urse, looking down from a
great height upon scores of little mountain villages, untouched by
war. After weeks of flying over the desolation of more northerly
sectors of the front, this little indulgence seemed to me quite a
legitimate one.

But my Spad (I was always flying tired old _avions_ in those days, the
discards of older pilots) began to show signs of fatigue. The pressure
went down. Neither motor nor hand pump would function, the engine
began to gasp, and, although I instantly switched on to my reserve
tank, it expired with shuddering coughs. The propeller, after making a
few spins in the reverse direction, stopped dead.

I had been in a most comfortable frame of mind all the way, for a long
cross-country aerial journey, well behind the zone of fire, is a
welcome relaxation after combat patrols. It is odd how quickly one's
attitude toward rugged, beautiful country changes, when one is faced
with the necessity of finding landing-ground there. The steep ravines
yawn like mouths. The peaks of the mountains are teeth--ragged,
sinister-looking teeth. Being at five thousand metres I had ample time
in which to make a choice--ample time, too, for wondering if, by a
miscalculation, I had crossed the trench lines, which in that region
are hardly visible from the air.

I searched anxiously for a wide valley where it would be possible to
land in safety. While still three thousand metres from the ground I
found one. Not only a field. There were _bessonneau_ hangars on it. An
aerodrome! A moment of joy,--"but German, perhaps!"--followed by
another of anxiety. It was quickly relieved by the sight of a French
reconnaissance plane spiraling down for a landing. I landed, too, and
found that I was only a ten-minutes' flight from my destination.

* * * * *

With other work to do, I did not finish the story of my adventure with
the camouflaged cows, and I am wondering now why I thought it such a
corking one. The cows had something to do with it. We were returning
from Belfort to Verdun when I met them. Our special duty had been to
furnish aerial protection to the King of Italy, who was visiting the
French lines in the Vosges. This done we started northward again. Over
the highest of the mountains my motor pump failed as before. I got
well past the mountains before the essence in my reserve tank gave
out. Then I planed as flatly as possible, searching for another
aviation field. There were none to