They tried cold water, brandy, and also some medicine Buck produced
from his own kitbag, but all to no apparent avail. Meantime the
explosions to the southward were increasing and, worse still, were
drawing nearer, though slowly.
"We got to get out of this," said Lafe at last. "While I put Stanley
back in the biplane yon draw as much of your petrol from your tank as
you can spare and put it in to mine."
"All righty oh! We got to get a move on, too. Look yonder!"
A bluish-green roll of flame was moving along the plain beyond the
forest, showing dimly above it certain flying specks that were
undoubtedly airplanes, but whether hostile or friendly was not apparent.
"Course it's Fritzy, Lafe," was Bangs' comment who, after aiding Blaine
to stow the wounded man as comfortably as possible in his own manhole,
was already at work replenishing the biplane's tank from his own. "To
be square, I'll divide up, giving you a leetle the most. We gotter to
get back -- eh?"
"If possible, yes. I don't hanker after a German prison camp. It
would sure kill Stanley, if he isn't dead already."
By the time they had their brief preparations completed, the fire,
steadily approaching, struck the edge of an opening through the woods
and suddenly burst into tremendous flame, with an accompanying report.
"Wait, Lafe," cautioned Buck, for both were in their seats.
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