“You’ll get a cracked head for this,” hissed Max, when the lieutenant and the big airman had passed out of hearing.
Billy, to whom the threat was addressed, did not understand the words, but he guessed from the attitude of the threatener that something ugly was intended.
So Billy, who never counted fear a burden worth the bother, simply grinned, turned, and went on with his work of tuning the biplane.
Henri, tinkering at the motor end of the machine, looked up just in time to see Max, wrench in hand, poised to strike at the back of Billy’s head.
“Look out, Billy!”
The warning cry from Henri saved Billy from a stunning blow on the head, but he caught the jolt from the wrench on his right shoulder, as he swiftly faced about.
With a good left uninjured, however, Billy gave Max a short-arm jab in the neck, at the chin, that tumbled the would-be slugger upon the packed earth floor of the hangar.
“Good arm!” exclaimed Henri. “But how about the other?”
With the question, Henri gently worked his comrade’s right arm up and down to see if there was any hitch in the shoulder where the wrench had landed.
“Not a chance for a surgeon,” assured Billy. “Just a little numb—that’s all.”