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“That’s all we can do for you just now,” he told the aviator, after completing the job. “As one of those other machines might sail over this way at any minute to see what has become of you, if you’re wise, you’ll hurry and hide somewhere so they won’t see you.”

“I thank you very much,” said the man, evidently impressed with the kindness shown by the two American boys.

“Oh, don’t mention it,” remarked Amos, lightly. “We’re supposed to be friends of all parties to this scrap. I’ve got a German chum at home I think heaps of, and his name is Herman Lange. Good-bye, and I want to say you put up a rattling good fight as long as it lasted.”

Perhaps the other did not wholly understand all of Amos’ remarks, but he knew the boy was saying nice things about his recent performance, so he smiled, and insisted on shaking hands with them both.

The last they saw of him he was making for a heavy growth of brush as though intending to profit by the advice given by the long-headed Western boy, by lying low until the day was spent, when it would be safe for him to be abroad.