He seemed to be going
down, down -- where?
Then a terrific shock, and all consciousness left him. The shock
seemed to drive from him all notion of anything or anybody. He knew
nothing, nothing - nothing --
When at last Orris Erwin again knew that he was in the land of the
living he was in a base hospital behind the front, and not far from his
own aerodrome. His shoulder was in bandages. His left arm was in
splints, but not painful. What seemed to be other bandages swathed his
lower legs. Altogether he felt himself to be in pretty bad shape.
Then appeared Sergeant Anson who, seeing that Erwin was now awake and
sensible, paused, a dry grin upon his weather-worn visage.
"Huh! Where's that Bleriot you or Blaine were to bring back?"
But the smile that accompanied this was not condemnatory by any means.
"I stuck to it, sir, long as I could stick to anything. How do I
happen to be trussed up this way here?"
For a first reply the Sergeant threw back his head and gave vent to a
real laugh. Then he patted Orry's curly head gently.
"You'll know in due time, youngster! Where's your pilot, Lafe Blaine?"
"Isn't Blaine back, too, and in that Death's Head Boche plane he -- we
took from them back of their lines? As for the Bleriot, I was in it
last I remember."
Here the door of the ward opened, and who should walk in but Blaine
himself, with Monsieur Cheval following.
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