“They are gaining, two of them. The third seems not so swift,” Arto informed him. Their own plane was going at top speed, and couldn’t be forced any more swiftly.
CHAPTER VIII
THE AIR BATTLE
“Did you get any of them with your guns?” Jim asked.
“A splinter, perhaps,” Arto answered.
The Flying Buddy made a swift survey of his surroundings, a glance at the dials in front of him and at the map. His brain was clear and worked with the precision and cooperation of the brave little machine he was driving through space. The whole affair seemed unreal, more like a horrible nightmare than an actuality, this endless flying to get away from men who were grimly determined to send him to destruction. He could see that the two swifter machines were gaining steadily, and had it not been for the woman beside him, Jim’s anxiety would not have been so great, but somehow she must be saved. The only plan he could form was to keep in the air as long as he could. They were far from any sort of settlement which could give them shelter. From the ground the three men might fight it out with the enemy and have a slim chance, but with Gonzalas’ wife to be considered, landing was out of the question. She might not be able to dig in quickly enough, so as long as the wings held up, they would fly, and of course, every second was bringing them a bit nearer to safety, but it was like crawling.
Crack, bang, a shot struck the fuselage at the right, and with a swift kick at the rudder, a bank with the wind which was rising, and a tilt of the nose, they began to climb again in short spirals which made them a poor target. Perhaps they might inveigle the gang to use up their ammunition, but that was hardly possible; they probably carried enough to bombard a town. The boy wondered if Cardow was with the gang or if he had gone on to the ancient fastness leaving his lieutenants to finish the Gonzalas. Jim had a hunch that young Gordon was in one of those planes and that was the reason the chase had not been abandoned. Up he climbed, then he noticed that the swifter machine was coming right along after him, the second followed, both driving in ascending circles not quite so tight as those Austin was making and he felt a bit as if he were in the middle of an old-fashioned bed-spring. They climbed faster and the third machine, which carried the machine-gun, was zooming like a shot.
“One is under us,” Arto spoke in his ear.
“Thanks.” With a quick flip Jim tipped his nose straight downward and with engine wide open he cut through the air like a rocket so furiously that the machines below him ducked to get out of his way. Neither of the pilots dared risk such a collision, and Austin was not sure that he would not pull out himself, but they scattered as he came, hell bent, and below them he leveled, shot back on his course, turned tail as it were, over the way he had come. It did not take the three long to get after him, then the boy began to climb, zooming so that the wires shrieked in the wind and wings groaned under the assault. He gained two thousand feet, then whirled so short that Mrs. Gonzalas was flung against him.
“All right,” she smiled, but it was a mighty forced smile and the lad admired her pluck.