"He's clippin' off a good record," commented Fred, who had been reading the papers. "Goin' to make it, I guess."
Talking thus the hours sped by until it was after eleven o'clock. The night descended thicker and blacker as time passed, and in the tense silence, broken now and then by a tuneful bleat, the boys huddled closer together and talked in hushed voices.
"We sure could hear the flutter of a wing," reflected Herb.
The next moment they were on their feet, scarcely suppressing a yell. Something had rushed directly over them, fanning the air like a propeller, but with less noise. Quick as thought they were in the plane, the lamps were flashed on and they had mounted into the air.
A huge flying bulk was just in front of them, and, as it swooped downward toward the sheep, a shout from Fred apparently startled it, for it rose again, and, whirling, circled rapidly above the fold.
"It's some kind of a flying monster all right," whispered Herb excitedly.
Hawke had made a rapid semicircle and was flying swiftly in pursuit, but, as he had lost time in turning, the object had become a part of the darkness and he could only steer in the direction in which it had seemed to be flying.
"Carl's waving his lantern," exclaimed Herb. "Must be over there."
Hawke veered quickly. The lamps, while shedding a bright glow for some distance around the machine, did not throw their light very far ahead.
"There is it, under us," cried Fly. They could see a huge, black, floating mass, just beneath them.