"The dynamite bombs!"
Swiftly and cautiously Harry got one of the deadly explosives ready. They were provided with a cap that set them off when they encountered any solid substance, as, for instance, when they struck the earth, but a small, mechanical contrivance enabled them to be adjusted also so that they could be exploded in midair.
"Isn't there danger of upsetting the aeroplane?" gasped Billy, as he saw the preparations.
"We'll have to chance that," was Harry's brisk response, "the birds are too much for us."
As he spoke he leaned out from the chassis and hurled the bomb high in the air. As he cast it out there was a slight click as the automatic exploder set itself.
"Hold tight," shouted Frank, setting the sinking planes.
The aeroplane rushed downward like a stone. Suddenly a terrific roar filled the air and the boys felt as if their ear drums would be fractured. The aeroplane swayed dizzily and Frank worked desperately at his levers and adjusters.
For one terrible moment it seemed that the Golden Eagle was doomed to destruction, but the brave craft righted herself and soared on.
The bomb had done its work.
Of the huge flock of condors that had attacked the Golden Eagle only a bare dozen or so remained. The rest had been killed or wounded by the bomb. The survivors were far too terrified to think of pursuing the boys and their craft further.