At the same time this double movement somehow operated to
release Fritz's other arm.
By now, Orris, unconscious of the mischief his own upward shove had
caused, sheered his machine aside, still climbing upward and onward,
only to find three of the enemy scouts nearing rapidly and making ready
for an encounter.
Looking back, he saw, in the place of Blaine's leather cap and goggles,
a dimly shimmering twinkle of arms and legs flashing above the rim of
the open enclosure where the pilots sit.
"Great guns!" he ejaculated, his blood tingling with thrills. "That
chap has got loose and they're having it. What must I do?"
Even while these thoughts were flashing, he was working. He dared not
turn to Blaine's relief. He did not know yet if the sheaf thrown him
would fit his own machine gun. But first he must dip, circle, come up
underneath and try his luck.
As has been said, Orry was no novice. He had flown at the front for
months as one of the Lafayette Escadrille. Before that he had worked
his way up in aerial mechanics in the United States and also here in
France.
Even while diving, circling, swirling in mid air, ten thousand feet up,
he was adjusting the new sheaf to his own gun. Happily it fitted.
That was a good sign, and pirouetting, not unlike an expert dancer
executing a new turn, he dove aside and came up fairly behind the
nearest Boche.
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