The Golden Eagle was speeded up to her full capacity, although with the heavy load she was carrying, she by no means attained the speed of which she was capable.
In one thing, however, she had the advantage over the dirigible. She could maneuver with twice the speed and turn and twist like a snake, while the more cumbersome air-ship took a lot of handling to navigate in any intricate movements.
As the dirigible drew nearer, the boys, critical as was the moment, could hardly restrain their admiration at the fine appearance she presented. Her distended gas-bag shone in the sunlight like silk and her cabin woodwork sparkled where brass handholds and plates were attached to it, like the main deck of a passenger liner.
Suddenly, however, her sinister character became apparent.
There was a puff of smoke from what, if she had been a "sea" ship, would have been her bow, and a projectile sang by the Golden Eagle. "That was a warning shot, Frank," cried Ben; "the next will come closer."
"I am going to watch them get ready to fire and then drop suddenly," said Frank, his face white, but with a set, determined look on it.
The man at the lanyard of the dirigible's gun, who looked like Sanborn, bent low over the weapon once more and adjusted it carefully for a second shot, the helmsman of the air-ship at the same time swinging her so that she would be on a direct line with the Golden Eagle.
Frank watched his every movement with a hawk-like intensity. Just as Sanborn stepped back, lanyard in hand, to fire a second shot, Frank dived like a sea-gull sweeping down on a fish and the missile whistled harmlessly overhead.
At the same instant Ben Stubbs, unable to restrain himself any longer, snatched a rifle from one of the lockers and aimed at the pilot-house of Luther Barr's craft.
A shower of splinters flew from the casing of a porthole as his bullet struck, but no further harm was done.