He wheeled his plane and commenced to circle about the mountain, now flying low, now rising high in the air. As they made a low flight, Dee noticed two men sitting by the roadside. They were tramps, and had a scarlet handkerchief knotted on the end of a stick.
“More tramps around here,” said Ernest, catching sight of the men. He turned the nose of his plane upwards, and they commenced to climb higher and higher, the hills and valleys dropping away beneath them. The buildings in the cantonment diminished to doll houses, the rough roads turned to narrow yellow ribbons, the fields became smooth blurs of green and yellow. The mountains took on a new, unaccustomed look. Viewed from far above, they became green and yellow hills with dark depressions in their sides.
On and on they flew. They no longer knew the country. Nothing seemed to matter. They were masters of space; they felt as though they could fly into the face of the sun itself; they felt as though they owned that vast infinitude about, above, below them.
And there in higher space than they had ever dreamed that even those tremendous wings could soar, they met him: an eagle!
Straight toward them he came, without fear and seemingly without surprise. It was Ernest who veered, and the eagle, keeping majestically on his course, passed them by. To watch him Ernest circled and turned.
To his surprise, the eagle had done the same thing and once more they faced each other. The eagle advanced with slow, rhythmic sweeps of his tremendous pinions, his piercing eyes watching the strange intruder. Once more, Ernest turned and gave him the right of way. As they passed, the plane swept so close that they could see the piercing, angry eyes fixed upon them. This time they did not turn for, as they looked, they saw that the eagle himself, gallant and fearless warrior that he was, had turned and given chase. Ernest looked at the speedometer. The eagle was gaining, and they were going at eighty-nine miles an hour. As Ernest kept in a straight line, the eagle commenced to climb. Instantly Ernest changed his course and commenced nosing up into the higher stretches of the air. The great bird flew straight up. Ernest grew grave. If the big bird should fly into the delicate wires of the plane he knew that nothing could save them from a whirling dash to the earth. He did the one thing that could save them. He raced the eagle, up and up, round and round, darting here and there, Ernest growing cooler and cooler as the danger pressed closer, the bird bristling with rage. He could not understand this strange winged creature that evaded and pursued him. There were men, his eternal and ancient enemies, controlling those wide, stiff pinions. He could see their heads turn, their goggled eyes watching him.
Dee looked at Ernest and realized that the strange encounter was a dangerous one. The set mouth of the young pilot and the clutch of his gauntleted hand on the steering wheel gave evidence of anxiety and the keen alertness that comes with danger. Eddie, round eyed and silent, sat watching the manoeuvers of the eagle, which constantly swerved upward in his effort to soar above the laboring plane.
But manoeuver met with maneuver, and the bird, wise and keen, truly king of his kind, found himself pitted against a higher intelligence and keener wit. Slowly the great wings began to lag and it took a visible effort to lift himself above the level on which he swung to rest.
At last with a mighty effort he darted up, and up, away from the plane, then with a quick turn darted toward it, meaning to sweep upon it. But quick as he was, Ernest was quicker, and the great bird whirled only to find the enemy just above him. He wavered, caught himself, struggled to rise, and then with a last dart toward the plane, shot downwards, the plane following. The eagle fell like a plummet, wings half spread, head down. Following as closely as he dared, Ernest traced the drop, and they were close enough at the end to see the wings spread out and the bird make a sudden harsh landing in a plowed field. The earth flew up around him like spray, and he lay where he had come down, motionless save the ever keen, savage eye that still followed their movements.
“Is he going to die?” asked Eddie in an awed voice.