Above them, as a protecting layer, flew Larkin with his flight,
and still above them, much higher, were the French Spads.

This state of affairs could not last long, McGee knew. It was only a
question of time until German planes would come up and accept the gage
of battle. It was a situation, therefore, calling for the greatest
effort possible in the shortest length of time.

Every movement below offered positive proof that the enemy were
concentrating in the direction of Chateau-Thierry, and if they were in
fact making a thrust to the eastward it was only to draw attention from
the real objective.

For once McGee decided to disregard the Major's orders and, instead of
proceeding to Dormans, swing back and do all he could at the bridgeheads
at Chateau-Thierry.

He swung around, and as he banked caught sight of seven or eight German
planes coming up from the northwest. He looked aloft. The Spads had seen
them, too, and were closing in.

McGee began climbing, and noted with satisfaction that Larkin, on the
alert, was waggling his wings as a signal that he too had seen them and
was prepared.

Then, for apparently no reason at all, Siddons cut out of the flight and
started streaking it for the lines.

For a brief moment McGee felt a burning desire to take after him and
turn his guns loose on him.

"Traitorous hound!" he muttered to himself. "I wondered how you could
follow when we were strafing those troops. I'll bet anything he never
warmed his guns. Of course he wouldn't!"

But just now there was business at hand more urgent than chasing after a
man whom he felt sure was both a traitor and a coward.

Above him the Spads were engaged in a merry dog fight with the German
Albatrosses. But two of the Germans had somehow eluded them and were
diving down on Larkin's flight.

The action of the next moment was too swift for words. The two
Albatrosses came bravely on, scorning the odds against them. Larkin's
plane engaged the first one, but the second one got in a lucky burst
that sent one of the Nieuports nosing down in a disabled effort to make
a safe landing. And perhaps the luckless pilot could have saved his life
to spend the rest of the war in a German prison camp but for the fact
that the German who had crippled him, tasting blood, wanted a more
complete victory. Down, down, he followed the plane, spitting lead at
the poor pilot who seemed unable to think of anything except getting to
the earth.

As the plan