The Boche must have sensed their coming, for he started to flee; but they were on his trail almost immediately, going like the wind. Tom opened on him, as he had charge of the bow gun. He worked the mechanism with all his old-time skill, not showing signs of any undue haste or excitement. When in the course of the chase he found that he was getting a bit too close, for the bullets were cutting the air all around them, he changed his direction.
Nor was Jack at all slow to seize upon the splendid opening which this fresh maneuver afforded him. He took up the refrain just where Tom left off; and, if anything, showed more vim in his bombardment, for he did not have the manipulation of the plane to interfere with his work with the gun.
The Hun dived and squirmed, in the hopes of throwing off such a persistent pursuer, but Tom kept after him as if grimly determined to bring one of the night-bombers down, even if he had to follow the other to his own line.
That sort of excitement was meat and drink to those daring fellows, who lived in anticipation of engaging in just such combats. Tame indeed did that day seem to them upon which they could not exchange shots with at least one enemy pilot.
Some one had met with disaster over to the left, for Tom saw a flash of descending flame and had a vague view of a figure jumping hopelessly from the doomed plane, having found means to cut loose from his safety belt. It was only "jumping from the frying pan into the fire," however, for death in another form awaited him, the ground being a quarter of a mile below.
At one moment it happened that both boys were firing together, the position of the Yankee plane allowing this unusual demonstration. And as to which of them was responsible for the bullet that sent the Boche downward in erratic circles, like a wounded duck, he trying desperately to gain an even keel before it was too late, was always fated to be a little bone of contention between Tom and Jack.