"Say, fellows," cried Paul; "we've got to do something with these birds right away! First thing we know, one of them will get hit a squarer blow with the propeller and smash it. Then we'll crash as sure as I'm sitting here."
This peril was very imminent, as all could see.
John seized the shot-gun from its rack, and Tom one of the rifles. These were loaded. Stationing themselves on either side of the cabin, the young men drew down the windows in front of them, poked out their weapons and watched for a chance to use them.
Tom's gun was the first to blaze away, but it is difficult to hit a bird on the wing with a rifle, and he missed. A moment later, as a condor dashed viciously toward his window, John fired, and the great bird, mortally stricken, tumbled into the mists below.
Tom was more fortunate the next time. A condor, with a fluttering of his immense wings, had settled right on the tail of the machine, where he clung with his sturdy talons, threatening to prevent Paul from manipulating the rudder. When Bob called Tom's attention to this alarming situation, the latter joined him at the rear window of the cabin. Tom took careful aim, pulled the trigger, and the condor fell with a broken wing, uttering hoarse cries until the clouds below swallowed him up.
Two more of the fierce creatures were killed before the remaining birds were frightened off. It was with a sigh of relief that Paul now resumed his descent to lower levels.
When presently they emerged out of the last cloud, and could see the green earth below them once more, they were across the last chain of mountain they would encounter in South America. They gazed with their glasses on all sides, and checked up their position on the chart, although in doing this they had great difficulty on account of a curtain of thin fog which hung over the land, and only a very low altitude of about five hundred feet would allow of it at all.
As soon as they were sure of their bearings they again took a searching observation in quest of the rival airplane, but no sign of it could they see.
"They're probably quite a bit ahead of us by this time," observed John; "but now that we're through the last chain of the Andes we can make better speed. Shoot her up to two thousand feet, Buddy. We'll set our course for Georgetown by compass."
Paul bore upward, and at the level mentioned he straightened the machine with her nose once more pointed eastward, and the compass hand pointing along the left wing of the machine.