in time, my friend," he said to Tom, as Jack was
carried to a hospital. "Two minutes more and he would have been bled to
death."

CHAPTER XVII. A CRASH

Not until a day or so later, when Jack was able to sit up in bed and
greet Tom with rather a pale face, did the latter learn all that had
happened. And it was a very close call that Jack had had.

As Tom had guessed, it was some of the bullets from the Hun machine gun
that had stricken down his chum. One had struck him a glancing blow on
the head, rendering Jack unconscious and sending him down, a crumpled-up
heap in the cockpit of his machine. Another bullet, coming through
the machine later, had found lodgment in Jack's leg, cutting part way
through the wall of one of the larger arteries.

It was certain that this bullet, the one in the leg, came after Jack
was hit on the head, for that first wound was the only one he remembered
receiving.

"It was just as though I saw not only stars' but moons, suns, comets,
rainbows and northern lights all at once," he explained to his chum.

The bullet in the leg had cut only part way through the wall of an
artery. At first the tissues held the blood back from spurting out in
a stream that would soon have carried life with it. But either some
unconscious motion on Jack's part, or a jarring of the plane, broke the
half-severed wall, and, just before Tom landed, his chum began to bleed
dangerously. Then it was the surgeon had made his remark, and acted in
time to save Jack's life.

"Well, I guess we made good all right," remarked Jack, as his chum
visited him in the hospital.

"I reckon so," was the answer, "though the Huns haven't sent us any love
letters to say so. But we surely did drop the packages in the prison
camp, though whether Harry got them or not is another story. But we did
our part."

"That's right," agreed Jack. "Now the next thing is to get busy and
bring Harry out of there if we can."

"The next thing for you to do is to keep quiet until that wound in your
leg heals," said the doctor, with a smile. "If you don't, you won't do
any more flying, to say nothing of making any rescues. Be content with
what you did. The whole camp is talking of your exploit. It was noble!"

"Shucks!" exclaimed Tom, in English, for they had been speaking French
for the benefit of the surgeon, who was of that nationality.

"Ah, and what may that mean?" he asked.

"I mean it wasn't anything," translated Tom. "Anybody could