"That is be up to now?" wondered the youth, for the Boche was half
rising in his seat, as if trying to lift something behind. "Hullo!
Blame me if he ain't trying to oust his dead mate!"
This was exactly what the Boche pilot was trying to do. But for some
reason, not at first apparent, the man had difficulties. At last, by
letting go with both hands of wheel and controls, half turning in his
seat, Erwin saw him lift up the body of the observer and attempt to
fling it overboard. But even that was hindered for a moment, and in a
way that filled the watchful American with horror and disgust.
Already the seemingly inanimate body was sliding over the sloping side
of the car, when Orris saw a hand stretch forth, seize the pilot's
extended arm and hang thus, half dangling over the side, the legs
kicking feebly.
"Why, his mate's alive!" almost shouted the American, more shaken by
this exhibition than anything that had hitherto happened to him in his
short but risky campaign along the West Front.
"Hey, there! You beast -- you villain!" Almost insanely Erwin was
shouting, for he was convulsed by a fury that made him for the time
being oblivious to the fact that he was too far away to be heard by any
one but himself.
For another instant the half alive man hung on, then was shaken loose.
Down he came, passing rather close to the scouting pursuer, his arms
and legs still working convulsively, and so on down to his inevitable
fate.
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