As he landed he caught sight of a fallen airplane in an adjoining field. A little group of four or five men were gathered about it. Von Arnheim, Bob thought, not realizing that his course had been confined to a small circle in the past few moments. He climbed out and began running toward the group in search of information. Passing through a line of shell-torn poplars he came upon Larry Eaton’s plane resting at the edge of the field. The next minute Larry himself left the others and came toward him. Bob looked again at the wrecked monoplane beyond, and saw that it was Jourdin’s.
Larry slowly nodded in answer to Bob’s sad, questioning glance. “He’s dead, Bob. He was dead before he fell. He had no other injury when they lifted him out.”
In silence Bob drew near and stood by the body of his friend where it lay upon the grass. They had taken off his helmet, and Jourdin’s fine face looked calm and peaceful in its utter repose. The officers and mechanicians gathered about him gave tribute of their grief in downcast looks and gloomy silence. At Bob’s approach a flash of satisfaction lighted their eyes for the swift retribution he had meted to Von Arnheim. The officer beside him murmured some words of congratulation and sympathy, but Bob could only nod in answer. He was not ashamed of the tears that rushed to his eyes as he knelt bareheaded at Jourdin’s side. He thought of the fight above Argenton, and of the words that had come to his mind that day, as Jourdin stood looking at the ruined countryside:
“We may go under, but not in vain——”
Not in vain, while America was free and had men left to fight. At that moment, as never before, Bob felt his consecration to the cause that he upheld. Jourdin’s faith and deathless courage became part of him.
As he rose unsteadily to his feet, Larry Eaton flung an arm about his shoulders and drew him a little to one side.
“You’re wounded, Bob,” he said anxiously. “Let me look.”
“It’s nothing,” said Bob, showing the hand he had concealed in his flying-coat. “I don’t even feel it.”
“It’s bleeding, all the same. I’ll tie it up for you.”
Under Larry’s commonplace words Bob felt such genuine friendly sympathy that he was dumbly grateful. Larry was just a boy like himself who had left Yale to join the army when Bob had left West Point. Their thoughts and feelings had much in common. He held out his hand and let his companion dress the slight wound that caused the bleeding.