And then, very suddenly, the fog cleared. A slope seemed to rise out of it. Lieutenant Adams banked sharply away from Tex’s Nieuport. His plane’s nose came down. Tex banked his plane, cut the throttle. Below was a fairly level field with very little fog on it. Even as the Nieuport glided downward, he saw the wheels and tail-skid of the other officer’s ship strike. And then he was stalling the tail-damaged ship. He was within ten feet of the earth when something snapped under the strain. The nose whipped downward. There was a grinding crash as the prop splintered into the earth. Tex tried to protect his head but failed. Something battered him backward. There was a flash of yellow light and then everything went black. * * * * * Tex Langdon recovered consciousness slowly. His head ached; he raised a hand to bandages wound about it. Slowly he blinked the dizziness away from his eyes, wet his oil-stained lips with the tip of his tongue. He looked around. He was propped up against the wreckage of a plane. There were khaki-clad figures moving in the mud of a field, against a back-ground of drifting fog. He turned his head slightly. The eyes of Lieutenant Adames smiled at him. “Feel rotten, ’eh? But you _do_ feel! That’s something.” Lieutenant Tex Langdon managed a painful grin. It was _more than_ something, he thought, It was everything. His blue eyes narrowed on Lieutenant Adams’ dark ones. “You--came back--” he muttered thickly. “You got--me--down here--” Adams grunted. “Didn’t quite do that Tex,” he stated grimly. “That tail-assembly of yours collapsed before you set her down. Figured this lope would have less fog and headed for it.” “You came back--” Tex persisted. “After you winged into the white stuff.” Lieutenant Adams swore softly. “You and I, Lieutenant--we’ve been acting up,” he said slowly. “You may crack up your own ships, but you cracked up two other ships, today! And you saved my neck. I couldn’t wing out on you, Tex. Figured I might be able to bank around, without the droop getting me into a slip. It was pretty rotten--winging out on you. Didn’t know, though, that you had a crippled ship.” Tex grinned feebly. “It was damn white--after what I’ve said to you, Adams--” he said slowly. “We’ve both been--pretty thick.” He fumbled for a cigaret, found two. Adams lighted them up. They inhaled appreciatively. “Pretty thick--” Lieutenant Adams was agreeing. “Sort of like--” He stopped, grinned broadly. Tex nodded. He raised his eyes slightly. “Like the ground fog, Adams,” he muttered. He closed his eyes. “But we--got out of it.” And Lieutenant Adams, smiling grimly, nodded his head. “We cleared up, Tex,” he muttered, “just about in time!” [Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January, 1929 issue of Triple-X Magazine.]