th his eyes
searching the heavens above and below. A thousand feet beneath him was a
straggling wisp of cloud, so tenuous that you saw the earth through its
bulk. Above was a smaller cloud, not so transparent, but too thin to
afford a lurking place for his enemy.

Tam was waiting for that famous gentleman, the "Sausage-Killer," the
sworn foe of all "O. B.'s."

He paid little attention to the flaming lines because the
"Sausage-Killer" never came direct from his aerodrome. You would see him
streaking across the sky, apparently on his urgent way to the sea bases
and oblivious of the existence of Observation Balloons.

Then he would turn, as though he had forgotten his passport and railway
ticket and must go home quickly to get them. And before anybody realized
what was happening, he would be diving straight down at the straining
gas-bags, his tracer bullets would be ranging the line, and from every
car would jump tiny black figures. You saw them falling straight as
plummets till their parachutes took the air and opened. And there would
be a great blazing and burning of balloons, frantic work at the winches
which pulled them to earth, and the ballooning section would send
messages to the aerodrome whose duty it was to protect them, apologizing
for awakening the squadron from its beauty sleep, but begging to report
that hostile aircraft had arrived, had performed its dirty work and had
departed with apparent immunity.

The "Sausage-Killer" was due at 11.20, and at 11.18 Tam saw one solitary
airplane sweep wide of the balloon park, and turn on a course which
would bring him along the line of the O. B.'s. Apparently, the
"Sausage-Killer" was not so blessed in the matter of sight as Tam, for
the scout was on his tail and was pumping nickel through his tractor's
screw before the destroyer of innocent gas-bags realized what had
happened.

"It was a noble end," said Tam after he had landed, "and A'm no' so sure
that he would have cared to be coonted oot in any other saircumstances;
for the shepherd likes to die amongst his sheep and the captain on his
bridge, and this puir feller was verra content, A've no doot, to crash
under the een of his wee--"

"Did you kill him, Tam?" asked Blackie.

"A'm no' so sure he's deid in the corporeal sense," said Tam
cautiously, "but he is removed from the roll of effectives."

So far from being dead, the "Sausage-Killer," who, appropriately enough,
was ludicrously like a young butcher, w