ins, which were far away still,
though they seemed so near.

"What troops are those? And where are we?" he cried.

"We have flown across Hungary in the night, and those are Hungarian
regiments, giving way before the advance of Russian troops who have come
through the passes from Galicia!" cried Stepan. "But that is not what
counts! Look down there--to the right!"

Dick looked. What he saw was a small village that had suddenly become a
city. Trains were drawing in, and a dozen or more sidings contained
strings of cars that had evidently arrived during the night. As they
looked a train stopped and soldiers poured from it.

"Do you understand? Can you realize what that means, Dick?" cried
Stepan. "They are sending reenforcements from Servia! Those troops were
among those who were attacking us. The Russian invasion through the
passes has brought them back! That is what we came for--to learn if that
were so!"

"Oh, I do understand now!" cried Dick, as a great light burst on his
mind. He saw it all. This was what Servia had been hoping for; a
weakening of the forces massed against her. No wonder it had been
all-important to know if the reenforcement had really been sent! Then
his eye wandered, and he saw something coming through the air--another
aeroplane was approaching them.

"Look out, Stepan! Here comes one of their machines!" he cried.

Stepan seized his glass on the instant.

"Yes!" he said. "That is bad luck for it is one of their newer, faster
machines! We must try to get away! Here, take this rifle. If she comes
so near that she discovers who we really are, we must fight. Aim for the
tank. A bullet through that will send them down quickly! But don't fire
until I give the word. It is better to run than to fight, if we can."

And now, as if he had not seen the hostile aeroplane, Stepan turned and
began to race south, in the direction whence they had come. There
followed the most exciting of possible contests--a real race between
aeroplanes, not for a prize or a trophy, but with life itself, or
liberty at least, as the price of victory or the penalty of defeat.

With the slower, clumsier machine, Stepan still made a wonderful
showing. He went up, then down, twisting this way and that,
manoeuvering with brilliant skill. The other machine followed,
however, and it was gaining constantly, thanks to its better motor.
Still it did not fire a shot, for it must have been difficult for the
pilot to know what possess