“But when,” demanded George Harper, excitedly, “when did all this happen? I didn’t hear anything.”
“Nor I,” added Ollie, not without a sense of humor, even in the most trying situation, “and yet the evidence is pretty conclusive. Apparently it did happen, and right effectively, too.”
“Yes,” Harper admitted slowly, and then added: “I wonder whether we’d be classed as deserters or deserted?”
“I feel like I did the day of that race, when I—” Ollie began, but the rest was lost as he dodged suddenly to escape a well-aimed kick from the irritated Harper.
It required Tom’s diplomacy to restore peace and calm consideration of what they were to do in the situation confronting them.
“Only one thing to it, as I see it,” said George Harper at last, “and that is to head out toward the sound of those guns and just keep on until we come up with some of our own men.”
“Yes, just keep on going, that’s you,” Ollie answered, his mischievous nature again cropping out. “But how about your sense of direction?”
A tart reply which Harper already had phrased upon his lips remained unsaid as he abruptly pointed upward to where a big aeroplane was approaching them from out of the north. They stood silent as it came swiftly and majestically down the wind toward them.
“An American,” Tom announced at last, when able to make out the markings on the machine. “Wish he’d come down and give us our bearings.”
“Seems as if he was thinking of that himself,” said Ollie, as the ’plane nosed downward in its approach. “Maybe he’s got some engine trouble and is going to make a landing.”