the huddled form, and with the aid of some
men lifted it from the cockpit. Jack's legs were covered with blood, and
when the medical man saw whence it came, then and there he set hastily
to work to stop the bleeding from a large artery.

"You got back only just