“Now for a good, long coast down-grade,” said Bumpus, as though that pleasure would pay up in part for his recent labor; as he expressed it himself, “It helped take the bitter taste out of a fellow’s mouth, anyhow.”
“What were you limping about the last part of the way, Bumpus?” asked Allan, as they continued their journey, after reaching level ground again.
“Guess I must have worked too hard,” explained the other, with a grin, “because it seemed just like I’d strained my muscles some way. Feels some sore at that, and it’s lucky I don’t have to do any walking about now.”
“Thad, what would you call that thing away off yonder? Sometimes it disappears in among the fleecy clouds, and then comes out again. From here it makes me think of one of those big buzzards we used to watch soaring ever so high up, while we were down in Louisiana.”
Thad gave a steady look.
“It’s an aeroplane!” he told them positively.
Allan had apparently come to the same conclusion himself, for he instantly echoed the assertion of the patrol leader.
“No hawk about that, or buzzard either, if they have such things over here in Belgium,” he said. “See, there’s another of the same kind further on. They must be German Taube machines, and are being used to spy on the positions of the Belgian forces down below.”
All of them looked and wondered, as was quite natural, for although they had of course seen aeroplanes maneuver many times at county fairs and other places, this was their first experience at watching the evolutions of war machines doing scout duty.
“You see how valuable they are going to be in this war,” Thad remarked. “From a safe position thousands of feet above, the aviator can see every movement of troops, note the coming of reinforcements, take stock of the position of every battery of big guns, and by a code of signals inform his side just how to direct their fire in order to do the most execution.”