[CHAPTER XX.]
WINNING OF THE IRON CROSS.
The aviators in the party of Roten were all for sailing, post-haste, to the slope where the mysterious climbers had been sighted, and very shortly the little fleet was in the air, headed that way.
Flying low, the observers kept a sharp lookout for the near appearance of the man with the burden and the "shorter fellow."
Roque caught the first glimpse, and called to his pilot to risk a look for himself. Billy had only a side glance, as the machine rounded the summit, but that was enough for him.
"It's Henri and Schneider, or their ghosts!" he shouted.
Roque fixed his glasses for the close view.
"As sure as shooting it is, but how in the world did they get here?"
Billy had no ear for this—he was for landing right there, even with a chance of plowing through the bushes. However, reason ruled, and he steered for a clearing, into which the biplane promptly plumped.
Hardly waiting until the machine had run its length, the boy was out and speeding to greet his chum.
It was a regular collision, the manner in which the youngsters came together.