Ned cast a longing, regretful eye at the Ocean Flyer where it stood not fifty yards away. He blamed himself for their folly in ever leaving its protecting walls. Besides, he knew that their revolvers were nearly empty and that they had no spare cartridges in their pockets.
He shouted to Alan in English, which the Germans could not of course understand, to work his way back towards the airship.
Dodging from tree to tree, the two boys gradually came within about twenty yards of the Flyer. In the meantime, the Germans had divined their intentions and had followed them closely, keeping up a hot fire all the time. The intervening distance between the airship and the boys would have to be covered by a dash across the exposed open ground, where the Germans could hardly fail to get them.
“Don’t risk it, Ned,” cried Alan.
“One of us absolutely must,” answered the other boy desperately. “We are all lost if we don’t.”
Then before Alan could protest further, the courageous lad darted from cover and was bounding across the dangerous open space towards the Flyer.
Twenty German bullets went hissing after him and the entire crowd pursued with hoarse shouts of rage. Alan bowled over one of them as he ran, and then himself rushed after Ned. None of the soldiers took time to pause, aim and shoot. They were too anxious to catch the fleeing boys.
Up the swaying rope ladder leading to the open portway clambered Ned, with Alan crowding close on his heels. The former threw himself inside, but the Germans were too close for Alan to risk it. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck, heard the man behind him panting heavily, and, with one foot on the first rung of the ladder, wheeled with clubbed revolver to defend himself. His arm swung back to dash it into the man’s face, when—
“Buck!” cried he.
It was the reporter, who had finally succeeded in mastering his assailant and had followed his two chums in their desperate race for the safety of the Flyer.