“I’m trying to find out. Do you hear them?” She listened earnestly endeavoring to help.
“A rushing noise, maybe like we make with our wires,” she suggested.
“Which way do you get it?”
“As if it comes from lower.” They sat quietly and then Jim picked up the sound but he calculated that it was an echo from below and that might be started from their own plane. He maneuvered with the air currents, which were rushing and rolling the mist, and managed to sail forward, then he continued the glide. They had settled fifteen hundred feet, and there was still no sign of a break.
“If they come up—” Arto spoke softly through the mouthpiece and Jim pressed it closer to his ear, “could we use the guns?”
“You might get a chance. Are you a good shot?”
“Crack,” Arto answered. “Pedro, too, he is—very better—good.”
“All right, take a pop at them.”
“Mrs. Gonzalas, is she in fear?”
“They want to know if you are afraid,” Jim told her, so she raised her head a bit and spoke into the mouthpiece.