“Everybody get out your guns and fire, it may scare ’em,” commanded Witherbee.
Quickly the four revolvers of the party were emptied in the face of the advancing onrush, but not a steer wavered.
“It’s all over,” groaned Witherbee.
But suddenly a dark shadow swept down from the skies so close to the boys in the auto that they could almost feel the rush of wind as the great body swept by.
It was the Golden Eagle.
Frank, who, with Harry, had watched in terrible apprehension the advance of the steers, had suddenly recollected what the cowboys had said about aeroplanes scaring them. Instantly he had set his descending levers and swept in a long, low circle full in the faces of the amazed bovines.
With bellows of terror they turned, wavered and a minute later were in full retreat. They thundered past the auto in a long line, their warm breath almost fanning the occupants’ faces, but none of them came any closer. Wild terror of the mysterious thing of the sky had seized them, and they were off in the opposite direction as swiftly as they had thundered in pursuit of the auto.
“Phew! that was as narrow an escape as ever I want to have,” exclaimed Billy, his face still white as the last of the herd scampered by.
“Same here,” echoed Lathrop.
As for Mr. Joyce and Bart Witherbee they did not say much, perhaps because they realized even more than the boys the terrible death from which Frank’s bold swoop had saved them.