"What's happened to you?" called out the alarmed Tom, on seeing that the
other was binding his handkerchief about his head.

"Another scratch, that's all," replied Jack, as though that were only a
matter of course, to be expected when modern knights of the upper air
currents sallied forth bent on adventure. "A miss is as good as a mile,
you know, Tom. And I guess I have a hard head in the bargain. It's all
right, nothing to worry over. Fortunately it didn't strike me in the
face, and mar my beauty any."

Jack could joke under almost any serious conditions; but Tom felt
relieved to know the worst. They were at the time back again in their
appointed place, tailing the procession.

Counting again as best he could, Jack discovered that there were only
seven of the battleplanes in the double line now. It looked very much as
though the loss of the big bomber was not the only penalty they had paid
for their daring raid. But no doubt the story would all be told after the
flight was over and the various pilots and observers could get together
to compare notes.

Again were they subjected to a bombardment when they sailed over the
German front lines; but this time, taking a lesson from their previous
experience, they maintained such an altitude that no shrapnel was able to
reach them.

Shortly afterward, and one by one, the battered Yankee planes dropped on
the open field where the hangars lay, like huge buzzards alighting to
satisfy their hunger in an orgy.