iled by the vigilant German scouts
from executing his vengeance.

Tam had recently received from home a goodly batch of that literature
which was his peculiar joy. He sat in his bunk on the night of his
second adventure with the bad-mannered airman, turned the lurid cover of
"The Seven Warnings: The Story of a Cowboy's Vengeance," and settled
himself down to that "good, long read" which was his chiefest and,
indeed, his only recreation. He began reading at the little pine table.
He continued curled up in the big armchair--retrieved from the attic of
the shell-battered Chateau d'Enghien. He concluded the great work
sitting cross-legged on his bed, and the very restlessness which the
story provoked was a sure sign of its gripping interest.

And when he had finished the little work of thirty-two pages, he turned
back and read parts all over again, a terrific compliment to the shy and
retiring author. He closed the book with a long sigh, sat upon his bed
for half an hour and then went back to the pine table, took out from the
debris of one of the drawers a bottle of ink, a pen and some notepaper
and wrote laboriously and carefully, ending the seven or eight lines of
writing with a very respectable representation of a skull and
cross-bones.

When he had finished, he drew an envelope toward him and sat looking at
it for five minutes. He scratched his head and he scratched his chin and
laid down his pen.

It was eleven o'clock, and the mess would still be sitting engaged in
discussion. He put out the light and made his way across the darkened
aerodrome.

Blackie saw him in the anteroom, for Tam enjoyed the privilege of entree
at all times.

"His name? It's very curious you should ask that question, Tam," smiled
Blackie; "we've just had a message through from Intelligence. One of his
squadron has been brought down by the Creepers, and they are so sick
about him that this fellow who was caught by the Creepers gave him away.
His name is von Mahl, the son of a very rich pal of the Kaiser, and a
real bad egg."

"Von Mahl," repeated Tam slowly, "and he will be belongin' to the
Roulers lot, A'm thinkin'?"

Blackie nodded.

"They complain bitterly that he is not a gentleman," he said, "and they
would kick him out but for the fact that he has this influence. Why did
you want to know?"

"Sir-r," said Tam solemnly, "I ha'e a grand stunt."

He went back to his room and addressed the envelope:

"Mr. von Mahl."

*