Then just ahead a flare began on the ground, next burned up brightly---a can of gasoline lighted and allowed to burn to indicate the neighborhood in which to come down.
Going past and turning, Reade volplaned gracefully earthward, landing just beyond the blazing gasoline.
Instantly they were surrounded by two-score French aviators and mechanicians.
"It is all right!" the cry went up.

"They are Americans, though the machine is German." M.le Commandant Perrault, chief of squadron, stepped rapidly forward, receiving the salute of the two American officers and asking questions at volley-fire speed.

His face betrayed amazement, but when the brief narrative had been finished he grasped the hands of each.
"It was splendidly done," he declared.
"And now, sir, on behalf of my friend, may I ask how far we are from the front line ?" Tom inquired.

"Captain Prescott wishes to return to the trenches immediately." "It is ten kilometers," replied the commandant.

"Yet speed shall not be impossible.