“You see, sir, we thought it was no more than fair, after what they had both done--discovered those Heinies inside our lines signaling to the boche balloon and it signaling back to them. This fellow inside that got his must have landed on ’em first, afoot, and they did him up. Then the young chap, he went ’em one better and I never seen a prettier fight. We seen it from the little hill.” “Did the German spies get away?” asked the surgeon. “Only one did, and I think he’ll get stopped. They must have seen it from the woods. He made a run fer his car and jumped into it; it’s the speediest thing ever, I reckon. He was out of sight quicker’n a scared cootie, going for the woods. But the kid he got the other one; the one, he says, that hit the pink-cheeked lad.” “How did he get him?” “Shot him. Let him have it like Pete the Plugger would ’a’ done. Yes, sir! The kid’s car run right along to about fifty yards of the bushes where they was hid and the kid jumped out; right off they began shootin’ at him and he pulls a gun out of his Red Cross car as calm and as deliberate as if he was after prairie chicken and knowed he was goin’ to get ’em, and commenced shootin’. They skinned for their car and one of ’em gets in and gets her goin’, but the other one he turns round to take another shot at the kid who was kneelin’ down and lettin’ ’em have it proper and the feller keels over and the one in the car he skids off. I reckon the kid he jest about filled that there car full of lead, but the feller he got away, though if he wasn’t hurt it’s a wonder!” “The lad is sure one scrapper, eh?” The surgeon was much tickled and slapped his leg at the realistic narrative of the ambulancier.