This was adding insult to injury, Perk was doubtless telling himself, as he realized that his lucky shot had after all failed to daunt that stubborn pair in the speedy Ryan ship.
“You will have it, seems like,” he growled to himself; for since he had discarded his earphone harness just previous to starting his late “shooting spree,” Perk could no longer hold intercourse with his fellow flyer; “all right then, I’ll try some more o’ the same sorter medicine; what’s good for the goose orter be fine for the gander. Mind your eye now, boys, and keep a tight grip on your chutes if anything happens not down in your gamble.”
Again did the continual flash of spitting fire from the gun afford the sharpshooter in the chased ship abundant opportunities for focussing his aim; although instinct may have taken the place of vision on Perk’s part.
Fortunately Jack must have been expecting something along those lines, knowing his companion so well, and how he was always eager to “repeat” when things were coming his way; for he kept the flying boat wonderfully steady just then, even though realizing how such action doubled their own chances of being hit.
Perk was now shooting on general principles, in hopes of being fortunate enough to find a billet for one of his random bullets. He went at the business with all the sang froid of a veteran fighter, accustomed to meeting hostile craft up in the wide air spaces, or even above the clouds—all the fierce delight of matching his skill and life against a foeman worthy of his steel had once more gripped the old flying warrior; and it may be for the moment he deluded himself with the belief that this was but a reincarnation of those never-to-be-forgotten days when all Europe was held fast in the throes of the grisly war-god.
Suddenly Perk ceased firing, nor was this caused by the magazine of his repeating rifle being empty—he had seen that the discharges back yonder were no longer in full blast, showing that something must have happened to cause such a sudden cessation to hostilities.
Before he could attempt to analyze what this might mean it was all flashed before his questioning mind—a burst of flames came from the spot where last he had seen the shadowy shape of their persistent pursuer clipping through space like a blazing meteor.
Perk sat there doubled up, his mouth half open, staring with might and main, as some object began to drop toward the earth with ever increasing speed—something which he knew full well must of necessity be the beautiful little Ryan plane, which he had admired so much when at Candler Field at close of the late day, and before this wild dash into the darkness of night began.
Evidently one of his missiles (fired with such grim determination when he “took the bit in his teeth,” and struck back) had found its mark, and unleashed the dangerous contents of the gasoline reservoir, with the splashing fluid instantly catching fire from the exploding spark of the running motor.
No flyer ever saw his enemy going down in a flaming coffin without feeling compassion gripping him; that one moment had changed his heart from bitter hatred to a sense of pity; knowing as he must have done that the day might be near at hand when he too would share in a similar dreadful fate.