"Don't try to get our attention off the chap behind us like that, Ned!" protested Jimmie. "If he shoots again, I'll get sore!"
Evidently the aviator in the monoplane divined their intention of landing, for he fired no more shots, but contented himself with following closely in their wake, although keeping slightly above them.
In a short time Ned had brought the Grey Eagle gently to earth in a vacant field beside the buildings indicated by Jimmie.
The monoplane was circling slowly about, evidently in an effort to make a good landing. The pilot did not seem to be sure of his ground.
Directly the machine had reached the earth, however, the pilot, accompanied by another person, leaped from the machine and with a drawn revolver in his right hand walked rapidly toward the boys.
"What uniform is that he's wearing?" questioned Jimmie.
"I don't know. Possibly that of the French Aviation Corps."
As the two men neared the Grey Eagle the one in uniform addressed the lads in French. They shook their heads to indicate that they did not understand. At this he addressed his companion.
With the stoop of his slender frame accentuated by the sloping shoulders, his quick, shifty movements of the hands and hurried glances from small, beady black eyes, the other man did not compare favorably with the erect carriage and frank, honest appearance of the man in uniform. Jimmie tapped Ned excitedly on the arm.
"I've got his number!" he whispered eagerly. "That's The Rat or I'm a Dutchman! Look at his chopped-off chin and peaked nose."