“Goodness! How could he get out?”
Jessie was ahead. She ran to the far side of the heap of rubbish that was the collapsed aeroplane. There seemed no part of the machine left intact. And just as the girls reached the spot a curl of smoke ascended from the midst of the wreck.
“It’s on fire! Oh, Amy, the thing will be burned up! And the poor man!”
“Oh, he mustn’t!” groaned Amy.
Jessie suddenly saw an arm sticking out from under some of the lighter wreckage. It was clothed in the olive-drab uniform coat of an aviator. She seized the gauntleted hand and began to tug with all her strength.
“Where are you going, Amy?” she cried. “Come and help me.”
“Going to get the lawn hose. We’ll put out the fire, Jess.”
“But let’s get this man out first. He may roast while you are wetting down the plane with the hose.”
This seemed practical even to Amy. She lent her strength to Jessie’s and fortunately they were able to drag the unconscious pilot forth. He wore the usual helmet, the tabs of which were fastened over his ears. It was plain that he had been up to a high altitude before making this unfortunate swoop that had ended so disastrously.
“Is he dead? Oh! is he dead?” murmured Jessie Norwood.