"About twenty-five miles an hour," said Torrence; "she is capable of much greater speed; but there's no hurry, and I don't want to strain her on her maiden trip."
"And how high are we?"
"About five hundred feet."
I was reflecting that it was no very great height, or extraordinary speed, when I heard the sharp swinging sound of a bullet, and looked down. I saw a man passing through a field with a gun in his hand and looking up. Evidently he had fired at us, not knowing what we were; possibly with the intention of finding out.
"He's going to shoot again!" I called to Torrence; but at that minute my brother pressed a button and we were swung aloft with great velocity, as if seized by some gigantic hand.
"I shan't give him a chance," he answered, as we plunged into a cloud, and then darted forward with increased speed. Again we were enveloped in a dense wet blanket, but as there was no fear of a collision, did not slacken our rate, but swept on like a hurricane unable to see a thing in any direction beyond the vessel.
"Now," said Torrence, looking at a small instrument on the governing board, "we are whirling along at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Risky business on land in a cloud like this, but here—thank Heaven—there is nothing on the track! When we lower ourselves out of the fog, and come in view of the earth again, our sporting friend will be lost to sight."
In about ten minutes we dropped to our former level, and reduced our speed. Of course there was no reason why we should not remain above, except that it was more interesting to have the earth for a companion.
"Suppose he had hit us?" I observed.
"There's not one chance in a hundred that he would hurt us if he had. I prepared for such enterprising fools by protecting her critical parts with asbestos and rubber; but it isn't pleasant to be fired at, and when one can move out of range so easily it seems the right thing to do."