rossing the
lad wondered what the order was for. It was merely that the observer
wanted to see what was going on there so he could report.

They went down to within a mile of the earth, and several times the
plane was struck by pieces of shrapnel or bullets from machine guns.
Twice flying bits of metal came uncomfortably close to Jack, but he was
kept too busy with the management of his machine to more than notice
them. Harris was working hard at the camera and the maps.

Then, suddenly, came the danger signal from the leading plane, and only
just in time. Out from the German hangars came several battle machines.
Harris dropped his pencil and got ready the automatic gun, but it was
not needed, for, after approaching as though about to attack, the Huns
suddenly veered off. Later the reason for this became known. A squadron
of French planes had arisen as swiftly to give battle, and however brave
the Hun may be when he outnumbers the enemy, he had yet to be known to
take on a combat against odds.

So Jack and his observer safely reached the aerodrome again, bringing
back much valuable information.

"Is Tom here yet?" was Jack's first inquiry after he had divested
himself of his togs and men had rushed to the developing room the camera
with its precious plates.

"Not yet," some of his chums told him. "They're having a fight upstairs
I guess."

Jack nodded and looked anxiously in the direction in which Tom was last
seen.

It was an hour before the scouting airplanes came back, and one was so
badly shot up and its pilot so wounded that it only just managed to get
over the French lines before almost crashing to earth.

"Are you all right, Tom?" cried Jack, as he rushed up to his chum, when
he saw the latter getting out of his craft, rather stiff from the cold.

"Yes. They went at me hard--two of 'em but I think I accounted for one,
unless he went into a spinning nose dive just to fool me."

"Oh, they'll do that if they get the chance."

"I know," assented Tom. "Hello!" he exclaimed as he noticed a splintered
strut near his head. "That came rather close."

And indeed it had. For a bullet, or a piece of shrapnel, has plowed a
furrow in the bit of supporting wood, not two inches away from Tom's
head, though in the excitement of the fight he had not noticed it.

There had been a fight in the upper air and one of the French machines
had not come home.

"Another man to await news of," said the flight lieutenant sadl