“I’ll make a landing,” Bill suggested, “and let you out, Miss Saxton. Then probably I can climb above it, and—”
But Miss Saxton was of quite another mind.
“Indeed, you will not!” she cut in. “I’m not a bit afraid. You get above them, and I’ll keep below the cowl of the machine and pot those murderers. If you could do it alone, I ought to be able to do something now. I was on the rifle team at Vassar, you know.”
Bill climbed steadily, and as the green plane flew nearer, swooped down to the rear and kept on its tail. As he passed within twenty feet of it there was a report back of him, and then another report, and still another.
The green plane seemed to stagger in the air. Its fuel tank had been perforated by the bullets, and the pilot had turned to gesticulate wildly to one of the men back of him.
It was then that, as Bill flew alongside, but a trifle in the rear to keep out of range of the machine gun, that Ruth drew a steady bead and fired again. The pilot threw up his hands.
A second member of the green plane started to reach for the joy-stick. There was another report from Bill’s plane, and the great green De Haviland spiraled down dizzily.
Ten minutes later Bill Barlow, with Ruth and her father, had made a landing and were running toward the crushed green ship, Bill put out his hand and barred Ruth’s progress. He knew that it was not a pretty sight that would meet their eyes, for the ship had caught fire, and even as they ran forward there was an explosion.
The three men of the green plane’s crew were dead, and two of them were badly burned. There was no sign of the bullion. A box of grenades had toppled out from the plane when it careened in the air, and had miraculously not exploded.
Bill gathered them up and handed them to Saxton.