“They’ll get here just about in time,” he commented. “That is, provided I don’t miss any shots. Every shark in ten square miles must have smelled this party and joined it. A number of them have been looking us over, too.”
“I’ve noticed that, Skipper, don’t worry!” Red Pennington exclaimed. “It’s too bad the Scorpion plane didn’t get here sooner, but.... Say! Am I hearing things, or is that a plane’s motor, over to the east?”
Above the splashing rose the snarl of an airplane motor warming up. The sound rose in pitch, then faded abruptly.
“That’s Splendor and his pilot taking off!” remarked Don, his eye on the circling man-eaters. “They’ll climb to ten thousand to start their watch for the bombers. Right now, I envy them!”
For a long, listening moment, there was no sound but the lapping of waves and the occasional splash of a feeding shark. Very gradually the drone of an approaching plane grew louder.
“It’s not Splendor’s motor,” Don decided at last. “Besides, it’s flying too low and straight to be on patrol. It’s the Scorpion seaplane, all right, and headed straight for us!”
“It’ll be here before the boat from the Gatoon!” cried Red Pennington. “Probably the pilot thinks the boat is after a couple of spies. If he does, he’ll beat ’em to it and pick us up! Where is he, though, Don? That motor’s getting close, but there’s no plane in sight!”
“That’s because he’s flying low, right in the 'eye of the sun,’ as they say,” replied the other, whipping up his gun for another shot.
The bullet missed, just as the target dived under. Another slug from Don’s nearly exhausted supply furnished more living “breakfast” for the ravenous sea tigers. Two sharks swirled dangerously close to the two officers in the turmoil.
“Better start splashing and keep it up, Red!” Don Winslow advised. “Those finny devils are getting more curious about us every second. If we can keep them off just a few more minutes....”