In that moment of danger the young American showed the best that was in him.  Forgetful of self and remembering the importance of Lannes’ mission, he shouted: 

“The Uhlans are upon us, Philip!  I can’t escape, but you must!  Go!  Go at once!”

Lannes gave one startled glance, and he understood in a flash.  He too knew the vital nature of his errand, but his instant decision gave a wrench to his whole being.  He saw the Uhlans breaking through the woods and John before them.  He was standing beside the Arrow, and giving the machine a sharp push he sprang in and rose at a sharp angle.

“Up!  Up, Philip!” John continued to cry, until the cold edge of a lance lay against his throat and a brusque voice bade him to surrender.

“All right, I yield,” said John, “but kindly take your lance away.  It’s so sharp and cold it makes me feel uncomfortable.”

As he spoke he continued to look upward.  The Arrow was soaring higher and higher, and the Uhlans were firing at it, but they were not able to hit such a fleeting target.  In another minute it was out of range.

John felt the cold steel come away from his throat, and satisfied that Lannes with his precious message was safe, he looked at his captors.  They were about thirty in number, Prussian Uhlans.

“Well,” said John to the one who seemed to be their leader, “what do you want with me?”

“To hold you prisoner,” replied the man, in excellent English—­John was always surprised at the number of people on the continent who spoke English—­“and to ask you why we find an American here in French uniform.”

The man who spoke was young, blond, ruddy, and his tone was rather humorous.  John had been too much in Germany to hate Germans.  He liked most of them personally, but for many of their ideas, ideas which he considered deadly to the world, he had an intense dislike.

“You find me here because I didn’t have time to get away,” he replied, “and I’m in a French uniform because it’s my fighting suit.”

The young officer smiled.  John rather liked him, and he saw, too, that he was no older than himself.

“It’s lucky for you that you’re in some kind of a uniform,” the German said, “or I should have you shot immediately.  But I’m sorry we didn’t take the man in the aeroplane instead of you.”

John looked up again.  The Arrow had become small in the distant blue.  A whimsical impulse seized him.

“You’ve a right to be sorry,” he said.  “That was the greatest flying man in the world, and all day he has carried messages, heavy with the fate of nations.  If you had taken him a few moments ago you might have saved the German army from defeat today.  But your chance has gone.  If you were to see him again you would not know him and his plane from others of their kind.”

The officer’s eyes dilated at first.  Then he smiled again and stroked his young mustache.