CHAPTER XIX

OUT OF THE AIR

Clear of the trenches at last, it proved a long, tiresome march to billets. The roads over which the Khaki Boys marched were rough and full of shell holes. Long before they reached their destination a fine rain began to fall, which soaked them to the skin. With it, however, came a dense fog, which was a great help in concealing them from enemy eyes.

An hour before dawn, when almost to billets, they heard a reverberating roar, which they guessed to be that of the German guns. It announced to them that Fritz had again begun his "strafeing." Every Sammie's heart beat faster, as the welcome voices of their own big guns boomed forth in answer.

To the thunderous tune played by these noisy orchestras of war, the rain-drenched Khaki Boys at last reached billets. These consisted of several stables, a deserted schoolhouse, and a long, barn-like structure, which had been used by the Allies at the beginning of the war as a supply depot.

To his great satisfaction, Jimmy drew the supply depot as a billet. It was large enough to accommodate two hundred men, and when dawn came he was overjoyed to find all three of his bunkies had been quartered there, too.

"Talk about style," exulted Bob, when a little later the quartette sat cross-legged in a row, devouring a breakfast of bacon, bread and coffee. "This is almost as good as a real barracks. It's about the cleanest billet we've struck since we started out in dear old Eight Horses."

"It's pure luck, our getting together." Roger sighed his satisfaction. "I'll bet we'll have a real cushy time while it lasts. I hope we don't get shelled. Listen to the guns. It must be hail Columbia now in the front-line trench on both sides. Seems funny to be away from it, doesn't it?"

"I guess we've earned a rest," yawned Jimmy, "and a bath along with it, about four times a day. It'll take me three weeks to get clear of mud and these blamed cooties. First chance I get I'm going to hunt for a creek and live in it."

"So will I," vowed Ignace. "I am the mud all over. My mothar now see, no believe I am the son to she."

"I'd hate to have _my_ mother see me now," smiled Jimmy. "She wouldn't sleep nights for the next year. Just as soon as we get settled I'm going to write to her. I wrote every day to the folks while I was in the trenches. I hope some of those letters get across."

"I guess they will, that is, if you didn't put anything in 'em that the censors got peeved at," rejoined Bob. "About all a fellow is allowed to write is 'I am well,' and 'good-bye.'"

"Some of us ought to write to Schnitz's folks," said Roger soberly.

"Not yet." Jimmy shook his head. "Wait awhile. Maybe Schnitz'll come back to us."

"I don't believe it, Blazes," disagreed Bob sadly. "He got his out there in the dark, I'm afraid. Schnitz was the kind to fight till he dropped, rather than be taken prisoner."

"I tell you I had a hunch out there in the trench that I'd see him again," Jimmy stubbornly asserted. "It came to me just as plain as anything, 'Schnitz isn't croaked. He'll come back.'"

"You think Schnitz he come back, so think I," nodded Ignace, who was always fond of backing up his best Brother's statements.

"Well, I hope it works out that way," declared Roger kindly.

Privately, his belief in hunches was not strong.

"I wish I'd never let him go that night," Jimmy continued moodily. "If he'd waited ten minutes longer, as I did, the two of us would have got back to the lines together."

"You might not have, at that," was Bob's opinion. "You can't tell how it would have come out. His way was the wisest."

Continuing to talk of Schnitzel, the memory of whom was constantly before them, the four Brothers finished breakfast and went outside their quarters to look around them. As they had been on the march nearly all night, they expected to sleep part of the day. So far as military routine was concerned, they were "on their own" until Taps that night. Next morning, however, they would be subject to the usual military routine they had observed when in the training camps.

Wandering about in the vicinity of their billet, the four Brothers whooped with joy at sight of a good-sized creek, which looked to be not more than a quarter of a mile back of the depot. Hastily repairing to their quarters, they got out soap, towels, and clean underwear. Laden with these, an extra uniform blouse, and a pair of clean leggins apiece, they raced across the fields to the creek, and were soon jubilantly swimming about in its clear, but very cold water.

It was the first real bath that any of them had enjoyed since leaving the village where they had been briefly quartered before going on their long march to the trenches. Cold as the water was, they soon grew used to it, and had a glorious time splashing about in its clear depths.

After their bath, they donned clean clothing, washed out their discarded underwear, hanging it to dry in the sun on some low bushes nearby. They also gave their soiled leggins a much-needed scrubbing.

By the time the leggins had become presentable again, their wash was partially dry.

"We can't wait all day for these duds to get dry." Bob passed a critical hand over his damp wash. "Let's take 'em back to billet and hang 'em up there. Now I've had a bath, I want to go bye-bye. Besides, we ought to tell the other guys about this French swimming pool. They need a bath, too."

"Tell 'em nothing. Listen to that! Look over there!"

Jimmy pointed across the field. A dozen men were charging toward them, yelling and wildly waving clean clothing, towels or whatever they chanced to have in their hands.

"Discovered," grinned Bob. "Welcome to our bath tub!" he shouted, as the running group drew near. "Jump in, the water's fine. It's a sure cure for trench mud and live stock."

After exchanging a few good-natured sallies with the gleeful Sammies, who were discarding their clothing as fast as their hands would let them, the four Khaki Boys left the creek and started back to quarters.

"Pipe the plane!" yelled Jimmy suddenly, pointing upward. "I'll bet it's just come from over the German lines. She's a Frenchie, too. You can see her colors. She's flying pretty low."

"She's coming down fast!" shouted Bob. "Looks as though she'd been nipped."

Pausing to watch the plane, it seemed to the Khaki Boys that it was, indeed, coming down altogether too fast for safety to its pilot.

"He's lost control of it! No, he hasn't, either! He's sure some birdman. Oh, joy! Watch him!"

Jimmy was prancing about, flourishing his wash, as he poured forth this volley of excited exclamation.

"He's going to land right the other side of the depot! Come on! I want to get a look at him!"

Bob had now taken up the cry. With "Come on!" he was off across the field, his three bunkies keeping up with his mad dash. Already a crowd of Sammies had come out of the depot, and were running toward the aviator, who had now made a skilful and easy landing.

"We may get the grand snub," panted Bob, as they neared the quiescent plane.

Its pilot was just stepping out of the seat. He moved very stiffly, and staggered a little, as his feet touched the ground. His face partially toward the plane, he turned smilingly as the noisy delegation of Sammies rushed up to him.

"It's Cousin Emile!" bawled Jimmy at the top of his lungs, and dashed straight toward the smiling man.

"Blaise! This is, indeed, most remarkable!" called out a deep voice.

A ready hand shot forth to meet Jimmy's, and grasped it warmly.

"Gee whiz, but I'm glad to see you, sir!" was Jimmy's fervent greeting. "You'll have to excuse me for calling you 'Cousin Emile.' I was certainly flabbergasted for a minute."

"No apologies," laughed Voissard, showing his white teeth in amusement at Jimmy's confusion. "It is the very pleasant surprise to meet you thus, my dear young comrade. And your friends, too," he added, offering his hand in turn to Ignace, Bob and Roger, who now grouped themselves about him with beaming faces. "Now of a truth it seems you must have just come from the bath."

His quick eyes had taken in the newly cleansed articles of clothing in the boys' hands.

"We certainly have," affirmed Bob. "We landed here just before daylight from our first front-line trench detail. You can guess how much we needed a big clean-up."

"Ah, yes, I can easily understand." Voissard's fine face grew sympathetic. "It is the hard life in those muddy trenches. I marvel that you are still here to tell of it. But where is your comrade of the dark face and quiet, sincere manner? You see my memory is good."

"He's gone, sir," was Jimmy's sad response.

Inquiry for Schnitzel caused the four eager faces to cloud over. Briefly, Jimmy informed Voissard of all he knew pertaining to Schnitzel's disappearance.

"It is the fortune of war," was the aviator's grave comment when Jimmy had finished. "We learn in time to accept all in that spirit. I, too, have lost many valued and loyal friends at the front. I share your sorrow for this brave comrade. Yet I am happy that none other of you has met with misfortune.

"It is purely by chance that I found you," he continued. "I spent the night over the Allemand lines. Naturally, my plane has received rough treatment. It was necessary for me to come down and make the repairs. I have yet some distance to go, and my bird's wings need the attention."

"Can we do anything to help you, sir?" was Jimmy's prompt inquiry.

"_Merci_, but no. My plane needs but a few touches here and there, which only myself can give and hurriedly. I have the important information gleaned, which I must impart quickly to those who wait for it. For how long shall you remain in billet?"

Voissard cast a thoughtful glance at Jimmy as he asked the question.

"Three weeks, unless we get other orders."

"That is well. Watch for me. If all goes as I hope, I shall return here to see you within the next three days. I have much to say to you."

During this conversation, the Sammies who had run out of billets and up to the aeroplane, had drawn back a little distance from it, and the quartette gathered about the aviator. The average American boy hates to "butt in." Nevertheless, many pairs of bright eyes were wistfully watching the trim Nieuport, and the favored four who appeared to be on such intimate terms with its pilot.

Noting this, Jimmy was seized with a kindly inspiration.

"Would you mind speaking a word to the fellows back there, sir?" he inquired deferentially. "They'd like it a lot, especially if they knew who you really were. May I call them over and tell 'em? It will only take a minute and they'll be good. It will be a regular bang-up treat for them."

A half-frown touched Voissard's dark brows, then his boyish smile came into evidence.

"Since you ask it," he consented, "but only for a moment."

At the word of permission, Jimmy hurried back to where his comrades stood.

"Fellows," he greeted. "Come up and meet the Flying Terror of France. I'd like him to see what a rattling fine bunch we've got in the good old 509th."

This last compliment was slyly intended to put every Sammy on his best behavior. It succeeded signally. An awed and admiring delegation, led by Jimmy, filed respectfully up to the aviator. Forming a little line, they came smartly to Attention. On the last word of presentation spoken by Jimmy, every man saluted.

Gracefully returning the salute, Voissard made an earnest little speech to his young admirers, expressing his pleasure at meeting them, and thanking them in the name of France for their loyal response and allegiance to the Allied cause.

As he finished speaking, the Sammies again saluted. Wheeling, they were about to march off when he stopped them, expressing a wish to shake the hand of each. To the delighted Khaki Boys it was a red-letter occasion. Boyish exuberance getting the upper hand, they could not resist giving three cheers for Voissard, as he took the hand of the last man in line. Then it seemed necessary to give three more for France, and another three for the United States. Finally, they trooped happily off, full of gratitude to Blaise, a "corking Sarge," who "hadn't a stingy bone in his body."

The four Brothers remained with Cousin Emile while he went over the plane, and made the minor repairs which he had referred to as "touches." It took the better part of an hour to make them, during which period the boys hovered admiringly about the clean-cut little lighting craft.

"I'd almost give my eyes to take a trip with you, sir," was Jimmy's wistful assertion, as Voissard was about to say good-bye.

"Your company would be the great pleasure," the aviator courteously replied. "However, we shall at least meet again soon," he added, extending his hand in friendly farewell.

There was a quizzical twinkle in Cousin Emile's dark eyes. Had Jimmy known what was going on behind them he would have been raised to the seventh heaven of bliss. He could not possibly guess that his ardent desire to take a trip with Voissard was in a fair way to be presently realized.