e they feel their cause to be."

"Guess you're right, Tom. I humbly apologize to the wolf," chuckled the
other quickly. "He's had a bad name out West, but on the whole those
cow-punchers must call him a clean fighter alongside some of these
Huns."

"Well, here we are at the field," observed Tom. "Now I'm waiting to be
shown, if I'm not from Missouri. And, Harry, understand that I'm open to
conviction. If I find that you've got something wonderful here, I'll
frankly acknowledge the fact, and eat humble pie."

"I know you will. That's why I'm so eager to show you what a fine thing
my friend Jason has got up in this little trick. My hangar lies over
this way. Come along and----"

Harry stopped in the middle of the sentence, stopped walking too, and
laid a hand on his companion's arm.

"What did you see?" asked Tom in a whisper; for somehow he sensed the
fact that Harry had made some sort of discovery calculated to thrill
them both.

"Stand still, Tom!" hissed the other. "I didn't like the way that chap
dodged down over there. Couldn't have been one of the guards, for they
stick to their posts. I wonder now if one of those Boche planes dropped
a spy close to our field here!"

The idea was in line with Tom's reasoning. According to his mind the
Germans were getting desperate, and ready to attempt the rashest of
enterprises in the hope of checking this daily advance of the Yankees
under Pershing.

As much of the success of the latter depended on the work of their
flying squads in discovering the hidden machine-gun nests, and betraying
their position to the gunners, it stood to reason that the Germans felt
an ever growing hatred toward the airmen. Hence that night raid which
had been so neatly parried. Yes, Tom could easily believe what his
comrade suggested.

"Show me where you saw the sneak, Harry," he pleaded, as they continued
to crouch in the semi-gloom; for after that recent attack from the skies
almost every light about the aviation field had been extinguished, and
they felt obliged to depend on the stars to show them where the various
hangars lay.

"Notice that extra high hangar over there," came the soft reply. "That's
Beresford's, you know, where he keeps his monster four-man plane. The
Huns may have got wind of something unusual, and are plotting to destroy
his jumbo aircraft before he smothers them in a fight. There, did you
see that again?"

"It was a man slipping across from one shadow to another,