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“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.