The German had collapsed in his seat, to which, as has been said, he had strapped himself. His head lay on the rim, apparently a mass of streaming crimson. His machine, a renovated Fokker, was tipsily zigzagging along without any guidance except its stabilizer and its own momentum. To say the boy was half paralyzed at first is not too strong. But a revulsion swept through him in a flood. At the same time there came to his brain a vivid flash, reminding him that while thus desperately engaged for his own life, he had heard sounds of aerial battling somewhere in his rear. While he was making up his mind what to do next, the whir of speeding motors rose rapidly. Looking back, he saw the Death's Head flag waving from the nearest one and soon distinguished Blaine, apparently all right, but chugging away at top speed in Erwin's direction. Just now the Fokker with its dead occupant gave another side drop and, uninfluenced by the usual controls, came nearly to a standstill. It toppled again, then down it went earthward at increasing speed, carrying its occupant along. "Hey-you!" This from Blaine as he swept up and by, while rounding to. "Look behind! I dropped that chap -- the first one! But he's brought a lot of others. Let's make for home, boy!" Apparently it was too late without a further scrimmage, for no less than half a dozen Boche planes were swooping around their rear, some already within range. In maneuvering into position Blaine again picked up his megaphone, saying: "I saw you drop those chaps. Oh, you Orry! Here we go -- right for some more of them! Whoopee!" It seemed little short of blasphemy -- this uproarious spirit, in the face of the odds gathering in behind. But Blaine was built that way. Danger, the closer and more menacing, instead of rousing fear, nerved him to his best or, as it might turn out, worst. "Where's your prisoner?" shouted Erwin. "I feared he'd get you." "Nit, old man! I got hold of a monkey-wrench and knocked him cold. But he was game, you bet!" "Where is he then?" "Cold and stiff under my feet. Watch out, Orry!" Megaphones cast aside, both Americans now addressed themselves to the desperate task of fighting these new assailants and reaching their own lines. But in the first firing that ensued Erwin's Lewis gun suddenly jammed. This was probably one result of his having to use the German-made ammunition tossed to him earlier by Blaine, when his own had been exhausted. He signaled to his partner: "Gun jammed! Must cut for home -- understand?" "All right! Go up - up -" A burst of flame from Blaine's machine, and the toppling down of the nearest adversary was the first result of this new encounter. Evidently that flag waving from Blaine's captured plane had fooled the Boches again. Down, down went the hostile machine, its pilot frantically but ineffectually trying to right himself.