her I got him, or whether he got frightened and
went down to fool me," thought Tom. "Anyhow they're both out of the way,
and I can go after the balloon."

But Tom could not, for two reasons. One was that the wound in his hand
was bleeding profusely, and he knew it ought to be attended to before he
was incapacitated. Another was that the balloon was being hauled down,
and as more French planes were in the air now, making a number superior
to the Huns, the latter turned tail and retreated.

It was inadvisable to follow them over their own lines now, and the
squadron, or what was left of it, began to retreat. Tom noted the
absence of three of the French planes, and among the missing was Jack's.

"I wonder if they got him," Tom mused, his heart becoming like lead. His
eyes sought the air about him, but Jack's machine, which carried a
little United States flag where it could easily be seen, was not in
sight.

It was impossible to get any information up in the air. Tom would have
to wait until they got back to the aerodrome. And he put on speed to get
there the sooner, in order to end his suspense.

"And the other brave fellows--I wonder what happened to them," mused
Tom. In his worry over the fate of Jack and the others he scarcely
minded the pain in his hand.

He made a good landing, but being rather weak and faint from loss of
blood, he scarcely heeded the congratulations of his comrades, who had
received word, by telephone from the front, of the fate of some of the
Hun machines. "Where's Jack?" Tom gasped, while a surgeon was putting a
bandage on his hand.

"Right here, old scout!" came the unexpected answer, and Jack himself
stepped out from amid a throng of airmen. "Why didn't you wait for me?"
Jack went on. "I was coming back."

"Coming back? Did you come down safely?" asked Tom, beginning to feel a
little better now. Then Tom realized the futility of his question, for
was not Jack there in the flesh?

"Of course I came back, old scout," was the answer. "I had hard luck,
though, but I'd have gone up again if they'd only waited for me."

"What happened?" asked Tom.

"Oh, just after I potted my man--or at least sent him down out of
control--I got a bullet through my gasolene tank. Luckily it didn't set
the petrol on fire, but I knew I'd better not take any chances. I tried
to plug up the puncture with some chewing gum, but it wouldn't work.
Guess the gum they sell now hasn't as much old rubber boot stock in