"Flash your little light this way. Let me see if it's all right," he said.
Frank obeyed.
"New fangled automatic—very powerful, and shoots a .44 bullet almost as far as an old-fashioned rifle," explained Greene. "Very useful if one runs into another 'plane unexpectedly—and the other fellow happens to be a German."
A moment later he opened fire, shooting straight downward. He could not aim, of course, but it was not his object to hit anything. He emptied one clip of cartridges, and before the last shot was fired the woods below began to spit fire. At once the monoplane began racing.
"Got 'em!" cried Greene, exultingly. "I thought that would do it! It isn't human nature to be under fire without sending back a shot or two—not even German human nature!"
No bullets came near them, but there was no longer any possible doubt that the Germans were below. The fusillade had settled that. Greene slowed down.
"Show your light quickly, then douse it at once," he cried.
Frank flashed the light of the big torch for an instant. And at once the monoplane shot forward.
"See the point?" cried Greene. "They'll aim at where the light was. Only we won't be obliging enough to be there! Well, this is a good night's work, my lad! You were right, and if I'm not much mistaken, you'll get your name in dispatches for this. The beggars! I'd like to know how they got through without being spotted!"
All the time the monoplane was racing away. But suddenly there was a sharp crack behind them, and in an agony of concern Greene twisted around in his seat.