Tom exercised due vigilance. At the same time he found himself gripped in a constant state of anxiety the nearer they drew to the battlelines.
Planes were in sight, many of them, and the sausage-shaped observation balloons swayed to and fro in double lines well back of the front. Tom endeavored to pick his way along carefully. He had Jack using the glass and searching the heavens to make out the identity of every machine in sight.
As before, it turned out that the nimble Nieuports were the ones doing "ceiling work," while far below a German, defended by a flock of aviatiks, was pushing forward, evidently intending to take a look at what the French were doing.
The strain was soon over. Down came several of the guard planes, after recognizing one of their own machines in the clumsy Caudron. Tom saw that the entire trio had the familiar Indian head painted on the body of the machines, showing that they were Americans. They knew of the absence of the two young airmen and were delighted to see them turn up after they had been given over as lost.
And so in due time Tom made as neat a landing in his own field as any veteran could have done, amid the cheers of scores and scores
