They were barely four hundred feet above the earth now, and the continued firing of the German guns behind them seemed to indicate that in the misty atmosphere the enemy had not seen their descent and was still searching for them in the heights.
"All right, pretty good place—down we go," said Benton, peering out ahead. In another moment the machine touched the grass of the meadow and coasted along it to the shelter of a little grove of firs near the farther end.
"Somewhere in France," remarked Benton grimly, taking off his goggles and staring around him. "Only it begins to look more like somewhere in Germany."
"There's nobody in sight," said Bob, stepping out on to the grass. "I should think we were several miles north of the village."
"Not more than two," declared Benton, taking off his gloves and turning up the ear flaps of his helmet preparatory to bending over the engine. He took another swift glance around, frowning. "They may have seen us come down and they may not, but we'll have to take it for granted that they didn't, and do our work with that idea. If the trouble is in the feed pipe, as I think it is, we ought to make repairs in an hour or two. It isn't but ten o'clock now." He looked up at the sun, which was dimly visible through the heavy clouds. "If it will only stay thick and hazy we'll have a fair chance of escaping notice in case any one happens along in this field."
"There's a house behind those trees," said Bob doubtfully, nodding toward the woods on their right. "It looks like a farmer's cottage. You can't see it now, but I caught sight of the chimney while we were making our landing."
"Well, it can't be helped," said Benton coolly. "Our only chance is to fix up and get away before they see us."
He had his tools out and was ready to engross himself in the task before him. Not for nothing had this famous pilot been brought up on a Wyoming cattle ranch, where calm thought and quick action had saved his life more than once in his boy-hood. With a strong probability of never finishing his repairs he set to work with as matter-of-fact thoroughness as though he were in his own air-drome.
"Come on, Gordon—unscrew these unions for me," he ordered, tossing a tool in Bob's direction.
Bob was feeling, to say the least of it, rather excited. During his three months of service abroad he had not yet come face to face with a German soldier otherwise than disarmed and a prisoner. He had encountered plenty of shell and rifle fire in his flights over the enemy trenches, but that was his nearest approach to the battle-field. Now, as he peered around the meadow, over which the mist still lingered, he half expected to see a crowd of armed Prussians bursting at him from among the trees, and his heart beat a most unhero-like tattoo as he turned to the airplane and began unscrewing with nervous haste.