He was traveling at a moderate pace, for he did not like to impose a strain upon the machine by pressing it to the limit. There was no call for hurry, and after clearing the elevation he could land at some town and buy what gasoline he needed. He shifted the course of the aeroplane slightly, and descended until within two or three hundred feet of the earth. There were no tall buildings to be avoided, and none of the trees that showed were lofty enough to interfere. Bohunkus sat in his usual seat, idly grasping the supports, for the progress was so smooth that he might have folded his arms without risk, always provided the aeroplane did not collide with any of the fierce aerial gyrations, which are so dangerous to aviators, because being invisible, no precaution can be taken against them.
Harvey slackened his speed still more, and coursed easily forward, crossed a winding creek, and was skimming toward a moderate stretch of woods, when he noticed a man standing on the margin and watching the aeroplane. The fact that he held a gun in one hand did not concern the youth, who, prompted by the spirit of mischief natural in one of his years, dropped still lower and headed for the man, as if he meant to crash into him.
The stranger, instead of turning about and dashing into the wood where he would have been safe from pursuit, suddenly raised his double-barreled shot gun and let fly with both charges. Nothing of the kind had been dreamed of, either by Harvey or his companion, and they were startled indeed when they heard the shot rattle through the wires and framework of the machine. One of the pellets nipped the cheek of Harvey and Bohunkus yelled,
“I’m shot all to pieces, Harv!”
Harvey turned his head in affright, but saw no evidence that the other had been harmed in the least. The man, seeing that his hasty aim had been ineffective, began hastily to reload his weapon with the evident purpose of doing execution next time.
CHAPTER XI.
FIRED ON.
Bohunkus Johnson was never so angry in his life and the resentment of Harvey Hamilton was equally intense. That a man should deliberately shoot at their machine without provocation more than a bit of harmless mischief, was beyond bearing. The colored youth stood up and shouted to his friend:
“I’m gwine to jump! I’ll teach him sumfin!”
“Wait one moment,” replied Harvey, as he shut off power and hastily dropped to earth. His momentum carried him several rods beyond the young man, who was still busy reloading his gun. Fortunately for our friends it was of the old-fashioned muzzle pattern, and required more time than the modern weapon. He roared with an oath:
“I’ll larn you better than to go skyugling over the country and trying to scare folks to death. Jes’ wait till I git my gun loaded agin!”