very low--two hundred feet, I should say," said Langton behind him.
"Hope he's no pills left. I wonder whether there's another. Let's have a
look the other side."

He had scarcely got up to cross the compartment when the rattle of a
machine-gun very near broke out. "Our fellows, likely," he exclaimed
excitedly, struggling with the sash, but they knew the truth almost as he
spoke.

Langton ducked back. A plane on the other side was deliberately flying up
the train, machine-gunning. "Down, padre, for God's sake!" he exclaimed,
and threw himself on the floor.

Peter couldn't move. He heard the splintering of glass and a rending of
woodwork, some oaths, and a sudden cry. The whirr of an engine filled his
ears and seemed, as it were, on top of them. Then there was a crash all
but at his side, and next instant a half-smothered groan and a dreadful
gasp for breath.

He couldn't speak. He heard Langton say, "Hit, anyone?" and then Jenks'
"They've got me, skipper," in a muffled whisper, and he noticed that the
hard breathing had ceased. At that he found strength and voice and jumped
up. He bent over Jenks. "Where have you got it, old man?" he said, and
hardly realised that it was himself speaking.

The other was lying just as before, on his back, but he had pulled his
knees up convulsively and a rug had slipped off. In a flare Peter saw
beads of sweat on his forehead and a white, twisted face.

He choked back panic and knelt down. He had imagined it all before, and
yet not quite like this. He knew what he ought to say, but for a minute
he could not formulate it. "Where are you hit, Jenks?" was all he said.

The other turned his head a little and looked at him. "Body--lungs, I
think," he whispered. "I'm done, padre; I've seen chaps before."

The words trailed off. Peter gripped himself mentally, and steadied his
voice. "Jenks, old man," he said. "Just a minute. Think about God--you
are going to Him, you know. Trust Him, will you? 'The blood of Jesus
Christ, God's Son, saveth us from all sin.'"

The dying man, moved his hand convulsively. "Don't you worry, padre," he
said faintly; "I've been--confirmed." The lips tightened a second with
pain, and then: "Reckon I won't--shirk. Have you--got--a cigarette?"

Peter felt quickly for his case, fumbled and dropped one, then got
another into his fingers. He hesitated a second, and then, put it to his
own lips, struck a match, and puffed at it. He was in the act of holding
it t