“Thanks to your good help,” he added. “Jinks, wish we could have been down in the battle,” Bob lamented.
“I say, didn’t you have enough of it?” the chief laughed. “It seems to me you were rather in the thick of things, you know. I expected any moment the blighters would turn their guns on your wings. They would have made their get-away if you had not let us know about the hole they were crawling through. Did Bradshaw tell you that it was fitted up like a war-time trench, with living quarters, periscopes and what-not?”
“Great guns—oh, what happened to Pedro?”
“He’s a perfectly good Canuck gone wrong. He’ll pay for his sins with the rest. A couple of them got away, and a few of the ones we caught are Americans.”
“Do you have to send them back?” Jim asked. He rather felt the fellows should take their punishment with their gang.
“Neither your government nor their families have shown any disposition to intervene in their behalf,” the chief smiled, then went on, “As a matter of fact, from their records in the States, I think your Department of Justice is likely to send us a vote of thanks for apprehending them.”
“I hope they do,” Jim responded. After that the courses went on merrily. There were jokes, jolly stories, no end of kidding back and forth, and finally the dessert was served. A few minutes later the chief rose.
“I promised our American friends that there would be no speeches tonight, so I’ve kept my word, but some of the boys will have a presentation. Stand up, you men of Texas, and take your medicine.”
The boys obeyed, and flushed crimson around their collars as the chief made his way to their places. He opened a small box which seemed to have some ribbons on the royal purple velvet surface. The man held them up and solemnly pinned one to each boy’s coat. Each medal was of two ribbons, the American flag and the British, arranged on a bar side by side, and suspended from them was the Mounty Insignia in the middle, a pair of wings, and from the wings hung a tiny basket.
“To the Flying Buddies”