he
lad down.

Jack felt out with his left hand and encircled the German's neck. Then
he squeezed. The German gasped for breath as his wind was shut off. His
hand searched his belt and presently flashed aloft with a knife. Jack
saw it. Releasing his hold on the man's throat, he seized the knife arm
with his left hand and twisted sharply, at the same time driving his
right fist into the man's face.

There was a sharp snap and a cry of pain. The knife fell clattering to
the deck of the plane. Jack, very angry, rose to his feet, stooped
over, and picking up the German as though he had been a child, heaved
him overboard.

"So much for you!" he muttered.

He stepped across the body of the second German to Frank's side and
stooped over him. Gently he raised his chum's head to his knee.

Frank's eyelids flickered and directly he opened his eyes.

"How do you feel, old man?" asked Jack.

Frank struggled free from his chum's grip and sat up. He shook his head
once or twice and then rose to his feet.

"I'll be all right in--Look out!" he broke off suddenly.

He dodged. But Jack, not realizing the import of Frank's words,
remained still. He felt something hot sear the lobe of his ear.
Wheeling abruptly, the lad saw the German whom he had first knocked
unconscious facing him with levelled revolver--the weapon was Jack's
own, which he had left behind when he swam to the enemy's aeroplane.

The German faced him with a smile.

"Hands up!" he commanded.

But Jack, with a few drops of blood trickling from his ear, suddenly
became very angry. He objected to being shot at from behind.

"Put down that gun!" he commanded in a cold voice. "Put it down before
I kill you!"

The German was struck by the menace in the lad's tones, and for a
moment he hesitated and the revolver wavered. Then he braced and
brought the weapon up again.

But that moment of hesitation decided the issue. In spite of the fact
that the revolver was pointed right at him, and that only a few feet
away, Jack took a quick step forward.

The German fired. Jack swerved a trifle. The bullet plowed through the
sleeve of his shirt and touched the skin; but that was all.

Again the man's hand tightened on the trigger, but he never fired
again. Jack's powerful left hand seized his wrist and twisted the
revolver from it Then, still grasping the wrist, the lad wheeled on his
heel. The German left the spot where he had been standing as though
pulled by a locomot