Swooping, climbing, diving, the planes pursued their deadly purpose, while exclamations of admiration came from the lips of the fascinated onlookers as some specially daring manoeuvre promised to give the advantage first to one and then to the other of the antagonists.
"Classy work!" exclaimed Frank.
"They're both dandies," declared Billy. "It's a toss up as to which will win."
"They're so far up that it's hard to tell which is which," said Bart, "but I've got a nickel that says the Hun will be downed."
"Great Scott," cried Frank. "One of them was hit that time. See it swerve."
"And look at the smoke!" Billy shouted. "It's on fire! A bullet must have hit the petrol tank."
A burst of smoke and flame shot out from the doomed plane, and it began to fall, fire streaming out in its wake like the tail of a meteor. Down it came like a plummet.
"It's coming right in our lines!" exclaimed Bart. "Scatter, fellows, or it will be right on top of us!"
The wrecked plane had fallen about two hundred feet, when a figure shot from the burning mass, whirling over and over as it descended. The aviator, knowing that his only choice lay between being burned or crushed, had chosen the less painful form of death.
The body fell some distance off, but the plane itself came down within a few rods of the boys. It was blazing so fiercely that they could not approach very close to it, but they could easily detect the marking which indicated that it was a French plane.