Round he went, rocking like a ship at sea. A bullet struck his wheel and sent the smashed wood flying. He nose-dived for his own lines and Tam glared down after him.
Müller reached his aerodrome and was laughing quietly when he descended.
"I met Tam," he said to his chief; "he tried to ram me at sixteen thousand feetOh, yes. I came down, butich habe das nicht gewollt!I did not will it!"
Tam returned to his headquarters full of schemes and bright "thochts."
"You drove him down?" said the delighted Blackie. "Why, Tam, it's fine! Müller never goes downyou've broken one of his traditions."
"A' wisht it was ain of his heids," said Tam. "A' thocht for aboot three seconds he was acceptin' the challenge o' the Glasca' GanymedeA'm no' so sure o' Ganymede; A' got him oot of the sairculatin' library an' he was verra dull except the bit wheer he went oop in the air on the back of an eagle an' dropped his whustle. But MacMuller wasn't so full o' ficht as a' that."
He walked away, but stopped and came back.
"A'm a Wee Kirker," he said. "A' remembered it when A' met MacMuller. Though A'm no particular hoo A'm buried, A'm entitled to a Wee Kirk meenister. Mony's the time A've put a penny i' the collection. It sair grievit me to waste guid money, but me auld mither watchit me like a cat, an' 'twere as much as ma life was worth to pit it in ma breeches pocket."
Tam spent the flying hours of the next day looking for his enemy, but without result. The next day he again drew blank, and on the third day took part in an organized raid upon enemy communications, fighting his way back from the interior of Belgium single-handed, for he had allowed himself to be "rounded out" and had to dispose of two enemy machines before he could go in pursuit of the bombing squadrons. In consequence, he had to meet and reject the attentions of every ruffled enemy that the bombers and their bullies had fought in passing.
At five o'clock in the evening he dropped from the heavens in one straight plummet dive which brought him three miles in a little under one minute.
"Did you meet Müller?" asked Captain Blackie; "he's abouthe shot down Mr. Grey this morning whilst you were away."
"Mr. Gree? Weel, weel!" said Tam, shaking, "puir soulhe wis a verra guid gentlemanwit' a gay young hairt."
"I hope Tam will pronounce my epitaph," said Blackie to Bolt, the observer; "he doesn't know how to think unkindly of his pals."
"Tam will get Müller," said Bolt. "I saw the scrap the other dayTam was prepared to kill himself if he could bring him down. He was out for a collision, I'll swear, and Müller knew it and lost his nerve for the fight. That means that Müller is hating himself and will go running for Tam at the first opportunity."
"Tam shall have his chance. The new B. I. 6 is ready and Tam shall have it."
Now every airman knows the character of the old B. I. 5. She was a fast machine, could rise quicker than any other aeroplane in the world. She could do things which no other machine could do, and could also behave as no self-respecting aeroplane would wish to behave. For example, she was an involuntary "looper." For no apparent reason at all she would suddenly buck like a lunatic mustang. In these frenzies she would answer no appliance and obey no other mechanical law than the law of gravitation.
Tam had tried B. I. 5, and had lived to tell the story. There is a legend that he reached earth flying backward and upside down, but that is probably without foundation. Then an ingenious American had taken B. I. 5 in hand and had done certain things to her wings, her tail, her fuselage and her engine and from the chaos of her remains was born B. I. 6, not unlike her erratic mother in appearance, but viceless.
Tam learned of his opportunity without any display of enthusiasm.
"A' doot she's na guid," he said. "Captain Blackie, sir-r, A've got ma ain idea what B. I. stands for. It's no complimentary to the inventor. If sax is better, than A'm goin' to believe in an auld sayin'."
"What is that, Tam?"
"'Theer's safety in numbers,'" said Tam, "an' the while A'm on the subject of leeterature A'd like yeer opinion on a vairse A' made aboot Mr. MacMuller."
He produced a folded sheet of paper, opened it, and read,
"Amidst the seelance of the stars
He fell, yon dooty mon o' Mars.
The angels laffit
To see this gaillant baird-man die.
'At lairst! At lairst!' the angels cry,
'We've ain who'll teach us hoo to fly
Thanks be, he's strafit!'"
"Fine," said Blackie with a smile, "but suppose you're 'strafit' instead?"
"Pit the wee pome on ma ain wreath," said Tam simply; "'t 'ill be true."
CHAPTER IV
THE STRAFING OF MÜLLER
On the earth, rain was falling from gray and gloomy clouds. Above those clouds the sun shone down from a blue sky upon a billowing mass that bore a resemblance to the uneven surface of a limitless plain of lather. High, but not too high above cloud-level, a big white Albatross circled serenely, its long, untidy wireless aerial dangling.
The man in the machine with receivers to his ears listened intently for the faint "H D" which was his official number. Messages he caughtmostly in English, for he was above the British lines.
"NineFour.... Ninefour ninefour," called somebody insistently. That was a "spotter" signaling a correction of range, then.... "Stop where you are.... K L B Q.... Bad light.... Signal to X O 73 last shot.... Repeat your signal .... No.... Bad light.... Sorrybad light.... Stay where you are...."
He guessed some, could not follow others. The letter-groups were, of course, code messages indicating the distance shells were bursting from their targets. The apologies were easily explained, for the light was very bad indeed.