"Shooting is just what we want to avoid," said Frank. "I never want to have to fire on a human being."
"Well, if they fire at you first, what are you going to do?" was Ben's incontrovertible argument.
Naturally the Boy Aviators and their companion slept no more that night. The remaining hours before daybreak were occupied with getting everything in first-class shape aboard the Golden Eagle in readiness for what might prove a dash for life.
"Are we faster than the dirigible?" asked Harry, who realized as well as his brother that there might be a chase between the two air-ships.
"I don't know," was Frank's reply, "we ought to be; but from Ben's description, and what we saw of her, that dirigible must be at least a hundred and fifty feet long and she has a more powerful engine than we have."
"But look at her weight," argued Harry.
"That doesn't cut so much figure if you have a powerful enough engine to overcome it," was the reply; "some European dirigibles, bigger than Luther Barr's, have made eighty and even ninety miles."
"Well, we wouldn't stand much chance with an affair like that and that's a fact," commented Harry.
"We can only hope things won't come to such a pass," said Frank.
Soon all was ready for a start and Frank, taking careful bearings, headed the Golden Eagle round on the course she had followed on her way to the galleon. As the sun poked his rim above the horizon the Golden Eagle shot into the air and rapidly the hulls of the galleon and Bluewater Bill's castaway hulk were mere specks behind them.