"There, I saw what looked like a decent spot, Tom—we just passed it by on the right. Try to turn around, and we'll look it over again as we go. Seemed plenty big enough, I thought, though I'd like to have a second peep before we decide to try to land."
This time Tom, too, used his eyes to good advantage, and hardly had they swung past before Jack was asking, in rather subdued tones now:
"How about it, Tom? Think we can make the riffle all right, in this poor light?"
Tom did not hesitate to answer this important question.
"I'm willing to try, Jack. If we're carrying our usual luck we'll land so easy we could hardly break an egg between us. Be ready for your part of the game now."
Jack waited, with his nerves all a-tremble. He knew that everything must depend on Tom's success in effecting a safe landing. Any breakage might upset all their plans, and possibly result in their ultimate capture by the Huns; for when morning came they would have to expose themselves in seeking food, and once they were identified as Americans they would soon be run down.
If ever Tom had reason to exert himself to the utmost in order to make a safe landing, it was then. He came up in the face of what little breeze was stirring, just as a bird invariably alights against the wind, and not with it.
Jack held his breath. Nearer and still nearer they dropped. Now he felt the rubber-tired wheels under the plane strike the ground lightly. They were actually rolling along, jolting more or less, it was true, but nothing so very unusual after all.
With a slight jar the plane came to a sudden stop. Jack, who had freed himself from his safety belt in preparation for this moment, was over like a flash; but although there was a slight slant to the ground the plane displayed no inclination to run backwards.
"Beautifully done," Jack hastened to say.