Without another word Byers accompanied the orderly out to a point near the observation post, and almost instantly they heard the whir of approaching wings, evidently spiraling down from greater heights. "Give him a light lad." said Byers to the orderly. "He knows where we are, but in this black night he might hit some building or the fence. Down on the gravel ran the assistant, followed by Byers, who saw the flare go up. In a minute a tattered triplane emerged into the light and made an easy landing not far from where the unconscious Stanley had previously been carried from his Fokker to the casual dormitory. Almost before they reached it two of the night watch among the mechanics arrived and lifted out our old friend Buck Bangs from Idaho. He was unconscious, the cause being a body bullet wound on the right side, the bullet being later found bedded in the back of the seat in his Nieuport. The machine was riddled even worse than Stanley's Fokker, but fortunately not in any vital parts, nor had the planes, though perforated like a sieve in many spots, been injured in any way to impair their vitality for the frames and joints were all right. "Take him up to the Casual Dormitory boys," ordered Byers. "Careful! We don't know how badly he is hurt." Up they bore him, leaving the machine where it stood. Into the dormitory he was carried and laid on a vacant bed near the now recovering Stanley. The latter had shown signs of resuscitation and now, as they bore in poor Buck, his head hanging helplessly, his limbs limp and unstrung, Stanley opened his eyes for the first time. They fell upon Buck, on whom the full light happened to shine brightly. "Buck -- there's Buck!" gasped the wounded observer. "Where'd he come from?" At this instant Vella, happening to glance up, saw Buck's pallid face as it rested on the arm of one of his supporters who was helping to place him on the ready cot. She gave a convulsive gasp, seized Andra by the arm and pushed forward, hardly sensible of where she was, but only that this youth from the State next to her own was apparently fatally stricken. "Stay with me, Andra," she murmured. "I may faint. I don't want to say! Is he alive? Oh, Andra; does he live?" Fully alive to the peculiar exigencies of the situation, and deeply sympathizing with Avella, Andra clung to and supported her sister until both were themselves again. Thereafter they watched, helped when they could, and as a rule kept as quiet as mice. It was really a ticklish situation for two young girls, both among the elite of official society in Washington, though transferred of their own volition to strange scenes and duties in this foreign land. Sisterly always, they now clung together more than usual. "Is -- is poor Buck dead?" asked Stanley, gaining strength with each word. "He left us to raid some more Boches and -- and get help."