"Ah, they are headed back!" cried Roque. "Now for the show-down."
The glasses revealed the specks moving twin-like, and such was the terrific onrush that the crowd surging in the field soon caught a view of the contestants in growing size.
One enthusiast shouted: "Fritz will shut them out!"
But the glasses did not uphold the prediction. The machine with the black streamer was evidently using the reserve power that had been claimed for the newer make, and Henri was getting the best out of it. Yet the first-born craft was being handled in a masterly manner, had plenty of go to spare, and five miles still rolled between the speeders and the finish flag.
Now four, and the machines were bow and bow; now three, and the yellow band flapped a few feet behind the black; now two, now within the mile, and the whirring of the motors audible to the nerve-strained watchers below—then the close finish—and the white-faced pilot crowned victor was Billy Barry of Bangor, U. S. A.!
When the aëroplanes made landing, Roque pushed through the crowd and favored the Aëroplane Scouts with a forcible slap between the shoulders.
The victors were quick enough to extend hands to the vanquished.
"My friend," cried Billy, giving Fritz a warm grip, "it was only fifty feet, and it was the new motors that did it."
Then the crowd cheered, while the efficiency committee agreed with Roque that "No. 3" was the machine to be many times duplicated.
"That was something over a mile a minute coming back, I guess," figured Billy.