He and Gerald had drawn their revolvers, and were looking to the hammers as they raced onwards, to make quite sure that they were in working order. Everything would depend upon making good practice with their first shots.
'You aim at one wing, Gerald,' said Jack; 'I will aim at the fellow's arm which carries the trident. Take it easy! Don't run too fast; it will make your hand shake.'
They continued on their way for some distance farther. The pavilion was now not far off; so also, unfortunately, was the flying man with his trident.
Jack gave a sign to Gerald, and they both turned and faced him. Alondra stopped too; and the others, although they did not exactly understand what was likely to happen, immediately halted, because they would not leave the three to their fate.
As it happened, this was the best thing they could have done. The flying man interpreted their action as an abject surrender. He slackened speed and came on carelessly.
Then two shots rang out. Jack's aim was true; his bullet struck the man's right arm, and the trident flew from the hand which had grasped it. Gerald's first shot missed, but his second struck one wing and smashed the light framework. The wing drooped, and the flier fell heavily to the ground.
[Illustration: The wing drooped, and the flier
fell heavily to the ground
(missing from source book)]
'Good! Good! Capital!' Malto and Malandris cried out, in surprised wonder and delight at this turn of affairs, for neither of them understood anything about pistols.
'Now, run for it, my friends! We shall get there first yet!' Jack called out.
'Let me have his trident, though,' said Alondra, as he picked up the fallen man's weapon. 'This may come in useful, you know.'