“Yes, I wouldn’t feel right unless we did that,” agreed Amos, who possessed a tender heart, and had once upon a time subscribed to the rules governing the conduct of the Boy Scouts of America. They were quickly on the spot, and looking to the right and the left in the endeavor to locate the stricken aviator. “There he is, Jack!” said Amos, suddenly, gripping the arm of his chum as he spoke. “Down on his hands and knees, too, as if he might be searching for something he had lost. Shall we go closer and see if he’s badly hurt? I think we ought to do what little we can for the plucky chap.” Evidently this was what Jack had in mind, for he immediately started forward. The Taube pilot heard them coming and looked up. His face was streaked with blood and dirt, and altogether he presented a sad picture. At sight of two boys approaching him instead of grown men garbed in the khaki of British soldiers, he seemed astonished. If he had intended to draw a weapon and sell his life dearly he changed his mind, for now he was holding up both hands. To the ranch boy that was an old and familiar sign of surrender. He had seen it used on many occasions during his experience in the West. “Do you understand English?” was the first thing Jack asked as he and Amos drew near the wounded airman, still kneeling there. The other nodded his head in the affirmative. He was eying them suspiciously, as though he could not understand who and what they were, for English boys were not supposed to form a part of the army sent across the Channel. “I haf knowledge of the language if I cannot speak same much,” he told them. “Well, first of all, we’re American boys, not English, you understand. We’re wanting to look after your wounds, if you care to let us,” Jack went on to say, at the same time smiling pleasantly. “Is it to be a prisoner you mean?” demanded the birdman, suspiciously. “Not as far as we’re concerned,” Jack hastened to assure him. “After we’ve fixed you up you can go your way for all of us; though you would do well to hide until night comes along, before trying to make your own lines. Now, we’re in something of a hurry, so let’s look you over.” He went about doing so with a business-like air that was convincing. The wrecked air-pilot may have been loth at first to let mere boys try to attend to his hurts, but he soon realized his mistake, and submitted willingly. There were numerous scratches and small contusions, but these amounted to little, and, after being washed with some water Jack carried in a canteen, could be left to time to heal. The worst thing was a fractured left arm, which must have been very painful, though the man never uttered a groan when Jack dexterously set the bones and bound it up as best he could.