'"Are they poachers?" says Lundie.
'"No. Airmen. I can't make it out," says Mankeltow.
'"Look at here," says Walen, kind of brusque. "This man ain't breathin' at all. Didn't you hear somethin' crack when he lit, Lundie?"
'"My God!" says Lundie. "Did I? I thought it was my suspenders"—no, he said "braces."
'Right there I left them and sort o' tip-toed back to my man, hopin' he'd revived and quit. But he hadn't. That darned cleek had hit him on the back of the neck just where his helmet stopped. He'd got his. I knew it by the way the head rolled in my hands. Then the others came up the ride totin' their load. No mistakin' that shuffle on grass. D'you remember it—in South Africa? Ya-as.
'"Hsh!" says Lundie. "Do you know I've broken this man's neck?"
' "Same here," I says.
' "What? Both?" says Mankeltow.
' "Nonsense!" says Lord Lundie. "Who'd have thought he was that out of training? A man oughtn't to fly if he ain't fit."
' "What did they want here, anyway?" said Walen; and Mankeltow says, "We can't leave them in the open. Some one 'll come. Carry 'em to Flora's Temple."
'We toted 'em again and laid 'em out on a stone bench. They was still dead in spite of our best attentions. We knew it, but we went through the motions till it was quite dark. 'Wonder if all
