“But surely all of them are not German Taubes, Jack? I can see some that look different in build.”
“Those belong to the Allies,” Jack declared with conviction.
“But how is it they chase around, often close together, without interfering with each other?”
“I suppose that’s because they’re all too busy now sending information of great value to bother with their own little rivalry. Though it may be they take an occasional crack at each other in passing.”
Amos had conceived a sudden startling thought, and he watched the evolutions of the rising and falling aeroplanes with additional interest. It could easily be noticed, however, that the machines of the Allies monopolized his attention.
“Oh! I wonder if one of them could be my brother Frank,” Jack heard him saying presently.
“It’s one chance in ten he’s working up there right before our eyes,” the Western boy admitted.
After that Amos could hardly tear his eyes from the darting aeroplanes. When he saw little puffs of white smoke breaking close to one of them and knew that this must be shrapnel shells sent from anti-air craft German guns, his heart seemed almost in his throat with sudden anxiety.
“Oh! that would be too cruel!” he exclaimed. “If I came all the way over here to find my brother, only to see him shot down before my very eyes.”
“Don’t think of it,” Jack told him. “Chances are those are British airmen, and Frank may be far away from here.”